#thing is both the thing he feels he can’t escape and the thing that makes him ‘useful’ to vash | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeoningz · 2 days ago

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CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PAGES ⋆˚࿔ 최수빈

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor!” you yelp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” you reply honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… it’s about Professor Choi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

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

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-three!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cant help but giggle at him.

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

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

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

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

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

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

“I know I won’t.”

𝒯O𝔐ORROW X 𝒯O𝒢E𝒯HER 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼

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#txt x reader #txt smut #txt fanfic #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin x reader #soobin fanfic #soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #soobin x you #txt x you #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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monstersflashlight · 2 days ago

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Patreon Commission for @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

Request: Could I get fem reader x demon where the demon and reader meet at a book shop, but suprise it's the demons book shop. It's neat closing, so after seeing read buying monster romance book, he gives her the real thing!

A/N: Accidentally very romantic (and a bit sad), probably will expand in the future because I really like the plot. Enjoy!

The curse

Demon x fem!reader || size difference, tail play

You’ve come to this library since it opened. It’s just around the corner from your house and you are completely in love with the vibe and the general aura of the place. It smells like old books and something sweet you can’t quite point out.

Most of the time it seems like there’s nobody around, not even somebody to ring your purchases, but you feel at home there. It’s like there’s a vibe in the air that makes you be so quiet and calm, your brain shuts up for a bit while you are browsing different titles, and it’s just… peaceful in a world that’s too noisy.

So you started to spend more and more time in the library, you didn’t even know why, but every time you left your house, something urged you in that direction. So you comply with your baser urges and end up walking into the library with a soft “hello” that nobody answers. As soon as you enter, calm washes over you.

Your feet walk on their own to the monsterfucker section, always well stocked. “Always around the monsterfucker books, human, I’m starting to think you have a kink...” A deep voice resonates behind you, half amused, half teasing.

You let out a loud yelp and turn around so fast your feet slip under you, and you feel the world tilting his axis as you fall to the ground. Your ass sounds like a thud when you hit the hardwood, an imposing figure appearing out of thin air with a smirk so big you can see his fangs. He’s magnificent, big and completely red, his eyes so dark they feel endless and his wings so wide you are a bit scared he’s going to knock the shelves over.

“Who- who are you?” You stutter, your heart is going so fast you almost think it’s trying to escape your chest.

He chuckles, looking at you with something close to… fondness? “I’m the owner of the place,” he finally says, bored, as if he’s said that exact same thing a thousand of times. His big body is leaning against the books you were just looking at, and there’s fire burning inside his deep black eyes. Literal fire that ignites something deep and primal inside your chest making you gasp. He looks relaxed and cool, very much like one of the book boyfriends of your preferred romances.

“I’ve never seen you around?” You intend it as an affirmative, but sounds more like a question.

“Haven’t you?” He asks you, his head tilted to the side as he bites back a smile. “The library has a spell, nobody can remember me outside these walls. But who do you think has been checking your books before you buy them? Giving you personalized recommendations based on the ones you already bought?” He tries to play it as if it’s funny, but you see past his cold demeanor and into his very sad eyes.

“That… that makes no sense,” you let out.

Your brain is spinning and you want nothing more than to believe him, something in your chest is pried open and exposed, like a nerve you didn’t know was there but it’s screaming at you to understand whatever he’s saying.

“Of course it does. Come here,” he extends his hand to help you up.

The second your fingers touch an avalanche of memories flood your brain.

Him telling you about the books he likes. You telling him about your obsession with monster romance. Him offering you some tea and sitting in silence with you as you both read. You talking about your past and your most embarrassing memories as you both laugh...

You remember him giving back your memories every time you touch, and how it grew on you. How he changed the way of introduction everyday… and how he said goodbye every evening when you had to go, eyes sad and a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Why did you do that?” You ask, breathlessly.

Your brain continues spinning, and feelings you don’t know if you can name start blooming inside of you. It feels like one of those night flowers that close during certain hours just to open up again when the sun sets. He’s the moon rising in the horizon as your heart pulls you to him as if blooming...

He smiles, even more relaxed than before, releasing your hand and playing with the cover of a book that has a monster very similar to him on the cover. “What did I do?” He teases, a tiny smile showing his fangs.

“Why did you erase my memory every time I leave?” You ask, and deep inside your head there’s a memory of you asking something similar already.

And just like last time, he reminds you: “It’s a norm. The library forbids people from remembering me, that’s how’s supposed to be.” He sounds like a broken record when he tells you that, emotionless and bored as if it doesn’t mean anything, but you can see past that.

“Then… Then…” You try to threaten but nothing comes to mind. He’s staring at you with amusement, one eyebrow raised. And then you surprise you both: “Then I won’t leave.”

He stares at you with confusion, his eyebrows raised and his eyes big in surprise. “What?”

“I won’t leave. If leaving the place means forgetting you… I won’t leave.” It seems like the most reasonable solution and you curse yourself internally for not realizing it sooner.

He laughs without humor. “You don’t mean that. You have a life outside. You have things to do, a work to attend to…”

You cut him. “I will figure it out. I’m not leaving you again. I- I… I have feelings for you,” you confess. You don’t know where all this bravado and confidence is coming from, but every memory spinning inside your head screams at you to tell him how important he is in your life.

He moves so fast you barely see him before his hands are cupping your jaw and his lips are over yours. He’s so tall you are on your tiptoes, and in a second his hands are on the back of your thighs and he’s pulling you up against his chest. This angle is so much better and you are teasing his lips with your tongue, asking for permission.

His mouth parts and you are soon exploring every inch of his mouth, running your tongue over his fangs until he’s moaning against your mouth and his hands are massaging your ass. It’s the most passionate kiss you’ve shared with anybody, and the fact that is him, the fact that he’s a cursed demon and you are in his lair… It only makes it hotter. You feel like one of your book heroines, and you know what’s next. Your pussy knows what’s next.

“Make love to me?” You whisper against his lips, pulling back just enough to stare into his deep black eyes. He blinks slowly, and a wicked smile spreads on his face.

He moves his hand to the side and, just like that, you both are naked and pressing against each other. Your back finds the shelves and some books fall around you, but you don’t care, you can’t care when his hands are cupping your boobs and pinching your nipples. His tail curling around your middle and the tip of it finding your clit. To your utter mortification you are more than drenched, and the second his tail touches your clit, you cry out in an orgasm that leaves both of you surprised.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he says with a low chuckle. He looks so smug you want to kick him. Or kiss him senseless, you aren’t sure which one yet.

“Ugh, shut up and stop looking so smug,” you tell him, your hand pushing at his face like an annoying bug. He laughs against your palm, pressing a kiss against it and then against your forehead.

“Do you want me to shut up? Or do you want me to fuck you?” He teases, leaning down to peck at your lips.

You are breathing hard when you answer: “Both.”

His finger travels down your body until they rest against your opening, silently asking for permission before you nod. He kisses you at the same time he pushes two fingers inside your tight channel, making you moan against his lips. He starts a maddening pace, stretching you with his fingers until you are at the edge of a second orgasm and your brain is swimming in a mix of desire and pent up sexual frustration.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, please just fuck me already!” It comes out like a shout, and he chuckles as he pulls his fingers back.

“What my human desires, my human gets.”

He aligns his cock with your pussy, and slowly starts breaching you. He’s big, way bigger than any human you’ve been with, but the spark of pain only makes everything better. Your head is thrown back, and he’s holding you with just one arm as his free hand rubs slow circles over your pointy nipple. You are almost there… You can feel his dick hitting your G-spot… And when his tail touches your clit, you explode into a thousand pieces again.

“I- I’m starting to think your tail is magic,” you joke when your brain comes back from an amazing high.

“It’s not my tail, it’s you,” and with that affirmation he starts fucking you like a powered machine.

You chant his name as he fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow. He holds you to the shelves as the books fall around you, batting some with his hand when they fall dangerously close to your head. He grunts and groans, telling you how good your pussy is and how wonderful you feel around his dick. You are desperate to come again, your body in such need, you can’t even form proper thoughts as he keeps fucking you into oblivion.

“I’m gonna come, darling, I’m so close,” his voice sounds like a plea, and you grab his horns with force, kissing him senseless as you help him bounce you on his cock.

Your third orgasm is nothing like the ones before. The combination of the kiss, his dick and his tail playing with your clit is so good your brain short-circuits and you pant open-mouthed against his lips. His own noises joining yours as he comes deep inside, his release hot and sticky inside your welcoming heat.

You stay like that for a while, your body shivering in aftershocks and his breathing erratic. But reality arrives way sooner than you want it to.

Your brain is spinning in the thousand and one ways it could end wrong. The thousand and one things you should do if you really want to be there with him. But most of all, you need to figure out how to break the curse in the library so you can remember him when you leave. And for that you need to get out and go back home, start researching…

“You have to go, don’t you?” He asks against your neck, his face buried there as he kisses along your jaw.

Your heart is hammering inside your chest before you answer. “I have work tomorrow, but I’ll be back and we’ll figure it out. It’s too late for me to call and arrange for me to start working from home. But I’ll do it. I swear I will.” He doesn’t say anything when he helps you get dressed and walks you to the door. He looks very sad when you leave that day, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Sure…” He agrees, but you know he doesn’t believe you.

The sound of the door closing behind you leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, but you can’t exactly figure out why...

A/N: I’m sorry for that ending (but lowkey not).

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morgana-larkin · 3 days ago

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Alright, here’s the arrival of part 3 of “Just Tired”. I’m so glad that there’s been so much interest in this series! I’m wanting to make this series as realistic as possible for someone going through it as I still struggle with the trauma for when I went through it, even though I escaped him at the end of 2021. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I was listening to Angel Eyes by ABBA as it seemed fitting lol. Would have posted this earlier but I was watching the chiefs get their asses handed to them. Go Birds! 🦅

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Just Tired -Part 3

Warnings: Manipulation relationship, small masturbation part, Melissa going through some confusion

Words: 3.75

You awake at 5am to your alarm going off and you shut it off before you get ready. You hop in the shower and in there you can’t help your mind drift to Melissa and how beautiful she looks, even when she was downright ignoring you.

“Stop it, mind! She’s married.” You remind yourself. But that doesn’t stop your hand from wandering down to your clit and start circling it.

You lean against the shower wall and close your eyes as you picture Melissa being there. You imagine how her lips would feel all over you, how she might make you come. Would she want to use her tongue or her fingers or even a strap? You honestly wouldn’t say no to any of those if she was asking. You then feel yourself right at the edge and you start circling faster and then you come. You quickly have your shower and then you get ready and leave at 6:30. You walk up to her house at 6:58 and you knock on her door. She opens the door a few seconds later and she takes your breath away.

“Hey Y/n, just gotta grab my things then we can go.” She says and you nod.

“Alright.” You say and then take a step back and watch as she gathers all her things. When you step back you notice her ‘Go Away!’ welcome mat and you snort. “Nice mat.” You tell her as she steps outside and she smiles.

“It’s to ward off unwanted visitors.” She says as she locks the door.

“Does it work?”

“Most of the time, yes.” She says and you both walk to her car. “Apparently it doesn’t work on family.” She adds and you smile.

“Good to know.” You tell her. “So you giving me rides, does this make us acquaintances?” You ask her and she looks at you before starting the car.

“No, this is me just helping someone in need, and I’m not going out of my way to help them.”

“So you have a heart then.” You say and she rolls her eyes at you before bringing the car onto the street. “So is the husband not up?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“He doesn’t get up until another half hour. He doesn’t have to be at the fire station until 9.” She tells you.

“He’s a firefighter?” You ask her and she nods.

“Yep.” She says and you take your phone out and go on your social media. You look up Melissa on Facebook and then you click on the name where it says who she’s married to and see a picture of him.

“And what exactly do you see in this… Joe?” You ask her and she looks at you quickly before turning her attention back to the road.

“Did you just look at my account?” She asks.

“Obviously. But what exactly do you see in him? I mean there’s ones much better looking than him.” You tell her and she quirks an eyebrow at you. “I’m gay not blind.” You tell her and she snorts.

“We met in college and he was really nice to me. He kept talking to me, giving me gifts that he knew I’d like, listening to what I say, wanting to spend all his free time with me, even before he asked me out.” She tells you and two words come to your mind when she says this, love bombing. You don’t say anything as it’s not your place and it was probably like over 20 years ago and you’re sure things are different now.

“So why are you so closed off?” You ask her to change the subject.

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” She asks.

“I don't normally, only when something catches my interest.” You say and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

“And I caught your interest?” She asks and you nod.

“You seem like an interesting person, and you wanting to say nothing about your life only makes you more interesting. You’re a mystery.” You tell her.

“And I like to remain a mystery.” She tells you.

“You know I could probably just ask Barb questions about if I really want, I mean you two seem close.” You say.

“Barb and I have been best friends for over a decade and she knows I like my privacy. She won’t tell you a thing.” She says to you and you lean back in the seat and pout.

“Are we close enough for me to at least know your favourite colour?” You ask her.

“It’s pink.” She says and you give her a weird look. “What?”

“The badass of Abbott likes pink? I would have never guessed that.”

“What’s wrong with pink?”

“It’s seen as a colour for little girls, especially when Barbie came out.” You explain.

“Alright, what colour do you like?” She asks.

“F/C.”

“Ok, interesting.” She says as she pulls up into the parking lot of Abbott and then you both get out and walk into the building.

*In the break room*

“I’m telling you that I saw Melissa purposely go up and start talking to Y/n. And not only that but it seemed like there was some attraction there as well.” Janine tells Jacob.

“It doesn’t matter for Melissa if there’s attraction, she’s married to a nice ma… she’s married.” Barb tells them. “She has never cheated on him and she doesn’t intend to. And has never thought about leaving him either…even though she should.” Barb adds and she gets a weird look from Janine and Jacob.

Just then you and Melissa both enter the break room and everyone looks at you both.

“What are youse looking at?” Melissa asks them.

“This is the third day where you get here at the same time.” Jacob says as you go to sit down with him and Janine.

“We just end up getting here at the same time. Is that a crime?” You ask them.

“Ok what about yesterday? I saw Melissa and you talking and smiling.” Janine asks you.

“Janine, what exactly are you asking?” You ask her and cross your arms.

“Is there an attraction between you two?” She bluntly asks. “You have mentioned you’re into hot older gingers and Melissa fits that.” She adds.

“Ok, first of all, Melissa and I were talking about our job yesterday as she was nice enough to give me pointers. Second of all, yes Melissa is a hot older ginger but she’s married and we’re not even acquaintances as Melissa very clearly told me that she barely talks to newbies.” You tell everyone and they shut up after that.

“So what pointers did Melissa give you yesterday?” Janine asks after a couple minutes.

“She told me to not do my lesson plan so far in advance and expect to fall behind, don’t be too stressed that it’s my first year of teaching on my own and she generously took a look at my first week lesson plan and said it was good and the kids will enjoy it.” You tell them and you weren’t lying as Melissa did actually tell you all those things.

“Melissa, you gave her that advice?” Barb asks her and Melissa nods.

“I don’t like communicating with newbies but the kid looked like she was gonna have a panic attack, I wasn’t gonna sit by and do nothing.” Melissa tells her.

“Oh Janine and Jacob, would you help me hang a few things that require 2 people?” You ask them and they immediately nod.

“As long as it’s not on a ladder.” Janine says and you nod.

“You’re not climbing a ladder, it’s not high.” You tell her.

Melissa watches from her desk as you and Jacob hang some stuff up and Janine directs you both to make sure it’s straight. Melissa’s mind starts to wander. She doesn’t know why but you seem to have caught her interest a bit. Her telling you her husband doesn’t forgive her just honestly slipped out and she doesn’t why she said it. Of course her husband forgives her every time. And then she tries to remember when was the last time he said he’s sorry and she can’t remember.

“I’m telling you it’s straight.” She hears Janine says.

“It doesn’t look straight to me.” She hears you counter. She then gets up and leans against her doorframe with her arms crossed. She sees you and Janine a few feet away from her and you’re looking at your board.

“You two are loud.” She says and catches both of your attention.

“How about we ask Melissa?” You tell Janine.

“No, she’ll just side with you as you’re friends.” Janine counters.

“Ya, we’re not friends.” Melissa says and goes to stand beside Janine and looks at the board. “And it’s not straight.” She says and sees you sticking your tongue out at Janine. “It’s a little high on the left.” She adds and then goes back to her door. “Try to keep it down this time.” She says and then walks inside her classroom.

At lunchtime she gets there before anyone else does and takes a few seconds to decompress as she gets her salad out. Everyone else comes in about a minute later and Barb gets her lunch and sits down and immediately notices Melissa is looking stressed.

“Are you alright?” Barb asks her.

“Ya, just a headache.” Melissa says softly.

Barb knows that she’s lying. But she also knows Melissa enough to know that she’s not ready to say anything and she’ll tell her when she is ready.

“Want some ibuprofen?” You ask since you heard as you were at the coffee maker. “I always carry some as I can get some painful cramps when menstruating. And that’s probably too much information.” You immediately say and it gets Melissa to crack a smile.

“It’s not that type of headache, but thanks hon.” Melissa tells you and you nod.

“Want some coffee? New batch is ready.” You offer and she nods and gives you her coffee mug.

“Thanks kid.” She says as you hand her the mug back with coffee.

“Y/n, do you have any plans this weekend?” Janine asks you as you join her and Jacob at the table.

“Probably just watch the game, I hope the Eagles hand the cowboys their asses.” You say and you don’t notice Melissa smiling at that comment.

“What about you?” You ask her and she goes into some detailed plan about what her and Tariq are doing this weekend.

When lunch ends, you all get up to go but Melissa stops you and Janine.

“Just wanted to let you both know that around February is when I do this Peter Rabbit art project with the kids and each of your second graders can join as well.” She says to you both.

“Oh that sounds exciting. What do they usually make?” You ask her.

“A rabbit face from paper plates.” She says.

“Oh that sounds fun, definitely count my class in as it sounds exciting. Y/n is your class going to join?” Janine asks.

“Definitely count my class in as well, they’ll enjoy that.” You tell Melissa and she nods before she goes back to her classroom.

At the end of the day, you pack up your things and you head out the door and you run into Jacob and Janine and you have a conversation with them for a few minutes before they both head to their cars. You start to head to the bus stop when Melissa stops you.

“My car is the other way.” She tells you and you turn around to face her.

“I didn't know how long your offer was by driving me home.” You tell her.

“Until you can get gas in your car.” She says and you smile before following her to her car. You both don’t notice everyone watching you both as you get in Melissa’s car.

“Thanks again.” You tell her as you do up your seatbelt and she pulls out. “So how long have you done the Peter Rabbit project for?” You ask her.

“Since I started working here, almost 15 years ago.” She tells you. “By the way, do you really think I’m hot?” She asks you and you furrow your eyebrows. “You told Janine that in the break room this morning.” She clarifies.

“Well of course you are. You honestly don’t need all that makeup.” You tell her and you see her smiling and a hint of a blush on the cheek that you see.

Melissa gets home a few minutes after dropping you off and she immediately goes to the kitchen for a glass of wine. She takes a deep breath after she takes a few sips and puts her head in her hands. She keeps getting compliments and praises from you and she doesn’t know how to react. She then realises that it’s been awhile since she received any from Joe and a tear slips down her cheek but she quickly wipes it off.

“Don’t cry, I’m not sensitive.” She tells herself and takes a big sip of her wine.

She has 2 glasses of wine and ends up falling asleep on the couch. When Joe gets home, he leaves her be and goes to reheat leftovers and watches tv in the bedroom. Melissa gets home a couple hours later and immediately goes to eat. After she eats she hears the tv on upstairs and goes to see Joe.

“Finally awake?” Joe asks her and she nods her head.

“You could have woken me up.” She tells him.

“I wanted to watch tv by myself anyway without being asked for cuddles or any kisses.” He tells her.

“I’m sorry, I know sometimes I might be too needy and I’m trying not to be.” She tells him and she goes downstairs to watch tv by herself.

She falls asleep on the couch again and wakes up around 4am. She gets her phone out and sees that it’s dead so she charges it as she makes breakfast. She eats and then she puts some in a container for Joe when he gets up. She gets ready for work and then she goes outside a few minutes early and sees you pull up on your bike.

“I woke up late but I don’t remember biking being this tiring.” You tell her and she shakes her head at you.

“You can leave it in the backyard for now.” She tells you and you nod. You come back out a couple minutes later and you get in the car.

The car ride this time was pretty quiet as you tried to make conversation but wasn’t getting replies. She pulls up 10 minutes later and you both get out and walk inside. This time you actually don’t head to the break room, you turn into your hallway and head to your classroom instead. It takes Melissa about 30 seconds to notice as she was in her own world and wanted to question you but you were too far ahead.

“Did you and Y/n not arrive at the same time today?” Barb asks her.

“No, I saw her come in, she went to her classroom for whatever reason.” Melissa explains.

“Interesting thing yesterday, I saw her get in your car when we were all leaving for the day.” Barb says and everyone looks at Melissa.

“Oh, well that’s none of youse businesses.” Melissa says. Right after she says that, you walk in and you head straight for the coffee machine.

“Y/n, we all saw you go in Melissa’s car yesterday.” Janine immediately tells you and you shrug.

“Cool.” Is all you say and pour yourself a cup and head back to your classroom. Janine and Jacob sensed something must be wrong and follow you out.

“So Melissa, now that we’re alone, want to tell me what’s happening?” Barb asks Melissa.

“On Tuesday I saw Y/n on the side of the road in my neighbourhood and she said she ran out of gas. I’ve just been giving her rides as she lives like a minute away from me, that’s all.” Melissa explains.

“Well that’s nice of you.” Barb says and really looks at Melissa. “Is something wrong?”

“What do you think of Joe?” Melissa asks her and Barb tilts her head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well Y/n has actually given me compliments in the week she’s been here, more compliments than Joe has given me in the past year. So what does that say?” Melissa asks her.

“That Joe doesn’t give compliments.” Barb simply says. “Melissa, I’ve given my opinion on Joe many times over a decade ago and you always gave reasons why I was wrong. I stopped trying as you kept defending your marriage with him.”

“Well you never had a lot of nice opinions about him but you never knew him like I do.” Melissa states.

“You’re right, I don’t. And I hope he’s changed since then.” Barb says and goes back to her cup of coffee.

*Your classroom*

“So you went on a date 2 months ago with a girl, but stayed friends and she invited you to watch the game at a bar this weekend?” Janine says and you nod.

“I thought like everyone else that she’d just forget me and we’d never talk again.” You tell them.

“So you have a new friend, what’s the problem?” Jacob asks you.

“She’s a little crazy.” You tell them. “I’m just hoping that after the game, she never wants to speak to me again.” You add.

Melissa gets to her classroom and sees your door is closed but can see Jacob and Janine standing near your desk from the little window on the door.

The morning goes by quickly for Melissa, and before she knows it, it’s lunchtime and she heads to the break room and gets her lunch.

“So I was notified this morning by a parent of one of my students that I’m getting.” You say to Janine and Jacob.

“And what did they want?” Janine asks.

“They wanted to let me know that they tested their daughter over the summer and apparently this kid is dyslexic.” You tell them and that catches Melissa’s attention and she turns around to look at you.

“Do you know how to teach a dyslexic child?” Melissa asks you and you shake your head.

“No, but I could just google some ways to help her.” You tell her and she nods and goes on her phone.

You go to your classroom and an hour later Melissa walks in and closes your door behind her and walks up to your desk where you’re arranging some papers.

“Melissa, what can I-”

“Can you switch the dyslexic kid over to my class?” She asks you and you tilt your head.

“Why?” You ask her.

“I can help her better.” She states and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Look I know I’m new but I’m pretty sure I’m not an idiot.” You say and she sighs.

“It’s not about you being new, it’s the fact that you can’t relate to her.” She says and the gears in your head are turning until it dawns on you.

“You’re dyslexic?” You ask her and she nods.

“I haven’t had a student who’s dyslexic and I feel like I can help her the same way that I was.” She says and you smile.

“Of course, want to go to the principal to make the transfer right now?” You ask her and she looks taken back.

“Wait, you’re not going to say no?” She asks and you shrug.

“Since you’re dyslexic then you might be the best teacher to help her.” You tell her and you go to your door. “Come on, let’s go see Principal Coleman.” You say and she follows you to Ava’s office.

“What do you two want?” Ava asks you.

“We want to transfer a student from my class to Melissa’s class.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes before she gets to one of the women in the office and you follow her.

“Can you do a classroom transfer?” She asks her and the woman nods. “She’ll help you with that.” Ava tells you both and you nod.

“Thank you.” You say and you and Melissa get the transfer done. “I’ll also send you the email that the parents sent me. They said a couple ways that they’ve noticed have helped her.” You tell Melissa on the way back and she nods.

“Ok, thank you.” She tells you and you nod.

“I’ll also notify the parents and tell them about the transfer.” You tell her and she nods. “Do you mind if I tell them that you’re dyslexic as well?” You ask her.

“No, that’s alright. It’ll probably make them happier that their daughter’s teacher has the same thing.” She says.

“Alright, I’ll forward you the email right away.” You tell her and go inside your classroom.

Melissa receives the email a few minutes later and sees the ways to best help her and writes it down.

She goes through the rest of what she needs to get done and finishes about an hour before the day ends. She stays on her phone for the rest of the day and waits a few minutes for you in the parking lot.

“You waited for me?” You ask her as she’s leaning against her car.

“Well I offered you rides, plus your bike is at my place.” She says. “I’m gonna drive to my place and you can bike home.” She tells you and you nod.

“Sounds good.” You say.

Melissa drives you both to her place and you go to get your bike right away.

“Hey Melissa.” You say as you come out with your bike and she looks at you. “I can probably actually just bike to and from school.”

“You ran out of breath biking for like 5 minutes. How are you going to survive for another 30 minutes?” She asks you and you shrug. “Mm, I’ll see you Monday at 7.” She tells you and then goes inside. You put your helmet on, get on your bike and start biking back home. Melissa watches from the window as you leave and she sighs. “What the fuck am I doing?” She says out loud and goes to get some wine and chocolate.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

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Let me know if you want to be added!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic #lisa ann walter #law #abbott elementary

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bitchface24-7 · 3 days ago

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hi! i’m currently really sick and i just need something to read… gn/m reader x viktor or both jayce qnd viktor sick comfort? thank so much and have a great day <3

MY POOR DARLING - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: you’re sick, unfortunately. A basic cold, but you feel miserable. Your nose is clogged, your head hurts, you’ve got a nasty cough. Good thing you’ve got your boyfriend to take care of you.

warnings: common cold, being cared for, fluff, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. It sucks that you're sick, my mum is currently sick too. Hopefully it’s not too bad and you get better ASAP!!

Being sick is horrendous. You knew you were in trouble when you woke up and your nose was clogged, you couldn’t stop coughing, and you had a pounding headache. You were sick.

You just groan in frustration and plop back down into your bed, wanting to sleep the sick away.

Your plans get interrupted by your loving boyfriend walking in and seeing your pitiful state, he smiles lightly, “You sick?”

The grumbled and whiny no that escapes you actually convicts you. You’ve just confirmed his suspicions.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

With that, he leaves you alone for a few minutes. You’ve almost drifted back to sleep when Viktor returns with a sweetened tea and some medication.

You shuffle slowly to sit up and sluggishly take the pills, popping them into your mouth and taking a mouthful of the perfectly warm tea; gulping down the two pills with ease. A small smile graces your face, “Thank you.”

A small huff of amusement escapes Viktor as he looks down at you, he lightly cards his hands through the hair at the base of your scalp, “No problem, darling. Now I’m going to effectively quarantine myself and try my best to care for you.”

A startled laugh escapes you before coughing over takes you, “Aren’t you sweet?” You sleepily bring the mug of tea up to your lips and drink slowly, trying to stop the coughing fit.

Viktor casually takes a book from the shelf and sits down at a comfy chair in the corner of the room, your own personal library. He opens the book and starts to read aloud. His smooth melodic voice filling the room.

You can’t help but smile as Viktor reads to you. You’ve always loved Viktor reading to you, it makes the books even more interesting. So having this sweet treat as you’re sick makes it that much better.

Eventually you fall back asleep, the medication, tea, and Viktor’s voice lulling you to sleep.

When you do wake up, hours later, it’s to the smell of chicken, spices, all around a delicious scent. It’s even better when it’s brought to you on a serving tray.

“I hope you’re willing to eat, or I just made my homemade chicken noodle soup for nothing.” Viktor jokes, his tone light and eyes sparkly. You giggle at him, “I’m starving. Luckily I'm not nauseous, so I'm going to devour it. Put it down pretty boy, stop teasing me.”

Your pretty boy quirks an eyebrow at you and does as you command, a chuckle escaping his plush lips.

He takes his seat back and re-opens the book, continuing to read to you as you eat your soup.

Being sick sucks, but Viktor makes it manageable.

Tis’ the season! I hope everyone is okay and if you're not, I hope everything gets better soon! My mums sick so I’m trying my best to stay away, or vigorously wash my hands after I hang out with her LMAO

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor imagine #viktor x reader #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral reader #banners by cafekitsune

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ferritins · 2 days ago

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SHOW ME (LITTLE BIT OF SPINE) | J. TODD

SUMMARY: You keep putting your back to Jason. He keeps wondering why. Eventually, things boil over.

NOTES: if you’re looking back at my ghost fic, reading this, and going “…hm. Marley I am putting some things together about you” no you are not! [lying]

title from Fall Out Boy’s Dance Dance because I am a cringe elder GenZ and former scene kid 🙂‍↕️🤘🏽

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, resolved romantic tension, UST.

Despite the hissing, seething rage sitting green and molten under Jason’s skin, you are completely unafraid of him.

It’s not that awareness of his capacity for violence escapes you, exactly; rather, it is the fact he reins it in so tightly and meters it out so meticulously that sets you at ease.

The Jason who rends flesh from bone and tears viscerae from by bodies with nothing but a K-Bar and the impetus to obliterate is the one who haunts the abuser, the exploiter, the predator.

The Jason who haunts your kitchen is the same boy you grew up with, who is in turn both stroppy and sensitive, cuts your expensive sharp cheddar at stupid angles and takes a spoon of jam in his black tea.

He has only ever been physical in protection of you, and never, ever to you.

You have been scared for him, but never of him; put simply, Jason is the safest pair of hands you know, the keenest pair of eyes to have watching your back.

Which is why you’re completely bemuses by Jason being so entirely thrown by your willingness to put your back to him, to make yourself vulnerable.

It first comes up one evening in late January, when you’re making saag paneer to chase off the creeping chill; Jason is at your side (back-seat cooking, as is his habit).

After five minutes of his nitpicking, you roll your eyes, holding a sauce-coated spoon out.

“Less bitching, more taste-testing.” You sing-song, tone deliberately cloying.

Jason scowls, but takes the spoon.

“Definitely more cumin, maybe a little more garam masala and like… half a tablespoon more tomato purée.” He says a moment later, around his mouthful of sauce.

“Ooh, precision! Steady on, Marco Pierre-White.” You tease, turning to your spice rack.

When you turn back, there’s a look of poleaxed disbelief on Jason’s face.

You raise an eyebrow, questioning; Jason mutters something under his breath, shakes his head.

The oddity of the moment is quite forgotten five minutes later, when Jason starts being unbearable about the way you’re stirring the curry.

And then, it keeps happening.

You notice it a month later in the supermarket, when you spin on your heel mid-conversation to take advantage of the half-price Guylian chocolates; again, when you sprint to the kitchen as Jason, ah, redecorates your living room carpet whilst you hunt through your cupboard for your first aid kit.

Once you start noticing it, you can’t stop noticing it. Jason, hyper-observant as he is, picks up on your observations, though he can’t seem to place what exactly it is you’re observing.

A strange sort of tension starts to brew between the two of you.

The simmer starts slow, only really beginning to bubble in the subtext of your relationship as winter slips into spring.

By the time spring slips into summer, every interaction is underwritten with it; you feel like you’re sat atop a powder keg, waiting for it to blow.

The inevitable argument comes on a sweltering July evening.

You’re working late, the window to your tenth floor apartment open to try and combat the humidity rising from tarmac streets and concrete high-rises as you peck disinterestedly at your laptop’s keyboard.

You don’t even notice Jason until you catch a glint of red chrome in your laptop screen.

Your heart leaps into your throat for a moment; your momentary fear allayed when you turn your chair just enough to see Jason stood behind you, hair mussed from his helmet.

“Hi, Jay!” You chirp. “Pozole is still on the stove, if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”

With that, you spin your chair back around and return to the task at hand, trying to get your quarterly report finished.

Jason remains standing at your shoulder. You can the space between your shoulders itch under his stare. After ten minutes, the trapped-rabbit feeling of being watched gets too distracting.

You spin your office chair around to face Jason fully.

“Is…something wrong?” You venture.

“You’re not scared of me.” Jason states, voice low and intent.

“…I’m scared that you might be dripping hepatitis onto my carpet, because this sounds a lot like the kind of thing you say when you’re busy losing the better part of your circulating blood volume.” You squint. “Do I need to get the first aid kit?”

“No.” Jason says.

“Okay…”

Your wheedling tone earns you nothing. Slowly, you spin your seat back to face your computer.

From behind you, Japan makes a frustrated noise. Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

“Not a mind reader, Jay.”

“You keep putting your back to me.” Jason snaps. “You shouldn’t. It’s stupid.”

You turn your seat again, regarding him with a look of pure disbelief.

“You’re an adult man with access to all my streaming subscriptions. You can find entertainment—“

“It’s like you don’t have any survival skills whatsoever!” Jason snaps. “I’ve literally killed people!”

Thoroughly confused and very much fed up with Jason’s irascible distemper, you huff.

“Yes, Jason, you’re very scary.” You say with a patient tone that tips right into condescension, spinning back round to your computer. “I have a quarterly report due on Tuesday, so if we could hold off on the homicidal affirmations for a bit, that would be great.”

Your seat whirls with enough velocity that you feel a touch dizzy; Jason is stood close enough to you that your knees brush, the unexpected proximity making you start backward momentarily and bang your rolling chair back into your desk.

“Why aren’t you afraid? Why are you so insistent on trusting me when you know what I’m capable of?”

“Because you’re not dangerous to me, moron!” You shout. “Because we grew up together! Because I’ve seen you cry, and made you laugh! Because we fight about how you cut my stupid cheese! Because I love you, damn it!”

The words seem to ricochet around your living room, bouncing off walls and amplifying in gravity.

Jason looks punched out, caught somewhere between agony and euphoria.

“What?” His voice is a whisper, a low, desperate thing.

The wounded devotion in his eyes is too much to take; you bury your face in your hands, the repetition of “I love you.” half lost in your palms.

Large, warm hands wrap around your wrists, pull your hands away from your face with a gentleness like you’re made of fine bone china.

You catch a brief glimpse of Jason’s eyes, the faintest rim of seafoam iris around the black saucer of pupil, and then he’s kissing you.

The press of his lips against yours is an epiphany; the revelation of something divine.

“Love you.” You sigh in the space between close-lipped kisses.

The repetition of your confession flicks a switch in Jason; he half-snarls, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you pressed against his lips.

The next kiss trips out of sweetness and directly into hunger; Jason licks at the seam of your mouth until your lips open on a gasp. The kiss deepens; your senses are overwhelmed by the press of his tongue velvet-hot against yours, the way he catches your bottom lip between his incisors.

His free hand skates up your shirt, smoothing over your ribcage; his fingers dimple the soft give of your side over your fifth rib, skirting the edge of impropriety.

You but collapse against him in response, fingers curling creases into his shirt.

Time passes like treacle through a sieve; by the time that you and Jason part, your lips are spit-slick and bruised puffy, and your computer screen has long since powered off.

“Be mine.” He pants against your neck. “I can’t do casual, not with you. Honey, I need you to say you’ll be mine.”

“I’ve been yours for years, Jay.” You reply, shuddering at the press of his lips to the thin skin over your carotid. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart.” He vows into your skin. “No getting rid of me now.”

#marley.txt #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #this is so revealing of my psyche. cringing.#I am so fucking rusty lads this is straight dookie writing. be kind abeg 😭🙏🏽

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ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit · 1 day ago

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You break down into tears and tell them: "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this happy, I think I just got overwhelmed. You make me happy.”

Heartslabyul dorm; Savanaclaw dorm; Octavinelle dorm; Scarabia dorm; Pomefiore Dorm; Ignihyde Dorm; Diasomnia Dorm (here)

Malleus Draconia – You two had walked this path a dozen times before, and he admits it’s a bit of an impulse to carry the both of you to the tops of the trees in order to see the starts better. The stories of the constellations of your world never fail to impress him, and it’s even better when the both of you simply start making up your own stories.

This isn’t the first time you’ve leaned against him as he speaks, but when he looks down, he’s initially scared. Did he’s tail squeeze too tight? Did he nick you with his claws?

He can’t say he has ever felt so overwhelmed with joy like this, but he understands overwhelmed at least. He looks around quickly, an instinct from his childhood, before draping his coat over your head and allowing you to have your moment, pulling you into his lap for a hug. He can give you this, in a way that he rarely over received.

“I’m happy.” he simply says, “I’m happy that I can do this for you. Not as a king, but as a friend. As your friend.”

Lilia Van Rouge – Lilia much prefers to be on the move, seeing all the new sights and sounds the world creates. Humanity changes so quickly, he’s got to stay on top of things! But for you, he’s more than happy to visit the vintage markets and thrift stores, talking about the different pieces you found, their functions, how it’s changed over the decades.

You had disappeared for only a moment, though it isn’t difficult to find you again. Even your explanation as you try and stop the tears makes perfect sense to him. He felt the same watching Malleus hatch, Silver grow up, even friends long past.

“Silly, hiding away when you feel happy!” He chuckles, using his sleeves to squish your face. “You must know that it only gets better from here?”

Sebek Zigvolt – When you had approached Sebek about books to learn more about culture, especially Briar Valley since so many were biased, you had found a different side to him. He was still loud and opinionated of course, but knowing that you were learning seemed to soften him a bit. He was quite a good conversationalist when speaking about his books, and his insights into tradition was something that couldn’t be offered in a text.

He was sketching out the field of a battle when one of your tears drops on the page. Initially he panics, almost scolding you for such an emotional outburst. But as you explain, he seems to stop himself. He remembers feeling the same the first time Malleus congratulated him on his improvement, or when he finally was able to wield his grandfather’s magearm.

“While I can...understand, you must collect yourself.” he says, using a tissue nearby. “Afterall, there is plenty more to be found if you simply forge it for yourself. Don’t give up, human!”

Silver Van Rouge – Silver is a quiet sort, though you know that he can be delightfully witty and sarcastic when he has the energy. That’s the side of him that you get to see deep in the forest, with him leading Samson through on a trail he knows well. Afterall, he’s the one who cut it out.

He remarks on Diasomnia as a whole, his father, and he speaks about Malleus more as a brother out here than he ever would in person. There are expectations that he can’t escape under watchful eyes and he needs to practice that now before he becomes a guard for him.

Both of you go quiet as you see a buck pull down a branch for his young fawn to eat, although they startle when your voice hitches.

Silver bends forward to see you, and you try and hide away the tears. Your explanation makes sense to him, in an odd way. He can remember the first time Lilia complimented his swordsmanship, or the pride in Malleus when he stood up for him in front of the Council. He was ‘scolded’ for it, but he knows better.

“I know that time feels fleeting and that moments like these seem rare.” He squeezes your middle, Samson breathing steadily underneath the both of you. “But I hope they aren’t for you. I hope they come in abundance, as consistent as the dawn.”

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twst malleus #twst Lilia #twst Silver #twst Sebek #twst Yuu #Twst x reader #twst x Yuu

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meo-eiru · 23 hours ago

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Hi hiiiiii!!! I just wanna say i love ur oc’s so much, they live rent free inside my head like a growing necrosis!! Ever since u dropped the character trivias for Lavi and Elias I cant stop thinking about an AU with the game Catherine for Elias and Lavi but like with a lil twist to itt (the twist being i cant properly remember the entire plot to Catherine, its been like a decade since i played it so i tweaked so much of the actual storyline to better fit the narrativeT-T) feel free to delete it if its too weird;;

TW: cheating, pregnancy, reader/mc is pregnant, ooc Lavi im sorry, Elias having a reasonable crashout, yandere behaviour, continuous affair, reader/Mc cheats, character death(?), misuse of commas and my terrible grammar really

—

Okay so Imagine this, whilst drinking out one day, trying to drown out the midlife crisis and potential worries about the future, you end up having a drunken one night stand with Lavi, this one night stand however snowballs into an affair as you end up sleeping with Lavi AGAIN.

You’re pregnant, and you’ve been in a relationship with Elias for 5 years, Elias is absolutely ECSTATIC to find out that you’re pregnant, and is even considering marrying you if you agree to it (you have no choice in the matter btw lol), so in order to plan for the baby (and wedding), Elias has been taking more and more modeling jobs to hopefully save enough for your future together.

This would’ve been a happy ending for both parties if you actually KNEW who the father was. Youve been rethinking your entire relationship with Elias for a while and whilst its good to feel loved and appreciated just for existing, Elias’ is just… he’s too much sometimes— well most times tbh.

Elias would kill you both, but he hasn’t suspected anything yet, and you plan to keep it that way because you’re thinking of ending things with Elias by the end of the month anyway,

until you can’t.

And you find yourself puking every morning, a worried Elias by your side at every step of the way, loving, understanding (?), pulling your hair back and dabbing away sweat from your face as you stay hunched over the toilet seat, and the guilt smashes into you like a truck, its debilitating—Elias loves you so much, cares for you (too) so much. The guilt should have set in sooner, you should be groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness, but you dont, instead you stay, and the affair continues, even when you don’t remember spending the night with Lavi (where they even at the bar last night?). Even when the test shows two lines. Even when Elias starts doing more work to provide for the two of you.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe its your consciousness telling you you need to leave, to not subject Elias to a life chained up to someone who doesnt love them enough to stay faithful.

You end up having these weird nightmares where you have to fight for your life trying to escape a hellish landscape. You survive each night but always seem to end up waking up to Lavi on your bedside (you haven’t been outside, Elias hasn’t allowed you to go to work since the pregnancy test, you don’t remember telling Lavi your address either)

But one night, when you wake up from another nightmare, crying, shivering, Elias and Lavi nowhere in sight.

Impulsively, you end up calling Elias and tell him about the affair, how you don’t know who the father of the child is, how you’re sorry and how terrible you are and how it would be better if you just break up.

and as expected, he breaks down. asking you, demanding answers, crying, screaming, shouting, asking if you actually loved him, asking if the child is actually his, asking you why he wasn’t enough, how he knew you were acting weird, asking which fucker he has to kill to make everything work out. its guttural, the way he screams, shouts for answers.

You end up dropping the call. And Elias immediately spams your phone with missed calls until you end up blocking his number.

He’s coming for you, you know he will. And he does, not even an hour later, banging on the door. You worry about your neighbours hearing about all of this commotion, its 11pm, he should’ve been at home but he was still at work, should’ve spent this time relaxing and watching tv shows with you at saturday night, but instead he was still at work, working to support the both of you (even if a big part of you knew it wouldn’t have stopped him from coming anyway)

He’s banging on the door, and you have half a mind to grab the knife at the sink. He stops after what felt like an eternity, only to forcefully barge his way in by using his body to slam the door open.

Elias makes his way inside, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders, eyes red with tears as he looks at you with the most painstakingly hurt expression you’ve ever seen (you’ve seen it countless times before, but only this time its different, it’s it scarier, it feels like he might actually hurt you)

His eyes grows into slits, as you feel another arm snake behind you.

It’s Lavi.

You are so fucked.

Elias ends up lunging at Lavi, screaming, intent to kill, to get rid of the vermin homewrecker that ruined (whatever was left of) your relationship.

Lavi fights back, albeit without mentally damaging Elias in the process as he talks about how much time he spends with you, how he planned on taking you with him secretly behind his back, how the child is actually his and how he intends to take full accountability for it.

You watch as Elias screams reaching for something in the sink only for Lavi to laugh at him, taunting him, waving the knife in his hand hautily, simpering with a glint of malice in his eyes “Looking for this?”

You’re about as useful in this situation as a screen door to a submarine. And you know its in vain, but you scream at both of them to stop anyway. Crying as you fall to your feet, you feel like puking.

Elias freezes, breath hitching as he turns to you before the expression on his face falters, angered as Lavi continues, telling him that “he’s the reason you’re having such a hard time right now”, “how he has no business being a father when all he does is hurt you”.

Everything falls into a blur as the fighting continues,

it feels like forever but it does stop, and you hear someone slump on the floor.

and you find Elias on the floor, with the knife plunged into Lavi’s stomach.

——

I had to write it out the brainrot was killing me, had to write it out until the brain rot unrotted itself.

I do know i couldve done this darker and better but i cant write anymore i feel so rustyT-T if you see “them” instead “you” its because i originally wrote this with “Mc” and using “they/them” before changing it to explicit xreader

Rereading my writing realising it is so tellenovella coded oof

Holy shit anon I don't know how you did it but this might just be the most hellish possible scenario known to mankind. I'd honestly just end it right then and there, there's no getting out of this bermuda triangle ass dynamic we got going on here.

Like Lavi and Elias being in the same universe is already horrible, them liking the same person is even worse but darling CHEATING on one of them with the other??? I would just

#asks #elias #yandere pretty boyfriend #lavi #yandere incubus #fanfic #tw cheating #yandere x reader

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kazumist · 2 days ago

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TAKE CARE .ᐟ

✩ — in which you feel haunted by someone who you know is alive out there.

✩ — includes: caleb x gn!reader. uhh mc!reader too. SPOILERS FOR TAINTED CUTS "MIGRANT BIRDS" ENDING !!!! and a bit of tainted cuts in general haha uhm... yeah read at ur own risk pls. bittersweet. not much dialogue (literally only one line and the rest is just word vom). wc: 605. inspired by 4 songs in total, two being from niki :)

“pipsqueak? are you okay—”

your eyes suddenly shot open as you suddenly sat up from your bed. glancing at the digital clock on your bedside table, the digits for 13:06 were displayed on it. it’s almost as if life was mocking you right now.

13:06. 13/06. june 13.

june 13 was caleb’s birthday.

ever since... that day, distant memories had started haunting you. every step you take somewhat makes your mind trail towards the times you were with caleb. the way you laid on his arm as you slept together, masking up your personal relationship you had with him being the councilman...

how can a few weeks possibly make those memories so out of reach when it feels like they just happened yesterday?

sweat trickles down your neck as you take a deep breath, calming yourself down from the peculiar dream you just had. it’s all strange—every single damn thing about this is strange and frustrating. you knew you were alone in this watchtower; you knew that only you and caleb knew about this place.

you knew this, and that’s why you chose to stay here—to find peace. but the isolated echo of caleb’s voice echoes through the walls.

acceptance was done long ago; you knew caleb had to leave because if he didn’t, you would be in danger of his frenzied state as a praedator. yet as the night cuts into the day, his presence lingers in your surroundings, leaving you no way to escape. recalling the times you both promised each other home—the kind you’d never known—leaves an ironic taste on your tongue as to how things are now.

you missed him. that was inevitable. and even though you weren’t really the individual who’s used to praying, you found yourself praying to whatever god is out there to make it stop.

because how can you even live in tranquility when every glance you make, you see his face hidden in the crowd? when everywhere you go, you could feel the same pressure of his hands holding yours?

it’s almost as if you were being buried alive—being haunted by someone who is still alive.

on nights like these where he’d haunt you in your dreams, you couldn’t escape. and all of those dreams end in the same way: he leaves. he always leaves you to wait. he always leaves with you, promising him that you’d still be there when he returns.

just how many unrealistic promises do you have to make in your dreams just for him to be in your arms again?

even when you can’t see anything due to the dim light lit in the room, the faint feeling of his touch could still be felt as a ghost on your skin. maybe it was some sort of coping mechanism you unintentionally got into to deal with caleb’s absence.

you promised to wait; of course you did; it’s caleb. but just how paradoxical it is that you’re here, left to wait for him again? caleb can't even provide a speck of reassurance that he’ll return, as this promise to wait for him is solely built on trust.

time wasn’t a concern as you continued on hoping that he’d once again meet your wait that’s waiting for him. real love is a verb—it isn’t just a feeling. love calls for initiative, development, and commitment. so you wait for him anyway. because it doesn’t matter how or when, caleb will always come back to you.

you’ll take it and he’ll take his time—after all, it’s only fair. you both take the cake for a love so rare.

so you take care.

a/n: overall this is just my take on a more uhm. inner monologue version? of what mc's thoughts could be with how tainted cuts ended in migrant bird :) literally no one hmu that card made me scream WHY IS CALEB SOOOO JDHSFJHSDFHJSDFJF. i love him sm u guys don't get it!!!! no one gets it!!!

i just thought it would be really painful to be haunted by someone who you know is alive (dismissed the idea that caleb could be dead since AGAIN it seems more painful that way if it was implied that he's alive). the actual ending in the card's story is a bit similar to the one i wrote but i obviously love the other ending more since they were so cute in that

icb my lads debut on tumblr is this. i couldve wrote something happier but hey! where is the fun in that

#( writings )#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #how do ppl tag in this fandom.

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cowboyidiot · 1 day ago

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ok my thoughts on this aren't fully formed but to me it’s like yeah markhelly infidelity lol i love to joke but i think boiling it down to that doesn't really do the situation justice to me. mark didn’t want to sit with his own sadness so he quite literally created an entirely separate person who was born so he could both live a life without this crushing emotion and memory of his wife and turn himself off for 8 hours a day.

and the thing is, it worked. yes, mark s experiences secondhand grief from his outie, but he doesn't remember gemma. that's not his wife. he already didn't want anything to happen to ms. casey, and he wants his outie to be happy, so he wants to help both of them once he finds out the truth, but he also feels something for helly that is entirely his own, not lumon's, and not his outie's. he was born to serve the agenda of both a company holding him hostage for labor, and an outie who is using him as means to an emotional end and he finally finds someone of his own. yes, of course there are similarities between him and outie mark but mark s doesn't have any memory of gemma and was quite literally created so mark could have a chance of escaping and moving on. he does.

here's the thing though. outie mark reintegrated solely to see his wife. what a surprise it’s going to be for mark to have to live on with all the grief for gemma he was trying to hide from and suddenly be also drowning in grief from another life, another love, another betrayal.

he has no idea mark s is reeling from helena's betrayal, not recognizing helly was missing, irving's death due to his blinding first love, and the anger helly is sure to direct at him for a situation he also feels horribly about. milchick even told him his innie found love! mark still viewed reintegration as his decision to make on a whim, not considering his innie's life and experience as something to seriously consider in his decision even though he was fully ready to leave mark s with "who is alive" burned on his eyelids and let him figure out how to get the answer to the outside with no help. the innies lives and emotions are inherently considered inferior.

what happens, then, when suddenly the love that was a direct repercussion of his severance feels just as real as the grief he still hasn't managed to escape? i wouldn't categorize his relationship with helly/helena as infedelity, not only because reintegration seems to be a slow process mark s is only just starting to experience when he and helena have sex, but because mark s is not and was never married to gemma. his experience doesn't deserve to be relegated as purely an affair because his outie's emotional and personal life is validated and his is not. that isn't his wife. mark got exactly what he wanted from severing, he forgot gemma, and now he has to live with the consequence of emotional contradiction.

this also paralells irving and helena's experience with their own innies, both of whom went into lumon with a specific agenda that blew up in their face (again, because they did not and do not consider their innies as fundamentally autonomous). the things outies believe are intrinsic to their personhood and lived experience, in mark's case his overwhelming devotion and love for his wife, are all turned on their head because this show is inherently about exploring the contradictions within personal identity and how those might manifest physically if these contradictions were housed in a single person's body.

you can't both create and destroy different choices, different versions of yourself, because you wish things were different and experience no consequences. the consequences are in direct response to his wish to forget gemma. in the end, it really is a double edged sword to reintegrate because mark is about to understand that every single thing he wanted out of severing he got, and he can’t turn his brain off again to avoid it. he wanted to forget gemma, and he did. he wanted to be happy and move on, even if it was as a different version of himself, and he did. he wants to see his wife? well now he has two of them.

#severance #an idiot yaps

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28harryssunflower · 2 days ago

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Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 3/4

Royal scandal: Part 3

The weeks seemed to slip by faster than either of you had expected. What felt like distant conversations about your future as King and Queen was becoming a reality. The meetings, the briefings, the preparations for the inevitable transition - everything seemed to be happening in a whirlwind.

You and Harry spent more time in royal meetings than you had ever anticipated, discussing matters of the crown, foreign policy, and how the monarchy would evolve with the two of you at the helm. You had thought that marrying Harry would mean more time spent together - more moments of joy and peace in the midst of the chaos of royal life. But, in truth, the opposite had happened. Every day felt more like a race to prepare for the overwhelming responsibility that was waiting just around the corner.

It was one evening in the royal study, papers scattered across the large wooden desk, when Harry finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Y/N,” he said, his voice tired. He rubbed his hand over his face, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. “It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t catch my breath.”

You looked up from the papers you had been scanning. You felt exactly the same way - completely overwhelmed. The weight of the responsibilities coming your way was almost suffocating. You had thought the royal duties would be manageable, but the constant pressure and the endless demands from the press, the public, and the family itself were beginning to take their toll.

“You’re not alone in this, Harry,” you said softly, getting up from your seat and walking over to him. You sat next to him, your hand resting on his. “I feel it too. Every decision feels like it’s the most important thing in the world. And the faster we go, the harder it gets to keep up.”

Harry looked at you, his eyes tired but filled with appreciation. “I know you’re right. It’s just… I don’t think I’m ready to be King. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You gently squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. You knew his fears; you shared them too. You had talked about this before, the two of you voicing your insecurities about the roles you were about to take on. But hearing him express them aloud still hit you hard.

“I know it’s terrifying,” you said quietly. “But we’re going to get through this together. You don’t have to be ready right now. We just need to take it one step at a time.”

Harry shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down, including you?”

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “You’re not going to let anyone down, least of all me. You’re the person I love, Harry. And together, we can face anything. You’re going to be an amazing King, because you’re already a great person. You don’t need to be perfect.”

The words seemed to offer him a small amount of comfort, but you knew the battle raged inside him. Harry had always been someone who cared deeply about doing things right, especially when it came to his family and his country. And now, with the pressure of the monarchy’s future on his shoulders, it was clear that the fear of failure was taking a toll.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” Harry murmured, his voice low.

You leaned your forehead against his, your heart aching for him. “No one ever is. But you’ll grow into it. And we’ll do it together.”

The words felt true, but even as you spoke them, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty that still gripped you both.

As the days passed, the weight of the situation continued to settle deeper into both your hearts. The date for the official transition of power - the moment Harry would step into the role of King and you by his side as Queen - was approaching with incredible speed.

The palace was a whirlwind of activity. You were handed papers to sign, decisions to make, and events to attend. The world outside the palace walls had no idea of the sheer amount of preparation happening behind closed doors. The moment when the crown would pass from Harry’s parents to him was coming closer and closer, and with each passing day, the reality of the responsibility began to hit harder.

At dinner one evening, the King and Queen spoke more about what was to come. The monarchy was undergoing a transformation, they said, and the country would look to Harry for leadership and direction. They had outlined the plans for how Harry would assume his new role, the formalities, the speeches, the public image they wanted to project.

But amidst all the royal discussions, you noticed that Harry seemed more withdrawn than ever. He was barely speaking, his mind obviously elsewhere. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

“Harry,” you whispered softly, leaning in closer to him during dinner, “are you okay?”

He glanced at you, offering a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just trying to keep it together.”

You could tell he was trying to hide his stress, but you knew him too well. “I know it’s a lot. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know.”

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced at his parents, who were engaged in their own conversation at the end of the table. “I just feel like everything is spiraling out of control. I’ve never been so overwhelmed in my life. And it feels like no one really understands what this is doing to me. I can’t help but feel like I’m not ready for this.”

You placed your hand on his, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to be ready right now, Harry. You just have to do your best. And that’s all anyone will expect of you.”

He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “But what if that’s not enough? What if they expect more? What if I let you down, too?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to be strong for him in this moment. “Harry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to let you face this alone. And if you ever feel like you’re struggling, we’ll face it together. You and me. That’s what matters.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in what felt like days, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“Together,” he murmured. “Yeah. I can do this if we’re in it together.”

The moment felt like a small victory in the midst of the storm. But as the days continued to pass, you both knew that the hardest challenges were yet to come. The transition to the throne was fast approaching, and the weight of the monarchy loomed larger than ever.

But you were determined, as was Harry. You would face whatever came your way - together.

The days leading up to Harry’s official ascension to the throne were a blur. The palace was a cacophony of endless meetings, preparations, and ceremonial rehearsals. Every detail was scrutinized, and the pressure on Harry to be both the heir and the future King of England was suffocating.

You could see it in the way he moved - his shoulders slumped, his hands occasionally trembling when he wasn’t consciously gripping them together to keep himself steady. He had been avoiding sleep and barely eating, the exhaustion evident in the bags under his eyes. But you knew Harry well enough to understand that it wasn’t just physical fatigue - it was the weight of expectation bearing down on him. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to the role that had been thrust upon him.

You had tried to reassure him, but you knew he needed more than just comforting words. He needed to find a way to believe in himself, something that was increasingly difficult with each passing day.

One evening, after yet another exhausting royal dinner, you found Harry pacing in the drawing room of your shared private quarters. His mind seemed miles away as he walked back and forth, hands running through his hair in agitation.

“Harry, stop,” you said gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Come here.”

He didn’t stop pacing immediately, but eventually, he turned toward you, his eyes weary and filled with frustration. “I can’t do this, Y/N. I just can’t.”

You took his hands in yours, pulling him toward you. “You don’t have to be perfect, Harry. You just need to be yourself. You’re going to be a wonderful king because you are who you are. That’s all anyone could ever ask for.”

His gaze softened slightly, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about being myself. It’s about leading a country, making decisions that affect millions of people’s lives. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that.”

You squeezed his hands, your voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together. You have me. You have your family. And most importantly, you have a country that believes in you.”

Harry was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on yours, searching for reassurance. You could feel his internal struggle, the pressure and the fear, but also the flickering hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he could do this after all.

“I just need time,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I need time to figure this all out, Y/N.”

You smiled softly, lifting your hand to gently touch his cheek. “We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.”

The day of the coronation arrived faster than either of you had anticipated. The grand halls of Buckingham Palace were filled with dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, and members of the royal family. Every inch of the palace was adorned in the finest silks, golden tapestries, and regal colors. The ceremony itself was a spectacle - an event that would be etched in the history books, a moment of great transition for both the monarchy and for Harry.

It was still early in the morning, and you were in your private chambers getting ready. Your dress was a custom creation - a delicate gown of ivory and gold that shimmered under the soft light of the palace. A team of stylists had worked tirelessly for days to perfect your hair and makeup, transforming you into the epitome of royal elegance. Your heart was beating quickly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tiara that had been passed down through generations of queens, you couldn’t help but think of Harry. This moment wasn’t just about the throne - it was about everything you both had fought for. The love you shared, the life you were building together, and the future you were about to embrace.

Just as you finished adjusting the final touches, the door to your chambers opened. Harry stood there, dressed in the royal regalia - his coronation robes shimmering in the light, the crown already resting on the table behind him. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, all the noise and chaos of the world outside melted away.

He looked every bit the future King of England, but the vulnerability in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“You look incredible,” he said softly, stepping toward you.

You smiled, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “So do you, my King.”

Harry took a deep breath, clearly nervous. “I don’t know if I can do this, Y/N. This whole thing- it’s overwhelming. I’m just trying to keep it together, but…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words.

You walked toward him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “You’re going to be amazing, Harry. You already are. And you have the love and support of everyone who cares about you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment was short but meaningful, as Harry’s parents called from the hall, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. You exchanged a quiet look, silently promising each other that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

The cathedral was breathtaking. The long aisles were lined with flowers, and the golden light that streamed through the stained-glass windows filled the space with a sacred glow. The air was thick with anticipation as dignitaries and guests took their seats, each waiting for the monumental moment to arrive.

You and Harry stood at the front of the cathedral, the weight of the moment finally settling over both of you. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood before you, ready to begin the sacred coronation ceremony that would officially make Harry the King of England - and you, the Queen.

As Harry knelt before the Archbishop, your heart was in your throat. The crown was lowered onto Harry’s head, and the soft murmur of the guests faded into silence. The weight of the crown seemed symbolic, as if it represented everything Harry had feared - his future, his legacy, his duty. But in that moment, as Harry rose to his feet, you could see something change in him. He stood taller, more certain than before, as if the crown - though heavy - was now a part of him.

The Archbishop turned to you, and you felt a tremor in your chest as you knelt beside Harry. The crown was placed on your head, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of the moment finally sank in. You were officially the Queen, standing beside the man you loved, ready to face the future together.

When the ceremony ended, applause filled the cathedral. You turned to look at Harry, and the look on his face made your heart skip a beat. He was no longer the nervous, uncertain man you had married. He was the King. And you were the Queen by his side.

As you and Harry left the cathedral, the weight of the crown - and the reality of what it all meant - pressed heavily on your shoulders. The applause from the guests echoed in your ears, but in the quiet of the palace, it was just the two of you.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry muttered, his voice shaking. “It all just happened so fast.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know. But we did it. And we’ll continue to do it, together.”

Harry smiled, the weight in his eyes finally easing. “Together,” he repeated, his voice steady.

The crown was now on both of your heads. But the most important thing -!what mattered most - was that you had each other. And with that, no matter how overwhelming the responsibilities of royalty might be, you knew you would face the future side by side. Together.

The months following your coronation were filled with a mixture of new beginnings, long royal meetings, and settling into your roles as the King and Queen of England. You and Harry found yourselves slowly adjusting to the rigorous demands of your new life. The palace became your home in a way it never had before, the once overwhelming responsibilities now starting to feel like a second skin.

Together, you navigated the complexities of being the face of a nation, balancing state visits with private moments, public appearances with stolen moments of quiet. As a couple, you were still learning, still growing into the roles you had taken on, but through it all, there was one thing you both held dear - each other.

But in the quiet of your shared chambers, away from the world’s eyes, there was an underlying weight, one that lingered quietly between the two of you. You and Harry had been trying for months now, hoping, wishing for a child - an heir to carry on the legacy you both were now responsible for. But each time, when you found yourself staring at the stark white of another negative pregnancy test, the hope seemed to drain a little further from your soul.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried - oh, you had tried. You and Harry had put everything into it, every last ounce of love and effort, but it was as if something was just out of reach.

You would smile for the cameras, be the perfect Queen in the eyes of the people, but behind closed doors, you felt like you were failing. Failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing yourself. Every month, the disappointment grew more pronounced. Each time you felt your period arrive, it was like a slap in the face.

There had been moments of doubt, moments when you sat in silence and just cried, asking Harry over and over what was wrong with you. What was it about you that wouldn’t let you get pregnant? What had you done wrong? What were you missing?

You sat in front of the large mirror in your chambers one night, staring at your reflection with teary eyes, the silence of the room making everything feel heavier. The weight of the crown seemed insignificant in comparison to the frustration, confusion, and sadness that had begun to take root in your heart.

“Why can’t I give him a child?” you whispered softly, as though your reflection could answer. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling lost. “Am I not enough for him?”

You didn’t hear Harry enter the room until he was standing next to you, his voice filled with quiet concern. “What’s going on, love?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nothing, just…thinking.”

But Harry knew you better than that. He’d seen the breakdowns. He’d seen the tears that you wiped away before anyone else could notice. He had felt the tension in the air when you tried to hold it together, knowing how much you wanted this. You both wanted this.

“I know you’ve been struggling,” Harry said gently, his hand resting on your shoulder. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve only been trying for a few months, Y/N. This doesn’t mean anything yet.”

You stood up, pushing his hand away gently as you wiped a stray tear from your face. “It’s been months, Harry. Months of trying, of failing, and I’m just…” Your voice cracked. “What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I can’t have children?”

Harry’s face fell, his heart breaking at your pain. He wanted to take the weight from you, wanted to fix it and make it better, but this was something neither of you could control. He couldn’t change the reality of the situation, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to protect you from the sadness that had become all too familiar in the last few months.

“You’re not failing,” he said firmly, his voice low but filled with love. “You’re not. We’re just starting. We’ve only just begun. You’re going to give me children, I know it. It’s just… it takes time.”

You closed your eyes, the bitterness of uncertainty rising in your chest. “But what if it doesn’t? What if it never happens? What if we can’t have the family we’ve dreamed about?”

Harry took your face in his hands, his eyes locking with yours, his grip firm but tender. “Y/N, you are enough. And if we don’t have a child right now, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how much I love you. It doesn’t change how I see you. You are everything to me. You’re the woman I love, the woman I chose to be my Queen, and I will never, ever stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

His words, though comforting, couldn’t erase the doubt that lingered in your heart. But his hands on your face, his tender touch, reminded you that at least you weren’t in this alone. You had Harry - and together, you would face whatever came next.

The weeks passed, and while the world saw the King and Queen leading their country, you both continued to face the heartbreaking reality of your inability to conceive. The doctor visits became more frequent. You sat in sterile offices, surrounded by pamphlets, medical charts, and explanations you barely understood, each visit leaving you with more questions than answers.

Harry did everything he could to support you. He was patient when you had days of frustration and silent tears. He was understanding when you pushed him away, when you withdrew into yourself. But each time you saw him try to comfort you, try to assure you that it would all work out, the feeling of guilt seemed to grow.

“I just want to give you the family we talked about,” you whispered one evening, curled up on the sofa with Harry, the two of you sharing a quiet moment before bed.

Harry kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, rhythmic motions. “You have given me everything, Y/N. A life I never could have dreamed of. A life I’m so proud of. We don’t need to rush into anything. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way. Together.”

But it wasn’t just about Harry’s words anymore. It was about you. You were terrified that you couldn’t be the mother you so desperately wanted to be, terrified that your inability to carry a child would disappoint him or make him feel less fulfilled. And no matter how much he reassured you, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As the pressure of royal expectations continued to build around you, so too did the pressure of your own heart. It wasn’t just the throne you had to bear - it was the weight of being the Queen, and the expectations that came with it. Your failure to conceive seemed to only intensify the scrutiny.

And all you could do was hold onto Harry - just as he held onto you -!and keep going, no matter how hard it became. Together, you would face the unknown. Together, you would find a way.

But for now, it seemed like that future - one with children, with a growing family - was still a distant dream.

It had been a long day already, filled with meetings, royal engagements, and the ever-present weight of expectations that came with being Queen. But today, you had made time for something far more important - helping Anne with one of her charity projects.

The two of you had spent the morning overseeing a women’s shelter, speaking with staff and listening to the stories of the women who had found solace there. It was the kind of work that reminded you why you had wanted to be Queen in the first place - not for the politics or the power, but for the chance to make a difference.

Now, back at Buckingham Palace, you were sitting in Anne’s private drawing room, sipping tea as she sorted through a pile of paperwork regarding upcoming charity events. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the elegant space.

Anne had always been kind to you, had always made you feel welcome in the family. But today, sitting here with her, you felt something shift. You felt like you weren’t just her daughter-in-law - you were her daughter. And daughters needed their mothers.

You hesitated, staring into your cup, the tea swirling in slow, aimless patterns. Your heart felt heavy, the words stuck in your throat like an unbearable weight. But you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Anne,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up from her papers immediately, her sharp eyes full of quiet concern. “Yes, dear?”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. “I- I need to tell you something. Something I haven’t told Harry yet.”

That got her full attention. She set the papers aside, leaning forward slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she gave you her undivided focus. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. But the moment you opened your mouth, the emotions you had been bottling up for months came crashing down.

“I- I can’t get pregnant,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Or, well, I can, but barely. I went to the gynecologist, and they told me I only have a two percent chance. Two percent, Anne.” Your hands trembled as you set the cup down on the saucer with a soft clink. “I feel like a failure. Like I’m failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing myself.”

Anne’s face softened, her usual composed expression shifting into something far more vulnerable - motherly.

“Oh, my dear,” she murmured, reaching across the small table to take your hands in hers.

You let out a shaky breath, the tears you had been trying so desperately to keep at bay finally breaking free.

“I haven’t even told Harry,” you confessed, shaking your head. “I don’t know how. How do I tell him that the one thing we both wanted more than anything -!a family - might never happen? How do I look him in the eye and say that I can’t give him children?”

Anne squeezed your hands tightly, her grip warm and reassuring. “Listen to me,” she said firmly, her voice filled with a rare intensity. “You are not a failure. Do you hear me?”

You let out a soft sob, nodding, even though you didn’t quite believe it.

Anne sighed, shifting to sit beside you on the small sofa. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you the way a mother would a heartbroken daughter. The moment her warmth surrounded you, you collapsed into her, sobbing into her shoulder as the weight of your grief finally consumed you.

“I hate myself for this,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of her dress. “I hate that I can’t give Harry what he deserves. I hate that my body won’t do what it’s supposed to.”

Anne’s grip tightened, her hand stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. “No,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “You don’t get to hate yourself for this, Y/N. You are not defined by your ability to have children. And Harry - Harry loves you. Not just the idea of a family, not just the dream of children. You.”

You sniffled, clinging to her as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if he’s disappointed? What if he resents me?”

Anne pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, her own filled with unwavering certainty. “He won’t. And if he does, then I will personally knock some sense into him.”

That earned a wet, broken laugh from you, though it quickly turned into another sob.

Anne cupped your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Sweetheart, you are already enough. More than enough. And if there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he would never see you as anything less because of this. But you need to tell him. Don’t carry this burden alone.”

You nodded weakly, though the thought of telling Harry still terrified you.

Anne gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, you are family. My family. And I will always be here for you, just like a mother should be.”

That was all it took for you to break down again, but this time, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as unbearable.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace in your shared chambers. The golden glow of the flames danced against the walls, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a few documents he needed to review for an upcoming event, but his attention wasn’t really on them.

He could tell something was wrong.

You had been unusually quiet all evening, barely touching your dinner, barely speaking. And when he had tried to pull you into conversation, you had only offered small, forced smiles that never reached your eyes.

Harry knew you well enough to know when you were holding something in. And whatever it was, it was eating you alive.

You stood near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared outside at the darkened palace gardens. Your heart was racing, palms sweaty, stomach twisted in knots. You had spent the entire day trying to find the right moment, the right words, the right way to tell him.

But there was no right way to say this.

“Love?” Harry’s voice was soft, careful, as he set the documents aside and turned his attention fully to you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I-“ Your voice broke immediately, and you clenched your jaw, trying to steady yourself. “I need to tell you something.”

Harry was already on his feet before you could say another word. He crossed the room quickly, his hands immediately finding your arms, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t make it any easier. The words felt trapped in your throat, suffocating you.

Harry’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your arms. “Talk to me, darling.”

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment. And then, finally, you forced yourself to say it.

“I went to the gynecologist,” you whispered. “I- I haven’t been able to get pregnant, and I needed to know why.”

Harry’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly. His body tensed, but he didn’t say a word - he just let you speak.

“They did some tests,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “And they found out that I can get pregnant… but the chances are-” You choked, pressing a hand to your mouth as the pain of saying it out loud became unbearable. “Two percent, Harry. I have a two percent chance.”

His face fell, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “What?”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling under the weight of your emotions. “I- I might never be able to have kids with you. And I didn’t know how to tell you because-“ Your voice cracked. “Because I feel like I failed you.”

Harry’s entire body stiffened at those words. His hands immediately cupped your face, tilting it up so you were forced to look at him.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his green eyes burning with intensity. “You have never failed me. Do you understand me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened.

“I wanted to give you a family,” you sobbed, your hands gripping his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. “I wanted us to have kids, to grow old together surrounded by them. And now… now I don’t know if that will ever happen.”

Harry’s heart shattered at the sheer pain in your voice. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as you cried.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your hair. “Oh, love,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You buried your face into his chest, your sobs muffled against his shirt. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared you’d be disappointed. Scared you’d regret choosing me.”

Harry immediately pulled back, his hands cupping your cheeks as he looked deep into your eyes. His expression was one of pure disbelief, almost offended at the idea.

“Y/N, I could never regret choosing you.” His voice was rough, filled with emotion. “You are my wife. My Queen. The love of my life. Do you really think the ability to have children could change that?”

“I just… I know how much you wanted kids,” you whispered.

“I want you,” he corrected, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I want a family with you. And if that means we try and try and try until it happens, then that’s what we’ll do. And if it doesn’t happen, we’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever it takes. But you are my family. You are enough.”

His words shattered the last bit of control you had. You clung to him, sobbing openly now, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable in his arms. And Harry just held you - held you like he was afraid you might slip away, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “No matter what. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the heartbreak, you felt safe.

Because you had Harry. And as long as you had him, you would never face this alone.

The hallways of the Buckingham Palace felt colder than usual. Each step echoed against the marble floors as you made your way toward King Edward’s office, your stomach twisting in knots.

This was, without a doubt, the most terrifying conversation you had ever faced.

Telling Harry had been one thing - he was your husband, your partner, the man who had chosen to love you unconditionally. But telling his father? The King of England? The man who had spent his entire life ensuring the future of the monarchy? That was an entirely different battle.

Edward had always been firm about the importance of an heir. Even before you and Harry had married, he had spoken of continuing the bloodline, of ensuring the next generation would be raised to take the throne one day.

And now, you had to tell him that there was a strong possibility that wouldn’t happen.

You swallowed hard, standing outside his office door, your palms damp with nerves. The guards stationed nearby gave you a brief nod before opening the large double doors, signaling your arrival.

King Edward was seated at his desk, scanning through documents with his usual air of authority. He barely glanced up as he gestured for you to step inside.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his voice even. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door behind you, taking a few cautious steps forward. Your heart was pounding, and for a brief second, you wondered if you should just turn around and walk away.

But no. You had to do this.

“Your Majesty,” you began, keeping your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something… important.”

That made him look up. His piercing gaze settled on you, sharp and calculating, as if already trying to decipher what you were about to say. He set his papers aside, folding his hands neatly on the desk. “Go on.”

You took a shaky breath. “It’s about the future of the family. About an heir.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you knew he was listening intently.

“I went to the doctor,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And they told me that my chances of getting pregnant are… almost nonexistent.” You swallowed hard. “Two percent, to be exact.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

Edward didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His face remained neutral, but you could see the way his fingers tensed slightly on the desk, the only sign that your words had truly registered.

“I know how much you wanted a grandchild,” you continued, forcing the words out before you lost your courage. “I know how important it is to secure the next generation of the monarchy. And I-” Your voice broke, and you quickly pressed your lips together, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes locked onto yours. And then, finally, he exhaled.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Edward pushed his chair back slightly and gestured for you to step closer. “Come here, Y/N.”

Your legs felt stiff, almost reluctant to move, but somehow, you found yourself stepping toward him.

As soon as you were close enough, Edward did something you never expected.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms.

You froze.

You had never hugged Edward before. In fact, you had never seen him as anything other than a king - a ruler, a strategist, a man who commanded respect in every room he entered. But right now, in this moment, he wasn’t King Edward.

He was simply a father.

Your father-in-law.

Your breath hitched as his arms tightened around you, firm yet careful, as if shielding you from the weight of your own pain.

“You must have been terrified to tell me this,” he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

That was all it took for the dam to break.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched onto him, burying your face into his shoulder. All the fear, all the guilt, all the self-loathing you had carried for months poured out of you in an uncontrollable wave.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your body trembling against him. “I’m so sorry.”

Edward sighed, his large hand smoothing over your hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I feel like I failed you. Like I failed Harry. I wanted to give this family an heir. I tried. But I-” Your voice cracked, and another sob escaped before you could stop it.

Edward pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. “The ability to have children does not determine your worth. Not as a woman. Not as a Queen. And certainly not as my daughter-in-law.”

You sniffled, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“I won’t lie to you,” he admitted. “Yes, I have always wanted an heir. But not at the expense of my son’s happiness. And not at the expense of yours.” He squeezed your shoulders. “You are my family now, Y/N. And you will always have a place here. No matter what.”

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness.

For the first time since hearing the news, you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Edward - the King - wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed.

He was just there. Holding you, reassuring you, giving you the fatherly support you had never truly expected from him.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry this burden alone.

With a shaky breath, you tightened your grip around him, resting your forehead against his shoulder as more silent tears fell.

And Edward?

For the first time, he simply held you - not as his son’s wife, not as the Queen of England.

But as his daughter-in-law.

Life at Buckingham Palace didn’t slow down, no matter what personal struggles lay beneath the surface. The world kept turning, the public kept watching, and you and Harry had responsibilities to uphold as the Queen and King of England.

After your emotional conversation with King Edward, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. You weren’t alone in this - not with Harry, not with his parents, and not with the people who truly cared about you.

But even with that relief, the reality of royal life came crashing back down almost immediately.

The next morning, you were seated at the long oak table in the private royal meeting room, staring at an overwhelming stack of documents, schedules, and briefing notes. Across from you, Harry had his own pile, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to focus.

A royal advisor stood at the head of the table, reading out the upcoming engagements.

“…and following the charity gala next Saturday, Your Majesties will attend a diplomatic dinner with foreign delegates from Spain, Germany, and Japan,” the advisor continued. “It will be your first official state dinner as the future monarchs, so expectations will be high.”

You sighed quietly, already feeling exhausted just listening to the schedule.

“And before that,” another advisor chimed in, flipping through her notes, “the two of you will make a public appearance at the children’s hospital in London. It’s part of the royal family’s ongoing efforts to support pediatric healthcare.”

Your ears perked up slightly at that. You had always enjoyed your visits with the children - it was one of the rare duties that truly made you feel connected to the people, rather than just a figurehead in a crown.

Harry, sensing your shift in mood, glanced over at you with a small smile.

The meeting continued for another hour, outlining everything from upcoming speeches to wardrobe expectations for each event.

By the time it was over, you felt drained.

As the advisors filed out of the room, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “How do they expect us to keep up with all of this?”

Harry let out a deep sigh, standing up and stretching. “Honestly? I don’t think they care, as long as we do it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile.

He stepped around the table, coming to stand behind you. His hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. “You’re doing incredible, you know that?”

You let your head tilt back slightly, enjoying his touch. “I feel like I’m drowning in expectations.”

“You are.” He smirked. “But at least we’re drowning together.”

You huffed out a laugh, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

Just then, the door opened again, and Queen Anne stepped in. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, her voice warm.

“Not at all,” you said, sitting up properly as she approached.

Anne smiled, her eyes filled with the usual grace and wisdom she carried. “I just wanted to check on you both. I know these past few weeks have been… heavy.”

You swallowed, exchanging a quick glance with Harry.

“I’m okay,” you assured her, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

Anne tilted her head slightly, studying you in the way only a mother could. Then, instead of pressing further, she simply said, “I know it’s been overwhelming, stepping into this role so quickly. But I want you to remember - you’re not just here to serve the people. You’re here to live, too.”

You blinked, taken aback by her words.

She smiled knowingly. “Don’t let the crown steal the joy from your life, my dear. It’s a privilege, yes, but it’s also a burden. And if you don’t take time for yourselves, it will consume you.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll try, Mum.”

Anne arched a brow. “No, you will.” She placed a gentle hand on your arm. “And if you ever need a reminder, I’ll be here to give it.”

You felt an overwhelming warmth at her words.

Maybe the crown didn’t have to weigh you down completely.

And as you looked at Harry - your partner in all of this - you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

You stared down at the six pregnancy tests lined up in front of you, each one displaying the same undeniable result.

Positive.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, your breath shallow.

This couldn’t be real.

After months of heartbreak, of failed attempts, of hearing the doctor’s grim diagnosis - you had convinced yourself that it would never happen. That the dream of carrying Harry’s child would always remain just that - a dream.

So when the first test showed two pink lines, you had scoffed.

Faulty. It had to be faulty.

Then the second one.

The third.

By the fourth, your hands had started shaking.

By the fifth, tears had blurred your vision.

And now, staring at the sixth positive test, your mind finally allowed itself to believe the impossible.

You were pregnant.

A choked sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming reality of it all crashed into you. Your body trembled as you sank onto the bathroom floor, hugging your knees to your chest, silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

You had prepared yourself for disappointment so many times that the sheer possibility of this being real left you utterly paralyzed.

That was how Harry found you.

The door creaked open, his voice carrying through the quiet space. “Love? I’m home.”

He paused when he stepped into the bedroom, immediately noticing the empty bed. His brows furrowed.

Then, his eyes landed on the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” His voice softened with concern.

He stepped inside - and froze at the sight of you sitting on the floor, your shoulders shaking.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was by your side in an instant, kneeling beside you, his hands cupping your face as he searched your tear-streaked expression. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words stuck in your throat, the sheer weight of this moment making it impossible to speak.

His panic only grew. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of what had caused your distress - until they landed on the sink counter.

On the six pregnancy tests lined up in a perfect row.

Harry’s entire body went still.

You watched as his emerald eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze flickered between you and the tests, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Finally, his lips parted. “Are these…?”

You managed a shaky nod, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I took six.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t believe the first one. Or the second. Or the third.” You let out a breathless laugh, one that was half-sob, half-disbelief. “But after six… I think I finally believe it.”

Harry’s eyes welled with emotion as he let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling as they cradled your face.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice was hoarse, filled with something so raw, so utterly vulnerable.

Another nod. “I’m pregnant.”

And then, before you could react, he was wrapping you up in his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d disappear.

A broken laugh rumbled through his chest, his face buried in your neck. “Holy shit.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Holy fuck.”

You let out a watery laugh, clinging onto him just as tightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands shaking as he brushed your hair away from your face. His eyes were shining with disbelief, awe, pure love.

“I thought-” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even form the words. “I thought we couldn’t-“

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “I thought so too.”

Harry let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “This is a miracle.”

You nodded. “It is.”

Then, suddenly, his lips were on yours, kissing you with so much love and relief that it made your head spin. It was deep and tender, filled with all the emotions neither of you could fully express in words.

When he finally pulled away, he let out another breathless laugh, his hands resting on your still-flat stomach.

“There’s a baby in there,” he murmured in amazement.

You sniffled, covering his hands with your own. “Yeah. Our baby.”

His throat bobbed as he fought back tears. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Harry exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting out another disbelieving laugh.

“You took six?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a teary chuckle. “Shut up.”

He grinned, and for the first time in months, everything felt perfect.

The next morning, you and Harry sat in your private lounge, both buzzing with nervous energy. The six pregnancy tests still sat on the nightstand as if they were too precious to throw away just yet, a constant reminder that this was real.

“We should tell them today,” Harry said, pacing the length of the room, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Yeah.” You nodded, twisting your fingers together. “But… what if they don’t react the way we hope?”

Harry stopped, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I mean, your father has always wanted an heir, right? What if the pressure starts immediately? What if-“

Harry knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. “No. Stop that.” His voice was gentle but firm. “We’re not going to let anyone ruin this moment. This is our baby, our family. And I don’t care if we’re King and Queen someday - our happiness comes first.”

Your heart swelled at his words.

You exhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Harry grinned and kissed your knuckles before standing up. “Let’s go shock the hell out of them.”

A short while later, you both stood outside the grand sitting room where King Edward and Queen Anne spent most of their mornings.

Harry glanced at you one last time, squeezing your hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He pushed open the doors, and you both stepped inside.

King Edward sat in his usual chair, reading over some documents, while Queen Anne was sipping her tea by the window. They both looked up at your entrance.

“Harry, Y/N,” Anne greeted with a soft smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Edward peered at you both over his glasses. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Harry cleared his throat and exchanged a quick glance with you before stepping forward. “We, uh… we have some news.”

Anne immediately straightened, setting her teacup down. “Good news?”

Harry hesitated for only a second before his face broke into a wide grin. “The best.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the pregnancy tests (because, of course, he had insisted on bringing proof), and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

Both parents leaned forward.

Anne gasped first. “Is this…?”

Edward’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying?-“

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across your face. “We’re having a baby.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, suddenly, Anne let out a soft cry of joy, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stood up and rushed toward you.

“My dear…” she whispered before pulling you into a tight embrace. “Oh, my dear.”

You melted into her hug, letting yourself be held as relief washed over you.

Anne pulled back, placing her hands on your cheeks, beaming through her tears. “This is wonderful news.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned and pulled Harry into a hug as well. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

Harry chuckled, hugging her back. “Took you long enough to say congrats, Mum.”

Edward, who had been silent up until now, finally stood from his chair, still staring at the test in his hand as if it were an artifact of unspeakable value.

Then, his gaze flickered to you, to Harry, before softening in a way you rarely ever saw.

“A child,” he murmured.

Harry nodded. “Our child.”

Edward stepped forward, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, you braced yourself for something stern or demanding - but instead, he simply placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other on yours.

His lips twitched slightly. “Congratulations.”

It was a single word, but it carried so much weight.

And then, much to your absolute shock, Edward did something he had never done before.

He pulled you into a hug.

Your breath hitched, completely caught off guard, but within seconds, you relaxed into the warmth of it.

When he pulled back, he cleared his throat, his usual composed self returning. “This is… a significant moment for the monarchy. But more importantly, it is a significant moment for our family.”

He turned to Anne, who was still wiping at her eyes. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

Anne sniffled, nodding fervently. “Yes, we are.”

Harry exhaled, grinning as he wrapped an arm around you. “Well, I’d say that went better than expected.”

Edward shot him a dry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. There will be many discussions about the child’s future.”

Harry groaned. “Of course there will be.”

Anne swatted her husband’s arm. “Not now, Edward.” She turned back to you, her eyes soft. “Right now, we celebrate.”

And as she hugged you once more, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary.

It felt right.

Pregnancy had a way of turning life upside down, especially when you were the Queen of England.

From the moment the news broke publicly, the world was obsessed. The media called it the biggest royal announcement in decades. Journalists speculated on names, gender, and how the pregnancy would affect the monarchy. Public celebrations erupted across the UK - parades, fireworks, even special merchandise with your face on it.

It was surreal.

But behind closed doors, pregnancy was a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and unexpected changes.

Morning sickness hit hard.

Whoever named it “morning” sickness was a liar - because it lasted all day.

You had to excuse yourself from meetings to throw up, sometimes barely making it out of the room before dashing to the nearest bathroom. The first few times, you tried to play it off as nothing, but after the third time in one week, Harry put his foot down.

“We’re telling them,” he insisted one evening as you lay curled up on the sofa, utterly exhausted.

You groaned. “No. They’ll just fuss.”

“They should fuss!” Harry ran a hand through his curls, exasperated. “You’re pregnant and still trying to do everything like normal. It’s not normal.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. So the next day, the royal advisors were informed - and just like that, your schedule changed.

Meetings were shortened. Public appearances were reduced. The palace chef was given strict orders to prepare meals that wouldn’t make you nauseous.

Harry, meanwhile, went into full protective mode.

He hovered constantly. If you so much as breathed wrong, he was by your side, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“Drink more water.”

“Did you eat enough today?”

“Put your feet up, love.”

At first, it was sweet. Then, it got slightly annoying.

One night, after he practically carried you upstairs because you “looked tired,” you finally snapped.

“Harry, I love you, but if you don’t let me walk on my own two feet, I swear I will-“

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “But just so you know, I will catch you if you so much as stumble.”

You rolled your eyes - but deep down, you loved how much he cared.

The sickness eased, but new challenges emerged.

Your growing belly made royal duties a bit harder. Dresses had to be altered constantly. Walking in heels for long ceremonies? Impossible. The royal tailors ended up crafting special, elegant flats just for you.

Then came the kicks.

The first time you felt the baby move, you gasped so loudly that Harry nearly fell out of bed.

“What? What’s wrong?” He scrambled to sit up, eyes wide.

You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your stomach. “Feel that?”

For a moment, nothing - then, a tiny thump beneath his palm.

Harry’s eyes went huge. “Oh my God.”

You both froze, and then he laughed - a soft, awed sound. “That’s our baby.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Yeah.”

From then on, Harry was obsessed. Every night, he talked to your belly, pressing kisses against it, telling stories, singing softly.

“Hey, little one. It’s Dad. Hope you’re comfy in there.”

The sight of him doing that made you fall in love with him all over again.

Everything was hard.

Sleeping? Impossible.

Standing for long periods? Torture.

Breathing? Sometimes a challenge.

And the baby kicked nonstop.

“I think they’re training for the Olympics,” you groaned one night as you shifted uncomfortably in bed.

Harry chuckled, rubbing soothing circles on your belly. “Or trying to prepare us to never get a full night’s sleep.”

The palace had adjusted everything for your comfort - your chair in meetings had extra cushions, a footstool was placed under every table, and a personal physician was on standby constantly.

But the hardest part was the public scrutiny.

The press obsessed over every tiny detail. If you looked tired in a photo? Headlines speculated on complications. If you skipped an event? Scandal.

One day, a tabloid even claimed you were carrying twins based on the size of your belly.

“Twins? Really?” you scoffed, tossing the magazine aside.

Harry smirked. “Well, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. You are massive.”

You glared. “Say that again and you’re carrying the next baby. I don’t know how, but I’ll make it work.”

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing.

Despite everything, though, there were beautiful moments.

Like the time the entire royal family gathered to feel the baby kick. Anne teared up, pressing a gentle hand to your belly.

Edward, surprisingly, softened. “A future ruler,” he murmured.

“No,” Harry corrected, wrapping an arm around you. “Our child. First and foremost.”

Edward looked at him for a long moment - then nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

It was the closest thing to a heartfelt moment you’d ever had with the King.

The palace was on high alert.

Every doctor, nurse, and staff member was on standby. Your hospital bag was packed. The route to the private royal hospital was finalized.

You were ready.

Or so you thought.

Because one evening, as you sat in bed, rubbing your belly, you felt a sharp pain.

Your breath hitched.

Harry, who was reading beside you, immediately noticed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I think… I think it’s starting.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then…

Harry panicked.

“Oh my god. Okay, OKAY- We- we practiced this!- Breathe! Wait, SHOULD I BREATHE?!”

You groaned. “Harry, call the damn doctor.”

He scrambled for his phone, fumbling with it in his panic. “Right! Doctor! I can do that! I’m calm!”

He was not calm.

And as the reality of what was happening sank in, you realized.

Your baby was finally coming.

The moment you arrived at the private royal hospital, chaos unfolded.

Doctors and nurses swarmed around you, checking your vitals, preparing for the delivery. Everything was happening so fast.

Harry never left your side.

Not even for a second.

He held your hand the entire way through the halls, whispering reassurances, pressing kisses to your knuckles, promising you that everything would be okay.

“You’ve got this, love,” he murmured as they settled you into the delivery room. “I’m right here.”

And he was.

It was hell.

Contractions hit like waves of agony, rolling through your body with no mercy. Time blurred. At one point, you swore you were dying.

“I hate you,” you growled through clenched teeth, gripping Harry’s hand so tightly his fingers turned white.

He swallowed hard. “Okay, fair-“

“This is your fault.”

“I know, baby, I know-“

“If you ever touch me again-“

Harry winced as you squeezed harder. “Right. Noted.”

But despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, you had never loved him more.

Because he stayed.

He wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered encouragement, ignored his own pain as you nearly broke his hand. He never let go.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed against your temple, voice thick with emotion. “So close now.”

Then, finally - after hours of agony -!the doctor’s voice rang clear.

“One last push, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your teeth, dug your nails into Harry’s hand, and gave it everything you had.

Then, a cry.

A sharp, piercing cry filled the room.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with exhaustion, but nothing - nothing - could have prepared you for the overwhelming rush of emotion as they placed your baby on your chest.

A tiny, wriggling, perfect little girl.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at her, barely able to breathe.

“Hi, my love,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Hi, my sweet girl.”

Harry made a strangled noise beside you.

You turned to look at him - and your heart nearly shattered at the sight.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared at your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands trembled as he reached out, brushing a single finger over her impossibly soft cheek.

“She’s…” He exhaled shakily. “She’s beautiful.”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Harry let out a choked laugh, his free hand covering his mouth as he blinked rapidly. “We have a daughter.”

The doctor smiled. “Would you like to cut the cord, Your Majesty?”

Harry’s breath hitched.

Slowly, he nodded, taking the scissors with trembling hands. You watched as he carefully, almost reverently, did as instructed - then immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I love you too.”

And then, the nurse swaddled your daughter in the softest white blanket, placing her back in your arms.

She was tiny.

Her delicate features scrunched up in sleep, her tiny fingers curling slightly. A full head of dark curls peeked out from the blanket.

You traced a fingertip down her cheek, completely in awe.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. “What should we name her?”

Harry exhaled, looking down at his daughter with pure, unfiltered love.

Then, as if it had been meant to be all along, he whispered.

“Amelia.”

Your heart clenched.

Princess Amelia of England.

It was perfect.

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded. “Amelia.”

Harry kissed your forehead again, voice thick with emotion. “Welcome to the world, my darling girl.”

And in that moment - exhausted, overwhelmed, but utterly complete - you knew.

Your life had changed forever.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#harry styles #one direction #short story #headcanon #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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casedclosedbye · 8 hours ago

Text

Bottled up

Bucky Barnes x Reader Angst

Wc: 1k

Summary: After bailing him out of jail once again, your frustration boils over as you express how exhausted you are from always being the one to fix things.

It’s been two hours since you bailed Bucky out of jail for the third time this month. You had driven to pick him up without saying a word, your hands clenched tightly on the wheel as your pulse raced. Bucky hadn’t said anything either. He never did. The silence between you both in the car was suffocating, the only sound the tires screeching against the asphalt as you sped down the darkened streets. Every bone in your body screamed at you to stop, to breathe, but your blood was boiling.

You could feel the frustration building, rising with every second as you turned into the parking lot. You were losing it. You were so damn tired.

You slammed the car into park, barely giving the tires time to stop before you threw it into gear and spun to face him.

“You know why, Bucky?” Your voice was tight, strained with the venom that had been sitting inside you for days. “You don’t like opening up even to me. You bottle it all up, and all your frustrations go right over your head! You’re making it worse!”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he stared at you, clearly caught off guard by the sudden explosion of anger. “I don’t—”

“No! Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking as the words spilled out. “I’ve already told you countless times that you can talk to me. I’m your girlfriend! I’m not just here to fix everything for you, but I *can’t* help if you don’t let me in! But what do you do? You go out, you start a fight, you drink your problems away like you’re invincible or something. You don’t trust me, Bucky. You don’t trust anyone. You just think you can do it all alone, and it’s eating you alive, and you won’t let me help!”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced out the window. But you weren’t done.

“I *know* you’ve been through so much. I get it. I really do,” you continued, voice rising, hot tears threatening to spill over, but you didn’t stop. “But you’re not *trying*—it’s always me doing something! I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces! I’m the one worrying myself sick every damn time you get into a fight because you can’t talk about it! I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. I can’t keep giving and giving when you don’t even try to meet me halfway.”

He sat there, silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m so, so, so fucking tired of this,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “I’m the only one trying. I’m the one who gets up and picks you up every single time, and I keep *worrying* about you, and for what, huh? For you to just keep doing the same thing? You think I’m not scared too? You think I don’t lose sleep every night wondering if the next fight is going to be the one where you don’t come back?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to yours, something unreadable flashing in them, but you didn’t stop.

“You keep picking fights like you’re immortal,” you spat. “You’re not immortal, Bucky. One day you’re going to die. You’re going to pick the wrong fight with the wrong person and I won’t be there to fix it, and you’ll be gone. Just like that. And what will I be left with? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Your voice cracked at the end, and a single tear finally escaped.

You saw the guilt flash across his face. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make him open up. It wasn’t enough to make him feel the pain that you did.

“Please, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “Please just let me in.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His breath was shallow, and his gaze dropped to the floor of the car. The guilt in his eyes was overwhelming, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from feeling the hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to let anyone in. I’ve never... I’ve never learned how.”

Your heart sank. He was still closed off. You could see it in the way his shoulders were hunched, the walls so high you could practically feel the distance between you. It hurt. It hurt more than you could put into words.

“I know,” you whispered, your tears falling freely now. “But I can’t keep doing this. I just... I just need you to try, Bucky. I need you to try for us.”

There was a long pause. Bucky stayed silent, the guilt eating away at him. He was processing. But it was too late. You couldn’t stop crying. The sobs came in uncontrollable waves, your body shaking from the weight of everything you’d held inside for so long.

Bucky reached for you slowly, his hand trembling as he touched your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

You shook your head, pushing his hand away gently. “You need to try. *We* need to try. But if you can’t... if you can’t let me in, then I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

His face twisted in pain, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You didn’t know how to fix this. You didn’t know if it could be fixed.

For the first time in a long while, Bucky looked truly broken.

And that was all you needed to see to know that you were both losing.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes winter soldier #bucky barnes angst #angst #marvel angst #winter soldier angst #winter soldier #sebastian stan #sebastian stan bucky barnes

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glasvera · 3 days ago

Text

...Shame on Me

Loki x GN!Reader

Description: The final part, preceded by Fool Me Once... , ...Shame on You , and Fool Me Twice...

You've been sent on a covert mission to distract the God of Mischief himself long enough to foil his plans. Unfortunately, this task becomes much harder when your target proves incredibly disarming.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Angst, reader starts out bound in chains, forbidden love. Gender neutral reader, reader is an expert in covert operations and deception.

A/N: Yeah I uh... ouchie. My heart hurt writing this. Apologies if the ending is a bit abrupt, but I didn't know how to continue it further without branching it off into a good/bad ending sort of thing.

Word Count: 1.6k

“This could have been so much easier for you…”

You flash awake with a start, your head snapping around the room you find yourself in. It’s… Loki’s. You’re in Loki’s room, and evidently you’d been sleeping on his bed. A throbbing pain starts in your head, and you bring a hand up to hold it as you shield your eyes from the daylight filtering through his window, but the movement is accompanied by the rattling of chain links.

“What…?” You stare down at the metal cuff clasped about your wrist, following its chain all the way down to where it’s bolted into the floor. An experimental tug of your other hand confirms that you’ve been restrained on both sides. Panic gnaws at the edges of your mind, but years of practice allows you to steel yourself against it, even if you can’t stop your hands from trembling slightly.

The click of heeled boots approaches from the hallway outside. Every muscle in your body tenses, but you know you need to stay calm. No sense in making your situation worse before you’ve been able to make a proper escape plan. As you expected, Loki appears from behind the door, clad in his full regalia, and he eyes you with disdain.

“Ah… the bird awakens in its gilded cage,” he notes idly as he removes his golden horned helm. He’s expecting a reaction, so instead you draw your lips into a thin line, denying him the satisfaction. That disappoints him greatly.

“I could have killed you, you know,” he remarks as he draws closer. His arms are tucked behind his back, and your eyes watch for any twitch of muscle in the event that he’s hiding some sort of weapon there.

You take the bait on his banter though, morbidly intrigued by this god’s intentions. “Why haven’t you, then? I thought you weren’t a coward,” you spit.

He curls his lip into a snarl before inhaling deeply and composing himself. Leaning forward, he harshly grips your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not,” he corrects you, his voice dripping with venom. “Besides, you are of more use to me alive than dead.”

You stare defiantly into those emerald eyes. He may be the master of lies and deception, but you detect a faint veneer of regret amidst the frustration that flares within him. Likely regret that he hadn’t chained you up sooner, you think. When he releases his hold, pushing your face to the side as he does so, your head spins with a myriad of emotions.

There is regret within you as well. Your defiance, your anger, is ignited by raw betrayal.

“Your friends have been detained,” he speaks suddenly, and you’re broken out of your thoughts as you feel dread crawling into your chest. He’s facing away from you now, his arms still clasped behind his back, and gazes out at Yggsgard from the window. Your mission, your whole reason for being here… had he seen through it all? As though he could read your mind, he tuts at you, eyeing you over his shoulder. “Really, did you think you could weasel your way into my palace so easily? You are lovely to look at, but clearly you’re not very bright.”

You have no response, hanging your head low and cursing yourself for not realizing it sooner. Not only had he seen through your every move--you were the very reason this mission had failed. You had let your guard down without realizing it.

“I… they’re still alive?” you finally ask.

Loki sighs, seemingly irritated by the question. “I am a trickster, not a murderer. I have no reason to kill them, so they live.” He explains it to you like it’s a concept that even a five year old should understand. It’s condescending, infuriating, and you grit your teeth to suppress every biting retort that bubbles in the back of your throat.

“We are still to be wed,” he states methodically, clearly ready to move on from the subject.

“And do your subjects know you have your spouse-to-be chained to your bed?”

To your surprise, he winces at that, turning to face you properly. “I had to take precautions. The illusion was slipping faster than I had anticipated. You seem to be too perceptive for your own good.”

You snort. “Comes with the job territory.”

A low, sinking feeling settles into the pit of your stomach as realization washes over you. You are to be wed. In your moment of clarity, you tried desperately to break free, to say no and get as far away from this dangerous man as possible while you had the chance. That wasn’t even the worst part. Had you been in your right mind, had you been with him longer under different circumstances… you very well may have said yes of your own accord.

“It was all a lie…” you breathe softly, huffing a laugh at yourself. “I don’t know why I expected anything else. Illusions, trickery, false love…” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Loki’s eyes find the marble floors before he shuts them. “Love is not something I am allowed. And the heart is so easily toyed with.” Where there should be malice in his tone, you only hear bittersweet melancholy.

At every turn, this man seeks to confuse you, to wrench your heart from your chest and stomp it down into the earth. And at every turn you’ve allowed him to fool you again and again. You hiss through your teeth, willing the tears not to fall. Shame knots in your gut, squeezing your organs like a vice, and your bottom lip trembles.

“You should have killed me,” you utter in a shaky whisper. Your hands ball into fists where they rest atop your knees. “If there is any kindness in you, you would kill me instead of subjecting me to this.”

“I… cannot,” he replies, unable to look at you.

It fills you with unbridled rage. Calming your emotions is long forgotten as your nails dig painfully into your palms and your knuckles go white. “Why not!? Is this all a part of your sick plan? Does marrying me give you leverage against--”

“I WON’T!” he bellows suddenly, baring his teeth when his face snaps towards you. It startles you to silence, and your eyes widen as you frown and your brow furrows. The tension slowly fades from his body, his shoulders slouched as he regards you with misty eyes. “I… I won’t. I can’t. Not you.”

No. This is another trick. Even if every fiber of your being begs for it to be real, you can’t allow him to snake his way into your heart again. It hurts, and you can’t stop the tears that fall, but you can stand up to it this time.

“You tell me you cannot love, and then you expect me to believe that you won’t kill me simply because you can’t bring yourself to?” you retaliate with disdain.

“You… you have every right,” he relents, and that does catch you off-guard. “In another life, perhaps I…” He cuts himself off, turning on his heel and walking away from the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the metal cuffs on your wrists unclasp, falling to the silken bed sheets as you stare down at your wrists in shock.

He was the most confusing man you’d ever met. Perhaps the most tragic as well. It should be pathetic to see him look so wounded, but you only have one question on your mind.

So, as he stalks off towards the door to leave, you launch yourself from the bed. He doesn’t move, simply stopping in his tracks as he continues to face away. You don’t have time to think about how odd that is or why he does it. No, you just need to know. Your hand finds his shoulder and spins him around to face you. You have to know. His eyes widen when your fingers cup his cheek gingerly. When you pull him in for a kiss, you can taste the lingering salt of his tears.

But you had to know if it was real.

Any part of it. Illusions or no, your feelings still ran true even with a clear mind. Still, he had admitted that the heart was so easy to toy with.

So why did it sound like he was talking about himself?

Your answer comes with a sob, a broken breath whispered against your lips, as his hands rise to cradle the back of your head. The warmth of fresh tears dampens your palm. His fingers claw into the back of your scalp as his lips press deeper, needier, craving the warmth and safety of your kiss. Your arm wraps around his neck to keep him close, and you feel the tears falling down your own face.

This was forbidden. To stay with him was to be an accomplice to the atrocities he’s committed to secure his reign. Even if this mission had failed, you knew he had to be thwarted, and you knew you had to be a part of it. When your lips part and your eyes meet his, you can see that same conflict brewing behind verdant green irises. Your fingertips run soothingly along his cheekbone, and his eyes flutter closed as he swallows back another sob.

“You have to leave,” he finally whispers, the words torturous upon his lips when his eyelids flicker open. His forehead presses against yours, and his hands come to rest gingerly on either side of your face. “I cannot bring myself to cage you.”

“Tomorrow, then,” you murmur with a bittersweet smile. “I would stay with you tonight, at least.”

#loki x reader #loki #marvel rivals loki #marvel rivals x reader #marvel rivals #i am not immune to loki propaganda #glasvera writes

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featherlight-touches · 3 days ago

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Hi hello!! I absolutely adore your fics, not only are they so sweet but you're incredible at characterization and dialogue feeling natural which is a big feat imo! If you're still taking requests, maybe lee Sethos and ler Cyno with familial/platonic tickling? I'm not sure how comfortable you are w/ writing Sethos :0 -🍬

AHHHHHH ;;;-;;; thank you so much, that makes me super happy! that's such a sweet compliment you have no idea how much I appreciate such kind words. I am indeed still taking requests! I haven't written for Sethos before, but I gave it a go and this was fun to write! I hope you enjoy! again thank you so much <3

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

“Hey, Cyno?” Sethos' voice disturbed the concentrated silence between him and the General.

“Hm?”

“Maybe we should call it a day?” Sethos sounded somewhat nervous in his suggestion, almost flinching at how harshly Cyno lifted his gaze from his deck of cards to stare daggers at him. “I mean, you have won seven times in a row now.”

“And miss the opportunity for your redemption? Not a chance. I couldn’t possibly take that from you.” Cyno missed the frustrated hand that dragged down Sethos’ face. “This could be the round you beat me, after all.”

“I doubt that.” Sethos muttered, knowing full well he was way out of his league here. Cyno knew that as well, but Sethos doubted he would ever flat out tell him that.

After a few more rounds, Cyno inevitably won another, making it an even eight wins in total.

“Ay, would you like at that?” Sethos forced a smile. “You win again, who would have saw that coming, huh?”

“There is still a chance for you to-”

“No thanks,” Sethos stood, cutting him off as politely as possible, formulating an excuse. “I’m getting hungry, and I can’t play on an empty stomach.”

“I suppose not,” Cyno thankfully agreed, gathering his deck and placing them neatly and delicately back in their casing. “Perhaps when you have eaten, we can have our rematch.”

“Yep, sure thing,” Sethos laughed nervously, already planning the route in his head of where he will be running away from the General to escape another eight gruelling losses of this darn card game.

Sethos gave a huge stretch which was rewarded with a satisfying pop sound from his back due to his long sitting position. He then decided to fix his ponytail, which had gotten a bit messy from frustrated pulls during the card games. There was so much of it, Cyno couldn’t imagine having to maintain that amount of hair day after day.

It was only when Sethos lifted his hair to wrap it back up in the new and tidier ponytail that Cyno noticed a strand of hair had been left out and went unnoticed as it pressed against the back window of his outfit.

Thinking nothing of it, the General approached and reached out to grab the offending stray hair strands. “You missed a bit-”

“EEK!”

Both stood in a prolonged and awkward silence at the strange squeak noise that Sethos made. The sound of birds chirping as they flew by outside being the only noise to break the silence until Sethos finally cleared his throat.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There was more awkward silence.

“Are you ticklish?” Cyno finally asked, breaking the painful silence. Sethos nearly choked on air before turning to face him.

“Huh?”

“I assume that’s why you made that sound, right? Because you’re ticklish.”

“Nah, you just startled me, that’s all,” Sethos laughed, trying to play it off cool and collected as he returned to fixing his hair.

“Interesting.”

Sethos didn’t like the way Cyno said that word and turned his back towards him once again, hoping to avoid any eye contact that would give away information he didn’t want to be exposed. However, as his arms were up trying to fix his hair again, another squeak was forced from him when he felt a tiny scribble of fingers at his back window again.

“H-Hey!?” Sethos startled, deserting his attempts of fixing his ponytail in favor of covering his back window. “Can I help you!?”

“Did I startle you again?” Cyno asked and Sethos could almost hear a smug tone in that monotone voice of his. “If so, you are very easily startled.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sethos brushed off with a frustrated pout, taking a step back from the General and attempting to fix his ponytail without turning his back to him this time. Surely, he wouldn’t try anything now, right?

Wrong.

Cyno’s nimble fingers darted to his exposed sides the second he lifted his arms up again. Sethos was startled into a small laugh and his body violently squirmed away from the tickling fingers. “C-Cut it out!”

“Are you sure you’re not ticklish?” there was that smug tone again, Sethos was certain of it.

His eyes narrowed at the General, taking another step back but annoyingly Cyno just followed with each step which Sethos found himself letting loose some nervous giggles at.

“Goho away,” Sethos tried to turn and escape but Cyno’s arm grabbed Sethos around his waist while his other hand started to squeeze up and down his side. “AAAH! Nohoho! Hahaha!”

“I think you’ve been lying to me, Sethos,” Cyno stated over the loud laughter emitting from other male, letting his fingers continue their assault over torso, going up his sides to his ribs and then back round to his stomach, each spot rewarded with different pitches of laughter and squirms. “You should know better than to lie to the Matra.”

“I’M SOHOHOHORRY!” Sethos howled, his legs trying to move his body forward to escape the firm grasp around his waist, but Cyno’s strength was unsurprisingly strong. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Stahahap it!”

“I’ll consider letting you off with this small warning if you play another round of Genius Invokation TCG-”

“NOHO PLEHEASE!” Sethos desperately begged, leaning his head back against Cyno’s shoulder as he continued to laugh helplessly. “Anything but thahat!”

“Then you leave me no choice but to-”

“Cyno?”

Everything came to a sudden halt, allowing poor Sethos to breathe. He was saved.

“Tighnari,” Cyno looked confused the forest ranger’s sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was going to see if you were still here when I heard someone being tortured so naturally, I came to investigate,” Tighnari took a quick glance of the scene in front of him, with Cyno still grabbing onto a very exhausted looking Sethos. Tighnari huffed a small laugh. “Are you doing alright, Sethos?”

“Sahave me,” Sethos whined, still limp within Cyno’s hold which eventually the General released.

“Now that you’ve learned your lesson, Sethos, how about that game?” Cyno asked before Tighnari placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“I think you’ve had enough games for one day, Cyno. Sethos too by the looks of it.” Tighnari gave a sympathetic look towards the tired male. “You can bully him another day.”

“What!?” Sethos gaped, surely, they’re joking right?

“Fine then. Until we meet again, Sethos.” Cyno nodded before he and Tighnari left the room without another word.

Sethos groaned, already planning out how he was going to hide away for the next month or two. Maybe Hat Guy could help him out?

#genshin impact tickling #genshin tickles #ler!cyno #lee!sethos #cyno #sethos #tighnari #thank you for the request

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shigarakisstalker · 3 days ago

Note

hiii !! I love your writing so much and I’ve been rewatching mha so I stumbled across your page and i couldn’t be happier!

and so I was wondering if I could ask for dabi x fem!reader who kinda has family issues too? like they’re both the eldest and kinda deal with lack of recognition? so that’s kinda something they bond over as they get closer?

thank youuu 💞💘

hi darling! i love this ask sm and i’ve actually been thinking of something similar loll thank you so much! this is a little ooc but eh

hollow home (dabi x fem!reader)

the rooftop was quiet. nothing could be heard for miles except for the echo of your muffled hiccups.

it was one of those nights. one of those nights where think back on all the bullshit and it haunts your mind once again. never being enough, working so hard to fit the role given to you, only to be met with nothing but disappointment. nothing was ever enough. being a villain didn’t make it any better.

but it was an escape.

while your mind was at war, you didn’t register the building door opening to the roof top. a black haired male took notice of your form, especially shocked to see that you were crying.

you weren’t the type to cry so easily. so when he saw you nearly hyperventilating he knew it was bad.

so in his own, fucked up way, he tried to help.

“aye, got a smoke?” his hoarse voice broke through the silence.

you quickly whipped your head around, slightly startled by the voice. how long had he been there?

“calm it woman i just got here. so you got any smokes or what?” he said, almost as if reading your mind. “i dont wanna be out here all night.”

you quickly shoved your hand into your pocket, pulling out a little box of cheap cigarettes and throwing it at him. “have the whole thing i don’t want them.” you huffed, before discreetly trying to wipe away any excess tears that had fallen.

“what’s got you so worked up doll?”

you let out a humorless laugh, “oh we’d be here for hours.”

“i’ve got some time, just not all night. i got a mission tomorrow.” he huffed as he sat down beside you.

you took notice of how close he was immediately. you didn’t say anything about it though, and just continued thinking. “just the past coming back to haunt me. especially on nights like these.”

“we all get those nights, doll. and what might be haunting you?”

you sighed, before tacking a drag of the cigarette he lit for you. “i was the oldest child of my family, and i guess i just over reflect sometimes and feel like i’m back in the pit i once was in. trying so hard to meet expectations and coming short handed. nothing is ever enough. and when we fail missions, as we did tonight, i feel back in that head space. i feel like i cant do anything right.” you sniffled again, water works beginning to form again.

damn it, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. especially with how complicated your feelings were for him.

“i was the oldest too. and i could never meet my fathers expectations. he fucked me up. and i’ve come to resent him instead of pity the situation. you need to fight back against that little thought in your head driving you insane. it’ll kill your spirit if you keep entertaining it. i talk from experience.” he slung an arm around your head and pulled you closer.

“you’re gonna be alright, doll. the expectations set on you are not a reflection of who you are. your worth is not determined if you meet them or not. you determine your own worth. and who gives a damn what other people think of you?” he finished, lightly petting your head.

he then leaned down to your ear, “and if you want my opinion, hand job is a man child who cries like a bitch when he doesn’t get what he wants. that’s not a reflection of you.” he chuckled when he heard you giggled at the nickname.

you sat up and brushed the excess tears off your face, sitting up straight and giving him a small smile. “thank you, dabi. really.”

“of course doll, if you need me i’m here. don’t tell anyone about this though. can’t have them thinking i’m all soft and shit.”

you giggled and punched his shoulder, “alright bacon bits.”

i hope this is okay! i couldnt quite figure out words today 😭 if you want a rewrite i can do that too

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi mha #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya #touya x reader #mha touya

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thiriann · 3 days ago

Text

Ink - Chapter 3 out of 5

You can also find me on AO3

Link to Chapter 1

Rating: Explicit

Words: 4.6k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: Named Tav , Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Divergence,Eventual Smut,Lawyer Astarion ,Astarion Being Astarion, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, Smut in later Chapters

A prequel to my Eggplant Emoji adult mini comic

Summary:

When he reaches the table, she’s leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed yet deliberate. He notices the first two buttons of her shirt are now open, revealing a tantalizing line of cleavage. He’s certain they were closed before he left to order. The subtle change doesn't escape him, stirring a mix of curiosity and frustration. She wants him, he’s sure of it. Yet she doesn’t respond to his flirting or try to initiate anything. Instead, she beckons him with these quiet, calculated gestures, her body inviting while her tone remains polite, formal, and utterly composed. The contrast is maddening. It makes him want to push, to see how far he can go before her mask of propriety crumbles.

On a much-needed day off, Thiriann luxuriates in the rare treat of sleeping in, waking up well past noon.

The sunlight filters lazily through her curtains, casting golden streaks across her room. For once, she allows herself to savor the quiet stillness of the morning—or rather, the afternoon. There’s a local book fair in the center of town today, and the promise of fresh air, a taste of civilization is too tempting to pass up.

She dresses quickly, throws on a light jacket, and heads out, the crisp autumn breeze brushing against her skin like a gentle reminder that the world is still alive and moving.

The fair is a riot of color and sound, a vibrant tapestry of stalls and vendors stretching across the town square. The air is thick with the mingling scents of rain-soaked pavement and old books, a nostalgic combination that makes her wish for nothing more than to curl up in a cozy café with a good read for the rest of the afternoon. She wanders aimlessly through the stalls, her fingers trailing over stacks of weathered paperbacks and hand-bound journals, her mind pleasantly adrift.

Then, something glitters in her peripheral vision. Instinctively, she turns toward the light, her gaze drawn to an old, forgotten bookstall tucked away in a corner. Unlike the others, this one is shrouded in neglect, its merchandise covered in a thick layer of dust. Mold creeps along the edges of some books, while others are draped in delicate spiderwebs, as if the stall itself has been abandoned for years.

But her eyes land on one book in particular, and she can’t look away. It’s grotesque, its cover made of what looks like leather—or perhaps even skin, if such a thing were possible. The cover bears a face with two piercing purple eyes and a gaping, empty hole where a mouth should be. It’s both fascinating and repulsive, and she feels an inexplicable pull toward it.

Kneeling down, she reaches out to inspect it, her fingers brushing over the binding. As soon as she makes contact, a faint tingle runs through her fingertips, like static electricity.

Magic.

The realization hits her like a jolt: this book is a magical artifact. Quite a powerful one at that if the lingering pain in her palm is anything to go by.

She picks it up from the basket, turning it over in her hands. The weight of it feels unnatural, as though it’s heavier than it should be. She tries to open it, but the cover doesn’t budge, no matter how hard she tugs. The face on the cover seems to mock her, its hollow mouth a silent reminder that something is missing. A key, perhaps? Or some kind of ritual? Whatever it is, the book isn’t giving up its secrets easily.

“That looks awfully heavy. Why don’t you let me carry it for you?”

A smooth, familiar voice breaks the spell and Thiriann nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Astarion?” she blurts, her voice tinged with surprise.

This is the first time she’s seen him in daylight, and somehow, he looks even more radiant. His hair is a halo of soft curls, glowing in the sun, a stark contrast to his ruby-red eyes that seem to promise nothing but sin. The day is unseasonably warm, and he’s dressed impeccably in a burgundy turtleneck sweater that clings to his frame, paired with black khakis. A matching blazer is draped over one arm, a briefcase in his other hand. He looks like a model in the midst of a photoshoot, entirely out of place in the dusty bazaar of secondhand books.

“You seem surprised, my dear,” he says, his tone lightly accusatory. “Didn’t expect to see me in the light of day?”

Shame floods her as she realizes he knows about the rumors—the whispers she’s foolishly believed.

“A little,” she admits guiltily, her cheeks warming. “What brings you here?”

It’s a clumsy attempt to change the subject, but he lets it slide, his smile widening as if amused by her discomfort.

“Just had a meeting with a client in the area,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Terribly tedious. But that's about to change now that I've run into you."

His gaze shifts to the book in her hands, and a flicker of interest crosses his features. “I see you’ve been busy,” he remarks, his voice low and almost husky. He leans closer, his curiosity bordering on intense fascination. The scent of bergamot and rosemary fills her senses—soft, inviting, with a subtle spice underneath. It’s intoxicating, and she can’t help but take a small, discreet inhale, savoring the way it seems to suit him perfectly.

As she hands the shopkeeper a few crumpled bills with shaky hands, Astarion’s eyes linger on the grotesque cover, tracing the lines of the disturbing face with a strange intensity.

“Just doing some book shopping,” she replies, trying to sound casual. “Looking for something I could take to bed—I mean, read in bed.”

She stammers, heat rising to her cheeks. To her horror, his eyes sparkle with mirth, clearly enjoying her slip.

He leans in further still, his voice dropping to a low, teasing purr. “Well, darling,” he drawls, the word dripping with seduction, “perhaps I can help you find something you can take to bed.”

Thiriann swallows, her throat suddenly drier than a desert. He’s mocking her, simply toying with her, reveling in how easily he can fluster her. The bully. As if she isn’t already making a fool of herself quite effectively on her own.

“You… uh, you still want to help me carry this?” she asks, desperate to move on from the moment.

“Darling, it would be my pleasure,” he answers cheerfully, his tone light but his gaze sharp, as if he’s savoring her discomfort.

Astarion’s fingers brush against hers as she hands him the bagged purchase, and she feels a jolt run through her at the contact—partly from the fact that it’s him, and partly from the shocking coldness of his skin. Reflexively, she wraps her hand around his fingers, the instinct to warm him up overpowering her for a moment. He startles but doesn’t pull away, his crimson eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“You’re freezing,” she says, the words slipping out before she can stop herself. Realizing what she’s done, she releases him immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the casual intimacy of the gesture.

“Just poor circulation, dear,” he replies smoothly, though there’s a faint tremble in his voice, a crack in his usual composed facade. He adjusts his grip on the bag, his expression unreadable,but before she could question it a voice interrupts them.

“Mister, over here!”

Thiriann’s salvation comes in the form of a small, scruffy tiefling child. The boy stands a foot away, waving enthusiastically—more at Astarion than at her.

“Hold out your hand, mister. Let me show you something,” the boy says, his voice brimming with excitement.

Astarion raises an eyebrow but obliges, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. The child waves his hand dramatically in the air, and a shiny trinket appears in his palm, glinting brightly in the sunlight. It’s a cheap-looking ring, its surface polished to a deceptive gleam.

“Go on, take this ring. It’s lucky,” the tiefling urges, holding it out to Astarion with a grin that’s equal parts charming and rehearsed.

Astarion plucks the ring from the boy’s hand with two fingers, examining it with a practiced eye. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he makes it disappear into thin air, his movements smooth and effortless. Unable to resist, he glances sideways at Thiriann, a smirk tugging at his lips as he notices the awe on her face. For a moment, he preens under her gaze, his confidence radiating like a second skin.

“Weeping, bleeding hells,” the child exclaims, his eyes wide. “Okay, maybe you don’t need extra luck. But since you’re already holding the thing…” He pulls out a coin. “Call it. Heads or tails?”

Astarion’s smirk sharpens. “You can drop the act,” he says, his tone cutting through the boy’s bravado like a knife.

The tiefling freezes, his grin faltering. “I, uh, I don’t know what you mean.”

Thiriann feels a pang of sympathy for the child, but Astarion isn’t swayed. “Come on. This is a Tinker’s Trash scam. A clumsy one,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. For a moment, Thiriann wonders if this is how he is in court—confident, collected, and cutting straight to the throat.

“Hey, that hurts!” the tiefling protests, though his voice wavers. “I’m running an honest—” He stops, realizing he’s not going to convince Astarion, and tries to save face. “Look, I swear to you. These rings are the real deal. I promise I’m not running a scam.”

Astarion turns sharply, his movements almost too quick to follow. Behind him, a second tiefling child freezes mid-step, her hand hovering near his pocket.

“Well now, someone’s starting young,” Astarion says, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Who taught you that?”

“One of the big kids,” the girl answers shyly, her voice trembling. “How… how did you catch me?”

“How else? You’re clumsy. A dead man could’ve caught you,” Astarion replies without hesitation. Thiriann watches the exchange, her curiosity piqued. Astarion’s street smarts are unexpected, clashing with the image she’s built of him in her mind. He gives the impression of someone who grew up with a trust fund—or even noble blood—but now she’s second-guessing that.

“I guess I’ll try harder not to get caught next time. Bye!” the child says before darting off through the book stalls.

Suddenly, Astarion hisses and flinches, his hand flying to his arm. “Ah!” he winces. “What the—?”

They both stare in shock as his skin begins to flake rapidly, cracking and splitting like dried clay under the sun.

“No!” he snarls, his voice furious but tinged with unmistakable fear. “This can’t be happening.”

Before Thiriann can react, he turns on his heel, his movements quick and panicked. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he says, his tone clipped and urgent.

With that, he bolts, weaving through the crowd with surprising speed, his figure disappearing into the nearest cafe. Thiriann hesitates for only a moment before hurrying after him, her heart pounding in her chest.

Inside, she finds him in a far corner, his back to the room as he frantically examines his hands. His shoulders are tense, his breathing uneven, and for the first time since she’s known him, he looks genuinely rattled.

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “That thieving rat.”

“Astarion,” Thiriann says, approaching him cautiously. Her voice is laced with worry and confusion. “What happened back there? Are you hurt?”

He turns to face her, his expression softening slightly at the concern in her eyes, though his anger still simmers just beneath the surface.

“I’m fine, dear. Just that street urchin robbed me of something rather valuable. She was too slow to take my wallet but apparently fast enough for other things,” Astarion says with a grimace.

“What? The one just now?” Thiriann looks out the window, but the children are long gone, along with any trace of their belongings.

“We should make a police report,” she suggests, though even as she says it, she knows how unlikely it is to lead anywhere.

Astarion snorts. “Yes, darling, I’m sure it’s on their top priority list to pursue thieving children,” he mocks sarcastically. “The rat can keep it. I should give her credit for managing to take it without me noticing in the first place.”

“What did she take?” Thiriann presses, her curiosity piqued.

Astarion pauses, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. For a long moment, he seems to weigh his options, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he makes a decision.

“I suppose there’s something I should tell you,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “It’s nothing big or terrible, just a small detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally. I happen to be… well, a vampire.”

He laughs awkwardly at the end, the sound high-pitched and startling, as if he’s trying to downplay the weight of his confession. Thiriann blinks, processing his words.

Her heart begins to race as the pieces fall into place. But instead of fear, she feels a strange sense of relief—as if she’s finally seeing the real him. His glinting fangs, his ruby-red eyes—there was never any room for doubt, was there?

Vampires aren’t exactly unheard of. Not since a group of monster hunters freed thousands of them from their tyrannical master centuries ago, allowing them to walk freely among the living. There are even entire cities and villages populated solely by vampires. Still, they aren’t exactly liked, and most people still fear them. His apprehension is understandable.

Gods damn it, she mentally groans. I owe Shadowheart a twenty.

“Yes, I suppose it’s obvious,”she says, her tone dry but not unkind.

Astarion looks taken aback for a moment, as if he’d been bracing for a very different reaction. His eyes flicker with something—relief? Or is it fear? —before his usual mask of confidence slides back into place.

“Right. Well then,” Astarion replies, clearly relieved she isn’t screaming or running for the door.

“But how come you were walking in the sun up until now?” she asks, tilting her head in a way that looks oddly adorable.

“That’s the thing,” he says, looking mildly embarrassed. “I had this ring—enchanted to allow me to resist the sun’s rays. And now it seems that street urchin’s made off with it.”

Thiriann raises an eyebrow. “A Ring of Resistance? You had a Ring of Resistance? Isn’t that incredibly rare?”

“Maybe a hundred years ago,” he scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Now you can find them in almost every city in the Underdark. The drow started mass-producing them once they figured out it stops them from getting irritated by the sun.” He omits the part about the massive vampire population from the Underdark that also benefited from them.

“I have more at home,” he continues. “But for now, I’m forced to huddle up here until nightfall.” He grimaces, clearly unhappy with the situation.

Thiriann nods, glancing around the café, her expression thoughtful. “Alright then. Where should we sit?”

Astarion stares, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. For a moment, he looks genuinely confused, as if suddenly remembering they’ve been having this rather revealing conversation in the corner of a public establishment. To their credit, the baristas are studiously avoiding eye contact, pretending they haven’t overheard every single word.

The creak of a chair draws his attention, and he sees Thiriann setting her purse down on a small table tucked into an inner corner of the café. She looks up at him, her smile warm and unbothered.

“As much as I appreciate self-sacrifice,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm, “this isn’t your problem, darling. You shouldn’t waste your precious daylight hours skulking about in the shadows with me.”

“Is that your way of weaseling out of buying me that coffee you promised?” she asks, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

He huffs, a sound that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “Well, since you’re so earnestly seeking my company, I suppose I’ll just have to allow it,” He strikes a pose, ever the picture of condescending magnanimity.

“How do you take it?” His question, as always, carries a salacious undertone, but Thiriann is getting better at ignoring it. Mostly.

“White, two sugars. Please,” she adds quickly, her politeness almost endearing.

The word please lingers in the air, and for a moment, Astarion can’t help but picture her saying it in a myriad of entirely different contexts. He smirks, shaking off the thought as he heads to the counter to place their order.

On the way back to their table, Astarion feels a pang of trepidation. He’s prepared for the inevitable barrage of vampire-related questions. Over the years, he’s automated most of the answers in his head, but he still doesn’t particularly like them. Each question tends to dredge up a myriad of miserable memories—an old, tedious, uncomfortable routine he’s learned to live with.

He catches her watching him, her gaze lingering on his crimson eyes, which burn with a hunger he’s all too familiar with.

“You’re staring, darling,” he says, his voice low and teasing, as he slides into his seat.

“So are you,” she counters, refusing to be the only one flustered. Her cheeks flush faintly, but she maintains eye contact, her lips curving into a small, defiant smile.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression, something that makes her heart skip a beat.

“I can’t help it,” he admits, his voice softening. “You’re… intriguing.”

His fang catches on his bottom lip as he speaks, and for a moment, she wonders if she’d be able to feel them if they kissed. The thought shocks her, and she shakes her head, trying to push the unexpected, intrusive image aside.

To fill the silence, she asks the first thing that comes to mind. “So, what made you pursue law?”

“What?” he replies, caught off guard.The question is so far from what he expected that it takes him a moment to process.

“You’re a lawyer, right?” she asks, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

“Ah, well. I used to be a magistrate, a long time ago,” he starts, a shadow passing over his features. “But then I had to… retire. Rather… forcefully.”

He pauses, his crimson eyes flickering with a distant thought. “I suppose returning to law felt like reclaiming something I’d lost.”

There’s a melancholy in his tone that he doesn’t bother to hide, and for a moment, the mask slips, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath.

She nods, taking a sip of her latte. “So, do you enjoy it?”

“Gods, no.” His abrupt answer makes her snort with laughter into her cup.

“The paperwork never ends,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock despair, “and neither do the ceaseless grievances over the smallest things.”

He leans back in his chair, his smirk returning. “But I suppose there's a certain satisfaction in taking down corrupt, abusive bastards.

“And every now and then, someone’s ready to fight to the death over something trivial,” Astarion says, his smirk widening. “So that makes for a fine entertainment.”

He snickers, and Thiriann silently questions exactly what kind of lawyer he is but decides not to voice it. Instead, she takes another sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful.

“What about you, darling? How did you end up… where you are?” he asks, smoothly redirecting the conversation.

“I went to a wizards’ academy,” she begins, her tone matter-of-fact. “Graduated and enlisted in the army.”

“The army?Really?” He scrutinizes her, a judgmental eyebrow arching high. “You’re hardly what I’d picture as the soldier type.”

She’s small, slim, and while she seems fit, she’s not muscular by any standard.

“And the everyday lawyer is not how I pictured the vampire type,” she counters, her tone dry. “But here we are.”

“Touché,” he concedes with a mock bow of his head.

“I traveled all over the world while deployed,” she continues, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug, savoring the remaining warmth. “Then I came back home and needed a job.”

“And you chose… office supplies?” Astarion asks, his bewilderment slipping through despite his efforts to mask it.

“I needed any job,” she says, taking another sip. “I was down on my luck, running out of savings, when I ran into an old acquaintance, Minthara. She hired me immediately.”

“Ah, good old-fashioned nepotism. Nothing like knowing people in high places,” he comments dryly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“It does have its perks,” Thiriann admits, her smile turning devilish before her eyes sadden. “No one is dying to hire a ‘devil-kin,’ especially one with no experience in their field.”

Astarion’s smirk falters for a moment, but he doesn’t press further.

“Don’t take me wrong, it’s a very good job,” she adds quickly, “There’s something very peaceful about working around all those books. And I’m always learning something new. About history, about different cultures… even about obscure magical theories. You never know what you might stumble across in the back room.”

“Doesn’t it ever get, oh, I don’t know… tedious?” he asks, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, knowing full well the answer.

Thiriann smiles, batting her eyelashes innocently before her expression shifts into one that clearly says, You fucking bet.

The two of them linger in the café for a while longer, their conversation meandering from work to travel to the absurdities of life. Astarion finds himself surprised by how easily the words flow between them, how her laughter,soft and genuine,draws him in. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, not truly. Yet here he is, leaning forward in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips as he recounts a particularly ridiculous story from his earlier centuries of existence involving three minotaurs and a spectator. Thiriann listens intently, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he realizes he’s actually having fun.

By the time they part ways, the sun has dipped below the horizon, and the streets are bathed in the warm glow of streetlights.

“And then what? I want all the juicy details,” Karlach asks, plopping a glass of wine on the bar counter with a grin that could only be described as trouble.

“What details?” Astarion asks, feigning ignorance as he picks up his glass of wine. He swirls it delicately, breathing in its deep aroma. It tastes like vinegar, it always does, but at least it smells nice.

“Come on, fangs,” Karlach presses, beginning to dry some washed mugs. “What happened when you walked her home?”

“I, uh…” Astarion pauses, his usual confidence faltering. Despite Thiriann’s obvious interest in him, he isn’t sure if his advances would truly be welcomed. For the first time in a long time, he feels uncertain—unsure if he still has the charm he once relied on so heavily.

“Oh, Astarion,” Karlach groans, her face etched with deep disappointment. “Don’t tell me you didn’t walk her home.”

He remains silent, unwilling to admit the truth: that he hesitated, that he second-guessed himself.

“You can’t be serious,” she continues, her voice rising in exasperation. “When was the last time you actually went on a date?”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business,” Astarion grumbles. He crosses his arms defensively, avoiding her gaze.

Despite Karlach’s obnoxious nosing into his affairs, she manages to make him pause and think. When was the last time he’d been on a date? The last time he’d walked someone home? Once upon a time, he’d been compelled to take everyone home with him.

Lost in thought, he barely registers Karlach hissing angrily under her breath.

“That’s it,” she declares, tossing the dishrag onto the counter with a sharp flick of her wrist. She plants her hands on her hips, her fiery eyes locking onto his. “We’re doing a romcom marathon this weekend at mine. And you will be bringing beer.”

Astarion grimaces, his nose wrinkling in annoyance. “By the gods, you have no manners at all,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words. “But fine, if you insist on wasting my weekend, at least turn on the heater this time. It’s always freezing at your place.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Karlach shoots back, rolling her eyes. “Maybe if you bring a date, you’ll have someone to keep you warm.”

“Charming,” Astarion responds flatly. “But I’d rather not subject anyone to your taste in ‘entertainment’.”

“Hey!” Karlach barks, pointing a finger at him. “My taste is impeccable, thank you very much. And don’t think I won’t notice if you try to sneak out halfway through ‘Love Actually.’”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion replies, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggests otherwise.

—--

Thiriann walks out of her shower, her hair damp and tangled as she towels it dry. Her eyes land on the bag she’d carelessly tossed by the couch earlier, and she feels a familiar pull of curiosity. With a heavy sigh, she sits down and pulls out the book, turning it over in her hands.

In the dim light of her living room, the book looks even creepier than before. A faint purple glow oozes from its edges, like tendrils of smoke curling into the air. The face on the cover seems to watch her, its hollow eyes and gaping mouth unsettling in the stillness of the night.

She grabs her laptop and quickly logs into the university’s database. By now, the list of known magical artifacts is practically public knowledge, and it doesn’t take long for her to find what she’s looking for. The image of the book matches perfectly: ‘The Necromancy of Thay’. According to the records, it can only be opened with a Dark Amethyst.

Humming to herself, Thiriann wonders if she might still have one tucked away in her attic. Gods know she’s collected every trinket and oddity during her travels—surely a Dark Amethyst isn’t out of the question.

The book is listed as one of the more dangerous items, but without a codex to fully unlock its power, it’s considered only a minor threat to civilians. It mainly teaches its owner to speak with the dead. It is supposedly useful in the medical field, criminal investigations, and… law, apparently.

Her thoughts drift to Astarion, and how his eyes had lit up when he saw the book. Did he know what it was? Was that why he’d shown such interest? She isn’t sure, but she wishes she’d asked. Then again, maybe she should stop thinking about Astarion altogether.

But that’s easier said than done. He has a way of worming into her mind, lingering there. They’d talked for hours today, long after the sun had set, discussing everything and nothing. He’s charming, of course,that’s no surprise,but there’s more to him. He’s also witty, funny, with a dry, sharp sense of humor that could slice through a grown man like a blade.

Thiriann can’t help but feel drawn to him. She wants to get to know him further. Despite his air of confidence and charm, there’s a certain strain about him, a lingering sadness he carries and it pulls at her in ways she doesn’t fully understand.

It’s in the subtle shadows that flicker across his eyes, the tremble in his voice when he speaks of his past. She finds herself wanting to understand the complexities that lie beneath his carefully constructed facade.

But a nagging voice whispers in the back of her mind that it’s unwise to get romantically interested in a client.Crossing such boundaries is a dangerous game to play. Still, as she lies awake, her mind keeps circling back to him, to the way he makes her feel both intrigued and unsettled. She tells herself to focus, to stay professional, but the pull is there, undeniable and growing stronger with every passing moment.

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