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ordophilosophicus · 2 days

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What it means to be a Moreau:

An essay and analysis of Jean Moreau's character-conflict (Aftg and TSC - spoilers)

What this will not be about: The actual content of the book. Ok, that's not fully true. I am not about to discuss if something that happens itself is good/bad, in character etc. Or criticize topics.

What this will be is an analysis of parallels, character-motifs and questions concerning their trajectory and hindsight of actions. Questions AND Ideas how to answer these questions.

What does it mean when Jean states "I am a Moreau '', Why does TSC feel a bit like a crunched up Aftg? What constitutes the actual conflict of Jean - since either choice (staying or leaving) appears to be certain death? Why does Rikos death and Kevin's betrayal (the hand thing) matter to Jean?

The book came out and my heart went racing. These books (aftg and tsc) bring me great joy, all I will criticize and analyze in this tiny, a bit too long essay, is said with greatest love and sincerity towards these books. But there can be said a lot - especially about TSC.

Get a snack and hop on.

Parallels between aftg and tsc - Stories about identity:

First of all let's begin with Nora's great writing of POV's. In this book we do get two pov's, giving us contrast to Neils in Aftg. Meaning we see the world, the characters from three different perspectives. And Nora makes them all matter. In the end I will tie it back with interpreting Jeremys pov, but for now let's only look at Neils and Jeans. A lot of characterization is made by what is focused on in their respective povs. What characters are interesting, how much rumination (thought) vs action is expressed. Both are unreliable narrators, and both tell us so much about what matters to them.

Both Aftg (Neils arc) and TSC (Jeans arc) are about the loss and gain of identity. From the retrospective, the arc consists of questions such as: Who am I?; Can I change who I am?; and what am I worth? But both arcs start with a clear sense of identity which is threatened.

However, somehow Neils arc is more concise and clear cut. Of course, part of this can be attributed to the simple fact that there will be a (second and maybe third part) to come for TSC, but it's mainly the groundworks I think which are "lacking". They are not necessarily lacking but rather not as (clear/spelled out).

The theme of "Identity" is special, since the stakes in the book/ark are about identity and its loss. Other stakes (death, loss of friendship, love etc) are not the main focus. The characters struggle and peril is about the loss of identity, which would mark a step into an unknown world they cannot navigate, and bring other dangers they avoided or dealt with the current identity. (Example: Lying vs telling the truth. Former obstructs the consequences of the truth, the later means you need to deal with the consequences.) On the other hand, it is the alternative identity which provides something of interest for the charatcer, creating a conflict of WANTING and perception of SELF. They WANT friends, but would need to GIVE UP their former sense of protection.

We are introduced to Neil Josten, and his very solid perception of identity. He is "nothing" = He has no right and no attachment to anything. He is a liar and alone. The conflict is created by offering him Exy and later on a team. Security stands in conflict with ending his loneliness and the feeling of not mattering. Nora introduces this conflict very early and very clearly. It is what makes us sympathize and, more importantly, understand and buy into the crazy thing Neil does to keep his secrets.

However, there is another identity which rides that one of "Neil Josten." Nathaniel Wesninski, the identity attached to that name, becomes more prominent throughout the books, and in the end, Neil needs to accept this identity to move on.

Nathaniel Wesninski's identity is very much spelled out in AFTG and it must be so, to make this shift of identity so impactful. A Wesninski is: loyal, does not lie, cruel but true. The very opposite of Neil Josten.

Nathaniel Wesninski is tied to the Moriamas, and is tied to his father. To pain, loss and a life of consequences and responsibility. (Not to run). The stake to shift to this identity (to be this person) is made clear by showing throughout the books how each of these parts are dangerous. And every step Neil takes (especially in the first and second book) is to avoid having to lose Neil Josten and be Wesnisnki.

And it works excellently. We fear WITH Neil when he makes the shift to Wesnisnki in Lolas car, and it is an epiphany when Riko dies and Neils makes a deal with Ichiro. When he wins in Exy and can play Exy. Because he not only shifted in the identity, he did not lose Neil Josten. He successfully changed to a Wesninski, to then further to a NEW Neil Josten. (Important: It's not losing an identity, which makes the arc powerful. It's the change of self. Nora is very explicit by making it a three step program. Josten. Wesninski, and "New" Josten.) We see what is the conflict, we get the stakes, and we see how Neil resolves the problems and takes on a new, stronger identity.

TSC is about Jean and a similar problem. However the swap, or rather the whole conflict does not appear as strong as with Neil. And the reasons for it are very simple, though still relevant for the trajectory of the story and possibility for the reader to emphasize and root for Jean.

TSC starts out with the bonus that we are already entranced with the fate of Jean and understand The Nest and Riko. However, what we do not know is Jeans' identity. Who does he think he is?; What stakes does he think hinge on being "Jean Moreau, the Raven, belonging to the Moriyamas' '? WHY is it so tremendous to leave the Nest, and what does he have to gain? What is the trade and what is the challenge? Etc. All that we have established with the Neil example prior.

Through Jean's mantra we get told that Jean has some kind of values attached to being "a Moreau '' and being "part of the Nest/belonging to the Moriyamas". The fatal problem is, we are never told what this actually means.

As readers we can understand why Jean is afraid to leave the nest, what Riko has done and could do to them. But this does not create the conflict we are looking for and plays out in the book. The conflict is happening, but the pov Nora gives us through Jean does not sufficiently explain what this conflict actually is about.

The answer is given implicitly and between the lines. These few bits I will try to spell out and interpret. Further, there could be a stronger case in certain scenarios, to make the conflict around Jeans identify stronger, and his relation to other characters more impactful.

First let's consider:

"What does it mean to be a Moreau?"

When Jean realizes he had been taken from Evermore, he tries to bargain with others and himself that he cannot leave. "Because he is a Moreau", and he belongs to Riko/the Moriyamas. But we are not let in WHY this exactly is a problem. Oh no, how horrible to not be beaten to death. If Jean leaves, Riko and his family will be angry and could try killing him. But the same appears to be possible if he GOES BACK. The whole first chapters establish that Jean is neither safe in nor outside the nest. (He might think it's safer inside, but for the reader, it is clear this being not the case.)

Therefore, this conflict is not of external stakes, but internal. If Jean leaves, it would mean breaking with his identity, losing himself, creating or letting in problems he formerly avoided or dealt with through the identity he is trying to keep. It is essential that we understand WHAT HE IS TRYING TO UPHOLD.

Duty and being reliable:

I think we can define "being a Moreau" by being a person who has a strong sense of duty. Who is reliable and sensible. I mainly read this from the fact that Jean asks Jeremy to add "being conform with USC appearance" to his contract. He has a duty to serve Ichiro, and by putting conformity in the contract, by extension he has a duty to be conform.

""You will have to pen it in," Jean said. "I won't sign it unless you do." It was the only way this worked: If Jean signed something that said he had to behave to be allowed to stay on the lineup, he could bite his tongue and stay his fists. It'd piss him off beyond telling, but he could follow orders if it meant surviving another day." p.71(kindle)

But this does not fully explain why breaking with the ravens is problematic for Jean in the beginning of TSC. Nora has not forgotten or overseen this, but it's not explicitly put in the text. Jeans backstory is about being sold to the Moriyamas. He is given the duty by his parents to serve Moriyama. Nora had portrayed it very much in a way that Jean was very reluctant to do. Although understandable, I propose to read this character more strongly. Make this matter more:

Jean is an older brother, prior to being sold, he had already understood himself as a reliable and dutiful person. An older brother to take care of his baby sister. A Moreau to in the future take care of business. resourceful and reasonable. Dutiful and compliant.

When he is told by his parents he is sold "as Moreau" - not as anybody, he is sold with a duty to represent and pay off the depth(?) of his family. Perform on the court, show the worth, protect his family, his baby sister.

His place at Evermore and belonging to Riko would be/is tied to his understanding of being a Morou. Leaving Evermore, would mean to not fulfill his duty, to give up, to be unreliable, since his parents and his sister counted on him.

If we accept "duty" and "reliability" to stand in the center of Jean's identity and conflicts, all other relationships and actions are to be seen from the perspective of Jean trying to protect this identity and stay conform with it. Most notably this strengthens both the events and dynamic between Jean and Kevin, and Jean and Riko respectively.

Riko & The Ravens:

Imagine Jean had been brought to the Nest, unwilling, hurt by betrayal, but with a strong sense of duty to go through with this. Take this burden given to him, and perform. Riko would have picked up on this. The amount of violence, the "breaking in" of Jean was not simply cruelty or any weird family feud thing. It was Rikos testing, an attempt to break Jean's sense of self. If he would not be able to perform on court, not achieve it - he would break his promises. Jean's small but consistent rebellions against Riko are an expression to keep his duty. He plays games even if he is hurt, he does not kill himself. For Jean to fulfill his duty and sense of self(worth) means going along with whatever, and holding out whatever.

Giving up on Evermore is not only breaking his sense of identity and purpose, but also making the pain he insured pointless (as Jeremy notices so fittingly). It means Riko wins by breaking him. His fear of Riko is tied to his fear of losing his sense of self. And him losing Riko means he has failed his duty to play for him on the court. The ravens are described by Jean as "loving and hating" each other respectively. And that nobody in USC could ever understand. But nor can we truly. Why does Jean not hate them, why is he not happy Riko is gone? because it means he failed, and they all contributed to his identity and achievement of his promises. The deal he made with Zane was one of the best insights or examples we are given to understand the Nest. To FEEL the Nest dynamic. Survival, reliance, schemes, dependance. Cruel intimacy to others, to know their secrets and fears. If you are not tight with someone (Jean and Zane, or Jean and Kevin) you also cannot find a way to protect yourself. Knowing Zane loved that one Raven girl and wanted that number, gave him the ability to stay away from Grayson and not break. The ravens, and Riko are not only an obstacle to his success and upholding of his promises, they are the means to an end. He needs them as much as he despises them. That's why leaving them, and Rikos death matters for Jean.

Kevin:

On the other hand we have the relationship between Kevin and Jean. We are given more insight on how Kevin got out of the Nest: by fucking over Jean. This scene or event is gutwrenching BUT it could be STRONGER if Jean would have known and been complicit with Kevin. Jean loved/liked at least cared about Kevin. Although his sense of duty is tied to Riko and the court, there would also be such a sense towards Kevin. Especially if Kevin came and asked him, directly. Confronting Jean with concieving him as a reliable, to be trsuted person. The one friend you count on the get you out of the shit. If one can help him, it is Jean. Because he is a Moreau. If we would read it as Jean accepting the consequences of helping Kevin, we would lose this ark of betrayal. But we would not need to erase the discontent and hurt Jean holds towards Kevin. For Kevin would have known and relied on Jean's self understanding, and played him. Used him as means of an end. Asking a person who is used to compromising their own safety, who understands themselves as a rock at a shore and understands the pain and fear one goes through - calling/playing on that is as much as a betrayal and use of a person as it is simple "not telling him". It makes it worse in some sense, because it highlights the intimacy between Kevin and Jean. They knew each other very well, and Kevin used that knowledge, in raven fashion, to survive.

(On the other hand, I would agree one could read it in the original way, Jean not knowing, because Kevin is aware of Jean's understanding of duty. That Jean would feel the sense that he NEEDS to betray Kevin. So there is still room for interpretation.)

SUMMERY:

Okay, okay. That was a lot. Let's surmise what I claim: That Jeans sense of self is shaped by duty, more explicitly the one he holds from his parents to be perfect court, please the Moriyamas and protect his family (sister).

Leaving the Ravens endangers all of this, all his sense of self and all he has done to achieve it.

Riko dying means there is never a way back, and he has failed. It upheaves all he is and wants, even though Riko and the Ravens did horrible things to him.

Neil making the deal with Ichiro formed a new duty, and gave him a way out. A compromise. Play court, but with USC. And still Jean loses a lot, or everything he considered constitutive of himself when he leaves the Ravens and comes to USC.

Whom he has duties to? Formerly his Raven partner, now? Jeremy offers to take the role. His experiences and background make him take duties towards the other Trojans to give him a sense of worth (asking if Cody is ok with touching/flirting with them.)

Neil drags him to the FBi and Stuard, and he comes to know all of his efforts to protect his family had been in vain. And it is that point in which his last tie of "old" sense of duty, breaks off. He cannot hold onto the same ideas and rules, duties and objectives as before.

For Jean, this break is what is for Neil the end of a whole arc.

Whilst AFTG and TSC are similar in theme, they are very different in their outset. Whilst Neils whole arc is about getting and learning his new identity, Jean has to go through that all in one book. That's why we see and feel a great parallel between both characters, but also the arc itself. The telling of information, the parallel of fear of losing the old and gaining the new. Of betraying one's old identity/family in the end, and offer of a new, better, alternative.

However, Jeans arc does not end there. His story appears to be more about healing and the disconnect between outer, imposed, duty and value, and self-worth.

I think that's also why we get so little insight of Jeremys conflict in the first book. We get enough hints that have very likely to do with Jeremy being gay, stepfather, cops, maybe drugs and the family being publicly known. It has to do with imposed identity from the outside, self vs outer worth and dealing with that. We get so little from Jeremy, not only because he is an expert in talking and thinking around his own problems and issues, but because the story has Jean not ready yet. Jean first has to come in the same state Jeremy has been, or is in, before they both start pushing and pulling each other. Like Andrew and Neil could only start developing after Neil starts to compromise and change his sense of self, his willingness to be more than simple lying Neil Josten.

The same applies for Jean and Jeremy. But the end goal is about healing, and creating one's own self worth, rather than becoming a whole new self.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

p.s. I love Kevin, don't touch him.

#woops i had some stuff to say #this was fun and i hope interesting to read?#aftg #tsc #jean moreau #jeremy knox #the sunshine court #neil josten

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junovrsmp4 · 21 days

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three is not a crowd

5 times Chris walks in on you and Matt fucking + 1 time he gets to join in on the fun

pairing: established!matt x reader, chris x reader, matt x reader x chris

summary: what it says on the tin basically

warnings: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, dick riding, oral (female & male receiving), teasing, edging, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, p in v, slight degradation/praising, slight angst, happy ending yay

word count: 6.9K

author’s note: im a whore for both of them. that is all. (also this has plot, and is mostly beta read but i havent slept in hrs so if some mistakes did slip thru my bad

“Hey Matt, have you seen my-” Chris begins to ask as he pushes Matt’s bedroom door open, expecting his brother to either be lazing around in bed or be at his desk, gaming.

What he doesn't expect is the sight he is instead greeted by, of you, Matt’s girlfriend of the last year and a half, astride Matt’s lap, riding his dick while he leans against his headboard, head thrown back and hands grabbing your hips, guiding you, slowly.

Chris is shocked, understandably, and he should just turn around and book it. Instead, he stands frozen, watching the way your head is nestled into the crook of Matt’s neck, your shoulders shaking. If Chris ignores the sound of his own pounding heart, he can almost hear the soft whimpers you’re letting out at each downward thrust of your hips.

At the sound of a soft, deep groan, Chris’ attention shifts to Matt, who has his eyes shut, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There’s something surreal about this scene, seeing Matt, who looks nothing like Chris, but also looks the most like him, fucking this beautiful girl who’s been on his mind for months now.

“Matt…,” he hears you whine loudly against his brother’s neck, and Chris has to grit his teeth, fight against the urge to shove his hands into his pants and fist his growing erection. This shouldn't turn him on so much, hell, he shouldn't even be here right now. He should have run in the opposite direction as soon as he realized what he’d walked in on, but he’s mesmerized by the way you move, your back arching as your hips move back and forth. The slow, sensual, almost hypnotic, movements of your body as you ride Matt’s dick has him clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms and it’s easy to imagine him in Matt’s place as he gets this view of what it might look like to fuck you. Your moans grow louder, and Chris thinks it might be because you’re getting close, and god, he feels so hot underneath his skin.

“Shh baby, didn't you say we needed to be quiet?” Matt whispers against the side of your head. “Can’t have Chris hearing us, can we?”

At the sound of his name, Chris’ heart hammers faster, and he looks up at Matt’s face, only to see that his brother’s gaze was already on him, watching him with a slight smirk before thrusting his hips up, presumably driving his cock deeper into you, making you moan even louder than you already were.

Breaking out of his stupor, Chris stumbles backwards before hightailing it to his room, slamming the door behind him. It takes all of five seconds for him to get his cock out of his sweatpants, furiously jerking off as he leans against his door, biting into the hem of his t-shirt that he’d pulled up over his chest, and only another five seconds before he shoots his cum all over himself.

Chris knows its wrong, wanting his brother's girl. This was never a problem before, because any time he found out Matt liked someone, Chris immediately lost interest. It was the brothers’ code; they never fought over girls, and besides, they always just liked different ones.

You, though…it was hard not to like you, even after he found out Matt had his eyes on you.

Chris remembers the first time he met you, how nice you’d been to him and his brothers, how easily you’d fit into their lives. He’s not going to lie and say he’d wanted you right from the start. It was a gradual thing, slowly creeping up on him before he realized what had gotten him.

You just made him feel so comfortable, and surprisingly, the two of you had a lot in common. But then again, you had a lot in common with Matt, and Nick. And yet, you were so different. You were smart, playful, and so, so kind. You were just the right amount of goofy and serious, and you just, fit well into the dynamic Chris and his brothers shared.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Matt eventually told him and Nick that he was into you and planned to ask you out. It all happened so quickly after that. You and Matt had gotten together and, now you weren't just the new friend that Chris and his brothers were always hanging out with, but his brother's (his brother who was also his best friend, really) girlfriend.

Which is why Chris knows it’s fucked up. Wanting you. And he knows it’s even more fucked up that he wishes he could have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago when he accidentally walked in on you and Matt. The amount of times he’s jacked off to that memory alone the past few nights is insane, his mind supplying images to create his own version of events where he doesn't run away.

Especially fucked up is the fact that Matt had seen him, had looked cocky that he’d caught Chris watching them, and even that fact hadn’t deterred Chris from chasing orgasm after orgasm to the thought of fucking you, imagining how tight and wet your pussy might be, what it might taste like.

Speaking of the fucker who seemed totally unfazed by recent events, Matt sat across Chris, scrolling through his phone, while Nick sat beside him, editing their latest video. Chris was trying his hardest not to flip the fuck out, but his whole nervous system seemed like it was fried. Nick had already yelled at him twice to stop moving so much because he was apparently jostling the table too much, and Matt had just let out a bemused chuckle without lifting his eyes from his phone the entire time.

Just as Chris was about to get up and retreat to him room, the doorbell rings, before Matt gets a series of texts.

“Oh, she’s here-” Matt says, before shooting out of his chair and rushing to great you at the front door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” your cheery voice rings through the hallway, as you and Matt make your way into the kitchen, and Chris almost chokes on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken because holy fuck-

You were wearing a short, tight black dress that hugged the lines and curves of your body just right, the square neckline barely covering your chest. His eyes slipped further down to the way the fabric of the dress cinched at your waist, and to the slit at the side of the dress that came up to mid-thigh. That and the combination of tall strappy heels you had on made your legs look…really good. So good that Chris wishes he was between those legs, licking a path up your calf to your inner thighs, leaving bruising kisses to mar the smooth, unblemished skin of your legs, before finally, finally-

Nick hoots just then, exclaiming about how hot your fit looks, pulling Chris out of his daze. He watches as you bask in the compliments being showered onto you by both Nick and Matt now, and can't help but smile at the way you try to hide your blushing face.

So, it’s completely out of left field when he sees you again later that night, sitting on the couch with your hands covering your face but this time it’s to hide the loud moans that threaten to slip from your mouth as you watch Matt kneel in front of you, his mouth pressing kisses into your inner thighs…just like Chris had imagined doing earlier.

It’s ridiculous really, how Chris had been feeling slightly normal after dinner with you and his brothers, because as awkward as he may have been feeling about you and Matt, being around you and his brothers, having good food and just laughing about random shit made him feel really fucking good. Like everything was normal and he wasn't fantasizing about fucking his brother’s girlfriend. Like he hadn't accidentally walked in on them fucking.

Of course it’s just his fucking luck that as soon he’s feeling just that slightest bit of normalcy, he’d decided to go to the kitchen and grab a Pepsi from the fridge at 3 AM, only to find his brother about to eat you out on the couch.

“Matt-” you whine, as your back arches off the couch, one of your hands moving to grab Matt’s hair, the other trying and failing to hold back your moans. “Matt, please- nnggh- stop teasing.”

Chris feels all his blood rush down south and it leaves him lightheaded. The low lighting in the room accentuates the shadows of your body and he can see the muscles in your legs flex as your thighs clench around Matt’s head, trying to get him to move his mouth closer to where you want him. You’re not in the tight black dress he’d seen you in earlier, but in a blue baby tee and black lace-trimmed hipster briefs. There’s an almost imperceptible quiver that wracks through your entire body in anticipation for what’s to come.

Matt doesn't keep you waiting for long. Chris' breathing grows even more jagged as he watches Matt’s fingers push your panties to the side before he runs his tongue flat up your pussy. Chris can't see as much as he’d like to, but his overactive imagination does the job for him, imagining how wet you must be.

Chris feels like such a sick perv for still standing there, watching with wide eyes as Matt (his literal brother) enthusiastically licks and kisses your pussy, and he almost wonders how neither of you haven't noticed him yet. Then again, you and Matt seem so lost in each other, and now there’s another ugly thought circling Chris’ brain, one that makes his chest hurt a little.

He forgoes his Pepsi for the night and quietly returns back to his room, cock half-hard, and his heart just the slightest bit heavy.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Nick asks him, while his eyes are still fixed on his phone.

He and Chris were sitting on the couch (Chris had been avoiding the section that you and Matt had used during your late night rendezvous), and Chris was idly flipping through his Netflix watch list.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chris says with a heavy sigh, slumping further into the couch.

It’s quiet, and the silence makes Chris look up at Nick, who was already looking at him with a curious frown.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?” Nick asks, and he actually looks concerned, which throws Chris off a bit. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls and annoying the shit out of everyone in your nearest vicinity, but lately you've just been, I don't know- I’m like actually worried, did something happen? Is everything okay?”

Chris swallows around the lump that had formed in his throat and takes a minute. To do what, he doesn't know. It’s not like he’s going to prepare himself to tell Nick what he’d witnessed, twice, and how he was feeling about it. Really, how does one go about telling their triplet brother that they’d accidentally witnessed their other brother in an intimate situation with said brother’s partner, not once, but twice, and had enjoyed it, to the point of having nightly fantasies about it?

There were more complicated feelings lurking just under the surface, more than just Chris wanting to fuck you, but he did not have the mental bandwidth to unpack all that, so that was that. It’s not like he had honest to god feelings-

“See, at this point, you would’ve been yapping away-” Nick says, interrupting his train of thought, “-but instead, you’re just sitting there, looking all sad and miserable.”

“Okay, I don't look sad and miserable,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. At least, he hopes he doesn't. “I’m just tired dude. Haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Right.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Didn't say you were lying,” Nick says, matter-of-factually, in that signature Nick tone that lets everyone know when he isn't buying their bullshit.

“I’m fine,” Chris says slowly, waiting for Nick to stop looking at him so intensely.

“Sure,” Nick drawls out. “You’re also a shitty liar.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumbles, chucking the TV remote at Nick, who flails to try and dodge it, letting out an indignant squawk when it bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground.

This, of course, results in Nick throwing whatever was closest to him at Chris, which happens to be an empty water bottle, and eventually they're just chucking it back and forth, cursing at each other in between laughter.

It’s the most relaxed Chris has felt in weeks.

Too bad you had to walk in at that exact moment.

“Hey guys!” you say cheerily, plopping down on the couch, next to Chris. You’d stayed over for a couple of nights now, as you usually do, and Chris should be extremely used to your presence, except he feels his skin prickle as soon as your close to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off of your skin.

“God, how are you so chipper every morning?” Nick asks, shaking his head with a poorly hidden smile.

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, and bit the corner of your bottom lip. “It helps that I wake up to one of the hottest guys ever, and then get to hang out with his hot as fuck brothers,” you say with a smirk, waggling your eyebrows at Nick.

Chris wishes you hadn't just said that because now his mind wanders (more like sprints) to the memory of this morning, when he’d walked past Matt’s open bedroom. He’d heard the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your voice, whining Matt’s name over and over, which had him stopping right before Matt’s door, eyes wide, mouth agape. This couldn't be happening right? There was no way he’d walked into this situation for a third time.

Chris debates on whether he should just turn back around, go downstairs, out the front door, and bash his head against a tree, or if he should soldier on and just walk past to get to his room.

The sounds were getting to him. His cock strained against his grey sweatpants, creating a very obvious tent. His clothes suddenly felt a size too small, the air around him too thick, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He should leave, run far, far away from his house probably, but a sick part of him wants more than anything to see what’s got you moaning this time.

He rounds the corner and is met with a sight that almost has him falling to his knees.

It’s unfair, how incredibly gorgeous you look straddling Matt’s thighs, bouncing on his dick rhythmically, your head thrown back. You’re leaning back on your hands, supported on Matt’s knees, and Chris watches the way your body undulates as you swivel your hips, ribs flaring as your chest heaves. Every gasp you let out is a punch to Chris’ gut, leaving him feeling winded.

You’re so lost in the throes of pleasure that you don't hear when Chris groans out loud, but he knows exactly when Matt hears him, because his head rolls lazily towards him, his hands that had been grabbing your hips tightening, and there’s little to no warning before Matt’s flipping you over and thrusting into you with vigor.

“Does that feel good baby?” Chris hears Matt ask, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Fuck, so good, Matt- please, please, please-” your moans turning into whimpers as Matt’s thrust pick up in pace. Chris can tell exactly when Matt hits the bundle of nerves inside you that has you seeing stars because your back arches off his bed, hands scrambling to find purchase. Your fingers clench into the pillow above your head, as you beg Matt to go harder, faster.

Chris’ eyes bounce back to Matt, who’s watching you in awe, and he’s seen that look on his face numerous times before, like Matt can't get enough of you. Chris’ breath hitches, because he wishes it was him, in Matt’s place. Him, worshiping you, making you feel good. He wishes he was the one that was ripping those sounds out of you.

He catches Matt’s eyes just then, and Chris has never wanted to punch him in the face more than he does in that moment, because it almost feels like he’s mocking Chris.

See what I have, what you so desperately want…

Chris holds up a middle finger, directed at Matt and whatever god was up there who’d clearly forsaken him. He had half the mind to just yell but the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. So with a scathing look at Matt, and a mouthed fuck you, he walks to his room, the sound of Matt’s laughter the last thing he hears before Chris angrily slams the door and sheds his clothes, pumping his cock to the memory of your voice.

It’s the hardest he’s cum all week.

Chris walks in on Matt pounding you against the wall leading to the garage. At this point, it had to be on purpose. The two of you had to be planning this, because how was it always Chris that ended up walking in on them, and not Nick? Knowing his brother, Nick would’ve gone around voicing his disgust at having caught you and Matt fucking, any chance he got.

So, it had to be on purpose.

Matt’s whispering dirty things in your ear, loud enough for Chris to hear every word.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby-”

“I want to ruin you, want you to feel me for days-”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” and that has you letting out a particularly loud whine. The next bit Matt whispers into your ear is too inaudible for Chris to comprehend but he can tell how much it affects you, because you absolutely lose it just then.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Can y’all stick to fucking in Matt’s bed?”

At the sound of Chris’ voice, you look up at him, startled, and it’s electrifying, your stare. Chris sees your eyebrows furrow, your lips, plump from being bitten (by yourself, or Matt, who cares at this point), fall open. Matt’s shoulders stiffen for a second, so Chris knows he’s aware that Chris is right behind them, but the asshole just keeps fucking going. And you, you’re still staring.

“Chris-” you gasp, your nails digging into Matt’s shoulder. Chris thinks you’re going to push him away, scramble to pull yourself together.

You surprise him by pushing back down onto Matt’s cock with even more fervor, your hands moving up Matt’s neck to grab onto his hair, pulling hard.

Chris watches you cum on Matt’s cock for the first time that night, all while your eyes were locked on his.

Chris doesn't like being angry. He very rarely is. And usually, he gets over it really quick.

Which is why it’s shocking to everyone when he gets cold and hostile towards Matt seemingly out of nowhere, and the anger doesn't subside.

It gets in the way of their work. Filming becomes exhausting, and it leaves all three brothers feeling frustrated and annoyed at each other.

It’s in the middle of filming a new car video when it all goes to head. Nick and Matt had attempted to film a video, but Chris couldn’t hold back the jabs at Matt, interrupting him every time he spoke, insulting him for no reason whatsoever, which only made Matt retaliate just as hard.

“That’s it-” Nick yells, his hands pushing his hair out of his face in frustration. “I’ve fucking had it with you two. I’m getting the fuck out of this car and the two of you are going to stay in here and talk. Don’t even bother coming back in until you sort out whatever-” he gestures wildly between Matt and Chris, “-is going on with you two!”

And with that, Nick storms back into their house.

Chris stares out of the window with his arms crossed, seething. He can tell Matt is looking at him, can see part of his reflection on the window, but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

Matt, much to Chris’ annoyance, was completely calm and collected.

“Chris-” Matt begins to say, but Chris just chucks his empty Pepsi can at him without looking. He hears it clatter against something (the steering wheel, he thinks), before dropping down onto the car floor with a dull thud.

Matt sighs, and Chris wants to yell, because Chris is the one that should be huffing and sighing, he’s the one that’s tired of all this bullshit.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Chris asks, because he never could stay quiet for too long. “Is that it? What the actual fuck Matt?”

Chris had fully turned to face Matt, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed now. His face was tinged pinked, and he was fiddling with his rings.

Chris continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but if you’re just trying to get me to see she’s your girl, I fucking get it, okay? You’ve made that really fucking clear. Did I say or do something to warrant this shit, because if you think I’m out to get her, I’m not, okay? Jesus- do you know how fucking insane-”

“She wants you bro.”

Chris blinks. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I used to catch her staring at you sometimes, and there were times she’d just keep scrolling through pictures of the two of us together- you and me, I mean- and…I don’t know, she’d have this look on her face.” Matt trails off. He looks at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction so far, but truth be told, Chris was still trying to process what Matt had initially said.

“What…?”

“Look, the two of us are happy together. I love her, she loves me, but I think she…” Matt coughs out, and it’s the first time since this whole thing has started that Chris has seen Matt this awkward. “She’s into you too. She never really told me, but it got pretty obvious after a while. And eventually, I- I started bringing you up, when we- um, yeah. She wants us both.”

Chris starts laughing. Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Alright, good prank dude- I’m still so fucking mad at you but-”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.”

Right. Because why would Matt joke about something like this?

“Um…”

“Yeah…”

And that’s how Chris finds himself back in Matt’s room. You and Matt were sitting on his bed, albeit a little far apart, meanwhile Chris had taken a seat in Matt’s gaming chair. Chris almost wants to call the two of you out on the pure torture you’d put him through the past few weeks, but one look at your face has him abandoning that train of thought.

You look so…remorseful. You’re slightly curled in on yourself, like you’re bracing for some sort of attack, and Chris’ heart melts. The last thing he wants is for you to feel upset, so he tries to lighten the mood.

“So, do you just wanna see which one of us has the better dick or-?”

He smiles as you sputter, eyes wide as you finally look up at him.

“There we go,” Chris whispers. “You’re finally looking at me.”

“Chris…I’m so sorry,” you whisper, lips trembling. “God, this is so stupid, why did we decide to tell him-”

“Hey, hey-” Chris chides. “I think I’ve been kept in the dark long enough, actually. I just wish y’all hadn’t used such a weird ass fucking way to tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, she didn’t even know you’d seen us that first couple of times,”

“Oh, god-”

“-And, we kinda assumed you’d take the fucking hint or something.”

“Yeah, I thought the hint was ‘I know you wanna fuck my girl, so I’m gonna make sure you catch us fucking every chance we get so you stay the fuck away’,” Chris says with a raised brow, staring deadpan at Matt.

“Wait, what-” you start, but you’re interrupted by Matt.

“Yeah, he’s wanted to fuck you for a while too.”

And that's how Chris finds himself with a front row view of Matt fucking you, up close and personal. Matt has you on all fours, facing Chris, while he pounds into you from behind, hard and deep. Each thrust punches a high-pitched moan out of you, and Chris watches, enraptured by the way you take it.

Chris watches to his heart's content that night, no longer worried about getting caught, no longer stressed about wanting to fuck you.

Chris watches you fall apart in Matt's hands over and over, and all he can think about is when he can finally have his turn.

+ 1

They’d had to wait for the perfect moment, a night they could be sure none of them would be interrupted.

They'd been planning for this night for a few days now, and it was finally here.

Chris and Matt stand side-by-side in front of Matt’s bed, arms crossed over their chest as they watch you squirm in his bed, their combined attention making you nervous. They’re both barely dressed, Chris in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, the front of which were already tented from his hard dick, while Matt was just in his black boxers. The low lighting of the room made Matt’s rings glisten as he rubbed at the stubble that he’d slowly allowed to grow on his face.

“How are we feeling, baby?” Matt asks you, smirking at the way you visibly gulp. “You ready for us?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at Chris through your lashes before nodding.

That’s all the cue he needs.

Chris stalks over to you, slowly, climbing over the bed and crawling over you, his hands landing on either side of your head as he holds himself above you. You lay back, your hair fanning around your head on the pillow, your eyes wide as you wait for Chris’ next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris asks, wetting his lips, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands close to his nape, bringing his lips onto yours. The kiss is heady, a wild mess of tongue and teeth, because you’d both been waiting for this, dying for it, and here it was, finally happening.

“Chris-” you gasp, open mouth sliding over the hot skin of his cheek as he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, biting harsh kisses into the skin there, before tracing his tongue across your jaw.

“Fuck, fuck- you smell so good, I need you so bad ma-” Chris blabbers, his brain-to-mouth filter long gone. He vaguely registers Matt settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, as Chris kisses a path down your body, laving every inch of skin he can access with nips and kisses. You arch your back as Chris circles one of your nipples with his tongue, sucking on it as he flicks the other. He alternates between kissing and nipping your nipples, all the while, you have an almost painful grip on his hair, pushing your chest harder into his face.

Matt watches your face intently, seeing the way your features scrunch up in pleasure, mouth wide open as you gasp and whine. There’s a small part of him that knows he shouldn’t be so okay with his own brother having his way with his girlfriend, but it’s almost like he gets a 4K view of what it might usually look like when Matt’s the one doing these things to you.

Chris continues his path downwards, fingers hooking into the sides of your panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling them off of you. Your legs instinctively squeeze shut when the cold air hits your wet core, but Chris’s hands gently pry them open, staring at you in wonder.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” Chris groans, before licking a stripe up the seam where your thigh meets your crotch, so close to where you actually want his tongue.

“Please, please-” you whimper, pushing your hips up closer to his lips, feeling his hot breath fan over you pussy. You hear both him and Matt chuckle, before Chris has his mouth on you, licking the wetness gathered in your folds. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the obscene sounds of Chris’s mouth as he eats you out like a man starving.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s sucking on your clit, before pushing his tongue into you, his face pushed deep, you’re sure he can’t breath. The pleasure builds, heat pooling low in your stomach. You feel Matt’s fingers brush against your forehead, pushing the hair that was starting to stick to it from all the sweat.

“You feel good baby?” Matt asks, tone soft, but his eyes glint dangerously. “One of us wasn’t enough for you, was it? You’re such a dirty girl, wanting me and my brother.”

You whine, head pushing against his thigh closest to your head. Chris laughs, pulling his head back to chime in.

“Greedy little slut, that’s what she is,” he says, cheeks rosy and face glistening from the nose down, his chin absolutely soaking wet. “You gonna cum soon ma?”

You don’t even know what you respond with, just that Chris goes back to eating you out, this time, bringing his fingers to your entrance, sliding one finger, then two, into your sopping wet cunt as he licks random paths across your folds, occasionally circling your clit and sucking on it harshly, all while thrusting his fingers in and out of you, causing you to buck your hips up wildly. Your orgasm, only the first one of the night, is fast approaching, and your thighs clench around Chris’ head. The only warning he gets is a sudden yell of his name before you gush all over his face.

“Did you just- did she just squirt?” Chris asks, eyes wide as he takes in the mess that you’d made. His face and neck were now fully wet, and there was a perfectly round wet spot right underneath you. His fingers flutter over your now slightly puffy pussy, watching your folds quiver.

“Fuck, it’s too much- Chris, wait,” you whine, hands moving to grab Chris’ wrist. He doesn’t stop with his ministrations though, fingers pumping in and out of you, prodding at the bundle of nerves inside you that caused your vision to white out. It was fast, intense, and Chris manages to pull a second orgasm out of you before you’d even managed to catch your breath from the first one.

Chris sits up on his knees, reaching his arms behind him and pulling his tank top off, throwing it behind him. He hooks his arms around your thighs before pulling you down the bed, closer to him, allowing Matt to slot himself behind you.

“Can you turn over for me ma?” Chris asks with a gentle pat against your hip. It takes some effort, your limbs feel loose and languid, but you manage to flip onto your stomach. Hands grab your face, tipping your head up, and you see your boyfriend looking at you with a smirk, tongue peeking out to run across his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, voice like dripping honey with a hint of something razor-sharp. “This everything you imagined?”

“Yes- oh god, Matt- I need you, please-”

“You have me baby,” he coos. “You have me and Chris. That’s what you wanted, right? ‘Cause one dick was never enough to keep you satisfied.”

“Ngghh- please, please, I-” you whimper, mouthing at Matt’s dick through his boxers, startled when you feel a sudden smack against your ass, pain blossoming across your skin.

“If she’s already this cock dumb, I wonder how she’s gonna get when we actually get our dicks in her,” Chris wonders out loud with an amused huff, palming at your ass cheeks as he rubs his clothed dick against it.

You continue begging, your pussy soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for what’s to come, hips arching off the bed while your back dips low, shoulders tucked between Matt’s spread thighs as you lick him through the only piece of fabric that is keeping you from tasting him, from having his cock fill your mouth.

Chris smooths his palm down your back, making you arch your back even further, before he spreads your cheeks, seeing the way you twitch at being put on display.

“I think she’s waited long enough, hasn’t she?” Matt asks Chris, nodding his head slightly as if to tell Chris to get on with it. Chris doesn’t waste any time pushing his sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. You turn your head back to try and peek at it from over your shoulder, but Matt has a firm hand on your head pushing you towards his crotch while he pulls his dick out of his boxers. With one hand holding the back of your head, and the other around his dick, Matt slaps it against your cheek, amused at the way you so desperately try and get him to guide his cock into your mouth instead.

Simultaneously, Chris is behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick through your folds, gathering the wetness there. Above you, you feel Matt lean towards his dresser, before rifling through the top drawer and chucking something at Chris. There’s a sound of a bottle cap clicking open, and lube being squeezed out, before you hear the squelch of it as Chris spreads it over his dick.

Later, you’ll think they must have planned this head of time, but both Matt and Chris decide to push their dicks into you at the same time, Matt feeding you his cock, pushing past your lips, applying gentle pressure to the back of your head, while Chris spreads your folds apart and drives his dick into you, the tip catching inside you for a moment, before he thrusts his hips and pushes his dick deeper into you.

“Look at that,” Chris says, smacking the palms of both his hands onto your cheeks at the same time, before kneading at them. “She takes dick really fucking well.”

“It’s like she’s made for it, isn’t she?”

Chris fucks you like he has all the time in the world, savoring the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing in you at every thrust. You stretch around him so beautifully, and you’re so fucking tight, he wonders how he managed to fit it all in you in one go.

At the other end, Matt watches you with soft affection as you suck on his cock, tears streaming down your face from the exertion on your body and minimal air supply. At every thrust of Chris’ hips, you would get pushed closer to Matt, which would push his dick deeper into your mouth, making you almost gag on it.

You have no concept of time anymore, or where your body starts and Chris’ and Matt’s end. You feel like one big mess of limbs, moving fluidly, with the common purpose of chasing your orgasm. You hear Matt’s groans getting louder above you, and you know he’s getting close. You’re not far behind yourself, but Chris still seems like he’s nowhere close to being done.

Pulling your mouth off of Matt’s cock, you circle your hand around the base of it, before stroking your hand up and down, twisting it around the head. You swipe your thumb across the slit at the top while you tongue at the underside of the head, all while looking up at Matt through hooded eyes.

“Cum on my face, Matt, please-” you beg, mouth slightly open, a line of spit connecting your tongue to his dick. Chris' thrusts are picking up, but you keep your elbows planted firmly on the bed below to keep yourself steady for Matt. There’s a tingle building low in your spine, but you focus on Matt, the way he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair is a mess, and his body is flushed. The hand he has on your head grips your hair tight, and the other joins your hand in pumping his dick. It only takes a few more seconds of that before Matt lets out a loud groan of your name, spurts of thick, hot cum landing across your face, and you close your eyes as it drips down your face, some of it landing on your tongue.

Matt leans back heavily against the headboard, and before you can register anything, you’re being flipped onto your back, face still covered in Matt’s cum. Your shoulders hit Matt’s chest as Chris crowds against you on the bed, his hands now on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back against your chest, before thrusting his dick back into you.

The sudden shift has you blinking back stars, and this new angle has Chris’ dick brushing against your sweet spot on every thrust, and all you can do is sob at the immense pleasure you feel. Matt circles his arms around you, one hand playing with one of your nipples, while the other moves down your stomach and edges closer to your clit. The tingling sensation grows, and grows, your hands scrambling to find purchase on Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts particularly deep into you before you finally snap, screaming as your third orgasm is ripped from you, the force of it pushing Chris’ cock out of you as you squirt all over him, yourself, and the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You’re fully gasping and sobbing now, the intensity of your orgasm wracking through your whole body. You watch through hooded, teary eyes, as Chris leans over you, furiously stroking his cock as he soaks in the view of you, hot and messy, ruined because of him, before he too eventually reaches his orgasm, cum pulsing out of him and landing high on your chest, across your nipples, one spurt even hitting your chin.

The three of you are a heaping mess of limbs after, all basking in the afterglow of a night well spent, tired, but satiated. Matt and Chris lay on either side of you, stroking whatever part of your skin they can reach, occasionally batting each other’s hands away and pulling you closer to either side, like you’re not all squished together already.

“We should do that again sometime,” you say after a long beat of silence. Matt snorts, eyes closed, but the corners of his lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Y’all are crazy if you think I’m never fucking you again after I just got a taste,” Chris states. “Besides, I think there’s a lot of lost time I need to make up for, hm?”

After that night, Chris gets to have his turn with you, over and over. Sometimes, Matt is present, and the brothers somehow always turn things into a competition of who can make you cum the quickest, who can make you cum multiple times, who can make you absolutely incoherent by the end of the night.

Now Chris had his own reason for always being so chipper in the morning. It helps that he finally gets to fuck the hottest girl he’s seen, who just happens to also be fucking his brother.

author’s note: i put too much fucking effort into an idea that essentially started as a joke, its gonna be so funny if this flops because i literally stayed up till 4 am twice in a row to write this lmao- anyways, let me know what you think! my inbox is open and waiting for your thoughts (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @kvtie444 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @55sturn @chrisopeningabag

#junovrs writes #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader

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elvirable · 7 months

Text

Instincts

[ Astarion x f!Reader/Tav ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.7k | status: complete themes/tags: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light angst at the end, you know the sex scene after the tiefling party?, yeah so this is it, with astarions pov, already catching feelings smh, smut is halfway through, just skip to after all early dialogue

----------------------------------------------------

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his simple plan crumbling apart.

In other words: Astarion has been struggling to balance century-long instincts with newfound feelings, an undeniable connection. He carries out his simple little plan as intended, but meets complications he didn't quite expect. ----------- A/N: so i hung up my cod medals of honor to write this.. i've been playing for a month now. originally posted without proofreading, but its now edited for grammar and some terms -----

It was hard not to have fun around you.

Something of a child-like giddiness would buzz through his nerves whenever you sauntered over, his marbled red eyes wouldn't dare to miss a beat of the vision you were. Swaying hips and that deceivingly coy face. Of course, you were strikingly beautiful – a wickedly delectable sight – but that wasn’t the only source of his carnal anticipation.

It was just you, the enigmatic little thing you were.

Admittedly, Astarion believed he had read you like an open book the moment he laid eyes on you. It was an instinct of his: gathering a cerebral repository of notable ticks and body language, facial twitches, and octave changes in those around him. Watchful, constant observations.

He had chalked you up to a sort of stoic character at first. Graceful, to a degree, in your manner of subtly balancing the world around you. A stable composure, quick and quiet without brash or idle chatter.. unlike that Gale. You were a less flagrantly repulsive hero-type crafted in his mind – but he had still expected you to be oh-so predictable with a shallow drive for self-emaciating ‘justice’. Whereas the others wore their baggage like a garment, you held your cards close to your chest – like a chameleon suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Yet the sun rose and fell two or three times around the wilderness of Elturel, when he found himself pleasantly contradicted. He normally didn’t dedicate much attention towards someone he believed he so easily pegged, but his interest began to pique. Just enough to leave him sitting with an edge and a consuming desire to peer in closer.

Maybe it was the way your mouth twitched into a quiet smile during his verbal antics on the road or the firm passiveness you held from the blighted village to the drama of Emerald Grove; an intoxicatingly confusing blend of traits you harbored. The closer he watched you, the less blurred you became. You didn’t fear being authentic and enforcing boundaries to those who attempted to use you – but you weren’t cruel; you met the world around you just as it was, without discrimination. No unnecessary harm, no free handouts either.

Or perhaps it was your sarcastic remarks that stirred what little glee he had in him; an especially delicious and refreshing insight into your humor. While he could care to give a critical note or two on your lack of blatant cruelty, Astarion respected your compelling demeanor; he witnessed how all these companions turned their eyes so frequently to you with decision.

But what he did know for sure was the eye contact.

Gods, the first time your heads swiveled mid-strife and your gazes locked with a rich crackle – the memory alone was enough to stupefy him! Something strange stirred, something that didn’t sit comfortably. He didn’t know what to make of it.

With all this said, that same sensation boiled inside his stomach as he mulled over his every interaction with you. He recalled that moment of midnight – when all was still and you had caught him prepared to taste your throat. Your wary stare pierced through him, washing away briefly the desperate pangs of blood-thirst and left him feeling.. nervous.

Ugh, how he despised the feeling.

He was sickened when all those ledgers of observations caved in on himself, caught in his pale throat. He had taken such an overwhelming liking to you – to the extent, he had realized, that he was drawn to your guidance, your approval; a repulsive frustration at the time enough to coil through his cold veins. Without much to say, however, he was adamantly relieved when you conceded and soon regularly allowed him to drink from your slender neck.

His trail of thoughts glossed over your stifled grunts onto the following morning: when you came to his defense as everyone felt the need to chime in with their unfettered prejudices. And how his ease, his excitement around you became persistently potent – a fresh energy that filled him as you spurred on his teasings and whims. Astarion noticed your subtle release of your ever-strong walls, just enough so he could relish in your humor and affable side.

There was always a hesitation at doting on the sensation that rose inside him at these thoughts of you. He surmised he was merely back in the practice; where he spun honeyed words and charmingly guile eye contact, to wrap his target around his finger. Any little edge of control he could grasp onto, the familiar taste of influence he used to know so well. These habits of two hundred years were kicking in. He’d play the part and – sooner or later – this eagerness to please would be reversed onto you.

Whether it was his own willful denial or the culmination of fate’s ever-spinning thread, the first crumble began the night of the tiefling party.

Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful, pungent and tart like vinegar.

Astarion would’ve normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

How interesting, he thought as his eyes lapped up your squinted grin and eased laughter. It was helplessly infectious to see you so earnest, casually prattling on in conversation throughout the camp.

Red eyes followed while you made your rounds, encouraging the tiefling’s dancing lights spell and conversing with the bard. Astarion even raised a brow at the playful expression that washed over your face as you spoke to the hulking druid by the name of Halsin. When you strolled over to Shadowheart and he caught that carefully provocative glint in the raven-haired cleric’s eyes – a chord of jealousy grew taut inside his chest.

He had half the mind to feel insulted that you hadn’t wandered in his direction yet, but that was quickly dispersed when he noticed you dismiss yourself and head towards a wooden crate near the riverfront.

Almost like a shadow, Astarion swept in your direction. Whether it was to merely take in your smile up close or to put his plan in motion, he settled on the latter. You were rifling through the crate that held what could barely pass as wine, muttering a quiet curse about the little tiefling probably pocketing a bottle or two.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence. “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

You swiveled at the sound of his voice, raised brow accompanying your hazy smile. The influence of wine lowered your usual wariness, and he caught the realization flutter across your face; there was no constitution in attempting to act reserved, especially with the rapport you two had grown. Amusement was written all over your face, hardly concealed – you had decided to play along.

“A little treat? You can do better than that.”

“Oh, I certainly can. It would be my pleasure.”

He leaned closer, half-lidded eyes darkening and breath heavy with a mischievous delight. You watched him expectantly, reveling in what would pour from his lips.

“How about this one,” he loosened his posture, as if you both were stowed away from the entire world instead of dawdling along the outskirts of the shoddy camp. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

Astarion watched the smile further spread across your soft lips, the wickedly sweet crinkle in your eyes while you crossed your arms. An exhilaration rose underneath his suave demeanor, even the bemused snicker invigorating.

“Is that the best you can do?” came your quick quip.

“Hmm, let me give it another go,” his voice was thick with arousal, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation – it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

His words clung to the air for a moment. The deliberate onslaught of poetic pleasantries laced with such ardent lust, the hum of the wine – Astarion studied your face swirling in thought. Heat had built up from the lower half of your body up to your cheeks, a quiet neediness wavering in your stance and threatened to boil to the surface of your skin.

Gods, you were thinking, it had been the longest time and you’ve been touch-starved.. more so under the urgency of all the trouble you had been thrust into. You never trusted a pretty boy, but you'd be damned if his flowered prose didn't stir something in you; you had never been the subject of such pursuits, real or not. Desire rushed through you, coiling in your stomach.

There was a beckoning in his eyes as they clutched onto yours, imporing you to draw closer, and his boyish features were even more alluring when caressed by the moon’s glow. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust those flowery words. They were tinted with an air of rehearse.

“Did these really work on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well, they’re working on you, aren’t they?”

A mild bashfulness buzzed through the warmth on your cheeks, as you couldn’t really deny it.

“How about if I said these little words… everyone’s favorite,” Astarion continued, pausing for effect.

“I love you.”

Sly amusement colored his face. He had succeeded in riling up the intrinsic urge, no matter how much you tried to conceal it. How adorable you were when your gaze fluttered briefly.

“Having fun, are you?” you observed, smile holding on your lips.

As he had mused earlier, he was. It was hard not to whenever around you.

Festivities settled down, the entire camp fast asleep once the wine crate had emptied and bellies were full. Only the chittering of crickets could be heard amongst the trees.

The forest, usually dressed in potent darkness, stilled beneath the moonlight. A serene, subtle beauty of the night – one Astarion was very accustomed to knowing, to living . He had done this so many times it had become second nature – the salacious rendezvous, the secrecy and fleeting thrill of them all.

He had contemplated before, the image of you melting in the throes of pleasure. He wondered whether you preferred his hands gentle or rough, what sounds would dribble from your lips – if they sounded as sweet as you tasted.

Though nothing could prepare him for the reality, which far surpassed fantasy; the pretty little thing you were, bare figure caressed by the lowlight, slowly making your way towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

You offered him a coy smile, cheeks still warm and rosy. An ache rushed between your legs at the sight of him sauntering forward, his well-formed broad physique. Lean, yet muscular – and the soft details of his appearance; the crease of laughter lines, the curl of his lashes. Just the anticipation of it all served enough to make you wet.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he leaned closer, desire coating every syllable.

“You don’t have me yet,” you matched the pulse of his words, emanating a playfulness to goad him on further.

Greedy lips suddenly met yours, and you were pressed against the tree trunk. His palms gripped the back of your thighs, swift dexterity almost catching you off guard. You instantly melted, like a puddle, in his grasp; your soft lips just as eager, skin aching and impatient for his touch. You never realized how sensitive you were, how truly touch-starved until you fought the gasp that escaped your throat.

Astarion didn’t waste a beat, carefully laying you onto the grass below while he drawled slow kisses along the curve of your neck. Fervent yearning permeated from your skin; you wanted more, and he was prepared to give you everything .

He drank in the sight of your arousal, eager to please you yet potently roused from the position he was in: you were such a delectably pretty thing sprawled beneath his weight, completely bare and vulnerable. Wide eyes bashfully beckoning him to just taste you.

“Part those precious legs for me, beautiful.” He directed, his voice less of a growl this time – instead more sweet. Soft.

You could feel your face heat up further at his words, following his command without hesitation. Tender hands trailed along the soft skin of your thigh, his intense eyes briefly leaving yours to watch his fingers lingered over your folds – you were glistening with slick , fevered arousal.

“Oh my, you’re already so wet for me.”

His voice was almost a whisper now, as a keen excitement rushed through his veins. A twitch pressed against his briefs, his cock already hard and eager especially when his eyes darted towards your rosy. So willing, ready to indulge his every whim. For a moment, he settled in your vulnerability – a sight he didn't expect to see. You were always full of such delicious surprises.

He shook the thought from his mind, allowing a sly smile to return to his lips.

“Who knew you were so needy?”

Your cheeks flushed, timid lips scrambling to form a defensive retort before he slipped two fingers inside. Only a quiet gasp left your mouth as your soaking warmth struggled to adjust, tightening around his digits. You were barely able to comprehend the words he said, instinctively bucking your hips.

“ Astar ..” your breath hitched before you could even finish, when his fingers began a slow pace. Teasingly slow, you would beckon, but there was nothing you could even fathom whispering anymore. Your walls began to clench, eager to receive his unwavering attention.

Hums of pleasure pulsed through your every nerve, rapidly as he fastened the curling pace of his fingers. Every hitched and quiet whimper encouraged him, his palm soaked with your slick. He relished the sight of your round breasts rising and falling feverishly, your heat clenched around him – his cock further hardened, precum no doubt pooling on the fabric of his briefs.

All you could manage was to focus on the pleasure mounting between your legs, thighs now quivering with anticipation. His thumb slid up to your swollen clit, never breaking pace, to draw teasingly slow circles. He adjusted his weight to lean closer to your face, the sudden attention causing an overwhelming shyness to press your eyes shut. Your thighs trembled more now while his fingers beckoned and lured your pleasure to spur closer and closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard.

He couldn’t place the sensation – of feeling entranced in a sense, when whimpers of pleasure fumbled from your beautiful lips. Astarion almost felt lost, nearly mesmerized, when you kept those pretty eyes trained on his. He could feel his eyes soften at your vulnerable stare, and all at once everything inside him craved to slide into your warmth. To feel you melt into him, to hit every right spot to make you sing, for every sweet prayer cascading from your lips to be for him.

“Mmf..” You were left in a sudden foggy haze, a mix of pleasure and confusion when he abruptly withdrew his fingers. You couldn’t fathom any words to speak, only furrowed your brows in a hazed and disorientated manner.

“I’m sorry, love.” His breathless laugh seemed dazed before the low, heaviness returned to his tone, “You were practically just begging with those lovely eyes of yours.”

He leaned downwards to plant soft, reassuringly delicate pecks across the nape of your neck; each a mantra to affection, leaving a buzz in their wake. Carefully he peeled down his briefs with a wasted moment to rub his eager cock against your slick warmth.

Your moans sounded even sweeter closer to his ear, and a delighted sigh pressed from his lips onto your skin. His throbbing cock was met with some resistance as the length and girth was suffocated by your tightening walls, warm spasms at the sensation being filled.

A guttural, low moan hummed from his throat. Fuck, you were so perfectly tight.

His cock pulsed at the sudden attention, aching with pleasure and a warm buzz radiating through his skin. He paused for a moment, needing to relish every second it felt to be now pressed so deep inside you. The softness of your skin, delicate cues of pleasure washing over your face, how your warm walls enveloped his cock.

You moaned as he pushed more of his length inside your needy warmth, tears beginning to well up in the corner of your eyes. Pleasure and slight pain blurred, the tip of his cock almost pressed against your soft cervix and a rouse of heat traveling up your spine.

His hands gripped the globes of your ass to adjust his leverage, slowly but deliberately digging his hips against yours with each thrust. His body was achingly ready, alive with frantic urge. He was incapable of any pretty words to whisper, tangled groans replacing his usual velvet tongue.

As he pounded quicker into your warmth, your pulsating soft walls sucked his cock tighter and deeper with each buckle. He nestled his head into the nape of your neck. Sweat formed on his pale forehead as he wrestled with his restraint, his cock stroking in and out, hitting pleasure points you never knew existed and relishing in your shameless cries – desperate for him.

Soft, warm pleasure unraveled across you in hot waves. If you had the mind, you could only hope that no one could hear you two – the sounds and wet smacks of his skin colliding against yours – but all you could do was turn your pleasured cries and whimpers into soundless gasps.

Your lips parted, hips bucking before your back arched from the ground. Every fiber of your body attempted to get closer to him, and his to you. Of some act of grace, your hand caressed his face, lifting him to face yours.

Oh, how he wanted to melt right there.

Eager eyes met each other, brows furrowing together into a soft, tender stare. Astarion’s hips began to buck erratically for a moment as he struggled to regain his resolve. Once steadied, he continued to bury deeper into you in every perfect way. You were clenched so tightly, so divinely around him while his name trickled as a whisper from your lips.

“You – fuck .. “ you couldn’t be bothered to form a proper sentence, every whim of comprehension overwhelmed by new heights of white pleasure. You were lulled into a stupor, and his grip tightened at your garbled pleas.

“Thaaat’s it,” Astarion practically begged, voice ragged, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face as it twisted with sweet expressions. An eagerness gnawed inside him, to push you to the edge of your pleasures. You were so perfect while you cried his name, taking all of him so well.

“Come for me, sweet girl –” Hushed and delicate was his tone, only causing you to surrender any inhibition.

Heat wound tightly in your abdomen, lashes wet with the tears trailing down your warm face. Every nerve was wound so tight, finally snapping into a rush of white hot pleasure that left your skin flushed and tingling. You tried to whine out his name, but it spilled out into broken gasps as you reached your fingers to grip his silver curls.

His hips began to stagger, riding out your pleasure until he could no longer postpone the succumb to pleasure. They lost their rhythm, and a low moan rumbled from his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of your tightening walls, pressing into you.

You could feel his cock throbbing in you, as your nerves are slow to fizzle from the glowing buzz, and it swelled. Your slick walls were overstimulated nearly by his desperate, choppy thrusts before a cry escapes his lips – his cum flooded into you, thick and hot. He felt waves of warmth, so real and alive. So helplessly right.

The air was silent, as you both collected your breaths in hurried gasps. Astarion peeled his weight off of you only to roll onto his back, by your side. Your body felt light and completely slack, almost boneless as you sunk into the earth underneath you. Aftershocks of pleasure still rippled throughout your nerves.

Both of you laid sweaty, flushed, exhausted, lacking the energy to care. You broke the silence with a wobble in your voice.

“Fuck, you came inside me..” you stated the obvious, reeling from pulsing nerves and vision hazy.

“I’m sure the druids have something that’ll take care of that..” Astarion said breathlessly, extending an arm to wipe the sweat glistening off his forehead.

He waited for a quiet laugh or a retort, but neither came.

Turning his head, he was met with the vision of your exhausted figure fast asleep. Slowly your chest rose and fell, face at ease – a vulnerability he had only seen when you were in deep sleep, if you weren't tossing and turning.

The quiet sat with him while he attempted to gather his thoughts, his experience. He had seen an entirely different side of you – exposed delicate. Part of his conscience pooled with guilt.

He had a plan. A nice simple plan. It wasn’t foreign to casually bed strangers, seducing and manipulating them into following his every whim. Hells, this had been routine for two hundred years . The count was lost on how many nights he spent using people like ragdolls, only to be lured back into the hands of Cazador.

Astarion returned his gaze to the stars glistening above, attempting his best at reducing it to the odd circumstances or perhaps he was simply out of practice.

Regardless – even if it was more than a fluke – he had already fucked things up. The thought felt tainted now, uneasy and riddled with remorse.

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his plan crumbling apart.

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pucksandpower · 30 days

Text

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

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vulcanhello · 2 years

Text

star trek the savage trade was. so much. there were implications. there were friendships. there were ten thousand unfulfilled ideas. it was not well written but it WAS a ten course meal of food for thought

the most interesting part of this book was the complexity between spock and valek which was completely disregarded even though it arguably had the most interesting stuff going on. for example; when they meet up again after over ten years

varen is her twin brother, which we’ll get to. but here she’s pretty rude towards spock, despite later telling kirk that she felt bad for bullying him/formally arguing against his existence when they were kids. which. okay. only to LATER find out she’s been amongst humans for over ten years. she even starts this little romantic thing with kirk like this

she does stuff like this multiple times. kirk as the narrator even frequently mentions how ‘un-vulcan’ her actions are

i thought it might have been heading in a direction where she also felt like her emotions were getting the better of her as a kid, maybe making her feel like spock was better than her even being half vulcan, but no. it was just about her going along with every other vulcan’s prejudice towards him. then there was this whole thing where she came to take back her opinions because she respected sarek and amanda so much, and of course once spock grew up and proved himself’ she respected him too. but like. there’s so much there. the main point made here regarding all this was that vulcans underestimated spock because obviously spock is great but he couldn’t earn respect until he proved himself in his profession. until then though it was public debate over his existence. imagine your classmate getting up and arguing you shouldn’t be alive. and the only person who’s disagreeing with her is her brother. WHICH.

next point: spock ‘when i feel friendship for you i feel ashamed’ has longtime childhood friends he still keeps in contact with? obsessed. what’s this? you’re not going to include him in the narrative? bro. varen is apparently spock’s only friend from way back and this isn’t even talked about. it’s basically just the reason why valek was angry with spock as kids but she already didn’t like him so it wasn’t like her brother and spock being friends was a catalyst. what i’m getting at is that this author put SO MANY interesting things in the story and then just didn’t use them. ACTUALLY GOING OFF THAT

obsessed when novels mention sybok. this one’s especially interesting as according to her, sybok was seen as better than spock. in the final frontier novel it went that sybok felt like an outcast already, and was noticeably more emotional than other vulcans. spock, who assimilated and became as vulcan as possible to offset being half human, was still seen as less? insanity. i just feel like there’s so much going on here talking about spock’s childhood and then when you read the end of the savage trade spock’s just chillin with ben franklin absolutely uncaring (which good for him. if i met a childhood bully who was now everything she bullied ME for? i would be ruthless. spock elects to lose to benny frank in chess multiple times so he’s above all that)

anyways there was so much the author could have done with valek because she was really really interesting but her and spock almost never interact and it ends up falling pretty flat. LOST OPPORTUNITIES, like pretty much every star trek book in existence

ok one final thing the spock and varen being vulcan lab partners thing was really cute

#sorry i literally want to tear this book apart with my teeth THERE WAS SO MUCH THAT COULD HABE BEEN EXPANDED UPON #and yet the runtime is filled with kirk and valek trying to get togethr 💀#also like half the plotlines of the first half of the book were completely dropped in the end this was NOT a well written book but bro #whatever happened with valek and spock and varen was ten thousand times more interesting #especially if we wanna discuss spock having a single friend from childhood he still keeps in contact with #i think that’s nice that’s something i want for spock even if it doesn’t really fit his character as someone who felt so alienated from v #vulcans that he ended up in starfleet #i would love to read abt him and varen what do they talk about? apparently varen attended the VSA so #they send their upcoming papers back and forth for editing and in the space version of google doc comments they drop all the drama from #their respective workplaces #ok fr tho i think this part of the book would have benefitted from valek and spock having more interactions. i mean she’s REALLY out here #acting very human and the FIRST thing she does is get on his case about FRIENDSHIP? when literal chapters later she commits the same crime!#i KNOW its bad writing bc in what world would spock admit to having friends but BRO. in the context of the story taking it at face value BRO #also. it was kinda funny that in the beginning of the book kirk is so wow mr spock its like we have a consistent and ongoing mindmeld we’re #so in synch <3 #and then turns around and falls in love with this woman because she’s sooo vulcan #sorry! it’s funny to me. what do you really want sir 🤔#ok kidding i thought the valek / kirk thing was kinda sweet #i need to annotate this book and everything because the only thing mccoy did this whole story was have crazy sex with the ex gf of the #guy who wrote candid which. not my fav of the high school lit but #there was a slavery plot that mostly got dropped with the two alien races from the beginning #i think if i could rewrite any book it would be this one because it was THERE IT WAS ALL THERE. it just needed the talent and the time #okokok im done. for now #captain’s log #trek books #tos

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hier--soir · 6 months

Text

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.”

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

“Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.”

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.”

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching.

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?”

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?”

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.”

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you.

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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papiliotao · 1 year

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・❥・IN CLASSROOM 143

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: what is it like sitting next to them in class?

♡ — Content: fluff, high school AU, modern AU

♡ — A/N: classes were just better when I sat next to silly people. That's probably where I got the inspiration for this from. Have fun reading!

AETHER is the living definition of overcommitment. He's quite popular among your peers, so it's only natural that people are queuing up to ask him to join their clubs. Unfortunately, he's a bit people pleaser, so he can never find the heart to turn them down. From music to volleyball, Aether is involved in almost every extracurricular that the school has to offer, and as his desk partner in history class, you begin to notice the toll it’s taking on him.

It shows in the way he's always late and gasping for air as he sits down beside you. It shows in the way he turns to you and tiredly waves at you each class, offering you a weak smile that makes your heart skip a beat. And it shows in the way his honeyed eyes droop as he fights the temptation of slumber, all while your elderly teacher's droning voice lulls him into a state of tranquility.

He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Each time the boy gives in to his weariness and lays his head on his desk to inevitably drift into the realm of dreams, his expression softens. He looks so content. You can never muster the willpower to wake him up, so instead, you leave him be and diligently take notes to share with him once class ends. After all, even someone as busy as Aether needs to set aside some time to rest in their strenuous schedule. The dark circles under his eyes tell you all you need to know about the amount of sleep he gets.

But there's no way the frigid surface of the table he uses as a makeshift pillow is comfortable, so one day, on an impulsive whim, you offer up your shoulder as a headrest instead. Aether agrees gratefully, and from then on, the sweet boy leans against you as he rests. His warm breath sends tingles down your spine, and his soft hair tickles your skin, and although his proximity makes it harder for you to take notes, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

ALBEDO, the boy who sits next to you in chemistry, is studious yet eccentric. He’s known for achieving nearly perfect grades by utilizing his unrivalled intellect, and he’s always the first person his peers go to for help with their schoolwork despite the fact that he’s rather introverted. As a result of his reserved demeanour, he almost never offers his aid to others first, but you’re the exception.

Whenever you look as though you’re struggling, Albedo won’t hesitate to assist you. He almost appears a little too excited to talk to you, giving advice anytime he sees an opportunity to. It's gotten to the point where even your classmates have picked up on his eagerness to speak to you, and they have started speculating that the bright boy is infatuated with you. You can't deny the fact that the thought causes your heart to flutter, but you try your best not to get your hopes up, just in case your peers are mistaken. Besides, Albedo is rather difficult to understand anyway, so it wouldn't come as a shock if it turned out that his intentions were simply being misinterpreted.

One example of said contradictory behaviour on Albedo's part has to do with his participation during lessons. Despite his stellar academic performance, he has a habit of zoning out whenever a topic doesn’t interest him. In those instances, you notice that he pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page half-filled with doodles and begins to meticulously scrawl on the paper. Soon, snowy white is dyed shades of grey and black, undergoing a metamorphosis that transforms it into the finest of portraits. You’re always curious as to what Albedo is drawing, but you’re never able to catch a clear glimpse. Whenever you look his way, he hastily shuts the book, concealing its contents as if he is guilty of a crime.

Unbeknownst to you, the ocean-eyed boy beside you is doodling the one he is infatuated with: you. His feelings ebb into his sketchbook, and his art captures every dip and curve of your face, encapsulating all your radiance with immaculate precision. And yet, he never overlooks your imperfections either — with his pencil acting as a catalyst, he records them in great detail. Albedo is in love with every single aspect of you, even your flaws, which arguably garner more adoration from the boy than any of your other features because they make you distinct — the brightest star in a galaxy full of wonders. Perhaps one day, he will be able to show you his works, but for now, he is more than content with silently admiring you.

Peculiarity is a trait best embodied by KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, the boy who sits next to you in English class. On the surface, he seems normal enough — although one could argue that he is abnormally pretty with his snowy white hair and eyes the colour of autumnal maple leaves. However, he is also strange in other ways. Six months of conversing with Kazuha have led you to the conclusion that he is most definitely odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Unlike most of your peers, Kazuha often appears to have his head in the clouds, daydreaming in a world that he has made entirely his own. There are times where he stares out the window, sighing wistfully as he gazes at the vivid azure sky overhead. On other occasions, he writes poems in the worn notebook he always carries around, hardly minding the way you look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he's writing. Most puzzling of all, however, is his tendency to absentmindedly stare at you in the middle of class. He doesn’t even have the shame to look away when you glance back at him. He just maintains eye contact and smiles at you, causing you to avert your gaze first.

Despite the fact that Kazuha is rather odd, he is still a polite and compassionate person. Whenever you allow him to proofread your assignments, he compliments your work in embellished words that bloom with praise, and he offers advice in a way that feels warm and genuine. You feel at ease with him — unafraid of being judged. However, sometimes guilt gnaws at you when you ask for Kazuha's help because he's always the one assisting you. He has nothing to gain, but he continues assisting you out of the kindness of his own heart.

That's why when Kazuha asks you to read over some of his poetry for the first time, you agree without hesitation. A quick scan of the page Kazuha directs you to causes you to raise your eyebrows. It's a love poem that is cryptically addressed to ‘the one I adore’. You can feel the affection Kazuha harbors toward the person mentioned in the poem just by reading it. When you ask Kazuha who it's for, he simply chuckles and asks if you like his poetry, effectively dodging your question. You decide to let him off easy and give him a half-hearted answer, pretending that you aren’t jealous of the person he likes.

Over the remainder of the year, Kazuha continues showing you his poetry and requesting input from you. Each time you read his impeccably-crafted works, you feel your heart race. His poems are spun from the stuff of dreams — sweeter than the cotton candy clouds that hang in the sky outside the classroom window.

Sometimes you like to entertain the idea that they could be for you, but you always shut the notion down before it can grow into a fully-developed thought, too insecure to believe someone as handsome and thoughtful as Kazuha could ever hold such feelings for you.

When it comes time for the final English class of the year, you swear that you’ve read almost every form of poem in existence from sonnets to haikus to odes. On that particular day, you notice something different about Kazuha. He seems more fidgety than usual, and he has entirely lost his ability to zone out, instead becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The smallest movements you make cause him to whip his head around to steal a glance at you.

You discover the reason behind his atypical behaviour at the end of class when he hands you a simple white envelope. When you open it, you find pages upon pages of poetry, causing you to experience a sudden epiphany.

The one he loved was you all along.

Raiden Kunikuzushi — more commonly known as SCARAMOUCHE — is living proof that pretty privilege exists. At least, that’s what you believe.

He’s infuriating. No matter how abhorrent you find the way he treats his friends (who are honestly more akin to acquaintances), they never stand up to him. They simply allow Scaramouche to walk all over them. It's like he's put them in a trance with his breathtaking eyes, which are filled with starlight and tinted an indigo reminiscent of the awe-inspiring night sky.

But despite the fact that he is admired by many, his relationships are purely superficial. To his peers, he is nothing more than a sight for sore eyes, and that is what keeps the bitterness of envious sentiments from swallowing you whole. You’ll never be jealous of Scaramouche because his popularity stems solely from his looks.

His situation evokes a feeling of pity within the depths of your soul. The notion of your contempt for the boy still remains ingrained in your mind, but you also can’t help but pity him.

Perhaps that is what pushes you to sit beside him in your physics class on the first day of school when you notice that he is all alone. You have your reservations, but the way Scaramouche is scowling makes you think he’ll explode out of sheer rage if you don't take action.

Things start off slowly. He doesn't speak to you at first. You simply see him glancing suspiciously at you in your peripheral vision, as if he believes you have ulterior motives. However, the awkward tension becomes too much for you far too quickly, so on a typical day of classes, you decide to take your chances and pass him a note in the middle of a lesson, asking him how his day was.

When Scaramouche first sees your note, he frowns. It almost appears as though he's in disbelief because someone has taken an interest in him rather than his looks. Nonetheless, he decides to entertain you and promptly responds to you, writing a reply underneath your message in impressively neat handwriting. This sparks a conversation. One instance of the two of you passing notes in class turns to two — and two to three until you and Scaramouche are discreetly conversing each class.

Your inconspicuous discussions with Scaramouche lead you to learn more about him as a person. Whereas before you thought he was just a shallow pretty boy, now you know that he’s both cunning and witty. He never fails to make you laugh with his sarcastic comments, and despite the fact that he seems rather mean-spirited at times, you discover that once he opens up, he is more than capable of caring for others. Case in point: on days where you're feeling down, he (attempts) to tell you jokes to make you feel better, and he gives you the candy that his mother packs for him, claiming that he "doesn't like sweets anyway."

If only other people could take the time to get to know the real him. Underneath the veil of entrancing vanity and mystery that surrounds him, Scaramouche is a surprisingly entertaining and contemplative person.

However, for now, it seems that Scaramouche is more than content with the relationship he has with you. He doesn't care for any of his two-faced "friends." The only one he needs is you.

Fate has rather unconventional methods of bringing people together. There are times where you believe it is sentient, cutting, weaving, and pulling on the delicate threads that bind humans together with its steady hands.

Fate must be alive and working its magical because there is no other plausible explanation for how things ended up this way. All that is to say, some otherworldly force must have noticed your desperation to get closer to your longtime crush, XIAO, and finally decided to take pity on you.

It's crazy to think that one minuscule decision can shape the course of your entire relationship with someone, but your own experiences are indicating to you that there is some merit to the claim. After all, your computer science teacher's spontaneous choice to seat you next to Xiao is what kindles the first sparks of your relationship with him.

It all starts with music. At first, Xiao doesn’t attempt to converse with you. He seems adamant on retaining his introverted ways. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he's just inexperienced when it comes to socialization. So instead of making an effort to talk to you, he simply grabs a pair of earbuds and listens to his favourite songs whenever the teacher gives the class time to work.

This all changes when you muster the courage to ask him what he’s listening to. The way his eyes widen that fateful day, gazing at you with surprise evident in his pools of amber, is something you’ll never forget.

After all the silence on his end, you still want to talk to him? He is touched by your resolve, but he is also afraid of being too blunt, so instead of giving you an overly-verbose response, he asks you if you want to listen with him, offering you one of his earbuds. Xiao's heart jumps when you accept with an endearing smile. From then on, the two of you bond over music, and Xiao begins feeling comfortable enough to speak to you.

Gradually, years of distance and rigid formality vanish. Hushed conversations at the back of a sunlit classroom, shy waves from across cramped hallways, and accidental touches of his hands to yours replace the barriers that once separated the two of you. A once hopeless situation gives way to a radiant future as you finally begin getting closer to the boy you've pined over for as long as you can remember.

Sorry if there are mistakes. I feel like I'm making this worse each time I edit it :( Either way, thank you for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#aether x reader #albedo x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons

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chaiifluuf · 1 month

Text

Go kitty go! — d. osamu

synopsis. coming across a lonely kitten by the streets doesn’t happen everyday and it would be a crime not to take it home with you

content. gn!reader, ada!reader, fluff with extra fluff, reader likes cats(i love them okay.), established relationship, lowercase

notes. got this silly idea one day out of nowhere hehe, also thank you for all the love on my last fic! i really appreciate it <3 hope you enjoy !

meow!

suddenly you heard a high pitched cry and could identify it immediately. it was a cat. you stop in your tracks and turn your head around to the source of the noise. in a rather dark alleyway by the dumpster you notice a small kitty with a black coat and white paws. your heart melted in a second. why was there a kitten alone here, especially in this part of the city?

“hey…” you speak out with a gentle tone, slowly crouching down so you could be more on the same level as the young feline. and to your satisfaction, it carefully started to make its way to you, seeming interested in you. with a smile you reach your hand out and invite the kitty to smell your hand, hoping that by doing so it will know that you won’t harm it.

the black cat curiously sniffs the tips of your fingers before nuzzling your hand and letting out a small meow again. god you forgot how cute the sound of a kitten can be. you lightly stroke its back and you can’t believe how soft the fur is. you start to wonder how it ended up here. did it run away from home? was it a stray from the beginning? but then the coat wouldn’t be so clean and fluffy. or maybe someone kicked the kitten out or abandoned it? you really hope that’s not the case because who would do that to such an innocent creature.

the cat enjoys your affection quite a lot as it keeps rubbing itself against your legs. you stand up again as you remember you should really get home now. you’ve been dealing with a case for almost the whole day, leaving your poor boyfriend all alone for so long as dazai would describe it while you were about to leave in the morning. it was already hard enough to get out of bed since he would just not let go of you and pull you right back into the sheets with him, softly whining into your ear.

though now you were done with work, planning to return home. the kitty let out another cry and you knew you couldn’t just leave it here. who knows what might happen if you were to leave it alone here.

and so you made up your mind to take it with you for the meantime and then later decide what to do next. you pick the animal up and continue walking, never before anticipating to encounter something like this but you were definitely not complaining.

•••

dazai is quietly laid down on the couch as he reads the book he always reads. it started out okay but overtime he has gotten bored of even reading that as time seems to go slower than usual. truth to be told, dazai just wanted you to come back, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. it was awfully quiet in the house, and ultimately there was just nothing particular to do.

he sighed, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. dazai would have gladly come along with you but you insisted you wouldn’t take long and told him to go back to sleep as it was a little early in the morning when you had to leave. funny how you think he’d be able to normally sleep without you there. the amount of times dazai has thought about wanting to stay in bed with you for as long as even a day, cuddling and resting together, just you and him. even if you two wouldn’t be doing anything productive, he would still enjoy it to the fullest.

the sound of keys jingling and a door opening brought him back to reality. his face immediately lit up as he sat up straight, looking towards the front door, already excited to see your face.

“my love! you’re finally back, how— …oh?”

as soon as you were in his view, he noticed something small in your hands. it took him less than a second to realise what that was.

“well as you can see.. i came home with some company today. look how adorable it is!” you tell him with a big smile while keeping the creature in your arms and rubbing its head with your thumb. the cat looks around curiously, examining the room.

dazai, for the first time in a while, was dumbfounded. he knew about your liking to cats but he never expected you to simply come back with one.

“…you found a kitten?” he says unsurely as he stares at the kitty with slight confusion, trying to make sense of the situation.

“yeah, on the streets. i couldn’t possibly just leave it there when it came to me,” you speak with a soft tone and slowly put the kitten down so it could move freely. dazai watched the cat as it let out another meow. he blinked and turned back to you.

“surely you’re not planning to keep it right? someone might be looking for it,” he points out although he thinks his heart skipped a beat when he saw the pure look of adoration in your eyes. the overall image of happiness on you made his chest feel warmer.

you nod. “i know. however for the time being we can take some care of it, can’t we?” you say with a hopeful look, moving to sit down next to him and also helping the kitty to join you two as it followed you around.

“look I know you aren’t fond of dogs but i've never heard you say anything bad about cats,” you mention, slightly leaning on him as you wonder about his opinion on cats.

he lets out a low hum, wrapping one of his arms around you and giving you a small kiss on your temple before responding calmly. “i don’t have anything against cats as long as they don’t attack me out of nowhere.”

you seemed pleased with his answer. “exactly! i’m sure that this cutie here is no problem at all,” a slight chuckle leaves your lips as you feel the black kitty between you and him lightly lick your finger, not used to the sensation of its rough tongue.

dazai’s grin grows a little. “are you talking about yourself?~” he teased, using that flirtatious tone of his. and of course he didn’t miss that pink tint that raised to your cheeks right after saying that.

“‘samu! you know what I was talking about,” you tell him, and you can feel your cheeks burn a little. you should’ve honestly seen that one coming but oh well. he has always been too good at making comments like this to get you all flustered.

before he could respond, the kitten started meowing again, only slightly louder this time. both you and dazai are caught off guard by that. you blink in surprise. “what’s wrong?” your tone is softer, trying to figure out what’s going on as you stroke its back.

“maybe it’s hungry?” dazai guesses since if the kitty has been a stray for some time then it must be hungry.

“oh you’re right,” you now realise that as well. what should you feed it though? you get up to go over and check the fridge, scanning over all the food items there are. you hum in thought. “pretty sure that cow milk wasn’t good for them… but we have some ham,” you speak while taking a package of it out.

dazai returns his gaze back to the black kitten. it really did have rather big and innocent eyes, he noticed. and before he had the chance to react, it made its way into his lap, seeming curious about him now. dazai’s body slightly tensed as he wasn’t sure what to do or what it wanted from him. the cat merely lets out a small cry as it stares at him.

after a moment of thinking, he slowly moves his hand near the kitty’s head and to his surprise, the kitten rubs itself against his palm right away. his gaze softened. Its fur really was as soft as it looked and after about a minute of petting it, he heard a different noise. It was undoubtedly purring. did this little one like him that much?

“aww socks likes you, ‘samu! this is the first time i'm hearing it purr,” you speak up with joy from behind as you prepare some small pieces of ham on a plate. dazai can’t help but chuckle at the mention of the name.

“socks? that's supposed to be its name now?” he says as he turns his head to you, a casual smile on his face.

“i mean i think it is a fitting nickname, considering its black coat and white paws which seem like socks,” you explain while putting the rest of the ham back into the fridge and returning to the couch. You place the plate of some ham on the ground and glance at socks. “Look here, i got you something,” you tell the kitty as you point to the ham.

the kitten immediately perks up and jumps off dazai’s lap. it sniffs the pork and a second later starts eating it. your face beamed as you looked at socks, it is quite obvious that the poor animal was starving considering how hastily it’s eating.

dazai however had his eyes on you the entire time. he swears your beauty multiplies when you look so content like this. the way your eyes are sparkling, a soft smile gracing your lips, your whole figure seems to shine. and once again he's reminded that he is dating an angel. he really can’t fight the way the corners of his lips turned upwards. he wished things stayed this way forever. because if you are happy then he is happy.

it doesn’t take long for the kitten to finish its food, licking its lips in satisfaction. you reach out your hand to pet it, murmuring a small praise as well.

“y’know we have to go to the animal shelter sooner or later,” dazai brings up with a quiet tone and intertwines one of his hands with yours. a moment of silence passes before you subtly nod, your hand squeezing his slightly. “yeah i know… i imagine someone could be worried sick, with no idea where their pet is,” you say calmly, a quiet sigh leaving your lips.

yes, that was the right thing to do after all. it’s the least that this cat deserves.

•••

in the end, the kitty reunited with its real owner. you still remember the image of pure relief on her face when she hugged her pet tightly, a few tears escaping her eyes. she also thanked you dearly with a hug as well. she was beyond grateful to you over the fact that you decided to take it with you to the shelter.

oh and you found out that the kitten’s real name was molly. it was a perfect name for her no doubt, but you won’t regret calling her by your created nickname before.

molly is now with her owner in her real home, loved and cared for. problem solved. so why don’t you feel happy about it?

you honestly felt a little guilty for even getting this attached. you should have expected this one way or another, it wasn’t like you were going to keep a cat all of a sudden just because you found it on the streets. you should forget about this and move on with your life.

dazai noticed your changed behaviour after the whole thing. he always does. you were more quiet at times, and he could tell you missed her even if you didn't bring it up. the affection you had for her was clear to him from the beginning. he often thought about how to make you feel better, what he could say to see that smile of yours again. one day he finally got an idea.

“love, i’ve been thinking about something,” dazai says, leaning slightly against the kitchen counter as he watches you cook breakfast.

you hum in response. “i'm listening,” you say simply while you sprinkle some salt onto the fried eggs you’re cooking. after a moment he decides to continue.

“i wouldn’t mind adopting a cat some time in the future,” he tells you truthfully as he glances at you, waiting for your reaction.

your movements pause. “...are you serious?” you turn to him and look deep into his eyes. for a second you were unsure if you heard him right.

dazai smiled fondly before nodding, and after processing what he meant, a smile grew on your lips too. he sees that familiar light in your eyes again now and he couldn’t feel luckier.

you moved closer to him and gave him a simple yet sweet kiss on the lips. dazai placed his hands on your hips, slowly drawing circles on them as he focused on the kiss.

afterwards, you kept your forehead in touch with his, murmuring your next words so tenderly.

“i love you so much.”

and dazai responds just as softly.

“i love you even more, my dear.”

wow this came out much longer than I thought whoopsies, anyways this guy definitively is secretly a cat person (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

#𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ maeve writes . 🖋️#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu fluff #dazai x y/n #dazai x you

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txt-trash · 1 year

Text

bad impression | choi yeonjun

summary: choi yeonjun knows he’s a heart throb, it’s not hard for him to get someone he wants once he sets his mind to it—except you won’t even give him the time of day. he should just move on to the next, right? well he can’t, because he’s determined to prove your bad impression of him wrong.

➣ college au, smüt, fluff

➣ fuckboy!yeonjun x f!reader [she/her]

➣ 9.4k words

warnings: college, minors dni, fluff, smüt [oral {both recieving}. foreplay. breästplay. use of protection. riding. makeout. missionäry. honestly fluff at the end. yeonjun is whipped and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. y/n is very cold toward him in the beginning.] jealous Yeonjun.

song inspo: obsessed — mariah carey [finally found a girl that you couldn’t impress]

He looked dumbstruck. His lips were parted just slightly as he stared down at you in what looked like shock. A small laugh caught in his throat as he brushed his hair out of his face, licking his dry lips trying to figure out what you just told him.

“Are you um… you know, are you busy? Is that why?” Yeonjun asked you. He looked down both ends of the aisle just to make sure nobody was around to hear him being rejected. It would ruin his street cred. Maybe he just caught you at a bad time, you were in the library after all and maybe he interrupted your work. Yeah that’s probably it.

“I’m not busy,” you told him as you put a book back into its spot, pushing the cart of books down the aisle, “I just don’t want to.”

“Why? Wait, um, did I do something to you?” He asked, looking like you shot an arrow straight through his ego. You shook your head releasing a small laugh as you kept working while he followed you. His brows scrunched together in confusion as he moved a couple books so you could put another into the space.

“No Yeonjun, you didn’t, I’m just not interested,” you told him, finally looking at him. He looked visibly taken back by the last statement you made and he was at the point of desperation so he needed to stop. He gave you a mere nod as he began to step away. You gave him a charming smile as you went back to work.

“Alright, I get it,” Yeonjun said with a dramatic sigh, “I’ll stop annoying you.”

“Thank you.”

He still can’t believe it.

“Am I ugly?” Yeonjun asked his friends the next day during lunch. They looked at him with expressions that immediately made him regret asking but it was too late to take it back.

“Yeah,” Kai said right away while Soobin just checked him out as if really contemplating how to answer the question. After much debate Soobin said, “Not usually, why?”

“Because Y/n said no,” Yeonjun told them as he checked his appearance with his front camera making sure to fix his hair and everything. The other two looked at each other with confusion before Soobin was the one to ask, “No to what?”

“Going with me to the party tonight, remember I told you guys I was gonna ask her out?” Yeonjun reminded them and the two made a unanimous ‘ahh’ sound. There was a party tonight at a friend’s place but Yeonjun couldn’t even tell you all about it because you were very quick to reject him! And he means quick like flash lightning. He hadn’t even finished his speech before you told him no. Then when he tried going into more detail you just told him you weren’t interested. It had his mind whirring.

“I remember but who cares? You’ll probably find someone else tonight anyways,” Kai said with a shrug as he stuffed his face with whatever lunch he bought at the cafeteria today. Yeonjun was still distraught by your rejection yesterday that he’s not even hungry.

Maybe he’s just being dramatic but he’s never been rejected before, he doesn’t know how to take it. He’s still thinking about the way you just straight up told him you are not interested in him. And okay, to be fair he’s only really been into you for the last few days and he was really seeing another girl just a couple weeks ago but that’s the past. You’re the one he wants right now and yet you rejected him. Him?!?

“But I want Y/n,” he released a loud whine that had him stomping his feet under the table in a mini tantrum. Why did you reject him? He doesn’t get it. He’s a total catch, ask anyone—literally.

He kept thinking about this all day and when he got to the party he was still sulking. Girls were talking to him about anything and everything yet his mind was stuck on you. He’ll admit his feelings aren’t deep for you but you’ve just really hurt his ego and he doesn’t get why. Do you have a partner? Are they even your type? Is he even your type? Do you not have time because of school or work? Are you just not feeling well? Why wouldn’t you want to come out with him tonight? He knows you said you’re not interested but how? He’s a catch. He needs you to know he’s a catch!!

“Guess who’s here,” Kai told Yeonjun practically running into him as the older tried to distract his broken heart with a game of Beer Pong with some girl he didn’t know. Yeonjun couldn’t even bring himself to be excited at what sounded like potential tea being spilled and ignored his friend instead choosing to shoot a ping pong ball straight into a red cup, immediately being cheered on.

Kai had to hit Yeonjun’s arm repeatedly to get the guy to react until finally he snapped and turned to the younger, “Hit me one more time I dar—“

Kai slapped him on the cheek lightly but enough to make Yeonjun’s head turn to the side and that’s where he saw it. Lo and behold, none other than L/n Y/n stood there chatting it up with some friends wearing his favorite colors. How could you do that to him? How could you stand there wearing lavender and powder blue while having drinks with someone else?

“I’ve gotta go pee,” Yeonjun lied as he left them all at the Beer Pong table ignoring their boo’s in order to go find you. He chugged back the rest of his drink giving quick waves to whoever said hi to him.

You were just minding your business trying to have at least one drink before you dipped out on the party and went home but apparently you couldn’t even do that. The universe wanted you to have to suffer and that’s why Yeonjun magically made his way to you and tapped your shoulder like some old lady asking if she could cut in line.

“Funny seeing you here,” Yeonjun said with his usual arrogant yet pretty smile, “I thought you were busy tonight.”

“Um,” your brows furrowed as you turned to look at him, “I'm pretty sure I said I wasn’t busy, I just wasn’t interested.”

Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed in thought ignoring the way your friends Taehyun and Beomgyu made ooo sounds like you gave him a good burn. He shook his head, “No I’m pretty sure I heard you say you’re busy and totally interested in me.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you have hearing problems then because I never said that,” you responded looking a little annoyed now.

“I do have hearing problems,” Yeonjun said, never once backing down or stuttering over his words, “It’s called Selective Hearing, look it up.”

“I know what Selective Hearing is,” you told him, trying very hard not to smile because he was being so damn ridiculous right now.

“I’m just making sure,” he, on the other hand, had a shit-eating grin knowing that he’s getting to you, “So why don’t you tell me what you’re drinking so I could go get us more.”

“I have a full cup,” you said, “Besides I’m here with some friends.”

“What friends?” Yeonjun asked dramatically, looking around you. You rolled your eyes at his joke and turned to where Beomgyu and Taehyun should be. Keyword: should. They’re gone and when you looked around for them you found them playing Beer Pong pointing at you mockingly as they laughed. They knew how much Yeonjun grinds your gears and they left you here with them.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he said with a smirk that you just wanted to wipe off. You shook your head, “Looks like I’m going home actu—“

“Y/n!” He called out to you as you made your way to the door but before you could get to it he cut through the crowd of party goers like a man on a mission and placed a large hand flat against the door, “Why do you hate me?”

Your brows furrowed, “First of all I don’t hate you.”

“Then why won’t you say yes to one date? Hell you won’t even say yes to one drink with me! If that doesn’t seem like hate I don’t know what does,” Yeonjun said honestly. Why do you keep rejecting every single one of his efforts?

“I’m just not interested, Yeonjun, I don’t like wasting my time,” you told him honestly, “And you’re the type of guy to lead someone on, waste their time, and never speak to them again.”

He was so visibly taken back by what you said that he couldn’t even react in time to you moving him back so you could open the door and leave the party.

Listen, you weren’t president of the Choi Yeonjun Hate Club by any means, seriously. It’s just hard to take the guy seriously when all you hear on campus is how much of a player he was. You’ve had a couple classes with him the last two years and yeah you know him but not like you really know him. He’s never shown interest in you before so why is he doing it now? You have no clue.

Also, you’re pretty sure just two weeks ago he was on some girl’s Instagram story with hearts all around it. He’s so clearly a fuckboy and those just aren’t your type. Between school and work you don’t have time to waste on some guy who’ll probably ghost you after getting you in bed. It might sound harsh but it’s probably true. So, like you said, better to not waste your time on a guy like him.

“So what did the Campus Crush want last weekend?” Taehyun asked as he and Beomgyu played some game on the PC while you scrolled through your socials. You were currently all sitting in the library on some lounge chairs wasting time till your next lecture. You released a deep sigh, “He keeps crying about a date.”

“Ooh, does this mean you’re gonna get laid?” Taehyung asked and both you and Beomgyu glared at him. You rolled your eyes, “First of all I said no. Second, why are you talking about getting laid if you’re a virgin.”

“That’s what im sayin,” Beomgyu said, “Yeonjun’s a fuckboy and Taehyun’s virgin ass shouldn’t be telling you to go for it.”

“First of all I’m not a virgin, second, because Y/n’s been in a dry spell for weeks,” Taehyun said, “Sorry I’m the only one looking out for her sanity.”

“You saying you’re not a virgin is exactly what a virgin would s—“

“I’m not a virgin!” Taehyun said a little too loudly and all heads turned in your direction. He released a loud groan as his face began to redden, “Alright whatever, I hate you guys. I hope Y/n stays single until she’s 60 and all shriveled up.”

With that he left, leaving you and Beomgyu to laugh on your own. Beomgyu pointed down at Taehyun’s snack that was sitting on the table, already reaching out to take it only for Taehyun to come back and snatch it. He left the two of you alone and you kept scrolling while Beomgyu played a single’s match now.

Taehyun was a muttering mess as he stomped out of the library, going on and on about how his best friends suck and hate on him because he’s the youngest. The only reason why he put a pause on cursing you both to hell was the tall frame blocking the entrance to the library as they came in. He looked up, an evil smirk on his face, “Hyung.”

“Taehyun,” Yeonjun said, looking around him almost immediately to see if you were around. The younger got the best idea ever and as he left he said, “If you’re looking for Y/n, she’s in the resting area in the back.”

Yeonjun nodded, thanking the guy blissfully unaware that Taehyun will probably get murdered tonight for telling him that. He was actually in here to escape some girl he ghosted who was just outside and the only place he could go was the library. It seems like the universe was on his side though since now he knows you’re here too. He followed Taehyun’s directions and found you right where he said you would be. Your back was to him and Beomgyu saw him coming first and he could see the way the guy told you about his arrival yet you didn’t turn.

He took Taehyun’s old seat with a simple, “Hey.”

“Hey…” Beomgyu said awkwardly as he looked at you, who only glared at Yeonjun. “What are you doing here?”

“Taehyun told me you were back here so…” Yeonjun said making himself comfortable, choosing to ignore the way you cursed at Taehyun who was only here in spirit. Yeonjun looked at Beomgyu expectantly and the guy just sighed, seeming to understand what he wanted and began gathering his things. You released a deep sigh, “Yeonjun.”

“Yes, cutie?” Yeonjun said with a flirty smile that he knew would annoy you but he’s come to realize you’re cute when you’re annoyed with him. You rolled your eyes, “What are you doing?”

He looked down at himself, “Sitting?”

You huffed in annoyance as you sat up to gather your things and try to leave but a sudden hand over yours stopped you. He smiled, “Come on Y/n, just give me one chance.”

“Are you always this desperate?” You asked and although it should be taken as a jab to his character he saw it as an opportunity. “For you? Yea—Wait, wait wait!”

You were both standing now and Yeonjun was in front of you, “Look, I just want one date. If it’s terrible you don’t ever have to speak to me again. If it’s good… well… um… you know.”

“What? If it’s good I’m supposed to sleep with you? Fat chance Yeonjun, I’ve gotta go,” you told him, putting your backpack on and walking away but he was hot on your trail.

“I was gonna say if it’s good we’ll go on another, y’know, get to each other and shit,” Yeonjun said clearly new to this. He’s never had to beg someone to go out with him and please don’t ask why he’s so stuck on you. You sighed clearly wondering the same thing and finally turned to him making him stop abruptly before you bumped into each other.

“I’ll tell you what, give me a month to decide and if you’re still interested by then, then I’ll say yes” you said and it took everything in him not to release the loudest most annoying gasp in disbelief. A month?! If this was a cartoon he would have an arrow shot through his back.

“And well… if you’re with someone else then I guess it wasn’t meant to be, right?” You said with a nice smile now. There goes a second arrow right through his chest and if this was that cartoon then he would be on the floor bleeding out already from being rejected. Sensing his distress you decided to throw him a bone, “You do look good today.”

With that you left like you were never there in the first place.

A month? He can do a month, sure. Yeah. Easy as pie—except he doesn’t know how to make pie nor does he know if it’s easy at all! And he doesn’t get the saying and he doesn’t want to wait and he doesn’t know what to do!

“You okay there bud? You’re looking a little blue,” Soobin said right before Yeonjun crashed into his arms with a loud dramatic cry. Soobin struggled to catch him, nearly dropping the guy as Yeonjun gasped for air.

“A month! Y/n said in a month she’ll tell me if she’ll even consider a date! Who does that? Who puts someone on lay-away? Who would do that to me?” Yeonjun said pushing Soobin away so he could throw himself down on Kai’s couch ignoring the shout of the younger one cursing at him for making him miss a hit in his game. He held a hand up to his forehead like he was in a fainting spell, “Is something wrong with me?”

“Aside from your obnoxious dramatics, screechy laugh or ugly face? Probably no—ow!” Kai was cut off with Yeonjun pulling on a strand of his hair.

It was a Sunday, four days after you basically told him to fuck off for a month and he has no clue how to handle this rejection. Soobin knew this too and that’s why he said, “I’m meeting up with some girls to ‘study’ later, you should come with and forget about Y/n.”

“Can I come?” Kai asked and Soobin just nodded. Yeonjun shook his head no, “I don’t wanna.”

“Oh come on, yes you do,” Soobin said, reaching out to cling to him, “One of them has been begging to meet you. Why don’t you go for someone who likes you?”

“Fine, if you insist,” Yeonjun said, forgetting in that moment why he was so upset and what he was supposed to do for a month.

He joined the others at this little coffee shop later on in the day. He had to show up fashionably late for his own aesthetic and reputation and walked in like he was the coolest guy in the room. Soobin and Kai, of course, rolled their eyes but the girls were loving it.

“You’re late,” Soobin said with narrowed eyes because they had all been hanging out just a couple hours ago. Yeonjun just shrugged, “Can’t rush beauty.”

“Sure I can,” Kai said, kicking Yeonjun’s butt to hurry him along. Yeonjun glared at him but took a seat anyway. He looked at the three girls in front of them and he could immediately tell which one wanted to get to know him. She was practically sending him hearts with her eyes.

“Hyung this is Mina, Jisoo and Yeaun,” Soobin introduced him and he just nodded saying his name before looking down at what they were all doing.

“I thought we were studying,” Yeonjun said knowing damn well he didn’t even bring his backpack. He really just thought it would be funny to call them out on it since that was apparently the whole reason they gathered. He knew it was just an excuse but still. If you were here you wkd have brought your backpack, he’s just saying.

“Oh,” Yeaun laughed nervously, “We forgot our things.”

“It’s fine, Yeonjun is just messing with you guys,” Kai said, waving the older one off. Someone came by to get Yeonjun’s drink and that’s when they all started talking.

“I think I’ve seen you before,” Yeaun told him and he had to look at her closely to see if that was true. She gave him a flirty smile, “Dance class.”

“You’re a dance major?” Yeonjun asked in a questioning tone as he looked her over. She was cute, actually very close to his ideal type but hm…

Hm…

“Well no but I’m a theater major and I just want to expand my performance level, y’know?” She said trying to have a better conversation with him but he wasn’t all there.

Yeonjun knew he rejected Soobin’s offer to come out for a reason. Okay? At first he wasn’t even sure why he said no and that’s the only reason why he agreed—because it was so out of his character to turn it down, y’know? Like he said, they’re all cute but he just… he’s just not feeling it. That deal you made with him is really stuck in his mind.

You’re acting like he really is fickle. He knows he's dated a lot in the past [past as in a few weeks ago] but do you really have such little faith in him? You just had to say that if he dates someone else in the meantime then it’s not meant to be? What kind of shit is that? You won’t even give him a chance and he’s taking the challenge. He’s decided right now that he’ll show you. You think he’ll get over it in a month? You think he’ll go on to the next girl in line? Yeah alright, he’ll show you.

“Yeonjun,” Soobin called out to him and he snapped out of his own thoughts about you and caught everyone staring at him. “Huh?”

“Oh um, I was just wondering if you could help me with vocals some time, I heard you’re a good singer too,” Yeaun said brushing her fingers through her hair. Yeonjun looked her over, “Uh sure.”

He shook his head thinking of something else as he stood abruptly, “You know what, I’m not feeling good so I think it’s better if I just head home.”

“Oh wait, can I get your number?” Yeaun asked and he looked down at her outstretched hand with her phone in it. He wanted to say no but then he would look like a dick so he silently nodded and typed his number in before leaving without another word.

Once he was out of the café he was notified about her contact info. He scrolled through his notifications while he waited for the bus and he couldn’t believe it. No wonder you had no faith in him. He had dozens of people in his DMs like a lot. You think he’s a fuckboy he gets that but damn he really was. He’s embarrassed that he’s shocked. Okay, he’s gonna really have to put in the work this month.

You honestly thought Yeonjun got over it. It’s almost been two weeks since you last ran into him and you’ll admit part of you was happy but the other part felt kind of bored. Like… where’s that annoying bug that wouldn’t leave you alone?

“Watch it,” Beomgyu huffed as he quite literally pushed you aside so he could leave the room first. You glared at him as he laughed, “You’re walking too slow.”

“I’m thinking!” You yelled, “I can’t multitask.”

“It’s walking…” Beomgyu said as he stood straight, “Are you dumb? Anyway, where’s Yeonjun? Shouldn’t he be popping up around the corner somewhere?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, he’s probably moved on.”

“Awe, that makes you want to cr—ah!” Beomgyu shut up the second you pulled on his hair and began swatting you away, “I’m kidding! Damn, you little demon.”

“Whatever,” you sighed as you began to walk away from him, “I’m gonna go to work.”

You said your goodbyes and you left toward the bus stop. Maybe you just jinxed yourself or this was some sort of sign because the only other person waiting for the bus was none other than Choi Yeonjun. He didn’t notice you at first but when he did he looked genuinely surprised to see you.

“Hey,” you said casually as you sat about a foot away from him. He took his AirPods out and put them away, “Hey.”

After some time of awkward silence Yeonjun cracked a smile, “Miss me?”

“What? No,” you told him with a roll of your eyes. You even turned yourself away from him a bit but Yeonjun was quick to bring you back to him, “Kidding.”

“So what are you doing tomorrow?” Yeonjun asked, already getting the annoyed look from you that he really liked, “I’m not asking you out. It’s an invitation.”

“For?”

“Soobin’s having some people over at his place, you and your friends should come,” Yeonjun said casually but he had this smell sense of fear that you might think he’s asking you out. Which, okay, maybe he’s cheating and if he hangs out with you all night then it would be like a date but… no. You stared off in thought and he felt the need to rush out, “Not a date. I swear.”

“Hm… alright,” you said with a shrug. He couldn’t help the curl of his lips with a smirk as he nodded, “Cool.”

Saturday night you were joined by your two besties at Soobin’s place. There were definitely more than a few people but it also wasn’t crazy packed either. There were enough people here that you didn’t really see Yeonjun since he was somewhere off doing whatever he does at parties.

“Can’t believe you got Y/n to come,” Kai said as he watched you play some drinking game with Taehyun. Yeonjun was watching too but his eyes were more focused on one of your opponents who was watching you closely like you interested him. He doesn’t like that. You also seemed to be entertaining the guy, laughing at his jokes or letting him ‘help’ you in the game. Yeonjun knew what he was feeling but he’s not used to it. He’s not used to feeling jealous.

It’s only been two weeks that has been holding himself back from talking to you and he’s quite literally cut everyone else off. He understood that if he wanted you to take him seriously then he would have to change some of his behaviors and he’s been trying. Even tonight when girls have come up to him trying to get him to be with them he’s been very bland. He hasn’t entertained them like he usually would. He’s not giving them flirty smiles or arrogant eyes. He’s just not caring enough for them. Yet here you are talking to any guy who approached you. It was driving him insane.

“She’s here but not for me, clearly,” Yeonjun said bitterly as he took a big swig of his drink, watching you intensely, “Who’s that guy she’s talking to?”

Kai looked over, “No clue, why? Am I sensing some jealousy from the Choi Yeonjun?”

He rolled his eyes at that as he took another drink, “Shut up.”

“He is jealous, everyone! Choi Yeonjun is jea—ow!” Kai whined when Yeonjun smacked his arm and rubbed the irritated area glaring at him in the process. Yeonjun thrusted his drink into Kai’s hands as he left.

“One more Y/n, please!” Taehyun begged as he tried playing one more round but you were tired of the game already. The guy who you were playing against was cool but he was sort of touchy. He kept checking you out in a way that made you feel slightly uncomfortable but you tried your best to be nice to him. You were just over it at this point.

“Yeah Y/n, one more,” the guy winked at you as he appeared right next to you, a hand on your lower back making you inch away from him, “You can be my partner.”

Taehyun’s eyes narrowed but before he could try and save you from this creep, a hard hand landed down on the guy’s shoulder making him turn already looking annoyed by the touch. Yeonjun stood there with a cocky grin, “Sorry man, I think I’m gonna take over from here.”

“What are you talking about?” The guy said glaring at him, “Y/n and I are about to get some drinks.”

Your brows scrunched together in confusion, “I’m not interested.”

“You heard her?” Yeonjun asked, standing between you two now, “She’s not interested so you can run along now.”

“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are to bring your ass over he—“

“I can tell you who I am right now,” Yeonjun was getting more irritated by the second. He already had to watch the guy try and flirt with you from across the room and now he’s annoyed because the guy is right here trying to get you to drink more with him. It’s like he’s going into protection mode at this point and he wants the creep to go away if that’s what you want.

“Yeonjun,” you called out to him but he was too busy staring the guy off as if ready to act whenever the guy did. You had to tug on the side of his shirt to pull him back but he was like a stone, “Yeonjun. Come on, show me where the bathroom is.”

It was just an excuse to get out of there because you can see it right now that he is not happy. Taehyun sensed this too so he tried to help, “Yeah come on, let’s go man.”

You wrapped a hand around Yeonjun’s arm and he was finally able to retreat even though the guy had him pissed off. He was barely able to notice the hand you had on him until he was walking away trying his hardest to ignore the guy’s curses that were geared toward him. Taehyun left the two of you alone and Yeonjun led you down a hall past the guest bathroom toward Soobin’s room for more privacy.

“You okay?” He asked as you opened the door to the master bathroom, leaving it open as you fixed your appearance.

You gave him a nod, “I’m fine, you’re the one who seemed pretty upset back there.”

He leaned against the doorframe watching you, “Was I as pushy as that guy?”

You looked at him through the reflection of the mirror deciding to be honest, a smile even cracked on your face, “You’re pushy but not like him, he’s a creep.”

He chuckled but still looked wary over it. You released a small sigh as you walked up to him, “Thank you though. He was weirding me out the whole game.”

Yeonjun looked surprised by that. This entire time he thought you were responding to the guy's advances and it wasn’t until the end that he realized you didn’t like it. He licked his dry lips as he looked down at you and how close the two of you were now. He kept glancing down at your lips but he knew he shouldn’t even try. But then you were moving closer and he acted before you began to doubt it and he was so close… so close that your lips merely brushed against each other and as he dipped his head down to capture them—the moment was ruined.

“Move! I’m gonna barf!” Soobin yelled, cutting right past you two and practically pushing you out on his own. You stumbled into Yeonjun and he glared at his friend, annoyed that you were pushed and interrupted too. He held you by the waist for longer than he needed to but you didn’t tell him to move. With an annoyed sigh he led you back out of the room scratching the back of his neck nervously, “So…”

“I’m gonna go sto e if the others are ready to go yet, I’m um… pretty tired,” you said making him frown a virgin but he just nodded. He had about two weeks before you took him seriously, right? So was the almost kiss just a fluke or something?

He just let you go as he stood in the hallway all by himself debating what he should do now if you left. He’ll probably just leave too then.

You hated that Yeonjun was really getting to you. You wanted to spend more time with him but you were still hesitant about it. That’s why you left to find your friends but neither one wanted to leave yet. You were over this party so you just wanted to go and when you found Yeonjun about to leave too, you rushed.

“Wanna get a cab together?” You asked him, catching him off guard but when he saw it was you behind him he was quickly agreeing. So the two of you headed downstairs while Yeonjun made the call and you waited silently. You got in the car together once it arrived and gave both of your addresses, which weren’t far from each other.

“You know it feels weird not having you ask me out every five seconds,” you joked and Yeonjun attempted a smile.

“You said a month, didn’t you?” He said looking over at you, “And it sounds like you did miss me after all.”

“Maybe a little,” you laughed softly as you brushed your hair out of your face.

When the car arrived at your place first it was very clear neither one of you wanted to part ways. So you decided to bite the bullet and say, “Wanna come up? Hang out a little more.”

That’s all he needed to be rushing out the car behind you, tapping his phone on the screen to pay the driver before you could. You laughed at the way he hit his head against the top of the car but he just smiled along with you. The two of you went up to your place and he felt nervous for some strange reason. It’s not like he’s never been to a girl’s house before but this felt different.

He could see your personality all over the place and he took his time remembering some of things you had like your backpack and laptop which sat on the small sofa. Your mail at the entrance table, blinds drawn, one cup in the sink. You chuckled, “Are you looking at my sink?”

“Maybe,” he smirked, “I’ve got to remember everything in here in case you never invite me back.”

“You’re so weird,” you said as you sat down on your couch after turning the lights on. When Yeonjun was done looking at everything he joined you.

“So…”

“So…” you repeated what he said and the both of you broke out in smiles. He licked his lips in thought. Would he have been reading it wrong if he leaned in for a kiss again? Was that just some sort of… fluke?

“Are you going to kiss me yet or do I have to go fo—“

That was all Yeonjun needed to cup your face in his hands and press his lips against yours. You were taken back by his eagerness but you did your best to match it.

It was messy, a little too eager for a first kiss between you two. In his eyes, and maybe yours too, it had been anticipated, even if you rejected him a lot he knew there was tension there between you.

You swung a leg over his lap until you were straddling him and dragged his lips back to yours. Finally. You could feel the slightest hint of excitement throughout when you ground your hips down on his lap making him release a low groan and dig his nails into your hips, guiding you. Using his gasp to your advantage you let your tongue poke inside exploring the warmth of his mouth. His eyes fell shut deepening the kiss with his tongue and yours relishing in your make out.

Your hair fell to one side as you kissed along the corners of his mouth, a hand flat on his shirt while you trailed down toward his jaw. He licked his dry lips when he felt the tender affections on the angle of his jaw as the hand over his t-shirt ran over his chest. He let his head fall back trying to catch his breath when you playfully nipped at skin, kissing away any pain and sucking lightly. He readjusted you on his lap feeling a slight sense of uncomfortableness and let his hands fall back down to your waist keeping you in place.

"Fuck," he sighed out when your hand began to touch the end of his shirt sliding underneath to run over the ridges of abs. He'd gotten so muscular it was hard to not want to touch him all the time.

He always knew you were a great kisser and eager too. It had him wanting to forget everything and just live in the moment but he couldn’t. You made a deal.

One month. That’s how long you were going to make him wait for your answer and at this point he’s determined to wait that long even if he has you sitting pretty on his lap. The whole point was about him moving onto the next before you even gave him a chance so he has to prove he’s willing to wait for you to see he’s serious. When did he become so serious over getting one date? He doesn’t know.

“Wait,” he couldn’t help but release a small gasp when you kissed his neck but he had to stop, “Baby…” It slipped. He swears.

You pulled back immediately looking down at him with furrowed brows. He cleared his throat trying to sit up straighter without getting you off his lap, going as far as wrapping an arm around your waist for you to know he wants you there. He licked his lips, “Um… I don’t know what we’re doing but if it’s y’know… uh, I think we should stop.”

You looked visibly offended and he winced at your glare as you began to slide off him despite his attempt to keep you in place, “What?”

“It’s just, you told me a month, right? That in a month you’ll tell me if you want to go on a date and it’s only been two weeks so I know you probably haven’t decided yet and I don’t want you to think I want to sleep with you,” Yeonjun said watching your face contort to disbelief, “I mean, I do! But I’ve got to show you I’m serious about that date, right? Well I can’t really show you I’ve changed if I give in the second you let me come close.”

“So you don’t want to… tonight?” You asked shyly now as he moved to stand up.

“I do, I want to so fucking bad Y/n, but I want to prove to you that I’m serious even more,” Yeonjun told you honestly, “So I think it’s better we just call it a night before I do something that’s going to push you away all over again.”

“Okay…” you said as he looked down at you, “So you’re leaving?”

“I’ve got to, or else you’ll tempt me too much,” he said but he still leaned down so he was hovering over you and kissed you once again.

It was short and sweet and he just had to do it a couple more times before he called it a night.

“Mmh, this is so hard,” he groaned against your lips, “But I should go, right?”

“Yeah…”

He smiled as you stood up with him to lead him out. He left with a promise to text you once he’s home and you were left alone to wonder what the hell just happened?

You honestly did not expect to catch feelings for Yeonjun. Like first of all, the guy’s a fuckboy so obvious when he first approached you, you did not take him seriously at all. That’s why you kept rejecting him over and over again but the last few weeks he’s seemed to change. You don’t know if you fully trust it yet but it’s been a month.

Now you’re here at some VR studio yelling loudly because you’re both scared of the horror game you’re currently playing. He’s practically clinging to you and then yelling when you touch him. He nearly walked you in the face with the controller.

“Wait!” You yelled trying to get away from his flying hands until it actually did hit you, “Ow.”

Yeonjun has never taken off a headset so fast as he looked over at you with a huge pout. He grabbed you and pulled you into him immediately, “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry, let me see. Where did I get you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Oh my god did I cut you?”

“Relax, I was exaggerating,” you chuckled and despite smiling at that he still squeezed you in his arms.

“Poor baby, let me kiss it better.”

“You don’t even know where you hit me,” you joked but he still held your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his excuses and kissed back. The screen flashed red signaling your deaths in the game. You sighed when he pulled away, “Now we died.”

“Rest in peace, let’s go,” Yeonjun said, helping you take off the headset fully and set it down next to his. He took you by the hand and led you out.

“What’s the plan now?” You asked as you left the studio. Yeonjun shrugged as he began to swing your laced hands, “Ice cream… and then a movie at your place?”

“Alright.”

It was supposed to just be a movie at your place in your bedroom but here you were kissing now. There was a hint of a smile into the kiss as he deepened it, dipping his head low. You straightened your back hoping to get closer to him, your hands going to his thighs for support as you sat criss crossed across from each other.

Just as you were moving closer to his groin area he reached for one of your wrists. Not stopping the kiss he pulled your hand away leading you to lay back. You followed his movements laying down on your bed as he hovered over you. He kissed down your neck, sucking softly on a spot he felt you twitch at. Your hands tugged on his shirt and though it was a quick pace he sat up pulling the shirt up.

He yanked it off feeling your hands fly to his belt loop but he stopped you again. He was slightly out of breath as he spoke, "Y/n..."

"What?" You asked self consciously, bringing your hands away. Leaning over you again, trapping you under him Yeonjun looked down. He tugged at your shirt, inching it off and you lifted your head to help remove it. He threw it on the ground moving to lightly kiss your neck again, "Let's take it slow, alright?"

Nodding feeling a little flustered you agreed, licking your lips as his hand trailed your side running over your bra. His mouth left wet kisses down to your collarbone and between your breasts. You let out a soft sigh feeling his gentle touch. You moved to unclip your bra, sliding it off. He left a gentle kiss on your right breast.

His hand cupped your chest kissing on the sides, "Just taking it slow..." He was telling himself that more than you.

His voice was airy as he let his tongue poke at your nipple. His thumb swiped over it feeling it begin to harden and let his other hand cup your other breast too. He repeated the action a couple times letting his hair tickle your neck before his lips circled around the hardened bud.

"Yeonj—ngh," you whined, wriggling around a little for more. He looked up at your face, tongue flicking your nipple as his other hand groped the flesh of your left breast. He didn't say anything but didn't move quicker. You wanted to rub your thighs together but with him laying between them it was hard to. Instead you ended up just trying to rut up against him.

When he pulled back a small string of saliva connected his bottom lip to your boob and before you could say anything he moved on to the other. You felt strange, getting so turned on with foreplay. You touched along his back wanting to feel more of him pushing your breasts in his face. He eagerly sucked on your nipples, coating them in spit that made you feel dirty in a good way. Once your nipples were as stiff as they could get he moved along down your stomach. He never once pulled his lips off your skin, not even when he tugged at the fabric of your shorts. He yanked them off, sitting back again looking down at your wriggling body.

Below him you looked so pretty.

Hair splayed across your bed sheets. Expression full of lust with darkened eyes. Exposed breasts moving with every pant of breath you took. Your frilly underwear that left little to imagination and with a smile he leaned forward to capture your lips with his again.

After a short kiss he pressed his face against yours. He licked the shell of your ear as a hand trailed down to the hem of your underwear.

He grunted shortly, finally removing your underwear as he went back to your breasts hungrily latching onto a nipple again. He slid your right leg up until it was bent close to your stomach, exposing more of your wet pussy. Silky strings of arousal coated his fingers as he ran them between your folds and over your clit. At the hint of some stimulation you began to meet the efforts of his hands with a roll of your hips. Unable to keep himself from a taste he dropped to be faced with your count.

With a groan, he pushed his nose into your wet pussy and inhaled deeply. Some slick nipped at the tip of his nose. Yeonjun just wanted to please you and make you feel good. His mouth closed over the stiffened clit suddenly and he began to lick and suck you, feeling the outline of your slit get his chin wet. He was lost in his own world, hips rutting against the bed as his tongue worked to taste your raw essence.

You were the sweetest thing to ever grace his tongue. His thick tongue lapped at your juices, running through your slit and pushing into your warm hole. He was quite literally tongue fucking you with a hand to your chest groping your tits again. If he could suck on them while feasting on your pussy he'd be in heaven.

You were in ecstasy with his mouth slobbering all over your cunt making you fuck up into his face. Yeonjun swirled over your sensitive bud using his other hand to spread out your soft folds. His tongue fucked into your pussy as far as he could go before feeling your walls clench around him. It only made the hand on your tits rougher groping more into his hand holding your hips anchored down to the bed as you began to shake.

"Yeon—" you moaned softly, hands in his soft dark hair keeping him in place. He didn't say anything, only heightening his movements and with a final call of his name you slowly unfolded before him. He eased you through your orgasm with a hand stretched across your body letting your hips guide him in a rhythmic motion through your high. Yeonjun pulled back for a moment, swiping his tongue on his lip, licking a small drop off as you caught your breath.

With an effort to lean up and kiss along your neck, you caught him off balance making him land on the bed instead. Quickly before he could try and stop you you were yanking his button open and tugging at the zipper. He hissed at the sudden friction of losing the thick layer of denim from his member. He let you slide them off, muscles tensing when he tried to lean up to kiss you.

You met him halfway, a messy tongue kiss mixed with the taste of your arousal and spit. Distracting him enough with the kiss you let your hand go over his bulge from his briefs.

Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat at the first feel of your palm over his cock. His eyes glazed over as you smiled seductively at him kissing the tip of his nose before letting your hand slide past the briefs and touching him directly. You start with a couple experimental strokes, his mouth drawn open in a silent moan, "Should I stop? I can’t hear you.”

His brows are knitted together, a hand over your hair and the other fisted up to his forehead. He shook his head licking his lips, "Don't," his voice was hoarse, feeling you bring your face closer to his tip, licking it gently, tasting the bead of precum on your taste buds.

You flatten your tongue on the underside of his cock, a teasing long kitten lick from his base to his tip. You stopped at the head letting spit pool in your mouth and onto his cock keeping your eyes on his. Then, his eyes meet yours slowly and you swallow more of his length into your mouth. His eyes scrunched closed in pleasure, biting the back of his hand to stifle the loudest moan he's ever felt bubble up in his throat. It was something in the way you teased and looked him in the eyes while doing it.

Holding the base of his cock with one hand, you begin to bob your head setting a good pace, with your other hand on his thigh keeping yourself from losing balance.

Your eyes lock on the obvious muscles flexing under your touch. Your hand helps jerk the rest of him, your other hand coming up to massage his balls.

Yeonjun watches the way his cock disappears into your mouth, the feeling of your mouth, your hands working other areas. It took everything in him to not let out everything and instead released shaky breaths and soft groans. He was close.

You press into him, hand on his thigh once more as your nose pressed into his pubic bone. You took steady breaths through your nose doing your best to relax your throat and flatten your tongue. You stayed still for a second, letting yourself get used to his cock so deep in your throat, jagged breaths in and out. Yeonjun panted lightly, feeling the throb of his cock as his tip hit the back of your throat. He can’t believe you made him wait so long to have you like this. And he can’t believe it really was worth the wait.

You roughly swallow around him, suppressing a gag as you resume to deep throat him.

"Fucking hell," he groaned tossing his head back in bliss. Moans were pouring out of his mouth, his groan muffled into his hand, "I'm so—close."

His pants come quicker, more jagged and out of breath. His mouth hung open, hips almost locking from how hard his muscles flexed. With his cock twitching in your mouth Yeonjun slowly comes down from his high, hand petting your hair. His eyes were hazy and his mouth dry. It felt like he couldn't move a muscle and yet he was yanking you off his cock and smashing your lips onto his. He could taste himself on you and with your aftertaste on his he wished to kiss more. He was still hard, probably in anticipation when rummaging was heard.

Yeonjun pulled back to catch his breath letting you search for a condom tearing into it immediately.

He hissed in discomfort as he dragged his body into a sitting position, back pressed against your headboard. He let you slide the condom on his member watching it come back to life. His eyes locked on the spread of your legs moving to sit on his lap. Yeonjun kept a hand at his base and the other on your waist while yours gripped his shoulders.

He watched closely as you lined yourself up watching the head enter. He quickly looked at you as your mouth drew open, sinking down on his length. He didn't push to move even if he really wanted to and instead let you adjust. He wanted this to be pleasurable to you too. He whispered softly, "I want to make you feel so good.”

Your smile turned into a soft moan at the first expert roll of his hips digging his cock a little further into your walls. You ground your hips letting your head fall forward when he took a boob into his mouth fucking up into you.

He nipped at the bud playing with it as he looked up at you to the best of his ability. Your pouty lips moaning softly has him pulling away to kiss you again, "Am I making you feel good?"

He groped at your ass, spreading the soft cheeks apart and rammed into you when you threw your head back in a moan, "So fucking good."

You returned to him feeling lightheaded holding his face in your arms forcing him to look at you as he bounced you on his cock. A hand on your ass and another on your tit letting you pull his face into you. Your already erect buds tightening as he pinched and pulled at them. He left wet, sloppy kisses over your throat, moving his hands to grip your waist harshly. Yeonjun’s nail dug into your soft flesh as he lifted your hips up and down on his cock.

"Just like that," he bit into his lip, staring down at the way your hips gained a more determined rhythm to get him off. You pulled on his hair making him look at you, "I'm gonna cum."

"That's okay baby," he talked you through it, eyes locked on yours as he felt your warm walls begin to tighten around him. A familiar ring of nerves clenching around his member as it sucked him into your folds. He wasn't going to last much longer either.

He hasn't slept with someone and felt this good in a long time.

His voice was soft as he caressed the side of your face, "You're making me feel so good Y/n."

When you didn't respond and he felt himself at his peak he added, "Please, won't you let go for me?"

He let you snuggle your face into his neck, a hand still on your jaw as his forehead rested on your shoulder.

It was like a wave washed over you, the final words to put you over the edge. Just like that you were releasing, biting back a euphoric moan as Yeonjun hugged your sides talking you through it. In all your past hookups not once did they treat you so softly while tossing you around too. It made you want to show him other sides to you too.

When yours had calmed enough, the last squeeze of the ring was enough for him to let go into the condom. He grunted softly into your ear guiding your hips up and letting himself slip out. Your thighs shook as you crawled over to the side of the bed taking a moment to catch your breath.

Not caring much for the mess, Yeonjun took you by surprise when he laid down next to you. The condom long gone tossed off somewhere and he let his legs tangle with yours. As the sex haze wore off you began to question this, not because you regret it but because you don’t know where this leaves you two.

And the way Yeonjun was pulling you into his arms snuggling up against you as he let sleep began to take over his body, you debated if there was anything worth questioning.

By morning Yeonjun had processed last night through dreams. He rolled over to pull you to him once more and hit an empty bed. The blanket loosely covered over his lower half as he looked around the vacant bedroom.

With furrowed brows he looked on the floor sliding jeans on not caring for the briefs thrown on the floor and made his way out the door. He looked visibly taken back at the sight of you sitting on the couch working on your laptop. You hadn't even bothered to wake him up.

"Hey," you said blandly, going back to your work. Yeonjun picked up on your tone and no, he wasn't going to let you brush last night off.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked to check the time seeing it wasn't even seven yet. You shrugged. With a sigh he shuffled over to you, "Y/n."

You didn’t answer him right away, not until he took a seat next to you and pulled you into him, “Come on, let’s get back in bed. Or better yet, let’s get breakfast.”

“Yeonjun I don’t know…”

He rolled his eyes playfully, “That you like me? I know you do. I like you too and I thought last night was enough proof of that. So why don’t you put this away and please just have pancakes with your boyfriend?”

You matched the roll of his eyes as you cracked a smile, “Boyfriend? Since when?”

“Oh I’ve been your boyfriend for a while now but you’ve been pushing me away for over a month so I had to hide it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“For you? Yeah, I am,” he laughed.

::.

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main blog: @kooktrash

omg I’ve been wanting to do a txt blog for the fattest minute but I’ve been too lazy to start so I have finally decided to start lmao. give it a read, tell me what you think!

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun #Yeonjun smut #Yeonjun fluff #Yeonjun imagine #yeonjun fics #txt #txt post #txt smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #choi beomgyu #choi soobin #huening txt #txt taehyun #txt oneshots #txt imagines

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radioactivesweet · 11 months

Note

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #snv #ror x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no walkure #poseidon #poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #poseidon ror

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sluttywoozi · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 31: Alien Kink + DK

For ⚔️

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~2k

Pairing: Seokmin x Reader | Genre: smut, sci fi

Warnings: dk is a clueless virgin alien, sex ed, oral f. rec., vaginal fingering, alien anatomy, breeding mention

Seokmin has only been dating you for two earth months, but already, he knows he’s in love.

His species doesn’t put much stock in romance or dating - the most they seek is a suitable mate to help produce offspring every mating cycle - but Seokmin has always been different. Different enough that he’s never participated in the mating cycles at all, not wanting to share that side of himself with someone who won’t stay.

Different enough that he’s one of the few of his species that has ever left their planet, different enough that he can almost pass as human, if it weren’t for his pointed ears and chameleon-like qualities. You don’t seem to mind them, thankfully, nor do you mind the odd looks you get whenever you go out in public together.

Your kind has known about aliens for less than five years, barely long enough to grow accustomed to the idea and definitely not long enough for interspecies relationships to be normal. Seokmin isn’t worried though, knowing that as earth grows into a galactic trade hub, more and more relationships like yours will pop up.

Until then, he’s content to ignore the looks, hold your hand on the street, and proudly let his cheeks flare purple, the color a sign of his deep, true love for you.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

The truth is, he’s dying to know what you look like naked.

He’s tried to do research, but what he now knows is called ‘porn’ doesn’t seem to be for him, and he can’t even begin to understand the words or the diagrams in that anatomy textbook he borrowed from the library. Besides, he only wants to see you, touch you, learn you, no one else.

So, he does what’s most logical to him, and simply asks.

It’s on a calm Sunday afternoon that he first broaches the topic, one that sees Seokmin reading with his head in your lap as you rewatch your favorite show for the nth time. His book is getting to a particularly spicy bit, one that has heat growing in both of his stomachs, but as usual, when it gets to the more specific parts, Seokmin is clueless as to what they’re talking about.

What is a pussy? Why is the main character putting his mouth on the love interest’s? And why is everything so wet??

These are all questions Seokmin needs an answer to, and he reaches over for the remote to pause your show so he can have your full attention. You blink down at him, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as he opens and closes his mouth like a fish, unsure of how to voice his questions.

In the end, he just asks you flat out.

By the time you get over your shock, finish laughing, and pull yourself back together, he’s pouting on the other end of the couch, his arms crossed and his cheeks bright orange in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, you just caught me off guard. Ummm,” you stall as you try to figure out how to answer, deciding to just be as clinical and explanatory as possible. “Humans generally have one of two types of genitalia, a vagina or a penis, and pussy is a less formal word for vagina, which is what I have. There’s something called oral sex, and it’s when you use your mouth to make someone feel good. That’s what’s happening in your book.”

Ohhh. That makes sense, Seokmin thinks.

“And everything is wet because, well, the mouth is wet and the pussy can make its own wetness, so everything just gets a little… messy.”

Seokmin squirms in his place at the end of the couch, suddenly not at all interested in his book and only too intrigued by the idea of putting his mouth on you.

“Can we try that?” Seokmin asks urgently, shuffling over to you on his knees and imploring you with his eyes.

“Right now?” You question, trepidation in your voice and nervousness on your face. “I haven’t shaved or anything.”

“What’s shaving?” He’s never heard that word before, doesn’t have a clue what it means, though you seem to think it’s bad that you haven’t done it.

“Never mind,” you sigh happily, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss.

Kissing, Seokmin is used to. Kissing, Seokmin is good at.

And he loves loves loves kissing you, loves your sounds and the taste of your tongue and the feeling of your lips against his. Loves how close he feels to you and how close you get to him, loves how his head spins and how your hands wander, your fingers tracing over the pointed tips of his ears and down the ridges of his abdomen.

He shivers when you break away to suck kisses into his neck, his head falling back to give you more room as you bite and lick your way down his throat. You pull down his t-shirt collar to get at his collarbones and he covers your hand with his, pulling back and reminding you of the goal.

“I’m going to perform oral sex on you, remember?”

You bite back a smile and tell him, “Seokmin, try saying ‘go down on you’ or ‘eat your pussy’ instead. They sound a bit sexier.”

“Baby, I promise I would never eat you. Sure, humans can be a delicacy on some planets, but that’s not how I do things,” he says, hand on his biggest heart and with all the seriousness in the world, unsure why threatening to consume you would sound any sexier than what he said.

“It’s just a figure of speech, Minnie. You won’t actually be eating me,” you promise gently, reminding Seokmin just how much he has left to learn about you and your people and your silly combinations of words.

“Oh. What will I be doing?”

“It’s like kissing, but you kind of have to multitask? It’s hard to explain, I’ll guide you once you get down there.”

He rolls off the couch and shuffles close to you on his knees, placing his hands on yours to push your legs apart. Gazing expectantly at you, he waits for you to remove your clothes so he can see what he’s working with, all three of his hearts beginning to race as you lift your hips and shyly push at your pajama shorts.

He can’t believe he’s about to see you bare, his first lover, his first girlfriend, his first human, and if he has anything to say about it, his last. The shorts get to your knees and he has to move his hands, settling them on your upper thighs and taking in a deep breath, tasting something sweetsour and heady on the air.

When you open your legs for him, he knows instantly that the flavor was you, and that it’s something he wants on his tongue now. He should take a look around, explore you a bit, but he’s letting his instincts guide him and they’re saying to get his mouth on you as soon as possible, lest he lose this chance.

And oh, oh, Seokmin gets it now, why it’s called ‘eating out,’ because he does want to eat you, he wants to consume you, he wants to drink you down. He wants to lick his fingers and taste you. Bite his lip and taste you. Swipe his tongue over his teeth and taste you. He wants you all over him, so he practically shoves his face into your pussy, shaking it from side to side to spread you out as his tongue laps at the folds and creases of you.

The taste is more concentrated further down, so further down he goes, making a questioning noise when he encounters something unexpected. There’s a… hole, or maybe an entrance? Are you hollow here?

His tongue delves inside, and all at once, he’s in heaven. It’s like everything else falls away, his shoulders untensing and his fingers spasming on your knees as his cheeks flare a bright red, the color of deep, gnawing arousal.

You’re searing hot and soaking wet, like a scalding shower on a freezing day, and your walls feel like molten velvet, the texture and flexibility of them mind blowing as they ripple and squeeze around his tongue.

He’s never felt, tasted, encountered anything like you in his life, and he hopes you’re alright with him sticking around for the rest of it, because he can’t give this up.

Seokmin can’t know about the glory of your pussy and then suddenly forget about it, no, this will stay with him forever.

He feels something nudge against his forehead and looks up, his eyes nearly crossing in an effort to identify what’s touching him. It’s your fingers, you’re swirling them over something and with every pass, he feels you tightening up on his tongue, feels more of your slick coming out to coat his face.

“What are you doing?” He pulls away to ask, his tongue slightly sore and his lips swollen.

“Um, this is my clit, there’s a lot of nerves here and touching it makes me feel the best,” you pant, stilling your hand and moving it to rest on your hip so he can inspect you closer. There’s a small bump peeking out of a little hood, and when Seokmin pokes his tongue out to give it a kitten lick, your hips buck into him.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, Minnie, like that. And you can fuck me with your-- your fingers, they can go inside.”

Oh, he likes whatever’s happening to your voice right now. You sound all breathy and needy and relaxed, and when he slides two fingers inside like you said, you moan raggedly and clench around them, the feeling of your walls grasping his fingers making his head spin.

He can only imagine what you would feel like around his aching cock, can only hope that one day, he’ll get to experience it. Maybe if he does really good with this, you’ll let him inside of you, let him fill you up and stretch you out, let him mate you and breed you and keep you.

Just the idea has him doubling his efforts, has him wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard, increasing the speed of his fingers until he feels like he really is fucking you with them, until your walls are undulating around his fingers and your arousal is dripping down his wrist.

“Just like that, Seokmin. Don’t stop, please,” you cry brokenly, your hips moving with his hand as he pushes you higher and higher.

He moans his affirmation into you and the vibrations must send you over the edge, because your pussy is fluttering and clenching and squeezing like crazy, and he can feel your clit throbbing between his lips as wetness seeps out of you, your whines so high and sweet he wants to bottle them up, save them for later.

He wants to keep going but begrudgingly stops when you push him away by the forehead, his fingers stagnant inside of you and his lips detaching from your clit with a slick pop.

“Was that good?” Seokmin slurs, his mouth exhausted and his brain drunk on you.

“It was perfect, Seokmin. You did such a good job,” you murmur as you pet his hair, not stopping him when he lays down again, his cheek pillowed by your thigh. He’s still aching but you seem tired, and he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last after that, anyway.

He’ll need to practice a lot if he wants to make it through to the actual mating part.

Oh no, how terrible that will be, Seokmin thinks with a giddy smile.

Kinktober Masterlist

AN: okayyy this was getting a little long so i cut it off before we got to the fucking but i might do a part two!! if that's something you're interested in, pls comment or reblog to let me know!!

thank you so much for sticking with me and encouraging me through all of kinktober, it's been harder than i ever thought it would be but also more fun than i expected, and i feel like i've really grown as a smut writer!

ily and happy halloween 💖💖💖

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kararisa · 1 year

Text

between you, me, and these bookshelves

synopsis: just the little things that happen in a little bookstore.

— featuring: albedo, ayato, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader (separate)

— cw: modern au, swearing, yn is an avid reader, use of childe's real name, none of the books i mention here are real lol

— author's notes: first headcanon post with multiple characters~ very self indulgent so hope you guys enjoy <3

Working at a bookstore isn't the most glamorous job in the world.

The pay is good for the amount of work you need to do, and most days nothing much happens.

But sometimes, there are just some events that happen between the bookstore's mahogany shelves that make your days just a bit more colorful.

Albedo

The bookstore has a chalkboard stand outside that details new releases, promotions, or events that the store has. Displayed on it are elaborate illustrations or hand-lettering, all of it done by the same person.

And he comes by every other weekend to re-do its contents.

You sometimes watch him as he draws, his nimble hands becoming dusted with colored chalk as he sketches on the blackboard, his light blond hair tied back as he furrows his brow, deep in concentration.

He’s caught you staring a handful of times, to which you turn away in hopes that he doesn’t bring it up. Thankfully he never does.

This week you watch as he colors in his artwork, a dragon and a young man with wings at the center soaring over rolling plains and sharp cliffs.

As the boy gets started with the lettering, you ask him a question.

“Do you really just come up with all this on the spot?”

The boy looks at you with curiosity in his eyes, “So you do talk. And here I was wondering if you just didn’t like talking to me.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what we can really talk about. You’re a freelancer right?”

He smiles as he returns his attention back to his illustration, “You can say that. Well to answer your first question, I usually have a final outcome in mind before I start sketching. Your boss sends me a gist of what he wants and I draw it. Simple as that.”

You converse with him until he finishes, sprinkling in some questions about his work in between. As he packs up to leave, you ask him one last question.

“I never got your name, chalk boy.”

A silent question, but one that he still understands.

“It’s Albedo.”

The two of you end up striking up an easy conversation every time he visits, with you always watching him draw

If you express interest in his other works, he’ll let you browse his sketchbook

One day while flipping through his drawings, you begin to see some familiar sights: a vending machine outside a nearby convenience store, a food stall, and the outside of the bookstore. Some pages have small doodles in pencil and ink, and some in color. Others have full illustrations.

The next page that you flip to, though, nearly takes your breath away.

You find a colorful illustration of the bookstore, a blend of paint and ink. Sunlight streams through the glass walls and envelops the scene in a warm light. Boxes lay strewn on the floor, all of them brimming with books. And among the boxes stands you, a stack of books in hand as a small smile graces your face.

You look up when Albedo spots the page you’re on, “Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I sketched you a handful of times. I tend to draw what I find interesting.

“So is it alright if… I sketched you more often?”

Scaramouche

Scaramouche pisses you off most days.

He distracts you while you try to do your work, he steals the pen by the cash register whenever you need to use it, and worst of all, he always makes fun of whatever book you read.

No matter what genre it is, mystery, fantasy, or heaven forbid, romance, he'll always find something to tease you about.

But it’s odd. For someone who claims to hate every novel that you've taken interest in, you find yourself discussing with him each and every book you’ve read.

“Sure, Forest of Lies had a strong opening,” he starts, leaning back on his chair, “But did the princess seriously need to go through those arbitrary trials just to prove that she was determined to save her kingdom?”

“Fine, I thought it was stupid too,” you say, “But you have to admit, the characters are actually well-written and have interesting subplots. The knight having a backstory connected to the princess’ was a good twist.”

“But does anything really come from that twist? Or was it just there for shock value? When you get to the part where–”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, “Spoilers! I just got past the twist, asshole.”

“You should read faster then!” he says, going into the storage room to fetch some supplies, “Whatever, we’ll continue this when you finish the damn book.”

You’re about to continue reading when Scaramouche pops his head out and adds, “The next two novels in the series go downhill in quality from there. Trust me.”

“But this is a trilogy??”

“That’s the point!”

You realize that he had a point when you finally got to the second book.

Around halfway through reading the book, you catch him reading over your shoulder. You turn to look at him and he simply gives you a smug smile. You simply rolled your eyes and continued reading.

A couple of days go by after you finish the second book when he approaches you.

“What’s the occasion?” you say as Scaramouche hands you a book, a pen, a highlighter, and some book tabs.

It’s a novel on your wishlist, you notice; one that you had mentioned to him in passing. Small colored tabs stick out from the side of the book. Thumbing through the first few pages, you see that he underlined some passages, his neat writing occupying the margins, the blue highlighter bringing your attention to a handful of quotes. Just from reading the first sentence as well as Scaramouche’s comments, you could tell that you were going to enjoy reading this.

But you recall a casual remark he during one of your past conversations — he doesn’t typically annotate his books. Did he do this for you?

“Nothing. Just thought you should read a good book for once,” he answers, not quite looking at you.

“Excuse you, I read good books sometimes.”

“The last book you read, you kept ranting about how the writing wouldn’t just ‘let the characters fucking talk’. Your words, not mine.”

“And the last book you read, you literally couldn’t finish because you kept getting fed up with the protagonist doing nothing.”

He groans, “Are you gonna accept my gift or not?”

You give him an unimpressed look, setting the book and stationery aside, “This novel better be as good as you say it is.”

He was right. The book was actually good. You even ended up adding your own annotations alongside his — like having your own conversation amidst the pages of the book.

His comments, whether they be snarky, insightful, or analytical, definitely enhanced the experience. And thanks to that, you end up finishing the book in just two days.

Another one of your story discussions happens and, amidst the bickering, a book he mentions piques your interest.

After making fun of the ever-growing list of books he wants to read, to which he retorts by saying you’re not better off, an idea pops into your head and you search for the novel he’s looking for.

It’s in a genre you wouldn’t typically go reaching for, but this is the least you could do for him, right?

You spend the next week reading and annotating the book, using the highlighter and tabs Scaramouche had given you to highlight passages and give your comments.

The shocked look on his face when you gave him the copy of the book was definitely worth it.

“Just thought you should read a good book for once,” you say, sliding the book toward him.

“Huh. Don’t you hate this genre?”

“Surprisingly enough I actually liked the story; you have decent recommendations when you’re not being such a dick. So, are you gonna accept my gift or not?”

He rolls his eyes, snatching the book from the table, and mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’.

You pretend not to see the blush that reaches his ears.

Ayato

It starts off as most days do, with a delivery of new books.

You open the box to find the newest releases as well as some bestsellers. One of the covers catches your eye, the title Child of the Roses emblazoned in front of an illustration of two women laying in a field of red roses — one of the books you’ve always wanted to get your hands on ever since the author announced the plot.

Sure you could purchase the book right now, but your budget for the month didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. And if you did wait until next month, you couldn’t exactly guarantee the availability of the book since it always manages to sell fast.

While you’re restocking the shelves, the door to the store opens, and in come a man and woman with pale blue hair.

The girl starts looking around while the man walks up to you.

“Does your store happen to sell the book Traingazing?” the man asks. There’s an elegance in the way he carries himself — well-dressed, handsome, and dignified in the way he speaks, “It’s alright if you don’t.”

You confirm its availability and lead him to the nearby shelves, “You lucked out today, sir. This is our last copy.”

He laughs. Fuck, even his laugh sounds expensive, “Lucky indeed. My sister and I have gone to five stores today just looking for it.”

The girl, his sister, you presume, comes up to you two with a small stack of books in hand, “Did you find it?”

The man holds up the book, its silver-edged pages gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the store, “Got their last copy, too.”

She sighs in relief, “Good. You can finally stop nagging me about you never being able to grab a copy before they sell out.”

“Says the one who dragged me to eight stores looking for a book you ended up hating.”

The siblings leave shortly after purchasing their books.

The rest of the day passes by as normal. Rush hour usually comes around early afternoon to late evening, when students get out of school and people usually get off work.

Unfortunately, your shift just about lines up with the store’s more chaotic hours.

You spot a familiar blue-haired man again later that evening while you’re in the middle of helping another customer. He’s browsing the shelves when he spots you.

“Can you help me with something? I’m looking for a gift for my sister.”

“Oh, the girl you were with this afternoon, right? What kind of books does she like?”

He describes the types of books she favors along with a handful of her favorite authors. You lead him to some nearby shelves, picking out some books and giving him a brief synopsis of each one. He listens intently to each of your suggestions, his lilac eyes focused on you.

As you’re finishing up, he spots a book behind you and grabs it from the shelf. You spot the familiar title, Child of the Roses. As usual, whenever you restock it, it’s the last one in stock. “You thinking of buying that one? It’s our last copy.”

The man reads the synopsis as you summarize the plot, “Seems like quite the interesting book if it got you so excited.”

You laugh at his remark, “Well, I’ve been wanting to read that book for a while now, but I never manage to get a copy before they sell out.”

He considers the book before saying, “Is that so?”

Your co-worker calls for you before you can respond, saying that they need help with manning the cash register.

After almost an hour of helping with scanning barcodes and packing books, the blue-haired man stands in front of the counter.

He holds up Child of the Roses, “If it’s alright, I’d like to make this a separate purchase.”

Figures he’d buy the book if the reviews and your excited ramblings are anything to go off of. While you were sad that the chance to purchase the novel had once again slipped away, at least you could be reassured that it would be in good hands.

After giving him the book and the receipt, he simply hands them both back to you, “You were quite passionate when you described the book to me. I thought I should buy it for you before someone else gets it.”

This has to be a dream, “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I mean don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful, but don’t you want to read this, too?”

A smile graces his face, “Of course. You helped me find what I was looking for this afternoon, so this is the least I can do for you.”

When you finally get home and settle down for the evening, you open the book, intending to get through just one chapter.

That’s when you find a calling card in between the pages of the index and the first chapter, the name Kamisato Ayato in immaculate handwriting on one side along with his number.

On the back was a message: I’m actually currently reading Child of the Roses, so I have no need for another copy. But if you’d like, we could go out sometime and read it together. What do you say?

Childe

Most days there's not really much to do aside from the usual talking to customers, restocking the shelves, and helping close up shop.

So sometimes you read just to pass the time.

You’re just finishing up a chapter when the door to the store opens.

Ajax, you learn his name, is a massive flirt. Instead of talking to you like a normal person, he instantly says the cheesiest pickup line you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t need glasses,” he says, leaning on the counter, “ ‘cause I can clearly see that we were meant to be.”

It’s way too early for this shit, “... sir are you going to buy a book or not?”

He tips his head back and laughs, “C’mon! You have to admit that one was good.”

And he’s come by the store every so often ever since.

He’s quite the chatterbox too, talking about anything he can think of whenever you scan his items at the counter.

You learn he’s an older brother when he asks you for book recommendations for his younger siblings. His attentiveness to his siblings’ taste in literature never fails to put a smile on your face.

You also learn that he’s very knowledgeable in literature.

He comments on one of the books you’re reading during one of his visits, talking about his favorite scenes as well as discussing the characters with you.

A week of nearly daily visits turns into a month, with you getting used to his corny pick-up lines and little conversations.

But then it suddenly stops. A week passes without Ajax’s visits.

You don’t think too much of it until that one week turned into three.

He was under no obligation to come back every day, of course. He was a customer, at the end of the day, and there was never any guarantee that he wouldn’t suddenly stop visiting the bookstore nearly every day.

But you couldn’t help feeling dejected at the thought of just never seeing him again.

Then, on one unassuming Monday afternoon, a familiar face returns to the store.

“Hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Ajax winks at you, “Mind if you help me look for a book?”

You smile, doing your best to hide your surprise, “Good to see you’re still doing well.”

He gives a vague description of what he’s looking for: a sci-fi series that’s appropriate for his little brother Teucer, the third book to a series his sister Tonia is currently reading, and “whatever you think is good” for him.

Walking over to the shelves, you could feel his eyes on you as you started picking out the books for his siblings. A soft smile is on his face when you turn to face him, becoming wider when your eyes meet his.

“You were gone for a while,” you say, unsure of how to continue. His life is none of your business and like hell were you going to admit that you missed him.

He sighs, “Yeah. Work has been a lot these past few weeks, but now that it’s loosened up I can finally start seeing my favorite person more often.”

“Your favorite person huh?”

“Getting the chance to talk to you is the highlight of my visits. Of course you’d be my favorite person.”

He leans in close to you, “Y’know, I just realized that I’ve lost my number. So can I have yours?”

You roll your eyes, still smiling, “You could have just asked for my number like a normal person.”

Ajax laughs, and you find yourself wishing you could listen to it every day.

#albedo x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #scaramouche x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #albedo fluff #ayato fluff #scaramouche fluff #childe fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin modern au #genshin drabbles

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asumofwords · 8 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future.

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen.

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation.

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it.

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin.

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt.

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree.

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost.

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you.

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar.

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her.

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born.

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty.

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each.

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn.

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect.

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday.

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side.

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger.

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.”

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view.

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks.

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another.

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin.

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word.

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation.

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter.

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up.

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage.

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected.

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine.

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily.

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat.

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved.

But not him.

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation.

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell.

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted.

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence.

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family.

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips.

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze.

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem.

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all.

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement.

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty.

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth.

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful.

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived.

You had changed.

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change.

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more.

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were.

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you.

He never left.

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry.

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right.

There was a pull.

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you.

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought.

But you knew your answer already.

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you.

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

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mvniro · 12 days

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. . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 DRIP IT DOWN, ETERNAL BLISS ; a fyodor dostoyevsky fic. ❞

أنت قاسي، قلبي لا يزال ينبض لك. بنفس الطريقة التي تكون بها الشمس قاتلة، إلا أن الأرض لا تزال تدور حولها. في ساحة المعركة، دعهم يعرفون أنني كنت الأشجع. لكن أمام دموعك عندما أرادت رباطة جأشي أن تهرب. أوه هل كنت أحمق؟ كل العشاق هم. هل ما زلت أحمق؟ لا، أنا مجرد عاشق دون حبه، عاشق تجرد من كبريائه. رجل حرم من سعادته كأنها حمامة بلا جناحيها.

you are cruel, my heart still beats for you.

the same way the sun is deadly, yet the earth still revolves around it.

In a battlefield, let them know I was the bravest.

Yet infront of your tears is when my composure wanted to flee away.

Oh was I a fool?

All lovers are.

Am I still a fool?

No, i'm just a lover without his love,

A lover stripped of his pride.

A man depraved of his happiness,

Like without its wings, is a dove.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . it's my birthday week so a present from me ♡.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . fem!reader, vampire!fyodor, immortal!fyodor, husband!fyodor, wife!reader, established relationship, nsfw, blood play, religious themes used, God referred to as Him, biting, set in old russia, abuse is normalized, 'sweet child' has been used once as a nickname to put emphasis on fyodor being immortal, reader has been given traits like 'pure' and 'innocence' for the reason of again, putting an emphasis on fyodor, his immorality and him being a vampire.

the clouds roared and the thunders proudly announced the arrival of an upcoming storm, letting everyone below the vast sky of this specific region of russia whose name you never had the privilege of knowing despite growing up here as a infant, know of the dangers the grey and almost black sky is going to bring in a matter of time.

in a matter of a few hours or even less, most of the land below will be covered, almost drowned with the water as peasants would begin to curse while they picked their trash and transferred it upstairs or try to find shelter with all their possessions on top of their heads.

yet you did not have time left to ponder over what the peasant man will do to fight this unexpected disaster as the sound of footsteps reverberated through the otherwise silent hall of the mansion and you turned almost at once to see the man who owned this mansion walk in, his expression as cold and confident as it was the first time you saw him yet what paired with his pale skin and maroon, crisp shirt was a cut running through the length of his neck and disappeared behind but you guessed it must've ended near his shoulder blade.

the man raised his eyes and you dare not refer to him with his name unless you stand on a stage where your intellect and personality can clash against his -- these were the words that were punctured into your mind by the most gentle of mothers but also the most cruel of women who had fallen from their high class, married to a peasant for the sake of a promise made by fathers who they never saw.

"you are hurt." you quietly observed as you stared up at his delicately cruel and cold face, holding your chin high to not let your nervousness be disclosed.

but he had seen it, he sees it all.

he had tilted his head and raised his hand to probably run it through the gushing wound, had you not taken quick strides to grab his wrist and stop him from doing so.

"what had gathered your interest so immensely that had you staring out of the window for the past fifteen minutes?" fyodor, the man you are married to and which is considered to be the greatest achievement of your life ; to be chosen by him, grabbed your wrist which was holding his own and pulled you in closer.

your nose bumped against his shoulder and you immediately and unconsciously breathed in his scent for it was always oddly comforting, fyodor smelled of old books and oud yet the distinct crisp smell of the outside greenery also mixed in with his scent.

fyodor looked down to watch your composure crumbling as you grew nervous and tense when he raised his other hand to wrap it around your lower back, pushing you to be more closer to him.

to watch you drop the mask and show your vulnerability whenever he did gestures like this was too pleasurable and amusing for him. coming from a place where love and affection or even peace are concepts which are only available for one to hear and fantasize about, you never got used to being showered by the attention and interest of your husband ; a man notorious and admirable at the same time.

"it looks like it'll rain heavily." you speak quickly and nervously as you raise your head to look at fyodor, a childlike nervousness in your eyes ; the kind which is seen in a child when he arrives at a new place or is pushed to introduce themselves by their parents to adults whose friendly smiles are nothing but scary and ugly curls on their scary faces.

yet with that childlike nervousness, your eyes also held the wisdom and knowledge of a man given mercy after being brought to be beheaded ; this beheaded man who had calculated the time he had left before his head would be cut from his neck and who watched his surroundings and himself for the last time with an incredible understanding. you looked like you wanted to cry yet at the same time didn't want to move away from him, like a child who clings to his mother after being smacked by the mother.

the innocence in you had attracted fyodor who had seen so much that he forgot if he ever was innocent once.

he tilted his head down and your eyes fluttered shut, his lips gently came in contact with your eyelid as he left a kiss there before doing the same with your other eyelid and he leaned back to whisper,

"do you really have no one to go to?"

"you are my husband, you are my everything now. i'll go wherever you go and i'll go wherever you tell me to." why is it that your nervous and anxious voice had more impact then those of philosophers and kings he have heard?

fyodor led you by your waist to the couches where he sat on one of the velvet armchairs and pulled you to sit on his knee, staring up at you with no expression on his face yet his eyes weren't sharp like they always were when he talked to others, no, his eyes were soft.

"i spoke of you to a friend of mine. he too was amazed when i told him what a sweet little wife i have chosen for myself. i told him how i immediately make you sit on my knees whenever i come back and watch you shyly and at other times nervously squirm under my gaze." fyodor began as he played with the hem of your white robe under which the only article of clothing on your body was a white babydoll nightgown but your eyes were glued to the way the cut on his neck from just a few minutes ago disappeared and his skin appeared as if he never had any wound to begin with.

does this explain his beauty too?

one which is considered otherworldly and which exceeds the one of both women and men? for how can he look so delicate yet intelligent at the same time?

"he asked me why. can you believe he would ask something so obvious? has his age been playing a factor in asking such a idiotic question?"

". . .i wonder the same too sir. why?" you raise your eyes to look in his eyes again and fyodor raised one of his eyebrows but didn't look up or stop playing with your robe. he had just changed his action to now playing with the knot of your robe and he only hummed before he spoke,

"i am a man who thinks his wife should not be influenced by traditions or societal influence but by the word of Him and after Him, by me. please refrain from referring to me with titles that are meant for others." fyodor explained gently yet the warning in disguise in tone made you immediately nod and fyodor almost smiled, not quite, you supposed you would have to work harder and please him more to get the privilege of seeing him smile.

"alright then, . . . dostoyevsky. please do answer my previous question." you hesitate before you attempt again to dive into the surface of his mind to try and understand him, to take a step closer to get him to warm up to you in a way you are familiar too -- directly, not subtly like he does.

for greed is felt by humans and humans aren't angels filled with virtues, they sin and sin and then they beg for forgiveness before they sin again ; and everytime they repent, He forgives them and showers them with His mercy.

you raised your finger to gently trace his nose. your fingers felt cold on his skin, ironically, as usually it is him who has skin as cold as the cold walls of a room during a winter night. so why would he feel your touch to be cold?

cold to the touch, soothing to the sensation. a normal and well known gesture, a foreign feeling it bloomed within.

"i like pretty girls like you who are obedient and quiet yet also playful." fyodor muttured as he let you raised your fingers to the corners of his lips, pressing it against his skin and turning it up and down as you tried to make him smile and frown but the thought that itched at the back of your skull remained one you've thought of before as well ; when he would smile for real, would you feel breathless or would would rather feel groundless as the ground beneath you disappears to make you float in air?

"i am not that pretty. many others were prettier. though mother always told me i would be picked to be the bride of a nobleman over the preety ones due to my obedience. and at other instances, she smacked me with her bible till my skin cracked and i truly resembled what she would call the 'devil's nasty joke' on her, to be given a child who is ordinary in beauty unlike her." you tell as you pull on his upper lip to reveal his sharp canines which separates him from the rest and let his identity be known, gazing at the unusual sharpness -- to you, a human --with curiosity as you raise your finger to poke at the tip of his teeth.

a supernatural being, an immortal man, a vampire possessing great beauty and a man who is cursed by knowledge yet blessed by wisdom.

"your mother is preety but she has a loud mouth. i always liked when the women around me had strong opinions and strong will yet with an equally gentle mouth." fyodor interjected calmly as he then lightly sinked his teeth into the plush of your fingerpad, amusement glowed in his eyes when he felt you jerk a bit due to the unexpected teasing.

"and i do?" you ask in somewhat interest and somewhat surprise as your pupils fall on his face once again to see amusement dripping down his own eyes as he didn't answer you, didn't want to give you the relief of having your curiosity answered.

"sweet child, you make me feel divine." is all the ancient vampire breathed out and to save yourself from becoming a shy and nervous mess infront of your husband, you quickly change the topic.

"if you bite me, will it hurt?" your change in topic is abrupt but adorable. you leaned down to look at his sharp teeth better and in your eyes were the wonder and thoughts and assumptions and theories of what it would feel like to be bitten by him, to have your skin pierced by his teeth, to have his breath fanning your skin and to have his arms caressing the supple flesh of your ass, you blinked. then coughed nervously at the thoughts in your hand.

"hm, it will. alot." fyodor opted for a whisper to tease you as he looked at you but he sensed it, felt it and realised it all. the subtle clenching of your legs and the quick blinking once you realised your own thoughts and how they circled concupiscence.

"really? i feel like you are lying." adorable efforts and adorable suspicion as you timidly smile at him and fyodor hummed before he grabbed your hand (which had been poking and inspecting his sharp teeth) while he began to move his knee up and down and watched how your shoulders tensed before relaxing as you tried not to notice the slight pleasure his movements are giving you.

to ignore the way his knee bucked into your crotch everytime he moved his knee and how your panties were pushed towards your folds by his movement, you looked at fyodor to see him raise your wrist towards his lips.

". . .si --" you stop, immediately correcting yourself when fyodor's grip on your wrist tightened, "-- dostoyevsky, what are you doing?"

you did not need to ask, you knew he would be answering your curiosity in a way that it would leave you satisfied and without any more doubts but the time period before he does so is of now and this time period is making your heart beat faster in anticipation and erotic joy due to the movement of his knee.

"quiet. love." he muttered out.

oh he did, he certainly did!

he used the pet name again. and again, he watched. he watched as you whimpered quietly and nodded, falling silent as you can't bring yourself to look at him, shyly staring at his mouth and waiting for him to proceed with his action.

with a strange calmness, you waited and watched. fyodor found it amusing how a mere nickname got you squirming but his action didn't.

parting his lips to sink his sharp teeth into your wrist where your veins were visible, fyodor perked up at the reaction he craved out of you, which came late, a gasp of surprise.

a melody fyodor wanted to engrave into the depths of his mind.

"you lied dostoyevsky, it doesn't hurt at all." you speak after a few seconds of silence as you inspect the way the blood flowing through your veins entered his mouth and flowed down his throat, was it like water to him or did he have separates tubes and enzymes for this blood -- your blood.

"it doesn't?" fyodor whispered out to tease you with a faux surprised tone before continuing, "then what does it feel like, love?"

the nickname sits nicely on his tongue and he likes the way it rolls off his tongue and the effect it has on you.

"have you not heard it before from your previous wives?" you tilt your head, the ecstacy of having his thumb run across your wrist as he tries to soothe the piercing and churning like pain from your wrist is what is making your tongue so loose and sharp. yet when the depth of your words settled on your tongue, your heart sank. what did you just say?

"you are my first wife."

"oh."

"oh indeed." fyodor repeated with a smirk, the only closest thing to a smile you assume you'll see because there is no way fyodor would smile or even talk to you after the way you've disrespected him.

he may not be showing it but a man doesn't like being disrespectful and a respected man knows the clear line separating playful teasing with sugar-coated snarky remarks.

you aren't one though. you are young and naive and you mix up silent amusement for having taken offence. your hands shake in fear of these negative thoughts walking in your mind being true.

a thing to be noticed before going further is the use of 'sharp teeth' or 'sharp canines' instead of 'fangs'. the use of such terms instead of the other and more commonly known one is due to your stubbornness.

fyodor may be a vampire but he is not an animal and so, you try your best to view him as a human but he isn't one and so, unconsciously the words like 'canine' pop out.

old habits do die hard and old traditions are just someone's expectations and way of living being forced onto others.

fyodor knew it, he always did. nothing escapes his eyes afterall. and has anyone wondered what this would make him feel?

such a naively idiotic way of thinking that only humans are capable of as they spend lives in misery or happiness which is actually delusion in disguise.

"p-please forgive me dostoye --"

your words were cut off as the man leaned to place his lips on your's, the metallic taste in his mouth lingered and entered your's albeit faintly and was soon washed away by his saliva. your eyes were open in wide and visible surprise yet once fyodor separated, as if to just remember the feeling of your lips on his for memories have always been his companion.

and memories are the only thing as immortal as him, as ever living as him and as enchanting as him.

"call my name again." fyodor whispered out as he felt the hair on his nape rising as if to welcome the doom of him and of his heart.

falling for a mere mortal, oh, what a tragedy!

indeed, it is Him laughing at fyodor for the predicament He himself placed on him, he is sure of this much.

oh father, why has thou forsaken him?

why be so cruel to let him fall into the garden of love, it's a sin for someone like him. a sin he is committing on himself.

to love is to die for. to die for is to love.

"dostoyevsky?" oh.

heavens and the angels residing in it, is this a curse or a blessing?

fyodor closed his eyes and tilted his head up to exhale deeply as he needed a moment to process and to repeat the frail call of his name in his mind, he felt giddy and he felt disgustingly giddy.

"once more." fyodor demanded in a whisper as he tried to find his way through this garden where flowers bloomed and the sunlight showered on trees and the ground, making them relish this light falling upon them. this place doesn't feel hostile but unfamiliar and fyodor knows the dangers lurking behind that which is unfamiliar.

"dostoyevsky." you had gasped out this time when fyodor's hand, as if it had a will of its own, dipped in between both of your legs to grasp the under of your thigh and fyodor let out a satisfied breath.

"once more." he repeated his previous words. the flowers moved in one particular direction with the wind and fyodor, with skepticism guarding him, followed the path it pointed at.

"dostoyevsky. are you alright?" you leaned forwards to cup his pale yet extremely handsome face between both of your hands as you tilted his head down and after thinking for a few seconds on what to do, you leaned to leave a gentle peck on the tip of his nose as your eyes fluttered shut while doing so, due to shyness.

this doesn't make sense. fyodor thought as he stood at the destination the garden seemed him to want to arrive at yet all he saw a vast ocean which spreaded till infinity and the sun's reflection on the surface of the water was nothing special.

yet when you kissed the tip of his nose, there was a movement in the still water and fyodor felt himself getting irked at the slow realization. the ripples in the water slowed along his heartbeat.

love is like a ocean, deep and mysterious and no matter how much one tries, has there really been anyone who ever understood the sin that love is?

". . . seventy three." fyodor uttered slowly as he opened his eyes and stared at you.

"pardon?"

"this is the seventy third time i smelt the arousal oozing out of you, my love." fyodor mumbled to you in amusement as he watched whatever confidence was left in you, vanishing and crumbling.

you knew it would be of no use to make an excuse or lie, he would see through you anyway.

perhaps fyodor noticed your chain of thoughts as well as fyodor's hand which was grabbing the under of your thigh, lifted it up to have your legs parted and your core to be completely vulnerable to him and he tapped your cunt with his knuckles making your breath hitch.

"hormones, they give away many things about someone. the excited signals in your brain and your heartbeat -- they give away a human and his intentions very quickly." fyodor further explained even if he knew you, or any human, would be able to fully grasp for this is far beyond what the human mind is functioned and trained to think.

"remove." fyodor quietly ordered and you nodded quickly, breathing pattern uneven and not in rhythm is just making it more evident of how spot on he is when he caught you red handed.

caught you? but what is their to catch? it's not a crime to feel aroused by your husband who only touched you no more then thrice during your nearly reaching one year of marriage.

you slowly yet carefully undo the knot of your robe before fyodor raised his hand to push the robe down your arms and onto his lap as he removed it, his hand trailed down the length of your arms as he did so and when you moved to find a more comfortable position to sit on his knee, the prior protection of the robe now stripped away to let his eyes fall upon every curve and every inch of skin uncovered along with the feeling of your core moving against his knee, the primal urge took over fyodor.

even a vampire has instincts and primal urges that he can ignore for a long time but can never be free of it.

the babydoll nightgown did the purpose it had, to tempt the man who parted his lips to let his tongue out and moisten the bottom lip, in a attempt to feel anything other then the arousal burning through his veins.

fyodor abandoned your thigh and raised his hand to place it over your neck and added pressure to it as he glided his hand down to make you feel a small and faint burning sensation as he did so and you did.

but what followed his action, this simple test, is the result he was hoping for.

for the reason behind this action of his was to hear your breath hitching in your throat as if your body suddenly forgot the way it naturally worked. your heart hammered in your chest but you still ignored it to let out the words,

"if my obvious arousal for you is so obvious . . . dostoyevsky. then . . " you trail off to stare at his face and you smile a bit, nervously before it falls down from your face and you are once again left to be anxious at the reaction he will have but you cannot stop now, not when the subtle way his tongue lapped on your wrist when he sucked your blood is still something you can feel like a shadow lurking behind a traveler on a full moon light.

you take a deep breath before shakily raising your hand to place it on his collarbone and after looking at his face for any signs of displeasure and not getting any, you begin to caress his collarbone.

"then why be so cruel as to not relieve you of it? is this it? is this what you wanted to say?" fyodor smirked again as he took in the sight of the surprise dancing at every nook and crook of your facial features.

and with a slow nod, you watch as fyodor leaned near you to peck the tip of your nose and then leaned his head down to lick a strip up your cheek towards your cheekbone as his eyes narrowed.

"beg for it if you are so desperate." fyodor muttured against your cheek, you close your eyes.

"you are my husband. it's your duty to satisfy me." you murmur back but due to your eyes being closed, you missed the chance of seeing his lips curve up into a amused smile just the slightest bit as your words brought up a sense of amusement.

playful. oh how much fyodor likes these moments.

"you ruin my reputation. don't you know i'm not supposed to be this gentle, my love?" fyodor sighed out as he decided to adopt a more serious and sincere mood, letting the playfulness in his evaporate in thin air.

but desire, oh it precipitated when fyodor's hand traveled down to raise your nightgown up and he then used his hand to grab hold of the back of your thigh to part it and have your cunt be more visible to him as your underwear showed a wet patch.

"is it my fault?" you ask with a nervous smile and shaky breath, a smile that doesn't fail to convey your affection and anticipation for the man who nodded. rather then answering his playful accusation, you raise your slightly trembling hands to pull the hair tie that had been keeping your hair in one place. "may i?"

once fyodor nodded to grant you the permission to do as you wish, you leaned a bit forwards as you used both hands to gather his hair and style it in a ponytail as a means to distract yourself from the hammering of your heart due to excitement.

yet fyodor must have sensed your intentions and this is why he immediately grasped both of your thighs in his hold, lifting you up slightly as he shifted his body to lay you down on the couch next to the armchair you two were occupying till now.

fyodor isn't a man of many words so during such an intimate moment, his eyes did the talking and it made blood to crawl up your skin under the intense and hot gaze of his eyes which were narrowed, a glint in them so unnatural and unhuman that it made you aware (that is, if you forgot of his nature for a moment) of the genetic and biological difference between you two.

you nervously held your breath as fyodor sat on his knees above you, still holding both of your thighs apart after which he raised his eyes to look into your eyes and the way his lips parted as he smirked, his fangs glinted due to the light falling on them.

"not gonna beg me?" fyodor asked again yet his usually calm and stable voice had noticeably dropped a few octaves, sounding extremely arousing considering the state you are in and the way his words are being partnered up with his fingers which caressed your calves.

you take a deep breath but it doesn't calm your nerves for whoever talks big about being level-headed and calm must've never been under fyodor dostoyevsky when he is smirking and pridefully showing off his fangs while sweatbeads forms on the sides of his lips and frankly, you hope no one ever gets the privilege after you die.

selfish but that's what makes us human.

"n- i mean yes . . .er no, wait --" you stutter while watching fyodor raise your leg towards his mouth as he placed a soft kiss on your ankle before he began his journey higher up your leg and every kiss which followed from here on became unique due to being accompanied by a quick nibble on your skin, his tongue licking your leg or even bluntly biting your skin.

"time is running, love." fyodor murmured against your leg as his eyes stared up at you and you parted your lips but what were you even going to speak when no words in your favor were forming in your head?

you lay your head on the couch cushion as you let out a breathy whine, a sound fyodor himself greedily repeated in his mind but originality always reigned over mimicry.

with each kiss traveling upwards the length of your leg, fyodor leaned down and down instead of raising your leg higher.

"time isn't one to wait for anyone. not even for a man like me. so tell me, are you going to beg or not?" voice turned sharp, a breath was stolen from your windpipe cruelly when fyodor's lips reached your inner thighs and he clamped his mouth shut, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thigh.

you could feel it as his fangs pierced your layers of skin and flesh, drawing out blood and gifting you with a shrill kind of pain but it soon turned into something else you can't comprehend when fyodor began to suck on the abused area, it didn't pain yet neither did it feel good -- it felt something in between.

your eyebrows furrowed in thought as you tried to comprehend this sensation which is very new to you. fyodor raised his eyes again to watch you and once he found you behaving the way he wanted ; distracted, his lithe fingers slipped past your panty and entered your hole without any warning which made you jerk up as you let out a squeal of surprise while at the same time, your hole sucked his lithe middle finger in and made him let out a hum of approval.

"dostoyevsky --" you were not able to speak as the moment you called his name, fyodor pulled his finger out and thrusted into your wet entrance again and suddenly the sucking on your thigh is making sense, now that his finger is slowly moving in and out of you, you feel his mouth on your thigh is only adding to the anticipation and arousal building in you.

"that's my name, yes." fyodor smirked cruelly as he stopped the movement of his finger as it settled knuckle deep into your hole and he lifted his head to stare at the two small circles on your thigh and the nearly red skin around it.

fyodor stopped holding your other leg and used his free hand to pluck a few strands of free hair that the ponytail wasn't able to cage, behind his ear as he stared down at your panting form with a calculative gaze.

"i do not entertain brats. you want something? you be a good girl and nicely request for it --"

"please dostoy?"

fyodor let out a sharp breath as he raised his eyebrow, a silent order for you to repeat yourself and you do, leaning up on your elbows as the strap of your babydoll nightgown dropped down your shoulder, you timidly repeat yourself,

"please dostoyevsky. please?" you do not go in detail of what you want due to shyness and shame. fyodor doesn't mind as the moment the three words left your lips, a low growl of your name emitted from his throat as he immediately leaned forwards and tore the straps apart, the fabric of the nightgown teared into two by his hands as they pulled the fabric apart to reveal your naked breasts to him.

fyodor lowered himself on you, between both of your legs and your wet core as he lowered his mouth on one of your nipples and touched it with the tip of his fang, making you shudder.

at the same time, fyodor's lithe fingers swiped up some of the oozing blood from your thigh and brought it towards your lips, shoving his finger inside your warm mouth when you parted your lips and the small hum of disapproval at the ironic taste of blood had fyodor grazing your nipple with his sharp fang, providing a ticklish yet arousing sensation.

the short moment of tease died when fyodor moved himself up and pressed his crotch down on your core, making you shudder as your back arched. taking this chance, fyodor's hand traveled to your back and he immediately and harshly pushed down your panties, letting them pool by your feet as he did not bother to take them off fully due to being impatient which is out of character for him but when have someone actually stayed fully composed when the nimble hands of lust slowly dragged themselves down the abdomen of the person they are affecting.

due to the confinement of his pants, fyodor's dick pressed against your core when he pressed down, a painful kind of pleasure traveled to his body and he found himself doing it again and again, letting out short hisses at the painfully addicting and mind numbing sensation.

"dostoyevsky please. i need you so bad -- want you so badl -- m-mhmm." you closed your eyes when fyodor lowered his mouth and bit down on your skin below your breast, hard enough to draw blood but the pain was evened out by him dry humping against you.

"you make a man loose his mind." fyodor gritted his teeth before he whispered something in a language foreign to you, perhaps an ancient language and by the familiarity of the word, he was cursing for you remember the same word being used in multiple occasions with a frustrated tone, why would he curse?

for he wanted to do to many things, feel too many sensations and give you too much pleasure but alas, he two, has only two hands yet his brain, oh, his brain is a wonderful organ and works better then most of those who walked on this earth and perished on it.

"so much, so so much." fyodor muttered again in a language you understood and spoke since the beginning of your existence after you gained enough conscience to use verbal communication. he messily and clumsily undid his belt, removing his pants and practically kicking them off his feet, he let out short pants and his eyebrows were furrowed ; a sight enough to make you cum and fyodor noticed your hole sucking in air and so, he immediately pinched your labia in such a manner that between both of your lips was your clit as a prisoner of pleasure.

"you make me loose my mind so much. make me loose my morals and forget my manners." fyodor continued as he released his hold on your folds for a second to let the pleasure vanish before he pinched them again and as your folds squished around your clit, you let out a small sigh akin to a quiet moan.

"do you know how many times i've thought about bending you in a public place and taking you?" fyodor groaned at the remembrance of his perverted fantasies, he leaned down to bite on your skin again and this time, it drew out blood but the pain wasn't noticeable, not when fyodor pushed the tip of his cock against the spot on your thigh which he had bitten to smear the last wet drops of blood on your skin and on his tip, he groaned again at the messily erotic sight.

"there is only one solution for this." fyodor muttured as he leaned his head up to lick at your breast, his tongue stopping only when it hovered above your nipple as he wanted to let the bite he left on you to be undisturbed until it had enough blood flowing out of it.

without looking away from your eyes and without moving his face away as he pressed his tongue down on your nipple which hardened up, fyodor used both of his hands to spread your legs and try to clumsily push his cock inside your slit. his body weight falling on you, his tongue pressing down on your nipple yet not quite making any friction and his eyes which didn't tear away from your's even once ; all served to add to the pleasure he gave you as his dick bumped against your folds many times before he finally entered your slit while using his index and middle finger to spread your folds apart.

his tongue began to show movements as he licked a strip along your nipple before encircling around it and then it came, the moan you bit back and instead the choked breath you let out when his lips clamped down on your nipple and he began to suck on it, alternatively doing this and pulling your nipple with his teeth.

for every action in nature, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

fyodor pulled his dick out and he could feel the anger of your cunt at the sudden emptiness at it squeezed around thin air, arousal dipped out of you as it weeped for him to enter again, your hips spasmed as if heartbroken by the sudden lose of him . . . your entire body wanted him, didn't it?

this made fyodor shudder in satisfaction, his cocky nature taking the best of him as he smirked.

fyodor's lithe fingers traced down your fold and down the length of your inner thigh as he rubbed his finger on the spot which was faintly smeared in your blood, this made his dick ooze out precum and he thrusted inside you again.

you barely opened your eyes to lift your head up, spotting his free hand which was on top of your thigh and grabbing it to raise it towards your other breast which had been neglected for a long time. with your hand on top of his, you placed his hand on your breast and squeezed it, letting out a loud and breathy moan as your eyes closed once again.

"so eager." fyodor couldn't help but notice, thrusting into you slowly, in an antagonizing slow pace but to make up for it, his hand harshly squeezed your breast as if to tear your mind into two, to make you confused on which sensation to focus on.

fyodor's tongue flicked your nipple one last time before he lowered his head to place it on the spot he had bitten, now that it had a fairly safe yet good amount of blood pulling and he pressed his lips against the fluid. he lifted his head up towards your face and kissed the side, almost the end of your lips and dragged his lips down as he left small pecks along the way and the blood left its trail on your skin.

fyodor's dick picked its pace all of a sudden as he did not want the pleasure to disappear for even a second, he was sure to steal your breath away and leave you addicted to his touch, he will make sure of it.

his dick despite being clamped down by your walls, remained indifferent as he thrusted in and out, his ears drank the moans and whines your lips were letting free and his hand came down to grip your hip tightly, tight enough to leave a bruise.

fyodor went down to press his lips against your bloodied skin again, kissing the underside of your boob in the process before he raised his face to leave an open mouth kiss on your shoulder.

fyodor's dick entered with a particular thrust and touched your g-spot but he didn't pull back and rather, lifted you up by pushing on your hip till the tip of his dick touched your cervix.

it was a repeating process for fyodor to dip his head down and gather blood on his lips and then smear it down your skin as he kissed your body. your back arched when you felt his hand leave your hip to grab your thigh and spread your leg more, your leg dangled off the couch as he thrusted in again with the same pace he started out with ; slow yet deep.

yet his movements on your breast remained hard, harsh and fast and he, once after finding his action repetitive, switched to pinching your nipple and pulling and twisting it between the pads of his index and thumb, returning to his original action once he found this new one to grow repetitive and he alternatively switched between these two after every few minutes or perhaps, after every half minute.

"dostoyevsky." you moaned out and fyodor at once froze before he hummed and began again to ravish and abuse and mark your body as his, treating it delicately yet passionately, letting out short growls and whines every once a while.

fyodor's sacks began to tighten the moment your walls increased the intensity with which they clamped his length down and this was done after the second thrust to your g-spot and beyond it -- to kiss your cervix.

fyodor raised his head, licking his bloody lips and smirking arrogantly at how you appeared below him and how much more he can ruin you further, his hand abandoned your breast and grabbed your own hand instead. he clasped his fingers with your's and pushed your hand down on your stomach to have you feel the bulge his dick in creating inside you as it moved in and out and once again in and out before he pushed it in deeper and deeper inside.

his head kissed your g-spot and kissed it, and pressed on it harder and harder. fyodor's tongue licked your bottom lip before he bit down on it to draw out blood but he wasn't satisfied with this, he went down and bit down on the side of your neck and shoulder.

your legs raised as if on instinct and you wrapped it around his thin and small waist while your free hand grabbed at his clothed back and digged hard, your lips now letting out loud moans.

"i am gonna --dostoy -- ah - ahh. please let me cum, please please. harder -- please faster. don't stop, ah - oh, dostoy. dostoyyyy." you whined out his name when he pressed your hand down on your stomach harder while he used the other to grab and squeeze your breast again, digging his nails into your skin as he smiled against your skin to hear you being such a mess for him, to hear your shyness disappear due to the pleasure he is giving and bringing out a bolder side of you.

fyodor lifted himself on his knees just a bit to have a new and fresh angle to thrust inside you, his balls smacking against your ass harshly with each thrust he did and his dick went deeper and deeper, kissing and hitting your g-spot and cervix.

pleasure waltzed down your torso and up your feet as if to meet with each other with extended hands, fyodor's fangs pierced your skin as he continued to bite down hardly on your skin and his nails digging into your skin also drew out blood. the smell of so much blood made fyodor's breath to quicken and he moaned out. immediately the hands of the two forces of pleasure touched each other and with a moan akin to a scream, you came.

". . . dostoy?" you panted out while your hips spasmed as fyodor helped you ride your high out.

with a hum, fyodor lifted his head and blood had tainted his fangs. you raise your free hand to cup his jaw and pull his face towards your own as you left small and continuous pecks on his lips, kitty licking the blood off of his lips.

after a moment or two, fyodor's pace made you scream again as it increased at a inhumane pace, to give one an insight, you were able to respire only once between two or three of his quick thrusts.

he whimpered and pushed his lips hardly against your own, kissing you with force as he thrusted in again. the tip of his dick touched your walls and just the next second, ropes of sticky white shooted out and coated your walls white.

fyodor's body fell on top of your's as he tried to catch his breath, having no intention to pull out of you anytime soon.

rather, once he had calmed down a bit, he pushed his dick deeper to push his cum into you more and hopefully, into your womb.

"do you like the taste of blood now, love?" he quietly asked as he inspected the trail of blood he left on you -- from your cheeks to neck to shoulders to (faintly) your breasts and below it and above it -- wherever the eye could see, fyodor tainted your skin with your own blood.

you licked your lip before answering, "no, i like the taste of your lips."

━━━━━━━ 💋 end.

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