and then she's like what i was about to be killed for nothing!

I can see people’s auras… and it’s a curse.

by A10A10A10

Yes, I can see people’s auras.

And I hate saying it so bluntly. It makes me sound like some hack psychic who fakes the ability as a means of exploitation and a paycheck. I’ve never made money from my ability. I’ve never taken advantage of it. And, until now, I’ve never spoken of it to anybody.

But I really do see them, and I’m starting to view it as more of a curse. I have a reason for typing this out and I assure you, there isn’t a happy ending.

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someone: do you still ship klance?

me, internally: I love the dynamic of Klance and I love writing the ship. It was my first ship in the Voltron fandom and my first Voltron Klance fic Bonding Time is still my most popular. But it’s a constant frustration, because the more Klance content I reblog, the more anti blogs and art and posts are recommended to me. Because so many Klance fans are antis, and so Klance is associated with antis, which is so sad because I don’t want to be associated with such a toxic side of a fandom and I know many other Klance shippers don’t either, or don’t see the harm in anti arguments because they support Klance, and they’re defending Klance, so it must be okay, right? I hate that so many antis who ship Klance are also Lance stans, because I love Lance but I do not appreciate the iterations of Klance which make Keith out to be little more than a prop to support and lavish love upon Lance when he needs it - forget Keith’s feelings and character development, he’s from Texas and loves knives and making terrible decisions LOL. I hate the “there can only be one” mentality among so many Klance fans, who will go out of their way to bash other ships in order to make Klance the only “safe” and “non-problematic” one. I hate that the argument “because it’s not Klance” has literally been used when one shipper was asked why she didn’t ship or like Hance, I hate that people label Pidge/Lance as problematic even though Pidge and Lance have great potential as a couple and their age difference is the same as Keith and Lance’s, and most of all I hate that antis who ship Klance (…which is most if not all of them) claim other ships that “interfere” with Klance like Sheith or Shance or Shklance are pedophilia and unhealthy, when they are neither. I hate that antis who ship Klance will go so far as to attack other shippers with slews of hate, death threats, give them labels using words they do not even understand, and worst of all invalidate the experiences and trauma of actual CSA victims in their quest to make Klance the one true pairing. I hate that Klance fans have attacked the creators and voice actors of the show in the same way, I hate that @bext-k has been treated so horribly here on tumblr and then been told she couldn’t defend herself because her bully was a minor (a minor, but not a toddler, someone who is perfectly capable of not being an asshole and whose age does not make it okay for them to say the things they said). I cannot stand the Klance meta posts that analyze the heck out of every interaction between the two of them, and at the same time ignore much more meaningful interactions between characters like Shiro and Keith and deny that there could be anything more than friendship between them. It isn’t that deep, I’m sorry, it just isn’t, and it’s embarrassing to see how far of a reach Klance fans make sometimes in order to make their ship as canon as possible. And look, to a degree, I get it. I love Klance. But I do not love the way so many Klance shippers have broken apart this fandom and created spaces so toxic that CSA victims’ voices cannot even be heard without being shut down, mocked, and insulted. I do not love the way I now I have to check every unknown blog’s description before reblogging a post from them to make sure they don’t say “shaladins get out” or “stinky anti” there. I do not love the way that adult antis claim they are protecting minors and then turn around and reblog nsfw fanart of Keith and Lance, two characters who they apparently see as minors, even going so far as to tag it with things like “yaoi” or “this is so sinful” or something equally insulting. I do not love the way antis gaslight and guilt-trip, I do not love the insidious mob mentality that leads to people feeling afraid of not thinking the way other antis do. I do not love the all too prevalent fujoshi culture found among Klance shippers - have you ever noticed that the overwhelming majority of Klance shippers are teenage to twenty-something girls? Whereas all of the queer guys I know of in this fandom are multishippers and/or ship Sheith or Shance. Why don’t we acknowledge that? Why don’t we acknowledge that queer guys, whose relationships we are writing/drawing/analyzing and fangirling about, have an opinion here, and that their opinion maybe, just MAYBE, matters more than ours? In Hypable’s Battleships poll, this was literally proven - way more guys voted for Sheith than voted for Klance. But Sheith is the toxic relationship. Uh-huh. Right. Okay. Even though they’re both adults and have shown each other nothing but love, trust, and respect. This is what infuriates me about so many Klance shippers. The willful blindness to even acknowledge that other sides, other ships, may have merit. And of course this isn’t all of them, I ship Klance and I know many others who do and who don’t share this mentality that makes me so sad and upset. But there are a significant amount of Klance shippers who do. Why can’t there just be a dialogue? Why can’t antis be people who may not like Shaladin ships but understand that this is a fictional show, people are entitled to their opinions, blacklisting tags/blocking users/not looking at content you don’t like is a valid option, and words like pedophilia and “go kill yourself” should not be thrown around as lightly and frequently as they are? I wish we could. I really wish we could. And I also wish I could ship Klance as much as I want to without constantly being reminded of all the hate spread by people who call it their OTP.

me: yep haha ofc klance will always be close to my heart!

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

10

The Kings and Queens of Winter (original)



Their father once said that in winter, they must protect one another, keep each other warm, share their strengths.  So they shared their strength, and their crown as well.



Brandon, King of Winter
↳ King Brandon was King Robb’s true heir, and Lord Eddard’s before him.  When the crown passed to him, it was he that bade his siblings share its responsibilities with him.  Though some of the lords bannermen of House Stark thought this meant that Bran–a cripple since the age of seven–was weak, they soon learned the strength of the decision.  A true king of winter, Brandon said, is one who prepares for winter, not just endures it.  And the best way to prepare for winter was to make sure that all needs were being met, and thus that each was given the full attention of a member of his house.  (It is also said that when there was strife in the North, King Brandon knew about it long before word officially reached Winterfell.  He was blessed by the Old Gods, it was said, with magical sight and hearing, and understood the language of brooks and trees.)

Arya, Queen of Justice
↳ Queen Arya took it upon herself to protect the smallfolk.  She had seen, she told her brothers and sister, their suffering and lived it during the War of the Five Kings, when Lannister and Stark warred in the riverlands.  She had seen what evil men could do when left unchecked and found such evil intolerable in the lands of her blood.  When justice was needed, it was Queen Arya who rode out from Winterfell.  Though songs are sung of Queen Arya’s justice, it was known that her mercy was far more powerful.  Justice, she had been known to say, was nothing without mercy–true mercy, the gift of mercy.  Though far more celebrated for lives she took in the name of her house, her justice was not merely the enforcement of the law but the weighing of it.  If she heard a man’s final words and thought he did not deserve to die, he did not die by her blade.  (Though there were songs sung of Arya’s justice and her mercy, the more celebrated songs are ones of magic.  The most creative of these songs are ones that say she wears the skin of a direwolf and heads a pack of thousands.  Such songs are songs, however, and should never be misconstrued for fact.)

Jon, King of Peace
↳ King Jon was not a Stark, though when the doom of the world was nigh, the lords of the North crowned him king.  He gave his crown to Brandon, Lord Eddard’s trueborn son, when the war ended, and King Brandon shared it with him in return, calling him brother though they shared neither father nor mother.  King Jon fought for the living, and fought for peace, and though he was known as the king in the north who led armies in battle, he knew success by how infrequently he was called upon to fight.  When Jon was home, the realm knew peace; when he rode forth, it would know peace again soon.  (There were whispers that King Jon could not be killed for he had no beating heart inside his body.  Any wound he took remained with him until the time of his passing.  Such tales, however, could not possibly be true for what man can live without a heart?  And while it is known that King Jon rode a dragon into battle at least once in defense of the North, that he had no heartbeat could not possibly be true.)

Sansa, Queen of Prosperity
↳ Queen Sansa learned coin from Lord Baelish, who helped her return to the North following a period of captivity in King’s Landing.  If Lord Baelish was one of the more clever masters of coin that the realm had ever seen, under his tutelage, Queen Sansa came to know the power of gold and markets–vital to the recovery of the North following a long war and a longer winter.  Queen Sansa knew when sternness was required, but the realm knew her to have a generous hand, and through her guidance the North came to know prosperity again.  Artisans flocked to Winterfell, for Queen Sansa dearly loved music, and bakers competed in making the best lemon cakes for her.  (Rumors plagued Queen Sansa for most of her days that Lord Baelish’s untimely demise–an illness that tore through him and slew him in his sleep–was wrought from poison she slipped into his glass of Arbor Gold.  Rumors of poison have followed Queen Sansa ever since the death of Joffrey Baratheon, and thus cannot be trusted to hold any merit at all.)

Rickon, King of Reaping
↳ King Rickon was the youngest of his siblings, and barely more than a babe when his parents died.  He lived his early days among the people, and in fear that Boltons or Greyjoys would find him and slay him in his sleep.  Though many believed that he had died at Theon Greyjoy’s hands when the Prince of Salt and Rock took Winterfell, it soon became known that Greyjoy had slain two farmer’s boys and passed them off for the young princes of Winterfell.  Though King Rickon was likely too young to remember such an event, he was known to mention it often in his work, for he turned himself to the reaping every autumn when the harvest moon rose, making sure that no farmer felt unable to tend to his fields, and that the North was prepared for the oncoming winter.  (As with his brothers and sisters, there are flights of fancy that have entered the realm of myth for King Rickon as well.  If Queen Arya headed a pack of a thousand wolves, it is said that King Rickon wore the skin of a great black wolf that would use his size and strength to protect the smallfolk from smaller packs who would set their eyes on livestock.  Such tales are merely tales, though, for no man can wear the skin of a wolf.)

Blackjack (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jungkook

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, mafia!AU)

Warning: handcuffs, breath play

Word Count: 7,579

Summary: After losing several times to a very expensive card table, you find yourself deep in debt to the notorious mafia group, Bangtan. Taehyung is kind enough to offer you a way out. If you can succeed in taking home any guy of his choosing, your debt will be wiped clear. Then he points at Jungkook.

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wingardium-letmefuckyou  asked:

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollo has many sons.

He only ever has nine daughters.

~

He has his first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphne is beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finally silences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leaves bite marks up his neck.

Her father, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it was secret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for her impurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollo finds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’s riverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the last time he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, could it?

He cuts open her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart too tight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

The child is still warm.

The child is still alive.

He cannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneath the earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beauty will remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hair will have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looks down at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughter will have you.”

He calls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every day of her life.

~

When he is older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not the first time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

This time Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicate hand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Months later, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and his legs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him, but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestia rarely leaves Olympus.

“I am no mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm, squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her name is Terpsichore.”

She leaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the baby has his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliope is fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to come when called.

“Yes, Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home is bursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope use one of her libraries.

He kisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollo falls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide, pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smile that leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentions utterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short years Apollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he has for his sister.

Then Hyacinth is killed.

He shows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look at him and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered in blood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

They clean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bring himself to sleep.

Less than a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes are red, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. A toddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess of Sparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollo hadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed – but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“As I am sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must have a prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and she can’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself and my husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apollo flinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “I will take her.”

She smiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her to Apollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Urania watches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays with his daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watching Terpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania loves the stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains the name of each one.

When she is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Urania is his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bear to watch her age and die.

~

Marpessa chooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child, and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, she loves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But she is not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old with her, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’s fear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love him and choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for a lifetime.

“Have the child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to your life.”

Ida is furious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before she bears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemis delivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds her niece. “What will you call her?”

“You choose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

His sister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “I think you should name her Thalia.”

“Thalia it is,” he says.

She’s mischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pulls pranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining to keep her out of worse trouble.

He gets a frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventually finds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but the bodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place so dangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’t expected.

She’s hallway through a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half lies and a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollo hasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thalia finally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares is downright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares, “You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods, ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best to look contrite and innocent.

It might have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sits down on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyond shifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keep going.”

Thalia lights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continues into another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Because he’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a month with Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep, because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he never will.

One of the most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and finding Hades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in his realm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are you crazy?”

“It … it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,” Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them, creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollo gives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughly a year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and grey hair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that he accidentally snaps one of his strings.

“Lady Styx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The child snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls out a baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably, the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift between every color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowing about her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A child of Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quite well among others of her own kind.

He sighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I like the name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thalia tells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takes over most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope is neck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull her attention from it to rear a child.

As Clio ages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around the time she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like that get people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollo says as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of the Persian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want to raise her actual daughter.”

“You’re a better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him an unimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to be quite lovely – all of them.”

“Of course they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbows him the side.

By the time she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars to ever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks, and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

She stays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollo is lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into the sea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and is dragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrified when the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front of his wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitrite grabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into his eyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought. How … ironic.”

“Is it?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,” she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish for one of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,” he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband any children, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon might kill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with that aren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, she might kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort of hardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’s deposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

If Poseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voice them.

Amphitrite doesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, and one day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s a teenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bone structure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollo greets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I call her Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her to join her sisters.”

Erato is not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her that she must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many days looking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’s laughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loves love, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphrodite commends her talent.

Erato is also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leaves behind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliope complains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she has some of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spell around their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, she forgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusing for everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

His daughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinks he’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not all hunts are easy things.

Apollo feels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen as painful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it, if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consume the earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?” she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemis is hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into her hands. “You can do this.”

She pales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

He kisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up an honor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer. “ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what this war is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The god of war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mud and other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not until they gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

He first sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices through them all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at her back, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thalia has long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’t figure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is letting loose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not a goddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true and take down another enemy.

Terpsichore uses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirling and ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all who go against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestia and Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

He wants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get to safety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he says nothing.

Ares looks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from the battle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed to stay as long as he did.

The giants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side. She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying to stop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her hand and pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays her burning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. Both Apollo and Artemis scream

“They – took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and he has never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a scream at the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A – nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort of injustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against his shoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishes the battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’ll get it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms. She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeus does not care for his children.”

“I think it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looks stricken. “Right Dad?”

He looks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. She cannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

The girl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome, Euterpe,” he says.

It’s then that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next to them. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it would be. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than he had. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“We have a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tend to her burns.

Euterpe, thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voice like a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

He knows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no time at all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as he loves her sisters.

~

For a while, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplished and beautiful.

Then Demeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him against an alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddess hisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

At least this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dress off. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying with Demeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and more standing against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in a way that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’s vaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month with Hecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Nine months later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. His daughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’t waste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Does she have a name?”

“Polyhymnia, my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

He brings her to the home where all his daughters live.

She grows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when she answered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as pretty and when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with a measured stare.

Polyhymnia asks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollo doesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie to her. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asks after the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephone has no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of the underworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollo tries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandra is unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and the flames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since his Hyacinth died.

She’s bull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemis rolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing a very good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because at one point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or if she should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

They don’t leave her house for five days.

She is curious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants to know impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughs and takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you the gift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’s never take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandra is screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’s when everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’s too much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her to focus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets too caught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even as her stomach swells.

He tries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot be ungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He only manages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she cries to prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the way that they’ll die.

Artemis helps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched and worried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want this to happen.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child on her chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved, she will die, here, now.

Apollo wonders if she saw this coming.

She blinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for a long time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the last daughter you will have.”

He kisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’s dead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollo tries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemis doesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “You can’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’re not allowed to run.”

He crumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and her calloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them, soft and warm and alive.

Time passes.

Melpomene is Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Her dark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just like her mother’s.

She, like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollo has nine daughters

Calliope, who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore, who reigns over dance.

Urania, who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia, who reigns over comedy.

Clio, who reigns over history.

Erato, who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe, who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia, who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene, who reigns over tragedy.

They are known as the Muses.


gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

The Boxer Part Two

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 5K

WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE AND PHYSICAL FIGHTS.

Prompt: 

“You’re supposed to be in the hospital gown, it’s why we laid it out for you,” Y/N stated, pointing the pen in her hand at the white gown by his feet.

“I’m not wearing that paper shit,” Harry grumbled, “and I’m perfectly fine to leave.”

“That cut says otherwise,” Y/N says.

Harry watches as she sets down the clipboard and turns on the sink to wash her hands, she’s cute. She’s nothing like the kind Harry would go for. His usual prey would be at the bar, lonely, maybe going through a breakup, but he knew for sure that by the end of the night she would be in his bed. Y/N on the other hand looked like too pure for him, and he hated that look.

From his experience Harry had learned that girls like Y/N believed that they were too good for a guy like him. Girls like Y/N, with an innocent smile, soft skin, and soft voices, tended to only use him for one thing, to make their parents upset. Harry had seen it time and time again, it was only a matter of weeks before the girl would crush his heart and move on to someone better.

“I don’t feel anything,” Harry stated.

Harry had grown numb to just about everything. He couldn’t feel the punches thrown at him, he couldn’t feel his emotions, it all just seemed gone to him. He didn’t mind though, no emotions meant he couldn’t get hurt, and no pain meant he was unstoppable.

or

Boxer Harry Styles highers, incredibly perky Y/N as his on-call nurse.

Part One


Harry wasn’t sure which he hated the most, expression his emotions, or having to handle them.

Keep reading

listening to the adventure zone for the first time. I realized at ep. 21 that I wanted to compile some of my favourite qoutes (not just from characters). so here’s that (in no particular order. not even in order of appearance):

  • “abraca-fuck you”
  • “i’m really getting this cleric shit aren’t i”
  • “I’m not a nerd so I don’t know-” “we’re on a D&D PODCAST”
  • “let me tell you the story of the time an orc punched me so hard I almost died”
  • after griffin has been complimented for the quality of the campaign. “let’s wait and see how it ends, though, ‘cause lost seemed pretty good too”
  • “no i’m a flesh boy”
  • “YOU’RE MY FATHER. YOU BIRTHED ME.”
  • “i just don’t understand why me understanding the basic rules of dungeons and dragons is like an unfit way to spend our time”
  • every time taako mocked jenkins not using spell slots
  • “I have a beating heart! i’m- i’m multidimensional! i’m a fully realized creation. Fuck.”
  • let me promise you one thing- are we out of the zone of truth?” “yeah you’re long out of it” “everything’s going to be fine”
  • “my names not jerry its…. jereeeeee”
  • barabra telling taako (as jerry) he’ll walk him to the bathroom
  • “the second ruffian-” “give them names” “c-craig…ory?”
  • “magnus’ quest for vengeance just… ends” “and OURS BEGINS”
  • “there’s no vine you’ll never be able to not fuck”
  • “let’s try that again, and you say yes to my fucking bit”
  • “hot diggity shit, this is a baller cookie”
  • the entire section where they kept talking when mushrooms were giving off spores at the sound of their voices and kept having to roll constitution saving throws.
  • “that is your last thought as a two armed man”
  • everything starting with justin going “i’m going to cast a spell called eldrics black tentacles” and ending with “MY NAMES KRAVITZ”
  • ^side note: kravitz why did you actually give him your name when that was what he was asking
  • kravtiz “what the fuck is wrong with the three of you” when taako eats that crystal piece
  • unrelated to the above event  “oh no it’s a vore thing!”
  • “tell julia i said i love her”
  • “how’s elvis?” “…still alive”
  • “it sounds like you’ve given me an even better lesson- a new mystery to solve!” “oh fuck”
  • “blizzard can you get off my nuts for a second!”
  • “it’s seventh level……necromancy” *slightly distant, loud laughter*
  • “what was the last thing you said?” “i said i love you jules”
  • but it’s not… what julia would want. so i’m gonna have to pass”
  • the entire section where justin is being given the left or right choice and everyone is losing it bc he was literally told earlier in the arc
  • “this figure in the red robe… is you”
  • the entire section of taako convincing garfield to sell the sword to him for a useless item. (especially griffins “oh my god”s when he realizes what’s going on, and a quieter one a few seconds later)
  • “[….] he just looks like a smaller taako” “griffin- a taquito?”
  • “i’m gonna say the pocket workshop can only sustain 2 boys at once though, because i don’t want you to have an infinite bag of boys that you can just put boys inside”
  • “welcome… to the monster factory!” *laughter*
  • “flipping off is a free action”
  • griffin describing taako transforming, before saying “and turns into… a tyrannosaurus rex”
  • “i’ll be having my body back, you undead fuck”
  • “okay… you pee while holding two flame throwers”
  • “listen… light them the fuck up”
  • huh… i feel sad.  and he kills you”
  • “our capacity for love increases with every person we cross paths with throughout our lives and with each moment we spend with those people. ”
  • “it delighted in your company, magnus, and it still does.”
  • “today is going to be one of those memories”
  • “if she were to look under the table, she would see that his legs are visibly trembling in absolute panic”
  • “you are home… here… in cycle 99″
  • “sometimes there aren’t right decisions sometimes there are just… decisions.”
  • “when someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal” (and on)
  • “this is it…. this is it”
  • .”Those are the arms that have held my wife”
  • “i have nothing, and i don’t give a shit. the world is ending, and i don’t care”
  • “hell yeah, dungeons and dragons is back”
  • “no i’m gonna leave all that in” “no griffin no”
  • “should i talk slower so everyone who’s been complaining about us not playing d&d has time to nut?”
  • “You’re dating the grim reaper?!” 
  • “i’ve got magic powers.” “was that supposed to be some big reveal?” (and on)
  • “it’s upsy… your lifting friend” *laughter*
  • “i’m a wizard, my name is taako, and i’m pretty- well- fucked”
  • “no dogs on the moon”
  • “i’ll take one taco, with extra destiny” *laughter* “yeah, fuck it, i’ll teach taako how to make a taco”
  • “thanks for not ripping my arms off, magnus”
  • “whats up ghost rider”
  • “it says thanks for reuniting it with it’s kids […] and it says, you’re even”
  • the entire section of  “and __ walks over to __” during ep 68
  • “but that stops here”
  • “hear that babe? we’re legends”
  • “and then… you see john smile”
  • “i’m allowed to ask the dm one question, and he has to answer honestly” “alright go” “did you have fun doing the adventure?” “yes” “okay!”
  • “you know the best part of the fantasy costco? free samples”
  • “much like the best science on earth, you’re double blind”
  • “i reach into my fucking bag and grab my immovable rod. i’m not going fucking anywhere”
  • “you hear a voice through this rift say, you’re going to be amazing
  • “and then… light”
  • “Johann was right! We won!”
  • “i know about the silverware”
  • “sorry, so you want to be earl merle?”
  • “not just because you saved the world, but, because i know how hard you’re trying”
  • “we see you one last time, as… magnus rushes in”
  • magnus’ entire speech to carey
  • “that was the world you made, that was the ending you earned”
  • “the story of four idiots who played d&d so hard they made themselves cry”

summersaltturn  asked:

"Have anyone told you you have the most intimidating nostrils I've ever seen?"

“Yeah, I won an award, junior year,” Derek answers, frowning at his new IKEA (bought and built, all in a soft Henley sweater; Stiles knows, he supervised) book-shelf, like he hasn’t just finished a seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts. A seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts alone.

Derek Hale: epic nerd and assembler of easy-to-build IKEA products. Of course, Stiles thinks, cursing his stupid Professor and DIY kinks. Why not? The worst part is, he doesn’t even think those kinks are sexual. It’s just….a thing. That he has. A Derek thing. The Butterflies That Live In His Stomach were trying so desperately to move on with their lives, too. They’d shopped around. Hired a real-estate agent. They were ready, goddammit!  

Derek settles on a book - Stiles is pretty sure it also has the word ‘artefacts’ in the title - and sighs, all feigned nostalgia, and glances over his shoulder. “It was a golden nose, too. Across the bottom it said,” he pauses, grinning, “Stiles Stilinski needs to get a life.”

Stiles opens his mouth, clutches his chest, because rude much? Is it his fault Derek’s nostrils belong in some kind of anatomy museum? Is it his fault his Saturday nights are spent playing video games in his underwear, when his week days are spent chasing down monsters and researching things like how Scott and Erica managed to contract chicken pox when stabbing them does, like, nothing? (Except get Erica excited because she’s a beautiful, terrifying weirdo.) The moment he tries to tell Derek this, however, a copy of - is that Pride and Prejudice? - is thrown at his head. 

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s more offended when Derek rolls his eyes when it misses him, or the concerned look that crosses his face when the book sails past him and lands in an empty pizza box, like Derek is worried if it’s okay or not. 

And to think, Stiles was going to screw up his courage and finally invite Derek to see a movie this weekend. In an actual theatre. Where people go to be normal. Well, the laugh is on Derek because Stiles is going to buy the big popcorn and he’s going to enjoy it all on his own. 

Yeah, that’ll show him. 

~

“Has anyone ever told you your eyebrows could star in a disturbing kid’s movie about caterpillars?” 

Stiles is drunk. No, he’s wasted. Hammered. Loaded. Completely and utterly shit faced. Which is probably why instead of ending up on his ass on the floor, Derek just pinches the bridge of his nose, tips his head against the back of the couch and says, “what.” Not even a hint of inflection.

This dude, Stiles thinks, and then laughs because, ohmygod, Derek is this dude now. Not that dude or whoa, what are you doing crawling through my window, dude? but this dude. And that’s kind of beautifully heart warming, in its own way. 

Really, Stiles should write into Hallmark. It could be a trilogy. A Gay Trilogy ™. Bisexuals on ice. Except, without the ice because Stiles doesn’t know how to skate. Can Derek skate? Stiles totally bets Derek can skate.   

Speaking of Derek, he’s got this little crinkle on his forehead now, right between his eyebrows, and man, they really are very nice eyebrows. Animated but nice. A little dramatic but nice. Murderous but nice.

“What,” Derek says again, looking more confused than annoyed by the second. Stiles really wants to kiss him.

Instead, he stares. Stares and stares and stares.

Shit.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he begins laughing uncontrollably and before he knows it, he’s clutching his sides and has his face pressed against Derek’s chest, because the hilarity is killing him. 

Because this is them now. Drinking peach-snaps at Derek’s loft, on a couch filled with throw pillows. Throw pillows. One is even soft and pink and frilly and another has a picture of the pack on it. Granted, no one is looking at the camera but Derek, Boyd and Kira and Derek is not so much looking at the camera as yelling at Stiles (holding the camera) for eating his secret stash of cookies, but it’s nice. It’s a nice picture. There is a plain black pillow too, of course. Somewhere. Stiles might be sitting on it, actually. He figures one can only expect so much when it comes to sour-wolves but Erica glued little cat ears on it last week and Derek said nothing. Fuck, he’d even smiled.

It says a lot about what a secret softie Derek is when it comes to vulnerable, drunk-ass people, because he doesn’t push Stiles away; just lets him laugh and laugh until he passes out, drooling on his chest. 

When Stiles wakes up, Derek’s sweater is pretty soaked through but he hasn’t moved an inch. He does, however, tell Stiles he snores like a deranged goose and that he owes him a pastry later.

He doesn’t even ask for a specific kind, Stiles chastises in his head, falling back to sleep. He’s in love with a pastry idiot. 

~

“Do you know when you smile, you brighten up the whole damn room?”

The question clearly catches Derek off guard because he falls head first…into a duck pond. 

Stiles’ first reaction is to jump in after him - he hates to admit it, but he gets a little nervous around water when Derek is with him; there have been several incidents where he’s unconsciously grabbed Derek’s hand in order to drag him away from pools and, one time, a very large puddle - but when Derek emerges, wearing his someone is about to die face, Stiles can’t be held accountable for the way he falls to the ground because, yup, that’s a tiny, outraged duckling perched on top of Derek’s head.   

“Oh my god,” he yells, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs in the air. He feels like a kid, grabbing his stomach, water practically pouring from his eyes. This was, quite possibly, the best day of his life.

Normally, Derek would be yelling threats - several, in fact, some in Spanish because he’s a show off - but he just stands there….in the middle of a fucking pond. The duckling is still sitting on his head, like he or she plans to set up home there and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he actually coos out loud.

Still, Derek still doesn’t say anything. Not even when Stiles coos again, very, very deliberately. (And Scott said his middle name could never be Danger, pffft.) Stiles can’t actually guess what Derek is going to do but he doesn’t care. He looks a strange cross between wanting to murder someone - namely, Stiles - and a little kid who was told they couldn’t get a puppy only to get one on Christmas day anyway. 

Mostly, he just looks lost. And wet. Very, very wet. Somewhere out there, someone is playing It’s Raining Men and Stiles wants nothing more than to share this glorious moment with them. He’s just in the process of taking out his phone to at least snap a photo to send to the pack when - 

“Did you mean it?” Derek asks, and man, those water droplets just keep on running, don’t they. 

Stiles grins. “Did I mean for you to fall into a pond and adopt a new feathered friend? No but I think we can all agree-” 

Stiles.” 

Derek growls and it would be effective - at least in getting Stiles to help him out of the pond - if it wasn’t for the fact his ears were turning a little pink. A lot pink, actually and - 

Oh.

Sitting up, Stiles drags his butt over to the edge of the pond.

“Yeah,” he says. “I meant it. I mean, smiles can’t literally light up rooms, I know that, but when you smile it’s like…” He sighs and flaps his arms, suddenly nervous, hitting Derek in the process. The duckling practically glares at him and Stiles briefly wonders if he has competition here. 

Right. Better make this good then. He clears his throat. 

“It’s like, everything just makes sense for a little bit, you know? I look at you and it’s not that smiling is rare for you, at least not anymore, but it’s still pretty thrilling to see it and when you do I’m like, that’s some quality shit right there but then I get confused because it’s like, do I wanna punch it? Kiss it? Pet it? Who knows. Usually it depends on what you’re wearing.” 

Derek blinks and Stiles groans because, yeah, he just said that out loud. In real time. To Mr McGrumpy himself. Who is currently not reacting.

Great.

“Uh, I mean,” he attempts to correct himself but it’s too late. Derek is already slowly pulling him in and pressing his lips to his in what is the single most innocent, chaste kiss of Stiles’ life - because, you know, duckling and head movements - but somehow, it still manages to be perfect. 

“Nice,” Stiles whispers, after, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek snorts and kisses him again.

~

“Turn it off,” Derek whines, nuzzling further into Stiles’ neck. “This is why I leave my phone in the kitchen. Like we discussed.

Stiles tries to swat him, ends up kissing his temple. Sue him, he’s tired. “Says the person who can afford to leave their phone in the kitchen. We don’t all have supernatural hearing, asshole.”

Derek whines again. “You also have the worst taste in ringtones.”

Stiles gasps, suddenly sitting up. Well, he tries to. When your boyfriend is made of muscle and is half lying on top of you, it makes moving a lot more difficult. Not that Stiles is really complaining. Much. “I’ll have you know Bushes of Love is a Star Wars parody classic.”    

Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles can feel it, says, “just answer it, sweetums.” 

“Ugh,” Stiles grimaces, “I already told you I’m sorry for the pet-name thing. It was an accident!”

“Calling me your ‘slutty buddy’ in front of your dad was meant as a pet name?”

“It sounded better in my head!”  

Derek groans and wraps an “exasperated” arm around Stiles’ waist. Oh. So. Exasperated. Stiles grins. “Answer. Your. Phone.” 

Stiles finds his phone on the fifth try.

He has fifteen missed calls, all from Erica. Texts too. Every single one is a link to some article online, followed by a string of heart and eggplant emojis.   

Young Love and the Ugly Duckling’,” Stiles reads, clicking on the link. “Uhhh, Derek?” He prods him. 

What.” 

There’s a picture of us in the online Beacon Gazette,” looking into each other’s eyes, like a pair of love sick fools, Stiles wants to add because, wow, is he really that obvious when he looks at Derek? To be fair though, Derek isn’t much better and he is the one with an angry bird on his head.

He prods Derek again and again until he finally gives in, makes him look at the phone. 

“Huh,” he says, blinking at it. “Fred looks pretty pissed that I’m kissing you.” His face breaks out in a smug grin and Stiles rolls his eyes. Hard. 

“You are aware Fred is a duckling, right?” 

“Yes.” Derek grins harder, showing all his teeth, although his cheeks do colour slightly when he catches Stiles’ eye. 

Stiles sighs, totally not fond. “They couldn’t have come up with a better title, though?” he asks, brandishing his phone. “The Ugly Ducking, really?” 

Yeah,” Derek says, frowning. “I mean, I wouldn’t go as far as to call you ugly.” He laughs and Stiles smacks him across the chest with a loud, “hey!”

They both turn back to look at the picture. 

“We look so stupid,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head and biting his thumb. We fit, he thinks. We look like we fit. 

Leaning in, Derek smiles at him. “We do,” he agrees, burying his face back into the warmth of Stiles’ neck, muttering something about home and content and stupid Star Wars parodies.

Stiles snaps a selfie, captions it goals, and sends it to Erica. 

Imagine demon!Dean beating a guy up to death because he touched you and he got jealous.

“She’s pretty.” you said softly, trying to hold back the hint of bitterness and pain in your voice. Or jealousy for that matter. You couldn’t blame her, who knew with how many women Dean had been with ever since he became a demon.

“And probably his type. But it shouldn’t bother you now, should it chipmunk?” Crowley raised an eyebrow as the both of you didn’t take your eyes off of the demon playing darts as the blonde waitress gave him another drink with a rather flirtysmile might you say.

“Not now, not ever.” Crowley finally turned to look at you “You are not his girlfriend, (Y/n). Never been, yet you are bothered so much by this. I wonder why.”

You scoffed, turning to glare at him “As if you don’t know. Dean is probably the most oblivious man in the world but you never were Crowley. Why would you use this stupid nickname on me if you didn’t?”

“Guilty.” he flashed you a smile, downing his drink “But he’s no longer the man that you remember, love.”

“Right, so that’s why you wanted me here?” you scoffed “And don’t you dare deny it to me Crowley. You didn’t even blink in surprise when you saw me. You’re letting yourself get caught and sooner or later Sam will come walking in as well.”

“I must admit- the only thing that did surprise me was the fact that moose didn’t come in right after you.” he shrugged “But probably- it’s time to finally put him on track-” he looked at Dean “And make him realize how little he is leaving for just how much.”

“Hell? Oh wow, yes Crowley that really is everyone’s dream kingdom.”

“It is one, nonetheless.” he winked at you and before you could say a thing he had vanished right in front of your eyes. You scoffed at him but didn’t have the chance to question him when you turned your head and your eyes locked with his green ones. And just like always they made your heart skip a beat. Because maybe you were always friends but your love for him was undying.

You held your breath as he set his glass down and raised an eyebrow at you. He said nothing to the rest of them men he was playing with and casually strode towards you “(Y/n)” his voice was as rough but a lot more cold “Fancy seeing you here.” and the smirk on his face made it all worse.

“Is it?” you asked in a low voice and his smile dropped.

“What do you want here?” he asked serious.

“Oh so Crowley didn’t tell you?” you scoffed a laugh “He knew I was on your tracks with Sam, he should be here very soon. I managed to get a lead and thought if I could convince you to come back without him having to hurt himself but… I don’t think there is a point in trying.”

“I told you to stay away.” he shrugged casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets “Not my fault you don’t listen.

“You told Sam to let you go, not me. And I thought there was a chance here but- I was wrong obviously. I’m curious how you didn’t see this coming, or even more that Crowley didn’t speak to you about his plans. Whatever those may be. What happened? Don’t you guys tell everything? Oh no, don’t Dean, secrets are bad, they ruin relationships. We know it better than anyone.” you went from sarcastic to completely serious.

He scoffed, putting on a smirk on his face and rolling his eyes “Don’t care what his game is, I am not his toy. I have my own plans and I’m glad that… he made it easier for me.” he looked

“What do you mean?” you frowned when you noticed the predatory smile on his face “Made it easier by letting me find you?”

“I’ll let you know soon, now follow me and let’s out of here. You’re drawing too much fucking attention with those shorts.” he took hold of your arm, dragging you up as he glared at a few men behind you that had been sneaking looks at you.

“Like hell.” you hissed, snatching your arm from his “Why does it even matter to you? Especially now, I am nothing to you. So what if they look? I am free, Dean, hell they can even touch as much as they want to.” you said angrily.

His eyes darkened as he looked “Let’s go. Now.” he said in a low almost growl but you weren’t having any of it.

“Why?” you scoffed a laugh “So that you can kill me now? Or so that she doesn’t see us talking?” you motioned with your head to the blonde that already had her eyes on you. You tried so hard not to show how much this was hurting you.

“She has nothing to do with this. Come on.” he tugged, holding your hand again.

“Right, of course she doesn’t.” you scoffed “With how many have you been exactly all these months?”

“You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?” a satisfied smirk was on his face.

You didn’t have the chance to speak though because another voice spoke up “Is everything alright?” it was a guy you had seen checking you out ever since you came in.

“Yes, everything’s fine actually. My friend here was just leaving.” you gave Dean a look “How about you buy me a drink and we can talk?” you gave him a smile that made his grin widen.

“Yes, of course sweet cheeks.” he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“You’re gonna lose that hand buddy.” Dean growled, and you both stopped before you could leave.

“Excuse me?” he raised an eyebrow “Did you just threaten me?”

“No, I was giving you a friendly warning.” Dean shrugged with a casual smile.

“Yeah, right.” he scoffed, arm tightening on your waist just to mock the demon and for a second you got scared when Dean’s smile completely fell.

“But you obviously don’t listen very well.” he scoffed and before you could realize it he had grabbed the man by the collarof his shirt and pinned him against a pillar.

“And now- you get to see what I mean when I say that you shouldn’t have done that.” and even if you expected it you jumped when he threw a powerful punch at the man. And the another, and another and another without letting him do a single move. You were almost scared for his life when you saw the mark on Dean’s arm burn that angry red as he kept hitting the guy, blood covering his fist and groans and moans of pain filling the bar along with hushed whispers from other customers.

“Fucking asshole, think you could ever have a piece of that?” he scoffed a laugh, punching more “In your dreams!” another punch “She’s too pure and perfect for a bloody jackass like you. You would never stand a fucking chance.” he growled, punching him more.

You could barely make out any of the things he said after that as the sounds were too much to handle. People shouting, some cheering and encouraging him to keep going. And then you heard her.

“Dean, stop!” she screamed but he didn’t listen to her, as he kept punching with groans himself “Stop! You’re gonna kill him!” she screamed but it didn’t seem to have a single effect on him at the moment.

“Would serve him fucking right.” Dean growled, grabbing his bloody face and making the guy look at you “Do you see that? Do you see her?” he said through gritted teeth “She’s great isn’t she? And you’d really want a piece of her tonight but that would be it. You had some gruesome thoughts for her after that though, didn’t you?” he turned his head to look at Dean “Didn’t you?” he roared and he gave him a weak nod.

“Just like I thought.” Dean smirked “For the first, I’d really just break your hand and maybe face. But for this-” he looked at him darkly and your breath got caught in your throat. If he killed him right there in front of so many people he’d draw all the wrong attention.

“Dean!” you screamed “No, no don’t!” you exclaimed and as surprising as it was for everyone, it caught his attention and he glanced at you over your shoulder. You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head in fear.

“Seems like your lucky day, bastard.” he growled “You’re very damn lucky that she can have this effect on me because trust me your death… it would have not been easy. And she would never give you a single glance because you know why?” he smirked in an almost sinister way “Oh you know why.” he laughed, pushing him to the side and he fell on the floor. He looked down at him for a second, smirking before with a roll of his eyes he turned around and looked at the rest of the customers.

He didn’t say a think, he only scoffed at them and walked towards you.

“D” you found yourself whispering as you stared at him with wide eyes “You would have-”

“I should have.” he growled “Hope you fucking understand I am not playing games here, (Y/n).” he grabbed your jaw with one hand and your heart leapt to your throat when he brought his face closer to yours, your lips only an inch away. You knew what he wanted to do but he stopped himself, looking from your lips up to your eyes. He smiled slightly, running his thumb over your lower lip.

“You are mine, and I’ll make sure everybody knows it from now on.” he said in a low rough voice and you frowned. You knew in what way he meant it, you were no fool with what he had almost done but it still confused you. You were always friends and on top of that even if he didn’t care at the moment as a demon… what really held him back from forcing a kiss out of you? IT felt as if for a moment you saw your own Dean flash through his eyes.

“Only. Mine.” he said in a husky voice in your ear and you felt shivers run down your spine when his teeth grazed over it “I’ll wait in the car.” he added and let go of you, almost leaving you to try to recover from the shock.

But you only had another one coming once he’d left and the waitress spoke to you “You are (Y/n)?”

“Why-” your voice was hoarse as you looked at her “You know me?” and the look on her face only said yes, making you realize there was only person that could have spoken about you to her.

Dean. But the real question was why?

Killing a toxic co-workers hopes, dreams, and future.

Names changed for anonymity, happened a few years back. This is a long one so TL;DR at the bottom.

Background: I got a job working for a small hardware company. 4 people in the office, a few in the warehouse, and a delivery driver. Nothing fancy, but it got me off the night shift and onto a desk. The owner was a pretty nice guy, let’s call him Ray. Ray took over the family business in the early 2000s. Like most small business owners he was pretty frugal. The job came with absolutely zero perks. 10 vacation days that doubled as sick days, no insurance, everyone was hourly and Ray hated paying OT. He had one large customer that accounted for about half his business and everything after that was profit. He had gotten to the point where the business was doing well enough to support his comfortable life (10-3 schedule, 4 weeks vacation, season baseball tickets) and had zero interest in growing it beyond that point. But my problem was not with Ray, it was with the absolute b*tch in the purchasing department.

The players: Four people in the office meant that every part of this business fell to one of us. Ray was the owner, he negotiated large scale orders both with customers and suppliers. Sarah was our admin/receptionist, sweet as pie. I was in charge of order processing and logistics, and I did quite a bit of work revamping the company website. Ingrid (aka B*tch Supreme) handled small scale purchasing and most of the other customers.

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Attack Of The Clones

Request:

Hey request are open. Can we get where the reader can duplicate and but she starts duplicating in her sleep. So it freaks the whole team out so they confront the reader about it.            


Bucky has created a chatroom.

Bucky has added Bruce, Thor, Clint.

Bucky: BANNER

Clint: BRUCE

Thor: SIR OF SCIENCE

Bruce: Yes, what can I, Sir of Science, do for either of you?

Bucky: Can you explain Y/N’s powers, but without the science?

Bruce: Y/N can duplicate them-self, or objects. That’s all I can say without getting into the science.

Bucky: Can I have more details please? Especially about the clones.

Bruce: Any duplicate of Y/N is an independent, self thinking version of Y/N, and usually contains one trait of Y/N that defines their whole personality. Sometimes they have no traits of Y/N, and take on their own.

Bucky: Now… how do you get rid of the clone?

Bruce: Any other way you’d get rid of someone, or have Y/N dissipate them.

Clint: So, we’re stuck with them until Y/N wakes up?

Bruce: Clarify.

Thor: Y/N HAS BEEN SUMMONING THEIR DOPPLEGANGERS AS THEY SLUMBER.

Thor: WE ARE GRAVELY OUTNUMBERED.

Thor: THE DOPPLEGANGERS HAVE TAKEN OVER.

Thor: WE MUST RETREAT TO SOME PLACE SAFE.

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Freckles, Flaws, and First Steps

Wow my title isn’t one word for once. This is a one-shot for the below prompt from @alexandrbello which I got a while ago. Sorry for just posting this now, my life has been w i l d. Hopefully you guys are glad to see some writing!

AU where lance had freckles but is ashamed of them so he hides them and then he runs out of whatever he covered himself with and anxiety, then keith comfort and klance, lots of klance please, thanks

You got it.


Lance had always been an outdoorsy kid.

It wasn’t surprising, considering how close his house was to the beach. Growing up, the ocean was practically part of his backyard.

No matter what, if Lance wasn’t at school or doing any number of chores, he could be found at the beach. Rain or shine, night and day, whatever the circumstance, no one could stand between him and the shore.

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Loving You To Death (Sequel)
Word Count: 9k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Author’s Note: This is the sequel to the Free The Animal one-shot.

You feel a strong sense of deja vu as you stand at yet another party watching the black haired asshole groping a girl that is sitting on his lap.

There were slight differences between the two times. This girl is a brunette, they’re sitting down, you’re alone… but the biggest difference of all is that you know, this time, that Jungkook wouldn’t be on your bed later this evening, waiting for you to finish your shower so he can jump on you.

Fuck, you needed another drink.

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What we learned about Hux from the Phasma book

Spoiler warning if you have not read the book yet!

The Phasma book was the most enjoyable Star Wars book that I have read in a while. It is an exciting read from start to finish that you definitely don’t want to miss. The book reveals Phasma’s past and what makes her tick as a person. We are also given a few more snippets about Armitage Hux that are really useful in further understanding him as a character! 

1. It is common knowledge in the First Order that his father hated him.

Brendol looked at him, then … well, like perhaps a father would.

Which was a way Brendol had never looked a this own son, Armitage. (p 311)

We can’t be certain whether Brendol was actually proud of Cardinal or if he was just manipulating Cardinal to think so. Regardless, even Cardinal, who seemed to be oblivious to many of the darker motives of his First Order superiors, still noticed the lack of fatherly affection Brendol had towards Armitage, which means Brendol never even tried to hide his dislike for his son. 

2. But Armitage probably hated his father even more.

The look he shot Brendol was pure loathing. (p 286)

Armitage definitely has some father issues for sure. This matches up with what we learned about Armitage in Empire’s End, that he had been raised by an abusive father who could not care less about his son except perhaps in using him for the First Order. 

3. He can handle children pretty well.

“We’re going to space,” he said. “To become good soldiers for the First Order. I was once very little and took a ride o a ship like this, and look how big I am.”

He smiled at the child, and hen shot a measuring look at Phasma, as if trying to guess whether she might be friend or foe. (p. 285)

Perhaps this talent comes from dealing with the orphan children or the young stormtroopers in training. (Or maybe he has children as well? You never know.)

4. Rae Sloane remains a soft spot for him. 

“Sir, if I may say so, if Admiral Sloane were here -” 

“Well she’s not,” Armitage snaps. “Any other threats you’d like to hold over my head?” (p. 304)

It’s not completely clear if Rae Sloane is dead or just on a different ship. If Cardinal is threatening to tell her about the situation then it is clearly the latter, but Cardinal could have also been speaking hypothetically about if Sloane were alive. Either way, Armitage clearly still considers Sloane an important figure in his life. 

5.  He planned the murder of his father with Phasma.

“I know Phasma killed him, and I’m glad the old bastard is dead. We agreed on the right time for it to happen. I told her it had to be untraceable and it shall remain so.” (p. 304)

Brendol literally liquefied in a bacta tank from a poison beetle bite. If there were any doubts that Hux had any affection left for his father, then they were vaporized with Brendol’s organs. This information also shows that Phasma and Armitage are allies and are probably on the same page about their plans for the First Order.

6. Hux knows everything.

“Of course I knew. I always know. I know everything.” (p. 304)

Nothing goes unnoticed under General Hux’s watch. This characterization is consistent with how he was the described in the TFA novelization as being excellent at reading the people around him. 

7. He resents the past and the way his father did things. 

Cardinal saw how the man treated his son. If he knew anything about the human heart, he should’ve understood that the stronger Hux would rise to supplant the weaker, older Hux eventually.

The ends justify the means, and the First Order cannot be held back by outdated ideals.  (p. 308)

Let’s see what Hux will do next. 


8. He does not like to keep Kylo Ren waiting. 

Creating Artifacts...

Artifacts, with their detailed histories and powerful effects, are personal things, so it makes sense that the DM should create artifacts unique to an individual campaign. 

In fact, that’s just what the DM should do. 

Every campaign should have artifacts that are truly unique to it, thereby ensuring that the DM’s world is different from every other campaign out there. 

Great idea, the DM may say, but how do I do it? 

Don’t worry. It’s really not that hard. 

By following a few simple guidelines, DMs discover that artifacts practically create themselves. 

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Teacher’s pet

Namjoon x reader

genre: professor!Namjoon, slight dom!namjoon, smut

word count: 6.1k

especially for @lonely-kitten-named-bambi and my other Boos out there


Your new literature professor, Kim Namjoon, decided to make you the teacher’s personal pet..

He was the smartest man you had the pleasure to meet throughout your entire life..but the sex was primal, exhilarating, feral..

Tall, lean, charming with two small holes digging in his flawless cheeks he stood there with his brown case waiting for your professor to finish the introduction. His hair was neatly parted, but you could see that the loose strands stood up in several directions which were tried to be tamed in a rush while his white shirt was stuffed into his black suit pants which were more than unsuited for a dusty, old classroom in the city’s biggest university.

His large hands ran through his hair in an attempt to comb the mess back. Dark pupils roamed through the room, looking for help with his looks..landing on you. Grinning from one end of your mouth to the other you shook your head in a slight denial, his expression asking how it was now after another attempt of stroking the strands back. Another shake, your hair falling into your face. The man in the front of your class softly smiled, his dimples shown a second time while shrugging his shoulders at you, giving up to tame his locks. His attention was lazily wandering back to your professor ending his speech with a wide gesture towards the man beside him.

“And this is how we hired such a young new colleague. This old uni needs new wind and with Mr. Kim it’s provided.”

Quiet chatter filled the room as the female students giggled, exchanging high pitched whispers after hearing that the man who looked way too out of place was the newly hired substitute for your sick literature and maths professor. Your friend nudged your side, wiggling her brows which made you laugh softly, your hand covering your mouth.

“He’s my type”, she whispered, licking her lips, gaze darting towards the young man standing next to the chubby, older professor. “And I know you also would smash.”

“You can bet that I want”, you responded, following her eyes down the rows, lingering on Mr. Kim’s handsome face, his plump lips pursed into a faint smile greeting the few students in front of him before his deep voice resonated from your classroom’s walls, confident and loud.

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Kim Namjoon, I’m currently the substitute teacher in literature and maths for you”, he let his dark orbs wander from one student to the next. “I appreciate punctuality and presence. If anyone of you has questions regarding the lessons don’t hesitate and meet me after class.” The words left his pink lips while meeting your eyes, the expression behind them darkening, inviting you to stay behind and ask about things he could teach you despite stuff for your studies. “We’re starting easy after we’re alone”, he motioned for the older, chubby teacher to leave, giving him a smile making the older one blush.

The two hours wouldn’t end, his presence filling the room, a born leader, a man who knew his way with words, charmingly explaining the dumbest of questions with a soft smile. Your eyes were drawn to the way he moved his arm up, his large hand swiftly flying over the written words lining the blackboard while looking over his shoulder, lips constantly pulled upwards. Not to mention his backside view..long, toned legs covered in dark suit pants, his ass perking up while concentrated gesturing over the board.

Unlucky enough you couldn’t follow what he told the class, your whole attention laying on his handsome face, brown eyes piercing yours now and then, scolding you silently to pay attention to class instead of his damn fine looking ass, but you didn’t. Obviously staring back, gnawing on one of your pencils was what you did, not caring how stupid you might look in his pretty eyes.

“Any questions?”, Kim Namjoon cocked one of his dark brows up, tilting his head to the side bluntly meeting your staring eyes even though the question was directed to all of his new students.

“Mr. Kim?”, one of the girls in the first row lifted her manicured hands, her blonde hair swiftly brushing over her shoulder. “As the class president you should be informed about the upcoming class trip to the woods in like a week. I wanted to ask you about it after class if that’s alright with you.” Her voice was as sweet as honey, slick and sickening in your ears wherefore you just scoffed, her glare telling you to better shut it before she snapped. Again.

Mr. Kim’s expression showed how shook he was from her announcement of a class trip he didn’t know of, but nodded with pursed lips. “And I anticipate that I as you substitute teacher have to come along, right?”

High pitched agrees followed his words, the girls around you standing up from their seats to collect around your new professor, eyes sparkling with excitement over the fact that he’ll be the one accompanying your class. Sighing you also stood up, their behaviour too much for you. Ah, no, you definitely found Kim Namjoon undoubtedly attractive, but you were also old enough to know that nothing would come out of it even with some heavy tries. Therefore you only shook your head, grinning at the dozen girls chattering cheerfully, drowning your professor in endless private questions.

“So you’re coming?”, “You should drink with us one night!”, “We’ll be on the same floor, right?”, “Are you married?”, “How are you so young and a prof?”…

Your friend, Lea, was mixing into the mass, waving you to move your ass and ask a few questions yourself, but you just denied, laughing a little as you leaned against the door frame, saying your farewells towards the young men escaping out of the room.

“Crazy bitches, aren’t they?”, a familiar voice, giggling and low shook you slightly, your head turning towards the boy with the orange hair, his view focused on the female students urging the young professor to spit some private details. “I can’t believe they’re that desperate”, Jimin laughed, his blue leather jackets pulling closer.

You nodded, following your friend’s dark orbs, seeing how your friend tried to catch Mr. Kim’s attention with yelling the loudest which cracked you up. “Freaks.”

Jimin smiled at you, his eyes crinkled while tilting his head. “You’re not, huh? I know that one time in high school after we-”

“Miss y/l/n, right? Please wait a little longer. I need to talk to you”, Kim Namjoon’s voice overturned the chatting girls, stopping you from turning around. Surprised you looked left and right, your finger pointing towards your chest. You? “I dismiss you ladies for now. Get home safely, we see each other tomorrow.”

Pouting protest resonated from the walls as one girl after the other slandered out of the room until Lea, Jimin, the bitch Hanna and Mr. Kim were the only persons present in the dusty classroom.

“I also would like to excuse you three as I have to speak with your classmate alone.”

Jimin scrunched his nose, giving Mr. Kim a strange look before shrugging his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, y/n.”

Nodding the other two girls walked out of the room looking back over their shoulders as the tall, handsome professor closed the door with a faint, annoyed smile on his plump lips.

Waiting for him to speak up blood rushed into your cheeks. You knew exactly why he wanted to talk to you alone. He had caught you staring without even bothering to narrow your gaze and listen to his explanation. Scratching your neck you bit down your lip, slightly regretting your bluntness although you were confident a moment ago, but his confidence and the intimate glare of his eyes made you squirm. The silence stretching out killing you slowly hence you looked up, the man in front of you leaned over the teacher’s desk, his hands supporting his tall figure.

“Anything to say?”, his voice was deep, nothing but a whisper while tilting his head, the friendly atmosphere surrounding him gone, replaced by something dark, sinful.

“N-No?”, it was more of an ask than a steady answer, the hair on your arms standing straight. “I mean..no.”

Shaking his messy thatch he sighed, his pink bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Then you noticed him slowly separating from his desk, slandering around it ere he stood in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence told you how dominant he was, how intelligent he was to lull you into anything. Feeling his eyes on you, you didn’t dare to look up, digging your own hole under his view.

“Too bad, Miss y/l/n”, he leaned down, his lips close to your ear, breathing in deeply. “If you need a lesson just tell me. You seemed not to pay enough attention in class today and it’s only my first day. That’s no good first impression..”, his voice trailed off, Mr. Kim’s breath hitting your face now as he turned his head right in your direction. “I want a report of today’s lesson by tomorrow. Meet me after class again.”

With that he turned away from you, his heat paralysing you. Gulping you tried to keep up with your professor, your throat dry as the desert wherefore you had to swallow more than once. What as going on? You were one of the top students in class and you had to write a fucking report? What the hell?

“Mr. K-Kim!”, you called out to him as he snatched his belongings, stuffing them into his brown case. “I don’t understand right n-”

“Are you dumb, Miss y/l/n? I told you to write a report of today’s lesson’s content. Don’t leave a thing out”, he straightened himself, his sharp words taking you aback with shock tracing your face. His long legs took him further to you, his face dangerously close as he leaned down a second time today. “More attention on class, Miss y/l/n. I caught you staring..”, his free hand shot up, delicate fingers flying over your cleavage, your body flinching at his cold touch. “So much confidence in your eyes before..Where is it now?”

Your mouth plopped open at his move, his words piercing through you like sharp, tiny needles. By the time his digits reached under your collar you weren’t able to answer, let alone smack his hand away..which you didn’t even want..


You couldn’t remember the last time you were afraid and nervous of your upcoming classes. Usually you enjoyed them more than other students, but not now as you knew who waited down the rows. Kim Namjoon, substitute professor in literature and maths. With fluttering heart you entered the dusty old room, the neatly dressed man in the front greeting your classmates with a bright smile that showed his dimples until his eyes lingered on you, darting down to your breasts with a knowing expression lacing his brown, dark eyes. Blood tinged your cheeks a rose hue as you remembered the day before, his fingers stroking a sinful path down between your covered breasts with the words of being a cute, shy mouse. Which you normally weren’t.

“Good morning, Miss y/l/n. The report?”, he asked you as you walked past him, the sheets weighing heavy in your bag at his words.

Nodding you rushed over to your seat next to Lea, who was intentionally early this morning. Who knows why, huh.. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned in your direction the moment you sat down, your jacket still on your shoulders. “Why didn’t you pick up yesterday? What did Mr. Kim want from you? He looked kind of..pissed at you.”

Exhaling a loud breath of frustration you slammed the report down on your desk, showing Lea that you were scolded after class. At this fact your friend’s eyes shot wide, her mouth agape.

“You?”

“Yeah, me. What a nerve this damn professor has”, you scoffed, laying your head on your folded hands. “I stayed up all night after my shift to write this shitty report.”

Getting a glance of sympathy Lea patted your back, rubbing circles to relax your stiff muscles which weren’t caused by the late night session after work, but by the man who watched you from down the rows, his plump lips turned upwards again, his eyes darkening while watching you.


“Here”, you put the sheets down his desk without giving him a single look. “Can I go?”

Mr. Kim stood up from his seat, circling the wooden table, taking in the words you had effortlessly written. “Found your courage again? Or do I’ve to lure you into being a good girl?”

“What?”

Namjoon sighed pinching his nose. “Listen, you don’t need to deny it”, one step closer. “I’ve seen you walk around for months on campus. One shy girl with the boys”, another step. “Oh, there’s one guy you were interested in, right? The one with the orange hair, Jimin”, he chuckled lowly, his legs taking him further towards you. “Unlucky you didn’t get him, or the other way around?”, Namjoon stood only a few centimetres from you, his expensive cologne intoxicating you from up close. You had difficulties looking into his face, his tall figure hovering right above you, eyes narrowed down to meet yours. “You think I just picked on some innocent, smart girl and let her do some shitty report?”

With every word falling from his plump lips he leaned into you, his body heat feeling on your own by now. His attractive face a couple of centimetres away from yours, breath hitching as he shifted his head, small dimples like holes in his cheeks as he smirked.

“Where’s the girl who bluntly stared at me? Watching me while gnawing on her pencil?”

You bit your lip not knowing what to say to his dirty words as he drove your senses crazy, kicking your rightful judgement overboard. “She’s..h-here.”

Namjoon chuckled again, his shirt rolled up revealing a costly watch, the brand one you’d never be able to afford. His skin shone honey like in the yellow light of the classroom, smooth and soft whereas his hands slowly traced over your bare arms. “Here? Where?”

Clearing your throat you tried to meet his gaze, but instead of looking into a pair of brown, pretty eyes you were confronted with plump, rose lips that invited you. They seemed soft, wet and oh so kissable you couldn’t force yourself to avert your eyes off of his mouth that pursed into a lopsided grin at your staring.

“She’s slowly coming out of her hideout, isn’t she?”, Mr. Kim’s voice was a whisper, getting darker the more he caught you staring at his prominent lips.

“What do you want?”, your voice was nothing more than a whiff, chewing on your lower lip while you tried to get yourself off of his smug smile to glance at the still open door. “It’s open..”

Confusion traced his pretty features before he turned around, seeing that the door was wide open, showing the students walking down the hall how close you two stood to each other. The light noise of his black shoes on the floor were heard ere the door was closed, the key turning in its lock wherefore your eyes shot wide. What was happening?

Namjoon then slandered back challenging you with crossed arms, forcing you to step back until your ass hit the desk, your escape plan vanishing into thin air.

“I read your latest essays”, he started, his hands enclosing around the edge of the desk in your back, his upper body leaning down slightly stopping in a close distance in front of your blushing face. “You’re one clever girl..and so pretty..”

“You’re saying this to your student? That’s forbidden..dirty”, you whispered biting down you lip again. He was too close to you to think straight, the words only spilling from your lips because your conscience faintly told you to at least try to get him off of your mind. Of course it wasn’t working as he was far too close to you.

Namjoon furrowed his brows, his smile never leaving his lips despite the perplexed expression washing over his face for a brief moment. “I’m not even thirty and your an adult as well. And I’m blunt with what I want. Right now it would be you, y/n.”

Your name coming from him for the first time got you the moment the first letter fell from his plump lips. Without warning you grabbed his collar, shoving your worries aside you swallowed the forming knot before you dared to meet his dark gaze.

“Why me? You don’t know me.”

A small chuckle you knew by now sounded through the room. “I don’t care. I don’t want a relationship right now. I’m young and the ladies love me”, he paused, one hand freeing from its position to cup your cheeks, his warmth transferring on yours, spreading out on your already heated, red face. “But I’m not interested in anyone who can’t reach my way of thinking..”

On the way down to meet your lips you closed your eyes to take in the upcoming sensation with all your senses. Softly, a feeling like a rose’s petal brushed over your parted lips, a touch rather fragile and careful you didn’t expect from a smart, confident and handsome man like Kim Namjoon. As fast as his mouth lay on yours he parted from you, the hand on your cheeks falling back down to grab the edge a second time.

“Tell me, y/n, is the clever girl with the pretty face finally crawling out of her hideout?”, Namjoon cocked his brows up, grinning at you with crinkling eyes. But you could see that his smile wasn’t honest, a deeper, craving emotion tracing his black oculars, waiting for your answer.

A cocky smile finally appeared on your face, tinging your shy self into the girl you usually represented, the girl he saw just yesterday at the beginning of the day’s lessons. “Don’t know why don’t we find out then?”

A huge, bright smile spread out on Namjoon’s tanned face, his light giggle causing a tightness inside your stomach. “She’s out.”

Not saying another word - as if another one was needed anyway - his mouth clashed on yours with a lot more force than before. Now it was your turn to let your hands roam around his chest, pulling him tight by the shirt to feel his lips pressing harshly on your own. Swallowing his breaths you entwined your tongue with his, suddenly being pulled by the hair so he had better access to your wet, pink cave, giving him a few breathless mewls as an answer.

“Turn around”, his voice sounded was deeper than ever, sparks of arousal lacing his dark vocals. “I won’t stop for you, baby. Last chance to run.”

No need to confirm his offer you obeyed, turning around to lay your hands on the surface of the wooden desk. Mr. Kim chuckled, the husky sound giving you ultimate goosebumps while watching him out of wide eyes over your shoulder. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest again and spreading his long legs, his hair was neatly combed today as he narrowed his gaze down your body with a grin on his face that let the dimples on his cheeks come alive.

“I like what I see, baby”, a low hum followed ere Namjoon’s hands landed on your sides, pulling you into his crotch in a harsh move, his bony fingers digging deep into your covered flesh. “What should I do with a girl like you, hm?”

Whimpering you perked up your ass that was dressed in a black, waisted rock, bending forward to show you professor a glint of your soft skin, the over-knee socks completing your signature school outfit. Whereas you did that you could hear Namjoon hiss, his growing bulge rubbing over your revealed skin, his hands now tracing to your shoulders, massaging them softly before his grip got solid, hardly pushing your body straight down the cold surface of the table. His hips never left your ass, circling them until he was fully erect ere Namjoon separated his core and hands from you.

“Stay like this”, he growled lowly while you witnessed a zipper being opened, the rustling of fabric pulled down. “Ah ah, baby, don’t look.”

His hands shot up, taking your hair in his fist to guide your head back down where your face met the cool material of his teacher’s desk. Protesting you arched your back, teasing him with what you were wearing underneath your girly skirt.

“Disobedient? Just as I thought you’d be”, a chuckle resonated from the walls accompanied by a kick separating your legs further. “Don’t like that though..”

If you wouldn’t know better you could say that you felt pure craving for the man you just met, and was your new professor. Your panties felt tight, clinging onto your already dripping folds wherefore you had to force yourself not to press your legs together again to feel anything on your aching bundle of nerves. But you refrained from it, excited what Mr. Kim had planned for you, his student.

“Why can’t I see you?”, you purred, your hands almost clenching around the edges of the brown desk.

Silence answered you before you witnessed warm fingers gradually stroking from your ankles up to your shaking thighs. They hit your skin lightly, caressing the spot afterwards. “I much rather see you, baby. You’re seeing me earlier than you wish.”

Biting your lower lip you nodded, waiting with your face now laying on the coldness, your cheek burning against it. Then you felt Namjoon’s fingers going further up, touching your covered folds with a loud hiss.

“Damn, baby, you’re so wet.”

Purring: “I bet you’re just as hard”, his digits slipped into the band of your panties to slide them down torturing slow.

“Hard?”, his deep, melodious voice reached your ear dangerously close, his warm breath hitting your face from above. “I would say it’s perfectly ready for your cute, little pussy, baby.”

Goosebumps. Your hair standing straight as his hands found their way over your now bare ass, trailing towards your slick folds to caress them with his bony fingers. Small, feminine mewls escaped you wherefore your professor pressed his index finger on your clit, making you squirm under his blunt touch.

Aching your back you tried to make him finally move his hand, but all you got was soft laughter next to your ear. “Needy?”

“Yes”, you immediately agreed, the right choice as his fingers circled around your entrance, coating them into your juices while sliding them to your nub to rub gently over it, covering it in your arousal to pleasure you even more. He was certainly experienced, his warm skin doing wonders with a few strokes that turned your mind blank. Shallow breath on your side filled the dusty classroom, panting heavily under his unbearable, blissful touch, turning the coin in your lower stomach almost..

“I think you’re doing great, baby, but what about me?”, Namjoon kissed your ear, taking your earlobe between his plump, wet lips to nibble on it as he waited for you to answer, his fingers slowing down to a torturing pace hence your hips twitched uncontrolled, wanting more of his previous doing.

“P-please make me come”, you whimpered at the sensation his pearly whites caused on your sensitive earlobe. “Please, Mr. Kim-”

A rather strong bite let you moan in pain, his digits now pressing heavily on your clit to make you come..right? But then they were gone, leaving you shaking on the warming surface of his desk.

“You should take care of your superior first, don’t you think? I mean, if you’re a good girl your getting a few extra points in the next test.”

Scoffing at his words you turned around, glaring at his smirking face that was slightly flushed, the typical holes showing on his cheeks. “As if I need extra credit.”

Despite your faked scorn you were dared to look down your professor’s body, the rolled up shirt clinging to his lean body while your eyes wandered down towards a way better view. His open suit pants, no boxers or other underwear underneath, his cock erect, pointing at you. His glance was inviting, leaving your sarcastic comment aside. “How about you go down on your pretty knees, baby?” Namjoon cocked one brow up, gesturing with his head for you to better obey and kneel in front of his dick to take the best of it. “If you’re doing as I say, you can come, how does that sound?”

“Even if you don’t let me, I can easily make myself come at home”, you grinned cheekily, blinking your eyelashes ere his hands grabbed your shoulders to push you into a kneeling position beneath him. It was a move that should show you who was in charge here and it was definitely not you.

Shaking your head in disbelief you chewed on your bottom lip, looking back up to meet your young professor’s darkening eyes which told you how ready he was, lust spilling over. With innocence you adjusted your skirt, brushing your hair out of your face ere you tilted your head, sticking your tongue out to give his leaking cock a slow, strong lick over the tip without leaving his brown eyes. A indentation formed between his eyes as his brows furrowed at your motion, taking it in with hungry eyes.

“Don’t tease, you dirty girl. You can’t fool me with your fluttering eyela- Fuck!”

No caring what he said about you, you grabbed his balls in one of your warm hands, letting them roll tenderly in it while taking his throbbing tip in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks at once to double the sensation chasing through his body. But that wasn’t all as your tongue latched over his tip inside your mouth, pushing his stretched skin up and down his length while deepening yourself onto his cock. His body tensed under your touch, your other hand holding him by his still dressed thigh to steady his position.

“Fuck, baby..you’re a naughty little student, aren’t you”, his breathy voice was raspy, eyes lingering on your lips, wet from your saliva and his pre cum flowing down over his cock, wetting your mouth. “Take me in all the way..yes just like this.”

You bobbed your head up before you took his aching, throbbing cock in your mouth completely, his tip hitting the back of your throat which made you gag a bit. Getting used to the feeling of his thick length you deepened down further until your nose met the shadow above his dick. A violent twitch beside his feral groan told you that you hit his sweet spot. Therefore you repeated this movement, his dick coated in your saliva wherefore slick sounds filled the air around you and making it easier to let yourself slide down his length.

Suddenly Mr. Kim’s large hand enclosed around your hair, pulling your head from his cock to greet you with a cocky, breathy chuckle. “Taking your professor’s cock well, my cute little student.”

Humming you licked over your parted lips, taking in some of the bitter but sweet taste left on them. To emphasize your naughtiness you moaned at the same time, your hands pulling him into your face to give his red, swollen tip extra kitten licks, the man’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. The still solid fist in your air loosened to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over your skin in a rather soft manner. Enjoying his touch you felt encouraged to make his time worth it, taking in his dick one by one, your tongue pressing on his slid before it finally hit the back of your throat again, this time without having to gag. Namjoon’s hands stroked over your scalp, running through your open hair ere they made you stop, holding you into position for him to move on his own.

“I’ll take the lead now, baby”, his husky voice whispered into the empty room, echoing from the walls, too loud in your ears. “Stay still.”

And so you did, your hands digging into his flesh he started to move his hips, a smooth roll shoving his cock right in your hot mouth, your tongue the perfect bed for his twitching dick. Thanks to his lead you were able to touch yourself, the missing panties helping to feel your touch, the needed friction provided by your own fingers making you mewl. This simple sound sent vibration through Mr. Kim’s lower body, a dark growl coming out of his parted lips, hastily biting down his lower, plump rim to muffle the grunts trying to escape him. It was dangerous if he let the room fill with other lewd sounds except for the ones coming from between his legs, slick, slurping noises sounding like music in his ears. But that would be the only ones droning through the locked door onto the corridor, several students, teachers and parents walking hastily up and down the floor, making you both quite nervous even though none of you showed it to the other.

And of course you both knew how wrong it was to have this kind of physical contact between a student and a professor, but it felt too good to stop now, your fingers massaging your clit the way you need to be touched, making yourself moan heavier into his dick with every rub provided by your own fingers. Your desperation didn’t go unnoticed as Mr. Kim couldn’t focus on you giving him a damn got blow job, but on your bare heat, sparsely covered by your hand. It got you both going to the point where Namjoon panted, his thrust getting heavier, hitting your throat mercilessly. You saw his chest heaving heavier by the second, his release close ere he cramped, his legs tensing under your free hand feeling his muscles flexing.

“I’m close. Fuck..baby..”, breathy, dark, raspy moans stretched those few words into eternity, his brown, deep orbs piercing yours as he forced you with a silent glare to lock eyes with his before a salve of hot, creamy seeds spurted into you. Namjoon’s head fell forward, his black oculars never wavering while you collected his cum on your tongue, his dick pulled out by him to the half causing his release to land straight on your wet muscle. Growling and hissing Namjoon’s fingers entwined in your hair, his limbs tensing the more his cock twitched, trying to get the last few drops out. You on the other side played the role of his innocent student, never letting the teacher out of your wide eyes whereas your mouth filled with his cum, the bitter, salty taste spreading out on your tongue. After Mr. Kim guided his dick out between your lips with one shaking hand, he breathed out with a tremble, sweat flowing down his temples mixing with a few loose strands of his hair. His shirt that was from a bright white started to get transparent in front of his chest revealing his heavy pants and tanned skin you wanted to brush over with your lips..

“You’re such a perfect student, y/n”, a second after he let go of you he separated himself from you, leaning his tall body against the desk, wiping of some sweat from his forehead with a smug smirk plastered across his plump, pretty lips. “And not spilling one bit of my sticky cum, good little girl.”

Questioning his announcement you tilted your head as to why your panting professor returned your expression, his fingers tardily closing his belt over his suit pants.

“What? Swallowed your voice with my cum?”, he chuckled, crossing his arms after he finished with his silver belt, the expression on his face amused by your behaviour.

Instead of answering you crawled closer to your professor, your slick index finger tapping on your throat for three times, signalling him that you still had his semen on your red tongue, rolling it over it to tease Mr. Kim a bit more.

“You still have it? Fuck, y/n!”

Nodding you folded your hands in your lap, chin high to look right into his face, reading his reaction as you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to proudly present the white, sticky seeds. Namjoon swallowed hard, his emotions running over his face until they stopped in awe. Then you closed your mouth, tapping on your throat again before gulping down his cum in one go, as loud as possible, intentionally letting out a soft moan.

Smacking your lips you stood up, taking your panties to put them back on, feeling your attractive professor’s view on you. As much of a tease that you were you bend down, your ass perking up to adjust your over-knee socks, swinging your hips while doing so.

“I guess all my future works will get grade A?”, you chirped, the heat from what you just did rushing in your cheeks.

“You really think a simple blow job gives you straight A’s? Sorry, baby, but fuck me and your grades rise to the top”, he chuckled, his hands running through his hair. “50 percent, nothing more.”

Pulling your eyebrows up you crossed your arms this time, spreading your legs to steady your position as Mr. Kim casually stepped towards you, his hands cupping your face gently.

You met his eyes, chewing on your bottom lip to distract yourself from his charming smile. “Let’s make..it 60 percent”, you whispered, your orbs drawn to his plump lips again, magically pulled by strings to keep your gaze on his pink mouth that stretched over his teeth making him even more irresistible. “I mean, I didn’t even c-come.”

Nodding Mr. Kim leaned down to give you a passionate kiss. Warmth spreading in your body you leaned into him, moving your lips on his, taking in the other’s rhythm ere he parted from you to say something.

“You’re a smart girl, y/n. What do you think will be happening at 100 percent?”, his lips brushed yours with every word, eyes piercing yours for an emotion he could work with.

“You mean fucking?”

Mr. Kim laughed, his dimples too cute for what he suggested. “If you want to call it that then yeah, I mean fucking you for good grades.”

Closing your eyes you let the feeling of his pink lips flow through you before you made up your mind. “Not a chance, Mr. Kim. I’m a top student, no need to fuck you for my grades”, you paused, opening your eyes, your hands laying flat on his chest to push him away from you, his presence making you too nervous, clouding your rightful judgement that was needed in this situation. “I was horny and to be honest, I’d do this again if it means I’m in front of the class president bitch.”

Perplexed Namjoon took in what you just said. But it was true, at least slightly true. It was thrilling to sleep with your professor, a young one and as handsome as Kim Namjoon only the icing. Yes, it was wrong, but you really couldn’t care less as it was your last year under his watching eyes. So why not having some fun on your own? Nobody would catch you doing inappropriate things anyway.

“That’s it then?”, Mr. Kim tilted his head, asking you with his eyes what you really wanted, but met a wall of stone, your answer hidden from his smart, charming orbs.

Turning around you waved at your professor who leaned back on his desk again, his head tilted whereas watching your figure reaching the locked door that you wanted to open if his voice wouldn’t fill the air inviting, laced with amusement and hunger for a certain girl’s body.

“I hope you’re excited for the upcoming class trip, y/n”, another deep chuckle that sent shivers down your spine and you didn’t even dare to look back to see Mr. Kim smirking at you with his damn cute dimples, his brown eyes seductively telling you his ideas for the trip.

5

That does not look like hate   -Tom Holland

A/N: Short cute little drabble. Because Tom’s a lil shit (I do love him, don’t come at me)

I opened the door of our bedroom to go to the bathroom when I heared a hiss and Tom curse at the same time.
“Tom leave the cat alone!”,I called while walking towards the crime scene just to see the two of them staring at each other.

“What did you do?”, I said and leaned my hands on my hips, raising a questioning brow at him.
“I’m not doing nothing! She is just evil.”,he defended himself and I picked her up. She started purring immediatly and pushed her head under my chin.

“I might have stepped on her tail.”

“Tom!”,I exclaimed and he threw his hands in the air.

“She was just there! She is so sneaky. I hate cats. Tessa is always very recognizable when she walks and sits behind me.”,he defended himself and I furrowed my brows while letting her down. She walked away with her tail in the air, showing her affection.

“Just leave her alone. How does that sound?”, I offered and he crossed his arms infront of his chest.
“I would! If she would leave me alone too.”

“Tom she’s a cat.”

“Exactly!”

“You’re unbelievable.”,I said while pinching the bridge of my nose and shook my head.

After that little incident I went back to change my clothes and we had breakfast together.
“Did your agent call you yet?”,I asked after taking a sip of my tea and he shook his head while flipping through his script.
“I’m staying at home today. Gotta read the script. Learn some lines. You?”, he asked and I put my plate and my mug into the sink after finishing my breakfast.
“I gotta rush out. I got some presentations. Should I take Tessa with me? She’ll be bored with you at home.”,I offered and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll see tonight then.”,I said while standing up and gave him a quick peck on his cheek before leaving.

***

I came home really late. It was past 11pm and I was tired to a point where I couldn’t focus longer then ten seconds on something. I took Tessa off her leash as soon as I closed the door and she walked off into our bedroom where her own bed was. I took my jacket off and kicked my shoes off before walking into the living room. And let me tell you one thing: He did not hear me coming.

There he was lying on the couch with my cat on top of his belly, stroking over her furr while humming a song to himself.
“You’re not that bad, you know.”,he said suddenly and took her head between his hands petting her behind her ears. She purred in response and leaned her head against his palms.
“But if you tell Y/N about any of this, I’m gonna have to kill you, is that clear?”,he kept talking to her with a serious expression and made her look into his eyes to which I couldn’t surpress my laugh anymore. His head shot in my direction and he stared at me with wide eyes.

“Wow.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”,he defended himself and sat up which made her jump off of him.

“That does not look like hate.”, I teased him while walking over to the couch and he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.”, he said and I sat down next to him. He wrapped his arm around me and I leaned against his side, my hand resting on his chest.
“So…you and Riceball?”, I asked him and he groaned while pushing me away from himself and made me laugh.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Come here.”,I said and pulled him closer to me and cupped his face with my hands.
“I love you.”,I said and he squinted his eyes.
“Are you saying that because I might not hate your cat or because you do love me?”,he questioned me and it was my turn to roll my eyes.
“Shut up and kiss me Holland.”,I said and a smirk appeared on his lips.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re mine anyways.”, he said before leaning in with a big smile on his face. He kissed my lips gently and tugged at my bottom lip as the kiss got more intense with every passing second. As I was about to slip my fingers under his shirt he jumped apart and almost knocked my teeth out.

“Ouch!”,we yelled simultanously. But while I was holding my mouth he was staring down his leg where a very excited Riceball was climbing her way up.
“What the hell is she doing? Get off!”, he yelled and made me laugh out loud.
“She is just playing with you! She likes you.”

“Playing my ass! She wants to rip me apart.”, he said while gently pushing Riceball off of himself.

“She is a cat, for gods sake!”

“Exactly!”,he said with raised brows and stood up to walk out of the living room, slightly pouting.

Never Let It Get Personal - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 16,419

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Multiple Orgasms, Fingering, Bondage, Oral (both receiving in the form of a 69), Sweet Sex because I’m a sucker for their romance???, Sassy reader, violence and blood because they are assassins.

Notes: Why do I do this to myself? 16.4k later and it’s done. But I really liked this idea. It’s a lot of plot with a smidge of sexy smut because I love Mitch Rapp. But he’s also hella loving. And angry. And I owe @minhosmeanhoe a lot for talking through this idea with me. She is a saint and my Rapp twin. I love her. I hope you guys love this and think it’s worth it.

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