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yieldtotemptation · 3 months ago

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REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.” She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat.

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos—through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, looking up with those big, dark eyes, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, kissing you again, those soft, pillowy lips of hers meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Your hands are on her body, running over the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest. And she’s leaning into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her. And you do, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, you just let her work it out for herself when you push her back against the wall, when your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you murmur, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the think pieces, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She’s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, her hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her fiercely, tasting the sweetness of her release on her tongue, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, her nails digging into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons in your skin as she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully ridden the wave, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, her legs trembling like they might give out at any second.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes, searching for the usual signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow these kinds of moments. But she’s looking at you with something else entirely: a mix of awe and excitement, like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, her mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. You can see her trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all, but she’s still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she breathes out finally, nodding shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

You withdraw your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze before pulling away, and she whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, her hair a mess from your hands, her lipstick smudged, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties around her ankles. The way she’s looking at you now, it's worship, like you're a secret that she’s just discovered and is desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping your hand on the side of your pants, watching her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants, and she nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

You kiss her again, deep and greedy, one hand on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight, keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel the hardness of your cock, everything she’s been waiting for.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, and you don’t—you can’t.

Not now, when she’s letting you tug down on her dress, letting it pool around her ankles like a discarded secret. She’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

You don’t even bother with the bra, you just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. Your hand is exploring the rest of her naked body—running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling her stomach muscles clench with every breath she takes. She’s so tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy and vulnerable.

“Then take it,” you command, breaking away from her chest, stepping backwards to give her room to do exactly what she's been begging for.

Minji doesn’t miss a beat, hands gentle but determined, her fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. Not that you mind the quiet—it's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, and the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, her strokes more deliberate, a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

You’re standing over her, looking down at her like she’s a prize, your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her, and she does, without hesitation, without question.

You grab your cock, still slick with her juices, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watching the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji speaks, still shaky from the orgasm that ripped through her. “That was—” she pauses, searching for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There’s a rush of arrogance, a smug smile of satisfaction at her confession. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing your cum across her cheek. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s got a secret that she’s dying to share. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realizing what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, making her giggle, the laughter bubbling up from her chest like it’s the best compliment she’s ever heard. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and you realise what she’s saying, what she’s just admitted to you. You’ve taken her virginity, and she’s looking at you like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process what she’s saying. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her innocence, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach, a strange cocktail of pride and guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you start, trying to find the words. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something, but what? It’s not like you can apologize, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she’s just won the fucking lottery. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and there's that hint of challenge again. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin. “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers, with a giggle. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

#kpop smut #minji smut #newjeans smut #male reader

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shithowdy · 11 months ago

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the discussion surrounding generative images costing artists their jobs and being trained on stolen work is extremely important and worth having, but the reason i'm so zealous about pointing them out when i see them (and helping people learn to recognize them) is, once again, consumer and media literacy. ai generators have their arguable uses as tools for inspiration, but they are also tools for manipulation.

generative images, unlike a good photoshop, can be produced instantly with absolutely no skill required, which means that everything from online shopping to political propaganda is now inundated with convincing fakes. this could easily be you!

when doing your shopping this season, please pay close attention to products from unfamiliar sources like etsy shops.

does the product show multiple angles? (this is the most important thing for which you should look)

does the product have a lot of superfine details, yet no zoom on them?

do those details actually connect and make sense as shapes?

are things that should be symmetrical, such as chair legs or lamp bases, actually symmetrical?

does the light source make sense? (like this lamp example: why is the base not illuminated if the lamp is lit?)

if purchasing a print from an etsy (etc.) shop, is the style consistent or does the "artist" somehow seem to be an expert in every style and medium? (like, beware of shops like this one-- even without zooming and investigating, the inconsistent style is quite a red flag)

can you find an "original" of the image, like on an artist's social media, or does it seem to only exist in the context of the shop?

do the elements and details of the image easily distinguish themselves, or do parts of them merge weirdly together? (to use an example from the previously linked shop, check out the bottom of the coat on this image and how it fuses with the clothing beneath-- this is only the most immediate and obvious issue in the image)

REVERSE IMAGE SEARCH EVERYTHING.

my inbox is always open if you want help determining if something is fake. love you guys, protect your wallets.

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threestarsinline · 2 months ago

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The Gala

Jason Todd x reader one-shot

Summary: It was supposed to be simple. Just accompany Jason to the party. It was also supposed to be quick. Just go in, talk to a few people, and out. But then, you find yourself meeting your boyfriend's family.

Word Count: 9.3K

Category: Fluff (established relationship) and a tiny, tiny little bit of angst

Warnings: Rich people?? Bahahsjsjs Mentions of alcohol

Author’s note: My Wayne gala fic debut (with a super original title, I know jskdks), hope you like it!

You look at yourself once again in the mirror. The truth is that you love the image that looks back at you. You feel comfortable and true to yourself, as well as beautiful. The dress that you’re wearing playing a big part in it. Your fingers slowly trace the hem of the bright red of the soft fabric.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You know that the dress probably won’t live up to the standard of the women that will be at the place but for you, it’s beautiful and elegant, making you feel like a seven year old girl wearing her favorite princess dress and giving you the confidence that you will need tonight.

Even if the style of the dress is not as chic or as sophisticated as others, you’re sure that the red will stand out. The thought increases your nerves. You don’t usually wear red but when you saw this dress you knew that you had to buy it, you could easily see yourself in it. And also, you couldn’t wait to see Jason’s reaction.

You knew that he would love it, or so you hoped. He always liked it when you wore red, or anything for that matter. No matter how you looked he always looked at you with the same silly smile and caring eyes. But there was something in wanting to see him swoon all over you. You smile thinking of him. Even if the night ends in a disaster, you both will be at each other's side.

Just as you do a little spin to see the movement of your skirt just a bit up your knees, the doorbell rings. When you open the door Jason is looking around stressfully, breathing heavily, his hands alternating on running through his hair as if trying to fix it and adjusting his tie. He doesn’t seem to notice that you have opened the door.

“Hey,” you say softly. He turns to you.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly in return, and by the way that he’s taking you in, you can tell that it isn’t for the same reason as before. You look down shyly and put a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You then take him in, and to say that you’re not ready for the full sight in front of you is an understatement. Jason was already handsome but to see him in a suit… Your insides are doing crazy things.

“Y/N, you look… incredible.”

“Thank you.” You take a small step and on your toes you give him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to say that you look great. I think that I could get used to seeing you in a suit.” He smiles warmly but suddenly he seems to come out of his daze.

“Listen, I’m so sorry I’m late and that I kept you waiting. I got caught up before and then this stupid tie wouldn’t work with me and…” You shush him softly with a kiss and then shake your head.

“Don’t worry, I just got finished too.”

He sighs in relief, and then, with a life of their own, before you can help yourself, your hands lift to fix his hair to give it his usual style but less messy, although as always, the white streak stays as rebel as ever. Your hands slide down his neck to the lapels of his jacket and then adjust his tie that was crooked to the left.

“You know how to do that?” he says, referring to the tie.

“Not really. I have just always wanted to do that. You know, like in movies and so.” You can’t help but giggle a bit while you say that.

“Well, that makes two of us.” He takes your hands and places a kiss on them. You sigh happily, the soft gesture making you melt. You’re sure that this man is going to be the death of you. The care and affection with which he always touches and looks at you was both deadly and invigorating. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

“Because if not, you know that I wouldn’t mind one bit to stay here and take a more careful look at this gorgeous dress.” His hands find your waist and after a peck on your lips, his own meet your neck.

“I know. And that’s why we have to get going, we’re already late.” You put a hand in his chest to place some distance with the temptation of his lips, that now are pouting.

“‘A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early,’” he deadpans.

A laugh threatens to escape from your throat. “You just did not.”

“What?” he says feigning innocence, but the smirk on his lips gives him away.

“You just did not quote the queen of Genovia,” you say amused.

“Okay, first, Julie Andrews is always right. And second, you were the one that showed me that masterpiece so, you should have seen it coming.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. You wish that you could always see him like this. So happy and carefree.

“Can't say that you’re not right,” you reply while hugging him, resting your head on his chest and letting his calming scent surround you.

He then takes your face in his hands and with your noses touching he whispers, “I love you.”

Your smile at those words never faltered. “I love you too.”

When you two reach the manor Jason drives past the main gate and goes directly to the secondary one that leads to the back entrance of the manor in order to avoid all the fancy cars and limos that litter the road of the main one.

Even from outside you can tell that the party is already in full swing, the windows of the main living room that in these cases often transforms into a dance hall, the only ones with light in them and cluttered with people.

Jason parks the car but his hands do not leave the steering wheel. His grip tightens and untightens around it as he takes a deep breath and looks towards the back door of the manor. You know well how even though the manor is a home to Jason, in events like this it almost feels like a cage.

“Hey,” you whisper softly while you take his hands into yours. Immediately, Jason’s eyes leave the manor and turn towards you. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. And it’ll be quick, we just have to show face for a little while, just like we talked about. And then as fast as we’re in, we’ll be out,” you reassure him while softly rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

Jason gulps and nods, trying to will the nerves away, though his hands have stopped flexing and now lay relaxed in your grip ever since you touched them.

“Or we can leave right now. Forget all this. Spend the evening alone, just you and me. Maybe even some Batburger?” you tease with a smile, letting him know that he always has an out with you. Your calming words seem to work as a small chuckle leaves him and he lifts your hands to kiss them once again.

He shakes his head.

You tilt yours. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I just needed a moment. Besides, if I don’t go in I’ll never hear the end of it. Also, if we get this out of the way now, we won’t have to come to another one for a long while. And like you said, it’ll be quick.”

You nod and give his hands an encouraging squeeze. “Exactly. And remember, if you want to leave early, you just tell me.”

He nods, a lot more sure of himself than just a moment ago. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” you echo.

Jason gets out of the car and you know better than to try and get out yourself, having learned in the very early stages of your relationship that if Jason can help it, you will never have to open a door again. And like always, your door opens and he extends a hand to help you out.

Despite the temperature dropping slightly during the night with the summer reaching its end, it’s a very nice evening. A soft breeze grazes your arms and the cut of your dress but it’s not enough to make you feel cold, mainly due to the warm hand that settles on your lower back. In the sky, the stars that would be impossible to see downtown accompany the moon in illuminating the night.

You two make your way through the gravel path that leads to the back door hand in hand, giving each other courage for the night that awaits ahead.

Once inside, it’s like entering another world entirely. Chatter and glass clinks fill the air and you’re just glad that at least this way your entrance to the party won’t make that much of a fuss as you would have done if you had used the main door.

“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to appear, Master Jason.”

At the sound of the voice both you and Jason stop dead in your tracks near the kitchen, almost like two kids getting caught trying to sneak out instead of sneaking in.

“Alfred!” Jason greets him exaggeratedly, trying to distract from the fact that you two have been caught arriving late. The British man can’t help but mirror Jason’s big smile, even as it breaks his teasing smirk. You smile as you watch them hug and then Alfred turns to you.

“Oh, and you’ve brought Miss Y/N as well! So great to see you again, dear,” he says as he also gives you a quick hug.

“You too, Alfred,” you reply with a smile. “Though it’s just Y/N, please.”

“You know I’m not going to do that, Miss Y/N.” The crinkles of the butler’s smile reminding you that trying to argue with him was a futile attempt.

You had only met him once before but that had been enough to get to know each other quite well and to already care for each other.

You had met him some weeks before, when Jason took you to the manor for the very first time one weekend as a kind of romantic getaway, as it had been left deserted and empty by Alfred and Bruce due to a business/Batman trip and Tim and Damian were away with their respective friends. It was an opportunity like no other.

It had been a wonderful long summery weekend, spent cooking together, lounging in the pool while sharing lazy kisses in the water with your arms and legs wrapped around him, his hands holding you as the sun set behind you, and watching movies in the home theater. You had never felt more at peace or relaxed.

And then, Alfred had come back a couple of days early. You and Jason had been cooking lunch (well, Jason had been cooking while you admired him perched on the counter), when Alfred entered, surprised to see anyone in the manor. After the initial surprise, friendly introductions had been made since from all of the members of his family, Alfred was the only one that Jason wasn’t wary of you meeting.

Jason could only thank whatever was out there that it had been Alfred who had come back early and not Bruce. He wasn’t ready to handle that yet.

Alfred joined you two for lunch and even though you were slightly nervous at the beginning at meeting a member of Jason’s family, you were glad that it was Alfred since he instantly made you feel welcome and at ease. Jason had watched your conversations with a small smile, glad to see and not surprised at all that you got along so well.

After lunch, Alfred left you two be to enjoy the rest of the day as well as the next day since it was your last in the manor. However, he still insisted on making you two breakfast the next day and you got to try Alfred’s famous pancakes. There was no doubt from where Jason had gotten his excellent culinary skills.

You still crossed paths with Alfred a couple more times but they hadn’t been awkward at all. During that short time of seeing you and Jason interact, Alfred saw just how happy you two made and loved each other. He could clearly see the certainty of your relationship and he couldn’t be happier for the young boy that had once been the second Robin. He totally deserved the happiness that you brought him.

And as Alfred insists on calling you Miss Y/N, with the sounds of the party drifting into the kitchen, just like he had done the first time that he met you, the same thought crosses his mind.

That the only way in which he would ever call you something other than that would be when you became Mrs. Todd. Something that he was certain would happen from the very first moment that he saw you laugh with Jason before he had made his presence known that summer afternoon. A truth as plain as the sun.

Now, seeing that the British man isn’t giving up upon your insistence on calling you just by your first name, you sigh defeatedly. “Alright.”

At that, Alfred smiles and turns back to Jason. “Your brothers will be glad to see you’ve been able to make it.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

You smile at his antics and squeeze his hand. The thing was that at each Wayne gala, as it was to be expected, a few members of the family should be present. But considering the fact that all, literally all, the Waynes hated the galas, having Waynes at a gala had long been a recurring problem.

No one still talks about the time that at one of them, not a single Wayne had appeared. The press had had a field day with it and it took the Waynes months to repair the damage.

For a rich family in Gotham that lead a double life as vigilantes, they sure hated the appearances and masks that came with having to entertain the socialites. You have always found the fact extremely entertaining.

And so, in order to avoid the great gala disaster, as Jason had explained to you, they had come up with a system. Taking turns attending the galas and doing so in different groups as they all knew that no one, absolutely no one should have to suffer through a gala alone (except Bruce, who sometimes had to go alone, downsides of being the face of the company).

For example, a group could be Bruce, Dick and Damian (who, lucky for him, has never had to experience the torture of going to one alone, still being a kid and all), or Jason and Dick, but never just Jason and Tim alone, the two always looking to make an escape and neither of them keeping the other in check. However, if they were accompanied by someone else it was manageable. The pairings and different groupings going on and on.

But tonight, however, it was the turn for all four of the batboys to be there, Bruce out on a mission. And so here you were, having offered to accompany your boyfriend when he told you that he had to go to the gala. Jason had said that it wasn’t necessary but you could see the relief in his eyes when you assured him that you wanted to go with him, knowing how hard these things could be sometimes.

Though not liking large crowds either, you were no better. What a pair did you two make. But you knew that together, you could face this night. Now, apart from the overall challenge of enduring the night, came the very real possibility of finally meeting Jason’s brothers. It wasn’t that Jason was trying to keep you away from them or hiding you, they did know about you, it’s just that it was a delicate issue that he wanted to handle at his own time and when he was ready.

You understood that and of course never pushed him on the topic. You knew that if it were for Jason, he would scream that you two were together a hundred times a day, he had no problem holding your hand in public nor kissing you until you felt dizzy in the middle of the street.

Either way, when you two realized that you could meet them, Jason came to the conclusion that it wasn’t so bad. That way they’ll stop pestering him about meeting you and you would do it in a more relaxed ambience than what a formal dinner with all of his family, including Bruce, could be, with all of their eyes fixed on you and asking you millions of questions. At least this way, with the gala, distractions were easy to come by if a quick escape was necessary.

So, if you met them, good. If you didn’t, good as well.

Though still, the nerves persisted.

After exchanging a couple of phrases more with Alfred, he returned to his duties at the party and with your arm looped through Jason’s, you stepped into the space that had been turned into a ballroom of sorts, all of Gotham’s elite there. Either to donate to a Wayne fundraiser (sadly, the least likely of them all), invest in Wayne Enterprises (more likely), drink (very likely), or to snoop around the mysterious Wayne manor and find out more about the peculiar family (the most likely of them all).

You have to say that you're impressed with what has been done with the space. Added chandeliers and carefully placed lamps give the room a golden glow, highlighting all the luxury of the attendees, from expensive watches, to even more expensive necklaces, and making all the glasses of champagne around the room sparkle.

On one side, a bar has been set up, on the other, on a small stage, musicians play for the dancing couples on the dance floor that has been put up in the center. And scattered around the room, high tables where people place their drinks and gather for conversations.

The lack of chairs does not go unnoticed, just a couple every few tables and the stools that surround the bar. The lack no doubt made deliberately, that way, no one would settle for long, either forcing them to mingle and spend some money on the gala or directly leave. The Waynes really do not like to have people in their house. You have to stifle a laugh at the thought, you could relate to that.

Though it makes perfect sense, given that no one wants too many people on the floor above the headquarters for Gotham’s vigilantes for long. You also know that in whatever way they can, they always try to have the galas either at Wayne Tower or at any other place, but sometimes, having one at the manor once in a while was inevitable.

You can’t help but tense up as you notice more and more people start to look towards you two. You don’t even notice that your anxious nature has gotten the better of you and that your grip on Jason’s arm has tightened until his other hand covers yours, the touch immediately grounding and soothing you. You look up at him and take a deep breath as his green eyes look at you encouragingly and gratefully, telling you that you can do this and that he’s thankful that you’re here with him.

You smile before squeezing his arm back and then you two plunge into battle. Showtime.

You make small talk with a few of the guests before approaching the bar to get something to drink. As you wait for your drinks you feel Jason lean down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back. You okay?”

You nod with a smile, telling him that it’s okay before he gives a quick kiss to your temple and then disappears into the crowd.

Your eyes scan the room as you take the refreshment that has been placed in front of you and take a sip, trying not to draw too much attention upon yourself while you wait. You’re no vigilante but as a person that prefers alone time, assessing the room before making any social interaction goes without saying. You’re even thinking of seeking Alfred and asking him if he needs help with anything when your eyes clock Jason again on the other side of the room, cornered by a bunch of socialites.

He has a pleasing smile on his face as he listens to what they’re telling him. To any other person, it might seem like he’s genuinely interested, but you can read him like a book. The corners of his smile are tense, apart from the fact that it doesn't reach his eyes, and his too constant nodding tells you how he is feigning the interest. His eyes find yours for a moment before returning to the lady speaking to him and in that split millisecond you can see how his smile turns real for you, before becoming fake once again.

You leave your glass on the counter of the bar to make your way to him and save him from the people crowding him when suddenly-

“Care for a dance?” a smooth voice says at your side.

You turn to decline when you’re met with eyes of a vibrant shade of blue, a boyish youth and mischief in them, but also slightly hardened with years of experience dealing with the worst of Gotham. His black hair is perfectly styled, a winning and charming smile on his lips and clad in a black suit with a bow tie that highlights all of his features. You can see how he’s a handsome man but still to you, he doesn’t hold a candle to Jason.

Of course you know who he is.

Gotham’s golden boy.

“Dick Grayson.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” His smile widens and you realize that this is happening whether you want it or not. You’re meeting one of Jason’s brothers. Your eyes flick back to Jason but he’s no longer surrounded by the socialites. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found. He must’ve managed to escape somehow. Looks like you’re going to have to face this alone. You had even been starting to think that this moment wouldn’t come since you hadn’t seen any of Jason’s brothers since you arrived.

You turn back to Dick and he’s still in the exact same position, leaning with one arm on the bar, carefully watching you with a knowing smile. Everything in his demeanor open, easy.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,“ he says, extending his hand.

Your force your body to release the small tension that it has accumulated and with a small smile you shake his hand. “You too.”

“Glad to see that Jason hasn’t made you up. We were starting to doubt that you really existed,” he comments playfully.

You know that he isn’t intimidating you or trying to scare you, merely wanting to meet you, know more about Jason’s life, see the reason why he’s the happiest that they have ever seen him.

“I’m very real, yes.”

“So, how about that dance?”

You pause for a second. “I’m not the best dancer.”

“Come on, please. How am I supposed to get to know my new sister-in-law otherwise?”

“By just talking?”

He chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. How about this, how am I supposed to get to know my sister-in-law without gossiping rich people interrupting us over and over again?” Dick nods to the side and you see how a few of the guests are looking towards you two, no doubt about to walk up to you and force you to establish conversation.

“Lead the way,” you end up saying and Dick’s smile beams even more, his joyous nature and openness making you feel at ease. You feel like he’s trying to make this easy for you, knowing how awkward meeting your boyfriend’s family could be.

He then offers you his arm to guide you to the dance floor and in no time you’re joining all the couples waltzing around it.

“So… Y/N, tell me. What are your intentions with our dear Jaybird?” he jokes in mock seriousness while arching an eyebrow.

“Jaybird?” you ask, never having heard the nickname before but already liking it.

“Oh, Y/N, I have so many anecdotes to tell you. We’re going to have so much fun.”

You smile at the prospect of hearing stories about Jason. “Can’t wait. But to answer your question, my intentions are to just be with him. For as long as he wants me.”

Dick nods, as if you just confirmed something that he already knew. “I feel like that’s going to be a long time.” You feel your cheeks warm at his words. You really hope that it is too. Forever, if you can help it. “Though are you sure that you want to put up with him for so long? He can be insufferable,” he adds, and you chuckle.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Afterwards, he asks you about your job and your family, and you ask him about life in Blüdhaven. You’re glad for his easygoingness, allowing you to feel comfortable and a sense of camaraderie and friendship already between you. You’re also glad that you’re dancing since you’re sure that if you weren’t, conversation wouldn’t have flowed as easily without the privacy that it has given you.

“My turn, Grayson,” a voice suddenly speaks.

You two stop dancing and turn your heads to the side, and then slightly down to find a young boy. His dark combed back hair and his straight posture making him a shadow of his father, his green eyes looking up at you expectantly and his tan skin inherited from his mother. Talia al Ghul.

“No, it isn’t,” Dick replies.

“Yes, it is,” Damian retorts, holding Dick’s gaze. It’s like they are challenging one another while also having a mental conversation.

Finally, Dick sighs. “Fine. But only if Y/N is okay with that."

“It’s alright,” you say softly.

“See?” Damian insists and Dick rolls his eyes. You smile at their interaction and then Dick turns back to you.

“Thanks for dancing with me, Y/N. It’s been really nice finally getting to talk to you.”

“Likewise.”

Dick squeezes your hands in goodbye before letting go, Damian taking his spot to dance with you. “See you around.” Dick says and you nod and watch as he takes his leave, until a throat clears in front of you and you begin dancing once again.

“You’re Todd’s girlfriend then? Y/L/N?”

“That’s me. You must be Damian. It’s nice to meet you.” Damian nods solemnly before staring intensely at you, as if deciphering you. His movements are graceful and elegant, even more purposeful than Dick’s even. You suppose that all the grace must have something to do with growing up with ninjas and practically being raised like royalty.

Not one to back out, you hold his gaze and stare back at him. He’s shorter than you but you have no doubt that in no time he’ll be taller than you.

“You’re a great dancer, Damian,” you finally say and you can see how something in him changes, no longer putting up the intimidating facade, allowing himself to relax slightly.

“Thanks. Mother taught me.”

“That’s nice. I hope I’m not making you look too much like a fool.”

Damian shrugs. “You’re alright.”

You smile, taking his version of a compliment as a win. Then you take another look around the room, wondering where Jason could be. Maybe Alfred has asked for his help on something. You turn back to Damian, who looks around the space uninterested.

“I’m guessing you don’t like these galas much,” you say, trying to get him to open up a bit more.

“They are… a responsibility.”

“Yeah, well, I’d much rather prefer doing something else. Like going to the aquarium or the museum.” Damian’s eyes shot back to yours like a flash, a small sparkle in them.

Bingo.

You try to contain your triumphant smile. “Have you seen the new art exhibit? Jason told me that you like drawing,” you continue.

And just like that, whatever it was that Damian was wary of disappears as you two make conversation, discussing different painters, Damian’s art and your own hobbies. Then, for a second, Damian pauses in thought, like a jury about to deliver their decision, making you wonder what he’s about to say.

“You’re cool. Todd was right about you,” he finally says as the current song ends and you two come to a stop.

You smile softly in thanks. “Glad to hear that.”

“Though I’m not yet quite sure what you could be seeing in Todd. You’re clearly way cooler than him.”

That makes you chuckle and you don’t miss how a smile twitches on Damian’s face.

“Thanks, I guess? Though he’s not that bad. Not at all.”

Damian just shrugs at your statement but you have the feeling that behind all the picking, there’s fondness and a brotherly bond between him and Jason.

“Anyway, I have to go feed my animals. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.” Your jaw almost drops, but you manage to avoid it before your lips twist into a wide smile.

Damian’s calling you by your first name. When Jason has told you that he never does that with anyone. Not even Dick.

“You too, Damian.”

He nods in goodbye before going towards the exit of the ballroom. You leave the dance floor and take a deep breath. Well, that wasn’t so bad. It was fun, actually.

You decide that you need some air in order to take all of the recent events in and head towards the open patio door that looks out to the gardens. Even though you can still hear the party, as the door is still open, the change of ambience is very much welcomed. You inhale the fresh air before releasing a content sigh at having a moment for yourself.

You lean on the railing surrounding the few steps that separate you from the grass as you gaze up at the clear sky, the moon illuminating the patio and the late summer evening breeze creating ripples along the surface of the pool. It’s a nice break from the scorching nights that Gotham can have along the summer. You can’t wait for the fall.

As you let yourself relax in the quiet evening, you think back to what has just happened. You just met two of Jason’s brothers. And everything went well. You still can’t believe it. You let out a soft chuckle at the thought that your social skills haven’t failed you this time. Despite usually needing a lot of time with a person to open up and build trust, you’re surprised at how easy it came to you with Dick and Damian, already getting along and having the feeling that you’re going to become good friends. Family, someday.

Maybe it’s due to Dick’s easygoing personality or the things that you have in common with Damian but you feel like it’s more than that. The knowledge that these kind of connections don’t come easy for them either, given all the secrets that they have to keep and the fact that they don’t have to tiptoe around you. The fact that you all love Jason Todd dearly.

You’re just glad that you click with them as well as you did all that time ago with Jason. Who, by the way, is still MIA. It’s been a good while since you saw him. Where could he be?

“Do you want some?” a voice suddenly says, interrupting your thoughts and making you turn towards its source.

Well, looks like the meeting-your-boyfriend’s-family night isn’t over.

Tim Drake stands on the doorway, holding two glasses of champagne. He’s wearing a suit as well but his appearance isn’t as neat as Dick’s or Damian’s. His hair is slightly tousled and his tie is loosened around his neck. His blue eyes, a shade lighter than Dick’s, look kindly at you.

“Sure, thanks,” you say as you take the glass that he offers you. The truth was that you weren’t a big drinker, only having a few sips on scattered special occasions during the year, like champagne on New Year’s Day or the rare instances in which you found yourself in glamorous parties like this.

You take a small sip of the sparkly drink as Tim comes to stand next to you.

“So, what do you think of the gala? Having fun?”

“It’s alright. You all do know how to throw a party,” you answer.

“What can I say? If there’s one thing we’re good at is appearances,” Tim says jokingly.

You nod with a smile while taking another sip, though this time you can’t help the grimace that you make at the growing bitter taste of alcohol in your mouth.

“Not a fan?”

“Not really,” you respond honestly, deciding to leave the glass on the outdoor table for now.

“Me neither, actually.”

And then, your eyes widen when, just like nothing, Tim literally throws the content of his glass, his untouched and what you’re sure of is a very, very, expensive champagne towards the grass and leaves his now empty glass next to yours.

Seriously, what was wrong with rich people?

You shake the thought as you and Tim start making friendly conversation. He’s telling you a story in which Jason faceplanted once during training, when it strikes you that it really is amazing how all the Robins somehow actually physically look like family despite not being blood-related. And it’s not just the coincidence that all of them have clear colored eyes and dark hair, but rather the way in which they hold themselves, something in their stance and attitude giving them a similar aura. An aura of shared hardships and experiences.

“I’m sorry that it took so long for us to meet,” Tim says after a small moment of peaceful silence. You shake your head and you can feel the shift in the air as his expression turns more serious and continues talking before you can say anything.

“I know that we can be a lot, and you haven’t even met all of us.” You tilt your head, listening, waiting to see where he’s going with this. “Things between us and Jason are good, though of course, like with any family, there are some rough patches.” He pauses for a second, leaning with his hip on the metal railing while crossing his arms. “We really wanted to meet you and we feared that something that we hadn’t realized had been going on with Jason and that he was retreating again by refusing to introduce you to us.”

You shake your head again. “It’s not that at all, Tim, I promise. Things are good. He just gets doubtful sometimes and needs to take things at his own time.”

Tim nods, letting you know that he understands. “I’m just sorry that we boarded you like this, we thought it might be easier taking the pressure out of it. Instead of having a formal family dinner or something, just meet you today in case that Jason decided to bring you. All in all, I’m glad we did, we probably wouldn’t have met you for a lot longer, probably until it was strictly necessary, if we hadn’t intervened.”

You’re processing all the information when before you can reply, you finally hear Jason’s voice again.

“Y/N!” he calls as he approaches you after spotting you outside. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you alone. I was ambushed by the guests before going to the bathroom, then Alfred asked me to go help him with something in the kitchen and then Dick couldn’t fucking wait to ask me something about a case. It was just one thing after the other, I’m so sorry,” he rambles, a hand running through his hair in distress, knowing how you hate this kind of events as much as him.

Just as he finishes his rant, he finally reaches you and as he takes your hands in his, you can visibly see how his distressed state morphs into a relieved one just by being next to you. It’s like during your unexpected time apart Jason had been underwater the whole time and has just been finally allowed to come up for air to the surface and fill his lungs just by seeing you and being near you again.

You just shake your head and gently bring a hand to the nape of his neck to press your foreheads together so that he can ground himself and focus on you, showing him that you’re okay. You just know he’s feeling guilty for leaving you on your own when you two promised to be together to face the night.

“It’s okay,” you say softly in a low voice, trying to calm him.

And then, after connecting the dots between what Tim and Jason have just said, everything clicks. It’s not a coincidence that you’ve met Jason’s brothers one right after the other and that Jason just so conveniently had been missing from your side to prevent that from happening. You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips upon realizing what has happened, finding the Waynes’ antics and dramaticness quite entertaining.

“And don’t worry, I had company,” you add.

And just as you say that, you can see how Jason feels movement to his right and turns his head like a hawk to find Tim shifting on his feet. Jason hadn’t seen him earlier since you were the only one visible through the open door and once outside, Tim’s side of the terrace was covered in shadows.

You see the exact moment in which Jason’s gaze hardens staring at Tim, realizing just exactly what had actually happened, all of his family plotting to distract him so that they could meet you. You know that Jason isn’t actually angry, just slightly annoyed from the ruse and from being kept away from you, and now he’s channeling all of that towards Tim, making it seem bigger than what it actually is.

“Tim…” Jason says through gritted teeth in a threatening tone as he separates himself from you and starts stomping towards Tim. It’s almost comically funny how Tim immediately scrambles and bolts to the other side of the terrace, putting the outdoor table between him and Jason, extending his arms in front of him to protect himself as if he was some defenseless animal and not a well-trained vigilante.

You almost have to stifle a laugh.

Sibling dynamics at its finest.

“Listen, Jason, I-” Tim starts to plead his case but before Jason gets too far away from you, you grab his hand again. And it’s incredible the way in which Jason turns towards you and immediately his posture softens. Tim doesn’t waste the opportunity and escapes into the gala again, leaving you and Jason alone.

“It’s alright, they just wanted to meet me,” you say and Jason sighs, deciding to let the matter go and just come back to your arms, his hands on your waist, giving a small subconscious squeeze.

“Yes, but they had no right to play with us,” he answers, pressing your foreheads together once again.

“I know. But, hey,” you lift your hand to push some hair away from his forehead, “nothing bad happened. I’m still here.”

Jason nods and his gaze softens before closing his eyes, relishing in your touch. You close your eyes as well and you two stay in your embrace for a moment. Letting the night envelop you, surrounding yourselves with the evening sounds of the faded chatter from the party, the breeze rustling the bushes, the water in the pool, the night time insects and an owl in the distance.

“I think it’s time for us to leave,” Jason finally says, looking at you once again, having had enough of the social night.

“Yes,” you wholeheartedly agree, wanting to have your boyfriend all for yourself.

With that said, Jason nods, kisses your forehead and takes your hand firmly in his in order to not lose you again and you two make your way out of the gala. You don’t even bother to say goodbye to anybody. As you two leave, on the side of the ballroom, Dick, Tim, Damian and Alfred all stand in line, watching you fondly, glad to finally have met you and seen how happy Jason is with you. Before disappearing from view you give them a small wave and they smile.

You still have to meet Bruce, but that’s a problem for another day.

When you finally get home and Jason closes the door behind you, the two of you having already decided that he would spend the night at your apartment, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders. Finally home. You take a deep breath, shedding your social armor. Jason feels relief too at having finally left the manor, because even though the place will always be a home to him, the very definition of the word changed when he met you.

Jason watches you mesmerized as you leave your purse on a table and then move to the kitchen to drink a cold glass of water. He stands idly in your living room following your every move, a cast spell on him.

You’re beautiful.

Even though your hair isn’t as perfectly done as it was at the beginning of the evening and there’s a tired drag to your feet, you are. You always are.

He still can’t believe that you’re with him.

The way that you move around him as comfortably as you’d do if you were alone amazes him. It amazes him that you feel safe enough with him to just be yourself, not putting on any mask like you did in the gala with the attendees. He’s just so immensely grateful that you let him see you like this, open and being so undoubtedly yourself.

You’re saying something about cooking something quick or maybe ordering takeout when you brace yourself with a hand on the back of a chair to take off your heels with the other. But before you can take off your shoe, Jason softly grabs your hand, stopping you mid-rant.

He pulls you to follow him and you don’t put any kind of resistance, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. The only sounds the passing cars on the street and the steps of your heels on the floor. Once you reach the couch Jason makes you sit on it and you watch as he kneels in front of you and then, with a care and gentleness that no one would expect from the man known as Red Hood, he begins to undo the straps of your heels.

And there’s just something in the sight in front of you that makes your heart flip in your chest. How someone as big as him gets down on his knees before you, for once him being the one looking up at you instead of the other way around, almost as if worshiping the ground you walk on, as if you were the one that brought him back to life and not some mystical pit.

Now it’s you the one that watches him enchanted, wondering how you were so lucky as to have him love you. He takes one of your heels off, his eyes never leaving yours for a second, and then gives your free foot a slight massage to help the soreness out of it and you sigh in relief.

How is he even real?

And then, just before slipping the other heel off, with one of his warm hands on your lower calf, you watch with your heart in your throat how he kisses the inside of your knee.

You let out a small gasp and it’s crazy how much your heart is racing because you just know that he did it just for the heck of it, an act so loving, so simple, with no major intention rather than the selfish feeling of wanting to feel your skin against his lips.

But what raises goosebumps all throughout your body is not the action in itself, but rather the dark sparkle that crosses his eyes upon hearing your gasp, promising you something for later, for when he’s drawing shapes all across your body, as if tracing a map signaling a treasure. Except that the map itself is the treasure and he’s just taking his time exploring it, enjoying it, admiring it, worshiping it.

Jason then finally takes off your other heel and gives your foot the same quick massage treatment as the other one. When he’s done he gets back up on his feet and offers you a hand.

You take it and he pulls you to your feet again. And then, in the same silent comfort that has settled over you, with the same care and gentleness that Jason has treated you with, you slowly undo his tie, your gaze still fixed on his, saying a million different things that do not need to be said out loud. Most of them having to do with how much you love him.

After you discard the tie somewhere on the couch, you undo the first couple of buttons of his shirt, releasing him from the uptightness that comes with them and you feel his muscles relax even further under your hands. Next, you slip his jacket from his shoulders and he helps you take it off of him while he looks at you with the same intensity that you regard him with, reveling in how you take care of him.

Then, Jason rolls his sleeves up a bit his forearms before taking one of your hands in his and then, with his other arm around your waist, pulls you flush against his chest, practically fusing you two together, as if he could never pull you close enough, needing you as physically closer as possible, just as much as he needed oxygen, if not more.

“We didn’t have a chance to dance,” he whispers then with your faces inches from each other, still not disturbing the peaceful silence.

You hum in agreement and before you know it, you’re already swaying softly together in the living room, both of you with your eyes closed, your head resting on the crook of his neck and his on your hair. There’s no music but it doesn’t need to be, you feel so at peace and content, none of the opulent galas in the world could compare to a quiet evening with Jason.

You have no idea how much time you’ve spent there, barefoot and wrapped in Jason’s arms, swaying to the sounds of Gotham’s nightlife and your own heartbeats, only knowing that you would gladly spend forever like this.

“Thank you.”

You lift your head to find that Jason’s already looking at you.

“For what?” you ask in the same soft tone as him, a lilt of confusion in your voice.

“For coming today.” Before you can respond he keeps talking. “For sticking around. For putting up with my family.” A pause. His eyes leave yours to look to the side. He shrugs. “Just… for being with me, I guess.”

Your gaze softens and you feel a pang in your chest as you see Jason’s insecurities eating away at him. You stop your swaying and bring your hands to Jason’s face to make him focus on you, his hands moving instinctively to hold your waist. But Jason’s still avoiding your gaze and you hate the doubt that you see creeping in your favorite shade of green.

“I’m always going to be here. I’m right where I want to be. I love you. And I’m not putting up with anything, I want you. I want to be part of all the parts in your life,” you say, softly caressing his cheek with your thumb, having the suspicion that these doubts have something to do with meeting his brothers tonight.

“I know. I just…” Jason takes a deep breath closing his eyes, taking a moment to organize his thoughts before looking at you again. “I just can’t believe that you’re still here. I have this… this feeling that one way or another I’m going to screw up and lose you.”

You open your mouth to refute him but Jason shakes his head, presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes to concentrate on what he wants to say, and continues before you can say anything. “And I know, trust me, I know that you love me and that you’re not going to leave. You show me every single day. I was just afraid that if neither myself nor me being Red Hood hadn’t driven you away, my family surely would.”

When Jason finishes he doesn’t move, his forehead still against yours and his eyes still closed, as if he doesn’t want to face what may come next, and his hands on your waist in the same position, if anything, holding onto you even tighter.

Holding onto you as if it were the last time, as if his confession would finally be the thing that would drive you away. You close your eyes as well for a second and take a deep breath.

How can you even begin to express how much you love this man?

Your heart is bursting with how much you feel for him. The love that you hold for him begins in the depth of it and as your heart pumps blood through your body, it also pumps that love through every single vein, nerve and cell in it. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It’s something that lies beneath every single movement and action that you make, to the point where you’re not sure if what sustains you are your bones or your love for him.

And that love of course, is interlaced with the pain that comes from watching the one you love hurt. You know that Jason is telling you the truth, that he knows that you’re not going anywhere and that you love him. But there’s this underlying fear in him, an instinct acquired from having lost all the good things in his life, things that he loved, from both his mothers to wearing the Robin mantle, that makes him subconsciously always expect the worst.

That’s why he prolonged you meeting his family for so long.

Without knowing, he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment in which the rug will be pulled from under him and he’ll fall into the void. He survived all the previous things, more or less, but he isn’t sure that he would if you were to leave his life.

Because now everything, every single piece of him is rooted in you, like the earth orbiting the sun, the very thing that allows life on the planet in the first place. And that’s what you are to him, a source of warmth, comfort and life. And he’s sure that if he didn’t have that he would crumble. He might technically survive it but he wouldn’t be the same.

But the thing is that just as much as he's rooted in you, you’re rooted to him. He’s the anchor to your boat lost in a storm, the earth to your forever spinning moon. He’s your anchor, your earth, your sun, your everything.

You know that the doubts and insecurities aren’t going to disappear overnight but maybe, together, you two can make them lessen.

“Jason. Look at me,” you say when you open your eyes once again, pulling back slightly so that you can look him square in the eyes. Jason sighs, not wanting the quiet moment, the infinite second in which he can just be in your embrace and forget everything else to end. But then he slowly opens his eyes, showing you his troubled thoughts.

“I love you. So much that I can feel it in every single part of my body. It’s like you’re part of my DNA. And nothing, absolutely nothing, can make me want to leave you. And you’re not going to screw up anything. Call me selfish but I want to be near the things that make me feel strong, like I can achieve anything I want. The things that comfort me when I need it most, that are always there for me, even when I’m not at my best and I feel like a burden.”

Now Jason is the one that shakes his head and wants to refute you but you move your thumb from his cheek to his lips to shush him. “The things that make me feel loved. And you’re the only thing that makes me feel all of that. God knows I have my baggage too and it still amazes me that you understand me, that you want to carry it with me, that you’re proud to do so.”

You take a deep breath. “So no, I’m not leaving. Ever. I’m always going to be here. And I’m very glad that I met Dick, Tim and Damian tonight. They’re nice and they have allowed me to see more of you. And if there's something that I can’t get enough of is you. Okay?”

Jason nods as he leans into the touch of your hand, his eyes bright with love and admiration for you. And then he closes the small distance between you and kisses you, gripping your waist tightly, one hand coming up to hold your face and deepen the kiss. Your hands drop to his shoulders and you don’t waste a single second to kiss him back as fervently as he does. He hasn’t answered to your reassuring words but you don’t need him to. He’s telling you everything you need to know in that kiss.

When his lips first came in contact with yours, he said, Okay.

Where his hands are grabbing your body so tightly but oh so gently, he’s saying, You’re what I treasure most in this world.

And as you stand there in the middle of the living room, being kissed like nothing else exists except you two in this very moment, he’s saying, I love you.

You could have been like that just a couple of minutes or a couple of centuries for all you know, always forgetting the outside world when he kisses you. And when you finally part to catch your breaths, foreheads against each other, your hand softly caressing the hair at the back of his head, the shine in his eyes tells you everything that his lips have just said and more.

Still, he wants to make sure that you’re aware that he isn’t going to let his thoughts eat away at him and so he finally whispers, “Okay.”

“Good,” you whisper back, your hand finding his cheek and caressing it once again. And then you find his lips again, because if there’s one thing that you could spend doing forever without ever growing tired of is kissing him.

And without speaking, your lips tell him something too. Something that he feels as certain as the sun, the moon and the stars.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd fic #Jason todd one shot #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd #Red hood x reader #Red hood fic #Red hood one shot #Red hood imagine #Red hood #Jason todd imagines #Red hood imagines #The Gala #ThreeStarsInLine #Jason todd fluff #Red hood fluff #DC Comics #Batfam #Sometimes I think I'm funny jsjsks

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peachysunrize · 2 months ago

Text

[ TANGERINE DREAMS ]

Summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, angst, fluff and tension! English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 6.5k+

Taglist: if you want to be tagged in the future chapters, please fill this form with your @/usrname!

A/n: sorry for the delay, BUT I THINK YOU WILL LIKE THIS ONE!!! Comments and reblogs are reallly appreciated🥺💕

-> series masterlist <-

Chapter 5: kissing his heart

A mess.

That’s how you feel, that’s how Aemond is.

Denial.

You deny the existence of your feelings towards Aemond and he denies the truth that you still believe he is in love with Alys. Because he is not, he might think about her from time to time but he isn’t in love with her anymore.

Aemond is up early again — early after a rough night of drinks and thinking nonstop means somewhere around noon — which is still earlier than when the entirety of the household wakes up.

He stretches his legs, groaning as the muscles clench and unclench, his limbs tingling with exhaustion from the lack of sleep. Aemond sits up on his bed, running a hand over his face and thinking about how much he needs to discuss with you later today, or anytime you allow him.

He stands up, grabbing his hair tie before he walks towards his bathroom, pulling his hair up into a man bun as he pushes the door open to get ready for the day. After taking his prosthetic eye out, he cleans the empty socket with gauze and the medicine he’s prescribed, untying his hair and hopping under the shower.

He stands under the running water fully naked, and the image of your blown-out pupils and swollen lips makes it hard for him to contain himself, but soon, that image is replaced with the memory of your teary face, and how broken you sounded — he wanted to run after you last night, he wanted to explain, shout and tell you he isn’t in love with Alys anymore.

He leans his head back, and the warm water hits his face and drips down his Adam's apple, trickling down his throat on his chest. He feels each droplet of water on his skin, and thinks about his actions; was he leading you on unwillingly? No, he is awfully smitten with you, so bad that when he thinks of your smile the heat spreads from his chest to his cheeks, leaving him all red and blushing.

His pain is fresh, the gaping wound is still bleeding. Being stood up on your wedding day is not something you can forget so easily. He still feels the agony he did on that day, but not that intensely, and certainly not how lovesick he felt about Alys.

He will always think about her, more so about how she left him than the good memories they made together, but to say he is in love… has he ever felt what real love feels like? Was it how Alys’ responses to his actions made him nervous? How much he felt he needed to prove to her that he was good enough? Was it just that? The fear?

He doubts it Because thinking about you is enough to calm his nerves, and he doesn’t need to worry about whether he is enough or not. All he needs to do is to come clean and reassure and reaffirm his feelings and commitments to you.

Love is a strong word to use when it comes to these early stages of your relationship, but he likes you, a lot.

After the long shower he takes, he wraps the towel around his waist while he dries his hair with another one. He grabs his fresh and clean clothes and drops them on his bed, loosening the towel that sets low on his hip bones so he can put his boxers on, the other towel hanging from one of his shoulders while he puts on his sweatpants.

“Aegon!”

Aemond hears his mother’s screams, rushing out with haste after he puts his eyepatch on in a hurry. When he opens the door he sees his mother pacing around with Cole trying his best to calm her down but it’s all in vain.

“What’s going on?” He hears you say, and when he turns around, he finds you walking out of your room to the highway. Was your room always next to his? How is he just finding this out?

He so shamelessly eyes you; your night shorts cling to your thighs so deliciously, and your top sticks to your chest in a way that has Aemond swallowing harshly before he is forced to avert his eye. But he catches you doing the same, finding you drinking in the sight of his exposed chest and wet droplets that fall from the end of his hair on his abs.

You both look away, clearly flustered and shy from the moment of silent flirting in a room full of people.

“I can’t find Aegon!” Alicent strokes her neck, her nails scratching the soft skin while she walks frantically around, “I searched the entire house for him! He is nowhere!”

“Daeron might know—“

“Daeron… where is Daeron?” She turns around suddenly, her big brown eyes filled with panic as she looks at Criston and in an instant, he reaches to hold her arms gently.

“We’ll find them, now breathe, please…”

“No, what if Aegon has done something again and now they’re not okay?”

“Mother,” Aemond nods at Cole before he reaches to grab her elbows, looking into her eyes, “I will find them both, alright? Don’t worry, Cole and I will bring them before you know it.”

“Please go find them, Aemond. Your brothers lack self-control and they make my blood pressure go high—“

Aemond chuckles and nods, “Take the girls down, we’ll find them and join you, yeah? Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mum, you’re doing fine.”

“Yes, okay, alright…” she reaches to bring him to her height, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead before she looks at you and tells you to get ready for the day.

“Yes, Ma’am!” You smile at her, waiting for both Cole and Alicent to go, leaving you and Aemond alone in the hallway.

“I missed your eyepatch,” you say quietly, a small yet awkward smile on your lips as you try to break the tension.

“Temporary,” he says, clearing his throat as he watches your smile falter because of his short answer, and he mentally face palms himself for not doing his best in showing his interest clearly, “I— wait!”

You quickly walk into your room, and he groans in annoyance as you slam the door shut, not allowing him to say even a word. With a loud sigh, he goes into his room as well, grabbing an oversized T-shirt to put on before he leaves and goes to find Aegon and Daeron.

Aemond makes his way to the guest wing, the entire house is covered in empty cups and crumbs of food, and more importantly, he finds Daeron dropped on top of Aegon, both snoring loudly and drooling while they sleep.

“Why am I not surprised?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stares down at his brothers, “wake up,” he yells, but they don’t budge, sleeping soundly.

“Aegon, wake the fuck up,” he grabs the closest cup that is filled with water and splashes it on Aegon’s face, causing the older brother to sit up abruptly, gasping as he knocks the youngest off of him.

“What is your fucking problem?” Daeron asks in a raspy voice, coughing a bit as he realizes how much his throat might be hurting with all the screaming from last night.

“My problem is that Mum has been searching for you fuckfaces since she’s woken up. You better get up and show up for breakfast so she doesn’t freak out any more than she already has.”

“You’re her favorite, tell her—“

“As if,” Aemond scoffs at Daeron as he strides toward his brothers and grabs them by their necks to pull them up, “come on, let’s go. And…it’s not me. Helaena is her favorite.”

“He’s right—urgh, don’t pinch me!” Aegon whines when Aemond pinches behind his ear, “Was she mad?”

“No, just ready to give you one of her most heartwarming smiles,” Aemond pushes them both out of the guest wing, smirking when they both stumble and groan.

“She’s going to murder us in cold blood then,” Daeron fakes a cry, knowing how Alicent gets when she’s nervous — deadly, that’s how she gets, and for some sick and twisted reason, Aegon and Daeron love to toy with that side of her.

“Good morning, ladies!” Aegon announces as they step inside the kitchen, watching how Alicent smiles and cocks her head to the side, eyeing the two Targaryen boys.

“Not sure if it was a good one for you,” Aemond’s head turns in the direction of your sound, finding you leaning on the counter with two cups of coffee in hand, wearing a floral dress Helaena had gifted you when you went on your shopping dates a few weeks ago.

He watches as you hide your eyes from him before walking towards him, giving him a tight-lipped smile and handing him his coffee, slowly meeting his gaze when he reaches to grab the cup handle, his fingers brushing over yours a bit, sending jolts of joy through his body.

“Don’t be mean to my brother!” Helaena says as she jogs into the kitchen, her white hair flowing around her shoulders, but stops abruptly and looks around the room, narrowing her eyes at Aemond, “Did you not have a good sleep?”

“Noooo, princess, this douchebag—“

“Not you, him…” Helaena cuts Aegon off but she smiles at him and lets him pull her closer for a hug, pressing his cheek to hers as they both — and everyone in the room — stare at Aemond.

“What?”

“You look like you’ve broken up with your girlfriend,” she says, her eyes following as you take a step away from Aemond and look down at your feet, clearly flustered.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he wants though, he desperately wants to have you as his girlfriend, “and you’re right, I didn’t sleep well because I had a headache.”

“A headache wouldn’t make your eye swollen,” Helaena shrugs and with a kiss on Aegon’s cheek, she approaches you, standing in front of you as she stares at you in a not-so-calming way, “You too… you look like you’ve been… crying yourself to sleep.”

“Can you stop being creepy for a minute and let us drink our coffee in peace?” You ask, glancing at Aemond who looks away immediately after he catches your gaze, looking down at his coffee cup while you try to distract Helaena from the awkwardness and undeniable tension between you and her brother.

“I’m not being creepy!”

“Then what do you call it?” Daeron asks, resting his chin on the back of his hands as he looks at Hel, “because it’s fucking creepy when you just say these things out of nowhere.”

“It’s called intuition! I’m not trying to scare anyone, I just… I feel it in my bones that something is wrong with these two—“

Suddenly she looks at you, her amethyst eyes wide and blown with the realization. She clears her throat when her eyes fall on Aemond’s flushed cheeks and your slack jaw.

“I’m gonna make myself some tea…” she whispers, giving you a very quick nudge, “we’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, later,” you nod hesitantly, biting the inside of your cheek as you follow her movements, stealing glances at Aemond who is doing the same, making the room’s atmosphere more tense than it already is.

“What’s today’s plan?” Daeron looks around, waiting for someone to answer.

“I say we should head to the storage to bring out more beers—“

“Over my dead body,” and you all turn to Alicent who’s been watching all of these interactions silently, sipping on her hot tea, “today, you two—“ she points at Daeron and Aegon, “will clean the guest wing. I want it spotless.”

“That’s torture! Mum—“

“And Aemond will keep an eye on you.”

“What?” It’s Aemond’s turn to ask, his good eye widens in surprise, “I’m not their babysitter, I have a lot of stuff to take care of.”

“No, not today,” she says, “and you girls… you can do whatever you want, you’ve been good.”

“Awe, thank you so much, Mummy,” Hel blows Alicent a kiss, walking back towards you to loop her arm around yours, “c’mon. Let’s go to my room.”

“Told ya she’s her favorite—ah! For fuck sake can this family stop smacking my head?” Aegon whines again but ultimately melts under the kiss Alicent presses on the crown of his head, “Alright, I’m convinced.”

“Spotless,” she points at Daeron and then Aemond before walking out of the kitchen.

“Where are you two going?” Aegon asks and looks at you and Hel.

“Girl talk, no assholes included,” Helaena pulls you after her, giggling a bit as you pass Aemond and Aegon.

“Girl talk without me? You know my tits are nicer than hers, right?”

“That’s not gonna work on her, you perv!” Helaena turns around and glares at Aegon, “Only dumb girls around you would give in and show you their tits.”

“They actually try to prove you wrong?” Aemond scoffs, and you snort at his tone, his eye locking with yours when you laugh at what he said, and in return, he gives you a small and heartwarming smile.

“You fucking genius—“ Hel pulls you out of the kitchen, not letting you listen to the rest of the conversation.

“Get inside, shoo shoo, go!” She pushes you slightly inside, “You better talk, babe. Cause I’ll be pulling words out of your mouth like a vacuum.”

“I think I like your brother,” you blurt the words out, slapping your palm on your mouth as soon as you realize what you just said, “shit, ignore that—“

“I knew it!” She squeals, putting her cup of tea down on the closest table she can reach, “see? I wasn't being creepy! I knew something was up, I knew it!”

“Really, Helaena?” You scoff but chuckle at her enthusiasm, “I just told you I think I like your brother and you say you ‘knew it’? What exactly do you know thanks to your so-called intuition?”

“Not much, but I know Aemond is not someone who cries a lot unless he is in horrible pain. Now you tell me what happened last night, please.”

“I fucked up,” you shrug, hands joining to show how stressed and on edge you are, “that’s what I did. I fucked up our friendship, I fucked up this whole thing between us. I just… I messed it up so fucking bad, Hel.”

“Oh, baby, come here,” as soon as she opens her arms, you throw yourself between them and let her lead you to bed, holding you close as you make yourself comfortable on the pillows, “You did not mess up anything. Aemond is a tough person to read, sometimes you can’t get through his walls.”

“But… that’s the thing… I read him, and-and I told him that he still loved Alys—“

“What? When did you say that?” She asks, squeezing your arms, “Details, babe, give me all of it.”

“I was in his workshop, I know I shouldn’t have but I was pretty tipsy! So… he found me there, one thing leads to another… and…”

“And…?” she urges you on, holding her breath in as she waits for you to talk.

“And we kissed—”

“You kissed my brother?” she asks, pushing you out of her arms a bit while looking at you with her huge confused, and awfully bright eyes, “and you told him he loved Alys?”

“Babe, I’m so fucking sorry, I know I overstepped, I should have never ever kissed—”

“Hey, hey, no, come here,” she brings you back in her arms quickly, shushing your sobs as best as she can, “I didn’t mean it like that! You didn’t overstep, babe! It’s just… Aemond isn’t a person who would go around and kiss women left and right! So if he has kissed you…then he is pretty serious about you.”

“I just—don’t wanna be his rebound because he is hurt his fiance left him! I…want more than just being a quick fuck for him.”

“First of all, we ain’t gonna talk about my brother’s sex life,” you snort and she laughs, threading her soft fingers through your hair, “Secondly, I don’t think he believes you are just a hookup to him. He holds grudges quite well, he may forgive but doesn’t forget. So, my point is, he is no longer in love with Alys, and probably holds a deep gut-wrenching hatred for her, but she was also his first love, his… first everything.”

“You’re saying that his feelings are gone?” you ask, your voice smaller than before, “because…what we have is so different from any relationships I’ve ever had! It’s a mutual understanding, a friendship I cherish a lot.”

“I don’t know about his feelings, but I can feel and see that he no longer holds romantic love for her. Alys was the reason Aemond moved out, she persuaded him to become independent stand up on his own feet, and not be like Aegon. But I’m just an observer, I see it from outside, and I can feel it.”

“Your intuition telling you there is nothing to worry about?” you ask her hopefully, wiping the remaining tears off your cheeks before you hold her hand in yours and sit side by side with her.

“Yup, but you two need to have a long talk. Let him say his piece, or else I fear he’ll go crazy,” she squeezes your hand before jumping off the bed, “Turn on the TV, babe. I’m going to go grab some snacks so we can watch a bunch of sad rom-coms and cry.”

Hel walks out of the room, humming to herself as she makes her way to the kitchen. As soon as she steps inside, she finds Aemond leaning on the counter with his face between his hands.

“Hey…”

“Hey, Helaena,” he gives her a small smile, “What are you doing here?”

“Grabbing something to eat and knock some sense in you,” she explains, crossing her arms over her chest, “why do you make things difficult for yourself?”

“Because it’s better to be ready than not even think about the outcome,” he shrugs and gives her a confused look, “what are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you don’t need to be so hard on yourself! The answer is right in front of you,” she says, pulling out a bag of chips but Aemond’s voice stops her.

“Let’s say… I like someone,” he starts, glancing at Helaena who turns around with a soft expression on her face, “and… fresh out of this mess, I am serious about whatever is going between us.”

“But…?” “But I’m not good at voicing my feelings, and I’m afraid I’ve screwed my chance already,” Aemond sighs, biting his lip in frustration, “I…I want to be with her, but I’m terrified that I can’t show her how much I appreciate her.”

“All she needs is some reassurance that you are no longer in love with Alys,” she walks to him, rubbing his back lovingly. “Talk to her, drive out of here, and take her somewhere beautiful and romantic. Make her feel special because I’m sure she is special to you.”

“Thanks—” “Don’t hurt her, Aemond, and don’t let her hurt you either.”

A day or two passes by, and finally after gathering his courage, he asks if you’d like to go to the nearby beach. Helaena agrees on your behalf immediately, dragging you upstairs to get you ready before the sunset so you can arrive there just on time.

Aemond, in all of his glory with his loose gray dress pants and his olive-colored shirt — first two buttons were undone — looks nothing compared to your beauty when you walk downstairs.

Aemond takes off his sunglasses, swallowing harshly as he takes you in; you’re wearing a white maxi skirt with a blue crop top and Helaena’s heart-shaped sunglasses — which he’s sure Hel forced you to wear. You look ethereal, with sunlight shining on your hair and a shy smile on your face when you notice how he’s staring at you with his jaw on the floor.

“Oh,” he clears his throat when you push the heart-shaped glasses on your head, rocking on the balls of your feet with your hands behind your back, “you look…wow.”

“Thank you,” you say, clearly flustered and smiling, “you don’t look too bad yourself, Little nerd.”

“Thanks, come on, I… I wanna take you somewhere,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at you a bit hesitant, “Of course if you want to—“

“I agreed to come, Aemond, of course, I would want to. Lead the way please,” you wait for him to take you to his car, but unlike the Chevy Camaro you rode from his house to here, he leads you to a silver BMW 507 that you have never seen before.

“This is gorgeous,” you say in awe as you skim your hand over the hood of his car, “I had no idea you owned such a babe.”

“My uncle bought this for me,” he says, following you as you make your way to the passenger seat, opening the door before he holds your hand and helps you in the car.

“Daemon? Really?”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head, “Uncle Gwayne, Mum’s older brother.”

“I’ve never met him, but this is such a gorgeous gift,” you watch as he rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, turning the car on before his hands grip the steering wheel and he backs out of the parking, opening the gates with a remote.

You close your eyes and let the wind blow through your hair, and Aemond glances at you, a ghost of a small on his face while he keeps looking between you and the road.

He sighs, the beach and the wharf coming into his view and he mentally pulls himself together and takes a few deep breaths to collect his thoughts and get ready to talk to you. He parks his car and helps you out of the car with your hand in his.

He doesn’t step back when you stand in front of him, his face inches away from yours while your body is caged between his body and the car. He can feel your chest moving with each breath you take — which is now more than normal and he is near losing his mind.

“Come,” he lets go of your hand and shoves them in his pockets, his hair framing his face and shoulders as he watches you walk side by side with him.

“This is so beautiful, Aemond, thank you,” you give him a reassuring smile as if you notice how stressed he is.

“Nothing is as beautiful as you…” he whispers, watching as you look away from him immediately, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from grinning while he curses himself under his breath, thinking how much of an idiot he is for saying this.

“Yeah…” you fiddle with your fingers, “did you enjoy the party?”

“I did,” he confirms, his eye locking with yours as you reach the beach, walking on the soft sand, “I enjoyed it a lot.”

The way he looks at you is enough to set your heart ablaze. His stare is heated, and he knows for sure you’re aware of what he is thinking about.

The kiss that left both of you breathless.

The kiss that had your hearts beating in sync.

The kiss that left you with teary eyes.

The kiss.

That is all the two of you were able to think about.

“So…” you start, kicking the soft sand with your sandals, “you said you wanna talk about something…”

“Yes, urm…” he takes a deep breath, “I want to explain something, and…and I hope that we can work on…”

“Us,” you finish his sentence, nodding in understanding, “we will work on us.”

“When you said that I love Alys, at first I thought you were being impulsive, that…” he inhales sharply, “that you wanted an out because… because our kiss was a mistake.”

“You think it was a mistake?” You ask suddenly, stopping and grabbing Aemond’s forearm, “What do you mean it was a mistake?”

“No!” he replies, shaking his head as his eyes widen in terror that somehow he messed up again, “No, no, darling, not at all! I meant that… I thought when you said I love Alys was because you realized that our kiss was a mistake and you regretted it! I thought it was the best kiss I’ve ever had…”

With the last part, he takes your hands in his, and brings them up to his lips, and kisses your knuckles a few times, smiling softly at you.

“Really?” “Really,” his flushed cheeks match your flustered expression, “When you said those words… I thought about it a lot, and…and you’re right,” your smile falls but he is faster and pulls you closer, bringing your fists to his chest as he kisses your forehead, “I love her, but not because I think about her romantically. I love her for making me realize what I’ve been missing out. Five years of misery and never have I ever felt such strong emotions toward her that I do for you. I love her in a way that I’m thankful for those experiences she and I went through because all of those moments led me to you.”

“Aemond…” you flatten your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

“I think about her because the wound is still fresh because sometimes I’m reminded of the way she made me feel on my wedding day, I think about the moments I thought I was in love but in reality…I just wanted not to be left alone. And now… It’s not like that with you,” he rests his forehead on yours, both of you closing your eyes to let yourselves be consumed in the moment, “I’m not in love with her, there is only one place in my heart and that belongs to you.”

“I’m so sorry, little nerd, I—” “Shh,” one of his hands cups your cheek, and he leans down to brush his nose against yours, “I’m sorry for not showing how much you mean to me, I do better, I promise.”

“Kiss me,” you say, breathless and teary as you crane your neck, your breaths mingling together as you whisper again, “Kiss me, Aemond.”

“With pleasure.”

His lips meet yours in a slow yet passionate kiss, and once again, your taste makes him dizzy with need. This time the desire is stronger, and he can feel your desperation too with how you lick his bottom lip and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

You whimper when he bites your lower lip, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as soon as you part your lips and give him access. He sighs into your mouth as he kisses your breath away, angling his head to taste you better and breathe in your scent more.

“Show me,” you break the kiss, pecking his cheek as you whisper in his ear, “I need to feel you, please, show me.”

“Come with me,” he kisses the tip of your nose before he laces his fingers through yours.

“Where are you taking me, sir?” You ask with a sultry voice, “Hopefully not to your car because I would hate to drive back and have your family catch us.”

“Absolutely not, my darling,” he pulls you with him, watching as the sunset’s pink hues fall on your face, creating a soft halo around your face and he suddenly pulls you in for a kiss, surprising you. You kiss him back with a chuckle, smiling against his lips as he keeps pecking your face.

“What was that for?”

“You looked so beautiful, I couldn’t resist,” he says, helping you up on the stairs of the wharf, leading you towards a yacht you’ve never seen before.

“If you think you can woo me with your money, Aemond Targaryen, you are so right!” You look at the huge yacht, finding a captain standing and waiting for you.

“Well then I’ve brought you to the best place,” he shakes the captain’s hand, “We won’t be needing your services today, sir, thank you.”

He helps you on the yacht, joining you quickly so he can show you around but you stop him, pulling him downstairs towards the few doors you spotted earlier.

“We’ll see the rest of the yacht later, take me to the bedroom right now,” you bite your lip when he smirks at you and pulls you towards a door, pushing it open before he enters the room.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks, keeping his eyes on you as you make your way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“I want you to show me how much I mean to you.”

“And how do you want me to do that?” He asks, resting his hands on the bed next to your thighs, leaning down so his face is only mere inches away from you.

“You can start with getting on your knees,” you push him down with your hands on his shoulders, giggling softly when he raises his not-damaged eyebrow at you, “don’t keep me waiting.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, taking his sunglasses off his head and dropping it on the floor, grabbing your ankles to slowly pull off your sandals, kissing his way up under your skirt.

He mouths at the flesh of your thighs; kissing, nibbling, and sucking as he draws an invisible path towards your clothed pussy, his head swimming with lust as he gets to be so close to you, closer he has ever dared to imagine.

He gives a quick kiss to the wet spot on your panties, hooking his fingers in the hem of the fabric before he pulls it down, humming as he exposes your heat to the chill air of the room. Aemond kisses your mound, trailing the soft pecks down to your buzzing clit, and as soon as his lips press against the nerves you arch your back.

The sigh you let out is enough encouragement for him to keep going, and he does — he presses open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, sucking and licking in a way that has your mind melting beneath his touch.

“I need to see you,” you tell him, wiggling a bit to push your skirt down. Aemond, more eager than you, detaches himself from you and pulls your skirt off roughly, grabbing your thighs tightly before he dives in, more starved than before.

He wants to go rough, taking and feasting on you like a dog in heat, but not now. He promises to give you an orgasm that makes you feel fuzzy and warm all over. You will have enough time to make memories later…

He laps lazily at your folds, his nails digging into your hips as he runs the tip of his tongue over the bundle of nerves, picking up his pace.

You fist the sheets with one hand while the other goes to his soft hair, pushing your fingers through the silky silver strands as he fastens his movements, his tongue drawing wordless apologies on your wet pussy lips, poking your entrance from time to time — his pace is dizzying, and you crave more and more of his attention to be on you, to show his care for you.

And who is he to deny such a sweet request?

He brings one of his hands down when you whimper ‘more’ and gives him the go. His thumb rubs slow languid circles on your clit, making you close your thighs around his head, back arching off the bed.

Aemond lets his finger gently caress your dripping hole, pushing the digit in slowly, before he starts thrusting it in and out, curving it a little so he brings you closer and closer to your high. While he adds another finger, he attaches his lips upward, sucking on your nerves quite harshly, leaving you a hot mess as you moan and chant his name while he feasts upon you.

“Fuck, Aemond, more— I need more!”

He smiles against you, his nose buried between your thighs as he starts fucking you harshly with his long and thick fingers, curving them enough to nudge the sweet spot inside you with each thrust.

With each filthy sound that echoes in the room, you gasp and cry out for more, a relief only he can give you, and he will give it to you gladly — he keeps his lips locked to your cunt while his fingers prod and scissor you open for him, making you ready to take him.

“Ae-Aemond! I’m close— so-so close!”

“Mhmm, go on, darling, come on my face, I want it, I need it,” he mumbles against your pussy, keeping his fingers knuckles deep inside you while his other hand comes to rub quick little circles on your clit, “Give it to me, beautiful, do it now.”

And you do; you come with a shuddering gasp and a loud broken moan that makes Aemond nearly lose his sanity and empty his balls in his pants like a virgin teenage boy.

He keeps thrusting his fingers inside you slowly as he crawls on top of you, kissing you a bit with your arousal glistening on his chin, helping you ride your euphoric orgasm.

“Are you alright? Do you need a minute?” He asks, pulling his fingers out gently as he gazes down at you, “We can stop right here.”

“I think I will die if I don’t get to have you now.”

“That’s quite the exaggeration, is it not?” He kisses you, waiting for your breathing to calm down a bit, “Don’t worry, beautiful, I’m no better than you. I will probably die if I don’t get to be inside you in a minute.”

“Then take off these clothes and get on the bed!” You whine, pulling on his clothes and he takes them off without any further hesitation, dropping them on the floor next to your skirt, breathing in sharply when he looks down to see you shedding your top and lying down beneath him stark naked.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters and bends down to kiss you and help you lay upper on the pillows with him making a home between your thighs.

“Have you seen yourself?” You smile at him, reaching between your bodies for his now painfully hard cock, squeezing him a little before stroking him a few times, “I will sue you if you ever wear clothes around me from now on.”

“I could say the same about you,” he leans down, holding himself up by his forearms next to your head, “Clean?”

“Yeah…” you reply shakily, guiding the red tip of his cock to your entrance, holding your breath in as he pushes in slowly. You gasp, hands flying up to his waist, digging your nails in as he stretches you out and sheaths himself inside you.

“Fucking hell—“

“I won’t last long,” he sighs, leaning down to hide his face in your neck, his hips pressed tightly against yours as he lets you both adjust — and give himself a minute to compose himself, or else he would lose himself in your warmth.

“I-I won’t either,” you whine and buck your hips, signaling him to move, “just… please!”

He nods shakily, pulling his hips back a little before thrusting in slowly, testing the waters before he sets his pace, watching how your face morphs into pleasure.

Aemond fastens his pace, hips snapping against yours eagerly, the sound of skin slapping against each other fills the room while you both groan and moan in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” he groans into your ear, hand reaching to thread his fingers with yours and you compile, turning your head to look at him as he closes his eye and whimpers your name.

“Open your eyes,” you say gently in a tone laced with pleasure, “I wanna watch how you look when you come for me.”

His eye shots open the moment he hears you, both of your bodies shaking as you tighten around him, signing you’re close. He is right behind you, his cock twitching deep inside you as he hits your spot at a fast pace, abandoning his morals as he fucks you harder, letting go of your hand to reach for your face, staring deep into your eyes while you come undone for him.

He takes note of how your lips fall apart, your eyebrows twist in a frown and your body twitches when your orgasm washes over you.

“Come for me, Aemond.” With your words, he pulls out and strokes himself, painting your stomach with his cum, his hand shaking as he groans from deep inside his throat.

“Holy fuck,” he says as he drops next to you on his side, his red cheek and chest on display, body heaving with rapid breaths, “you okay?”

“More than okay,” you turn your head to look at him, scooting closer to him to brush the few strands of hair that have fallen out of his tie off his beautiful face, “factory reset time?”

“Insatiable beast,” he groans and rolls on top of you, biting your earlobe and your squeal only spurring him on, “Give me ten minutes and I can go again.”

“Good, you won’t get much sleep tonight.”

Aemond wakes up by feeling a pair of soft lips on his neck and collarbones, and for the first time in a long time, he wakes with a smile on his face.

“Hmm, morning,” he says, tightening his arms around your back as you keep pressing kisses on his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m kissing your heart,” you pout at him, the gleam in your eyes not matching the innocent tone you have.

“What?”

“That was so fucking cheesy, I’m sorry,” you laugh, dropping your head on his shoulders, wrapping your arm around him as he joins you, his chest moving up and down with each laughter.

“Well, I cannot say I didn’t like it,” he shrugs, kissing the crown of your head, “you should be more cheesy.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high, mister,” you cup his cheek, caressing his scarred cheek slowly, “No promises, but I will make your life much harder.”

“I’m looking forward to it—“ his phone rings and suddenly, the invisible bubble of your secret bursts. He sighs and gives you an apologetic smile but you kiss it away and crawl towards the end of the bed to reach and grab his phone, “Who is it?”

“Alicent,” you lay back on his chest when he answers the phone.

“Morning, Mum,” he starts, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. We’re fine, please don’t panic, alright? I showed her The Queen in Chains, and we stayed the night here… yes, Mum, we’ll get ready and come back before noon.”

“We should head back home, right?”

“Not now,” he turns off his phone and turns to you, “I wanna stay here more, I don’t think I have looked at you enough.”

“Cheesy,” you poke his chest before kissing the spot, melting in his arms as he caresses your naked back, “What am I going to do with you, sweet talker?”

“Unfortunately, you are stuck with me.”

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #hotd smut #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fluff #🍊dreams

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notherpuppet · 4 months ago

Note

What is your opinion of AI? Personally, I think that like any technology, it depends on the user and their intentions, but that is just me.

What about you?

1. Theft

The most central issues with AI as it is now is that the programs were trained/are trained with STOLEN art. Stolen visual art, music, writing, etc.

The vast majority of what it has been fed is stolen. As in, the artists behind the work were not ever given the chance to consent nor be compensated for their works being used to feed the machine.

This reason alone is straight up copyright infringement and the optimist in me does believe the long arm of the law is gonna shut these programs down for that. But the long arm of the law is looooooong, and the technology is disrupting people’s livelihoods now. Unlike robots or machinery that was invented and built to expedite assembly line/factory work, this technology is only functional by using other people’s labor. If we didn’t live in a society where you have to “earn” your right to live in it, then this would still be wrong, but it probably wouldn’t be such an existential problem.

There are active class action lawsuits for infringement of copyright. And the private sector has begun filing suits and I’m quite certain they’ll win because again—it’s simply theft. These companies did not make licensing contracts, they’re not paying royalties to the artists they stole from.

So if you consider using ai that generates “art” (whether it is visual, music, writing, etc.) please consider stopping immediately, as you would actively be benefiting from theft (which is wrong imo!!!!)

2. AI in its present form dishonors the human spirit

In my personal relationship with AI technology, I do not use it to generate ideas or ‘art’. I detest the notion to use technology in that way tbh. AI is a form of technology, so it’s difficult to break it down into every specific use it actually has. But here’s an attempt; no to generative AI, okay to certain AI.

There are kinds of AI programming in the programs I use (such as features that help you color in a shape quickly or make a perfect circle). This is useful tech (that requires zero IP theft) and I like it because it helps me by taking care of tedious tasks so that I have more time to spend in the creative and drawing processes. But I still choose the colors, I still draw the images, I still write the stories.

I think the way AI is used right now with a focus on “creative thinking” (where it’s not actually creating anything it’s just churning out other people’s *stolen* ideas and practice) is a total waste. AI being used as an assistant to help humans find information easily can be/has been swell. And requires no theft :D

But for whatever reason (greed, capitalism are my guesses), tech companies are leaning into a direction to replace creativity with AI?? I imagine the people behind this view the practice of art as tedious work because it is challenging??

But the beauty of art and the practice of it is that it allows humans to experience and overcome challenges with little to no stakes.

When society determines that is not a valuable use of human time, then I think we’ll all be significantly more miserable. If we allow a machine to be “creative” and leave us to only experience challenges with stakes—like survival (rent, putting food on the table).

So here are some examples of how I feel about AI uses;

AI to translate languages, find resources, discern malicious malware/spam from harmless messages > 👍🏽

AI to generate ideas/art for you > 🤢 Why??????? Why would you want that…that’s the most exceptional part of the human experience and you relinquish it to a bot trained on stolen ideas? 😭

#didn’t think my opinion on ai would ever be relevant on this blog #but since people have taken my shit and put it in ai #and I’ve seen more ai images of HAZBIN characters #I guess it has become relevant #this blog is anti-ai ‘art’#so if you’re into ai ‘art’#PLEASE GTFO

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wizardhugs · 3 months ago

Text

🇵🇸 art drive for palestine 🇵🇸

i would like to make a simple, silly, low-poly blender model + render of whatever you'd like for anyone who donates the equivalent of 9USD to any of these campaigns for gaza evacuation. [ use a currency converter here! ]

examples for the drive -- my silly artfight -- (old!) my earlier renders -- above art is mine

these are all accounts and people who have reached out to me via tumblr askbox. i have checked each myself for verification, and provided links to vetted status below. unvetted (as of making this list) fundraisers are new, and do not yield results with reverse image searches. i've also included any instagram accounts i could easily find, for extra proof of validity.

@somaiahassansworld and @lobnaalser: gfm, vetted here, 0% of 50,000 EUR

@ahmadelser: gfm, vetted here, 4% of 50,000 EUR

@dodoomar12345: gfm, vetted here, 45% of 300,000 SEK

@ayoosh-gaza: gfm, vetted here, 1% of 200,000 USD

@danaghaith: gfm, vetted here, 12% of 60,000 USD

@falestine-yousef: gfm, vetted here, 34% of 40,000 USD

@abd-88-mazen: gfm, 4% of 80,000 CAD

@keensaladbanana: gfm, 3% of 350,000 NOK

@bilalassadabedrou: gfm, vetted here, 10% of 80,000 EUR

@asmaayyad and @esraayyad14: gfm, vetted here, ig @asmaa_ayyad98, 25% of 45,000 EUR

@salem-baker: gfm, vetted here, 16% of 38,000 EUR

@omargaze: gfm, vetted here, ig @jody_toys, 24% of 20,000 GBP

@osamathaers-blog: gfm, 2% of 50,000 EUR

@mahmoudswierh2: gfm, vetted here, 44% of 15,000 CAD

@samarsh97: gfm, vetted here, ig @samar.sh97, 12% of 45,000 EUR

@adham-89: gfm, vetted here, 23% of 50,000 USD

@abdelmutei: gfm, vetted here, ig @sh.imaa6245, 42% of 25,000 EUR

@ahmadresh: gfm, vetted here, 78% of 10,000 USD

@alaakh2025: gfm, #99 here, 49% of 56,000 GBP

@yazanfamilly: gfm, vetted here, 22% of 50,000 EUR

@saveranafamily: gfm, 2% of 50,000 EUR

@hayanahed: gfm, #26 here, 78% of 100,000 EUR

@palestinianhadeel: gfm, vetted here, 27% of 20,000 EUR

@fidaa-family2: gfm, vetted here, 51% of 30,000 USD

@safaabed8: gfm, vetted here, 31% of 90,000 EUR

@amnyaburas: gfm, 0% of 68,000 CAD

@aya2mohammed: gfm, vetted here, 51% of 50,000 EUR

@kefahfamily: gfm, 2% of 40,000 USD

@bshaeromars-blog: gfm, #231 here, 37% of 40,000 USD

@sameer-family: gfm, vetted here, 4% of 50,000 USD

@noorabd1992: gfm, vetted here, 19% of 45,000 USD

@ahmedomer9: gfm, vetted here, 2% of 50,000 EUR

@hatem1790: gfm, vetted here, 0% of 45,000 EUR

@hazemsuhail: gfm, vetted by association, 5% of 50,000 EUR

@help-mona: gfm, vetted, 0% of 185,300 EUR

@husseinshamia: gfm, vetted, ig @hussein_shamia_, 88% of 40,000 USD

@amalashuor: gfm, vetted #175, 75% of 50,000 EUR

@eyad-alanqar255: gfm, vetted here, 2% of 40,000 EUR

@mahaibrahim13: gfm, vetted here, 8% of 81,000 GBP

@abedallhferwanagaza: gfm, vetted here, 14% of 35,000 EUR

@savethaerfamily: gfm, vetted here, 1% of 20,000 EUR

if i have made any mistakes, PLEASE reach out so i may fix. i will not interact with trolls/bad faith/zionists.

please consider donation or reblogging. terms for art drive below the cut.

to get a silly art:

donate to one of the above campaigns, 9 USD or more (currency converter here), reblog their posts, help someone.

send me a dm with proof of donation to one of these gfms, something like this is fine.

then let me know what you're interested in, and keep simplicity in mind.

treat me with respect! note that i may take some time to get back to you now and again.

and please keep in mind: i am not a professional, i do this for fun, i've never even really posted my art here before. i am offering silly art because it's something i feel i have to give.

i will communicate to you if i don't feel your initial request is something i can do, and i'll offer alternatives or adjustments.

i will do:

simple shapes + low poly models.

custom textures.

simple animations [rotations, blinking, waving, etc].

shitposts, goofs, sillies. explosions!

want me to make your oc or something related to/representative of them? references are great!

want me to do a fandom character or something related to them? let me know what you like most about them!

your favorite mug? a stuffed animal? an abstract concept? i will do my best, that sounds awesome.

alternative to 3d renders, i do silly pastel pfps! examples here -- i'm honestly really desperate to help fundraise.

i will probably post whatever i create for you as an image (GIF or PNG), and tag you, unless you ask me not to (or to keep you anonymous). i work in blender and can provide a .blend project file, or other exported formats/assets!

posted august 23rd, 2024, edited/extended august 25th, further extended august 30th. more campaigns added + pfp note september 20th.

#palestine #free palestine #artists on tumblr #my artwork #my art #digital art #3d art #donations #mutual aid #fundraising #colored text #squawks #commissions #art commissions #open commissions

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yzzart · 4 months ago

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── ★｡𖦹°‧ CAN WE TALK ABOUT AFTERCARE, MR. SATO? .ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, aftercare, mention of sex, petnames, something lovely, sexual content.

⭑.ᐟ Thinking, deeply, about how this man is so, so attentive and helpful to you after sex; taking care of you in a delicate yet fragile way, not removing, nor daring, his hands from you. — His hands, eyes, touches need to emphasize you with sweetness, tenderness.

⤷ Even though, during the last few minutes, he cunningly took you to heaven and hell; almost breaking your mind and body and leaving you completely at his mercy and delight.

⭑.ᐟ The way Kenji knows very well how to carry out all the delicate and detailed care is apollonian; seeking to question possible sudden and rude marks or pain, granting quick massages. — As he lovingly kisses all the hickeys and bites he left on your skin. — Once again, not letting go of physical contact.

⤷ Also whispering, uttering various and abundant compliments, praises about how good you were to him; not hiding the words, which sounded so possessive and obscene. — Sato didn't hide that he was bewitched, trapped and chained to you.

“Oh, my girl was so good to me, wasn’t she?” — “Don’t worry about me, please. You come first, remember?” — “So beautiful, gods, you’re going to be the fucking death of me.” — “My beautiful girl, mine.”

⤷ With every kiss, little kisses that crossed your skin, that shivered with the touch of his sinful lips, Kenji adored you intensely and intimately.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji always leaves a towel, or easily knows where to find one, near the bed to clean it properly and wet it to make it easier; but most of the time, he carries you on his lap, making fun of you, and his footsteps take you to the bathroom.

⤷ He prepares the bath, sometimes, he already prepares it, and doesn't allow you to try too hard and, again, starts dedicating himself and focusing only on you. — Kenji bathed, washed and took care of your body during the intimate moment; appreciating you with his eyes burning with passion and fascination.

⭑.ᐟ But, don't avoid the fun, good-natured and seduced image of Sato after you were together, clinging to each other and covered in bed; as always, his face was nestled in the crook of your neck, causing jolts of tickle and temptation for you. — He felt some tremors, goosebumps coming from your body when he laughed or spoke against your skin.

⤷ Kenji couldn't help the voluptuousness, the appetite he felt, experienced for you; he didn't know how to control it, you can't blame him. — Clicking his tongue, on your neck, the oldest could swear, ensuring that he still felt his taste on his palate; soon, he could already sense a stirring erection in his sweatpants.

"My pretty." — Your boyfriend's teeth gave a miserable and wanton conflict to your neck, pulling a small piece of your skin and releasing it and laughing hoarsely. — "I love you."

#kenji sato #ken sato #kenji #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #kenji sato smut #ken sato smut #kenji smut #ultraman #ultraman rising

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revasserium · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write something with 34. insomina: owner’s instructions for zoro? I’d love to see what you come up with <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

34. insomnia: owner's instructions

opla!zoro; 1,818 words; teeth-rotting fluff, truly mind-numbing amounts of fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, simp!zoro, emotionally constipated!zoro, naps are the superior pass-time

summary: to nap, or not to nap, that is the question

a/n: or, the one bed trope, lampshaded with a hammock instead.

one.

The door opens.

“You’re in my space.”

“Last I checked, this wasn’t yours.”

“Who do you think set up the hammock?”

Zoro opens one eye and gives you a sidelong look.

“Hn. Thought it came with the ship.”

You narrow your own eyes, folding your arms.

“I’m gonna count to five —”

“Congrats, didn’t know you could count that high.”

You grab the nearest thing, which just so happens to be a fishing hook, and hurl it at him. Zoro parries it with the hilt of a sword, sighing as he turns to fix you with a hard look again.

“You wanna nap here? Then nap here.” He turns away, closing his eyes again.

You stare at him for a solid three seconds.

“So — not gonna move?” You frown.

“Never said I was.” He doesn’t so much as open his eyes.

You stare for three more seconds before the implication crashes over you like a wave. You go nearly apoplectic with indignation and embarrassment, heat cresting up the back of your neck at the image of the pair of you — together — on that tiny little —

“Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head as you tug open the door and slip through it, letting it click closed behind you.

two.

“Hn.”

You smirk, the vague contempt emanating from the body by the door tells you who it is before you even open your eyes.

“Don’t like what you see? Look away,” you parrot his words back at him, cocking your head as you shift left and right, making a show of swinging in the hammock, stretching your arms above your head.

“Tch.”

You’re just about to turn back around and resume your nap, content that you’d driven him away just like he did you but then — your world spins as a pair of arms hoist you into the air, and the next second, you’re being slung onto someone’s shoulders.

“Z-Zoro?!”

He grunts, and the room spins again, but this time, as it rights itself, you find yourself somehow still in the hammock, though now pressed against a body — all solidness and smooth skin stretched over corded muscle. You blink, startled, down at Zoro, who stares up at you, a daring smirk perched over his lips.

“There. Now we can both nap.”

You stare, utterly bewildered at this strange turn. But when you try to pull away, his arm bands tighter around your waist. Your fingers dig into his chest; he barely moves, only shifting slightly to better accommodate the shape of you lying next to him, nearly on top of him —

“I — I don’t think —”

“Thought you were tired.”

“Well — not after —”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

“Y-you’re —”

“You’ve been in my nap spot for the last few days.”

You bite your lips, staring down at his too-close face. A shaft of errant sunlight falls through the small window near the top of the room, landing in a thick strip across his face, bisecting it over his left eye.

As if feeling your gaze of him, he peaks open that eye to stare back up at you, and in this indulgence of light, the black of his iris looks trapped in amber.

“You… you can’t sleep anywhere else on the ship?” you ask, your mouth suddenly very, very dry. His skin smells of sea-salt and steel.

“Tried. Not as comfy.”

He blinks, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as his eyes flicker down to your mouth, lingering there for a beat before it trails back up your face. You swallow, suddenly very much aware of all the different places your bodies are touching — chest to chest, your leg slung over his, his arm still wrapped around your back, palm pressed to the bend of your waist.

“F-fine… I’ll just g —”

“Mn.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes as he tugs you back again, easily pinning you to his side, “quit squirming.”

“I’m not squirming — I’m trying to leave so you can —”

“I said quit it.” His arm tightens again, flattening you against him. Like this, you can feel every solid ripple of his stomach as he breathes, each steady beat of his heart pressed to your cheek. You hold yourself like this for a few more seconds, coiled and tense, before slowly — you force yourself to relax.

“You… you really want to nap like this?”

Zoro sighs, his grip on you loosening ever so slightly.

“If you’re gonna keep on asking stupid questions…” his voice is already gravely with sleep, like woodsmoke, or the edges of a serrated blade.

You let out a long breath as well, resigning yourself to the strangeness of it all, but unable to stop a tiny smile from forming along your lips as you settle into the crook of Zoro’s arm.

three.

Sleep comes easily, almost too easily. And even though some say that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit, Zoro wonders if some other habits are easier to form. If some might feel instantaneous because it isn’t so much a habit as it is a resolution — he wonders what it means for it to be so easy to fall asleep next to you, what it means for someone like him to be so willing to give up consciousness in your presence.

He’s gotten so used to sleeping with one metaphorical eye open that when he does finally fall asleep, it seems the most natural thing in the world — a reverting back, a coming home.

The sun is setting — he can tell from the dim, orange light seeping in through the tiny high window, casting the entire room in stark shadows, long and languid as a lover’s limbs.

You are soft and pliant next to him, your skin the scent of milk and cotton, the ocean breeze still caught in your hair. Your breathing is steady, and he knows you’re still asleep — briefly, he wonders at the landscapes of your dreams, if they might just mirror his. If they might be about something like this — about the sea as it laps at the hull of the Going Merry. About the muffled laughter of the crew — his crew, their crew — of the clank and clatter of Sanji’s pans as he prepares dinner down the hall, of the dull creak of the main sail as Nami shifts the tillers.

“Good dreams…?”

Zoro almost jumps at the sound of your voice, thick with honey, your cheek shifting against his chest as you curl deeper into his side.

“Don’t remember,” he lies easily, because he has no plans on telling you about his dreams, about how they’d looked somehow exactly like this — like waking up with a warm, solid body next to his. And perhaps, of waking up next to you.

“Liar,” you say, just as easily, grinning as you lift your head to pillow your chin on his shoulder. And when you’re this close, you don’t see someone move, so much as feel the compression of air between your bodies.

Zoro scoffs, shifting his arm up so his fingers trail up the small of your back. You let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“You’re right, this really is the best nap spot.”

You lay your head back down on his chest; when he glances down, he can see the flutter of your lashes in the burgeoning dark. He doesn’t know if your eyes are closed, but he finds that he doesn’t care much about that now as he reaches down to trace absent patterns into the skin of your back.

“Hn. Didn’t know that was up for debate.”

You laugh, the sound trickling of his skin like water.

“It wasn’t, I was just… validating your opinion, I guess.”

Zoro grunts a vague sort of concession as you make to pull away, sitting up to stretch your arms, yawning hugely. And in the rapidly fading light, the way your hair clings to your bare shoulders seems like an odd kind of poetry. And Zoro’s never ever been the poetic sort, but he finds himself held captive by the sight regardless.

Mindlessly, he reaches up to tug a few strands of hair free, letting them fall through his fingers.

Once, he’d lain awake in the dark and wondered what courage the lack of light had always seemed to give to cowardly men.

Now, he doesn’t question it.

Now, he only finds himself leaning up to kiss you, propelled by some unknown force — perhaps the same force that had possessed him to take a nap with you in the first place.

His fingers are still tangled in your hair when your lips meet.

You make a surprised half-squeak that Zoro finds he’s rather fond of and immediately resolves to hear it again. And again. His free hand presses you back into his chest, where he’d been noticing a distinct lack in the space where you’d been. You melt into him almost immediately, and he lays back, content with the task of exploring your lips, the column of your neck, the wonderous dip between your collarbones.

“Is this…” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair as he slowly trails his lips back up your neck, letting his teeth skim over the delicate skin of your shoulder, “what you dreamt about?”

“Dunno. Might be.”

He lets out a satisfied hum as you pull him back up for another long, lazy kiss.

“Might still be dreaming,” he murmurs against your lips, reveling in the soft vibrations of your laughter. This, too, he thinks — is a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing again, of tasting again.

“Didn’t know you could be so cheesy,” you say, cocking your head as Zoro scoffs.

“Don’t mistake me for the cook — I’m just still —” he cuts off, searching for something to say that isn’t stomach-twistingly embarrassing.

“Still… sleepy?” you offer, grinning a Cheshire grin.

Zoro narrows his eyes, pushing himself away from you, flipping out of the hammock in one fluid movement, his swords clanking at his hip.

“C’mon, sounds like dinner’s almost ready.” He waits by the door, a hand already resting on the hilt of his swords.

“Hm… and here I thought you might’ve wanted to sleep some more.”

Zoro glances over his shoulder, fixing you with a dark, piercing look.

“Food first.”

You smile, slipping out of the hammock, “Sleep… after?”

Zoro nods, seemingly satisfied with this sequence of events as he opens the door and waits for you to step through. Neither of you question where each of you might be sleeping that night. It is, after all, now a foregone conclusion.

“Sleep after.”

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