#'I brush her hair (i want to brush my lips across the ends but i can't)'

[curtins]

ACHILLES COME DOWN — ryomen sukuna

prologue. → you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him.

you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

pairing. ryomen sukuna x afab!reader

warnings. reader is sukuna's wife and they really love each other, just in their own twisted way. tried so hard to not make sukuna ooc so he comes across as an awful bitch sometimes. mentions of violence, blood, giving birth. lots of angst, hurt, comfort, mild fluff, suggestive, dubious in parts of the backstory, heavy focus on sukuna's childhood. sukuna calls reader 'woman' and 'brat.'

word count. 8.4k song inspiration. achilles come down — gang of youths

a/n. this artwork by @innaillus lives rent free in my head, it was the driving force for this fic idea...wanted to make this something different to what i usually do.

mp3 you crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. it is empty, achilles, so end it all now, it's a pointless resistance for you.

for all the jujutsu and sorcery that flourished in the world, with unearthly displays of mastery over lief and death, you loathed how none had devised a technique to pluck an unborn child from the womb, and deliver it to the world without pain, without effort, and without this infernal ordeal that had left you slumped against silk cushions.

the air of your chambers hung heavy with a languid quiet, steeping in the residue of suffering, triumph, and undeniably, the light scent of iron in the air that made you wrinkle your nose.

the faint rustle of bloodied sheets reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic hum of the cicadas just beyond the paper screens, their song rising and falling like the tide of some ancient hymn.

summer lingered there, stubborn and sweltering on your brow, as the tremor of your hands betrayed the harrowing hours of labour behind you, though it had felt like centuries.

she was impossibly small, your daughter, her form as delicate as ceramic from the kiln, and just as luminous. her hair, peach-pink and fine as spun silk, gleamed softly in the amber glow of the lamplights, a gentler echo of her father's sharper strands.

the infant stirred in her swaddling, a tiny yawn parting her perfect, bow-shaped lips before she blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes.

the sight of those eyes stopped you. their hue was unmistakable — the very shade of your own, what a mirror of familiarity nestled in in the impossibly round irises of the child.

your breath hitched, and then a laugh escaped you, weak and thin from exhaustion.

the sound startled the maids, their hurried motions faltering for an instant, but you paid them no mind. your fingers simply brush over the baby's smooth cheek, marvelling at the warmth of her, at the life so newly arrived, and yet so firmly tethered to you.

"one question answered them," you murmured, the words falling from you, "two eyes."

what an absurd observation, a flicker of thought that should not have mattered in this moment. yet it did tug at you. you had wondered often during the long, sleepless night of pregnancy, whether this child would resemble their father entirely. whether this child would inherent that jagged, fearsome visage and the shadow that hung over the king of curses.

you had privately hoped that there would at least be something of you in the child, something gentler, and tethered to the world of men.

your musings were interrupted by the low murmur of voices beyond the screen, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps, deliberate and unhurried.

the servants hushed themselves immediately, and a moment later, the door slid open.

"lord sukuna," one of the accompanying nobles intoned, bowing so deeply that the hem of his crimson sokutai kissed the polished stones of the floor.

what a redundant announcement, for sukuna's presence often needed no introduction. you would swear that the chamber, warm with the glow of the lamplight, shrank beneath the weight of him.

even the cicadas outside seemed to hush their song as his shadow stretched across the tatami mats.

you felt his gaze before you saw it, — those piercing rust eyes, a force unto themselves. they lingered on you, a single breath held between one moment and the next, before shifting to the swaddled bundle cradled in your arms. you studied his face, willing yourself to decipher the mask of his granite expression.

hope tugged at you, fragile and foolish, searching for some flicker of sentiment, some crack in the marble of his countenance. yet his features remained inscrutable, as if carved from stone by a hand too cruel to grant softness.

but you knew your lord husband well. the absence of visible emotion was not the absence of feeling. his silences were not voids, but rather labyrinths, frustratingly so often. still, you watched him, not daring to speak, as sukuna moved with inhuman grace, as his steps no longer made sound on the floor.

your eyes fell on an odd object being carried in one of sukuna's four hands. dark silk was wrapped tightly around a small, irregular shape, and the bundle was unassuming at a glance. but you knew that nothing sukuna did was without purpose, without some motive.

but his eyes did not hold the indifferent glance of a man acknowledging his heir. it was something sharper, and heavier.

what did he see in the infant's tiny, sleeping form? what judgement had he already rendered in the silence that stretched unbearably to every corner of your quarters?

was this displeasure? disappointment? no, there was no anger etched into the sharp planes of his face.

but sukuna had wanted a son, he had said so, enough times that had left you running your anxious hands over your swollen belly. the thought coiled around your heart like a serpent, tightening with each second.

an heir must be strong. he had said it once, not long after you had first told him of the child growing within you. and in the quiet hours of that autumn night, you had wondered what strength had meant to him.

was it the unyielding will that had carved his name into infamous legend? the power to command, and collapse armies and legions, to bend the wills of mortals, and curses alike? a boone that could only truly be carried by a son?

you had never dared to ask the alternative.

swallowing your doubt, you finally spoke, unable to bear it any longer, "sukuna," you said, your voice quieter than you had intended, and even to your ears, it sounded raw with ragged exhaustion, "you have a daughter."

the words lingered, fragile as a spider's silk, trapped in the web of this room. it seemed that the maids, nor the nobles, dared to raise their eyes, as their breaths seemed to hang on the response.

now his shadow was cast over you, dimming the light of the world around you, but his four eyes flicked between the child at your breast, and then to your face.

"she will spill much blood on this earth," his voice as deep and steady as the foundations of the earth itself, "like her father."

the words struck you, like a hammer reverberating against a bronze bell in the quiet air. had you not braced yourself for his disappointment, for the cold practicality that so often shaped his actions?

but you were glad to see something else in his eyes, certainty, conviction, and even the faintest glimmer of traitorous pride. relief simply swept over you, filling in the spaces where paranoia and fear had coiled.

a small smile broke across your lips, though it felt fragle, as if one wrong word could shatter the moment. nevertheless, the lingering doubts that had clung to you, as heavy as a sunrise fog, began to dissolve in his searing presence.

"i am glad," you murmured, "that you are not angered. for i did not give you a son."

sukuna raised a single thin brow, his expression as unreadable as always, though the faintest trace of something akin to amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, "any child of my blood will be strong. i am glad that my wife did not pass from blood loss during childbirth."

you melodramatically sighed but a laugh danced on your mouth, that was essentially a heartfelt confession of sukuna's love for you, in his own twisted way.

"well," you replied, doing your best to sound bolder than you felt, "if you're feeling so magnanimous, you may as well tell me what that is."

your gaze was in the silk-wrapped bundle that still rested in his lower right hand, "could i hope that it's a loving gift for me? your wife who did not pass from blood loss?"

the ghost of a droll smile quirked sukuna's lips, a rare thing that seemed to thaw away some of the cold ice on his features, "you will get your gift later," and there was the faintest flicker of heat in his tone, the sort that made your stomach twist and your cheeks burn anew.

you quickly lowered your gaze, pretending to fuss with the edges of the infant's swaddle. the maids had suddenly busied themselves with unnecessary tasks in the farthest corners of the room.

"this," sukuna continued, lifting the package, "is for her."

for a moment, his words didn't register. you blinked, surprised, and your eyes flicked from the mysterious artifact to the tiny, slumbering child in your arms.

"for her?" you echoed, and the idea of the king of curses bring an item for a child, his child, felt strange, but tender in its unfamiliarity, "what is it?"

instead of answering immediately, he sat his hulking form beside you, sinking the silk of your sheets further into the wood frame. the wrapping fell away at his touch, revealing what lay within.

a spear, small and exquisite. wickedly sharp, and glinting faintly even in the dim light. it's shaft was adorned with intricate carvings of coiling dragons and parting clouds, and it had clearly been crafted for a hand far tinier than sukuna's own.

"a...weapon?" your stomach turned faintly, blanching at the sight of something so deadly meant for someone so fragile, unease colouring your voice.

sukuna sighed at your tone, like he had already predicted your protests, "it is tradition. a blade is the first gift given to a child, in the house of a warrior. it must be a promise."

"a promise of what?" you asked, though you weren't sure you truly wanted to hear the answer.

"of strength. that a child will grow strong, regardless of blood or lineage."

you looked at your daughter, so small and so impossibly fragile, and then down at the spear, the fine metal glinting faintly in the amber lamplight. you were certain that if you were to lay a finger on the razor edge, it could split your flesh apart with blooming drops of wine-red blood.

"she is but a few hours old," you murmured, "what strength must she carry already?"

sukuna's gaze was umoved, but not unkind, "the child carries a burden whether she knows it or not. the world is not kind to those who are weak. would you not see her survive it?"

a harsh truth, but spoken without cruelty. you studied sukuna's face, bathed in the lamplight, searching for something that you couldn't quite name. for all his barbed edges, you could have sworn his words nursed an older grudge. but you knew, in your heart that he was right, your daughter had been borne of a mortal mother, but of an immortal father, of a darker thread in this world.

a father, one who did not know how to speak of love, but who offered it in the only way he knew.

to sukuna, love and violence sat hand in hand, bloodied and stained.

"still," you said, deciding to drop the serious protest, for now, "a strange world you live in, where a weapon is a fitting fit for a infant? your wisdom knows no bounds," and your voice was laced with the teasing incredulity that he would tolerate only from his wife.

his crimson eyes flicked toward you, calm and unbothered, though the faintest smirk curved the corner of his mouth, like a blade just shy of unsheathing. "admittedly," he said, his deep voice like thunder rolling across a distant plain, "i hadn’t realised that babies were so… round. and weak. and plump."

"you were a baby once."

"never. i was born with the taste of blood and flesh already in my mouth."

"you’re insufferable," you said, though there was no real heat in your words. sukuna was not as naive as he pretended to be; you knew this game too well. his dry humour was his way of stirring you, drawing you out, even now.

"well," you said with a soft sigh, gesturing toward the swaddled bundle in your arms, "set the weapon aside, my dear warlord. for now, at least. let her meet her father before she’s introduced to steel and blood."

for a moment, his gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always, though something unspoken and hesitant flickered there, like the glow of embers beneath ash. then, with a small incline of his head, he relented.

"very well, pass the brat," he muttered, his tone lower now, softer.

you extended the child toward him, her tiny form impossibly small against the vastness of his marked hands.

for a fleeting moment, you worried — fearful that his strength, so absolute, might overwhelm her delicate frame. but when his fingers brushed against the blanket, they were steady, almost reverent.

he took her into his arms, his hold firm yet astonishingly gentle. what a beautiful little thing, you thought, as she stirred faintly, her little face scrunching in a way that made your heart ache with unexpected tenderness, for her and for this rare moment of quiet from your husband.

"how...small," sukuna said, almost to himself, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the crimson of his eyes softened as he gazed at her, no longer the gaze of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer or a fearsome curse, but something far more human, a shadow of a man he might have once been.

"infants tend to be," you replied softly, watching the way his expression flickered, but you shifted closer to him, "here, let me unwrap her."

with careful hands, you unwound the swaddling cloth, each pull of fabric careful. the delicate folds slipped away in a quiet hustle, revealing the soft, flushed skin of the newborn, her form small and fragile in the dim glow of the chamber. a scattering of fine, rosy hairs crowned her head like the first petals of a spring bloom, soft and fleeting.

but then, as the last of the cloth unraveled, the room seemed to still. beneath her, something did not quite belong.

four arms. for, just like her father, another set of limbs was stacked underneath the first.

a chill ran through you, but you kept your gaze fixed upon her. the sight was no less miraculous for its strangeness, no less wondrous, but something shifted in your chest, a flutter of uncertainty.

oh, your darling baby girl.

your breath faltered for only an instant, and then a wry chuckle escaped your lips. "no wonder it hurt so much pushing her out," you griped, the words an attempt at brief levity.

the maids behind you had stilled, their eyes wide with shock, their breaths drawn in in silence. but you scarcely noticed or cared for their reaction.

your attention was on sukuna, and the subtle change that passed across his features like a shadow moving across the face of the sun.

at first, there was nothing — no word, no sound from his tight, pursed lips. his crimson eyes flickered over her, shifting from the unexpected sight of her four arms to her face, as though searching for some other sign of familiarity. his hold on her, though gentle, became uncertain, the steady grasp of one used to absolute control now wavering in the presence of something too delicate to tame.

no one would have seen the change in your husband, but you did. you always did.

"ah, sukuna," you whispered, "it’s alright. hold her properly."

sukuna's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in the corner of his mouth, painted with all the sweetness of rancid milk gone sour. but at last, he obeyed.

slowly, deliberately, his hands shifted, cradling the child with a kind of reverence that seemed foreign to him. the baby stirred faintly, her small hands brushing against his bare chest, and for the briefest of moments, a flicker passed across his expression — something that could have been warmth, or tenderness, or even pain, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

just as swiftly, his face returned to its usual impassive mask, the stoic countenance of a cruel warlord, implacable and untouchable. the walls of armour, built up over years of battle, of bloodshed, closed in around him once more, and you were left with the unmistakable sense that he had retreated behind them.

your brow furrowed as you watched him, "what's wrong?"

"nothing, woman." he replied curtly, and you could already sense the serrated edges of his tone, the one you would hear when his mood had gone afoul.

he placed the newborn back into your arms, and you nestled the infant close to your breast — and you blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the gesture, your fingers stinging from the instantly cool touch of his skin.

"you have done well," and his voice was low, clipped.

a fleeting silence followed, thick with the weight of his half-hearted praise, or rather lack of his apparent love.

"done well? sukuna - " you repeated, unable to mask the incredulity in your voice, "my lord, that is all you have to say?"

his eyes rested on yours, cool and unyielding. beautiful and terrible, in the way that a soldier may have admired a temporary moment in time watching crimson shimmer and soar across the sky, before it fell down in acrid blood rain. terrible, all the same.

on any other day, his infuriating brevity and sharp demeanour might have sparked a flame of annoyance in your chest, but today...was not quite so. though the shadow that rest upon him would not reveal itself, you searched his face nevertheless for what had unnerved him so. but as always, sukuna's features were as unreadable as ancient stone.

his gaze flickered for a moment to the maids who lingered at the edges of the room, their wide eyes watching with an almost palpable curiosity. and without a single glance at you, or the baby girl nestled in your arms, he turned away in long strides, past the threshold and onto the balcony that held the evening's last fading light.

you let out a long, slow sigh — at the poison that had sunk its furled teeth into your husband once more. this was hardly the first time he had withdrawn into his own sullen, brutal thoughts, locked behind walls that you had not the key to breach. and it certainly would not be the last. you could only hope that this ill vein of his mind would not end in someone's pumping blood being spilled over the floors.

"uraume," you called softly, glancing toward your friend and confidant, who had been standing silently near the wall, having accompanied sukuna.

the short, silver-haired sorcerer turned their rosewood eyes toward you, their expression as stoic as ever, like frost that had settled over granite.

their hands were folded neatly in front of their heavy snow-robes, but you caught the faintest quirk of their brow as if to say what now?

you gestured toward sukuna's figure on the terrace, brooding and awfully solitary, "what has gotten into him?"

uraume shrugged, as unimpressed as always, "would that he has found himself in one of his moods again. you know how he is."

you frowned, not entirely satisfied with their answer, for what ill mood could have sunk its claws into sukuna after the birth of his only child. but still, uraume had known sukuna far longer than you had.

"can you hold her for a moment?"

at that, uraume hesitated, their stoicism faltering for the briefest second, "me?" they asked, their cool tone clipped but their light-teak eyes darting to the baby with thinly veiled interest.

"yes, you," you said with a wry smile, "ah, don’t pretend as though you don’t want to."

their lips pressed into a tight line, but you saw the way their hands moved almost instinctively, reaching out before they could talk themselves out of it. with practiced care, you transferred the baby into your friend's arms, watching as uraume's stern demeanor softened, just slightly, as they looked down at the tiny bundle.

"careful," you teased, adjusting the swaddle around your infant daughter, "she might charm you into smiling."

"unlikely," uraume deadpanned, but the faintest ghost of warmth touched their dulcet voice.

the evening air was cool as the breath of a shadow, brushing against your skin, and you watched as the pale pink petals of the gardens below fluttered in the winds, falling in gentle arcs around the estate.

you sighed, wrapping your robe tighter around your form, as the sheer fabric clung to your skin like the last vestiges of warmth that the day had offered. the coolness was a balm, but it did little to ease the deep ache in your legs, nor the weariness that had clung to you like a second skin now, so soon after an arduous labour.

you made your way onto the balcony, the rough floor beneath your feet cold and unyielding — and there, sukuna sat, his broad frame hunched slightly over the stone bench.

you paused, only a slight shadow behind him, unsure whether to disturb the stillness of his thoughts or let him be. the space between you was...heavy, but you broke through the silence.

"are you going to tell me what's wrong," you asked, trying to keep a lightness to your tone, "or are you planning to brood out here all night?"

you could only hope that you had not overstepped, for his moods were as tempestuous as the wild storms of summer's monsoons. although his promise of blood on skin, and guts on the table, had never been directed at you.

a flicker of irritation had brush over sukuna's face, as his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. a warning, perhaps, a retreat?

for a moment, you lingered where you stood, wondering if it would be worth your time to weather whatever tempest brewed within the king of curses. and you hesitated, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and place a hand upon his broad shoulder. but something held you back, not tonight.

instead, you settled beside him, the cold stone of the bench biting into your thighs and abdomen through the thin fabric of your robe, a deep cramping that you wished you could settle with a steaming bath.

for a long while, sukuna said little. but you heard his small exasperated sigh, at the inconvenience that you had apparently created for him. a subtle movement in the dark silk of his robes, and without a word, he spread the folds of his garments wider so you could move closer to the searing heat of his bare skin, and rest upon the fabric, rather than the icy rock currently beneath your pelvis.

"sukuna, please. are you well?"

"why wouldn't i be, woman?" but the words fell between you, false and brittle in the warm air, betrayed by the clench of his jaw.

it must be of little standard, how you're pleased that sukuna has not blasted his beloved wife into cinders, and so you press on, undeterred now by the silence.

reaching out, you take one of his four hands, so much stronger than your own, into your grasp. your fingers weave into the thick tattoos marked on his skin, over faint scars that must stretch back to a golden age, long abandoned by the world. but here, his skin is warm and living, and solid beneath your touch. it is rough in places, like a weathered boulder, but there is no resistance in his grasp, no usual sharpness in a retreat.

"i wonder," he mutters, and you look up from studying his hands in surprise, "what mine own parents must have thought when i was born."

your breath catches, for sukuna has never spoken of family, not once in all the years that you have known him. after all, you had seen your husband in reminiscence many times, usually after a great flagon of rich drink.

about stories of battle and triumphs, of how greatly he enjoyed severing a stray general's head from the man's body, of how excellent the wine was five centuries ago, or how he found it a nuisance that it was no longer acceptable to chase after servants with a crossbow for the fun of the hunt.

but never had a word been uttered of those who came before him.

"you've never mentioned your family, sukuna," and you don't miss how his hand twitches under your hold, "never heard a single thing about the last king and queen of curses."

the sharp, razor lines of his body tighten, and sukuna does not smile, does not soften. his face is as unreadable as ever, like a mask carved from iron wood.

"i come from no such line, certainly not from kings," his tone is flat, only a mild sneer in his voice as the prospect of nobility, and you watch the handsome slope of his nose in the twilight, the stern profile that you had grown to admire in the time of your...tumultuous marriage.

he speaks the words like they are the final bookend of a story, the last page, with nothing left to say. but you tilt your head, watching the hard line of his jaw, and the way his fingers mildly tighten around your own, like an anchor.

"who were they?"

sukuna finally turns his head to face you, the faintest shift in his posture as his eyes finally meet yours. the look he gives you is cold, disinterested, and the subtle roll of his lower eyelids betray a flash of frustration and anger.

you frown at the fleeting, cutting gesture, but it is nothing new for you, "it was just a question. i've just never heard you speak on this before."

sukuna rolls his broad shoulders, half-hearted and dismissive, as though this conversation itself has suddenly become an inconvenience that he's barely willing to entertain. how typical.

"never found it relevant."

you aren't sure what is more unbearable now, the dull throb in your legs that still lingers from the birth, or the faint copper tang of the afterbirth that you're certain is now pooling on your robe, or the heavy, oppressive heat of the summer air that seems to suffocate in your throat.

but somehow, all of it combines to make your husband's behaviour just a bit too much, even for you, the one who has become so accustomed to the emotionally stunted king of curses.

"please, sukuna," and you loathe how it sounds as though you are begging once more, hoping there's no hint of the bitterness of your tone, no crack of anger, but it is hard to tie that mask in place when it seems like every part of your body is breaking, aching and exhausted, "i just gave birth to your child, our child. everything hurts, and i'm tired, and i just want to rest," you pause, and the words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, "and now you're off sitting here, and you didn't even want to hold her? what am i supposed to do?"

even you are surprised by the rawness in your own voice, the trembling that has begun to spread across your chest, until you realise with a quiet shock that your eyes are wet, and your face is streaking with tears that leave your head laden and heavy. you had not meant to lose composure like this, but now there they are, hot and clinging.

and sukuna's usual stoicism seems momentarily shattered. he's staring at you as if you have sprouted horns, as though an extra head has sprung from your neck. it is a subtle change, the faintest narrowing of his brows, the way his lips press together in an effort to tamp down whatever rude words he was going to spring forth upon his already fraying wife. but at this point in time, you do not care to read him, nor to decipher the layers of his complex, decaying heart.

but his rough hand reaches out, almost clumsily, and they brusqely brush the damp streaks from your cheeks. the gesture is far too gentle for one who only responds to strength, violence, and sometimes, decapitation.

but it is the first gesture of tenderness that he has offered in what feels like an age, "stop that, woman. this does not befit you," and the edges of his robe catch the falling droplets from your face, dampening the silk.

and sukuna's mouth is now downturned, the edges of his lips twisting in that familiar, inscrutable way. you wonder, for the thousandth time, how he ever reconciles the savage nature of the beast that he has become, with the faintest echo of what was once humanity beating in his chest, "wasn't trying to upset you, brat."

his voice pricks at you, and you wipe the last remnants of tears from your skin, but there's a sudden warmth in your cheeks, at the embarrassment of breaking like this, rather than lingering sorrow.

"if you're that desparate to know, my mother was a servant."

you blink, unsure whether you are hearing correctly, for sukuna's voice does not even falter, despite the apparent chink in his impenetrable armour. but this is no great surprise, perhaps, his mother had been a concubine to a lord, some powerful man, or the emperor himself?

sukuna had now looked away from you, his gaze turned to the darkened sky, "lived in the palace. or actually...worked there, didn't get to even live there. they had her live in some shack off on the edge of the estate," and his voice is like the wind in a sealed tomb, bitter and stale.

"with the animals," you murmur, and it is not intended to be cruel. you know better than to speak so carelessly with sukuna, and you have learnt that pity is something he cannot abide, he abhors it. has never wanted it, not from you, his wife or queen, nor any other.

but now sukuna grunts, low and gutteral, "don't even remember much of it. could only keep a stupid goat in there, at best."

you find yourself absently fiddling with the hem of your robe, the thin fabric slipping through your fingers, past your nails.

"and your father?" you wonder if he can hear the question that hangs on the edge of your words, a powerful man? even the emperor of that time had been known to dabble in jujutsu, and other forms of more foreign magic from the continental homeland.

"no name that i would waste my time mentioning," and sukuna's tone is heavy with disdain, and a sneer has spread on his face, having slipped past the mask of constant indifference, "or a name that i would have even bothered to find and learn. clearly...didn't care for the likes of mother. some lowly foot soldier she met one night, never appeared before her again."

you're not quite sure how to respond, how to fit his surprising words into a world that you're familiar with. you, born with royal blood in your veins, a lineage of kings and khans. you, who grew up in a palace with a gruff but loving father, and an overbearing but kind mother, or the warmth of a large band of siblings swarming around you.

you, who had never gone to bed cold, always had a fire on her back, had grown up with jewels draped across your neck.

"must not have been easy, sukuna."

you watch him closely, and you can tell that he's doing his utter best to wave your gaze away, to disguise this as a casual tale, one to be dismissed on the morrow. but you wonder, with a sense of sorrow, if there is a single living soul alive who has been privy to this story, aside from uraume, most likely.

but sukuna shrugs, a quick and careless motion, and the movement tousles his head of rosy hair, sharp spikes swaying, "she said i had been born in a time of famine," and you can hear him running his tongue behind his teeth, "that she had to serve the emperor fine banquets everyday, while she came home to not even two sticks of wood to put together for a fire."

and then, he turns his second pair of eyes on you, those crimson eyes that seem to see straight through the world, "said she had no idea how i even survived to birth," and your lower region pangs at the mention of your recent labours, "that it was a miracle that i had been born strong enough to live past a few hours in the cold."

you squeeze his calloused hand again, a soft press of rare reassurance to one who most likely does not care for such sentiments, and this time he allows it — a kind mercy you think, born of some unwilling guilt that lingers from having you weep.

for a fleeting moment, his hand remains, coarse over yours, but his expression hardens once more, like magma went hit with the cool wind. he pulls his hand away with a swiftness that makes your heart ache.

"sounds like she really loved you," you hum, but the words sound weak even to your own ears. unable to change anything, or stitch over whatever scars shaped the king of curses, but you say them anyway, fumbling for something to offer.

his scarlet gaze flickers to you once more, and for a moment, you think he might scoff. but instead, sukuna gives you a peculiar, twisted look, as though caught between disbelief, and a painful, begrudging acknowledgement.

"i- sure," and his voice is lower than the muted tone that you're accustomed, rough but listless, "used to sit there, putting scraps of cloth together for the winter. from the sacks used to carry feed for the horses."

you wince, unbidden, as the image cuts through you like a blade. of a faceless child draped in rough, burlap-like cloth, and a mother's raw hands working to piece together anything that might keep her son warm through the cold winters. but it is hard, hard to see that faceless child as the king of curses now, no matter how you peer up at sukuna's stern profile.

you think of your newborn daughter, her soft and downy cheeks. the way she had nestled into you with such implicit trust. you try to imagine the same tenderness in the woman who was the mother of the demon later known as ryomen sukuna, but when you close your eyes all you see is death and war, blood painting four hands as they pulled off man's head, clean at the jugular — at your wedding feast.

"how did you survive?" and the question feels intrusive, almost cruel, but he's only given you a fractured and worn story, a thread that you're dying to follow.

sukuna gives you a sharp look, his brows knitting as he takes in the mild teary hitch in your voice, "don't start getting weepy on me now," he huffs, coarse but not callously, "you asked to know. and don't think i'm going to sit here, and hold your hand through it."

you nod, chastened but affronted, as he continues, "i did what any child would have done. stole what i could from under the carts of merchants, bread from the palace, scraps from the barracks or medicine."

"medicine?" you ask, your curiosity slipping through.

sukuna's expression darkens, and for the first time, there's a flicker of something far more raw in his eyes, and you don't quite appreciate the way he's glowering at you as if it were your doing, "she was sick. sometimes."

the words are clipped, meant to cut short any sympathy you might try to offer, but they lodge deep in your heart all the same. and in a cruel corner of your mind, a thought emerges.

was it birthing him that made her sick? did it consume her spirit and body, the birth of the king of curses?

fortunately, and unbeknownst to your lord husband, shame rises to your cheeks as swiftly as the notion comes, hot and furious. you swallow it down, forcing your lips to stay shut, horrified with your own insensitive thought.

but now the silence is stretching before you, as a long yawn. you glance at him again, at the defiant set of his shoulders, and you shake your head of the ridiculous surge of protectiveness towards a beast, one such as sukuna. but you still cannot picture him as a small and gaunt boy, with quick and desparate hands, trying to survive a life that he did not ask for.

"she must have been proud of you."

sukuna sneered, but it lacked its usual edge, "proud?" he shakes his head, glancing at you with an expression you can't quite name, "would've wanted better than this."

better than what? you want to ask. better than the wealthiest man in the realm? the most powerful sorcerer in written history? the king of curses?

but what do you know? and so, the words don't come. instead, your fingers twitch in your lap, aching to reach for him again, and knowing that he would just pull away once more.

"and yet, men compose sonnets of your power. the king of all the light and shadow touches," and your voice must be laced with a quiet wonder, at what it is to be so feared, but it is not admiration.

"my mother did not want that for me," sukuna says, his tone sharp, ruminating with a hard expression, "but i did it anyway. they wouldn't take me at first, not a child with no family to present him, nor gold to weigh in his favour," and the words are low, and biting, as if speech sits bitter on his tongue, "so i took up the sword. trained until i was good enough to join the legions."

"and then?" though you know that there is little point in asking, for the tale is now one that you have heard before. written in dried blood, and throughout history. it is famous on the mainland, on the islands, on the continent, to where the horse-lord khans are now raising great empires. but hearing it from sukuna's mouth feels different, like tracing your fingers over the jagged edge of a rough wound.

"sought power in other place," and now he's looking down at you, physically, but also knowing him, quite literally, "soft thing like you has never seen the rest of the world, but there were masters who never answered to a throne."

"crushed every army of the great clans, north to south, every squad of the sun, moon and stars. brought them to their knees, one by one, and tore their throats out," and you can hear how sukuna's tongue kisses his teeth when he speaks, as if he's reminiscing the taste of beautiful iron in his mouth, "and when it was done, the emperor, the same one who ruled while my mother and i rotted on his estate...he bowed to me."

"they invited me to the harvest festival after that," he continues, his lips twisted in a bitter smirk, "in the capital. worshipped me like an idol, some ancient hero."

it's never lost on you on how sukuna's tone is the most pleased when thinking about how blood rips from ripe arteries and wounds. but his eyes are colder than the snow-capped mountains of the earlier months, and they betray no joy nor triumph. it is simply what happened, as if told from the vantage of a stranger.

you hesitate, the next question caught in your throat. but the need to know burns brighter than your fear, "your father," you say carefully, and there. the tell-tale clench of sukuna's sculpted jaw, "he was a soldier, was he not?"

his eyes remain fixed beyond the terrace, where the light faded long ago. for a moment, you think that sukuna has not heard you. but then, he speaks, his voice akin to the rumble of thunder on a faraway horizon, "my father," and his tone is entirely devoid of feeling, "could have been one of the soldiers i killed, i care not."

"what did you mother say after all that?"

for a moment, the silence stretches between you, heavy and unyielding. and privately, you have grown much tired of this brooding quiet, but you fancy not being blown to ashes alongside the rest of this estate, so you let him linger.

but sukuna has inhaled sharply, and his wandered gaze has snapped back with an edge you hadn't expected, "i wouldn't know," and now, this feels more like an open wound, "died when i was twelve winters."

there is no softness in his tone, no tremble or catch to suggest the pain of memory, for it is too old and too familiar. but the world around you seems to dim as he still speaks, "hadn't learnt reversed curse technique by then. hah, if she had lived longer..."

and sukuna closes his mouth with a snap, as if an unseen poison has dredged to the surface. for it is not within the king of curses's nature to regret. to wonder what if?

you can see it in the way sukuna's hand clenches at his side, the subtle twitch of his mouth. it is not grief that overtakes him, nor even regret. it is something darker, colder — a wound that time has turned to scar tissue but never truly healed.

and again, you try. to imagine her, a woman bent by the weight of a hard life but still fierce in her love for her son. you still cannot see a face, but you can picture frail hands threading through coarse fabric into a makeshift tunic, telling her son stories to chase away the hunger and cold of the night. and you wonder about fate's cruel hands, for her son would first grow into a man, and then something crueler and inhuman, one who could topple armies and empires, one who sung fangs into still-beating hearts. but not in time to save her.

it is a sad story, but you know better than to offer your apologies. one thing still lingers in your mind, pressing against your thoughts like a stone beneath rushing water.

"what does this have to do with your daughter?"

your husband suddenly looks at you, quizzical, and he's faintly confused. you frown, clarifying before he can twist your meaning, "it's just...you seemed upset after holding her. i thought -"

sukuna's expression shifts, a flash of irritation breaking through his impassiveness, "what? that i loathed the sight of her?" his lips curl into a smirk, laced with a drier humour, "hope she got my brains, and not yours."

you scowl at him, your indignation quick but shallow at his cheap barbs. without much thought, you jab an elbow into his bare side. but he doesn't flinch, of course he doesn't. but a mild smile breaks through, faint as dawn's first light. and for now, it's enough for you.

but then sukuna's face clouds again, and the weight of his brooding thoughts seems to settle over him once more. you sigh, and venture a guess, your voice quieter now, gentler, "you’re worried about her because she was born as you were."

sukuna scoffs, "tch! don’t make me sound so weak and weepy, like you."

"ryomen," you say, letting his name stretch out, both affectionate and exasperated, "it's alright to care about your infant daughter. no one is going to topple your throne over it."

"i'd invite them to try," he snarls, shooting you a hard look, like you were going to raise an army later that day.

"it wasn't easy for me," he adds, and the edges of his words are brittle, "didn't quite have that grasp on jujutsu when i was younger. ended up even melding flesh together to try and hide two arms out of four. or...almost crushing them together so they would break and bend."

"what a cruel strife, delivered upon a child," you're frowning, at the vivid imagery and at how sukuna delivers it in such a matter-of-fact way.

but your husband dips his chin, and you're left staring and wondering, just what it would take to have him break away from his unholy pride, "a fair exchange," he says, "wasn't a stranger to what people called me. or thought."

"you know what the difference is?" and you've paused long enough for the words to settle, to break him out of his reverie, "our daughter has a loving father," and sukuna's face twitches.

"and," now, you point at yourself, "a loving mother. i do think she will grow up strong."

you almost say that she will grow up safe, happy, content. peaceful. but you had stopped yourself, for you had pushed the king of curses enough for one night, emotionally at least, and you know that 'strong' is something that he respects, something that he can hope for without feeling lesser for it.

"she better," he grunts, and you smile at the faintest glimmer of pride slipping into his voice, pride at what he deems a worthy creation from him, and you, "i don't care if she was born today, i need to see her cursed technique."

"sukuna!" you snap fiercely, and it just draws a rich laugh from him, one that makes you sigh too, for you think that your husband is often (and ironically) like the sun. for when he blazes far too hot, and bright, you can feel the burn sting. but when sukuna glows, all tend to clamour to bask in his rare warmth.

you laugh with him, the sound light in the still of the night, and before he can pull away or grumble something sardonic, you press a soft kiss to his cheek. sukuna huffs above you, the noise low and guttural, a half-hearted complaint about how he is being suffocated, but you feel the warmth bloom under your lips.

and it is sweet, in its own odd way, at how his creamy skin flushes quickly, betraying him, and his lower set of eyes flutter close. for a brief moment, the king of curses is almost bashful, the storm clouds parting as quickly as they came.

as you rise to your feet, you feel the ache in your thighs, but you tug lightly at his hefty arms, urging him, "come, my lord," you say, your tone teasing but warmer, "come see your daughter now."

sukuna doesn’t move at first, his gaze following yours, tracing the place where you had just been sitting. his expression shifts, darkening as his eyes fall on something. "is that blood?" he asks, the words sharp and low.

you glance down, catching sight of the vivid smear on the stone—a crimson stain stark against the dimly lit fabric. your shoulders tighten, a flicker of embarrassment sweeping through you before you remember that this is not your fault, and you glower, your voice bristling. "afterbirth," you mutter, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the moment. "would have been nicer to pass in my own bed."

the faintest quirk touches his lips, an almost-smile that flickers and vanishes as quickly as it came. "you must be hungry," he says, his tone succint but carrying the faint edge of something softer—something close to concern, though he would never name it as such, and call you foolish if you did.

you sigh, the weight of exhaustion pressing against you like the tide, for you desperately wished to rest, "you have no idea," half a complaint, half a confession.

sukuna doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the way his gaze softens, lingering just long enough to remind you that, despite his gruffness, he cares more than he lets on. perhaps, in his own way, he is just as raw and exposed as you are now.

again, you tug at his marked arms, insistent, and he sighs — long-suffering, as if your request were a monumental task. yet, he rises, uncoiling his tall frame until he towers over you, the shadows darkening most of what is around you.

before you can utter another word, he sweeps you close, all four of his arms encircling you with an ease that borders on reverence. his lips brush against your forehead, fleeting but gentle, a moment so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

and then, like clockwork and a theatrical grimace, sukuna pushes you away, his expression twisting into an exaggerated mask of disgust. it's his strange, unpolished way of showing affection, and you can’t help but snicker, the sound light and unburdened.

"you’re ridiculous," you tease, though your smile lingers, soft and warm, and he mutters some comment about how he doesn't even like you.

"you know,” you begin, "i asked uraume to hold our daughter in the meantime."

His eyes widen, incredulous, and for a moment, he looks genuinely doubtful, "huh, this entire time. uraume cannot have agreed to that."

"they did!" you insist, triumph lighting your voice, thinking of the petulant sorcerer probably making faces at your baby indoors.

sukuna shakes his head, muttering as if the mere notion defied all reason, he who had seen mountains turn to dust and oceans part. "unbelievable," he says, his tone caught between disbelief and faint admiration, as though uraume's rare acquiescence were an impossible feat.

you had returned indoors, arm entwined with one of sukuna's which had pulled you close with a sudden, almost possessive gesture.

and lo and behold, you found uraume still kneeling by the cradle, with their eyes fixed on the infant, who was staring back at the ice-sorcerer with curious intensity, oddly knowing for one so small.

and uraume, typically stoic and cold, leans in loser to the child, now gentle and cooing, "yes," they murmur, "and when you are all grown up, you will listen to me. i don't care if sukuna has a stroke. your father is prone to theatrics, and your mother is prone to equal dramatics. but you can learn from the best there is, me."

sukuna, ever the cynic, guffaws, "i hope you are not indoctrinating my heir," you laugh at the flicker of amusement in both sets of his eyes.

you catch the briefest glimpse of an embarrassed flush on uraume's pallid cheeks before the sorcerer quickly recovers, lips pursing in an exaggerated show of indifference.

"i do not care for this pudgy thing," uraume huffs, the words a touch too hasty as they thrusts the child back into your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the softening of their usually unyielding nature.

and when sukuna's peering down at the child, with barely veiled interest, the same set of eyes that you carry end up meeting blood-red eyes with teeth.

your daughter, promptly robbed of uraume's gentler attention and less-monstrous features, begins to wail, loud and teary, as sukuna growls, affronted.

"can't you put the child back in you?"

the linked artwork belongs to the artist. but the header and writing belong to curtins.tumblr.com. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, but do not repost my work!

[mingi-s-dimples]

Under their control - sanhwa

KINKTOBER DAY 22, REQ. BY anon

~"Would love a mommy!hwa x female reader x daddy!San fic! Hwa's not female, he just has a maternal vibe/ aura. The reader lives with them and is their (human)pet. They like to dress the reader in cute lingerie and collar and leash. A fic where the reader is getting punished for something (you can decide what) and they keep denying her orgasm. Some size kink, double penetration, fake sympathy, pet names. Thank you!"

pairing: mommy soft dom!seonghwa x fem reader x daddy rough dom!san

genre: 18+, filth, mommy/daddy bdsm trope

summary: you get on San's nerves again... which has always proved to not be a good idea.

wc: 7.1k

warnings: harsh/rough dom!san, soft dom!seonghwa, daddy!san, mommy!seonghwa, denied orgasms, pussy eating, marking, making out, double penetration, collar and leash, slight size kink, fake sympathy, lots of cum in the end, a crumb of aftecare in the end, teasing, pet names (kitten, darling, sweetheart..), ass spanking, unprotected, completely consensual, blowjob, handjob, for sure forgot something.. will edit 'warnings' later.

Author's Note: I looveeed writing this one... you can tell by the number of words LMAO. I hope you like it anon.. I'm sorry it took me fucking ages (I'm sorry to everyone ajsnda). I hope y'all like it <3 i love youuu

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the members.

The sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the shared bedroom, casting soft golden streaks across the plush duvet. The atmosphere was a mixture of warmth and tranquility, the faint scent of lavender lingering from the candle Seonghwa had lit the previous night. You stirred, shifting against the soft bedding, your cheek brushing the smooth pillowcase.

“Good morning, baby,” came Seonghwa’s voice, gentle and melodic, as he entered the room. His arms cradled a tray holding a cup of tea and a small plate with neatly arranged fruit slices. “It’s time to wake up.”  

You blinked, squinting against the morning light, and smiled sleepily at the sight of him. He was always the first to greet you in the mornings, his nurturing presence like a soothing balm. He set the tray down on the nightstand, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead.  

“How did my little one sleep?” he asked, brushing stray strands of hair from your face.  

“Good,” you murmured, your voice still groggy. You nuzzled into his touch, relishing the tenderness he always exuded.  

“You have a busy day ahead,” he reminded, his lips curving into a small smile. “San wants you ready and downstairs in half an hour. You know how he feels about being late.”  

San. Just the mention of him sent a small shiver down your spine—not entirely out of fear, but because of the way his presence filled every room he walked into. Where Seonghwa was soft and soothing, San was sharp, commanding. You felt the dichotomy of their dynamics every day, a constant interplay of comfort and authority.  

“I’ll get up,” you promised, sitting up slowly and letting the blankets pool around your waist.  

Seonghwa nodded, pleased with your obedience. “Good girl,” he said softly.  

—

By the time you reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee had filled the space. San was already there, standing by the counter in a crisp black shirt that fit him a little too perfectly. He glanced up when you entered, his dark eyes immediately locking onto you.  

“You’re late,” he said, his tone even but with that familiar edge of authority.  

Your heart sank. You’d only taken a few extra minutes, but with San, those small delays were never overlooked.  

“I—I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, casting a quick glance at Seonghwa, who had taken a seat by the table and was watching the interaction unfold with a faint smile.  

San’s brow arched, and he stepped closer, his presence looming in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Didn’t mean to?” he repeated, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Sweetheart, how many times have we talked about this?”  

You fidgeted, your fingers twisting together. “A lot,” you admitted quietly.  

“And yet here you are.” He reached out, lifting your chin with two fingers so that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What am I supposed to do with you, kitten? Hmm?”  

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you offered weakly.  

San’s lips curved into a smirk that was anything but kind. “Oh, darling. You’ll be sorry, alright?”  

Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle from his seat, his voice lilting with amusement. “Be gentle, San. You know how sensitive she is.”  

San shot him a look, but it was devoid of any real irritation. “Oh, I’ll be gentle,” he said, his attention returning to you. “At least at first.”  

— 

The mistake had been minor in the grand scheme of things, but San never let the small things slide. It was his way of keeping you in line, as he so often reminded you.  

“Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice firm.  

You hesitated for a split second, but the sharpness in his eyes spurred you into motion. You turned and hurried up the stairs, your heart pounding in anticipation.  

By the time you reached the bedroom, you could already hear his measured footsteps behind you. Seonghwa had stayed behind in the kitchen, but you knew he would come up eventually. He always liked to play the role of the sympathetic observer or maybe join in, offering soft words of comfort after San was done.  

San closed the door behind him with a deliberate click, the sound sending a jolt of nervous energy through you.  

“On the bed,” he instructed, his voice low.  

You obeyed, climbing onto the bed and sitting back on your heels. Your collar—a delicate, silver chain adorned with a small charm—felt heavier around your neck under his intense gaze. You'd always wear it whenever you were at home for a couple of days, free of work.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” he asked, crossing his arms as he stood at the foot of the bed.  

“Yes,” you replied softly.  

“Yes, what?”  

“Yes, Daddy.”  

His smirk widened, pleased by your submission. “That’s right, baby girl.”  

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to trail a finger along the edge of your collar. “This little thing,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soft, “means you follow the rules. Doesn’t it?”  

You nodded, your breath hitching as his finger traced down to the hollow of your throat.  

“And what happens when you break the rules?” he pulls you by yourbneck

“I get punished,” you whispered.  

“That’s my good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with false affection. “At least you remember that much.”

San’s hand moved down to your waist, his grip firm but not harsh. He turned you slightly, positioning you so that you were kneeling on the bed with your back to him. Before you could anticipate his next move, the sharp sound of his palm meeting your ass filled the room, making you gasp.  

“Late again,” he said, his tone a mixture of mock exasperation and amusement. “You never learn, do you?”  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling.  

“Sorry?” San repeated, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on the spot he’d just slapped. “Do you think that makes up for wasting my time, kitten?”  

Your head hung low, shame and guilt swirling in your chest. “No, Daddy.”  

“Hmm, no, it doesn’t,” he agreed, the false sympathy in his voice sending shivers down your spine. His other hand gripped your chin, tilting your face back toward him. “But I’ll humor you. Tell me why you think you deserve my forgiveness.”  

The words caught in your throat, your eyes darting toward the door as if silently begging for intervention. As if on cue, the door opened, and Seonghwa stepped in, his presence a balm to the tension that had built in the room.  

“San,” he said softly, his melodic voice breaking through the thick atmosphere. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on her?”  

San didn’t loosen his grip on you, but his lips twitched in a faint smirk. “A little harsh? Maybe. But I like to think it gets the point across.”  

Seonghwa crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to spook you. He came up behind you, his warm hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Our little one just needs guidance,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Not to be broken.”  

The contrast between them was striking. Where San’s touch was firm and commanding, Seonghwa’s was a soothing, grounding you even as your nerves buzzed. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you back into his chest from San's grip and you felt a small measure of safety return.  

San clicked his tongue, his amusement clear. “You spoil her too much, Hwa. That’s why she thinks she can get away with being late.”  

Seonghwa chuckled, his voice vibrating against your back. “Or maybe you’re too quick to punish, San. Have you thought of that?”  

San’s smirk widened, and he stepped closer, his hands slipping to your thighs, squeezing just enough to draw your attention back to him. “I think you’re too soft,” he teased, his gaze meeting Seonghwa’s over your shoulder. “But if you think you can handle her better, why don’t you join me?”  

Your eyes widened, your breath hitching as Seonghwa’s grip around you tightened, his chest pressing more firmly against your back.  

“Join you?” Seonghwa repeated, his tone deceptively light. “You mean to help her, not overwhelm her, right?”  

San shrugged, his hands roaming up your sides with an air of nonchalance. “Depends on how much help she needs.”  

Seonghwa’s lips brushed your temple as he whispered, “Do you trust me, little one?”  

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.  

“Good,” he said, his hands now guiding yours to rest on your thighs, keeping you still. “Let’s remind you how much you’re cared for.”  

San leaned in, his gaze softening just enough to show a flicker of affection beneath his teasing. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re lucky we’re patient,” he said, though his smirk made it clear he wasn’t entirely serious.  

San’s fingers found the hem of your oversized shirt, his grip impatient as he tugged it over your head. The motion was swift, almost rough, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room. You gasped softly, instinctively moving to cover yourself, but San’s firm hand stopped you.  

“Ah, ah,” he chided, his dark eyes glittering with authority. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”  

You swallowed hard, your hands falling back to your sides as you trembled under his gaze. His fingers brushed against your skin, cold against the heat that seemed to radiate from you. With deliberate slowness, he reached behind you to unhook your bra, the straps slipping down your shoulders like a whisper.  

Seonghwa, still behind you, caught the discarded garment and leaned down to pick up a delicate, semi-transparent lingerie set that had been neatly laid out on the dresser. His touch was in stark contrast to San’s—gentle, almost reverent, as he guided the soft fabric up your arms.  

“This suits her,” Seonghwa said, his voice low and melodic, as he adjusted the straps on your shoulders with care. The material clung to your body in a way that felt both innocent and intimate, the faint pink hue of the lingerie complementing the flush spreading across your skin.  

San stepped back slightly, his sharp gaze roaming over you, taking in every detail. A low chuckle escaped him as his eyes traveled downward. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, “looks like someone’s enjoying herself a little too much.”  

Your face burned as you followed his gaze, horrified to see the evidence of your arousal dampening the linen beneath you.  

“Tell me, kitten,” San teased, kneeling down so his face was level with yours, his smirk growing wider, “is this because of me?” He tilted his head, his voice a mocking coo. “Are you turned on by how rough I am with you?”  

You bit your lip, your body betraying you as another wave of heat pooled in your belly. “Y-Yes,” you admitted, your voice small and shaky, tinged with a whiny neediness you couldn’t control.  

“Of course you are,” San said, his laughter quiet but sharp, as though the answer had only confirmed what he already knew. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear as he murmured, “You like being my good little toy, don’t you?”  

Before you could respond, Seonghwa’s warm lips pressed against the back of your neck, trailing down to your shoulders. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was trying to soothe the trembling mess San had made of you.  

“You’re beautiful,” Seonghwa whispered against your skin, his hands coming to rest gently on your waist. “You don’t have to be afraid, little one. I’ve got you.”  

San stood, his presence still looming even as he moved away. The rustling of fabric drew your attention, and you peeked through lowered lashes to see him unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were unhurried, calculated, the sharp lines of his body coming into view with every undone button.  

“Don’t get too comfortable,” San said, his tone laced with warning as he tossed the shirt aside. “I’m not done with you yet.”  

But even as he spoke, Seonghwa’s soothing touch and soft murmurs anchored you, his lips never ceasing their gentle exploration of your back. The contrast between them—San’s rough edges and Seonghwa’s tender warmth—left you suspended in a whirlwind of sensations, utterly at their mercy.

San's intense gaze darkened as he stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around you as though you weighed nothing. A surprised gasp escaped your lips, but San gave you no time to process. He pressed you against the cool wall, the hard surface grounding you against the heat of his body.  

Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a sloppy, possessive kiss, his lips demanding as they moved against yours. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and his tongue claimed you with a roughness that made your head spin. You whimpered softly into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if anchoring yourself to him. His muscular body made you feel to tiny and insignificant in front of him… which you absolutely loved.

Behind you, Seonghwa had risen from the bed. His dark eyes lingered on you, and there was no mistaking the tension in his posture—or the strain evident against the fabric of his pants. 

San broke the kiss, his breath hot against your lips as he spoke. “You’re shaking, kitten,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Is this what you wanted? To feel me like this?”  

Before you could answer, he shifted his hold on you, lowering you slowly against him. The hard line of his arousal pressed into you, even through the layers of fabric separating you, drawing a soft, involuntary whine from your throat.  

“Look at you,” he continued, his tone mocking but laced with something deeper. “You can’t even control yourself, can you?”  

“I…” You tried to form words, but the sensation of him, combined with the lingering warmth of Seonghwa’s gaze, made coherent thought impossible.  

As if sensing your overwhelmed state, Seonghwa stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on your arms before trailing down to your sides. His lips found the sensitive curve of your shoulder, pressing soft kisses there that sent shivers through your body.  

San’s smirk widened as his hand began to wander, sliding down between your legs with deliberate slowness. The anticipation built with every second, your breath hitching as he teased you with light, fleeting touches.  

“You’re so sensitive,” he observed, his tone equal parts amusement and pride. “Does this drive you crazy, kitten?”  

You nodded weakly, your knees threatening to buckle under the combined assault of San’s rough, confident movements and Seonghwa’s tender, reassuring touch.  

San’s fingers pressed inside your cunt more firmly now, the motion drawing soft, breathy sounds from you. “Of course, it does,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You love when I take control, don’t you?”  

“Yes,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as the sensations began to overwhelm you.  

San's smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips latching onto the soft skin of your collarbone. He kissed with purpose, his mouth warm and insistent, leaving behind marks that you knew would bloom into faint bruises later. Each kiss was a deliberate claim, his teeth grazing your skin, tongue soothing over where he’d nipped.  

You gasped, tilting your head instinctively to give him more access, but San wasn’t gentle—he didn’t need to be. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as his lips trailed upwards to the curve of your neck. Each mark he left ignited sparks that coursed through your body, a reminder of his overwhelming presence.  

“Don’t squirm,” San muttered against your skin, his voice low and commanding. His teeth scraped lightly over the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you shudder.  

In your haze, you barely registered the soft rustle of fabric as San’s hand moved lower. With calculated ease, he discarded the last barrier between his body and yours, the subtle shift in his stance making his actions unmistakable.  

Seonghwa’s lips pressed softly to the top of your head, his voice like silk as he whispered, “Breathe, let him take care of you.”  

But San’s idea of care was far from gentle. He straightened, his chest brushing against yours as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes burned with intensity, the smirk on his lips equal parts teasing and predatory.  

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his tone rough but quiet, meant only for you. His hands tightened their grip on your hips, holding you securely against him.  

San's hand traveled between your legs and as his fingers found their way to your folds, he pumped them in a couple of times, your head lolling back at the feeling. When he decided that you were prepped enough - which you weren't, but he was damn impatient - he lowered you on his cock, fully thrusting it in.  

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “Barely holding yourself together, aren’t you, kitten?”  

You whimpered softly, your lips parted as you tried to form words, but the overwhelming sensations left you mute.  

“Come on,” San coaxed, his tone sharp yet teasing. “Use your words. What’s the matter? Too much for you already?”  

“D-Daddy…” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as you gazed up at him, your hands weakly clutching at his shoulders.  

San let out a low chuckle, leaning back just enough to look you over, his smirk widening as he saw the dazed, almost helpless expression on your face. “Daddy, huh?” he repeated mockingly. “You think that’s going to make me go easy on you?”  

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head weakly, earning another sharp laugh from him.  

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone dripping with authority. He tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You like this, don’t you? Being so completely at my mercy?”  

You nodded hesitantly, and his smirk grew even more wicked.  

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Tell me how much you love it when Daddy takes control.”  

“I-I love it,” you stammered, your voice breaking under the weight of his dominance.  

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, his tone mockingly sweet as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re such a mess for me, aren’t you? Completely ruined, and we’re not even done yet.”  

You whimpered again, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Pathetic,” he said with a smirk, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Completely pathetic, and yet you’re still begging for more. Aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but he heard it nonetheless.  

San leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Good. Because I’m nowhere near finished with you, kitten.” 

Seonghwa’s quiet observation eventually broke, his low, velvety voice cutting through the room. “What exactly do you have planned for her, San?” he asked, his tone calm and curious, though there was an underlying edge of amusement.  

San didn’t stop, his movements as deliberate and sharp as his personality. His grip tightened on your hips as he responded, his voice coming out in low, ragged breaths between his thrusts. “Oh, I have plans,” he said, his smirk audible even without seeing his face.  

Seonghwa raised a brow, stepping closer now, his own hand still lazily tracing over himself, watching you keenly. “Care to elaborate?”  

San let out a soft chuckle, his breath ghosting against your ear as he answered, “I plan to ruin her.” His words were teasing, almost cruel in their intent. “She’s going to beg for me, for everything. More than she’s ever begged before.”  

Your body trembled at his words, the promise in them sending a fresh wave of tension through you. San leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued, his voice dropping lower. “And just when she thinks I’ll give her what she wants…” He paused, his grip on you tightening briefly for emphasis. “…I won’t.”  

Seonghwa’s smirk grew, his gaze flicking between you and San with quiet interest. “Cruel, as always,” 

San chuckled again, this time with more satisfaction, his rhythm unrelenting as he added, “She likes it. Don’t you, kitten?”  

Your response was a breathless whimper, your head lolling against San’s shoulder as your body surrendered to the overwhelming mix of sensations. 

“Let’s see how patient are you, my love… are you going to be more patient than I was?” San cooed, holding you close to him as he pulled out and dropped you in the bed powerfully, towering over you. “Let’s see if it was worth being late, darling.” he leaned in for a kiss, then raised your hips above his, letting them rest. 

San’s gaze bore into yours, the stormy intensity in his eyes enough to make your breath hitch. He didn’t move right away, letting the tension stretch thin in the air between you, his hand firm on your hip as he held you in place. His lips, so close to yours, hovered without touching, teasing you with the ghost of a promise.  

“You’ve been testing me all week, haven’t you?” San murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine.

He trailed his hand down, the roughness of his palm against your skin a stark contrast to the tenderness of his words. But just as you leaned into him, aching for more, San pulled back slightly, his smirk sharp and deliberate.  

Seonghwa’s soft chuckle reached your ears, his tone laced with amused approval. “You’re relentless, San,” he remarked, though his attention never strayed far from you. There was an edge of curiosity to his voice, as if he was enjoying watching the dynamic unfold.  

San glanced at Seonghwa briefly, his lips quirking in a sly grin before his focus returned to you. “Relentless,” he echoed, his tone filled with dark satisfaction. “But that’s what she likes, isn’t it?” His fingers tightened against your skin just enough to make your pulse quicken. 

You barely managed a breathy response, your body trembling with anticipation. San tilted his head, his lips finally brushing yours in a kiss that was as fleeting as it was intoxicating.  

“Patience, kitten,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll get what you want... but only when I decide you’ve earned it.”

San’s smirk deepened as he glanced at Seonghwa, his sharp gaze glinting with mischief. “Why don’t you join us?” he murmured, his voice dripping with invitation and challenge. 

Seonghwa hesitated for only a moment, his piercing eyes locking with San’s before sliding down to meet yours. There was something almost reverent in his expression as he moved closer, his hand brushing over your arm to guide you gently yet firmly.  

“Lean back,” Seonghwa instructed softly, his voice a rich contrast to San’s rough edges. His hands guided you until you were resting against him, his firm chest a solid support behind you. His thighs framed yours, his presence grounding you even as your heart raced.  

San hummed approvingly, his smirk never faltering as he knelt between your legs, his gaze intense as it roamed over you. “Perfect,” he muttered, his hands tracing up your thighs with deliberate slowness, his touch a stark contrast to Seonghwa’s steady, grounding hold.  

Seonghwa’s fingers brushed over your shoulders, his breath warm against your temple as he murmured, “Relax, love.” The soothing timbre of his voice made it impossible not to sink into him, even as San’s movements sent sparks racing through you.  

San’s lips found your thighs, his kisses starting feather-light before growing more deliberate. His chin grazed your skin as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, each touch both a tease and a promise. He looked up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “I’ll make sure you don’t forget this.”  

Your breath hitched as Seonghwa’s hands slid down your arms, his grip firm yet reassuring. “Breathe,” he murmured, his voice steady, as though coaxing you to surrender completely to the moment.  

San’s lips moved closer to your cunt, but he paused just before reaching where you wanted him most, his smirk widening at your involuntary whimper. “Not so fast, kitten,” he teased, his voice a rough purr. “I’m just getting started.”

When his mouth finally started to suck on your clit, a sharp gasp escaped you, your back arching instinctively against Seonghwa’s chest. San didn’t hold back, his lips moving with deliberate, hungry intent as he ate you out, sending shockwaves through your entire body.  

His roughness was intoxicating, every motion designed to pull you deeper into the haze he was creating. He groaned softly against you, the vibration adding an unexpected layer of pleasure that made you tremble.  

Seonghwa’s breath hitched behind you, his hard cock, undeniable where you were pressed against him. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as you writhed under San’s relentless attention. “You’re driving her mad,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice thick with something between awe and desire.  

San pulled back just enough to respond, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin. “That’s the point,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. Without waiting for a reply, he delved back in, his tongue pressing against you with a roughness that had your fingers clawing at Seonghwa’s thighs for purchase.  

Every flick, every deliberate drag of San’s tongue against your clit, sent you spiraling further. He alternated between sucking on it and licking with a ferocity that made it impossible to hold still. Seonghwa’s grip tightened on you as if anchoring you to reality, his lips brushing your temple in an attempt to soothe the chaos San was stirring within you.  

“You’re so responsive,” San rasped against you between movements, his tone full of pride and teasing affection. “Just look at you… falling apart already.”  

You could barely process his words, the sensations too overwhelming, too consuming. The heat of Seonghwa’s body behind you and the rough, unrelenting intensity of San in front of you created a heady mix that left you utterly at their mercy.  

San abruptly pulled back, his lips glistening, leaving you teetering on the edge of your orgasm. The sudden absence of his touch was a shock, and you whimpered, your hips instinctively tilting forward to chase the sensation. His smirk was devastatingly smug as he leaned back on his knees, wiping the corner of his mouth with a thumb.  

“Not yet, kitten,” he drawled, his voice thick with command. “I told you, you don’t get to have it until I decide you’ve earned it.” His gaze flickered up to yours, dark and unyielding.  

You shook your head, defiance flickering through the haze of desire. “N-no,” you murmured, a stubborn edge creeping into your voice, even as your body trembled with need.  

San chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “No?” he repeated, his tone mocking, his grin widening as though you’d just issued him a delightful challenge. “How adorable. You think you’re in control here?”  

He reached out, his hand gripping your chin firmly, tilting your face toward him as he loomed closer. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his tone laced with dangerous amusement.  

Before you could respond, San turned to Seonghwa, his voice shifting to a calm authority. “Seonghwa, get undressed and take her.”  

Seonghwa nodded without hesitation, his movements smooth and fluid as he stripped off his shirt and then his pants. Unlike San’s intensity, there was a softness to him, a gentler energy that eased the tension coursing through you.  

“Come here,” Seonghwa murmured, his hands reaching for you as he effortlessly lifted you onto his lap. His touch was steady, his hands warm and soothing against your skin. Seated against him, his bare chest pressing into your back, the stark contrast between his tenderness and San’s roughness was grounding.  

San sat back on his heels, watching with a smirk that told you he wasn’t done playing with you yet. “Let’s see if she behaves better for you,” he teased, his tone dripping with dominance as his eyes stayed locked on yours. “But don’t go too soft, Hwa. She needs to learn what happens when she tries to defy me.”  

Seonghwa shifted beneath you, his hands steady on your hips as he aligned himself with your hole. His lips brushed against your shoulder, soft and reassuring, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. “Relax for me, love,” he murmured, his voice calm yet filled with anticipation.  

San, seated to the side, leaned back slightly, his hand lazily stroking himself, cock dripping with precum as his sharp eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of him. “That’s it, Hwa,” he purred.“Show her how gentle can still make her squirm.”  

Seonghwa’s movements were slow, deliberate, as though savoring every second of the moment. You shuddered at the sensation, your body caught between his tenderness and San’s burning gaze. San’s breath hitched audibly, a low groan escaping him as he watched, the sight clearly fueling his own pleasure.  

“You look so pretty like this,” San teased, his voice dripping with dominance. “Caught between us… exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Seonghwa’s pace grew more measured, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “You’re doing so well.” His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding you, his every movement pulling you closer to the edge. Your body trembled, anticipation building as you surrendered to the steady rhythm he set.  

Just as the high began to crest, San’s voice cut through the haze. “Stop.”  

The word was sharp, commanding, and immediate. Seonghwa stilled instantly, his hands retreating as he pulled out, leaving you gasping and teetering on the brink.  

“No, please,” you begged, turning your desperate gaze to San. “Don’t stop now. Let me—please, I need to—”  

San leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he brushed his fingers along your cheek. “Need to?” he mused, his tone deceptively soft. “That’s rich, coming from someone who spent all week defying me. Do you think you’ve earned the right to finish?”  

You shook your head, swallowing the lump of frustration and desire in your throat. “I’ll do better, I swear.”  

San smirked, his hand tangling in your hair as he guided you to kneel on the edge of the bed. “You’ll prove that now,” he said smoothly, his thumb grazing your lower lip. “Open up.”  

You obeyed, lips parting as he slid himself past them, his cock heavy on your tongue. San’s groan was low, a sound of satisfaction as his hand held you steady. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hips rolling forward just enough to test your limits.  

Behind you, the bed shifted as Seonghwa moved into position, his hands caressing your waist before sliding lower, his warmth against you unmistakable. “Seonghwa… fuck her” San instructed, his voice deepening. “I want her to feel you stretch her out while she sucks me off”  

Seonghwa hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing the nape of your neck as he moved against you, his presence filling the space San had left. 

San tilted your chin up slightly, his movements patient but firm. “Keep your eyes on me,” he said, his voice a gentle command. “I want to see how much you enjoy this. How much you’re willing to give.”  

Your muffled whine vibrated against San’s cock as you tried to keep your focus, but the overwhelming combination of sensations was too much to bear. 

San smirked, clearly noticing your struggle, and his grip in your hair tightened slightly, tilting your head for better leverage. “You’re distracted,” he growled. “Let me help you focus.”  

Without warning, San thrust his hips forward, sliding himself deeper into your throat. The sudden intrusion made you gag, your throat tightening reflexively around him as your hands gripped his thighs for stability. San groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating through the room.  

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Taking me so well, even when you’re choking on it. Maybe you’re learning after all.”  

Behind you, Seonghwa���s hands on your hips tightened, his movements stuttering as he felt your body react to San’s forcefulness. Your whimper against San’s cock sent a shiver through Seonghwa, but he stilled himself, obeying the unspoken command to pause until San decided you’d earned more.  

Your throat burned as San held himself deep, his hand flexing against the back of your head, keeping you exactly where he wanted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t dare pull away. His dominance was intoxicating, even in its intensity.  

When San finally relented, pulling back just enough to let you gasp for air, his thumb stroked your cheek. “Not bad,” he mused, tilting his head. “But you’re not there yet.”  

Seonghwa’s soft whisper reached your ear, grounding you as your chest heaved. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder.  

San’s sharp gaze flicked to Seonghwa, and he gave a single, measured nod. “Now.”  

Seonghwa didn’t need further instruction. He resumed his movements, his hips rolling forward in a rhythm that made your toes curl. His groan was soft, almost reverent, as he leaned closer, his chest pressed against your back.  

San’s grip in your hair loosened slightly, guiding you back to him. “You’re going to make up for every moment you disobeyed this week,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “And if you’re good enough, maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you finish this time.” 

“M-ngh, San!” your moan revrebrating through his cock. You steadied yourself and held onto his hips, catching your breath as Seonghwa started to fully thrust into you again. 

“What?” he stopped for a second. 

You pulled off San, tears streaming down your cheeks, voice trembling and high-pitched, “Please, San, please! I can’t—please don’t stop again—I need it so bad, I’m begging you!”  

San, gripping your jaw firmly, forcing you to look up at him, his eyes sharp and unyielding, “You’re begging now? After everything this week? After all the times you ignored me, pushed me, defied me?” he lets out a low, mocking laugh, “And now you think whining like this will get you what you want?”  

“I’ll do anything—anything! I swear! Just don’t stop again, please, please!” you begged abd begged, looking up at him in the eyes.

He brushed his thumb over your trembling lips, “Anything, huh? You’re pathetic, you know that? Look at you—crying, shaking, acting like you have no control. But fine. You want a chance? Let’s make a deal.”  

“Yes—yes! Anything..."

“Then.. you’ve got two minutes to make me finish. Two minutes. If you can do that, maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you finish, too. But if you fail? You’ll go the rest of the night without cumming. Do you understand me?”  

"Y-yes...yes!" you whined out.

“Good. Then stop wasting time and prove to me you’re worth it.”  San then grabbed you by your hair, tangling his head and pulling you harshly to his cock.

You position yourself between San’s legs, wasting no time as your hand wraps firmly around his base. Without hesitation, you take his cock into your mouth, deep and fast, like it’s the only thing you’ve ever needed. The warmth and wetness make him groan immediately, his head tilting back as he struggles to keep up with the sheer intensity of your actions.  

Your lips tighten around him, sliding down as far as you can go, your tongue pressing firmly against the underside, hitting the sensitive spots that makes his thighs tense. You don’t hold back..  your movements are fast, relentless, and filled with purpose. Your hand follows where your mouth leaves off, stroking him with a slick, twisting motion, matching the rhythm as your head bobs in a steady, fervent pace.  

You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight suction that pulls another deep groan from him, his hands gripping your hair as his control slips. The sounds you make are shamelessly messy—wet, eager, and desperate—as you take him in deeper with every motion, your throat flexing to handle more.  

His breathing is ragged now, his hips shifting, but you keep control, doubling down as you focus on the sensitive head, swirling your tongue around it in quick, firm strokes before sliding down again, taking him to the base, choking on the tip. You whine softly, the vibrations sending a jolt through him, his voice breaking as he whines out, his body tightening.  

“Ah, fuck… “ he moaned out, his back lolling back in pleasure. 

Let's not forget that Seonghwa was fucking you relentlessly from behind, your walls clenching onto him as he gripped your waist. He was close, you knew it. Breaths ragged near your ear and his hands were holding tight on your skin, but you needed to focus on San… Seonghwa would cum by himself only by fucking you. But San.. oh god, he'd always destroy you before his pleasure. 

“Just like that, kitten..” he said and gripped his hands better in your hair, pulling you as close as possible. Your nose hit his pelvis, throat sore and gagging on his cock. He stood like that for a couple of moments and thrusted slightly even deeper, to which he came right down your throat. You choked on his huge load and pulled back, his cock resting in your tongue as silky white cum was still dripping heavily from the tip. When he was done, he pulled back and lifted your chin, to make you look at him.

“Swallow. Everything.” you did as told and then as he hummed in satisfaction. 

“Now now… Seonghwa, would you mind switching places? Your thrusts are not roug enough, I'm afraid…” San said and lifted you up. In one swift motion he sat you onto his lap, your chest against his. 

Seonghwa’s hands slid down your back as he stepped behind you, his movements deliberate and steady. His grip settled firmly on your hips, fingers splaying over your flushed skin before drifting lower to your ass. He kneaded the soft flesh with a firm but gentle touch, his lips grazing the back of your neck in contrast to San’s unrelenting dominance.

San, already seated with you straddling his lap, tightened his hold on your waist. His fingers pressed into the soft, reddened skin, a mark of his earlier fervor. His eyes burned into yours as he shifted slightly, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t forget who you’re really here for,” he growled, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

With a single, precise motion, San thrust into you fully, his body melding with yours as a broken cry escaped your lips. Seonghwa, aligning himself carefully, followed suit, his movements smoother but no less intense. The contrast between them was electrifying—San’s rough, possessive thrusts pairing with Seonghwa’s controlled rhythm to drive you higher, the two of them moving in tandem as if sharing one unspoken goal.  

San tilted your chin up with one hand, his lips brushing against yours briefly before he spoke. “You’re doing so well, kitten,” he murmured, though his words carried a teasing edge. “But you’re not done yet.”  

Seonghwa groaned behind you, his fingers digging into your skin as his thrusts became sharper, his restraint slipping. The three of you moved in perfect synchronicity, the overwhelming sensations building rapidly until you could no longer hold back. Your cries filled the room as the tension snapped, your body trembling violently as the release overtook you.  

Seonghwa followed closely, his grip tightening as he buried himself fully, his soft groan of pleasure vibrating against your shoulder. He kissed the back of your neck tenderly, his breath warm against your skin, a grounding contrast to the whirlwind you were caught in.  

But San wasn’t finished. His grip on your waist grew firmer as he quickened his pace, chasing his own high even as your overstimulated body quivered against him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he pushed you further, your senses overwhelmed.  

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough with satisfaction as his movements became erratic. “Give me everything.”  

With one final, deep thrust, San found his release, his second high hitting him harder than the first. The intensity of the moment pushed you over the edge again, a sudden, powerful wave washing over you as your body reacted uncontrollably. You gasped as the sensation hit, your body trembling as you squirted, the overstimulation wringing every last drop of energy from you.  

San held you close, his hands firm but steady as he rode out his high, his breath ragged against your neck. “Perfect,” he murmured finally, his tone softening as he kissed your temple. 

As Seonghwa finally pulled out, a soft groan leaving his lips, he shifted to gather you into his arms. His movements were gentle, cradling you as though you were made of glass, his lips pressing against your temple with quiet affection. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.  

San leaned forward, his hand stroking down your back in deliberate, slow motions. A light pat followed, though it carried a teasing edge as he smirked. “Let this be a lesson, kitten,” he said, his tone playful yet firm. “If you ever decide to test me like that again… this is exactly what will happen. Only next time, I won’t go so easy on you.”  

You gave a soft whimper of acknowledgment, too exhausted to do much else, and Seonghwa chuckled behind you. “You’re relentless, San,” he said, though his words carried a fond amusement. His gaze flicked between you and San. “She needs some care now, not another lecture. Why don’t you take her to get cleaned up?”  

San hummed, his grin softening just a fraction as he leaned in to press a kiss against your damp hair. “Fair enough,” he replied before slipping his arms around you, seamlessly lifting you from Seonghwa’s hold and pulling you against his chest. His grip was firm yet comforting, holding you close as he stood.  

“You were perfect today, kitten,” San murmured, his tone uncharacteristically tender as he carried you toward the bathroom. His fingers traced gentle patterns against your back as he continued, “Every second of it. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”  

The warmth of his words and his embrace cocooned you, easing the lingering tension in your body. As San carried you, you caught Seonghwa’s soft smile in the corner of your vision, his quiet presence a steady reassurance even as exhaustion began to pull you under.

NETWORKS: @blossomnet @illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

You shrugged, your grin widening. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You shook your head as you put on your helmet. You casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[notreallythatlost]

ohh myy good, that gif in the beginning is my end, i can literally hear his voice in that 😫

besides, I LOVE THIS FIC, so freaking amazing

But it was not the Queen Regent that made his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat. It was a simple woman standing next to her – (Y/N).

BOOOM YOU DID NOT EXPECT THAT BITCH! 👀

It was the very first night they were left alone, without anyone being around in the same tent or the same deck. Their own little house in a beautiful realm across the sea. (Y/N) laid on Sauron's chest with a smile and played with the hair on his chest as she brushed it with her fingers and twisted the curls gently.

halbrand’s chest hair aka the true main character

“I promise,” Sauron whispered and brushed her cheek with his fingertip. It was so easy to give false promises. Nearly too easy. 

����🤨

“An old man from a village nearby. We travelled with him an' became friends. My husband's always had a taste for shiny, pretty things, so I reckon he took it off the body of that poor man from that shipwreck,” (Y/N) gave Sauron a scolding look and he looked away because his eyes were growing dark out of anger and frustration.

i think someone’s plans are just getting ruined??

“Ye did?!” (Y/N) gasped as she laid her eyes on her husband but Sauron looked up to avoid her gaze.

“Haven't heard of that lad, who's he?” She asked and Sauron clenched his jaw to force the laughter to stay in the back of his throat.

omg i love her even more 🤣🤣

“I am no longer wondering why people of The Southlands followed Morgoth. You are such ignorant and vile creatures!” Galadriel spat out. Her sudden anger and cruel words made (Y/N) take a slight step back as she looked down, feeling humiliated.

GALADRIEL THAT WAS NOT NICE 😠

“Ye can't be serious, Hal,” (Y/N) whispered. “We were supposed to start a new life here, start a family. I don't want to go back to Middle-earth. I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. If that's the path ye choose, I cannot follow ye…” Her lower lip trembled as she gathered her skirts and hurried out of the prison with tears pricking her eyes.

my heart breaks for her.. she only wants to be happy with her husband 😭

— SOMEPLACE BETTER (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!human!Reader

SUMMARY — Sauron reunites with Halbrand's wife in Númenor where she keeps interfering with his plans and schemes nearly all the time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — So, obviously, the Reader did not die in the last part and here we are with the part two! 💕 She can't be too easy to get rid of! 🤣 Sauron is a bit ooc here (and surely will be at the end of this fic), so be warned! 🤧

WORD COUNT — 3,630

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SOMEPLACE BETTER (II)

Sauron certainly considered (Y/N), the wife of Halbrand to be dead now and he did not really bother himself with thinking much of her. Especially now, with Lady Galadriel by his side as if the Valar themselves put her there for him to make sure his plan would work.

When he entered the palace in Númenor barefoot, in ragged clothes and with the Elf by his side, of course they drew attention. Everyone turned around with the beautiful Queen Regent amongst them – he recognised her immediately because there was only one woman inside that room dressed so splendidly and he had overheard the guards earlier mentioning some Queen Regent being present. That stunning woman just had to be her.

But it was not the Queen Regent that made his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat. It was a simple woman standing next to her – (Y/N).

She looked different now. Her hair was brushed and clean as ever and she was wearing a brand new dress, which was simple but probably the fanciest thing she had ever worn either way. It was dark green and her cheeks were painted slightly with a rogue.

Sauron had to admit that in this certain light and when she was not wearing rags, she looked quite… pretty.

“Halbrand, ye bastard! Thought I'd lost ye again!” She exclaimed, making wide eyes and now everyone looked at her as Sauron gritted his teeth.

That woman seemed to be indestructible and she would ruin all of his schemes.

“Your Highness, this here's my husband I've spoken of – the one I lost at sea!” (Y/N) looked at the Queen Regent and the Queen nodded at her with a soft smile.

After that gesture, Halbrand's wife ran up to him but not without giving Galadriel a dirty look on the way.

“I turn me back for but a moment, an' ye've gone an' found yerself a fine Elven lady. Truly, ye're unbelievable!” (Y/N) exclaimed and pushed his chest slightly but not without a loving smile. Then, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Sauron was defeated. He just had to hug her back because what kind of husband would he be if he pushed her away in a moment like that? 

“I thought I'd lost you, love…” he muttered to her and she took a step back to take a better look at his scratched cheeks and dry lips as she cupped his face gently.

“Me an' a few others, we were the lucky ones. A ship from here found us an' took us in,” (Y/N) explained. “Folks here are so kind, Hal. They looked after us, even gave me new clothes. An' Her Highness herself wanted words with me, to know more about me! Me – simple, foolish (Y/N)!” She shook her head as she seemed to be in awe with everything around her. “Ye were right. A good life awaits us here,” she added and caressed his chest.

“You're neither simple nor foolish to me,” Sauron whispered, reassuringly. He was trying to show softness in his eyes despite his frustration and anger.

And yet, some part of him, buried deep inside, was somehow glad to see the young woman again; safe and alive.

Galadriel kept watching them curiously with the corner of her eye.

“Have you greeted your husband now, (Y/N)?” The Queen Regent asked and (Y/N) turned around to face her as she nodded, nervously. The Queen Regent was not mean or rude but a simple woman like Halbrand's wife was extremely intimidated by her presence anyway.

“Aye, Your Highness,” (Y/N) answered.

“He might want to enlighten us then what an Elf is doing by his side,” Queen Regent laid her scolding eyes on Sauron.

“I'd like to know about that as well, Your Highness,” (Y/N) shot another dirty glance at Galadriel.

“Circumstances arose that–” Sauron started, trying to pose as a simple man who pretended to speak in a more fancy manner to impress the nobles.

“We are companions by chance. Met on the open sea,” Galadriel interrupted him. “Your captain here, delivered us from certain death. All we ask is that Númenor continue his mercy and grant us ship's passage to Middle-earth.”

“Oi!” (Y/N) shouted at her, visibly upset with Galadriel's words. “I ain't leavin' here! Speak for yerself, Elf. Me an' my husband, we'll stay right here!” She protested and Sauron only watched with a hint of a smirk but he wanted very much to burst into laughter. It was truly priceless to see Galadriel's face being taken aback by Halbrand's wife and her way of being. “I've settled matters with the good Queen already!” (Y/N) added. “She's promised me a place to live,” she looked at her husband to let him know, too.

“That sounds generous and reasonable,” he nodded and Galadriel shot him a deadly glance.

Sauron and (Y/N) were taken to their new place by the guards – a poor house located in the city centre near the taverns and the harbour. Sauron could immediately see that the house had belonged to simple commoners before but the standards were still more than enough for (Y/N). She was in awe as she looked around and her eyes sparkled at the sight.

“This place is truly a paradise,” she told him with a grin.

“And how are we meant to pay for it, huh?” Sauron leaned on the wall with his arms crossed, tan muscles flexing under his brand new tunic that had been given to him back in the palace.

“The good Queen's promised it'll be free of charge for half a year,” (Y/N) informed him. “I'm sure ye can find work by then, Hal. In a city like this, they must have need of plenty of smiths!” She approached him cheerfully and threw her hands around his neck before leaning in to peck his lips. “Are ye not happy, love?” She asked.

Sauron couldn't stop thinking of Lady Galadriel, though. Would she try to find him now and convince him to come back to Middle-earth as the King of The Southlands? He certainly hoped so.

And he hoped that Halbrand's wife would not ruin his plans either. Therefore, he had to be nice to her now, so she would lie for him later when he'd ask her to.

“I am,” he nodded and fixed a reckless hair strand on her head. “I'll ask around for work. And what about you?”

At his words, (Y/N) looked down nervously and Sauron raised an eyebrow at her.

“I fear I won't be of much use here, love,” she admitted, truly ashamed, which he could see in her glistening eyes when she glanced up. “I don't reckon they've need for a simple woman like me 'round here. But I'll try, I promise, Hal. I'll do me best to find work. I won't leave ye to it alone,” she cupped his face and sniffed her tears back.

“It's alright, love, we'll manage. Don't you worry,” Sauron assured her and kissed the palm of her hand as she cracked a smile at him.

They stood in silence like that for a short moment, which was quite lovely until (Y/N) decided to break the blissful peacefulness again because she simply could not be silent for too long.

“An' what's the business with that she-Elf, then?” She asked and Sauron sighed.

“She's nobody. Just a random woman who showed up and burdened me with her presence,” Sauron answered and (Y/N) seemed to be very pleased with that answer, although it was quite funny to watch because he had just described her.

It was the very first night they were left alone, without anyone being around in the same tent or the same deck. Their own little house in a beautiful realm across the sea. (Y/N) laid on Sauron's chest with a smile and played with the hair on his chest as she brushed it with her fingers and twisted the curls gently.

“Hal,” she looked up and he glanced down at her, lazily. “My love, can ye promise me ye'll stay away from the taverns? Or at least be reasonable with it? This is meant to be a new life for us. A fresh start, ye said yerself. When the good Queen asked me about ye, I only spoke well of ye. I wanted ye to begin here with no bad reputation, an' please, let's keep it that way,” she pleaded.

“I promise,” Sauron whispered and brushed her cheek with his fingertip. It was so easy to give false promises. Nearly too easy. 

And she wanted to believe him, desperately.

(Y/N) lifted herself up and leaned in to place a kiss upon his lips – a lingering one that was slowly growing more needy and passionate. Sauron panicked deep inside. He was certainly not signing up for this.

Halbrand's wife could sense his sudden nervousness and she moved away, feeling embarrassed.

“What is it, Hal? It's been weeks since we've been close, an' ye're always so eager. Do ye not desire me anymore?” She looked away. “Is it because of that Elf? Has she bewitched ye?”

“Don't be foolish,” Sauron rolled his eyes but it only made her huff and he realised he just had to make love to her on that night.

Not that desires of the flesh were foreign to him but it had been centuries when he had a proper body for the last time. He was still not fully used to his new form and she was… Far from his usual type.

Although in the dim light of a candle that danced upon the wall of their new home, with her skin and hair clean as ever and a pretty new nightgown in a cream colour, he surely felt some attraction to Halbrand's wife and he could even understand the man for marrying her despite her big mouth and other annoying qualities.

Her devotion to him was undoubted, though.

“Come 'ere,” Sauron pulled her closer and rolled her on her back as he hovered above her and her frown turned into a giggle. 

Something about her laughter at that moment was truly heartwarming. It was innocent, nearly childish, as if she suddenly had no worries and nothing but love for her husband filled her whole body. Sauron froze for a while and just stared at her face as his heart squeezed deep inside his chest. What was that odd feeling he was starting to develop?

He did not want it… He did not…

“I am so glad you are here with me, love; that the tides did not take you away from me,” he confessed, trying to convince himself it was only Halbrand trying to woo his wife, nothing else – nothing more.

“Nothin' could ever keep me from ye, Hal,” she batted her eyelashes at him before he joined their lips together.

Sauron was leaning on the wall inside the jail cell he was kept inside and when he heard the steps approaching him, he could sense (Y/N) rushing to him as he smirked to himself.

“What happened?!” She ran up to the bars and wrapped her hands around the iron. “Hal…!” She sighed at the sight of his freshly bruised face when he turned around. “Ye promised me... an' here I am, after bein' told me husband's in prison for startin' a pub fight!”

“I was trying to find work but learned that you need to earn a guild crest to forge steel here, so I figured I'd find friends instead,” Sauron stood up and shrugged his arms as he approached the bars, too. “And it wasn't a pub fight, it was a street fight.”

(Y/N) shook her head as she chuckled lovingly although her eyes remained scolding.

“Ye'll never change, love,” she said. “How fares the friend hunting?” She asked teasingly and Sauron rolled his eyes.

“How fares the work hunting?” Sauron asked, playfully, expecting her to admit her own failure but she surprised him instead.

“I got meself a job, Hal, actually. Nothin' grand, but it's enough for me,” she cracked a smile.

“What is it?”

“I'm gonna help the ladies sellin' their goods at the market by the harbour. It's close to home an' all that. They couldn't give me a proper stand, since I can't read nor write, but I'll help. An' one of the ladies was kind enough to offer to teach me the letters!” (Y/N) shared the news, excitedly.

“I'm proud of you, love,” Sauron leaned in and wrapped his hands around hers. She gave him a big, loving smile.

“Ye're gonna get that guild crest, Hal. I believe in ye,” she assured him.

“I already did but they took it back,” he rolled his eyes and she sighed.

“Ye stole it?” The muscles of her jaw clenched. “It was supposed to be a fresh start! Ye can't be walkin' around doin' that! What's next? Ye gonna ask me to help ye steal again? Expect me to lie to cover yer mischief? I'm done with that, Halbrand!” Her eyes welled with tears as she took a step back from the bars and shook her head.

Sauron was taken aback by her words. He had no idea of this sort of history between Halbrand and his wife. She was even more hurt by him than he had been expecting and their marriage was even more complicated. 

The worst thing was, though, that she would not be so eager to play along to his lie that he was planning to feed Lady Galadriel with. It was interfering with his plans and as his anger grew, he wished (Y/N) to die once more.

But then she laid her wet eyes upon him again as she sniffled and his heart softened despite his own will.

“I know how much you want this whole thing to work out. I want that, too. I didn't want to disappoint you by coming back home and telling you I didn't get anything,” Sauron confessed.

“Ye disappointed me by endin' up here,” Halbrand's wife insisted.

And while he was thinking of another reply, they were interrupted by Lady Galadriel walking inside the prison as well. Sauron couldn't help a satisfied smirk forming on his face. She took his bait.

“Halbrand,” she addressed him as she stood next to his wife but keeping her distance from the both of them.

She looked ethereal in her long golden hair and that pretty blue dress as she radiated nothing but pure light. It made Halbrand's wife visibly uneasy to stand next to her as she fixed her hair in a nervous manner and glanced at the Elf with pure jealousy in her eyes.

“What're ye doin' here?” She nearly barked at Galadriel and Sauron chuckled.

“Your husband does not belong on this island,” Lady Galadriel decided to ignore the woman's behaviour as she gently informed.

“An' who are ye to say where my husband belongs or not? I'm his wife, I've known him a lifetime. You've known him two days,” (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

“Then you surely do realise that Halbrand here is more than he claims,” Galadriel lifted her chin up and (Y/N) looked at her as if the Elf was crazy. “I found this in the Hall of Lore,” Galadriel handed her a scroll of paper.

(Y/N) took it but her hand trembled slightly as she did so and Sauron knew why – she was ashamed to admit she could not read in case it was some document.

But it was not. It was a drawing of the same heraldry as Sauron was wearing on his pendant stolen from Diarmid. He kept glancing at it and watching (Y/N)'s face carefully. He hadn't told her yet about his plan because he hadn't expected Galadriel to work so fast. Would Halbrand's wife play along, though?

Surely, a woman so simple and low would want to be the Queen of The Southlands, would she not?

“What's this?” She asked. “Why're ye showin' it to me?” She handed the scroll back to Galadriel and the confused Elf pointed at Sauron's pendant.

“Is it not the same heraldry your husband is wearing?” Galadriel inquired. “Many ages ago, a man bearing that mark united the scattered tribes of The Southlands under one banner. The very banner that might unite them again today against the evil that now seeks to claim their lands,” she tilted her head with a smile and Sauron's heart skipped a beat because it was all working out so perfect but… Halbrand's wife did not seem to be convinced. “Your husband's lands,” Galadriel added.

“My husband's lands, ye say, Elf?” (Y/N) burst out in laughter. “Please, ye've no idea what ye're speakin' of. That man comes from nothin' an' has nothin'. The only bit of land we had was from me ol' man, an' that's gone now, taken by the Orcs. Even that pendant he's wearin' isn't his. It was Diarmid's.”

“Diarmid's?” Galadriel furrowed her brows as Sauron gritted his teeth.

“An old man from a village nearby. We travelled with him an' became friends. My husband's always had a taste for shiny, pretty things, so I reckon he took it off the body of that poor man from that shipwreck,” (Y/N) gave Sauron a scolding look and he looked away because his eyes were growing dark out of anger and frustration.

If any of the women looked at his eyes now, they would realise he is no mortal man and surely not a good spirit.

“Even if that heraldry is not his…” Galadriel sighed, defeated. However, Sauron could hear desperation in her voice.

Such a sweet obsession to make sure her own scheme would work out – he knew that feeling. And he was glad because it meant that she would help him still despite the odds.

“Even if that heraldry is not his,” she repeated, “how many people do know the truth? I might know him for two days, (Y/N), but I can see him for who he is and he is way more than a ragged commoner. He risked his own life to save mine–”

“Ye did?!” (Y/N) gasped as she laid her eyes on her husband but Sauron looked up to avoid her gaze.

“The Southlands need to be united against evil,” Galadriel insisted.

“Ye wish to deceive folk an' set a crown on a commoner's head, all to fight the Orcs?” (Y/N) was surprised to hear such words. “An' they say the Elves are so noble…”

“Not just the Orcs,” Galadriel answered harshly, slowly losing patience with Halbrand's wife. “There is an evil much darker and much worse hiding in the shadows.”

“Like what, then?” (Y/N) asked with an innocence that nearly made Sauron laugh.

“Sauron,” Lady Galadriel spoke his name and he felt a shiver going down his spine. With a corner of his eye, he observed his wife but she did not seem to be startled or even moved.

“Haven't heard of that lad, who's he?” She asked and Sauron clenched his jaw to force the laughter to stay in the back of his throat.

“The Dark Lord!” Galadriel's eyes widened. “Morgoth's loyal follower. Have you heard of Morgoth?”

“Aye, I have,” (Y/N) admitted with a shrug, “but 'twas a long time ago, wasn't it?”

“Such great evil is beyond mortality,” Galadriel tried to explain. “I have reasons to believe that Sauron is not truly dead.”

“And why should I care about that?” (Y/N) was confused. “I don't even know him, an' it's not like he's ever hurt me or me family.”

“He hurt many others!” Galadriel protested.

“A long time ago,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“I am no longer wondering why people of The Southlands followed Morgoth. You are such ignorant and vile creatures!” Galadriel spat out. Her sudden anger and cruel words made (Y/N) take a slight step back as she looked down, feeling humiliated.

Sauron felt the sudden urge to defend her like she had unwillingly defended him only a moment ago.

“Not very noble of you, Elf, to say such things,” he pointed out. “You should know better than anyone that it is not on us how we perceive those things. Your kin rewarded a few tribes with your gifts and punished others. Their descendants are still paying the price for the sins of the past. We are not used to worrying about the Dark Lords or the shadows when we simply have nothing to put onto our plates.”

Galadriel blushed slightly at his words and she looked at (Y/N) with remorse but Halbrand's wife kept her glistening eyes on him only, grateful for defending her. 

“Come with me to Middle-earth,” Galadriel started to convince once more, “and together we will redeem both our bloodlines.”

“How?” Sauron asked her. “You're stuck on this island and you're still short an army.”

“That is all about to change,” Galadriel convinced him and then smiled at him before turning her head around to smile at Halbrand's wife, too.

And then she walked away to leave them alone again but Sauron could feel the switch of the atmosphere.

“Ye can't be serious, Hal,” (Y/N) whispered. “We were supposed to start a new life here, start a family. I don't want to go back to Middle-earth. I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. If that's the path ye choose, I cannot follow ye…” Her lower lip trembled as she gathered her skirts and hurried out of the prison with tears pricking her eyes.

Sauron wrapped his hands around the iron bars of his cell as he wanted to call out after her as Halbrand probably would but then he realised… It would only be for the better if she decided to stay here and finally leave him alone to his schemes.

MASTERLIST

[httpsdana]

Could I please request Rasmus Højlund with prompt 3 and 6 from the fluff list? Reader is tired from college or work and wants some comfort. Thank you if possible <3

Soft Serenity~Rasmus Højlund

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: I've got no more requests in my inbox so send me in some to write them <3

3-“I’ve had a long day, and I really need a hug… from you, specifically,”

6-“How come every time you smile, my day somehow gets better?”

The apartment door swung open, and y/n stepped inside, exhaustion written all over her face. The weight of a long, grueling day at college—it all blurred together—pressed on her shoulders.

Between endless deadlines, group assignments that seemed to go nowhere, and the never-ending to-do list in her head, she felt like a tightly wound spring on the verge of snapping.

Rasmus was sprawled out on the couch, his long legs stretched across the cushions as he flicked through channels on the TV. The second he saw her, his expression softened, his lips curling into that lopsided smile that never failed to warm her heart.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, sitting up immediately. “Rough day?”

She dropped her bag to the floor with a heavy sigh and shuffled toward him, her steps slow and deliberate. By the time she reached the couch, she was already melting at the sight of him holding his arms open. Without a word, she sank into his embrace, burying her face in his chest.

“I’ve had a long day, and I really need a hug… from you, specifically,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his hoodie.

His arms wrapped around her instantly, pulling her in tight. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his lips against her temple.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, the warmth of his hold, the scent of his cologne—it all began to chip away at the tension in her body. She let out a long, shaky breath as his hands moved up and down her back in soothing strokes.

After a moment, she lifted her head to look up at him. His blue eyes studied her face carefully, concern mingling with his usual tenderness, though the soft smile never left his face.

“How come every time you smile, my day somehow gets better?” she asked softly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

He let out a soft laugh, his hands coming up to cradle her face. “You’ve got it backward, my love. It’s your smile that fixes my day, every single time.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead

y/n felt her cheeks warm up, but the anxiety of the day wasn’t entirely gone. She sighed, pulling back slightly. “I can’t even relax yet Rasmus. I have so much to do—assignments, deadlines—”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupted gently, his hands sliding down to grip her waist as he gave her a firm but comforting squeeze. “We’ll get it done, okay? I’ll help you. We’ll sit down tomorrow, and I’ll go over whatever you need with you. But for now, you need to take a break, baby.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said firmly, though his tone remained soft. “You’re running yourself into the ground. You can’t give your best if you don’t take care of yourself first. So, tonight, you’re mine. No assignments, no stress. Just us.”

She hesitated for a moment, but the sincerity in his eyes—and the way he gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear—made it impossible to argue. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Good girl,” he said with a soft smile, kissing her cheek. “Now, come on. Let’s get you comfortable.”

He pulling her into his lap and wrapped a blanket around both of them. His arms circled her waist as sjey rested her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling her into a rare moment of peace.

“I mean it,” he said after a while, his voice a gentle rumble against your ear. “Whatever you need help with, I’ll do it. I’ve got your back, baby.”

She tilted her head to look up at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss her softly, his lips brushing against hers in a way that made her worries fade just a little more. “And you’re my everything,” he whispered. “Now, relax. That’s an order.”

As he began peppering kisses along her jaw and cheeks, a genuine smile crept onto her face. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe again.

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Warnings: Swearing, main character death, violence

Chapter: 7.01

Your eyes sting when tears roll down your cheeks, leaving a horrible salty taste on your dry lips. The sound of Negan’s wooden bat pounding into someone's skull over and over was horrific. Negan pretended to play a game of eenie meenie miney mo while deciding who to kill, but he already had his mind made up.

“Show them no goddamn fear.”

Negan picked Abraham because he showed him no fear. For all you thought he could be an asshole, at times Abraham was brave, and he risked his life multiple times to save others. He was a hero, and he was loved.

“Did you hear that?” Negan chuckles. “He said, Suck my nuts!”

A couple of the men laugh behind him. Negan swings his bat around, causing blood to splatter across Rick’s face. His eyes move along the line up looking for someone else to torment, and when he gets to the end, he smiles.

“Oh shit girly, that wasn’t your daddy, was it?”

You can’t hold back the sob that escapes your mouth. Rosita was a hysterical mess beside you, and you’d never seen Rick look so terrified before. Would anyone get out of this alive? You wished your dad was with you; he always knew how to make you feel better.

Negan crouches down so he’s eye level with you. “Tell me, am I the worst man you’ve ever met?”

You wipe at your nose before letting out a shaky breath. “No, I’ve met a worse man than you.”

Negan smirks at your answer; he enjoys scaring you. You sob when he uses the bloodied bat to stroke the strands of your hair that had fallen in front of your face, leaving small parts of Abraham's blood in your hair. Horrified, you try to brush it out with your fingers, but Negan did the same thing but on the opposite side of your head.

“Leave her alone!” Daryl snaps; he leaps to his feet and punches Negan in the face.

“No!” You are screaming and watching as two men start to beat Daryl. “He’s sorry, just stop it! Please, please don’t hurt him!”

Negan chuckles. “That? Oh my. That is a no, no. The whole thing, not one bit of that shit flies here.”

Dwight steps out of the crowd and points Daryl’s own crossbow at him while he’s pinned to the ground. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No.” Negan had a sadistic smile on his face. “No, you don’t kill them... not until you try a little.”

Dwight looks confused for a moment, but he grabs Daryl and drags him back to his space in the line-up.

“And anyway, that’s not how it works. Now I already told you people the first ones are free, but I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions.”

Your breath catches in your throat when Negan steps closer to your side of the line-up. He was going to kill one of you next. You close your eyes, not wanting to see the bat coming.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of lying asses you’ve been dealing with, but I am a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So… back to it.”

Your eyes flicker open, and you scream, seeing the bat covered in barbed wire and blood coming down towards you, but Negan doesn’t hit you; he hits Glenn, who was right beside you.

Glenn survives two blows to the head, but one of his eyes was popping out of his head. He manages to lift his head; he was in so much pain, grunting and sputtering blood from his mouth.

“Are you still there, buddy?” Negan asks mockingly. “I just don’t know. It seems like you’re trying to speak, but you just took a hell of a hit. I’ve hit your skull so hard your eyeball just popped out, and it is gross as shit!”

“Maggie, I’ll find you.”

Maggie sobs in response to Glenn’s final words before Negan counts to beat him. He continues to hit him until his skull is completely destroyed.

“You bunch of pussies! I’m just getting started.”

You feel as if you struggle to breathe when parts of Glenn's brain land across your lap. After your father died, you looked to Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, and Abraham for strength; they were the ones who kept your community safe. And now the blood of two of them was quite literally on your hands.

“Lucile is thirsty; she is a vampire.”

Maggie was distraught. First your mom and brother, then your dad, then Beth, and now Glenn were gone. You just pray to God that if you make it out alive, she doesn’t lose her baby.

“Now back to you.” Negan points his bat directly in front of your face, causing you to tremble with fear; seeing the blood drip off it so closely to your face causes you to freeze. “Which one of my men stabbed you?”

You’re unable to speak.

“Come on now, kid, you won’t get in trouble for telling me.”

Your eyes darted around the circle of men who were standing and watching Negan torment you all. You finally spot the man who stabbed, “h—h—him.” You swallow thickly, terrified of what was to come next. “It was him who stabbed me.”

Negan walks over to the man and pats him on the shoulder, then brings him out of the circle. “This man right here attacked you.”

You nod.

Negan swings his bat again and strikes the man across the face, causing him to scream in pain. But unlike Glenn and Abraham, he doesn’t beat them to death. “As you said, he’s a man who took the easiest option by stabbing a little girl. I can’t have that.”

—

Before you know it, the sun is starting to rise again. You do your best to avoid looking to your left. The daylight only meant it was easier to see what was left of Glenn.

Your heart drops when the RV pulls up to where you are all still kneeling, the outside of it covered in blood. Negan had taken Rick somewhere, and you expected him to be the next victim, but to your surprise, the door opens and Negan shoves out of the van.

“Rick, do you even know what that little trip was about?”

Rick doesn’t answer; he’s in complete shock.

Negan sighs, “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Okay, okay.”

“That trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand, but you’re still looking at me like that. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, but that’s not going to work. So... Do I give you another chance?”

“Yeah, yes. Yes.”

“Okay, alright.” Negan smiles. “The grand prize game. What you decide next will be the difference between everyone’s last crap day or just another crap day.”

Negans men step forward and put guns to the back of everyone’s head. Perhaps death would be the better option than being tortured anymore. He was continuing to torment Rick by mocking him and threatening everyone at the same time.

“Kid…” Negan wags his finger in Carl's direction. “Right here. Kid, now.”

Carl glares at him but does as he says.

Negan pulls what looks like a leather belt from the side of his black biker jacket. “Are you a southpaw?”

“A what?”

“You a lefty?”

With nothing but venom in his voice, he answers, “No.”

Negan’s amused by his attitude, “good.” He ties the belt around Carl’s arm. “That hurt?”

“No.”

“Should. It’s supposed to.” Negan steps back, “Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread those wings.”

When Carl goes to lay on his stomach on the ground, Negan pushes on his back, forcing him onto the gravel below. “Simon, you got a pen?”

“Yeah,” Simon tosses him a black marker pen.

Negan puts the pen lid in his mouth and starts drawing on Carl's arm. When he’s done, he laughs, looking directly at Rick. “I ain’t doing shit. Rick, I want you to take your axe... cut your son's left arm off, right on that line.”

Rick looks utterly traumatized.

Negan was giving him a horrific ultimatum. Amputate Carl’s arm or watch Carl and everyone else be murdered.

“You don’t have to do this,” Michonne pleads. “We understand, we understand.”

“You understand? Yeah. I’m not sure Rick does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there in that line. Now I know this is a screwed up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice, nothing messy. Clean. Forty-five degrees; give us something to fold over. We’ve got a great doctor; the kid will be fine. Probably.”

Rick looks completely lost in his own head, a thousand times worse than when he went a bit crazy after Lori died.

“Rick... this needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Or I’ll crush the little fella's skull in myself.”

“It can... it can... It can be me. It can be me. You can do it to me.”

“No, this is the only way. Rick picked up the axe. Not making a decision is a big decision. Oh my god, I will start counting. Three!”

“Please, please, I can be me!” Rick cries hysterically.

“Two!”

“Please, don’t do...”

Negan slaps him then grips his jaw. “This is it. One!”

Rick lets out an agonizing sob, then reaches for the axe. You cover your mouth when Rick raises the axe in the air, but right before he can do it Negan stops him. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Rick nods.

“Speak when spoken to! You belong to me!”

“Yes.”

“That’s the look I wanted to see.” Negan stands with a proud look on his face. “Well, it took a while, but we got there. Even the dead guys are on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award for sure. Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sake, you get it now. That you understand how things work. Dwight load him up.”

You try to reach for Daryl’s hand, but they take him. You completely zone out after that, trying to think of any happy memories buried in the back of your mind so you can block what just happened out.

—

You vaguely hear Maggie say she wants to fight the saviors, but her voice is so far away that it’s hard to register if it’s going on for real or inside your head.

Their blood was still on you.

Looking down, you start scratching at your hands, trying to get the blood that had dried in off your skin.

It’s not until someone’s arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your hands apart, that you start to snap out of it. “Stop it; you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I need to get it off.”

“And we will,” Michonne says calmly. “I’m bringing you back to Alexandria. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

[gibsongirlsundaymorning]

noise complaints (part 2)

A/N: Fine you gay people win. Here’s part two… sorry if it’s horrible, I am NOT a writer and I did NOT spellcheck this. Also I now realize she was technically going by Agnes at the time bc she was still under the spell when she was in her cop era… too lazy late to fix it ❤️

Summary: After Agatha finds you and Rio outside of the party she busted surrounded by two guys from your high school, she feels she has a few lessons to teach you two. (Reading part one is highly suggested!)

Warnings: smut, strap-on use, degradation and praise, vouyerism, impact play, fingering, oral, punishment, mean!Agatha, gunplay if you squint and spin three times, orgasm denial, bondage, masturbation, Rio being too bratty for her own good, use of “Y/N”, I don’t know if I can be more specific than this, it’s filth!

Pairing: Older!Cop!Dom!Agatha x Younger!Sub!R x Brat!Sub!Rio

NSFW below the cut MDNI!

After the cruel scolding that was sure to be only the beginning of the harsh words you and Rio would face that night, Agatha drags the two of you back to her patrol car by your wrists. You stumbled over your feet, trying your hardest to keep up with your furious girlfriend; Meanwhile Rio dragged her feet along reluctantly, trying desperately to keep up her careless, tough exterior and get a rise out of the cop.

Rio is thrown into the passenger side of the car, her hair nearly caught in the door as Agatha slams it, leading you towards the back door.

“At least one of my sluts is eager to please… Keep it up and maybe you can get what you want tonight.” She shouts the last part, addressing you, but directing the comment towards your brattier counterpart, who was now fidgeting in the front seat.

Agatha gets in the car, starting it up and taking off on the short ride back to your shared home. Rio’s placement in the front of the car was meant to keep her in check, keep her in Agatha’s direct line of vision and in close reach for reprimand. Rio had different ideas of how to use her forced proximity.

Your older girlfriend’s breathing had just reached some sort of equilibrium, no longer audibly seething through her breaths alone, when Rio reached over the console and slid her hand into Agatha’s lap. Much to your horror, Agatha just laughs.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, doll. You have five seconds to take your hand and keep it to yourself before I decide you’ll be sleeping in the guest room for the next week.” Rio, of course, waits until the very end of those five seconds before dragging her hand back across Agatha’s lap, making sure to brush her covered core ever-so-slightly before bringing it back to her side of the console to pout. You shudder under the reflection of Agatha’s hooded gaze in the rear view mirror as she grinds her teeth down against each other in a fiery frustration.

The silence and tension grows more and more palpable as the drive comes to an end when Agatha throws the cruiser into park at the top of your driveway, right next to Rio’s precious bike. She wasn’t exactly being careful to swerve away from it.

Before you could even think of reaching for your door handle, it was thrown open and you and Rio were being forced into the home. You were at the front, being pushed into the house by Agatha’s right hand, which was tangled in your hair and gripping it into a ponytail. Rio was being dragged in the back by Agatha’s tight grip on her ear. If you didn’t know better, you’d be giggling at the way the slightly taller girl resembled a misbehaving child being scolded by her upset mother. If Rio knew better, she wouldn’t have acted like a misbehaving child.

It was clearly too late for this when Agatha practically tossed you two into the house, all in the same manner as you’d seen her do with her bags after a long day at work. She ran her tongue between her top teeth and her top lip as she looked you and your girlfriend up and down, almost as if deciding between a library of options for how to deal with the two of you.

“Both of you, go to my room now and be ready for me in the next minute… Y/N, pick something pretty out from my drawer, would you, hun?” With that, she had decided.

As you and Rio made your way into your bedroom and Rio made her way to the edge of the bed, you slid the drawer open and instinctively grabbed your favorite from the assortment, a small and quiet but powerful bullet that Agatha could control from her phone. You were hoping she’d use it on you again, but there was no point in asking once she walked in, because it would almost surely earn you the exact opposite.

She walks in to find you sitting on your heels at the same spot at the edge of the bed where Rio sat, manspreading and fidgeting with the seam on her shirt. She takes the small purple toy from your hands and kisses the top of your head, a chillingly gentle gesture in contrast with her bubbling anger that night. Her hand slips from the side of your jaw to the underside of your chin, tilting your head up just a bit so that you were looking up and meeting her eyes with your own. “Such a good choice, sweet girl.”

She then turns to Rio, who hasn’t yet given up her false tough demeanor. “Kiss her. How you were before I walked in early tonight. Pretend I’m not even here, and God help you if you hold back even the slightest bit.” With that, she sat down in the large armchair directly in the eye line from where you sat.

Rio smiles slyly and slides her hands into the back of your head, tangling her digits in your hair as she meets your lips with her own. Your own hands, shaking, find her hips as she deepens the kiss and straddles you as you’re still sitting on your knees with rigid posture that reflects your nervousness outwardly. When you finally melt into her touch the slightest bit, losing yourself in her confident dominance, you hear Agatha stand and are suddenly enveloped in her shadow as Rio is yanking away from you.

Or rather, being yanked away. You note Agatha’s grip around Rio’s waves as she speaks in an even more gravely voice than usual, “That was your final chance to prove yourself as something more than a greedy bitch. Get in the chair.”

She swallows, devoid of any of the dominance from seconds prior, and climbs into the chair Agatha had just risen from. The latter takes Rio’s seat next to you, but lifts you onto her lap with your right leg slotted between her own, your center falling onto the top of her right thigh. Once you could see clearly again as the rush of her rough fingers around your waist simmered the smallest bit, you realized you were sitting on something… hard? and let out an involuntary whisper.

Agatha looks down at where your legs meet and then back at you, grinning like the devil, as Rio writhes in her seat. Agatha immediately clocks the movement from over your shoulder. “If you ever want me to make you come again, you’ll sit still and enjoy the show I’m so generously giving you after your disgusting displays tonight.” Rio reluctantly complies. She returns her attention to you, now digging her fingers into your hips with bruising force, and guides you ever-so-slightly back and forth against the pressure below you. “Agatha?” you breathe out.

“Yeah, angel?” The title almost makes you forget what was supposed to follow your initial words. The hardness below you reminds you quickly. “Are you… did you wear the strap to work?” you nearly whisper, the question barely audible to your other girlfriend, who sat still now and held onto every word from you and the woman below you uttered. “No, baby, try again.”

It seems as if all the blood in your body rushes to your face as you realize that what you were grinding down onto wasn’t the strap you’d been mercilessly filled with time after time, but her patrol weapon. It was mind-blowingly filthy and embarrassing to you, which brought both Agatha and Rio more pleasure than any other act the three of you had carried out together could. “Keep moving those pretty hips, hun. Don’t shy away from being a slut now, it’s a little too late for that.” You bit your lip hard enough to taste the same metallic tang from before you left the same room earlier that night as you hid your blushing face in the crook of the cop’s neck.

“Hey, come back, angel, I’ve got a question for you.” You look up reluctantly, dreading the eye contact you knew she would demand as you spoke. “Yes ma’am.” She chuckled lowly at this, “Oh, what, now you wanna be good for me? Nice try. What I was wondering…. was if you think our greedy girl over there should get to join us.” You look over your shoulder at the desperate woman, your eyes glossing over at the sight of her thighs pressed together so tightly they could surely suffocate you if your head found its way between them as it so often did. You turn back to Agatha and offer only a nod, not trusting your breath to stay loyal to you.

Agatha curled a finger, beckoning your girlfriend over and watching as she scrambled to the bed. “Now, Y/N, do you think I should use this” she held up the toy you’d previously picked out from her collection “on Rio here? Think it’d be fun to see her crumble under the stimulation and forget all about her little stone-cold act?” You nodded quicker than you knew possible. “No, I need words.” You swallow and breathe in shakily, hips still moving on their own accord. “Yes. Please, wanna see.” She just smiles and lifts you off of her leg as she readies her attention on the other girl.

“I think she has to earn it.”

Ok guys this was like… part 1.5, the first half of part 2 of the OG post. The rest of the warnings will apply to the next part if they weren’t in this one, and I’m hoping to have that one out like the middle of next week! LMK what yall wanna see in the next part beside what I have planned :)

Also for those who wanted to be tagged: @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @wandaslittlelove @babybeeelle @believe-in-magic13 @reeselov3salexvause @ahintofchaos @girlwithissuesworld @lovelyy-moonlight @teenybean @jorddddddddd

[theesirenteller]

Little Miss Dairy Queen.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ; ᴄʀᴏssɪɴɢ ᴘᴀᴛʜs !

M ♡ A ♡ S ♡ T ♡ E ♡ R ♡ L ♡ I ♡ S ♡ T

SYNOPSIS {Bluebell and Jax were inseparable—sneaking around, deeply in love, and always craving each other's touch. Their passion led to a secret marriage and a move to La Jolla, far from the chaos of Charming. But their happiness was shattered when Gemma, fueled by jealousy, discovered their marriage and viciously attacked Bluebell, causing her to miscarry. While Bluebell lay in a coma, Jax made the heartbreaking decision to leave.Seven months later, after being released from jail and dealing with Opie’s death, Jax returned for one night of passion, but left again before morning.Now, two years later, with Jax as SAMCRO president and married to Tara, fate brings him and Bluebell face-to-face once more. Is this their second chance, or will the years apart keep them from the love they once shared?}

The dusty La Jolla café was busier than usual, with the buzz of conversation and the hiss of an espresso machine filling the air. Bluebell stepped out of her beat-up sedan, brushing her hands over her denim overalls. The morning sun warmed her brown skin, but the sharp November breeze reminded her that winter was creeping in. She adjusted her thrifted cowboy hat, squinting against the sunlight as she slung her woven tote bag over her shoulder.

The bell above the café door jingled as she pushed it open, her boots clicking against the polished wood floor. Her thick Southern drawl, sharp and twangy like a fiddle on a Saturday night, carried over the din as she greeted the barista. “Mornin’, darlin’. Y’all still got that caramel pecan latte on the menu, or y’all done changed it up again?”

The barista smiled, clearly charmed. “Still got it, ma’am. You want it hot or iced?”

“Oh, hot for sure. Ain’t no sense in drinkin’ iced coffee when it’s colder than a well-digger’s ass outside,” Bluebell said, digging through her bag for her wallet.

A few people nearby chuckled at her colorful expression, and she tipped her hat in their direction, her smile polite but distant. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. The last two years had made her cautious, keeping most people at arm’s length. The walls she’d built around herself weren’t just for protection—they were for survival.

She took her latte to a table near the window, her eyes drifting to the beach just beyond the parking lot. La Jolla wasn’t Charming, and that was the point. No SAMCRO. No Gemma. No Jax. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the sweet warmth as it melted the tension in her chest.

“Bluebell? Is that you?”

The voice made her jump, and she turned to see a tall, curvy woman with dark hair and sharp eyes approaching her table. China, one of the old SAMCRO girlfriends, stood there in tight jeans and a leather jacket, her presence as commanding as ever.

“Lord have mercy,” Bluebell muttered under her breath, setting her cup down. “China? What the hell you doin’ all the way out here?”

China smirked, crossing her arms as she took a seat across from Bluebell without waiting for an invitation. “Could ask you the same thing, country girl. Ain’t nobody seen or heard from you since… well, since everything went down.”

Bluebell’s lips tightened, and she leaned back in her chair, her arms folding protectively over her chest. “Ain’t much to talk about. Needed a fresh start, so I packed up and left. End of story.”

China raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “Fresh start, huh? From what I heard, you had plenty of reasons to leave, but fresh starts don’t come easy. Especially not for someone with your history.”

Bluebell’s jaw clenched. “Look, I didn’t come here to rehash old business. What’s done is done.”

China leaned forward, her voice softening just a touch. “You know it don’t work like that, Bluebell. You can run, but you can’t outrun who you are—or the people tied to you.”

The words stung, but Bluebell kept her face neutral. “I ain’t runnin’. Just livin’ my life the best way I know how. And that don’t include gettin’ tangled up in SAMCRO drama no more.”

China studied her for a moment, then leaned back with a knowing smile. “Fair enough. But you might wanna watch your back, sugar. The past has a funny way of sneakin’ up on you when you least expect it.”

Bluebell’s stomach churned, but she refused to let it show. She tipped her hat toward China, her voice as steady as the Appalachian hills she’d grown up in. “Thanks for the advice. But I reckon I’ll take my chances.”

China stood, her smirk widening. “Suit yourself. But you and I both know this story ain’t over.”

Bluebell watched her saunter out of the café, her mind racing. She gripped her latte a little tighter, the heat burning her palms as if to keep her grounded. She’d left Charming behind for a reason, but seeing China stirred up a feeling she couldn’t shake.

The past wasn’t just a memory—it was a shadow. And shadows always found a way to follow.

The café door swung shut, the bell tinkling faintly behind China as she disappeared into the sunlight. Bluebell sat frozen for a moment, her fingers gripping the warm latte like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her mind churned with the memory of China’s smirk, her words dripping with unspoken truths.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where two identical little boys played in the backseat of her car, their giggles muffled by the glass. Witt and Wyatt were the reason she’d kept moving forward, the reason she’d rebuilt her life from the ashes of her marriage.

Bluebell smiled faintly as she watched them. Witt, the quieter of the two, was flipping through the pages of a tattered picture book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Wyatt, on the other hand, was a ball of energy, making exaggerated faces at his brother to try to get a laugh. Their sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes were all Jax, a daily reminder of the man she’d loved and lost. The boys both shared her tanned coily curly texture, plump lips, rounded nose and caught their sunny tanned skin from her as well.

Her heart ached at the thought, but she quickly pushed it aside. Witt and Wyatt didn’t need her tears—they needed her strength.

Gathering her things, Bluebell left the café and slid into the driver’s seat. As soon as she opened the door, Wyatt’s voice filled the car. “Mama! Witt said we’re gonna see sharks, but I told him we can’t, ’cause sharks live in the ocean, not at the park!”

Witt sighed, ever the little old man in a child’s body. “I didn’t say that, Wyatt. I said they got a shark tank at the aquarium. That’s different.”

Bluebell chuckled, her thick country accent softening the edges of her words. “Boys, y’all keep arguin’, and we ain’t goin’ nowhere but straight home. Ain’t nobody got time for all that fussin’.”

Both boys quieted immediately, though Wyatt crossed his arms with an exaggerated pout that made her grin.

As she drove toward the aquarium, her thoughts drifted back to China’s words. You and I both know this story ain’t over. The past wasn’t something Bluebell wanted to revisit, but it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Witt and Wyatt were growing up fast. They deserved to know their roots, even if those roots were tangled and messy. For years, she’d kept the truth about Jax from them, convinced they were better off without the weight of his world. But as much as she wanted to protect them, she couldn’t shield them forever.

The boys needed answers. And deep down, so did she.

The thought of returning to Charming made her stomach twist. But if she didn’t go back, the questions would keep piling up. Questions about their father. About what kind of legacy Witt and Wyatt would inherit.

As the boys chattered in the backseat, her grip tightened on the steering wheel. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to face the past head-on—for her boys, if not for herself.

The sign for the aquarium came into view, and Bluebell forced herself to smile. “Alright, y’all, we’re here. Y’all ready to see them sharks?”

“Yeah!” the boys shouted in unison, their excitement filling the car.

But as Bluebell parked and led her boys toward the entrance, the weight of her decision hung heavy in her chest. She didn’t know what would happen when she returned to Charming, but one thing was certain: she couldn’t keep running from her shadow.

Bluebell felt the weight of the bar’s dim lighting press against her as she stepped further inside. The air was thick with smoke and the chatter of men in leather jackets, some of them glancing her way, but none with the familiarity of what she used to know. She could feel the pulse of the place in her bones, but it wasn’t home. No, it hadn’t been home in years.

Her boys were in tow, eager and innocent, oblivious to the ghosts of their mother’s past that still haunted every corner of places like this. Witt and Wyatt had begged her to come, not really understanding what they were walking into, just excited to see the bikes and the flashing lights. And Bluebell couldn’t deny them a moment of fun. Not when they still had so little.

“Look, Mama! Big bikes!” Wyatt’s voice rang out with excitement as they passed a row of gleaming motorcycles parked against the wall. His finger pointed at the sleek black machine, the chrome shining under the low lights.

Witt, the quieter twin, eyed the bike warily before his voice cut through the buzz of the crowd. “What’s that bike doin’ here?” He was squinting, as if trying to figure out how it fit into a world he didn’t understand.

Bluebell followed his gaze, her heart stuttering when she saw him.

Jax.

Standing by his bike, his back to her, talking to a few of the guys in the club. The sight of him, in his familiar leather cut, made everything feel like it was spinning too fast. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she could feel the tension in her chest, like he was pulling at the threads of a life she’d spent so long trying to forget.

But before she could turn away, Wyatt—oblivious as always—bounded ahead, eager to get a closer look at the bikes. Witt followed more cautiously, tugging at Bluebell’s sleeve. “Mama... what’s wrong with that one?”

She glanced down at him, unsure how to answer. But Witt was already pointing at Jax’s bike, his voice raised in his usual blunt way, cutting through the noise of the bar.

“That bike’s all loud and shiny... why’s it gotta be like that? Ain’t nobody gonna ride that, are they?” Witt’s tone was matter-of-fact, like a child confused by something he couldn’t quite explain.

Bluebell’s chest tightened, a knot twisting in her stomach. She knew what he meant. Jax’s bike wasn’t just loud—it was a symbol, a reminder of everything she’d walked away from. Of the man who once stood beside her, now a shadow in the corner of her mind.

“Witt, honey shh,” Bluebell murmured, her hand hovering over her son’s shoulder, urging him to quiet down. “Don’t be rude. That bike’s just... a fancy one. Some folks like 'em like that.”

But Witt, ever the curious soul, wasn’t finished. He crossed his arms over his chest, scrunching up his nose in confusion. “Looks like it’s gotta be mean if it’s all shiny like that. Too much... too much for a kid like me.” He kicked at the ground, unimpressed by the glamour of the bike.

Bluebell’s lips tightened. It was hard to explain to her innocent children that some things didn’t have simple answers. Not when those things were tangled in love, pain, and the years she’d spent away from this world.

Her heart stuttered again as Jax’s figure loomed larger in her peripheral vision. He hadn’t turned around yet, but she could feel the inevitability of this moment drawing closer. Bluebell had been trying to shield her boys from the past, from their father’s legacy, but it felt like the past was making its way back to them on two wheels.

“Mama, do you think we could ride that one? Or is it too loud?” Wyatt piped up, pointing to a nearby bike that was less imposing but still impressive.

“Maybe later,” Bluebell answered, her voice steady but her insides shaking. “Come on, let’s go get some lemonade first. It’s too noisy around here.”

As they turned away, Witt threw one last glance over his shoulder, still eyeing Jax’s bike like it was some kind of mystery he couldn’t solve. “That bike’s got too much power. Why’s it gotta be like that?” he muttered to no one in particular.

Bluebell could only shake her head, not sure how to explain a world her boys would never fully understand. Not yet, anyway.

But as she walked them toward the back of the room, where a quieter corner offered them some space, she couldn’t escape the feeling that her past wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot. And as the sound of Jax’s voice rang out just behind her, she realized that their paths had crossed again, whether she was ready or not.

[sheriffsolidarity]

Scott is silent as Jimmy gives her a rundown of his home and life- he can’t tell exactly what type of silence, but he prays it’s the good kind. 

He moves to step out of the bathroom, to awkwardly excuse himself from the tangle of emotions and clinginess he’s started- ones that Scott, ever the wanderer, will surely not want to deal with. Jimmy is fine with the distance, fine with always being a few steps behind Scott, really, he is, there’s no aching void in his chest-

His internal ramble is cut silent by Scott wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him close and saying-

“You can’t get away from me that easily. I think that extra tooth brush might need to stay here on your counter in case I need it again, that okay?” He laughs softly, as if nervous to continue speaking. Jimmy’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than for Scott to keep speaking- anything to stay like this, Scott’s arm wrapped around his neck and their faces close enough to kiss. His voice is nervous as he continues. “Come back to help with my hair please? Unless you don’t want to of course. It’s up to you, in the end. I won’t push if you’re uncomfortable with it.” 

Jimmy is overwhelmed, half in awe and half in sheer affection.

Scott’s smiling, bright eyed, and asking him for help. Giving him a choice, as well- a request and an option, all wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To help and to have the choice- that’s all he’s ever wanted.

And Scott’s so bright. He always has been, of course- but this is different. It’s not the painful, blinding glow of a facade of confidence, but the open, gentle warmth of the flame on a cold deserts night.

And hidden deep in the back of his mind, Scott’s soft request and half-nervous smile fuels the old daydreams Jimmy’s kept boxed away for so long.

(In the dream, you haven’t changed. Well, not too much- Your body is your own again, fabric gone and old scars and tattoos back where they belong. You wear the same clothes, the same badge, the same arrogant confidence that hides a bashful pride in the work you do. 

The main change is the thin gold band you wear on a chain. 

It’s simple, practical- gold with nothing but a small poppy flower carved into it. You wear it like a king wears a crown, like a devotee wears a cross, like the moon wears the sun’s light.

In the dream, it’s your favorite time of year- a solstice. The sun is setting, but still casting her warm rays across your small town. People are singing, lights are on in every house, and all the doors are open- people spill into one house and out the other, exchanging words and gifts, helping cook, helping each other as they prepare for the potluck at dark. You’ve done your work- you’d spent all day making tamales with the older woman in the town, listening to their tales and gossip, chiming in when you could and listening intently when you couldn’t. 

Now, you stand on your porch, leaning against the railing. It’s peaceful, and you only wish for one thing in the bliss of quiet perfection.

And in the dream?

 You get your wish. Soft hands loop around your waist, and cold lips kiss the back of your neck before settling against your shoulder.

“Hey, Scottie.” You say. You can feel him smiling against the thin fabric of your button up- you’d declined to put your jacket on, the warmth of the summer more than enough for you. 

“Hello, Sheriff.” He greets. “Ready for the festivities? I thought you’d already be out there.” You chuckle. “Nah. Wanted to wait for you- it’s your first solstice with us, ain’t it? Figured it’d be best if I walked ya’ through it.”

“I can handle myself,  thank you! How complicated can it be?” 

You snort and respond. “Oh, more than you’d possibly imagine. You gotta learn our music, too.” 

Scott tilts her head with a questioning hum, and you giggles and untangle yourself out of her arms as long blue curls tickle your face. Free from his grasp, you turn to face your husband.

As always, your breath is taken away. You’ve seen Scott a uncountable number of times, in every way you could- with messy hair and a tired grumble into his coffee mug at 7 in the morning, half in tears while you hand her your old dresses and a folded flag, or with narrowed eyed and coy as he scams people for all they’re worth and then some, and smiling bright as she tells you Chromia.

Scott is perfect, in every way. You have said this, and will say this till you die- your husband was the best thing the gods ever made. And perhaps you’re biased, but all you want to do these days is be grateful, love and be loved. Not many people survive having their body and town and life used against them in some sick game and live happily despite it. You count your blessings as often as you can.

Your favorite blessing is staring right at you with a bemused smile. “Jimmy?” He calls, waving a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?”

You blink out of your grateful monologue, and smile sheepishly. “Sorry. Just got distracted by the view.” 

Scott’s face is filled with no small amount of satisfaction. “Ah- understandable.” He tilts his head with a coy grin. “I’m a sight for sore eyes, aren’t I?”

You laugh, and he does too. He steps forward, wrapping his arms back around your waist and pressing his head in the dip of your collarbone.

She’s quiet for a long moment, and you let yourself fall into the contented silence of late dusk with your husband.

It’s broken when she pulls away with a confused look. “Wait- sorry, music? Can we circle back to that?”

You shake your head. “No, you gotta learn it on the fly like we all do! I’ll probably drag you onstage with me, when it’s our turn.” You tease her, knowing exactly what her perfectionist brain will do with that information.

Scott looks vaguely horrified. “Oh my god. I’m going to make a fool of myself- sorry, you perform? On a stage? You want me to sing?”

You nod excitedly. “Yeah! It’s not formal, or nothin’- Just a nice thing we like to do.”

Scott still looks hesitant, that same old anxiety of not being good enough rising back up. Jimmy fights this the best he can, with a slight pout and a sad voice. 

“I don’t wanna perform alone.. besides, it’d be a shame if we deprived Tumble Town of your lovely voice!”

Scott stares at him, bright eyes conflicted, before softening with a smile. “Okay, fine. Only for you, though.”

She still seems nervous, so you grin brightly at her. “Oh my! The great thief of Chromia, agreein’ to performin’ at little ol’ Tumble Town’s solstice! What an honour!”

Scott rolls her eyes with a barely hidden smile, and bats at you with a gentle hand. “Shut up, oh my god-”

You both break into giggles after a few seconds, and you lean down to press a kiss against Scott’s forehead. 

“You and me, aight? Forever and always.”

Your love echoes it back, muffled as she presses her head back into the crook of your neck.

“You and me. Forever and always.” )’

Jimmy’s pulled away from his daydreaming by Scott humming anxiously. 

Jimmy, remembering the question, nods excitedly. It’s almost reminiscent of a puppy wagging its tail, how genuinely delighted he seems at the offer. “Yeah! Of course, I’d be honoured. Uhm- You sure you okay with that? Like, one hundred percent?” He doesn’t wanna take Scott up on an offer he’s not totally okay with, of course- even though Scott’s the one asking, Jimmy just needs to check. Just to be sure.

(He really, really hopes Scott means it.)

Scott lands in Tumble Town hair windswept from flight but still intact in its usual long braid.

“Oh, Jimmy!” He calls flirtatiously.

-@scottofchromia

Jimmy takes a deep, nervous breath, plastering a smile on his face. The muscles in his face are more string than proper connective tissue, end up in more of an awkward grin.

“Hey, darlin’. How was the flight over?’

His tone is confident, disguising the panic at seeing a pretty boy. Sue him, he’s a cowboy- of course he’s gay.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

It does annoy me to see those shippy posts that are like lists of activities "that we do platonically" (with the implication that it's not platonic). But actions aren't ever inherently romantic. I could sleep in the same bed with someone and brush their hair and kiss them and have sex with them and hold their hand when we walk and snuggle on the sofa with them and make them packed lunches with cute little notes of how I hope they're having a good day and get a cat together and plan a life together. And they could be my best friend with no romantic attachment required. It's about intent and what you decide together that your relationship is, right?

Which is not to say "them in the [fictional media] aren't gay stop making everything about that they could be Just FriendsTM", because in the fictional media there is (probably) framing of the actions in a romantic light demonstrating romantic intention and feeling. And if not in the media itself, whatever fan works are being created for them would. But merely listing actions as romantic without that framing...it's not the same and to me it reads as devaluing platonic relationships as a whole. Which I'm sure is not the intent!!

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write smut ?

(@urfriendlywriter | req by @rbsstuff @yourlocalmerchgirl anyone under the appropriate age, please proceed with caution :') hope this helps guys! )

writing smut depends on each person's writing style but i think there's something so gut-wrenchingly beautiful about smut when it's not very graphic and vivid. like., would this turn on a reader more?

"he kissed her, pulling her body closer to him."

or this?

"His lips felt so familiar it hurt her heart. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. She let herself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against her spine. He drew her closer."

(Before proceeding further, these are all "in my opinion" what I think would make it better. Apply parts of the advice you like and neglect the aspects you do not agree with it. Once again I'm not saying you have to follow a certain type of style to write smut! Creative freedom exists for a reason!)

One may like either the top or the bottom one better, but it totally depends on your writing to make it work. Neither is bad, but the second example is more flattering, talking literally. (Here is me an year after writing this post, i think, either is amazing, depending on the context. the type of book you're writing, your writing style and preferences!)

express one's sensory feelings, and the readers will automatically know what's happening.

writing, "her walls clenched against him, her breath hitching with his every thrust" is better than writing, "she was about to cum".

(edit: once again, hi, it's me. Either is amazing depending on ur writing style. Everything at the end is about taste.)

here are some vocabulary you can introduce in your writing:

whimpered, whispered, breathed lightly, stuttered, groaned, grunted, yearned, whined, ached, clenched, coaxed, cried out, heaved, hissed

shivering, shuddering, curling up against one's body, squirming, squirting, touching, teasing, taunting, guiding, kneeling, begging, pining, pinching, grinding,

swallowing, panting, sucking in a sharp breath, thrusting, moving gently, gripped, biting, quivering,

nibbling, tugging, pressing, licking, flicking, sucking, panting, gritting, exhaling in short breaths,

wet kisses, brushing soft kisses across their body (yk where), licking, sucking, teasing, tracing, tickling, bucking hips, forcing one on their knees

holding hips, guiding the one on top, moving aimlessly, mindlessly, sounds they make turn insanely beautiful, sinful to listen to

some adverbs to use: desperately, hurriedly, knowingly, teasingly, tauntingly, aimlessly, shamelessly, breathlessly, passionately, delicately, hungrily

he sighed with pleasure

her skin flushed

he shuddered when her body moved against his

he planted kisses along her jawline

her lips turned red, messy, kissed and flushed.

his hands were on his hair, pulling him.

light touches traveled down his back

words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more

he arched his back, his breath quivering

her legs parted, sinking into the other's body, encircling around their waist.

+ mention the position, how they're being moved around---are they face down, kneeling, or standing, or on top or on bottom--it's really helpful to give a clear picture.

+ use lustful talk, slow seduction, teasing touches, erratic breathing, give the readers all while also giving them nothing. make them yearn but DO NOT PROLONG IT.

sources to refer to for more:

gesture that gets me on my knees !!

(more to comeee, check out my hot or kisses prompts on my master list!)

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

You Should Have Listened

Soft Mommy!Agatha Harkness x Mean Daddy!Rio Vidal x bratty!fem!reader

Word count: 2.5K words

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation, Power Play, Orgasm Denial/Control, Degradation, Consensual Non-Consent (CNC), Choking (Light Breath Play), Rough Handling, Punishment Kink, Brat Taming

Authors notes: My first time writing Rio and she'll be added to my list of characters I'll write for~

The tension in the air was thick, simmering with the consequences of your behavior throughout the day. You'd been testing their patience from the moment you woke up—snarky remarks, sly smirks, brushing off their warnings with a flippant attitude.

Agatha’s eyes, usually calculating and sharp, were now darker, and her lips curled into a smile that promised retribution. Rio, on the other hand, wasn’t smiling at all. The quiet intensity in her gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this how you want to end your day?” Rio’s voice was low, dangerously calm, her brown eyes narrowing on you from across the room. She stood with her arms crossed, muscles tense beneath her tailored suit, exuding a dominant energy that made your heart race. Her presence commanded authority, and you could tell she was done playing your games.

Agatha, perched elegantly on the arm of a chair, tilted her head, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder. “You’ve been quite the little brat today, haven’t you?” she purred, her voice laced with dark amusement. “I think it’s time you learned some respect.” Her smile widened as she looked at Rio. “Don’t you agree, darling?”

Rio’s jaw clenched as she stepped closer, towering over you. “I’ve had enough,” she growled, her voice dripping with authority. “You’ve been begging for this all day, and now you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

Before you could respond, Rio’s hand was around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who was in charge. “On your knees,” she ordered, her eyes daring you to disobey.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, testing the limits just once more. But that was all it took for Rio to tighten her grip slightly, her eyes blazing with warning. “Now.”

Your knees hit the floor, heart pounding in your chest. Agatha’s soft laughter echoed through the room as she watched the scene unfold, clearly enjoying every moment. “Good girl,” she cooed, her voice condescending as she stood up, walking over to stand beside Rio.

“You’ve been playing games, little one,” Agatha said, her fingers trailing along your jaw as she circled around you. “But now? Now we get to play our game.”

Rio’s hand moved from your throat, grabbing your chin to force you to look up at her. “And trust me,” she said, voice rough with restrained anger, “you’re not going to enjoy it nearly as much as we will.”

This was the consequence of pushing them too far. And deep down, as much as you feared what was to come, you knew part of you had been craving this all along.

With Rio the punishments were long and harsh. So the moment the words, "I think since she wants it so badly maybe we should overstimulate her?" Came out of her mouth to Agatha you were squirming.

The moment Rio's words hung in the air, your stomach twisted with anticipation. Overstimulation. You knew exactly what that meant, and your body reacted immediately, squirming under their combined gaze. A nervous whimper slipped from your lips as Rio’s grip on your chin tightened, her eyes dark with intent.

Agatha’s laugh was soft and cruel, sending shivers down your spine. She walked around you slowly, her heels clicking against the floor, creating an echo that only intensified the tension. "Oh, I like that idea," Agatha purred, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Since she’s been such a brat, it’s only fair we give her exactly what she’s been asking for… more than she can handle.”

You could already feel the heat building within you, the fear and desire twisting together in a way that made it hard to breathe. Rio’s expression was unreadable, her face set in a hard line as she watched you struggle. There was no softness in her now—just the unyielding force of her authority. She had warned you, given you chances to behave, and now it was time to pay the price.

"Look at her," Agatha said, amusement dancing in her voice as she came to stand behind you, her fingers trailing down your back teasingly. "Already squirming and we haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Rio’s lips curled into a small, dangerous smile as she knelt in front of you, her face inches from yours. “You wanted to push us all day. And now that you’ve got our attention, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

Without warning, Agatha’s hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back roughly, exposing your neck. “No more of your little games,” she whispered into your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s our turn.”

Rio’s eyes flicked up to Agatha’s, a silent exchange passing between them before she turned her full attention back to you. “We’re going to take you apart, piece by piece,” Rio said, her voice low and authoritative. “And you’re going to take it, every last bit of it. No whining, no begging for it to stop.”

Agatha’s grip on your hair tightened as she forced you to look at Rio. “She’ll beg,” Agatha said with a smirk. “But we won’t be listening, will we?”

Your heart raced, the reality of your punishment sinking in. Rio’s hands were already trailing down your body, her touch firm but calculated. The sensation sent electric pulses through you, and you tried to hold still, knowing how much worse it would be if you squirmed too much. But the moment Rio’s hand slipped between your thighs, teasingly light at first, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

“She’s already soaked,” Rio said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Guess she really does want this.”

“Of course she does,” Agatha cooed, her tone mocking as she let go of your hair and moved to kneel behind you. She pressed her body against yours, her breath ghosting over your neck as her hands roamed your sides. “She can pretend all she wants, but deep down, this is exactly what she craves. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of Rio’s touch, but Agatha didn’t seem to need a reply. Her teeth grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” she whispered. “We’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve… over and over again.”

And with that, Rio’s fingers pressed harder, slipping inside you, slow at first but deep. You moaned, your body tensing under the sudden intrusion, but it was only the beginning. Rio’s dark eyes locked onto yours, her gaze never wavering as she set a pace that was relentless, her fingers moving in a rhythm designed to push you closer to the edge.

Agatha’s hand snaked around your waist, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin while her lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. “No holding back now,” she murmured, her voice a dangerous promise. “You’re going to give us everything.”

The pleasure built quickly, too quickly, and you found yourself struggling to breathe, your body teetering on the brink. But just as you were about to fall over that edge, Rio stopped, pulling her hand away with a smirk as you gasped in frustration.

"Not yet," she said darkly. "We’re just getting started.”

A frustrated whine slipped from your throat, your body shaking with the denial of release. Agatha chuckled darkly behind you, her breath hot against the back of your neck as her hand wandered lower, fingers ghosting just over the spot where you needed her most.

"You’re going to learn patience," Agatha whispered, her voice a mixture of menace and playfulness. "You’ve been so eager, so desperate for attention all day. Now we’ll give it to you—but not in the way you want."

Rio leaned back slightly, still kneeling in front of you, her dark eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction as she watched you squirm. “I told you,” she said, her voice steady and firm, “you’re not getting out of this until we decide you’ve had enough.” Her fingers teased your inner thighs, dangerously close but never giving you the satisfaction of more.

You tried to hold still, knowing it would only drag this out, but the combination of Agatha’s lips on your neck and Rio’s agonizingly slow touches had you trembling with need. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, and despite yourself, you shifted, trying to get more, but Rio’s hand pressed firmly on your thigh, keeping you still.

“Look at her,” Agatha purred, her lips curving into a smirk as she watched you struggle. “So needy, so desperate. It’s almost pitiful.” Her fingers slipped lower, just barely brushing over your clit, the brief contact sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily, but Agatha pulled her hand away just as quickly, leaving you gasping in frustration. “Patience, little one,” she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. “We’re nowhere near done with you yet.”

Rio’s fingers returned, slipping inside you again, but this time, her pace was torturously slow, dragging out every movement. She watched every twitch of your body, every gasp that escaped your lips, and she took her time, deliberately keeping you on the edge without ever letting you tip over.

“You’re going to beg by the time we’re done,” Rio said softly, her tone laced with a dangerous promise. “Beg for release, beg for mercy. But it won’t come until we’ve wrung every last ounce of control from you.”

Agatha’s laughter was low and amused as her hand came to rest on your throat, her grip just tight enough to remind you of your place. “And when you do beg,” she whispered into your ear, “we’ll make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the weight of their control pressed down on you. They weren’t going to let you off easy—not after the way you’d pushed them all day. Agatha’s fingers returned, this time stroking your clit with feather-light touches that made you arch against her, desperate for more.

“Such a needy little thing,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. “But you’ll take what we give you. Nothing more.”

Rio’s pace quickened suddenly, fingers pumping in and out of you with precision, and the combined sensation of her and Agatha’s teasing touches had you spiraling toward release again. Your body tensed, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure built, unbearable and all-consuming.

But just as you were about to fall apart, Rio stopped again, pulling her hand away, leaving you gasping, trembling, and completely undone.

“Not yet,” she growled, eyes dark with amusement as you let out a strangled cry of frustration. “You don’t get to finish until we say so.”

Agatha’s grip tightened on your throat as she chuckled softly. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t worry, you’ll get there eventually… but only after you’ve earned it.”

The frustration overwhelmed you, your body aching with the need for release, but you knew better than to beg. They’d been so clear—any sign of weakness would only fuel their cruelty further. Still, your legs trembled, your breath hitched, and despite your best efforts, a desperate whimper escaped your lips.

Agatha’s lips curved into a wicked smile at the sound. “Hear that, Rio? She’s already starting to break.”

Rio’s hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “Oh, she’ll break,” Rio said, voice low and deadly, “but not until we’ve had our fun.”

Her hand trailed back down between your legs, fingers slipping inside you once more with a roughness that made you gasp. This time, there was no teasing, no slow build. Rio’s pace was brutal, fingers thrusting deep inside you with a rhythm designed to push you toward the edge with terrifying speed.

Agatha’s fingers danced over your clit, circling, pressing, never giving you a moment of reprieve. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every muscle straining against the overwhelming sensations they were forcing on you.

You were teetering on the brink, the pleasure so intense it almost hurt, your mind spiraling as you struggled to hold yourself together. But there was no escape—not with Agatha’s hand tight around your throat, not with Rio’s relentless pace, not with both of them so focused on breaking you completely.

“You’re so close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Agatha whispered, her voice like silk against your ear. “So close to giving in. To falling apart for us.”

Your body betrayed you, hips bucking against Rio’s hand as the pressure built and built, pushing you to the very edge of sanity. Your breaths were shallow, gasping, as the pleasure became too much, your mind hazy from the overwhelming sensations.

Rio’s eyes met yours, her gaze hard and unforgiving. “Come,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Come for us now.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. And the moment the words left her mouth, your body responded, finally letting go. You cried out, back arching, every muscle tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, so intense it left you trembling and breathless. The orgasm ripped through you, relentless and overwhelming, pushing you to the point where you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—couldn’t do anything but feel.

But they didn’t stop.

Agatha’s fingers kept working your clit, drawing out every ounce of pleasure as Rio’s thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t falter. You were still riding the high of your release when it became too much, the overstimulation hitting you like a shock to your system. You squirmed, tried to pull away, but there was no escaping their control.

“Ah, ah,” Agatha teased, her grip on your throat tightening slightly as she kept you in place. “We’re not finished with you yet.”

The sensations became unbearable, your body writhing with the intensity of it all. You whimpered, legs shaking as another orgasm built, faster this time, the pleasure merging with the pain of overstimulation until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Look at her,” Rio growled, her pace merciless as she pushed you through the second wave of pleasure. “Falling apart so beautifully.”

You were too far gone to respond, your body shuddering as another climax ripped through you, your mind a haze of white-hot pleasure and overwhelming exhaustion. Agatha’s grip finally loosened as she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, her voice a purr in your ear.

“There’s our good girl,” she cooed softly, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “Now you’ve learned your lesson.”

Rio’s fingers finally slowed, drawing out the last of your pleasure before she pulled away, leaving you breathless and trembling on the floor. She wiped her hand on a nearby cloth, her expression cool and collected as she stood up, towering over you once more.

“You’ll behave tomorrow,” Rio said, her voice dark and certain, “or this will seem like mercy compared to what we’ll do next time.”

Agatha smiled sweetly as she knelt beside you, her hand brushing a lock of hair from your damp forehead. “But don’t worry, darling. If you do behave,” she murmured, “we might even be nice to you.”

You lay there, exhausted and utterly spent, as they both stood over you, their presence still commanding, still powerful.

You’d pushed them too far, and they had broken you, exactly as promised.

[entitled-fangirl]

Heterochromia.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT 18+ PLEASE

Summary: the reader finally notices Cregan's eyes are two different colors. It enthralls her.

Warnings: sex, p in v, riding, kissing, talks of sex, the works, idk I didn't proofread so my b

A/n: this was based on an ask!

Masterlist

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

..............................................

Cregan held her to him as they both came down from their highs.

Sweat covered both of their foreheads, their hair greased with it. Cregan ran a hand across her forehead, gathering her hair and moving it behind her ear.

Cregan held himself up with one arm, the other caressing her face gently. His voice was soft. "You alright?"

She nodded, her eyes still glazed over and her breathing erratic.

His eyes studied her momentarily before deciding that was enough for him. 

The two sat in a brief silence as they tried to gain their bearings, the only sound being their panting and the occasional kiss between them. 

Finally, she broke the silence.

"Your eyes are beautiful."

It was so soft, he barely heard it. His brows furrowed as he looked down at her, the sheer blinds on the window doing nothing to keep out the light from outside, "Hmm?"

"Your eyes, Cregan." Her hand came up to his cheek. "They're quite lovely."

His hand on her face reached out and grabs her wrist, pulling her hand down to his lips where he kisses her palm. "You're far lovelier."

A sweet smile dons her face as Cregan continues to lay soft kisses against her palm.

"Perhaps a bath is in order?" She asked.

He pulls away from her hand finally, looking back down at her. "I do believe so."

She moves to sit up, hissing slightly at the burn inside her.

Cregan grabs her hips, keeping her down on the bed "What do you think you're doing?" He asks lowly.

"Getting… getting the servants?" She asked in confusion.

His eyes study her face before he shakes his head, "My lady wife will do no such thing."

"Cregan-"

A heavy kiss is laid on her lips, but before she has time to react, Cregan is already pushing himself off of the bed to stand. 

He dresses his lower half, taking the occasional glance to her, who is watching him just as much.

He walks to the door, poking his head out for just a moment before returning to her with a damp cloth.

He pauses at the foot of the bed, his eyes staring at her frame lovingly, "You're the most beautiful creature I've laid eyes on."

She smiles, pushing herself up but Cregan quickly sits at the end of the bed and pushes her shoulder down.

"Let me take care of you."

She's quick to give in, never one to fight the man. 

He pushes her thighs apart, a feeling she was not unfamiliar with, but a soft gasp left her lips when the cold cloth was brushed across the inside of her thighs. 

Cregan's quick to apologize, "'m sorry, my love. Didn't think it was too cold."

But it doesn't stop him from cleaning her up. With every wipe of the cold cloth, he bent down and placed a warm kiss in its wake. When the cloth began to clean further up, she let out a soft groan, "Careful, Cregan, or we'll never get to that bath."

He grinned, sitting up and looking over at her, "That wouldn't be so terrible, would it?"

She let out a breathy laugh, "You're a wonder, Stark."

"I only aim to please you, my lady."

With her cleaned up, Cregan threw the cloth aside. He reached down to the floor, picking up his tunic. "I had the bath drawn in your chambers. I… I didn't want the servants to see you until you felt ready to be seen."

He moved to the side of the bed, reaching an arm under her back to help her sit up. "I do hope that was alright."

She nodded, placing a soft kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

He threw the tunic over his wife's head, the long fabric puddling around her waist. 

He looked around, grabbing his cloak and pulling it over her shoulders.

She giggled, "What are you doing?"

Cregan then stretched both arms under her, picking her up off of the bed with ease. 

One of her hands wrapped around his neck, the other pulling the cloak around her half naked form as she shrieked in surprise.

"I'm taking my beautiful wife to bathe. Is that alright?"

She grinned, "I suppose."

…

Though insistent that she shouldn't strain her legs, Cregan couldn't tell her no when she straddled him in the tub.

At least in the water, he could support her hips. 

"They really are," she insisted.

He threw his head back with a light laugh, "I doubt your words, my love."

Both of her hands cupped his face, "They are truly the most spectacular colors I've ever seen."

"My eyes are not. They are not even the same color," he argued.

"And you believe that to be a defect?" She scoffed.

He rolled his eyes playfully, "No. Only… unusual."

"There is much beauty in the unusual, you know." She said in a insistent tone.

Only then did the words truly hit him. Cregan had once been insecure of his eyes as a young boy. In the North, it was easy to hide things. Eyes were never one of them.

His fingers dug into her hips lightly, "You truly think so?"

She noticed the softness that had suddenly come into his voice. She tilted her head. "I do. Why else would I say such a thing to you?"

His shoulders shrugged, "Dunno. I guess I've just never believe that about myself."

She kissed his cheek, "Allow me to change that."

…

The next day, the two spent the day in the courtyard. Cregan worked on his sword skills, while she sat nearby with her book. 

When the spar between him and his colleague had finished, he tossed Ice into the dirt and walked to her. 

Only when his shadow ran over the pages in her book did she notice him, prompting her to look up at the towering man. 

"Did you win?"

A breathy chuckle left his lips, "My love, I always win."

He pulled the book from her hands and knelt down in front of her. "I'll be finished in just a bit. Any plans for the rest of the day?"

Sunlight entered the courtyard, an unusual event for the North to receive direct sun. 

Cregan look up at the sky, squinting his eyes and looking back to her.

If he said something after that, she didn't hear it. She was so focused on the way the sun lit his eyes to brighter hues. 

It was breathtaking.

"I do." Was all she said to his question.

…

A few hours later, she was dragging a blindfolded Warden of the North behind her as she pulled him into her room.

She smiled when she saw the sunlight was still there. Though sunset, it lent a single golden beam through her window. 

Perfect.

"Sit." 

Cregan let out a scoff. "Where am I?"

"Sit down, Cregan."

He huffed, pulling his cloak out and sitting down on the cold floor.

The sun shine brightly through the blindfold, and he grimaced lightly.

He grunted when she began to pull at his clothes, stripping him of his cloak, and soon his tunic.

"My love-"

"-Trust me."

He continued to sit there, the sun keeping the cold chill of Winterfell away.

When her hands unbuttoned his trousers, he grabbed her wrist harshly, as if instinct, "Are you sure?"

She grinned, though it was still unseen by his eyes. "Very much so."

He hissed when her fingers began to pump up and down his length. 

"Sit still, Cregan."

He hadn't even noticed his hips moving. 

Soon, he felt her body heat near his.

She straddled him, sitting herself down on his length with a hiss of her own.

"Gods," he groaned.

When she felt adjusted to him, she yanked the blindfold off, the sun overwhelming for his eyes for a moment. 

When they adjusted, he saw where he was, but more accurately, the bright smile that his wife wore. 

"Pretty girl, what is this?"

"I want to see you fall apart for me. Your eyes. I want to see your eyes like this when I pleasure you."

Her hips rolled, making Cregan's hands grip her hips as he groaned. 

When his eyes closed, she lightly tapped his cheek, "Open. I want to see you. All of you."

The brilliant blue and green in his eyes came to life, as did he.

Her breath hitched at the sight, prompting her to roll her hips again.

…

Anytime the sun managed to visit Winterfell after that day, strangely enough, no one would see the Lord and Lady Stark. 

They were busy during those times, it seemed.

………………………………………..

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne

[romugh]

INTIMATE STUDIES - nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, gp!bottom!natasha, handjob (n rcv), blowie (n rcv), cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex

wc- 2.3k of pure smut

a/n- quick drabble as i'm working my way through BIOLOGY stuff as an ASTROPHISICS and ARCHITECTURE STUDENT. make it make sense?? I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE. not proofread, wrote this in like ten minutes as i was eating an apple :D

synopsis- you're studying biology, natasha comes in, you're doing biology (with her).

The past four hours had been a never-ending slog of human reproduction notes, diagrams of genitals, and biological functions that seemed completely irrelevant to your degree. You were an astrophysics major — the mysteries of black holes and quantum fields were your calling, not the intricacies of testes and ovaries. Yet here you were, neck-deep in textbooks, scribbling notes on a subject you didn’t care for in the slightest. Your biology exam was in two days, and every second spent on it felt like time wasted.

Your hand ached from writing, and your eyes burned from staring at diagrams. The irritation crept up further, gnawing at you, until the sound of the door creaking open drew your attention. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Natasha’s soft voice greeted you. There was a tentative innocence to her tone, one that always tugged at your heart in a way you could never quite explain. Natasha, your shy and awkward girlfriend, a literature major who found comfort in the written word more than social situations. Your Natty — so soft, blushing, and oh-so-easy to tease.

You glanced up, the sight of her instantly pulling you from your academic misery. Natasha stood in the doorway, blonde hair slightly tousled from the nap she’d taken, round glasses sitting low on her nose, and your oversized shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. The shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling past her hands, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how effortlessly adorable she looked. The fact that her boxers were barely visible under the hem of the shirt only made it worse.

She stood there for a moment, awkwardly shifting on her feet, and something about the way she looked at you made a surge of desire shoot through your veins. Natasha was always so shy, always so unsure about these moments. But that only made your pulse quicken, knowing just how easy it was to make her come undone.

“Natty,” you called, your voice low and teasing. “Want to help me study?”

She blinked, eyes wide behind her glasses, but she stepped closer, that innocent curiosity mixed with a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. Her bare legs peeked out from under the shirt, the fabric brushing against her thighs as she padded towards you. She always had this way about her—this quiet, almost timid energy that made you want to take care of her, tease her, ruin her. “Sure,” she agreed, pushing her glasses up. “What are we studying?”

You smirked, eyes narrowing as you slid your textbook to the side. “Human reproduction.”

Her blush deepened, but she tried to play it off, oblivious to the trap you were setting. “I’m not sure I can help with that. I mean, I’m more into poetry than—”

You smirked, your eyes tracing the length of her body, admiring the way the fabric of your shirt hugged her frame. “Oh, I think you can. In fact, you might be the perfect study partner.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she fumbled for words. “W-what do you mean?”

You caught her by the hips, guiding her until she stood between your legs, her lithe form pressed against your knees. Her blush deepened, her lips parting as she looked down at you, curiosity and nervousness swirling in her eyes.

“I can show you,” you whispered, running your hands up the sides of her thighs, pushing the hem of the oversized shirt higher and higher, revealing the fabric of her boxers. Your fingertips traced the outline of her bulge, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric. Natasha gasped softly, her breath hitching as you palmed her gently.

“See,” you murmured, your hand cupping her clothed bulge. “This is all part of the reproductive process.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath coming out shaky as she looked down at you. “I-I know that,” she stammered, but the way her legs trembled betrayed her completely.

“You didn’t expect to be part of the lesson, though, did you?” you teased, your fingers moving expertly as you tugged her boxers down, letting them pool around her ankles. Natasha whimpered softly, her hand clutching the back of your chair for support as you wrapped your hand around her fully. “So sensitive,” you cooed, stroking her with deliberate slowness, your thumb teasing the tip just enough to make her gasp.

Her entire body tensed, hips instinctively bucking into your hand as you increased the pace slightly, watching her lose composure. "Y-you're—," she tried to speak, but her voice faltered, her body betraying her with every twitch and pulse of her length in your grip.

Natasha's breathing grew more ragged, her chest heaving as she clutched the back of your chair, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Her hips twitched involuntarily into your hand, every stroke sending ripples of pleasure through her body. You could feel her getting closer, the way her length pulsed in your palm, the faint whimpers that escaped her lips.

“Y-you’re gonna make me—" Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper, her words tumbling out in a breathless stammer as she squirmed in your grasp. Her face was flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment as she tried to hold back, but you had no intention of letting her.

"Let go," you murmured softly, your voice thick with dominance. Your hand worked her faster, the slick slide of your palm coaxing her to the edge. "Come for me, Natty."

It was all she needed. With a strangled moan, her body tensed, hips jerking forward as she came, her release spilling over your hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. You watched her, captivated by the sight of her completely undone, trembling in your hand as she rode out her orgasm.

But you weren’t done yet.

Without missing a beat, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the tip of her sensitive length, tasting the remnants of her release. Natasha shuddered, still trying to catch her breath, but when your tongue flicked out to lick her clean, her whole body jerked, a soft gasp escaping her as you took her into your mouth.

“You taste so good,” you murmured against her, the words muffled by the weight of her in your mouth. Natasha's hips bucked again, her hands gripping the chair for dear life once again as you began to work her with your tongue, teasing her back to hardness.

Natasha's body was still trembling from her first orgasm, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as you continued your slow, teasing licks. She tried to steady herself, gripping the back of your chair harder, but the sensations were too much. Every flick of your tongue made her hips jerk forward involuntarily, and before she even knew it, she was starting to harden again.

You smirked against her length, feeling her twitch as she became fully hard in your mouth. "That's it," you murmured, lips brushing against her sensitive skin. "You're already ready for more, huh?"

Natasha whimpered, her face flushed as she bit her lip, too embarrassed to answer. But you didn’t need her to. You wanted to drive her over the edge again, and this time, you were going to take your time. Wrapping your hand around the base of her cock, you began to stroke her in tandem with the slow, deliberate bob of your head.

The warmth of your mouth surrounded her, your tongue pressing against the underside of her length as you took her deeper, inch by inch. Natasha's knees buckled slightly, and her hands flew to your hair for support, fingers tangling in the strands as she struggled to stay standing. Every moan she tried to stifle only grew louder as you picked up the pace, the wet, obscene sounds of your lips moving over her driving her wild.

"S-so good," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, shaking with each breath. "P-please, don’t stop."

You had no intention of stopping. Your hand continued to pump the base of her cock while your mouth worked the rest, hollowing your cheeks as you took her deeper. Natasha's hips bucked forward again, her body betraying her as she chased the pleasure. Her breaths were ragged, and you could feel her getting close again, her thighs trembling as you sucked harder, faster.

She didn’t last long. With a strangled cry, Natasha came, her entire body trembling as her release shot into your mouth. You didn’t falter, swallowing around her, not giving her a chance to recover. Her grip on your hair tightened, her whole body buckling as she tried to remain upright, but the sensation of your tongue still working her through her second orgasm made her lose control completely.

But you weren’t finished.

As soon as you felt her begin to soften slightly, you pulled back just enough to take a deep breath before plunging your mouth down again, taking her all the way to the base in one fluid motion. Natasha let out a strangled moan, her hips jerking as your throat constricted around her. She was completely helpless now, every thought leaving her mind as she lost herself in the feeling of your mouth wrapped so tightly around her. The wet, gagging sounds you made as you deepthroated her pushed her over the edge once again, her body trembling violently as she came a third time, filling your throat with her release.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, barely able to stand as her legs gave out beneath her, her knees buckling. "I-I can't…"

But the way her hands tightened in your hair told you that she didn’t want you to stop.

As Natasha trembled before you, utterly spent and flushed from her release, you pulled away, wiping your lips with a satisfied smirk. “I think we’re done here,” you said, standing up from your chair, feigning a tone of finality.

The look of disappointment that flickered across her face was instant, and though she tried to hide it, it was exactly what you wanted. A small, embarrassed frown tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting at her sides, but she avoided meeting your gaze.

"Something wrong?" you teased, letting your words hang in the air. Natasha’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. You grinned, taking a step closer, deliberately invading her space.

"Aw, poor baby," you cooed, running a finger along her cheek, your touch feather-light. "Were you hoping for more? Did you think I was really going to leave you like this?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes darting up to meet yours, wide and vulnerable. Before she could react, you pushed her down onto your chair, her body falling back against the seat as you straddled her in one swift motion. Her cock, still hard despite her exhaustion, slid inside you with ease, stretching you as you sank down on her with a satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her head falling back against the chair as her hands instinctively grabbed at your hips, trying to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensation of being buried inside of you, your warmth enveloping her completely.

Without missing a beat, you turned the chair to face your desk once more, your movements deliberate and controlled as you positioned yourself. Natasha’s grip on your hips tightened, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet.

You settled yourself, leaning forward slightly to grab a pen, pretending to return to your notes. Natasha’s eyes, however, were drawn to your cleavage, the way your breasts were just inches from her face. Her restraint shattered as her hands moved up from your hips, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breast while the other wrapped around your back to pull you closer.

She began to worship your breasts, her lips eagerly pressing against your skin, kissing and sucking, leaving wet marks along the curve of your chest. The soft weight of your breasts in her hands made her lose all sense of control. Her hips bucked slightly beneath you, the friction sending shocks of pleasure through both of you. You couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well what was coming next.

Natasha’s breathing grew more erratic, her kisses becoming more desperate, and before she even realized what was happening, she was coming inside of you. Her hands stilled, her body tensed beneath yours, her hips jerking up as she filled you with her release, barely fifteen seconds after you’d settled onto her lap.

“F-fuck!” Natasha gasped, her face flushed with shame as the realization hit her. “I—oh god, I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

Her words were cut off as her eyes widened in panic, suddenly aware that you hadn’t put a condom on her. Her hands gripped your waist, frozen in place as she stammered out apologies.

"Shh," you murmured, cupping her cheek with a soft smile, brushing her lips with your thumb. "It's okay, Nat. Don't worry." You leaned down, kissing her forehead softly. “I wanted this.”

Natasha looked up at you with wide, bewildered eyes, her blush intensifying as she tried to comprehend your words. “But I—”

You cut her off with another kiss, silencing her before she could spiral further into embarrassment. “I said, it’s okay,” you repeated, your voice firm but gentle. "You did nothing wrong."

Despite her lingering guilt, Natasha nodded, her breathing still unsteady. Her body relaxed beneath you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your chest, her blush deepening as she continued to mumble soft apologies.

For the rest of the day, you stayed that way, continuing to study while cockwarming her, her cock still snug inside you. Every half hour, like clockwork, Natasha’s body betrayed her once more. She’d shudder beneath you, gripping your hips as another orgasm washed over her, filling you again and again.

And each time, her face would flush with embarrassment, her whispered apologies slipping from her lips, but you simply smiled, squeezing her tighter, grounding her in your warmth as you reassured her again and again: this was exactly what you wanted.

a/n again- oops? i'm going back to studying again, see y'all! (no taglist for drabbles, unless y'all want one i suppose)

[januaryembrs]

ahhh can I ask for a drabble for sunshine reader x Spence when they're out with the team at a bar or something and reader is obviously a clingy and giggly drunk?

MY BABY'S SWEET AS CAN BE | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Spencer's girlfriend loves karaoke when she's drunk, but she loves him even more

length: 1k

warnings: literally just fluff

He smiled at her unabashedly as she flitted through the crowd, the top of her head bobbing in between other patrons as she shoved through the sea of bodies, and he heard the odd “Excuse me, oh I’m so sorry, excuse me, Sorry-scuse me,” which let him know the mop of hair with two little bows in it was exactly who he thought it was. 

Not that he’d need to try hard to find her, his eyes hadn’t left her all evening. She had a tendency to get upset if they got parted when she’d had a couple to drink, and he hated the look she got on her face when she welled up and felt sorry for herself. 

She burst out the throng, her eyes quickly scanning across the group, and Emily barely had time to hand her a Frozen Daiquiri before she’d launched herself where Spencer leaned against the bar.

“Honey! Oh, I missed you so much,” She said, immediately homing into his waist, her ear pressing against his chest where his heart beat particularly loudly, because whatever affectionate streak she carried on a day to day basis was dialled to one million when she got like this. 

“Baby, I saw you five minutes ago,” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her nevertheless and running his large, warm hand down her spine where her backless dress gave him free rein to feel everything. 

She looked up at him with an aghast stare, “You didn’t miss me, too?” 

“Oh, I never said that, now did I?” Spencer asked, his words sweetened with his smile, and adoration stained every single syllable like coffee over clean breath, “Did you have fun?” 

She giggled, leaning to steal a quick kiss, and her hand brushed over his stomach to pinch the soft pouch of fat gently, “I did! Did you see me, I totally outsang Luke,” 

“For the last time; karaoke is not a contest, we’re supposed to be singing together,” Luke said, his forehead sweaty where he’d pushed through the crowd himself trying to keep up with her as she’d bolted off the stage to get back to her spot tucked under Spencer’s arm. 

She stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes when he gave her a more obscene gesture, and turned back to where Spencer had yet to rip his eyes off her, his pupils dopey and wide and full of puppy love as she looked at him. 

“He’s just mad becaus he wanted to sing Beyonce’s part, and I made him be Shakira,” She said on chuckled breath, “But I think our cover of Beautiful Liar could top charts, like, nationally,”

“Ofcourse, I reckon you could go global if we got you a good agent,” He humoured her, and her eyes lit up with glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet to the point he almost spilled his beer. But he didn’t care, he just loved seeing her so happy. 

“Really! Really, really?” She asked, quickly stealing another adoring kiss from his lips like she could only go so long before she needed another one to fuel her words, like she didn’t even realise she was doing it as there was little to no pause in her end of the conversation. 

“Well, sure,” He said, his mouth interrupted when she pecked him again, and he wondered if she genuinely understood they couldn't kiss and talk at the same time with the way she was going, “But, if my sweet girlfriend becomes a popstar sensation overnight, who’s going to be there when I want to do this?” He said, wrapping an arm around her waist, his fingertips caressing the dip of her back, already knowing which moles sat beneath his touch and where, as he gave her a real kiss, one that made her squeak a little and the sound of it forced an even bigger smile out of him. 

He parted from her reluctantly, and he didn’t even care that he usually didn’t like PDA all too much if it meant she would look so content and glowing, her eyes creasing as she sighed with a besotted expression. Spencer never thought he would get so lucky to have anyone look at him like that, never mind someone who he loved with his whole entire being, and everything else left of him. 

“You raise a good point, my genius love,” She said, pressing her burning face into his sternum, her hands still never leaving where they’d buried into his waist, “I guess I’ll put my debut album on hold and stay to kiss you some more,” 

“Will you guys stop being so disgustingly sweet, it’s making my punch taste sour,” Penelope said, even though the team didn’t seem to mind their soppy exchanges. Spencer sometimes seemed like his old self again when he was with her, something boyish and teasing and loving returning back to his rough hands and exhausted expression, and for that the two of them could rip each other's clothes off for all they cared. 

Because they were one of those couples that made everyone else feel lucky to just see that kind of love so close, not envious or repellent, like finding a fawn sleeping on your doorstep. It was rare and pure and warmed everyone right through to their marrow. 

The two of them smiled at one another, and she leaned in to steal a few more kisses from his lips that tasted faintly of beer, only for another song to start playing and she gasped, her mouth dropping in excitement. 

“I love ABBA, we have to sing this song together!” She said, lacing her fingers with his and tugging his stubborn, lithe figure over to the stage, “Please, Spencer, please, please, please,” 

And he gave her exactly what she wanted, because when could he ever say no to a face like that.