#Fic: Chain Of Command

[this-acuteneurosis]

All Who Wander

You cannot stop the change, any more than you can stop the suns from setting. Or rising.

[thedeadthree]

THE SUN ON YOUR FACE ON YOUR SHOULDERS ITS GOLDEN MOUTH WHISPERING (SO IT SEEMS) YOU! YOU! YOU! — 𝐂𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑. 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟. (x)

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[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[traumaone]

Mature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby's POV of my fic Immature

note: Did somebody say Robby's POV??? (it was me, I said it). i'm probably going to come back and edit this a bit in the morning.

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He’d been harsh, way too harsh. You made a difficult choice, chose to do a procedure you weren’t confident about in the interest of saving lives, and he’d torn you apart for it.

None of what he’d said was true; you didn’t lack discipline, you respected the chain of command, and respected him even more. He’d even taken a shot at Jack during his little spiel. 

The weight of his mistake had set in when he’d seen the tears threatening to spill, when you, so endlessly confident and sure of yourself, had refused to meet his eyes.

You’d bit back, put him in his place the way he deserved. He’d seen that kind of fire from you before, just never directed at him.

Robby watched you leave the hospital without even saying goodbye.

He calls a therapist after his shift, not his therapist, a therapist. It feels too real to sit down in an office, to let them open a file with his name on it, so he sticks to the phone, doesn’t even have the man named as a doctor in his phone.

He talks about you the entire appointment.

Day One

Robby texts you before he even gets out of bed.

He checks his phone while he’s making coffee, and finds no response from you.

He checks again before he showers, no response. 

And after he showers, still no response.

He leaves his apartment under the hopeful assumption that you’ll be waiting for him when he gets there, and you are. You’re pacing back and forth like a crazy person, but there none the less.

He smiles when he catches your eye, but the frown carved into your face stays.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” Ouch. That’s the tone you use with Gloria.

“I owe you an apology.” He’s starting to wilt under your frown.

“Yes, you do.”

“Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.” He could say more, he could confess to you the millions of thoughts of guilt that had plagued him in his sleep, but it’s early, and you already seem tired of him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” He knows from your tone that you don’t. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

Robby watches you turn heel and walk away from him as casually as you would any stranger.

Robby trails after you, hoping that you’ll turn around for just a second, but you don’t.

He needs to earn your forgiveness, he knows that now. He pushed you too far, poked the bear too hard while knowing he’d get bit, and boy does that bite sting.

Day Three

Robby leaves his apartment twenty minutes early and takes a detour to stop by your favourite cafe.

He orders his coffee black, and yours with two creams and two sugars, the same way you’ve been drinking it since he met you.

There's a bit more of a pep in his step today. He knows that one coffee isn’t a fix all, but you’d actually spoken more than a few words at a time to him yesterday, so he thinks it’s a good step.

You’re already tucked behind your desk when he comes through the door, frowning at your computer as if it’s wronged you in some way. Something about the sight makes his chest ache.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” He’s lying through his teeth. He knows you never drink coffee before noon, it makes your hands shake.

You don’t even look at him, or reach for the coffee 

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” He’s heard you sound warmer with Garcia.

That ache from before only deepens. 

He nudges your chair with his foot, pushing you away from his desk so he can slip between your knees. It’s the closest he’s been to you in days, and the proximity, the lingering smell of your shampoo, is enough to make him feel weak in the knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” It’s earnest, genuine, the most vulnerable he’s been in a while, and you dismiss him immediately. 

“You’re forgiven. I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

You reach past him for your coffee, and Robby has to fight the urge to lean into the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Buttercup, I-”

The nickname slips out before he can correct himself.

Abbot had come up with years ago when you were new to your residency. The three of you had been sitting around a table in the staff lounge, eating breakfast in silence after a particularly long night shift. 

You were Abbot’s resident, almost a stranger to him, but you were sweet, incredible at your job, and you put an obscene amount of butter on the blueberry muffin you were eating, enough to show teeth marks. Abbot had laughed, cracked a joke about having to give you a stent some day, and from then on, you were buttercup.

“It’s Doctor,” You’re standing so close now Robby can smell the mint on your breath. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

You’ve turned into a spitfire within a matter of seconds, and Robby loves it. He hates that you’re mad at him, really, he does, but this is a side of you he never sees, and the anger looks good on you, very good.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana’s voice almost makes him flinch. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby abandons his reconciliation plan. He doesn’t want your annoyance directed at him, but at least you’re talking. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You stomp away like a petulant child.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby reaches for the ties on the back of your gown, he’s not as gentle as he should be, but he can’t help but let his fingers brush against the nape of your neck when you pull away. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby stands vigilant at the trauma bay doors, eyes fixated on you and only you. You’re brilliant when you work, you always have been. It’s what he imagines watching daVinci paint the Mona Lisa would be like. 

When you stabilize the patient, faster than Robby knows he could’ve, you turn to him, a fox-like smile painted on your lips. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

You’ve never looked sexier.

“Believe me, I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

The two of you had been surprisingly civil yesterday, so of course you’re switching shifts.

“And who’s going to be covering you?” You don’t need to be covered, but he wants to know what you’ll say.

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.” He wants you here more than anybody, even Dana.

You fix him with a frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” He almost wants to laugh. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” It’s the most sincere he’s heard you sound all week. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh, and that ache in his chest returns.

“Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Robby has a routine for Sundays; work his shift, say goodbye to you, stay a little late so he can talk to Abbot, walk to his favourite cafe, enjoy a cup of tea and watch the world pass by through the window.

He hasn’t deviated from it in years, but things are different today. 

He doesn’t know if you’re still upset with him, opposite shifts have kept the two of you from having a conversation that’s longer than a few words and related to anything other than work, but that doesn’t change that tomorrow is the anniversary of your arrival to the ED.

It’s silly of him, but he wants to commemorate it somehow, which is how he finds himself in a flower shop ten minutes before close, staring cluelessly at a fridge full of flowers while his nose starts to run. He settles on a multi coloured bouquet of hyacinths, both the flower of forgiveness, and your favourite. 

He tucks the bouquet away in a vase on his counter, and falls asleep thinking about your smile.

Night Seven

Robby wakes to nine missed calls, five from you, three from Dana, and one from Abbot.

He gathers from your messages that there was an accident, a bad one that has quickly overwhelmed the ER. He doesn’t hesitate to grab his things and flee from his apartment, not even bothering to lock his door behind him.

You were on the verge of tears by your last voicemail, and Robby just can’t grasp why. 

He makes it to the hospital in record time, and you’re the first thing he spots, standing in the same spot you’d been waiting for him a week ago. You’re standing eerily still, eyes focused on your phone, but you look okay, untouched.

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”  

It’s an attempt at playfulness, at easing the tension that had no doubt formed during his absence, but it doesn’t work, because the moment he sees his presence register on your face, you crumble.

Sobs tear from your throat with a sound that makes Robby’s heart shatter. 

He pulls you to his chest as quickly as he can, nuzzling his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he feels your tears hit his neck. You’re shaking in his arms and he grips you tighter, hoping to compress your nervous system, but it only makes you worse.

“Shh, it's okay.” You only sob harder. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I thought you were dead.” Your voice sounds so small, almost broken.

Robby freezes. “Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone. I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

Suddenly it all pieces together. “Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.”

He buries a hand in your hair, presses a kiss to your head and the sobs begin all over again.

It shakes him to his core. You’ve always been a force to be reckoned with, stronger than any of them by a long shot, but right now, you’re fractured, broken into pieces right between his arms.

You pull away eventually, and Robby misses the feeling of you in his arms instantly. “You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.”

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” It’s true, painfully true.

You lift your eyes to look at him and Robby feels his heart break all over again. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair mussed, and your nose starting to run a bit, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles. “I know.”

“Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.” You seem awkward now, unsure.

“I’ll come inside and help.” He’s not ready to be away from you yet.

“You don’t need to.” He knows you don’t mean it.

“I know,” He brushes the tears from your cheek, smiling again when you lean into his palm. “But I want to.”

[gongyoosgf]

diet pepsi. - a thangyu x reader fic

warnings: minors dni!! smutsmutsmut, reader has female genitalia! dom!thanos and namgyu, sub!reader, alcohol/drug use, thanos and namgyu do coke off readers thigh., lots of tension, nicknames like baby, senorita, sweetheart, slut, etc. groping, dry humping, throat fucking, DEGRADING, praise, fingering, overstimulation, edging, rough/unprotected sex, lowkey hand kink if you squint, mean namgyu, thanos is his own warning

an: my first smut so im sorry if its not up to your expectations! this is my interpretation of the characters so im sorry if it doesn’t line up with what you think. this is a looooonnnnngggggg fic so feel free to just skip to the smut :) tips and constructive criticism are appreciated ♡ i love you all!!

the club is alive. neon lights cut through the smoky air, pulsing in sync with the heavy bass that vibrates through the floor. the scent of sweat, spilled liquor, and cheap cologne clings to the space, thick and intoxicating. people move together on the dance floor, their bodies lost in the music, hands on waists, lips brushing against flushed skin.

but you? you're perched at the bar, untouched by the chaos, sipping on a tall glass of diet pepsi like it's the most expensive cocktail in the room. the ice clinks softly as you swirl it, the carbonation fizzing against your lips with every sip. you can feel the eyes on you, burning the back of your skull.

"you've gotta be kidding me," a voice cuts through the noise, rich with amusement.

the man who speaks leans against the counter beside you, elbow propped up, silver chains glinting under the neon glow. his entire presence is draped in black, fitted slacks, an unbuttoned silk shirt that teases the sharp lines of his collarbone. a silver ring catches the light as he lazily runs a hand through his dark wolfcut, the layered strands shifting effortlessly back into place. his eyes, hooded but keen, flicker from your drink to your face, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"soda? that's your drink of choice tonight?"

just behind him, another figure looms, exuding a different kind of presence. one that commands attention without needing to ask for it. his hair is an unmistakable shade of deep purple, styled just messy enough to look effortless. a thick silver cross hangs from his neck, draped over the colorful top he has on in contrast to the man next to him. his frame is broad, his gaze sharp, with dark eyes scanning you with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

the purple haired man slides into the seat on your other side, his presence heavier, more controlled. he's holding a glass of dark whiskey, fingers wrapped around the crystal like he owns the place. he takes a slow sip, then sets it down with a soft *clink* before eyeing you. "she's different," he muses, voice smooth, almost approving. "everyone here is drowning in shots, and you're sipping soda like you're above it all."

you shrug, tilting your head slightly, letting their words settle before taking another sip. the cold fizz lingers on your tongue. "maybe i just like the taste."

the man dressed in black huffs a quiet laugh, studying you like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. his dark eyes flicker between your face and your drink, intrigued. "nah. you could go to any lousy restaurant and get a soda. you just like being in control."

"maybe," you admit, setting your glass down gently, fingers tracing the rim. you glance between them, eyes sharp, playful. "or maybe i just like watching idiots like you two get wasted while i stay sober enough to remember every bad decision you make."

you shift your gaze fully back to the other man with the colorful hair as he chuckles, shaking his head as he swirls his drink. "you think we’re the ones making bad decisions?"

the other leans in, closing the space between you just enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne. his voice dips lower, smoother, almost dangerous. "nah, sweetheart. you’re in the club with us. that means you already made one."

"i’m namgyu," he finally says, his name rolling off his tongue smoothly, like it belongs in this space, like it belongs in your ears. his gaze flickers to yours, watching for a reaction.

beside him, the taller man leans against the bar, arms crossed, the silver cross around his neck resting against the multicolored fabric of his shirt. his deep purple hair falls slightly over his forehead as he looks at you.

"thanos," he says simply, copying the other’s tone.

namgyu rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he glances at thanos. "real smooth," he teases before turning back to you. "and you? got a name, or are we just calling you diet pepsi all night?"

you consider your options. give them your name? keep them guessing? call their bluff and see how long they’ll humor this back-and-forth?

“diet pepsi’s fine.”

the smirk lingers on namgyu’s lips as he watches you take another slow sip, your eyes flickering between him and thanos like you’re weighing your options. the beat of the music feels as if it’s pressing into your skin, but here at the bar, time seems to slow.

thanos leans back slightly, taking another sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “so, what’s your deal, really?” he asks, his gaze steady, measuring. “you don’t drink, but you come here anyway. just for fun?”

before you can answer, namgyu leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “don’t tell me you’re waiting for someone.” his dark eyes flicker. “because that would just be tragic.”

thanos hums in agreement, though his gaze stays steady on yours. “if you are,” he says, “they’re late.”

you stare at the two in amusement before letting your eyes land on namgyu. “i’m not waiting on anyone. i’m here alone.”

namgyu chuckles, shaking his head. “you’re a real mystery, you know that?” he shifts, resting his chin on his hand as he studies you. “the kind that makes guys do stupid things just to figure you out.”

namgyu grins, sitting up suddenly, his silver rings catching the neon light. “you’re obviously not shy about standing out. let’s see if you can keep up.”

“with what?” you arch a brow.

“why don’t you dance with us, hm?” thanos whispers into your ear, sending a nervous shiver down your spine.

you hesitate, just for a second. the music shifts to something darker, sultrier, and the bodies on the dance floor move with a different kind of intensity.

“i don’t know,” you muse. “i was kind of enjoying my view from here.”

thanos tuts, reaching for your wrist—not forceful, but insistent. “come on, why don’t you give us a chance?”

with a slow, deliberate movement, you set your glass down and slide off the stool, your fingers slipping into thanos’ for just a moment before you pull away, stepping toward the dance floor. namgyu quickly follows, grinning. he watches, shaking his head.

the air is thick with sweat and bass as you step onto the dance floor, the bodies around you moving in time with the pulsing beat. the lights flash overhead, cutting through the darkness in streaks of electric blue and crimson. namgyu is close behind, his energy crackling with anticipation, while thanos lingers just a step back, observing.

thanos doesn’t hesitate. the moment you're in the thick of it, his hands find your waist, fingers grazing the fabric of your dress like he’s daring you to pull away. “no backing out, senorita,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

you smirk, letting the music guide your movements as you press your body into his just enough to make a point. “who said anything about backing out?”

his grip tightens slightly, and for once, thanos seems momentarily caught off guard, not by your words, but by the way you move, effortlessly matching his rhythm. he recovers fast, though, flashing that signature grin, the one that makes it impossible to tell if he’s planning something charming or reckless. namgyu watches, arms crossed, lips curved in mild amusement.

“you just gonna stand there?” you call over the music, throwing a glance over your shoulder at him.

thanos laughs, spinning you so your back is against his chest. his breath is warm against your ear. “don’t pay him too much mind, he’ll get out here when he feels like it.”

you hum, tilting your head slightly, your body still moving in sync with the music. “and when will that be?”

for a moment, namgyu just watches you, his dark eyes taking you in like he’s trying to find the answer to a question you haven’t even asked. then, instead of responding, he walks up to you and reaches out, fingers brushing against you. it’s subtle, nothing like thanos’ reckless touches, but it sends a wave of energy through your body.

thanos notices, of course. he always does. his grin widens, but there’s something sharp behind it now, something almost territorial. “careful, gyu,” he mutters. “wouldn’t want you getting in over your head.”

namgyu doesn’t flinch. “you assume i don’t already know what i’m doing.”

your heart pounds from the way the air between the three of you seems to thicken. without thinking, you carefully place your hands over namgyu’s shoulders while simultaneously pushing yourself back on thanos.

“holy shit,” thanos mutters, his hard-on evident against your back. namgyu watches with inviting eyes, letting you run your hands all over his shirt before unbuttoning a few at the top.

thanos spins you back around, his eyes dark with something unreadable. namgyu lingers just close enough to make his presence known. namgyu puts his hands on your waist, replacing thanos’ as thanos brings his hands up to your chest. you let yourself get completely lost in the feeling. lost in the feeling of two attractive men who treat you like you’re the only girl in the world while the music only seems to get louder.

one second, namgyu is there, watching, kneading at the skin on your waist, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. the next, he’s gone.

thanos doesn’t seem to notice or care. “you’re holding back,” he murmurs, voice low against your ear. “thought you were supposed to be the one in control.”

you just smirk, letting your hips roll a little slower, a little more deliberate, watching the way his breath catches. “and yet,” you tease, “you’re the one trying so hard to keep up with me.”

thanos opens his mouth, probably to throw back some cocky remark, but before he can, namgyu is back.

you feel his presence before you see him, the shift in energy, the weight of his stare. when you turn, he’s standing just behind you like he was earlier, only this time he has something with him.

in his ringed hand, he holds something dark and rich swirling in a shot glass held carefully between his fingers.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just studies you with that expression of his before lifting the glass toward your lips.

“it’s not too strong,” he finally says, voice smooth, steady. “i promise.”

you raise a brow, amusement flickering in your eyes. “and what exactly is this?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he tilts the glass just slightly, close enough that you catch the faint scent, something smoky, laced with something sweet. not whiskey. not tequila. something else.

“something i think you’ll like” he finally says.

you hesitate, lips just barely brushing the rim of the glass, your pulse steady despite the way the moment stretches. there’s something almost intimate in the way namgyu is watching you, the way his fingers hover just close enough that if you moved even a fraction, they’d brush against your skin.

and maybe it’s reckless, maybe this is exactly the kind of bad decision you swore you wouldn’t make, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to play along.

so, you part your lips and take the shot.

the liquid burns, but not in the way you expect. it’s smoother than you thought it would be, rich and dark, with a lingering heat that settles low in your stomach. there’s a hint of something you can’t quite place, something familiar yet foreign, a contradiction in itself.

they both watch, waiting.

you swallow, letting the warmth settle, then tilt your head, eyes locked on namgyu. “not bad,” you admit.

his lips twitch, just barely, almost like he was expecting that answer.

thanos, on the other hand, scoffs. “you would just take anything we give you, isn’t that right?”

namgyu‘s lips barely quirk into a smile, “what a whore, grinding on a dude she just met while letting another feed her a random drink.”

they talk about you like you’re not there.

you should be upset that namgyu just called you a whore, but with whatever drink he just gave you coursing through your veins, it only makes your hips move quicker against thanos.

namgyu watches you for a beat, as if making sure he has your full attention, then leans in slightly. his voice is low, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the back of the club. “i wanna show you something.”

you glance at thanos, who raises a brow, looking almost amused. but there’s something else there too, like he knows something you don’t. he doesn’t say anything, just runs a hand through his hair, then gestures for you to follow.

namgyu leads the way, cutting through the crowd with the kind of quiet confidence that makes people instinctively step aside. you walk between them, thanos at your back, the heavy beat of the music fading slightly as you move toward a secluded hallway.

a bouncer stands at the entrance of a dimly lit doorway, arms crossed over his chest. he barely acknowledges thanos and namgyu before stepping aside, letting the three of you pass without question.

the room inside is different from the rest of the club, more intimate, more controlled. the neon chaos is replaced with softer lighting, casting long shadows against the sleek furniture. a plush leather couch stretches along the wall, occupied by a few others, people who exude the same energy as thanos and namgyu. confident. dangerous. unbothered.

a tall man with a bunch of tattoos and gold rings stacked on his fingers lounges in the corner, swirling a glass of something dark. a woman in a sleek black dress sits beside him, legs crossed, her gaze flicking toward you with mild interest. you study all of the people in the room with an intense focus.

thanos gestures toward the couch, wordlessly inviting you to sit. you hesitate, just for a second, then lower yourself onto the soft leather. namgyu drops down beside you with a lazy grin, slinging an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

thanos takes a seat across from you, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

“this is different,” you mutter, glancing between the both of them, waiting for someone to fill the silence that lingers in the air.

namgyu chuckles and tilts your head back, “not really that loud environment you love, is it?”

before you can say anything, thanos lifts a hand in the air, and almost instantly, one of the guys at the far end of the room pulls something from his jacket, setting a small, velvet-lined box on the table between you.

your eyes flicker to it, curiosity sparking.

namgyu leans in, smirking. “still feeling in control, hm?”

your pulse ticks up. not with fear, but with something else. anticipation. excitement.

you meet thanos’s gaze, steady and unwavering, and rest your fingers lightly against the table in front of you.

“i guess that depends,” you murmur, tilting your head. “what exactly am i looking at?”

you run your tongue over your bottom lip, leaning forward slightly, your fingertips tracing the box in front of you.

namgyu grins, reaching for the box with slow, deliberate movements, as if he’s savoring the anticipation. “that,” he says, flipping open the lid with a flick of his wrist, “depends on what kind of night you’re looking for.”

inside, nestled against black velvet, are a few neatly wrapped packets. small, unassuming, but unmistakable. alongside them, a clear bag of colorful pills. whatever it is, it looks odd. and probably illegal.

your expression doesn’t change, but you feel namgyu watching you, waiting for a reaction.

you lift your eyes to thanos. he’s still calm, unreadable, but there’s something expectant in the way he holds himself. he’s testing you. not just your curiosity, but your control.

“you think this is my kind of thing?” you ask.

namgyu laughs, slouching back against the couch, his fingers resting your shoulder. “oh, i don’t know,” he muses. “you’re full of surprises.”

thanos leans forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “it’s not about what we think,” he says. “it’s about what you want.”

you exhale softly, tapping your nails against namgyu’s leg. the music from the club outside is distant now, like a heartbeat pulsing just beneath the surface.

“i don’t do cheap thrills,” you say, flicking your eyes between the two men.

namgyu sighs, shaking his head. “you really are something else, aren’t you?”

you smirk, reaching for the box, examining the powder. “took you this long to figure that out?”

thanos leans back, watching you with content eyes as you slowly rip open the bag he gives a nod to namgyu and with a silent understanding, namgyu carefully takes the bag from your hands.

namgyu nudges your knee with his own, looking at the bag you earlier opened. “i wanna try something, if you trust us?”

you consider his question, aware of the weight it carries. trust is a delicate thing, especially with people you've just met. while the evening has been enjoyable, it's natural to feel cautious.

“trust isn't something to be given lightly. it's earned." you whisper, looking at namgyu’s ringed hands.

namgyu’s grin widens, his eyes following your gaze. thanos watches closely, a glint of approval in his eyes.

namgyu shakes his head like he can’t decide whether to be impressed or frustrated. “you love playing hard to get, don’t you?”

you smirk, shifting just slightly so your knee brushes against his. “i just like keeping you guessing.”

“yeah? maybe we like to keep you guessing, sweetheart.” without a second beat, namgyu carefully holds the open bag of powder and tilts it slightly, the substance spilling over your leg.

you gasp, looking over at thanos, who seems to be enjoying this. the way he studies you, the way he lets you navigate the tension in the room, it’s deliberate. he doesn’t take his eyes off your leg, coated with a white powder.

“namgyu,” he mumbles, “it’s not fair that you get to have all the fun.”

namgyu nods over to thanos, who quickly gets up from his chair across from you. you watch as he makes room on the other side of the leather couch, knee brushing against yours.

you try not to let the dip in the couch shake the powder dancing across your thigh, waiting for the next move.

the others in the room have gone back to their own conversations, but you can feel their awareness, the way they’re still listening, still watching.

namgyu hands the bag to thanos, who happily takes the bag of the remaining substance into his tattooed hands.

thanos grins, his fingers playing idly with the plastic. “you’re enjoying this,” he says easily. “the power play. the fact that we’re both sitting here trying to figure you out, and you love every second of it.”

you don’t deny it. you don’t confirm it either.

instead, you lean back against the couch, letting your gaze drift between the two of them. “you two are just fun to play with.”

thanos simply watches you, quiet for a moment before nodding, following namgyu’s earlier movements and pouring the remaining substance onto your thigh. “fair enough.”

your breath hitches in your throat, trying not to show how nervous you really are.

namgyu leans forward, slow and deliberate, until he’s just close enough that you can feel the warmth of him against your leg, presence like a storm waiting to break. his voice is low, meant only for you.

“do you still trust us, sweetheart?”

the air between you is thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. namgyu doesn’t move away, doesn’t blink, he’s giving you a choice. you can pull back, keep the control you claim to love, or you can see just how far this power play goes.

thanos watches with thinly veiled amusement. his fingers drum lazily against your thigh, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze, an anticipation like he’s waiting for something to break.

you hold namgyu’s stare, letting the silence stretch. then, ever so slowly, you tilt your chin down slightly, just enough to match his proximity.

“yes” you murmur, voice steady despite the way your pulse ticks up.

in the blink of an eye, almost like they planned it, both namgyu and thanos go down until their noses gently brush against your thigh, breathing in the thick powder.

namgyu’s movements are slow, getting all he can, while thanos’ movements are messy and quick.

thanos throws his head back against the couch with a loud, “fuck!”

namgyu rests his head against your thigh now, breathing heavily. once he takes a final deep breath, feeling the drug flow through his body, he leans up, face inches away from your chest and stares darts into your eyes.

namgyu lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “shit, this is good.”

you sit there, completely frozen.

did you seriously just let two strangers do coke off your thigh?

you let out a shaky breath, letting your gaze rest on thanos instead of the man so close to you. you watch his adam’s apple bob up and down, before he pulls his head from the back of the couch and gives you a lazy smile, his eyes half-hooded.

“you look tense," he rumbles, voice thick with amusement. "you want some, pretty?

your face contorts into one of disgust, your stomach twisting at the casual arrogance in his tone.

"i'm good," you say flatly, shifting away slightly, but his gaze never wavers.

thanos chuckles, deep and slow, like he finds your reaction amusing. his tatted fingers drum idly against the arm of the couch.

"suit yourself," he muses, stretching his arms out, taking up a good bit of the couch. "but you should learn to relax. i don’t bite… unless you ask nicely."

your jaw clenches. you’re not sure what’s worse, the teasing or the fact that he’s so unbothered about it.

"you really should take it as a compliment," namgyu murmurs, tilting his head to glance up at you once more. his voice is smooth but hoarse, as if he’s simply observing rather than intruding. "he doesn’t offer this to just anyone."

thanos exhales through his nose, something between a sigh and a chuckle. he shifts in his seat, leaning back slightly, legs spread that silver cross dangles against his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath.

“come here, angel.”

it’s not a question. it’s not even a request. it’s a command wrapped in something deceptively soft.

the weight of the words sends something sharp through your spine, something thrilling and unexpected. you hesitate, not because you don’t want to, but because thanos doesn’t seem like the type to say things just to say them. he expects you to listen.

you pull yourself off the couch for a moment, and thanos lifts a hand, resting it lightly against your hip. not pulling, just holding it there, solid and steady.

and when you finally settle onto his lap, his other hand finds your thigh, fingers curling just enough to hold you in place. his body is warm, solid beneath you. and the way he exhales, just the slightest shift in his breath, like this is exactly where he wanted you.

“comfortable?” he asks, low and smooth.

you nod slowly, feeling the warmth of thanos beneath you, the weight of his hands keeping you in place. his fingers flex just slightly against your thigh.

but your eyes? your eyes drift to namgyu.

he’s watching you. watching this.

his hair falls slightly over his face, shadowing his hooded gaze. “you look good like that,” he murmurs, lips curving into something just short of a smirk.

thanos hums, low and satisfied, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “she does, doesn’t she?” his deep voice tickling the shell of your ear.

your pulse kicks up, just a little. maybe it’s the way they’re looking at you. maybe it’s the weight of the moment. or maybe it’s the way you can feel thanos’ slow, steady breath against your neck while namgyu watches you from across the small space between you.

namgyu exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he’s amused. “and here i thought you’d be the one making us work for it,” he smiles, dark eyes glinting. “but look at you.”

thanos’ hand trails idly along your thigh, his fingers toying with the hem of your dress. he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him as he shifts beneath you, in the way his hold stays firm.

“you sure you can handle both of us, hm?” namgyu says, like he already knows the answer.

your breath catches, just for a second.

thanos shifts beneath you, his fingers pressing slightly into your thigh while his dick is just inches away from where you need it most. his body is solid beneath you, steady, as if grounding you even as the energy between the three of you sharpens.

you look up, meeting namgyu’s gaze head-on. “you sound confident,” you murmur, voice steady despite the way your pulse is racing. “you sure it’s me who should be worried?”

namgyu’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he exhales a quiet laugh. “oh she’s got a fucking mouth on her, huh?”

thanos hums in agreement, his grip on your waist tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. “i noticed.”

you bite your lip as you feel thanos start to slowly rock your against his own, trying to find some friction. you can feel how wet you are, and you’re sure he can, too.

you shift slightly on thanos’s lap, just to see if he’ll react. he throws his head back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling, letting his eyes shut at the feeling.

namgyu notices, of course he does. he pulls your chin up to look him in the eyes as you rock against thanos, pulling your lip from between your teeth and dragging his finger against the plush skin.

“you like putting on a show, don’t you?” his dark eyes flicker with something teasing, “slut.”

your breath catches as you clench around nothing, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say smoothly, tilting your head just enough to feign innocence.

namgyu exhales a short laugh, shaking his head.“oh, you definitely do,” he muses, the corner of his mouth curling. “look at you, desperately moving on thanos’ lap, acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

thanos hums in agreement, almost not noticing your hips stutter to a stop. you shift slightly, moving to lift yourself off thanos’s lap, the tension crackling between the three of you thick enough to drown in.

“did i say stop?” namgyu asks, thumb pressing into your chin harshly.

you swallow, lips parting, but namgyu’s thumb presses a little harder against your chin, stopping whatever excuse you were about to give.

“go on,” he murmurs, “tell us you don’t love this attention.”

thanos exhales, low and steady, his presence behind you solid, unshaken. "she does," he groans, pulling his head off the couch. “she just wants to see what happens if she runs.”

namgyu clicks his tongue, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “bad habit, sweetheart.” his grip on your chin softens just slightly, but his eyes stay sharp. “didn’t your parents teach you that if you start something, you finish it?”

a soft, needy sound escapes you before you can stop it. a quiet whine, barely audible over the faint murmurs of the others, the distant music of the club, but loud enough for them to hear. loud enough for namgyu’s eyes to widen.

“jesus christ,” thanos smiles, pushing his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there.

namgyu exhales a slow breath, shaking his head. “fucking pathetic,” he smiles, his voice dripping with amusement. “barely had to do anything, and you’re already desperate.” his thumb traces your jaw again, the cool metal of his rings grounding against your flushed skin.

behind you, thanos hums in quiet agreement, his breath warm against your ear. “guess she just needed a little push.” his tone is smooth, but you feel the satisfaction in the way he holds you in place. “didn’t take much, either.”

“you were made to be ruined.” namgyu mutters.

your lips part, but no sound comes out. you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat, but even that feels like too much effort under their gaze. your eyes dart between them, looking back at thanos with wide eyes.

"people will see," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

namgyu's smirk deepens, something dark flickering in his gaze as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. the weight of his touch makes it impossible to ignore him.

"that's the problem, angel," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk. "you like that, don’t you?"

behind you, thanos chuckles lowly. his grip on you tightens just slightly, like he's making sure you don’t even think about pulling away. "she does," he muses, his breath warm against your ear. "that little shiver? that wasn’t fear." his fingers trail down your side. "that was excitement.”

your breath catches, a new wave of heat rushing through you. just outside the door, the club is packed, neon lights flashing, bodies moving in sync with the music. yet here, in their hold, it’s like the rest of the world fades into a blur.

namgyu leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your cheek. “let them watch,” he whispers, his voice laced with something wicked. “let them see who you really belong to.”

his fingers tighten around your chin, tilting your face up just the way he wants before his lips crash against yours, hot and demanding. there’s nothing gentle about it. he kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

his teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down, just hard enough to make you gasp. It’s all the invitation he needs before his tongue slips past your parted lips, deepening the kiss.

“see?” he murmurs, pulling away from your lips. “you love being handled.”

“please,” you mutter, completely at their mercy.

namgyu laughs, almost as if he’s making fun of you. “please?” he repeats, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “that’s all you’ve got?”

thanos exhales a quiet chuckle behind you, “i think she can do better than that,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “doesn’t sound desperate enough yet.”

namgyu nods his head in agreement, his fingers ghosting down your throat, silver rings cool against your heated skin. “c’mon,” he coaxes. “if you really want more, you know how to ask for it.”

you swallow hard, your lips parting as you whisper, “please… i need—”

namgyu tuts, cutting you off with a slow shake of his head. “not good enough.” his fingers tighten just slightly against your neck tilting your face up toward him again. “say it properly, sweetheart. tell us exactly what you need.”

thanos lets out a low hum of approval, his hands sliding just a fraction lower. “be a good girl,” he murmurs. “use your words.”

you exhale a shaky breath, your fingers curling into namgyu’s shirt as you finally let go of the last shred of hesitation.

“please,” you whisper, voice raw, needy. “i want you.”

namgyu’s smirk deepens, his grip tightening, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “that’s more like it.”

and then, he kisses you again, harder this time, hungrier, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

behind you, thanos says, “see?” he murmurs against your ear, voice low and teasing. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” His fingers slide down, his touch slow, like he’s testing how much you can take.

namgyu’s teeth graze your bottom lip before he pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your mouth. “so eager,” he mutters, amusement laced in his tone.

thanos smiles. “bet you’d let us do anything we wanted, wouldn’t you?” his hands dancing across your inner thigh, inches away from where you need him most. “just as long as we keep giving you what you want.”

your breath catches, your body betraying you before you can even think of a response.

namgyu studies you for a moment, then, without warning, grabs your wrist, his grip firm but unyielding.

“get up,” he orders, voice low and commanding.

thanos doesn’t hesitate either. his hands slide back to your waist, steady and possessive as he helps you off his lap, lingering just long enough to make sure you feel the loss of his touch. the moment you’re standing, namgyu tugs you forward, moving through the small group of people who pay you no mind.

you barely have time to process where they’re leading you before namgyu stops in front of an unmarked door, tucked away in a dark corner of the club. he doesn’t knock. he doesn’t hesitate. he simply pushes it open and drags you inside.

the room is dimly lit, quiet compared to the rest of the club, the muffled bass still thrumming through the walls. an office, by the looks of it, sleek leather couches, a heavy wooden desk, liquor bottles lining the shelves.

you hear the door behind you click and you turn around, seeing thanos holding the doorknob. before you even get a chance to speak, namgyu’s hands are on your waist, spinning you around to face him as he presses you against the desk. his lips curl into a smirk. “you knew this was coming, didn’t you?” his voice is a lazy drawl, almost daring you to deny it.

the room feels like it’s closing in on you. the music from the club muffles in the distance, the sharp, neon lights outside barely cutting through the heavy shadows that fill the office. namgyu stands a few steps away, eyes scanning you with amusement, while thanos is right behind you, a solid presence at your back that you can’t ignore. the closeness between the three of you feels too much, too intense. your breath hitches in your chest, and your body trembles slightly.

“look at you,” namgyu’s voice is smooth, his eyes flickering over you. “you can’t control that fucking shaking.”

you try to steady yourself, but it’s no use. his gaze feels like a weight pressing down on you, and with thanos so close behind, you’re caught in between them.

thanos steps closer. “are you scared?” he asks, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “or are you just excited because we’ve got you all to ourselves now?”

“im not scared of you two,” you swallow hard, trying to control your racing pulse.

a throaty laugh erupts from the both of them, mocking you.

“do you like the attention we’re giving you sweetheart?” namgyu whispers, pushing his thigh between your legs.

you try to find your voice, but it comes out barely a whisper. “i— i don’t know.”

namgyu leans in just slightly, his voice soft but laden with an edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "you look a little trapped, sweetheart," he murmurs, the corner of his lips lifting in that teasing smirk. "is that how you like it?"

you swallow, trying to keep your composure, but your heart is racing, your body betraying you with every pulse of heat that floods your skin. you try to move, but namgyu’s leg between your thighs keeps you in place, his gaze never leaving yours.

you let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as his hands settle on your hips. he gives an experimental roll of his thigh, and the friction against your clothed core draws a sharp gasp from your lips. the sensation is maddening, just enough to start the fire that’s been smoldering inside you, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

you slowly move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

namgyu’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound taking you to another level.

thanos reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with both hands on your bra.

“holy fuck,” thanos whispers, feeling the lace of your bra make indents on his fingers with how hard he’s squeezing.

“stop teasing..” you mutter through a whine, hips jerking.

“me? teasing you?” thanos questions, quirking an eyebrow. “after you were in a room full of people grinding on me?

namgyu puts one hand behind your back and unclips your bra, other hand not leaving your hip as you look for the desperate release you crave.

your bra falls to the floor in front of you, and your eyes follow slowly.

namgyu’s smirk never wavers as his fingers move until they’re cradling your face. his palms are warm, his grip firm. with a slight tilt of his head, he tightens his hold, his fingertips digging in just enough to part your lips slightly. his thumbs press against your jawline, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you. his dark eyes flicker over your face, drinking in every reaction, your widened eyes, the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses under his touch.

both of their eyes look down at your chest, and you’re quick to cover yourself. thanos clips his tongue and grabs your hands, pushing them down quickly. “don’t hide yourself, you’re fucking beautiful.”

thanos pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

you crinkle your hands into namgyu’s shirt, and your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking precum all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

that’s it” he coos, leaning back just pinning you with a stare that has you melting already. “fuck, look at you, a goddamn slut. you look so dirty like this...”

you bite your lip, suppressing a moan as the pleasure builds, the fabric of your clothes rubbing deliciously against your throbbing core. the wetness between your legs is undeniable now, soaking through your panties, your racing suit and onto his thigh. you know he can feel it too, and the realization only makes you grind down harder, your desperation growing with every passing second.

“please, i need more,” you whimper, the words slipping out in a moment of vulnerability. your voice is heavy with desperation, your body trembling with the effort to find release.

“namgyu..” thanos whispers, toying with your tits. “i’m tired of fucking waiting.”

without a second beat, namgyu pulls his thigh away from in between your legs. your hips stutter and you feel yourself falling, but he’s quick to catch you. you whine loudly, feeling the warm feeling in your stomach slowly fade away.

“come on, sweetheart,” namgyu tuts, mocking you. “you can’t even fucking stand?”

before you can fully register it, hands settle on your shoulders, firm, steady, unmistakably thanos. his touch is hurried, an undeniable strength beneath it. without a word, he turns you around, guiding you with ease until your chest is pressed against the desk’s edge. the wood is cold against your fingertips as you brace yourself, heart pounding in your chest.

thanos stands close, his frame imposing as he looks down at you, his expression unreadable. his fingers trail down your arms before settling at your waist, the pressure light but commanding.

namgyu leans casually against the desk beside you, watching with an amused tilt of his head. his eyes flicker between you and thanos, a smirk playing at his lips. "gotta see this pretty pussy," he mumbles, tapping his fingers against the desk’s surface.

thanos hums in agreement, his fingers flexing slightly at your sides, “bet she’s fucking dripping.”

namgyu pushes your dress up past your ass, both men soaking in the view in front of them. you push your hips back involuntarily.

namgyu leans in just slightly, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “i can feel you shaking,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a spark of something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “nervous?”

you don’t answer, and that only seems to amuse him more.

thanos clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “she’s quiet again.” his thumbs press just slightly into your waist, the warmth of his touch sending another shiver through you. “that’s cute.”

namgyu watches the way your breath hitches at that, and his smirk widens. “you like when he talks to you like that, don’t you?” his tone is teasing, knowing, like he already has the answer. he trails a finger lightly along your wrist before brushing it beneath your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. “come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, dark eyes glinting. “use your words.”

your lips part, but the only thing that escapes is a shaky moan.

thanos chuckles softly, his voice low, almost taunting. “looks like we’ll have to help her out.”

in a swift motion, thanos pulls your underwear down, leaving it at your ankles. you hear a dark chuckle behind you, undeniably namgyu.

your stomach flips, and you try to look away, only for namgyu’s grip on your chin to keep you in place. “oh no,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “you don’t get to look away now. you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“god, she’s fucking drenched.” thanos groans, and namgyu lets go of your chin. he goes back behind you, out of view.

you feel a long finger dance around your pussy, collecting the slick that threatens to drip to the floor.

“such a pretty pussy,” thanos whispers, more to himself than anyone else. "you hear that, namgyu? you hear how wet she is?"

"fuck, yeah," namgyu replies, a hand rubbing over the bulge of his pants. he had to admit, he was jealous of thanos, him being able to please you first.

"hurry up, thanos. i want to touch her next." thanos chuckles, turning his attention back to you. "doesn't that turn you on, hm? don't you like hearing how badly namgyu wants to touch you like this?" thanos says, pressing a thumb against your clit and creating sensual circles around the area that makes you more sensitive. you moan as a response, your body trembling from his actions. "yes.. shit,, i want namgyu- to touch me too.." you reply.

looking at namgyu who nearly came from the needy pitch of your voice.

"you heard her, ‘gyu," thanos says, glancing at namgyu with a grin and you found yourself in between the two men. while thanos slowly pushed a finger into your aching pussy and rubbing circles against your clit, namgyu had pushed you up with his hands to touch your breasts. thanos holds you, your back against his chest, letting namgyu pinch your nipples with his fingers, getting a little whine out of your mouth.

"you fucking disgust me," namgyu insults, leaving love marks on your neck and he kisses your shoulders. the beautiful sounds you’re making just leaves namgyu wanting to mark you all over with his mouth. he pinches your nipples again, “you’re so greedy, one person touching you isn’t enough?”

thanos smirks, slipping another finger into your pussy. your eyes widen in astonishment, feeling yourself stretch around his fingers. your moans become louder at that point, due to the combination of namgyu leaving marks all over you while fondling your nipples as thanos plays with your pussy.

"yeah, that's a good girl. moan just for me," thanos adds, smirking as his knuckles began smacking the entrance of your pussy.

namgyu glares at thanos, before slipping one hand away from your breast to grab your head. namgyu turns your face towards him and presses his lips against yours while maintaining eye contact with thanos. the purple haired man furrows his brows, watching as you and namgyu’s tongues swirled sloppily around each others. the two now seem to have an ongoing battle of who can please you the best.

“ 'm gonna c-cum," you utter through your moans, mouth parting slightly from namgyu’s, a strong of saliva connecting from your tongue to his. thanos smiles, curling his fingers to rub faster against your g-spot. "c'mon princess, cum for me," he says, lowering his face to your pussy and replaces his thumb with his tongue on your clit.

"oh f-fuck, thanos-" you mewl his name, eyes nearly rolling back as your legs tremble from the fast licks his tongue was giving against your clit. namgyu couldn't do much but continue to play with your breast and watch thanos fuck your pussy until you came. namgyu grunts as your hands push to free his cock out and wrap around his girth.

your mind is too overstimulated with the situation and you couldn't bother caring about anything else. "shitshitshit, i'm cumming-" you cry out, gushing over thanos’ mouth and fingers.

thanos licks and cleans all of your juices that squirted onto your thighs and by his mouth, savoring the taste. he stares deep into namgyu’s eyes when licking off your arousal on his fingers, smiling cockily since namgyu wasn't able to get a taste. "i might actually get addicted to this pussy," he comments before he unzips his pants to releases his hard throbbing cock.

your eyes widen at the sight of both of their dicks as you come down from your high. "oh, you scared, princess?" namgyu chuckles, but you instantly shake your head.

namgyu pushes you back to your original position against the desk, admiring how your pussy clenches around nothing. “please fuck me, namgyu..”

"you hear that, thanos? hear and see how she's begging for my cock?" namgyu asks, glancing at thanos to see his reaction. he just needed to rub it in the others face.

thanos steps in front of the desk you lay face down on, pulling you up slightly by your hair. a pained whine falls from your lips and you reach up to grab thanos’ hand, but he’s quick to put his cock in your grasp.

thanos glares at namgyu, not replying as his attention was mostly on the way your hand gripped around his cock. "you’re clenching around nothing, angel. that desperate?" namgyu adds, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock before pushing his tip past your folds.

"o-oh my god-" you moan, eyes widening from the feeling of namgyu’s cock rubbing against your walls, nearly making you cum again. namgyu grunts when your tight pussy instantly clenches around him, and he quietly chuckles.

"fuck..," he moans, letting you adjust to the tip before pushing inside another inch.

"touch me too, angel. don't forget about me," thanos whimpers, his words purring into the air as he bucks his hips up to feel your soft hand rub against his desperate cock. you began to pump your hand along thanos’ cock just like he wanted, causing him to moan above you. you look up at him in front of the desk with pleading eyes, seeing his hooded ones catch yours. “s-shit.. i might cum just because of your hands," he chuckles.

namgyu’s hands grip tightly on your hips as he completely bottoms out inside of you, his cock was already fucked deep into you, spreading and pleasuring your walls towards your next orgasm. "n-ngh.. squeezing me so damn hard. you want my cum that badly, baby?" namgyu groans, faintly throwing his head back.

"y-yes, pleaseee," you whine, your cunt sucking in namgyu’s cock at his words. the man groans, starting a rough pace and drilling deeper into your pussy.

thanos intently watches namgyu pounds into your needy hole relentlessly, turning you into a crying and moaning mess. his dick twitches at the sight of you two connecting, making him wonder what it'd be like to be in namgyu’s position.

"fuckkk, holy fuck-" thanos chants, his eyes nearly rolling back because of how satisfied his dick was feeling. "we should make her ours, thanos. make her our whore, yeah?" namgyu glances at thanos, who only moans as a response when you swirl your thumb around his swollen tip. "seems like she wants to, thanos. the way she's clenching her dirty little cunt tightly around me tells me she wants to be ours. that right, slut?" namgyu utters, now staring into your tear filled eyes as he continues thrusting into you.

you nod your head several times, unable to even speak.

“come on, sweetheart. put it in your mouth, okay?” thanos groans, rubbing his precum on your cheek.

you slowly take thanos in your mouth, swirling your tongue around his swollen tip. you bob your head slowly back and forth, sucking and slurping thanos’ cock while using another hand to pump the rest of his length that was unable to fit into your mouth.

even with something inside your mouth, you couldn’t control the loud moans that you breathe out through your nose.

"hear her, thanos? she's moaning like a damn slut," namgyu grins, slapping your ass.

"yeah, i like it," thanos replies, pushing his length into your mouth again, feeling your moans vibrate against his dick. "g-gonna fill her mouth with my cum..”

as namgyu was reaching his climax, he penetrates his cock deeper into your cunt, making sure all of his cum would reach into your womb. you cry out, rushes of ecstasy flowing through your veins before namgyu shoots his warm seed into you. at the same moment, thanos prods his entire length into your mouth, whether it fit or not, and releases his load into the back of your throat. your mind is completely scrambled, cramped with lust struck thoughts of the two men.

“holy shit,” thanos groans, holding your head in place on his dick while namgyu keeps fucking into you, allowing you to find your own orgasm.

you cum with a loud whine, hips shaking uncontrollably as namgyu roughly pushes all of his cum into your tight hole. the office around you was going black, your nose being pushed into thanos’ pubic bone as you try to find the air to breathe.

thanos pulls out of your mouth with a *pop* and smiles down at you widely. “you’re amazing.”

“she’s a fucking whore is what she is.” namgyu hisses, slapping your ass one more time before pulling out completely.

you keep your filled cunt exposed to him, moaning softly when namgyu’s cum begins to spill out.

- - - - ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

uhhh taglist: @kouzih @cybrasigilism

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝓇𝓊𝓀𝒶 𝓈𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓈 : This is all about Mydei and his dark desires for you! What will the God of War conjure up next in his series? Why don’t we take a peek? :>

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒮𝓎𝓃ℴ𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ：Mydei is the god of war, feared by everyone for his insane strength and genius strategy. He’s got this fiery temper and never backs down, making him the perfect leader, always commanding armies with cold precision. But underneath all that intensity, there’s a guy who holds on to a strong sense of honor. He’s constantly battling with the weight of his power and the vulnerabilities it brings. He’s all about destruction and victory, pushing through one fight after another, but he’s still carrying the heavy burden of being a god.

―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 ：This series focuses on Mydei and his role as a gift of war. Each plot will explore different aspects of his journey and experiences. It will include : fem!reader & male!reader. ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

―୨୧⋆ ˚𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ ：if you want to be tagged in any of these fics comment or reblog & tell me which fic/fics/drabbles u wanna be tagged! THIS SERIES IF ONHOLD OR MIGHT BE DISCONTINUED IN THE FUTURE.

001. DESPERATE TO SAVE ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

When the plague ravaged your village, you sought out Mydei, the god of storms. He promised you to save your people, but only if you have s*x with him and become his wife. With no other option, you agreed.

[ TW : DUBCON ， LOSS OF VIRGINITY ! ]

002. RUINED BY WAR ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

In a world divided between war and peace, you, the Goddess of Peace, find yourself drawn to the one being who defies everything you stand for—Mydei, the ruthless God of War. His touch is rough, his presence overwhelming, and yet, when you're in his grasp, resistance crumbles like ruins beneath a battlefield. He should be your greatest enemy, but in the dark, when his hands claim you. And as he takes you, possessive, unrelenting, you realize that even peace was meant to surrender.

[ TW : IMPLIED DUBCON ，SIZE KINK ， PERV!MYDEI ! ]

003. FALLING FOR WAR ?! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are nothing but a mortal warrior—fragile, fleeting, and yet, you have defied the God of War himself. Mydei has crushed entire civilizations under his heel, yet no matter how many times he cuts you down, you rise again, bloodied but unbroken. He should end you, make an example of your defiance, but instead, he finds himself enthralled. Your stubbornness is infuriating, your resilience intoxicating. So, he decides to break you in a different way, to make you surrender, not to war, but to him. And when he finally has you beneath him, trembling and breathless, you realize that even the strongest warriors can fall.

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， MANHANDLING，ROUGH!MYDEI ! ]

00.4 UNTAMED CHAOS ! [NSFW & MALE!READER]

You are the God of Chaos, a force of unpredictability and destruction with no allegiance, no strategy—only the thrill of war itself. Where Mydei fights with purpose, you revel in disorder, turning his carefully laid plans into a storm of madness. He should despise you, and yet, he keeps chasing you, drawn to the way you slip through his grasp like smoke. But when he finally catches you—pinning you beneath him, his fury burning through every touch—you realize that even chaos can be tamed… if only for a moment.

[ TW : DUBCON ，C*M PLAY ， DACRYPHILIA ! ]

00.5 F*CKED BY A GOD ?! [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Your kingdom lies in ruins, its warriors slain, its banners burned to ash. And at the heart of it all stands Mydei—the merciless God of War, your conqueror. He should have discarded you like the rest, but instead, he keeps you close, a captive queen in golden chains. You refuse to break, refuse to bow, meeting his cold fury with your own unyielding fire. If you will not kneel to him in the throne room, then you will in his bed—his hands rough, his touch demanding, his desire a war of its own. And in the heat of his embrace, you begin to wonder… did you truly lose, or did he?

[ TW : SIZE KINK ， BREEDING KINK ，SPANKING ! ]

00.6 BLOOD AND HONEY [NSFW & FEM!READER]

Mydei, the God of War, has never known softness—until you, the Goddess of Love, dare to challenge him. When words turn to something rougher, he fucks you like he fights: intense, merciless, and all-consuming. Love has no place in war, but with you beneath him, he might just reconsider.

[ TW : ROUGH S*X ， SIZE KINK ，MARKING ! ]

(𝓃)𝓈𝒻𝓌 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁ℯ𝓈 : [ all gn!reader ]

SFW : How god of war Mydei takes care of you when you are sick.

SFW : How the both of you got married.

NSFW : Mydei’s favourite sex position.

SFW : The god of war doesn’t like sweet treats.

[…]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉𝓈 : [ all must be gn!reader ]

NSFW : belly dancer!reader

NSFW : jealousy.

[…]

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[frownyalfred]

something I don’t think is explored enough in canon AND fic is how every single Bat, but especially Batman himself, would absolutely give anyone with formal military training heart palpitations if they saw them in action. oh you can fly a plane? you’re used to sophisticated combat? WHERE ARE YOUR VERBAL COMMANDS? how are you preventing friendly fire? what is the chain of command? why are you ignoring air traffic control in downtown airspace—

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Blood Moon

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!niece!reader Warnings: Physical assault and injury detail. Mentions of blood. Angst. Mentions of death. Mentions of pregnancy. Explicit sexual content. Word count: ~4k

Summary: A confrontation with Alicent reveals devastating truths for Aemond, and he takes solace in the last place he expects to find it.

Author's note: Chapter three of Tear Down My Reason. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Darkness enveloped Aemond as he sank beneath the inky black surface. He struggled to pull free, arms and legs thrashing uselessly, feeling as though they moved through tar with the effort. His lungs burned, he could not breathe. Terror gripped his body, exhausting his senses as it lit every nerve ending aflame, his heart hammered against his ribs in sheer panic as his nervous system fought to keep alive a body too weakened to comply with its commands. Suddenly he was pulled free, opening his mouth in a silent scream as he gulped down air, choking and spluttering.

He woke with a start, body drenched in cold sweat as his chest heaved with his laboured breaths. Trembling and disorientated he took in his surroundings – no smouldering trees upon the horizon, no battle weary soldiers, no muddy bank of a lake, only the quiet calm of his bedchamber, and the gentle blue light of dawn that crept through the curtains. Not that any of it was a source of comfort. He glanced over at the curled up form of his niece turned wife, still sleeping at the furthest edge of the bed, and he collapsed back against the pillows with a sigh.

Out of habit, his hand drifted to his chest, placing the palm flat against where his heart slowly returned to a regular rhythmic beat. He could no longer feel it, had not felt it since the day he had been dragged from the God’s Eye, body broken and half drowned – the gentle tug of Vhagar that was ever present was gone, the connection that tied her to him was severed. He had emerged from the seemingly bottomless depths of the lake that bordered Harrenhal, but she had not. She had given her life for his as they had plummeted into the icy waters, the prince still chained to the great war beast’s saddle. The only consolation had been that his uncle, Daemon, and his blood wyrm, Caraxes, had perished alongside her. Her death had not been in vain.

Despite his weakened state as his men had freed him and dragged him onto drier land, he had still screamed, fighting to get back to the water, insisting they must try to save her. They had held him back as he had sobbed, telling him it was too late, Vhagar was gone. And once more, Aemond was a child, brought right back to the moment before he had claimed her, the loneliest boy in the world with an aching void in his chest that only the kinship of a dragon could fill. He had carried that ache every day since, like a hanging weight around his neck.

Two weeks had passed since Aemond had married his niece, two weeks since she had looked upon his naked form with such lust in her eyes that it had made him feel sick to his stomach. He did not want her to see him in that way, he was unworthy of it, and so he had done all he could to ensure that that desire was extinguished. He knew he had gone too far, crossed a boundary of cruelty from which there was no return, but cruelty had become second nature to him. War required despicable acts and, while there may no longer have been a physical battle to fight, turmoil still raged like an inferno in Aemond’s mind, never allowing him peace. The vile way in which he had chosen to defile her had worked; since that night she had not so much as looked in his direction, though she still slept curled in upon herself in the same bed as him each night. Not close enough that their bodies touched, but it was a tight enough proximity that he could still feel the gentle warmth that radiated from her body, could still smell the lavender oil that he noticed she liked to dab upon her pulse points. He did not understand why she did not ask to be moved to another room, why she continued to sleep beside him. It drove him to madness, each time his hand wandered to his hardened length while he reclined in the bathtub, furiously stroking himself to completion at the memory of her scent, her softness, how easily her body yielded to his. He was filled with self loathing afterwards, so overcome with shame that he could not bear the sight of his own reflection in the looking glass. It was torture, and perhaps he deserved it, but deep down he knew that she did not.

Upon seeing her rise from the bed on the morning of the fourteenth day of their marriage, her blue eyes downcast, her long, dark curls a curtain around her delicate features, Aemond decided he could take no more of it. It was unbearable to exist alongside this spectre of a woman, to see her face each day with her spirit snuffed out, existing but not really living. If it was his torment alone then he would bear the burden of it, but she had suffered enough, and he had contributed to more than his fair share of that. If he could grant her a single kindness then it would be her freedom from this wretched curse of an obligation.

Aemond’s boots echoed upon the stone floor of the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, taking a route he was certain he could navigate without even the sight he still possessed in his right eye. His mother’s apartments – they were a place he once used to delight in visiting as a child, a haven of comfort and solace to which his feet would run on the days when he felt sad, angry or just needed the simple affection of being held. As he had grown older, his footsteps had grown slower, his eagerness to see the dowager queen waning as he had slowly come to dread seeing her. Where he used to find love, understanding, sometimes even pity in the deep, dark gaze of Alicent, he now saw only fear, disappointment and sorrow. In his mother’s eyes, Aemond had turned from her favourite child into a monster, and the bitter irony of it all was that he had done it all for her.

The heavy wooden double doors were ajar as Aemond approached, the shrill sound of children’s laughter drifting out into the hallway through the gap. He hovered upon the threshold, watching as Jaehaera, Viserys and Aegon all breathlessly chased each other around the sitting space of the solar, each waving a wooden sword. Seeing their innocent smiles, bright eyes and the way their silver hair streamed down and around their shoulders reminded him of when he, Helaena and Aegon were children and still fond enough of one another to find each other’s company enjoyable. The memory made his chest feel uncomfortably tight, to know how much had changed. Helaena, once so fond of chasing butterflies and counting the legs on centipedes, was driven mad by the deaths of her sons and had taken her own life. Aegon, always so robust and the loudest in every room, made frail by battle and taken by poison. It was never supposed to be this way, and seeing his niece and nephews play together was like watching the ghosts of what could have been, what should have been.

“Aemond,” his mother’s voice roused him from his reverie, and he watched as she rose from the couch she had been seated upon, setting her wine cup upon the table in front of her. “What is it?”

There was once a time when she would have moved to greet him, taking his hands in hers as she enquired after his wellbeing. Now her hands remained clasped in front of her, accompanied by the soft click of her picking at her nail beds. Her reception of him was frosty, and she kept the table between the two of them, as though she needed a barrier of protection from her own son. Aemond swallowed thickly, glancing from the children and back to Alicent, still in her dressing gown, her auburn curls loose and cascading down her back in russet waves. “I wish to speak with you,” he said softly, his single eyed gaze drifting back to the ruckus the children were making, “alone.”

“Brella, the children,” Alicent commanded gently, looking over at the nursemaid, who had been heaping toys back into a chest. She immediately rose to herd the young Targaryens from the room, her hands at the backs of Viserys and Aegon, with Jaehaera between the two. 

Once the doors had been pulled closed, Aemond walked further into the space and, as if fleeing from him, Alicent moved to sit behind the large, mahogany writing desk positioned off to the corner of the sitting area. Aemond now occupied the space in which his mother had previously stood, between the table and the couch, watching as she slouched back in her chair, her hands laced together across her middle. She looked tired, a subtle darkness had settled across the pallid skin beneath her eyes. They held no warmth as they regarded him, only expectancy as she waited for him to speak.

“Release her from me,” Aemond said quietly, his stare unwavering as he looked into his mother’s exhausted eyes, “put an end to this.”

Alicent’s eyes drifted closed momentarily as she heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand to rub at her temple, as though the discussion pained her. When she opened her eyes again her expression was steely, her words conveying no emotion. “You know I cannot do that, Aemond. This marriage is for the good of the realm. A Targaryen must sit the throne until Rhaenyra’s sons come of age.”

“Do you know what I did to her? Before all of this? I told her I would marry her just so I could steal her virtue. I did it for no other reason than for wanting to be cruel.”

Aemond watched as Alicent’s eyes widened in horror, her shoulders sagging in disappointment as she regarded him with a look he had often seen directed at Aegon when they were younger. Emboldened, he continued.

“Do you know what I did to her on our wedding night? I–”

“Enough,” his mother held up a hand, silencing him, “I do not wish to hear it.”

She sounded so much like his grandsire that it enraged him. His nostrils flared as his voice grew dangerously low. “Of course you do not. All too happy to close your eyes to suffering, as long as we do our duty. Is that not what you and Otto inflicted upon Aegon and Hel–”

“It cannot be for nothing!” Alicent shouted, slamming her hands upon the table as she stood abruptly, the action sending parchment fluttering to the ground, a ceramic jug of wine toppled from the desk’s surface, shattering. Aemond watched as the ruby red liquid it had contained pooled and trickled along the cracks in the stone floor. His mother leaned forward, palms flat against the desk, eyes wild, hair spilling around her face like a shroud of flame. “This cannot all be for nothing. You must produce an heir–”

“I had an heir!” he shouted angrily, the edge of the couch bumping his knee, halting him as he moved to step forward, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I had an heir and you killed him!”

The anger deflated from him as quickly as it had erupted as he breathed heavily, watching his mother’s shocked expression. Sadness settled over him and he sat down heavily upon the low table placing his head in his hands, too weary to stand any longer.

He still remembered running a palm over the swell of her belly and kissing her fiercely, promising to return to her, their child, as soon as the battle was over. His Alys. His pretty Alys with her impossibly long, raven black hair and emerald green eyes. She had held him captivated from the moment he had looked upon her. Despite having put the rest of Harrenhal’s household to the sword, he had known as soon as he saw her that he would spare her. She had warmed his bed, loved him, guided him to victory, and given him the most precious gift of all – a son.

“It is a boy, I can tell,” she had purred, taking his hand and placing it against the bare skin of her belly as he had laid curled around her one morning in bed.

He had never felt such pride, not since he had claimed Vhagar, and his heart had clenched with affection for both her and their unborn child. She was a witch and a bastard, both traits he knew it would be frowned upon for a prince to entertain. However, her visions had guided him wisely and he was certain that when the war was over, her efforts to ensure he was victorious against his half sister would be recognised and rewarded by his family. No one but his mother had ever believed in him so unconditionally, however, unlike his mother, Alys did not shy away from the acts of barbarism that Aemond had to commit to ensure success.

When he had been pulled from the God’s Eye, once he had calmed enough to stop calling for Vhagar, he had asked after Alys, but she had not been brought to him. He had been returned to the capital, bedridden while he recovered from his injuries, and he had asked for her again, only to be told by his mother that she was gone, that she had made sure the witch would not darken their doorway ever again. Aemond had howled as he had for his dragon, the thought of his beloved and their unborn child both taken so barbarically from the world was more than he could stand. He did not ask for details, did not want to know. It was easier for him if he imagined that they had both simply ceased to exist.

He had fallen into melancholy, not having the strength to resist when his mother imposed upon him the marriage to his niece. All the fight had left him, the only spark of it returning upon the night that his new wife had dared to speak of the woman who held his heart.

Slowly, Aemond raised his head from his hands, his single eyed gaze filled with sorrow as he looked upon the concerned face of his mother, now seated once more and watching him as though observing a wild animal.

“What did you do to my child?” he asked, voice thick with emotion, “My Alys…please tell me they did not suffer.”

Alicent’s brows pinched together, her head shaking slightly as she stared at her son in confusion. “Aemond, what child? There was no child.”

“Yes, there was,” he insisted, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek, struggling to get the words out around the lump in his throat. “Alys was with child, at least eight moons, and you had her killed. You had them both killed.”

Bringing her hands in front of her, clasping them together as she rested her elbows upon the surface of the desk, his mother spoke softly. “She was not killed, and she certainly was not pregnant when she was apprehended.”

Aemond scoffed, barely able to contain his disbelief. Lies. Scandalous lies. “What are you talking about?”

“Alys had not intended for you to survive your fall into the God’s Eye,” Alicent explained, her voice the gentlest he had heard it in months, “when she heard that you still lived, she fled from Harrenhal. Our men apprehended her as she boarded a ship to the Free Cities. She told them she intended no trouble, simply wanted to be free, so they let her go. But she was not pregnant.”

He felt as though he was drowning all over again, his chest constricting as he battled to take in air, struggling to comprehend the words his mother spoke. “No…no, that is not possible. She loved me. She was going to give me a son.”

Alicent sighed, her features softening in sympathy for Aemond’s distress, as she brought her hands to rest upon the desktop, though she made no moves to comfort him. “Aemond, she was a witch. Whatever she had you believe, it was a trick, an illusion. She did not love you. She simply wanted to survive.”

“You are a liar,” he choked, standing once more, his vision blurred momentarily by tears. As much as he wanted to believe that his mother told him untruths, he could see the clarity in her dark eyes, there was no deceit, she spoke honestly and it ripped the bottom of his world away, his stomach in endless freefall.

“It is the truth. What did you expect? You put her entire household to the sword. She was your captive, not your lover. She lives, and if she had wanted to find her way back to you then she would have.”

Aemond turned, stumbling from the room, unable and unwilling to hear anymore. He clutched at his chest, the pain that throbbed beneath his ribs felt like it meant to tear its way from his flesh. A surge of white hot rage propelled his quickened steps as he made his way back towards his chambers, an anguished cry escaping him the moment the heavy wooden doors slammed behind him. Catching sight of his disfigured, tear streaked face in the looking glass nearest the door, he beat his fists against it, the glass shattering and exploding outwards as he brought his hands forcefully down upon its surface, the shards clattering loudly to the floor.

“Stop, stop!” The desperate plea came from behind him, as small, delicate hands tugged at his leather jerkin, pulling him away from his destructive rage. He turned, looking down into the worried face of his niece, her blue eyes wide and rosy lips slightly parted as she grasped at him, attempting to calm him.

Aemond snatched his dagger from the sheath held at his waist by his belt, taking the hilt and grasping her hands to wrap around it, before pointing the blade’s tip against his chest, pointed directly at his heart. “End this,” he pleaded desperately, “free us both from this.”

“Aemond, no!” she cried out, lurching back. The dagger fell to the floor with a clatter, and breathing heavily, he pressed forward, grabbing for her. A sharp crack of pain sent him reeling backwards as her palm made harsh contact with his cheek. The slap did not deter him, and he grabbed her again. This time, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip and he groaned as the discomfort exploded in the lower portion of his face, the coppery tang of blood blooming upon his tongue.

He kissed her deeply, allowing her to taste his blood as his tongue licked against hers, and she whined, the sound going straight to his groin, making his cock strain painfully against the lacings of his breeches. He fell to his knees, taking her to the floor with him, and she scrambled into his lap, tearing the clothes from his body. Her nails scored his pale flesh as she clawed at him, leaving raised, red scratches in their wake. He did not care, he would let her tear him to pieces if she so desired. He grunted, nuzzling into her neck, breathing in the sweet, heady scent of lavender oil as she sank down upon his manhood, enveloping him in her warmth. He clung to her, spurred on by the undulation of her hips as she used him for her pleasure, all the while nipping and scratching at his tender flesh, taking out her frustration on him just as he had done to her. Her climax was a violent, messy thing as her body gushed and convulsed around him, triggering his own release, his vision whiting out as burning hot tremors of pleasure seized all other thoughts.

When Aemond came to, he could feel a sting in his hand, an uncomfortable digging sensation, as he realised his arm was lifted above his head. He blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings, noticing he was laying upon the floor, the shattered remnants of the looking glass and his dagger still strewn across its stone surface. His head was laid in his niece’s lap, the rest of his body sprawled out flat upon the flagstones. A look of concentration graced her features, as she held his hand in her own, carefully digging out glass with a hair pin.

“I have managed to get most of it out,” she told him, noticing he was now conscious, “but you will need to see the maester for the wounds.”

He grunted quietly, uncaring. Let his hand rot and drop off for all he cared. His earlier pain and rage had subsided, an odd feeling of numbness had settled over him. “Do you think you could ever forgive me?” he murmured, so quietly he was not even sure she heard him.

She paused, lashes fluttering, clearly taken aback by his question as she glanced down at him, then back to his hand as she continued to dig out glass. “I think the horrors our families have inflicted upon each other transcend a need for simple forgiveness,” she uttered quietly.

He hummed in acknowledgement. She was right. No simple apology could fix this. He was not sure what would. Perhaps the legacy of House Targaryen was destined to remain fragmented, scattered to the winds. They were merely playing house upon its ashes. “For what it is worth,” he whispered, “I am sorry.”

He did not care if she forgave him, for her knew he could never forgive himself.

As the weeks passed, they continued to avoid each other, living as ghosts, merely occupying the same space. However, Aemond found that whenever he awoke from a nightmare – either being pulled from the God’s Eye, or tormented by vibrant green eyes – he reached for his niece’s curled up form, and she went eagerly to him, her body pliant beneath his as he settled between her spread thighs. He would bury his face in her neck, still unable to look at her, his thumb rubbing circles against her sensitive pearl in time with each thrust of his hips, until she came, shuddering and mewling softly, pulling him towards his own end and allowing him to fall back into blissfully dreamless oblivion.

Two moons had passed when she rose one morning, stretching languidly before climbing from the bed. As she made her way towards the vanity table, she stumbled, clinging to the poster at the foot of the bed to stop herself from falling.

Aemond threw back the covers, rushing to her side, holding her shoulders as she leaned her weight against him for support while he guided her back to bed.

“I feel funny,” she muttered weakly.

He watched as the maester examined her, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the lewd display of what appeared to be him fondling her breasts. Surely he did not need to touch her in such a place for a mere dizzy spell?

“When did you last bleed, your grace?” the maester asked softly.

His niece furrowed her brow at that, appearing lost in thought for a moment, before she spoke again. “I…I am not sure. Before the wedding, I think.”

The maester smiled softly, glancing up at Aemond, and then back to his wife. “Then I believe congratulations are in order,” he told her, “you are with child.”

Aemond inhaled sharply, his hand reaching out without forethought to rest upon her belly, ignoring the way his niece’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected contact. As his palm settled over the warmth of her soft flesh, the sensation travelled all the way up his arm, settling in the hollow that lay behind his ribcage. For the first time since Aemond had been dragged from the God’s Eye he felt whole again.

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[iamasaddie]

but we did hook up though

Renaldo Domingo x f!reader

summary: you were very impressed by the performance on of the groom's guests gave, and you decided to tell him that. later, he was very impressed by your performance, too. or you hook up with a handsome rich old guy who's never left his fuckboy era on your friend's wedding. warnings: PWP (quickie, "fear" of getting caught, blowjob, PinV, hair pulling, questionable dirty talk, very light choking, one face slapping, very light degradation if i can even call it that); Reynaldo is a toxic fuckboy of a man, he's obnoxious but doesn't understand that; NOT EDITED word count: 2k a/n: don't look at me have you seen those hip thrusts? i had to. also please make him the next tim rockford you guys PLEASE (i mean please start writing fic about him based on 60 second appearance)

It was hard not to notice him when it looked like he was everywhere your eyes went. A tall, broad man in a polo that was worth more than the grooms tuxedo. He was loud and obnoxious, but damn he knew how to move. 

You were sipping on your third greyhound– this one felt mostly like grapefruit juice but you didn’t mind– and you were watching him like a hawk.

Weddings weren’t your thing– none of the social gatherings were, if you were honest– but you made an effort for your friend, and she looked magnificent in white. Even more magnificent as her now husband swirled her on the dance floor just a few meters away from his friend? Ex situationship? You had no idea. But if you were lucky enough that man was swinging both ways and you were gonna drag him to your side of the court tonight.

“You put a hell of a show today,” you batted your eyes at the man who was calling a bartender with a snap of his fingers. Rude. 

He waited a moment before turning his head to you and scanned your body up and down without an ounce of shame before replying.

“Didn’t even try, sugar. I’m just that good.” 

Every fiber of your being hated men like him: preppy, daddy’s money paved the way for him and opened every door that he didn’t even bother walking into. A gold chain dangling over his neck to secure his fuckboy status, and a look of a spoiled brat that better suited 20-year-olds and not someone with greys in his hair. 

But he was so fucking hot. You hated the betraying nature of your body that was reacting to him like that. Hated that the slick arousal escaped your pussy and dampened your thighs because you skipped panties in a dress like that.

“I didn’t see you on the dancefloor.” He wasn’t even looking at your face, your tits hugged by a cocktail dress commanding all of his attention.

“Not a big fan of the attention, and the crowd. And weddings, to be honest.” He finally looked you in the eyes, a glint of mischief hiding in his browns. He gave you a pearly white smile before leaning closer. 

“I know a pretty crowd-less and quiet place.”

“Just like that?” Unfortunately, you were too impressed with his baldness to slap him.

“Why not?” He shrugged his shoulders, “you’re hot, I’m hot.” His eyes once again drew a path down your body. “Plus, you’re not wearing panties, and I’m already half hard.”

“I don’t even know your name,” you huffed. He stretched out a hand and when you took it it shocked you how hot his skin was comparing to yours. Like he was burning up. 

“I’m Renaldo Domingo.”

He didn’t ask what your name was.

“It’s not the bridal suit, is it?” You whispered, his mouth already wetting the skin of your neck with rushed kisses.

“No, but it’s a good idea…”

“No, not a good idea.”

You pushed him deeper in the room. It was pitch black, the night already settled on the city, and Reynaldo fumbled to find a light switch. A lamp in the corner of the room lit everything up in a gentle yellow glow.

“So you liked the way I moved, huh?” His cocky tone was exasperating, but instead of making you get up and leave it made you tug on his belt with extra vigor. You settled on the soft pink couch and he stood above you, his bulging crotch a threat to your throat. 

“Yeah, so I decided to test the stereotype.”

“What stereotype?” He unzipped the pants and stopped for a moment.

“If it’s true that good dancers are also good fuckers.”

Renaldo chuckled loudly, but the laughter stopped the moment his pants dropped along with his tacky Hugo Boss boxers. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your genuine reaction, but couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping, eliciting another cocky ‘mhm, that’s right baby’ from the man.

He wasn’t even fully hard and he was still intimidating. Thick like a soda can, you doubted that thing would physically fit in your throat. His cock was veiny and came with a set of low hanging but very big balls. 

“You should work with your pretty mouth first, and then if you do well I’ll show you how good of a lover I am.” 

His hand went to your face, a manicured thumb dragged aline from the corner of your painted lips to your ear, tucking a strand of your hair behind it. Then he placed his hand on top of your head with zero concerns about your hairstyle and slowly forced you to move your face closer to his cock that was starting to grow bigger from your proximity.

You swallowed a big glob of saliva, and stuck your tongue out giving him an experimental lick. You knew how to suck cocks, you were actually very good at it, so why on earth were you nervous now?

When a low rumble of his moan shattered the silence you smiled. Damn right, you might suck at dancing but you were a top notch cock sucker.

With more confidence now your small hand travelled up his hairy thigh and found his balls, cupping the globes and slowly massaging them as you helped yourself with your other hand to put his cock in your mouth.

He was salty and a bit sweaty from all the dancing, but you didn’t mind. On the contrary, your mouth closed tighter aroun him as you took as much as you could inside, feeling him grow as you started to bob your head up and down.

“Yes, baby, suck this cock. I knew it from the moment I saw you you were gonna wrap those pretty lips around my cock.” 

Renaldo’s hand grabbed your hair tighter, pulling at it to control the speed at which he wanted you to take him. It was faster that what you were ready for and you sputtered your saliva on your chin and tits as you gagged on him.

“What? Too big for your tiny mouth?” His tone was condescending, almost mocking. Your dress was drenched in your arousal where you sat on it. 

The hand you kept on his cock squeezed him tighter as your tongue swirled around his leaking head. You gave yourself a moment to breathe and concentrate before doing something you weren’t sure you were possible of. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, you started pushing his cock deeper in your mouth and then further down your throat. It kicked every thought you had out of your brain, it was just him everywhere. Renaldo went rigid under you and both of your held your breath. 

One, two, three, four, five, si–

He pulled on your hair forcing you to release his cock and look at him with teary, red eyes.

“Fuck, that was.” He was breathing rapidly and you saw a patch of his hair sticking out from the side, he must’ve been grabbing it as he tried to stave off his orgasm. “Almost spilled in your pretty mouth, baby. And then you would’ve never known how good of a lay I am.”

You tried to calm your own breath, your chest rising and falling quickly, hypnotizing the man with the softness. Before you could calm down he grabbed you by the hand getting you off the sofa, and then took you by the waist, lifting you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his middle, the material of his polo soft but foreign. The silk of your dress bunched up exposing your slick wet pussy to Renaldo’s exploration.

He pressed you into the wall. His mouth was on yours but instead of kissing you he just kept whispering filthy words that fell right on your tongue.

“Wet, just like I thought, huh. Slutty little pussy got wet from struggling to take me? Drooling like a bitch just from crying on my cock?”

“Shut up and just fuck me already,” you hissed in his mouth. While one of his hands still held you another slapped your cheek, rendering you speechless. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

His eyes got dark and serious for a split moment before he plastered a cocky smile back on his face.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, your back whining from the less than gentle collide with the wall, and he didn’t even give you a warning before punching his cock up your hole.

“Fuck,” you cried. He was thick and rigid inside you. Stinging intrusion made you pliant like a ragdoll in his hands, the only tense part of you was your pussy that stretched and stretched to take him deeper. To have more of him.

He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. The veins on his neck and forehead bulged with extortion as he pushed his dick in and out of you with the same rhythm he had on the dance floor. 

“Choking me real good, sugar. Choking me like a good little girl.”

You threw your head back, not even feeling the pain from hitting the wall. Your body was covered in chills, the man fucked you so good that you couldn’t even be annoyed with him anymore. His cock felt magical spreading your walls, molding you to every vein, every ridge he had. Kissing you deeper than anyone before could.

You felt a sweet sensation of the upcoming orgasm, your nipples got hard against the silk and you wished you could pinch them, but you just continued holding Renaldo by the shoulders.

“Choke me.”

"Your eyes snapped open and you saw him looking at you very seriously.

“Wh–”

“Put your pretty tiny hand around my throat and choke me a little, baby.” He snapped his hips faster, showing you he’s not joking, he was as close as you were. “Choke me while I play with your clit, come on.”

You were somewhat aware what you were doing, having had the reverse experience before, but you made sure you didn’t press too hard.

His face went still as he found your throbbing clit with his thump and drew fast circles around it. You were sure you would’ve came even if he didn’t do that, but hell that felt good. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you didn’t recognize your feverish whispers as your body tensed up around the man and you choked him in two different places simultaneously.

“Good. Fucking. Pussy.” The man hoarsed out, thrusting each word into you with force while thick cum spilled out of his cock in hot bursts. 

You were both breathless, your hand now just a second necklace around his neck, not squeezing anymore but just laying there, feeling his pulse as you tried to slowly come down from the high you took each other to.

“So, was the stereotype right? Do I fuck as good as I dance?” His belt jingled too loudly for the darkness the room was set into again.

You dropped your head and shook it, biting your lip. He didn’t. He fucked way better.

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG!

@bonezone44 @toxicanonymity @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy

[this-acuteneurosis]

We Will Not Wear Chains

Consequences

Sometimes waking up just sucks.

[norrisainz33]

electric || ln4

summary: lando norris was your favorite situationship and you found that you weren’t the only one who wanted a little bit more

pairing: lando norris x situationship!reader

warnings: highly suggestive, bad grammar and some bad language. you are responsible for the content you consume!!!

word count: 1,537

a/n: first fully written lando fic!

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

the night was electric. the club pulsed with the beat of the music and you could feel the bass rumble in your chest as you danced through the crowd with your friends. you could feel the excitement rising as the alcohol made its way through your system but even with all the chaos around you, your eyes were only on one person.

lando norris.

he was easy to spot with his bright smile and effortless confidence. he stood out in any room he found himself in and tonight, as always, he was impossible to ignore. when your eyes met across the crowd, there was no need for words. he was already making his way over, his presence commanding your attention. you had sometimes wished you were able to deny his charm but you were never quite strong enough to say no.

“y/n,” he called, his voice cutting through the music as he reached you with a cheeky grin spread across his face.

“lando,” you answered, trying to play it cool as your heart raced faster with each step that he got closer. lando was in a classic black button up with his //// chain dangling perfectly around his neck. he looked incredible with his curls peaking out of his backwards cap.

lando didn’t waste any time before grabbing your hand and pulling you further into the mass of bodies on the dance floor. time seemed to bend around the both of you, the world outside your little bubble fading into the background. you found yourself getting lost in the feeling of lando's hands on your waist as you two danced to the beat of the music.

it happened like this with you both more than you wanted to admit. it was almost like clock work, he'd come home from a race weekend, beg you to meet him out somewhere in monaco for drinks, you'd find yourself in his bed and then you wouldn't hear from him again until after the next race.

lando leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “want to get out of here?”

the question hung in the air, simple and direct. and for a moment, you paused in a way you wouldn't usually. you wanted so badly for lando to want something more from you but you knew now wasn't the time for that conversation. and you knew, in this current moment, that all you wanted was him.

“yes,” you whispered back.

lando grabbed your hand, leading you out of the club, your footsteps quick as you navigated the streets of monaco. the cool night air hit your skin and you let out a sigh of relief enjoying the sudden quiet.

he led you to a car park where his car, the sleek and ever iconic mclaren, sat. that car, your favorite of the bunch, purred with power as it came to life under his touch. lando glanced around the garage quickly and you watched him as he did.

lando's gaze flicked to you, his lips curling into a mischievous smile that sent a shiver through you. he didn't move to get his car going or even put on his seat belt instead he turned to you his hand landing on your thigh. he was wild, carefree and lived for moments like this.. moments that were reckless, intense, and full of adrenaline.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice low and teasing, “i don’t think we need to wait to get home.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was both urgent and sweet. it was a kiss that held all the pent-up energy from the night and all the unspoken things you hadn’t said yet.

your heart pounded as you kissed him back and your hand found his neck pulling him closer. your initial apprehension melting away as he deepened the kiss and gently pulled you over the console and into his lap.

it wasn't long after that a heavy knock sounded on the driver's side window. you both jolted apart as your heart dropped into your stomach. you scrambled off lando's lap and back into the passenger seat as lando flung the door open.

"max!" he half shouted clearly irritated.

you let out a breath of relief when you realized it wasn’t paparazzi or some stranger just lando’s best mate, max fewtrell, standing there arms crossed and looking more amused than anything.

"mate don’t yell at me!" max threw up his hands. "you’re the one who told me you were going home with me and not her and then you ditched me at the f**king bar!"

"max shut up" lando snapped, sharper than you'd ever heard him.

"oh right sorry sorry" max said with a dramatic eye roll. "wouldn’t want her to hear about your silly little feelings for her and how you begged me to help you get your act together!"

you grabbed your purse, your heart thudding for a whole different reason now and stepped out of the mclaren. you brushed your hair behind your ear trying not to make eye contact with either of them.

"listen! it’s alright! i should go. my friends are still at the club and i can get a ride with them, it’s fine really," you said backing away from the pair trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

"no y/n/n - don’t go! i’m sorry. you shouldn’t have to go home on your own." lando’s voice was softer now.

max looked down clearly realizing he’d might have just made a little bit of an ass of himself.

"i’ll be ok." you said quietly, slinging your purse over your shoulder and keeping your eyes fixed on the ground. you turned before either of them could stop you again.

you walked out of the car park and towards the club where your friends were while trying to calm the swirl in your chest. you weren’t sure what exactly had just happened or what lando’s feelings even meant but you knew one thing for sure. something had changed.

this was the end of the night but maybe it was also the beginning of something more.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: if you made it this far... thanks for reading!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[littledozerdraws]

fic to accompany the art by the amazing @drawsaurus

He had already killed for the Emperors; but this was no debut at some preening Senator’s bawdy-house. When it was already past dusk, Hanno was led out in chains from the Colosseum stables, through a dank alleyway buried in the backstreets of the slums; down, down, into the labyrinthine bowels of the city, endless stone tunnels rank and musty with disuse. The skeleton of a rat crunched under his heel like an autumn leaf. He half assumed that he trudged to his death, and found it did not much bother him. 

But when, at last, the floor underfoot sloped upwards and turned to stairs, Hanno found that he had emerged not into a slaughterhouse, but into the soft, warm candlelight and velvet drapery of the imperial palace. Viggo handed him off to an elegant but harried house slave, no word, but a sneer of knowing disdain. 

Hanno gave him nothing back. He knew that he would kill that man one day. He could be patient.

The slave had the high, soft voice and smooth hands of a eunuch. “I should have liked a day to school you in the proper etiquette,” he said, unhappy, as they moved quickly through more corridors, more twists and turns. Hanno felt like he had no sense at all of where he was in the City; he could have been miles outside it were it not for the two-headed crest of the Emperors that adorned the walls. “But there is little time. I shall tell you the basics. You must look neither Caesar in the eye, nor address them unbidden. Your little trick at Senator Thraex’s has the court all a-gossip, but you must keep your station henceforth. I know you understand Latin,” he said curtly, when Hanno made no response. “You will do as you are commanded, no more or less.”

Still Hanno said nothing. 

Perhaps the eunuch wanted to shock some kind of reaction out of him. “Emperor Geta will direct the proceedings,” he said, cold. “Emperor Caracalla likes to be fucked as a woman. You will be expected to perform.”

“...Macrinus sends me here to fight.”

The eunuch looked him over. “I see they did not bathe you at the stables,” he sniffed. “Your musk is not unpleasant, at least.”

“You have me mistaken.”

They stopped abruptly, before a fresco that Hanno could not make out in the low light. He could tell, at least, it was ostentatious. A door was cut through the wall that gave gently when pushed. The house slave gave him a shallow bow, almost a mockery, and indicated that he should enter. “Do not misunderstand,” he said, quieter even than before. His superiority dropped away from a moment; this felt like a freely given warning. “This may seem a private audience, but the Praetorian Guard have many ears and quick swords. Perform your duty well, and you will leave here a man entire. Do not make poor decisions, Poet.”

The Emperors had called him that.

Before the night was out, they would name him so again, and again, and again.

[beloveds-embrace]

I absolutely adore the worshipper 141 x fertility goddess reader fic 😭

Thinking about the war god lashing out as a desperate final attempt at control over the lands he used to rule. Gardens trampled, crops scorched, a knife to the delicate throat of their goddess. He’s weak, but still strong enough to overpower his kinder counterpart. Suddenly, in the garden of Eden, the men have to decide between the god they serve and the goddess who changed their lives for the better 😭😭

I love your writing and this isn’t a request, just a thought from reading your work!! Thank you for your time!!! :)

p1 + thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this!!!

It began without warning.

The sky split open like torn flesh, clouds boiling black and crimson, bleeding rage across the horizon. The air turned sharp, laced with iron and ash, tasting of a thousand forgotten wars.

Your garden, your quiet triumph against ruin, was the first to fall; what you had coaxed from barren dust with gentle hands was crushed beneath his heel like ants without a single ounce of worth.

Vines, once trembling with life, snapped like brittle bones. Blossoms soft and shy were torn from their stems and ground into the dirt. Rows of golden wheat, still young and unripe, scorched to ash in an instant flame.

And above it all, he stood- the god they once called master; ragged, monstrous, yet still towering in the way of all dying things who refuse to be forgotten. His form bled smoke and fury, his eyes, pits of endless war, found yours and in them there was no plea for mercy, no room for parley. And when he spoke, his voice cracked the earth like a whip:

“Mine.”

The word rang out, older than stone and colder than steel, and it wrapped itself around their spines like chains.

He was losing, and he knew it, and so he struck where you were softest.

A blade materialized from nothing, jagged and blackened by centuries of slaughter, and it pressed against your tender throat- that delicate curve of life, that source of all gentleness in this ravaged land.

The garden stilled, a gasp frozen in this moment. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, and the burnt leaves curled away, their eyes unable to withstand the sight of such brutality.

The war god’s eyes, though, burned with a fire that wanted only to destroy, to reclaim what he had lost, to remind them that their lives were bought with blood, and blood alone.

He spoke not to you, but to them. His voice was a command, an echo in their bones, a summons older than their scars and their blood.

It spoke of loyalty, of purpose, of the endless war that had shaped them, broken them, made them his.

The men who had been his instruments; the warriors he had shaped from flesh and fear until they should have known him better than they have known how to breathe. And all the while you remained a silent spectator, even with your neck quite literally on the line.

“Return.”

John felt the old weight first; like a heavy collar slipping back around his throat.

The war god had made him. Had carved him from weakness and fear until he had to fight tooth and nail to earn his life. He had been a creature of this god for so long that his soul bore the weight of it like a chain and now he could feel the call, deep in his marrow, urging him to step back into the dark, into the never-ending abyss of War.

“Bow.”

Ghost stood still, unmoving, heart thudding in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins; the war god’s voice was like old wounds tearing open again.

It would be easier to obey.

To lose himself in violence and forget the pain of hope- to bow.

“Obey.”

Johnny, reckless Johnny, clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. He had laughed in the face of war, but the laughter had been hollow, hadn’t it? A defense. A mask. The god had shaped his chaos, and now called him home.

Even Kyle, sharp-eyed Kyle, faltered. Suspicion whispered that maybe you were a dream, soft and fleeting, and he could not afford dreams in this world.

The words were not commands.

They were truths; truths carved into bone and scar, truths written in every kill, every scream, every night spent beneath a blood-red sky and raining ash.

And for a moment, they hesitated; the war god offered certainty. Even in ruin, certainty.

But then the wind shifted, and they saw you.

You, with dirt beneath your nails and sunlight in your eyes. You, still standing though the earth crumbled at your feet. You, throat bared to a blade, and yet not afraid.

The war god had never knelt to plant a seed, and had never fed them bread with gentle hands. He had never spoken of peace like a promise, nor smiled without cruelty behind his teeth.

But you had.

And in that moment, beneath a sky split by wrath, they chose.

John stepped forward first, the decision breaking something old and bitter inside him. It felt like betrayal and freedom, like the first time you kissed his forehead and held his hands. His voice, rough with disuse, cut through the silence.

“…Not anymore.”

He placed himself between you and the war god’s blade, pushing you behind him.

And for the first time in his long, violent life, he did not raise his fists to kill-

He raised them to protect.

Ghost moved next, silent as smoke. A knife flashed, sharp and sure, knocking the shocked, frozen god’s weapon from your throat.

The war god turned on him with rage then, but found only defiance where once there had been obedience, for even Johnny laughed, raw and wild, but this time the madness was gone.

“Looks like yer outnumbered, mate.”

He took his place beside you, brushing a smear of ash from your cheek with a grin. And Kyle, your quiet, steady Kyle, slipped to your other side, his voice low and firm.

“Your war’s over.”

The god recoiled.

Because gods- no matter how ancient, how cruel- exist only as long as they are believed in. Not even rememberance will hold on if there is nothing worth believing.

And in that moment, with the men’s faith torn from his grasp like a blade from a dying hand in the ruins if your trampled garden, he faded.

The skies cracked and thunder rolled, yet tehy still bled bled light instead of blood.

The ground trembled beneath his vanishing weight.

He let out one final roar, a sound of rage and ruin, but it was swallowed by the wind, by the earth, by the green shoots daring to rise again beneath his crumbling shadow.

The storm cleared, after a moment; ash drifted down, soft as snow, settling on broken stems and shattered stones and the blade that lay forgotten in the dust.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then John turned to you.

His hand- scarred, calloused, human- rose to your face, wiping away the faintest smear of blood where the blade had grazed your skin. His thumb was careful, hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish now that the fight was done.

It trembled, just a little.

“You’re safe now.” He said, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid the moment might break if he were not careful enough.

Ghost exhaled, slow and shaky. He knelt in the broken soil and began to gather the ruined stems and leaves, planting them anew with awkward, quiet hands.

Johnny let out a soft, breathless laugh, tilting his face toward the sky that was no longer red, but blue, pale and fragile like something reborn.

“Guess we’re farmers now, eh?”

And Kyle, quiet and steady as always, gave a faint smile, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“Better farmers than soldiers.”

And so, in the stillness left behind by a fallen god, among the ruined remains of your haven, something new began to grow. Just yours.

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything IX

The 9th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I'm back for good this time cos I bailed out of my trash job of 6 years hello mferssss

Warning: Graphic Language, Graphic description of violence

You’d been thinking about your past more often than usual, especially on the nights that you lay staring at your ceiling. Saint told you that it was a sign that you’d begun to move on. The villain that had consumed your thoughts was now a tentative ally and you’d been left with history seeping through the cracks. 

You were almost grateful. 

Almost. 

You thought about your career before the incident, about the missions that went impossibly wrong. Death, grief, sorrow, hatred, and guilt, they weren’t things that you experienced alone. Shared pain eased the blow- you weren’t the only one suffering and, in a way, that provided comfort. 

However, the mission that truly plagued you was a mission so highly classified that there were only four people who still knew of it. There were only four people who survived it. 

“You and me, Birdy. 

We’re dead.”

You sat up in your bed, mind kicking into overdrive. The dim light on your wrist indicated that it was well past midnight but your blood was electrified.

You’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to you that you’d stopped thinking about what you’d done. Why had someone tried to kill you, you had to have done something. You had to have known something. 

“We’re dead.”

You pulled your duvet from your body, the cool air washing against your skin to make it prickle. Winter was, by far, the worst month to live on base. The heating units in your block were terrible and outdated with the empty promise of upgrades. You slid into your slippers and ventured into the hallway, palms rubbing up and down the length of your arms. 

Your feet were on auto-pilot as they led you to the door of the last person you’d expect to seek out. There was no light seeping out from beneath cracks and you couldn’t hear a sound from inside. He might not have even been home, it was a Saturday night after all- no one was in. Not even Simon, and that was saying something. 

You shifted your weight on your heels, wincing when the floorboard creaked under the pressure. It couldn’t hurt to knock. Or it could, you supposed. You had no idea why you were here, knocking on his door at 2am in the morning was unhinged behaviour.  

You took a step back from the door, another creak betraying your position. This was a dumb idea. You could talk to him in the morning like a normal, functioning human being would. 

The door swung open suddenly, forcing your heart into your throat. 

König’s hulking silhouette filled the frame, shadowed and imposing. He barely fit through the door as he stepped into the corridor, the dim warmth of the ceiling fixtures washing over his figure. 

You quickly realised that he’d been asleep as you took in his visage. Sleep tousled hair, a vulnerable gaze, König stood before you shirtless in long tracksuit pants. You forced your eyes to remain fixed to his face as he looked you up and down. 

“Birdy?” He rasped, scrubbing his face lazily with one hand, the other resting on his hip. “Why are you lurking at my door?” 

Indignant heat crawled from your neck and into your cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking, I was about to knock.” 

König narrowed his eyes, silently telling you that he knew you were lying. You changed the topic, crossing your arms defensively. 

“I just wanted to talk about something, I didn’t realise how late it was.” You cast a glance down the hall where you’d come from. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, we can talk in the morning.” 

As you turned to leave, hot with embarrassment, König sighed. 

“Birdy.” He called. 

You peeked at him tentatively from over your shoulder. 

The man opened his door and gestured inside. Your breath hitched in your throat, the room behind him was dark. That jade gaze watched you tiredly but with intent. He wasn’t going anywhere with you, this time you would have to come to him. 

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly. 

You received a nod in reply. 

With a sharp breath and squared shoulders, you wandered cautiously into the lion’s den. Your bare skin brushed against his waist as you passed him, sending a thrill down the length of your spine.

A floor lamp turned on behind you, flooding the room in a warm, sensual glow. You barely heard the door click shut, you were too busy taking in the room before you. It was nothing like you’d been expecting, furnished and decorated with a surprising attention to detail.

The room smelt lightly fragrant, as though incense was lit frequently enough to linger. You caught sight of candles on the desk to your left, ‘cedar wood and myrrh’. That would do it. 

The corner of your lip quirked upward at his library/gaming corner. A dark wood shelving unit housed a plethora of his books and a gaming console, then a flat screen mounted in the centre. Bean bags were neatly organised atop a dark rug, you figured they would be more comfortable for him than an inevitably too small couch. 

A game was still playing on the screen, the character standing inactive in their own world. 

“Were you playing?” You turned to look at König, who seemed very suddenly uncomfortable.

“No,” he cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the floor. “No, I fell asleep while playing.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bed last.

“That’s a big bed.” You don’t know why you said it. 

“I’m a big guy.” Was the reply. 

The bed was tall, something you would have to climb onto if it were your own. There was a large, dark wooden headboard pressed against the back wall, framing the bed like it was the main feature of the room. Dark silk pillows adorned the matching silk bed sheets, and you could only imagine how comfortable they would be on your skin. 

You turned to face König who had put a shirt on somewhere amidst your gawking at his home. 

“I didn’t think your room would be so…” You trailed off, gesturing at the space around you. 

“Delicate?” He offered, self deprecation ringing through his tone. 

“Nice,” you finished. “I was going to say nice.”

A small smile finally graced his lips, the first one you’d seen all night. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he sounded self-conscious about the space he’d designed. 

“I spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged as he offered you a beanbag. “I wanted it to be… nice.”

You took a seat, sighing as the tension in your body dissipated instantly. König stretched those long legs out as he got comfortable atop his own bag across from you. 

“Why don’t you get out more, there’s plenty to do around here,” you mused. 

König chuckled darkly, “people don’t like me very much around here, Birdy.”

The mood dampened at that, the energy in the room shifting. His green gaze had lost the softness that you’d almost grown accustomed to, becoming guarded instead. You wish you’d just held your tongue. 

“What did you want to talk about?” König asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for another shift of his attitude- this time to anger. You weren’t afraid of his frustration, not anymore. God knows that you’d seen enough of it directed at you to know that you were physically safe. Despite that knowledge you still hated seeing it with every fiber of your being. 

“I want to tell you about a mission I did a while back,” you said shakily. “Then I want you to help me figure out whether it might be connected to everything that’s… happened.” 

König’s eyes narrowed, darting to the door and back. He stood to his feet quickly and you flinched as he brushed past you. You turned to look over your shoulder at him, surely he wasn’t walking out of his own room. 

“I thought we agreed to drop it,” he growled beneath his breath and you weren’t sure whether he was talking to himself or you. He was rummaging through his desk irritatedly, muttering as he worked.  “Of course you didn’t drop it. Why would you? Let’s all die together!” 

Soft music began to play and you raised your eyebrows as he placed a speaker against the door. 

“What, are you setting the mood?” You snarked, settling back into your bag as he returned to his. He shot you a withering glare. 

“It’s so that no one hears us as you, once again, try to get us killed by talking about this on base.” He hissed, propping himself up. 

You rolled your eyes at him but you knew he was right. It would be more suspicious if the both of you had gone on an excursion into town together, you’d have all eyes on you. There weren’t many places for you to approach him about information but it seems all the places you have were wrong. 

“Tell me about the mission,” he sighed though his nose. The frown lines on his forehead softening as you nodded.

“This mission was, and is, highly classified. You cannot tell a soul about this.” You warned, watching him earnestly. It was König’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Yes, I will try my hardest to not tell all of my best friends in the 141.” 

You shot him a withering glare. 

“Fine,” he groaned. “Obviously I will not tell anybody, Birdy.” 

You nodded, satisfied with his response, before launching into the details of the mission.

-

“Alpha 1-1 to Bravo 1, SITREP, over.”

“Bravo 1 in position, green status, over.” 

“Bravo 1, maintain position. Payload incoming. Alpha 1-1 out. 

You drew a deep breath, taking in the view a final time beyond the scope of your rifle. You’d perched up on the high ground, neatly hidden between wiry bushes and dirt mounds. The U.S forward operating base, its entrance, and the arterial road in, were all at your mercy. 

Your mission was to provide cover for a high value payload and offer additional defense to the U.S FOB while it received. For a black bag operation it was deceptively simple. Then again, you had no idea what the payload was. You’d been told that the objective was to protect a Shadow Company squad while they  “delivered the milk.”

You weren’t important enough to be privy to more than that. 

A dust trail in the distance indicated the payload’s approach and you set to work. Thermal imaging provided you a clear picture of the incoming convoy as it cleared the crest. To your alarm there were only three vehicles before you, for such precious cargo you thought that there’d be a larger security detail. 

There was a civilian blocking the route ahead of them that you’d raised concern about prior. U.S soldiers had been dispatched from the base to remove him but were thus far unsuccessful. Your stomach tightened as the convoy slowed to a halt 350 yards from your position. 

As one of the Shadow members dismounted their vehicle you couldn’t shake your rising paranoia. You felt the hairs on your arms raise and your skin prickle- a sniper’s sixth sense. You turned your sights to the crest the convoy had appeared from. 

There was something very, very wrong. 

You watched the crest carefully, praying that you were paranoid. 

But, you never were. 

“Sierra 1, contact rear, near ambush!” 

No sooner than the callout had left your lips, the incoming vehicles opened fire. 

Chaos erupted the way it usually did in war. The screams, the callouts falling on deaf ears, the gunfire- it all blurred, really. The only thing you could truly hear was your own breath. Every inhale was steady and your heart followed in suit, a steadfast sniper was the most accurate. 

And there was a reason that you were the best. 

One by one they fell. Amidst the cloud of moon dust and the flurried movements you could see everything, and everyone, as clear as day. The floor was littered with bodies, men from both sides ironically meeting the same end.

A blinding flash forced your eyes shut as your scope lit up. The explosion rocked the earth beneath your stomach and you knew then that the fight was lost. An RPG blast had ended it all in an instant, obliterating the men you were protecting. Limbs, shrapnel, and wreckage were all that remained of Shadow Squad.

Your teeth were clenched tight enough to cramp your jaw. You couldn’t get a shot with the enemy operators hidden behind the cargo. 

“Bravo 1, don’t let them take that fucking payload!”

Shepherd's voice was desperate, a growing hysteria that you’d never heard from him before. 

“I don’t have a shot,” you ground out through your teeth. 

Between Graves and Shepherd barking half-baked orders down the line, there was little coherency.

The mission objective was a monumental failure and an unjustifiable amount of lives had been lost that day, along with the payload. There was only one survivor of the ground assault, a blessing in itself. Dipaolo had been knocked unconscious in his vehicle after the RPG explosion and assumed dead by the enemy. 

You had tried to talk to Dipaolo briefly while waiting for your transport home. He’d been mumbling to himself dazedly in the back corner of the medical room for hours when you approached him. 

“Dipaolo?...” You trailed off. The man had lost his entire squad in one hit, he’d woken up to their blood on his face and their limbs scattered across the dirt. No amount of experience can give you the right words to say to a man like that.

His hazel gaze met yours, distant and tired. 

“What have we done?” He whispered. 

Your tongue dried in your mouth and you could only stare at him in response. You’d failed is what you’d done. You’d failed this man and his men and you couldn’t protect them. 

“We’re so fucked,” he shook his head. “We are so fucked.”

“What-” you’d barely choked out the word before he grabbed your wrist roughly. You yelped as Dipaolo pulled you in close, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin. He reeked of death.

“Do you know what we’ve fucking done, Birdy?” The Shadow hissed through gritted teeth as you tugged uselessly against his grip. “Do you know what we just fucking gave them?” 

“Let go,” you rasped. Panic began to rise in your chest when his gaze turned hysterical. 

The door behind you flung open but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. His grip tightened as he flicked his sights to the medics entering the room. 

“Do you know what we’ve done, Birdy? Do you know what we gave them?” His words blurred together desperately. “We’re fucked! You hear me?” 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Relief flooded your chest as the returning medic inserted himself between you and the crumbling soldier. “Let’s just back up for a second.” 

You ripped your arm from his grip and immediately turned to leave, your skin burning where you’d been detained. You tried to tune out Dipaolo's screams as you left the room but this wasn’t a battlefield and you had no rifle- you heard it all. 

“We are dead!” The Shadow’s voice broke from behind you. “You and me, Birdy, we’re dead!”

-

König’s face was stony as he leaned back into his seat. 

The silence following your story was heavy and your mouth was dry. You couldn’t remember the last time that you’d spoken so much in one sitting. 

“Birdy,” König mused, “when was that mission?” 

“A while back, a few months I’d say,” it was a rough estimate. “I’d have to check my dates.”

König shook his head, green eyes flashing with alarm. “How long did it happen before our… incident?” 

You blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. Your heart dropped to your stomach and it was as though König knew what you were going to say before you said it. 

“It was the last mission I had…” you trailed off shakily. You felt like you were going to vomit. 

König’s eyes hardened as he voiced the realization that you had both come to. 

“It was the last mission you did before I was sent to kill you, Birdy.” 

[xoxolaw]

Haiiiiii💖💖i REALLY LOVE your seong je fics can i request one identical to the six feet away smoking one but this time the reason is because he likes her and havent confessed leaving the girl confused why everyone around her mostly thugs avoid her when shes tge type to pick fights out of pure annoyance with them, i’ll leave the ending to youu😼💖😘😘

-sorry i didn’t word it that well🥹but i hope you get the gist

+ 𝗦𝗜𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗜𝗦 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘

in which, he likes her, but instead of confessing, he quietly commands everyone else in the Union to stay at least six feet away from her—not to protect her, but because he wants to be the only one close to her.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

It started gradually.

So gradually she didn’t notice at first.

The first time someone stepped out of her way, she thought it was a fluke. Maybe they just had good reflexes. Maybe they didn’t want trouble. She did have a bit of a reputation—short fuse, sharp tongue, quicker fists.

But when it happened again the next day—then again, and again, and again—it stopped feeling like coincidence.

Something was wrong.

Because Kanghak High wasn’t a kind place. It was crawling with Union lackeys and wannabe thugs who usually had no issue bumping into her, cornering her in the hall, laughing when she shoved back.

But now?

They saw her coming—and moved.

Like she was a fire they weren’t allowed to touch.

She even tried to pick a fight with one of them just to test it.

A guy twice her size had brushed her shoulder at the stairwell. Normally, that would've led to an elbow to his ribs and some choice words.

So she squared up, glared at him, snapped, “You blind or just stupid?”

But instead of smirking or pushing her back, he looked… nervous.

And he backed off. Fast.

“Nah, I—I wasn’t tryna start nothin’, alright?” he mumbled, hands raised like she had a gun pointed at him. “Sorry.”

Sorry?

Since when did Kanghak apologize?

She turned, heart pounding, catching the way the guy glanced over her shoulder—

And froze.

Because behind her, leaning casually against the railing, was Geum Seong-je.

Watching.

✮⋆˙

He was always watching.

From the edge of the cafeteria. From the rooftop railing. From the shadows in the gym. Always chewing gum, always too still, always looking like he was waiting for something.

She used to ignore it.

Used to roll her eyes and chalk it up to typical gang-boss arrogance.

But lately?

The stare felt heavier. Thicker. Like the air shifted when he was around.

And now people moved around her like she had an invisible bubble—and Seong-je stood right outside it, arms folded, smirk twisting at the corner of his lips.

Always close enough to see her.

Never close enough to touch her.

But no one else even dared to try.

✮⋆˙

She heard the phrase one day—accidentally, through a half-open classroom window.

“Don’t go near her,” someone said. “Seong-je’ll rip your face off.”

She held her breath.

“Yeah, I’m not kidding. He said six feet minimum. Anyone breaks it, they answer to him.”

Her heart thudded.

Six feet.

A goddamn radius like she was radioactive.

A territory.

✮⋆˙

Later that day, she found him alone on the outdoor basketball court, the sun bleeding gold over cracked pavement and chain-link fences. He was shooting hoops lazily, sleeves rolled up, eyes heavy-lidded and sweat glistening on his neck.

“You made a rule,” she said, marching up to him.

He didn’t stop playing.

Just caught the rebound one-handed and turned toward her with that same unreadable expression.

“Did I?”

“You told everyone to stay six feet away from me.”

He tossed the ball to the ground. It rolled lazily to the fence.

She stepped closer.

He didn’t move.

“They act like I’ve got a bomb strapped to my chest,” she snapped. “Even the Union’s freaks won’t look at me for more than three seconds.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t laugh.

Just stared at her like she was the problem he’d been trying not to solve.

“And you,” she hissed, stepping into his space. “You’re always right there. Watching. Like a dog on a leash you tied yourself.”

Still no response.

Her voice dropped. “Why?”

And that’s when he moved.

Not fast—not rough—but deliberate. Slow enough to make her heart stutter. His fingers brushed her wrist, and her whole arm went still. She didn’t know if it was the touch or the audacity of it that left her breathless.

“I don’t want anyone else near you,” he said quietly.

She blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t want their hands brushing your shoulder. I don’t want their eyes following you down the hall. I don’t want them breathing the same air you do if I’m not there.”

Her throat dried.

“That’s not—” she tried, but her words failed.

He stepped even closer, a breath away, and now she could smell the sweat on his skin, the faint bite of spearmint gum on his breath.

“I don’t like sharing,” he said.

“You don’t even have me,” she whispered.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Yet.”

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

hope you enjoyed it!!

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

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