#I want you to look me in the eyes when I killed you

[carnalcrows]

SWEET AS SIN - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x ftm reader

synopsis: A humble baker’s life takes a dark turn when a mysterious customer becomes dangerously obsessed—until one night, he wakes up bound and trapped.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), reader has a vagina, gun play, squirting, drugging, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.0k

The first time you saw him, he was just another customer.

It had been a slow morning at your bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air as you wiped down the counter. The bell above the door jingled, and in walked a man in a crisp suit, his slicked-back hair perfectly in place. There was something oddly magnetic about him—the way he carried himself, the confidence in his steps, the way his piercing eyes scanned the shelves like he was hunting for something more than just bread.

“Morning,” you greeted, forcing yourself to break the silence. “What can I get you?”

He smiled—a sharp, calculated thing. “Something simple. A loaf, maybe.”

You nodded, wrapping up a warm loaf and placing it on the counter. He paid in cash, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed over the bills. His touch was cold, yet his grip lingered a second too long.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he mused, glancing around as if memorizing every inch of the shop.

You shrugged. “Pays the bills.”

His eyes flickered back to you, something unreadable in them. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

It wasn’t a question.

And true to his word, he kept coming back.

Days turned into weeks, and the suited man became a regular.

He never gave his name. Never asked for anything specific. But each visit followed the same routine: a loaf of bread, a polite exchange, a lingering look that made your skin prickle with unease. He never overstayed his welcome, but his presence stayed with you long after he left.

There was something off about him. Something… unsettling.

And yet, you couldn’t deny the thrill that crept up your spine whenever he walked through your door.

One night, you closed up late. The streets were empty, the moon casting long shadows over the pavement as you locked the door behind you. You barely made it a few steps before a sharp prick stung your neck.

Your vision blurred. The world tilted.

And then—darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of flour and something metallic filled your nostrils. Your head throbbed, and as you tried to move, the unmistakable bite of rope burned against your wrists.

Panic shot through you. You were tied to a chair. The dim glow of candlelight flickered around the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

And then you saw him.

The salesman sat across from you, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was watching you, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Finally awake,” he murmured, tilting his head.

Your heart pounded. “What the fuck is this?”

He sighed, standing up and pacing toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You must know by now. I’ve been watching you for weeks, admiring you… wanting you.”

Your breath hitched. The air was thick, suffocating.

“You kidnapped me.”

He hummed. “I prefer to think of it as… securing what’s mine.”

Your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

“You belong with me,” he murmured. “You just don’t see it yet.”

Your lips parted to curse him, to fight back, but then—click.

The cold press of metal pressed against the side of your temple.

A gun.

Your entire body went rigid.

“Shh,” he whispered, his other hand sliding to your throat, his grip firm but not tight. “No need to be scared.”

Scared? You were terrified.

But there was something worse—something worse than the fear, something you hated yourself for. The way his breath ghosted over your lips. The way his fingers pressed into your skin, possessive, demanding. The way the heat between you was suffocating, intoxicating.

And then—he kissed you.

It was slow at first, teasing, testing, his lips moving against yours with a dangerous kind of patience. The gun stayed at your temple, a silent warning, a reminder that he controlled everything. You wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your traitorous body betrayed you.

The kiss grew hungrier, his grip tightening as he deepened it. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, drawing a gasp from you.

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “See? You fit so perfectly against me.”

Your breath was ragged, your mind a whirlwind of fear and something worse.

He roughly tugged down your pants and boxers, leaving your lower half exposed– making you shudder.

“Hm? What’s this?” he questions while his glance moves to your puffy cunt– leaking and gleaming with the dim light of the room. This certainly wasn’t something that he had expected.

Before you could answer– you took a sharp intake of breath. He had slid the gun from the side of your temple all the way to your pelvis– resting near the clit. Your heartbeat thundered in your ear drums, the fear and tension muddling up your brain.

He dragged the gun to your cunt at a painstakingly slow pace, before pushing the tip in. You moaned, your head falling back against the chair. God you hoped the gun wasn’t loaded.

Without waiting for you to take in a breath, the man pushed the gun almost all the way up your hole, making your thighs involuntarily cave inwards. He used his other hand to push your thighs back apart, as he watched with fascination as the dark metal worked its way in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

This was so, so, wrong– but then why did it feel so good?

The hand that was holding your thighs apart made its way to your clit– rubbing circles around the overstimulated bud. You writhed in the rope’s grasp– the pleasure being way too much

Soon– you felt your orgasm (whether you wanted it to happen or not), wash over you like a raging stream. You screamed as you practically squirted your release all over the man’s hand and his gun.

The man adjusted his posture before sliding the gun out of your cunt and pressing it back to your forehead, before bringing his other hand back to your face– pulling you in for another kiss.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your jaw. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

The gun pressed just a little harder.

And deep down, you knew—there was no escaping him.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak through the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

[readychilledwine]

Idk if you do requests but holy shit you are amazing but like on the off chance you do I’m feral over this idea you would absolutely kill for cassian or Azriel

I’m dying for a smart ass foul mouthed girl in the dirty book club that’s like half his size to get him all worked up teasing him every time he sees her but when he finally gets her alone she literally was all talk and is clueless and timid and he blows her fucking mind

I talk a big game but it’s all a bit and I have zero confidence to back it up 😂

Bonus points and my first born for…

Dumbification

Big ole size kink

& a praise link to feed the ✨ daddy issues ✨

All For Show

Summary - Cassian has gotten tired of you and your pretty little mouth. He just had to wait for the right moment to correct it.

Warnings - smut, praise kink, degradation, slight dumbification, shy reader x bold cassian, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), implied size kink (little reader x big cassian), public-ish sex, unprotected sex, a hint of Voyeurism, best friend ex dynamic, loose editing, I'm probably missing some to be honest.. oh, gwyriel mentioned. I apologize if it isn't your preferred ship, but it felt right for this fic.

A/N - I've shamefully written this three times because I wanted bonus points while also giving it plot 😅

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

Your mouth was going to get you in trouble one of these days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as you laughed with the Valkyries. 

The 4 of you were deep into your book club meeting, discussing the recent salacious read that had Gwyn’s cheeks matching that shade of red hair you'd grown to love so much. Emerie high fived you, fingers linking together as the newly added Pegasus charms on your woven friendship bracelets made a soft clink. 

You were bold, especially with these 3, and your interest in the sex scene you all had just read was immediately noticed. “I mean,” Nesta genuinely laughed, “Who wouldn't want to have sex with their mate in front of their equally attractive friends?”

Gwyn shrieked, “Nesta!”

A deep throat cleared at that, reminding the four of you that you were in an open room of the House of Wind. That Cassian and Azriel were sitting right next to you. Gwyn shrunk further into her chair, Azriel smirking and chuckling at his.. whatever they had decided they were today, meanwhile Cassian had his eyes locked on you, a brow raised as you began to play with that bracelet. Deep pink, deep orange, and a purple-y navy stared back at you, the blend reminding you of a sunset. “Something to say, General,” Nesta looked her former lover up and down. “Y/n isn't interested.”

Oh, but you were, and he wasn't blind to that. “Just think this is interesting, that's all,” he grumbled. “Especially considering, y/n gets flustered when someone so much as touches her hips to adjust her stance.” Your glare shot his way as your friends began to laugh. Azriel hid a chuckle behind his hand. The tension between you and Cassian had been growing, especially due to the private hand to hand lessons he was giving you. 

“You grabbed me by my inner thigh,” you retorted, eyes rolling.

“And you turned the same shade of red aa the threads on that bracelet Ness wears,” he stated. “You talk a big game, sweetheart. Someone is going to call you on your shit one day.” If you were a smarter female, you would have realized that was a warning. 

Cassian was showing no mercy the next night as he threw you to your hands and knees for the fourth time in your 2 hour session. “What the hell, Cass?!” You were panting as you sat back in your heels. “Did you not get the memo that I am just a girl?”

His eyes rolled, “Stand up.” The part of you that had never responded to demands well sent him a look, head tilted back to study his imposing frame. The look you gave him was enough to break his calm. He was a General, a commander, practiced and poised, but you were ruining him. The tension between the two of you was ruining him. He had denied himself so much in this life, lost so much more. Why deny both of you what he knew you both wanted?

“You know what,” he muttered more to himself than you. “I can't do this anymore.” A hand found its way into your hair, strands wrapping around strong fingers as he pulled you to one of the benches, forcing you between his legs as he sat. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What-”

“Show me what you brag to your little friends about. Show you these skills you think you have.”

Your flush began immediately, “Cassian-”

"I knew it," he interrupted you, “Admit you're inexperienced.”

“I'm not inexperienced! I'm just shy!”

He studied you, hazel eyes taking in every inch of your skin as if you were some display. Even with your clothing on, you had never felt more exposed under his gaze. “Shy but can run your mouth to Ness? To Gwynie? To Em? Are you shy or do my hands make you shy?”

That furthered the flush as said large hand pulled your hair, angling your head back to look at him. “Cass-”

“I'm so tired of hearing you speak.” His lips crashed on yours then, forcing you into his lap, legs straddling one of his much larger thighs. Even like this, Cassian towered over you, consumed your frame. You had never considered yourself the smallest female, but with Cassian? Every female could feel small with Cassian.

His free hand slid down, tracing the curve of your breast, your waist, your hips before grabbing and squeezing your left thigh, forcing it over his other leg so you were fully straddling him and open to him. 

He pulled back, lips still close as you tried to catch your breath, “Good,” he almost seemed to vibrate with his lust. “That's my Good Girl.” 

There was no patience as he pulled your training top off, no ceremony as he took your bra off after it. Cassian was a male in need, something you felt every time he moved and his hips ground his covered length against you. 

A silent prayer was sent to the Gods, thanking them for Nesta being in Autumn with Eris for the next week. While it didn't promise no one would walk into the training ring on you two, it did promise at least Nesta wouldn't. His mouth moved down your neck, kissing and nipping until he found the spot that had you melting to his form. “That's it,” his voice had grown deep as he licked at your skin. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me have you.” 

Maybe it was because your brain stopped functioning. Maybe it was because something in you just seemed to float in his presence, but you didn't remember getting laid back on the mat, nor your leather pants slowly removed inch by inch as he whispered praise. You didn't remember his own clothing meeting the pile of yours somewhere off to your side. But you remembered his kiss bringing you back to him, “So we go dumb?” He forced you to nod. “I bet you just love being cock drunk, don't you, princess,” the nod wasn't forced this time, his smirk growing as he looked to the sky as if to say his own thank you. 

His hands and lips explored every inch, the soft gasps and noises you made his consent, the way you squeezed his fingers encouragement. His tongue swirled your nipple, wetting the tender nerves before latching onto it, rolling and sucking. You couldn't help but arch your back, whispering his title, his name. 

“You sound like I imagined you would,” he murmured as he kissed his way to your other breast, offering the same treatment as his words shot to your core. He had imagined you. Imagined how you would sound below him, maybe on top of him. 

His kisses began to trail lower, paying extra attention to the sensitive spots he found. He stopped at the hem of your panties, eyes glancing to meet yours, “This is your chance to tell me to stop. If I keep going, that's it. It's you being manhandled by me until I'm done with you, understand?”

The whimper that left your throat at that was almost sinful, “Cassian, please.”

“Use your words,” he demanded. “Use that your mouth to tell me what you want done. You like to run it when you think I'm not listening. Talking about how you want to ride cock and be tied up and used like you aren't telling everyone my dreams.”

Another whine as he licked your core, protected from that skilled tongue by thin lace. “Words,” he demanded again.

“Please taste me.” The tear of fabric followed that plea, all caution thrown to the wind as he dived in. 

Cassian wanted to taste every inch of your core. His tongue running over the left side, the right, your clit, your wet entrance. Emerie had told you once enthusiastic partners made sex better and you knew why now. Cassian not only knew what he was doing, but it was clearly his pleasure to be doing it. Each plunge of his tongue inside of you was met with him moaning or groaning, lips vibrating the sensitive parts of your body and building the feeling desperation that slowly wanted to kick in. You sat up on your elbows, watching him as he glanced up, hazel eyes dark and watching your face. Each reaction was a reward to him, your heart seeming to tug at the pride gleaming in his eyes at each little noise that escaped you. 

No novel compared to this. 

No words could describe it. 

Your stomach was growing tight, head falling back as he feasted as if you were the most delicious meal he'd had in over 500 years of life. His lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, tongue making half circle shapes around your far too aching clit as a thick finger ran your core and gently pushing in.

“Cassian,” your body seemed to shutter in pleasure, tightening around that single digit. “Cauldron fry me,” you moaned as he curled his finger up, immediately locating that special spot inside of you. 

This was just his finger. Just his finger had you feeling like you were stretching to a limit as he worked his tongue and hand in time, the band inside of you going taunt. He was careful as he added in a second, watching your face as if he knew. As if he could feel that little panic building in your mind. 

He washed it away as he changed how his tongue was moving, now giving teasing motions with just the tip directly where your body was screaming to be touched. He watched your eyes close, watched your guard drop as your hips moved, wanting to ride his face and fingers. He would have normally allowed it, but not this time. Not when he so desperately wanted control and to prove you were all talk. Not when he so desperately wanted you to be his. Your walls began to tighten again, his name becoming something you couldn't even finish as your gasps and panting increased. 

Then you tumbled. You fell from the edge, squeezing those two fingers so hard he struggled to work you through your high with them. His free forearm pushed down on your hips, forcing you to stay still and at his mercy. He only slowed down when your trembling did, fingers coming out of you so he could lick them clean, his own hazel eyes fluttering shut. He moved up, kissing you again and forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Off,” you begged, mind going hazy as you tugged his own leathers. Your request was met, Cassian standing over you as you instantly moved to your knees, watching his hands unlace before pulling down. His cock stood hard for you. It was thick, long, veins in places you knew were going to touch the perfect spots inside of you. 

Cassian was larger than any male you'd ever been with, and it had been a while since you had been with anyone. He was a challenge, one you were prepared to meet as you felt your mind fully slip away. “Open,” he whispered. His own stomach flipped with excitement when you obeyed, hand grabbing your high ponytail as he moved his hips and your head forward. This was something you knew, mind immediately working on the sole goal of his pleasure as you began to lick and suck, head bobbing. His hips met your pace, not pushing or forcing. “Just like that, sweetheart. Putting that mouth to good use for once,” he groaned. He tasted of something purely Cassian. Of salt and power. “You look beautiful like this,” his hips increased slightly, encouraging you to do so as well. “Mouth wrapped around my cock, looking up at me with those pretty eyes. Such a good girl.” 

He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of making him finish like this. No. He wanted that to happen when he was buried inside of you, you ass bouncing with each thrust he would give you. He watched you closely as you sucked him off, tongue and lips wetting him until he was sure he wouldn't last if you kept going.

Whines of protest left you as he pulled you off, walking you the bench and forcing you to crawl with his grip on your hair. “Hands on the bench.” An order you were not dumb enough to deny, positioning yourself as he asked. He kneeled behind you, kissing your spine as he forced a knee up on the bench as well. It wasn't comfortable, but it would be effective. “Breathe.” Another command from the General of the Night Court as he lined up with you and began pushing in. 

“Gods!” Each inch of him seemed to knock the air from your lungs, your breathing ragged. “Cassian, I can't-”

“You can,” he silenced you. “Breathe. Breathe like we taught you.” He timed his entrance with each deep breath, groaning once he was fully inside of you. His hand went to the small of your stomach, dirty thoughts about wanting to be big enough he could feel and see himself inside of you.

The first rock of his hips had you almost shouting your moans. He reached places you'd never known. Places no one had ever touched. You were like a vice around him, the stretch burning and adding to your pleasure as he began to move, stroking that building fire with care. It didn't long for the training area to smell like sex. To be filled with the sounds of his deep groans, you gasps and pleads, the sounds of skin hitting. 

His hands reached forward, wanting more control of you as he grabbed your arms, holding and forcing them behind your back and making you arch more for him. Helpless. You were helpless. 

And that's when the Cassian Nesta had described to you all began. 

His thrusts became fast and hard, hitting your g spot over and over. His hand that wasn't holding your wrists found your throat, resting there and giving one squeeze to test the waters. You couldn't even moan his name anymore as that fire grew, all words were lost to you, all thoughts eddied before falling to silence. Your body wanted to feel. And feel you did. 

Every drag was a spark, every word he whispered in your ear a kindling. You would burn. You would burn alive if he didn't stop. That tension built again, faster than it had with any other partner. 

Cassian was a God. No one could convince you otherwise as those scarred lips pressed against your temple. “I won't last,” he muttered. “You're too warm. Too tight. You have me, princess. You and this pretty pussy.” He smirked as a wanton moan left your throat, the heat of his body sending you into overdrive. 

You wouldn't last either.

Frankly, you didn't want to. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, his pace becoming less patterned and wild. He was chasing your high like a predator closing in on its next meal, and when you seemed to freeze, body tensing before a scream tore through you, he served himself. 

“That's it, y/n. Doesn't that feel so right, angel? Falling apart with me inside of you,” he grunted as he fought off his own high. “You feel like heaven, y/n. So good, baby. So fucking good.” His voice prolonged your high, forcing you into a state of overstimulation. You collapsed against him, body putty to his will as he chased his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he yelled before you felt him give one last hard push into you, warmth spreading as his spilled inside. His hands moved, one shooting out to wrap around your hips, forcing you to stay down. The one found the bench, stopping the forward motion from you both falling into it, protecting you even as his mind clouded to the feeling of you squeezing around him.

This didn't just feel like heaven. It was heaven. 

He moved your leg down once he was done, his hand now finding your chin to tilt your head and kiss you softly. “You did so well,” he said against your swollen lips. “So responsive for me. Felt so good. Was it good, sweetheart?” You only nodded, biting your lower lip as he showered you with more praises. “Let's get you dressed so I can get you in a bath.”

Your arms held his right one once you two were dressed and walking towards the house. He only paused when the door opened, and Azriel sighed, holding Gwyn against him as she blushed and squirmed, “You couldn't have kept going,” Azriel teased. ���Gwyn was enjoying the show.” Your face fell, realizing you had been caught and watched. Teal eyes met yours, her own blush spreading out from where Azriel had a hand on her mouth. “Come on, my light,” Azriel purred to her. “Time to go do dagger training.”

Cassian laughed as he continued pulling you in the house, pulling you to his room, to his tub. 

You could face the consequences of Nesta potentially finding out later. All that mattered now was the feel of his hand, slipping down your body and below the water for round two.

General Taglist:

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[xfgpng]

control …

— [ nsfw ] kissing, dry humping, first kiss + they’re both virgins

— wc :: 1.2k

caleb likes to think he’s in control of everything that happens around him. he’s always been pretty good at controlling his emotions and schooling his expressions and he tries not to overreact.


that’s the problem with her, she throws him off balance in the best and worst ways and it leaves him feeling so unsettled.

the thing about college, it’s supposed to be the best years of your life and he doesn’t know if he agrees or disagrees with that. if he really thinks about it, it’s bullshit but he knows why he feels that way.

he keeps himself composed most days, he has no reason to act out of character but this is something new to him.

caleb wasn’t naive enough to think this would never happen, he just always thought he’d be able to handle it well but he cannot. his hands feel clammy and his hot around his neck. is this even normal? he doesn’t fucking know.

he wants to lie and say he’s completely normal about her having other guy friends but he’s definitely not. his skin crawls whenever they touch her shoulder, grab at her wrists even if it’s completely platonic and innocent.


he especially hates when they lean in to close to talk to her when they’re at a party and the music is too loud. those are the nights caleb avoids alcohol like it personally offended him.

he cannot trust himself to be sober in these situations, he doesn’t want to imagine what he’d do with his evol even if the thought sends a thrill through him. he knows he has a problem, he’s just not going to deal with it.

not in a healthy way at least.

“caleb?”

he snaps out his thoughts, smiling down at where she’s laying on the floor in his dorm room. she’s supposed to be studying but she’s distracted and he shouldn’t enable her but he always does. she’s just too pretty, she has a face you cannot say no to and you’d be insane to disagree.


he’d like someone to disagree, that would be a fun day for him and a very unfortunate one for them.

“i’m listening” he lies. if he had been, he would’ve heard what she asked him and understand why she’s being all shy right now.

“wait.. what?” he sits up, looking at her properly. he definitely has a problem if he’s thinking about her so much and she’s right next to him.

“.. it’s stupid” she frowns

“it’s not” he reassures. he means it sincerely because he is willing to do whatever she wants. he hopes she doesn’t know that.

“i just .. i haven’t had my first kiss yet and i know some people think it’s a big deal and maybe it is but how will i know?” she looks up at him and she looks so upset by this so he tries not to panic.


was she seeing someone? did she like someone and that’s why she was thinking about kissing?

caleb could tell her it’s too early to worry about that and maybe she could just focus on college but that would be selfish of him. so selfish.

“i could teach you” he says and it’s out before his brain can even process any of that shit but it’s too late now because her eyes widen and she sits up so fast.

“what?” she asks because even he can’t believe what he just said.

“i just mean if you’re that curious” he smiles, playing it cool.

“you’d do that for me?” she stands now, moving to sit on his bed right in front of him and he will kill his roommate if the fucker comes back now.

“you know i would” he shrugs like it’s nothing even though his heart his beating so fast.

and that’s the thing about control, he always believed he was in control of everything in his life but the moment their lips touch, he feels his entire world shift and he doesn’t know if he’s breathing but she trusts him.

he has his hands on the side of her face before he can stop himself and she gasps softly into the kiss that he can’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip. she likes that, or so it seems because she doesn’t push him away.

her lips taste like the peach flavoured lipgloss she likes to wear and her skin is soft beneath his fingertips.

“is this okay?” he asks, running his thumb across her lower lip. she’s so beautiful, it hurts.

“yes…” she nods, “… can we do more?”

“more?” he tries not to show how excited that makes him.

“with tongue” she whispers

he doesn’t need to be told twice and her moan makes it hard to focus on anything other than her lips against his and how hard he suddenly is.

he slips his tongue into her mouth and she learns pretty quickly, he hasn’t even kissed anyone either but he’s seen enough videos and he’s always been a pretty fast learner himself and he would be damned if she had this experience with anyone that wasn’t him.

she moves closer, her arms around his neck and he can’t pull her onto his lap. if he’s being honest, he’s been hard since she said yes to the kiss but he would never want to overwhelm her. her first kiss is special because it’s them, he wouldn’t rush this.


that is something he can control.

“does that feel good?” he asks because her comfort is the most important thing to him.

“yes” she sounds less shy now, more like herself and she’s smiling so sweetly he can’t help but lean back in and this time she takes the lead and he likes how she lightly pulls at his hair. he didn’t know he’d be into that but he’s learning a lot about himself since being in college.

she climbs onto his lap on her own and if she feels how hard he is, she doesn’t comment on it which he appreciates. she’s always been considerate and just so perfect he thinks he might combust.

“put your hands .. on my waist” she tells him and he nods, as if he’s in some sort of trance now.

he’s not embarrassed about the grinding or the fact that he cums in his pants 10 minutes later. he’s still a fucking virgin and she doesn’t seem to care because she moans loud enough for him that he knows everyone down the hall heard her and only a small part of him hates that, he knows when he’s alone he’s going to be pissed that they heard how pretty she sounds but right now he wants to keep kissing her.

[sharklovingaquarist]

Not surprising this is a one piece fan. Hey buddy, since you think feminists need to coddle you while women in Afghanistan are being told they cant TALK to each other anymore, let me hold your hand and read you some facts about mental health as a DIAGNOSED bipolar woman.

Statistically, while men kill themselves more, women attempt suicide more than men do. This can be attributed to men having more access to firearms and other lethal methods.

PTSD affects women more than men, but when you are introduced to PTSD it's often in the context of veterans

Women are more likely to be misdiagnosed when it comes to mental phenomena like autism, bipolar disorder, and cluster b disorders

And let's not forget post partum depression and psychosis, something men don't even know exists half the time.

I seriously did not get refused bipolar disorder medication due to being female all to hear some dude, who thinks it's an atrocity for males to experience human emotion, say that men have it SOOOO MUCH WORSE because they get sad sometimes and women dont cater to them anymore. I didn't get passed off as crazy while crying at the hospital because one of the staff harassed me all to hear men, who as swaddled like infants, cry about themselves whilst saying WE are selfish.

Men dont understand how much logic and basic critical thinking they lack. When men try to argue or make a point, that becomes so incredibly clear to me. You've only been able to ponder existence and comfort within our own perspective. Meanwhile, women are being refused hysterectomies because we're considered your breeding stock... and you don't think that harms our mental health? No, because the irony of that is, you don't see us as humans. Males are walking contradictions. You scream and shit your diapers about how you can't cry (even though emotional complexity and philosophy has been worded from the eyes of men for as long as it's existed) and how inhuman it is for you, and then turn around and normalize not seeing women within the same context of humanity.

Liberal feminists were the ones that gave you this rhetoric anyways. They took feminisms own wording and twisted it for you. You didn't even do the work, in such male fashion. And then in such male fashion YOU CLAIM ITS WOMEN WHO DONT CARE ABOUT YOU... WHAT!? And that also proves how women have to feed you like fucking 2 year olds. Yall are so braindead from being babied that you can't see how bad you are at lying.

Men are so fucking lazy. You all just regurgitate everything you hear. Listen, bud, society will always cater to your being. Therefore, stats will be worded in order to cater to your emotions. What do men have to be sad about compared to women? You can't get a girlfriend? Imagine your husband of 10 years leaving you after you get cancer. Get off your ass, and do some research on actual stats. Claiming women are these evil selfish creatures is so ironic, so ironic it's hard to wrap my head around. Women are being raped and killed, but you want me to care about one statistic that is worded to victimize you?

When you wake up and see that men act no different than 5 year old children, it's laughable. Laughable yet, it makes you want to rip your hair out. Look at your post I'm replying to. You're filled with emotion. You can state the simplest shit that isn't even true and be believed. But when women are raped 1 in 4 by MEN, it's actually not all men, and we need to believe the good ones... shut the fuck up you spoiled brat. You are so bloated from being spoonfed that you can't even see your misogyny and self-absorption.

All you prove to me is how desperate you pigs are to have your emotional support women back. Have a wife as a toy that strokes your hair and cleans your dishes and cooks your food and carries your child like she's a god damn slave while you turn a blind eye. Remind me who was more likely to get a lobotomy? Remind me who hysteria targeted. Men can ignore basic facts but use one statistic out of context, and suddenly, it's a law of nature. Going into the feminist movement and saying women are selfish because they dont care about a made-up issue without even looking at it, it factual really shows the priorities within male brains to me. You've always portrayed women as more mentally simplistic and animal. You still THINK that subconsciously or not, yet you expect me to care about a fantasy you made up because you can't handle not getting attention?

Women have never been portrayed as complex people you always have, keep it cute, and keep it mute, you hypocrite

men supporters are like it's so unfair that women get to cry and cut themselves and men are only allowed to show their feelings by mass shooting

[aimfor-theheart]

mafia au with bodyguard vi i am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

anon i’m trying to distract myself on this flight so here take this little drabble bc i can’t get bodyguard!vi out of my mind 😖

***

You laze at your vanity, languid like a cat; taking your time to get ready. Your hair is half undone. You’re still in your sheer, dark tights and bra—some jewelry hanging from your bare skin, some still scattered on the vanity in front of you. Your martini glass gleams alongside the pearls in the lowlight of your bedroom.

You’re powdering your face when someone knocks.

“Come in,” You say, despite your state of undress.

When Vi enters, you catch her eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

She curses a little, averting her gaze. You smile, slow and mischievous.

“You know, usually when people are undressed, they don’t tell someone to stroll into their bedroom.” Vi remarks.

“Oh, but I knew it was you.” You respond innocently.

She huffs a bit of a laugh. You see a muscle feather in her jaw. She’s still looking away from you, but there’s something in her face—it lurks around the edges of her expression, like she’s trying to keep it hidden.

(Hunger looks good on her.)

“I’m your bodyguard, princess. I should be standing outside your door while you get ready like this.” She says and you’ve found that she likes to tell you about what she should do with you. She likes to tell you what’s proper, as you lure her into something improper.

“Oh, relax. Have a drink, would you?” You retort, lifting your martini glass to her in the mirror as if to demonstrate. You take a sip, lemon twist and flowery gin hit your tongue in a cool burst. “I wanted company while I finish getting ready.”

She lets go of a hard sigh. “You’re trying to get me killed. Your father would have my head.”

“Good thing he’s not around tonight, then.” You hum, finally returning to your preening and powdering.

“Would you at least put on some clothes for me?” Vi asks the ceiling and really it’s almost—funny, how chivalrous she’s trying to be. Gentlemanly. She still hasn’t looked your way.

Well, that won’t do.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” You coo, finally turning from the mirror to face her. “Not with your reputation…”

She barks out a laugh.

“I’m being paid to protect you.” Vi reiterates and you think, at this point, she’s reminding herself more than you.

“So you can’t keep me company while I get ready?” You ask sweetly.

Her eyes cut to you before she can stop herself, a flash of blue lighting. When she takes you in, it’s with a hitched breath. Her eyes skip down the curves of your body. She looks away again.

“You’re not sly, sweetheart. I know your game.” Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, tousling it further.

You let go of an overdramatic sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll dress.”

And with that, you saunter to your wardrobe, where the slinky little dress you’ll be wearing tonight hangs. It’s midnight purple, shimmering like dark water at night. You pull it from the hanger and carefully slip it on. But in the back, it hangs open, zipper undone.

Your eyes cut to Vi—she’s still turned away and you trace the broad lines of her back. The sliver of her tattoo that starts at the nape of her neck.

“Vi,” You say her name so lightly, “will you help me?”

When she looks at you, it’s of the open back of your dress, all your bare skin and the silk. The lacy back of your bra—the shadow of your matching panties beneath the tights. You peek over your shoulder demurely.

Vi swallows hard.

But still, she approaches. Her footsteps are slow, heavy. And then she’s behind you and you can almost feel her, feel her warmth. You stay perfectly still for her—waiting, breath held—

The touch of her fingers against the bare skin of your lower back makes your lashes flutter. She takes the zipper in hand. With her other hand, she smoothes the fabric of the dress, palm open against the curve of your waist.

Slowly, she pulls the zipper up along your spine.

When she’s done, she settles that hand on your waist, too. Holds you.

“You’re such trouble.” She murmurs, squeezes a little into the soft give of your hips.

“I just needed your help.” You say, bedroom soft.

This little, frustrated groan works its way out of her throat. Your stomach flips, thinking of what it might sound against your throat, or inner thighs. She hangs her head and for a moment, you think she might close the rest of the distance, might let her lips fall to the nape of your neck, or press her chest all against your back—

Instead, she’s gone. Hands off you, held up like she’s trying to show she’s innocent, as she takes a few steps away from you.

She sinks into one of your loveseats—the one that faces the vanity.

“Finish getting ready, princess.”

And for once, you listen to her. You finish pinning your hair. You finish your makeup and add your jewelry. You drink the rest of your martini, the warmth of alcohol hitting you sweet and hot, somewhere in your chest.

When you’re finished, you nudge your stocking clad foot in her direction.

She knows, instantly and moves to you. She eases to one knee, and takes one of your heels in hand. She pulls your foot into her lap, then she deftly eases the shoe onto your foot. She buckles the strap around your ankle dutifully. She does the other one with the same, methodical devotion.

She looks up at you from her knees, your ankle still held in her rough palm. “Happy?” She asks.

“Endlessly.” Your smile is a cat’s curve, a crescent moon.

“You’re so spoiled.” Vi says, adjusting the strap of your heel, so it sits perfectly.

“I like to be taken care of, that’s all.” You say primly.

She snorts at that, and squeezes your ankle in her strong hand. “Princess?” She says, eyes dark and imploring, looking up at you—

It’s such a good look on her. Like this, on her knees.

“Hm?”

She stands slowly, now towering over you. You slowly tip your head back to look up at her. And she even takes your chin in hand, makes you hold her eyes.

“Don’t run off tonight.” She warns.

Your smile turns sharp—eyes dancing with mischief.

“But you always did love a good chase.”

(Hunger looks good on her.)

[carnalcrows]

DEADBEAT BABY DADDY - JUNHEE

pairing: jun-hee x guard! male reader

synopsis: A very pregnant and very pissed-off Jun-hee finds an unexpected way to relieve her stress—with a little help from you.

content warnings: 18+, ooc characters, breast sucking, lactation kink (?), clitoris stimulation, semi-public sex.

word count: 0.8k

A/N: had fun with this fic lolol. req

The dormitory was filled with the usual dull hum of  players chatting and masked guards going about their duties—shuffling boots, quiet conversations, and the occasional scolding from a higher-up. But above all that, a sharp, familiar voice rang out.

"You absolute bastard, Myung-gi!"

A few nearby players and guards turned their heads ever so slightly before quickly minding their business. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire when a pregnant woman was pissed.

You, however, had the misfortune of standing right next to her as she advanced on Myung-gi, who had the audacity to look amused despite the absolute fury radiating off of her.

"You knew I was pregnant, and you still dragged me into this nightmare?" she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Myung-gi scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets like this was all some minor inconvenience. "First of all, I didn't drag you into anything. Second, you needed the money, didn’t you?"

Jun-hee actually looked like she might strangle him. "I needed money to take care of my baby, not to be stuck in this hellhole surrounded by trigger-happy idiots and—"

She gestured wildly in your direction.

"—him!"

You blinked. "Me? What did I do?"

She turned on you like a storm brewing, eyes fiery. "You're the one who keeps following me around, Triangle Boy!"

You raised your hands in defense. "That's because someone needs to make sure you don’t pass out from stress!"

Jun-hee groaned, rubbing her temple. "I swear, if I survive this, I'm killing you both after I give birth."

She stomped away, muttering under her breath, leaving you standing there awkwardly with Myung-gi.

"...So," he said, stretching, "you two got something going on?"

You shoved him as you walked past. "Shut up."

Later that night, you found her in the dimly lit bathroom, leaning against the sink, breathing deeply. Her hands cradled her stomach instinctively, her frustration from earlier replaced by something softer.

"You okay?" you asked, shutting the door behind you.

She huffed. "No. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and my brain is melting from being surrounded by morons all day."

You hesitated before stepping closer. "Anything I can do?"

She eyed you, skeptical. "Anything?"

"Uh... within reason."

A slow smirk formed on her lips, but it quickly faded into something more vulnerable. "It's stupid, but..." She exhaled, shifting uncomfortably. "My chest is killing me."

You furrowed your brows. "Like, heart pain? Or—"

She shot you a deadpan look.

"Oh. Ohhh." Your face heated. "That’s... um."

Pregnancy was making her breasts sore and swollen, and yeah, you’d read somewhere that relieving the pressure could help, but—

"Forget it," she mumbled, moving to leave.

You grabbed her wrist before you could think twice. "No! I mean... I can help. If you want."

She looked at you carefully, searching for any sign of mockery or hesitation. Finding none, she sighed and leaned back against the sink.

"Fine. But no weird comments, got it?"

You nodded solemnly. "I promise to be the pinnacle of professionalism while sucking your—"

She smacked the back of your head.

"Shutting up now."

You slowly slid off your mask– this was definitely against the rules but– when in need, eh?

Carefully placing your hands on her waist, you lowered your head to her tits as she adjusted herself slightly. The warmth of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breath—it all felt strangely intimate. As your mouth latched onto her, a shudder ran through her, and she let out a soft, relieved sigh.

You held her waist with one hand as you kneaded her free breast with the other. She let out soft moans, arching her back in such a way that you took more of her into your mouth.

Your hand slid from her waist to the hem of her track pants– tugging at the hem as a silent ask for permission. She let you– shimming down the tracks, along with her panties. You rubbed lazy circles around her clit as you latched onto the other breast, giving both equal attention.

"...You’re surprisingly good at this," she breathed out, her fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair.

You pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Do not make this weird, Player 222."

She smirked lazily. "Too late."

You rolled your eyes and returned to your task, focusing on helping her relax.

For a while, the world outside the bathroom didn't exist. There were no games, no fear, no guns—just the warmth of her body against yours and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

And then the door opened.

You froze. Jun-hee froze. A shadow loomed in the doorway, and through the dim lighting, you could make out none other than Player 001 himself.

There was a long, excruciating silence.

"...Am I interrupting something?" His voice was flat, but you could feel the judgment.

“Boss–It’s uh, not what it looks like–”

“BOSS?!”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[hanniebaeee]

Honey Cakes

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: established relationship, smuttyyyy, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin had it all planned out - a romantic dinner date (plus the surprise). But then he gets almost stood up, and then edged to near insanity. By the time dessert is done, so is his patience.

a/n: Someone sent me something, and I went feral ( @kittentaegu sweetheart, thank you for inspiring me hehe)

The first thing you see when you wake up is chaos in the form of a hundred texts and missed calls from your boyfriend. 

You are still groggy from sleep, but your heart nearly stops as you pick up the phone.

Hyunjin [7:30 PM]: Baby. Love of my life. Where are you?  

Hyunjin [7:30 PM]: I swear to God, if you’re dead, I will kill you.

Hyunjin [7:31 PM]: I’m literally sitting here looking like an abandoned puppy.

Hyunjin [7:32 PM]: The waiter asked if I needed water and was looking at me funny. 

Hyunjin [7:35 PM]: Just say it. You don’t love me anymore.

Hyunjin [7:36 PM]: I was a fool to believe in love.

Hyunjin [7:38 PM]: BRB ordering the most expensive wine so I can SOB into it.

Hyunjin [7:40 PM]: There's a happy couple at the next table. Omg I wanna die 😭

Oh, shit.

Your heart drops as you realize that your fifteen-minute power nap has turned into a one hour coma. It had been such an exhausting day at work, and all you wanted was to take a short nap before you met Hyunjin for your dinner date.

And now your dramatic ass boyfriend is left unsupervised in a fancy restaurant with his overactive imagination. You fumble with the phone as you call him immediately. He picks up in half a ring.

“Oh finally you called,” he sighs, voice dripping with melodrama. “Just say it.”

“Say what?” You sit up too fast and almost fall off the bed.

“You stood me up for thirty minutes,” he declares dramatically. “I am SITTING HERE ALONE in a romantic, candlelit, EXPENSIVE ASS RESTAURANT, looking like a HEARTBROKEN FOOL.”  

You press your lips together because you absolutely cannot laugh right now. Not when he’s being so serious about his suffering.

“Hyunjin, baby,” you say, raiding your wardrobe for something that will make up for this little mishap. And you grin as your eyes land on that dress. 

You haven't worn it before. Another one of Hyunjin's gifts - because he daydreams of you in all pretty outfits his eyes fall on and comes home with the said outfit, begging you to wear it for him. 

“I didn’t stand you up, I just -”

“Oh, so neglect is different from abandonment now?” he challenges, sniffing for dramatic effect. “Interesting.”

“Baby I accidentally took a nap -”

“Oh my God.” He gasps. “You slept through our date?”

“I love you Jinnie, and I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t gaslight me with love.”

You do a quick job with your makeup, and he's still ranting on the other side as you grab your keys and sprint out the door.

“I’m on my way right now, honey bun, I swear.”

“You’d better be,” he grumbles. “Because if I finish this glass alone, I’m throwing myself into the restaurant fountain.”

When you get there, panting from running in heels, Hyunjin is sitting at a candlelit table in the corner looking like a masterpiece and a neglected princess all at once.

You rush over, but before you can even apologize properly, he exhales exaggeratedly. 

“Did you have a nice nap?” he says coolly, twirling his wine glass.

You bite your lip, willing yourself not to laugh.

“Hyunjin, baby -”

“No. It’s fine.” He looks away dramatically. “I understand.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You slide into the chair next to him, lean in so close your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “I said I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you.”

His entire body freezes as your warm breath fan his neck. Then he exhales, eyes dropping to your neckline, hand gripping his wine glass tight.

“This dress…” he mutters, clearing his throat.

“I knew you'll love it. I also haven't eaten all day, so I’m starving.” You smirk, running a teasing hand down his thigh.

He chokes on air.

“Okay. I’m sure we can work this out,” he announces, eyes dark. “In fact, I am not even mad anymore.”

“Thought so.” You grin cheekily, and Hyunjin sighs because it's no secret that you have this man wrapped around your little finger.

He rests his chin on his hand as gazes at you, a soft smile playing on his gorgeous face.

And just when you think that you've won this round, Hyunjin reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a cute velvet box.

“I was going to wait, but honestly, you’re gonna put me in an early grave. So let's do this, yeah?”

Your heart stops as he opens the little box and inside it sits the prettiest ring you've ever seen. His eyes are so gentle, so full of love - none of his usual teasing or the drama. Just him.

“I had a whole speech ready for this, but you stood me up and I panicked and I -”

You swallow hard as he rambled on. He's stumbling on his words, and he's so sweet, you just want to squish cheeks and cry for days. 

“So, marry me?” His voice is so soft as he asks you that, and he's looking at you with those pretty puppy eyes, and you are sure you feel the sting of tears forming in your eyes. 

“You sure?” You tease. “I did stand you up just now.”

He groans, head dropping into the table with a mild thump.

“Just say yes before I have a heart attack.” he says, looking up at you with a smile. 

You laugh, cup his perfect face in your hands, and say the only thing that’s there to say.

“Yes.”

And Hyunjin, the love of your dramatic life, kisses you breathless before slipping the ring on your finger. And you both giggle, foreheads pressed together, and he whispers, “We’re gonna need more wine now.”

Less than fifteen minutes later - Hyunjin is suffering, to say the least. 

Like, genuinely on the verge of passing out in this very fancy restaurant where he just proposed and you said yes. Because instead of rushing home to let him show you just how insanely in love with you he is, you’re… eating. 

Like nothing life-changing just happened. The diamond ring glittered on your finger as you ate like you haven't eaten in days. Literally wolfing down the pasta in between long sips of wine.

Like your hand isn’t resting on his thigh, your fingers idly stroking his inner thigh in a way that is definitely NOT innocent. 

And Hyunjin?  He is in shambles.  

You moan as you take another bite of that darn pasta, completely oblivious to the way he grips the edge of the table like his life depended on it. 

"This is so good," you sigh, licking your lips. 

Hyunjin closes his eyes. Lord, grant me strength.

You hum in absolute bliss, and say, "Baby, you have to try this -"

Try? TRY? Oh you've been trying him for the past fifteen minutes. And now he wants to try something, alright.

He wants to drag you out of this restaurant, throw you onto the first surface he finds, and have his way with you. There is a lot he wants to try right now. 

But no.  Because he’s a gentleman. A respectable, self-controlled, newly-engaged man (who's so close to losing his shit). 

"Are you okay, honey bun?" you ask, blinking at him with innocent, pretty eyes. And Hyunjin forgets how to breathe for a second. 

His thigh tenses under your touch, and he swallows audibly.

"I’m fine," he grits out. 

You tilt your head, unconvinced.  

"You’re not touching your food." 

Because his appetite is for something else entirely, and it is not on this goddamn menu.

"Just -" He clears his throat, shifting a little in his chair. "Just thinking." About all the ways he's going to wreck you the second you both leave.  

You hum thoughtfully, dragging your hand up his thigh just a little higher, and Hyunjin prays. Because if you don’t stop, he is fully prepared to drop to his knees in the middle of this restaurant, and beg for you to let him take you home immediately.

You stab another forkful of pasta and beam at him.  

"So, what are we getting for dessert?" You ask, giving him a sunny smile. 

Hyunjin blinks. Dessert? Then he laughs. It’s a broken,  hysterical laugh. Like he just realized he might not survive the night. And you just smile sweetly, your hand still very much resting on his thigh, way too close to a growing problem. 

The final nail in his coffin was of course, dessert. 

Honey cake. Warm. Moist. So damn sweet. You take your first bite, and Hyunjin swears he saw stars.  

Your head tilts back slightly, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in pure bliss. And Hyunjin stops breathing. So this is how he goes - sweating in his silk button down shirt, rock-hard under the table, watching a damn cake give you an orgasm. More like a foodgasm? 

You let out a soft, sinful moan, and Hyunjin grips the table for dear life. Oh hell. 

You lick the spoon slowly, completely unaware that you are seconds away from being dragged out of this restaurant by your ankles.  

"This is so good, Jinnie," you murmur, voice low and warm. "You have to try this."  

No. He cannot. He physically cannot. Because he was this close to throwing you on the table and getting banned from this restaurant for life.  Which, honestly, might be worth it at this point.  

But then you load up a spoonful, hold it up to his lips, and whisper, "Open up for me, baby."  

OH. SO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY. 

Hyunjin glares at you, jaw so tight he might break his own teeth. But when has he ever denied you anything? He parts his lips, because he’s a damn fool. 

The second the cake melts on his tongue, his eyes slam shut. It's warm and sweet. And it is so deeply unfair that whatever culinary masterpiece this was, wasn't even close to what he actually wanted to taste right now. 

He groans, head falling onto the table again, rolling the taste over his tongue. And when he opens his eyes again, you are grinning like the devil you are.

You tilt your head, eyes full of mock innocence, and murmur, "Good, right?"  

Hyunjin inhales so deeply his lungs feel like they're ready to collapse. He stares at you and leans in, lips so close to yours, as he whispers, "Finish your cake. Then we're leaving. And when we get home, I hope you're ready, baby." 

The moment your fork clinks against the empty dessert plate, his soul fully detaches from his body. Okay. It's done. You're done. 

Now he can finally do what he has been plotting for the last two hours. His chair scrapes back so fast, and he grabs your wrist, and nearly drags you up and out in record time. 

You giggle shamelessly as Hyunjin literally throws you into the passenger seat of his car.  

He slides into the driver's seat, slams the door shut, says nothing for a minute. His head falls back against the headrest, his chest rising and falling as he tries to regulate his breathing. His fingers flex against his thighs.  

And you? You are having the time of your life.  

"Honey bun, why are you so tense?"

Hyunjin lets out a deep laugh. 

"Tense?" He turns his head to look at you, his blown-out eyes locking with yours. "Baby, I have been on the verge of dying for the past two hours." 

You bite back a grin, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to his neck.  

"Mm." You hum against his hot skin. "So dramatic."  

His hand snaps out, grips your jaw, forcing your face up and his lips barely brush yours as he growls, “Wanna say that again?”

The minute you two step into your shared apartment, Hyunjin has you pressed up against the door. And he doesn’t just kiss you. He devours you.

His hands are everywhere at once - one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your ass, pulling you flush against his firm body.

He kisses you like you owe him your soul for making him suffer like that. He's so hard, it's literally painful, and he can't wait a damn minute.

He lifts you up, hands gripping your thighs, making you gasp and wrap your legs around his waist, as he pins you there, caging you between his body and the door. 

His kisses are messy and sloppy, and he's sweating so damn much. You kiss down his jaw and neck and he groans as you nip at the skin around the little black mole on his neck.

Well he couldn't wait anymore. He's stumbling through the apartment, straight into your bedroom and drops you on the bed before he pulls his shirt off. You watch him strip, your eyes roaming his perfect body. 

And his eyes are on you, his hands reaching down and under your dress to pull your panties down your legs and off. He quickly gets rid of the rest of your clothes before your lips connect again. 

He's so impatient. Grabby and needy. But the minute he's finally inside you, he slows down. Because if he didn't, he'd be cumming without literally any action. 

It’s so slow and deep, and both your bodies are so sensitive with need. Your body arches into his, desperate for him to touch you. 

It doesn't take long for both of you to come crashing down from your peaks, and you can barely breathe. Sweaty, breathless, completely spent -  you’re both a mess. Hyunjin’s chest heaves, skin glistening in the dim light. Even his skin was so damn dramatic. 

“I have never known pain like tonight," he says, voice hoarse, eyes closed. 

You snort, nuzzling closer to kissing his damp shoulder.  

"You survived, baby." 

His arm tightens around you, rolling you over so he can pin you underneath him again.  His dark eyes flicker down, lips trailing down your jaw, your throat and your collarbone.   

"Barely."  

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

".........." Yuta knew he could have lied, he would have been ordered to lie but he wouldn't do that. He's not the type to lie to someone. Even to someone that Rioto sees close as brothers and friends.

"I believe that you're working for him. I believe you that we aren't his targets since we're here and he's in Sendai. But for the last question, would Mr. Ryomen harm Rioto? Would he tell you to kill us?"

Sighing, Yuta even releases Iku carefully but he held a hand up to see Rikka about to attack but she stops seeing his hand. She stands down to wait for a move.

"No, he won't. Even if Mr. Ryomen is well known for what he does to others that double cross him, or even harm or try to, he's known to show mercy. Even if that's the case; he wouldn't harm Rioto. Even if he orders such a thing, he wouldn't allow it. He tries to keep things peaceful. But no, even if he did, he knows that much. So he won't."

"I'm going to tell you this. Rioto is a stupid idiot. Always follow orders and always think of Oda and everything he represents. He's that loyal of a guy. Hell, he's a better person than me. " Iku speaks, "So yeah...I'm kinda ticked off that you punched me in the stomach. But I'm more ticked off if someone fucks around with my teammates. So in the future, if you tried to do something, he might try to kill himself by stopping you. If there was a slight chance, he might blame himself and off himself before or after beating you." Iku tells Yuta, letting those words sink in."

"Get what I'm saying?"

"..I do.." He said this with his eyes looking at him.

"I can get that Rioto follows orders to your leader and I get that. He always told me that you and the others are his close brothers and family. He's done so much and wants to show that to prove he's a good general to you guys." He looks quiet again but closed his eyes.

"I know you are furious that I did that and ticked you off. But I will give you my word I would never fuck around with Rioto. I wouldn't do anything to hurt him or trick him. I would do everything to ensure he was safe and happy. Even when he's already kind enough to let me come to this beautiful home land of his. I wouldn't let anything harm him even with that. I won't even let him hurt himself either because I'll be sure to stop him before he does. So yes; I get what your saying....even if you hate my guts..that won't stop me from wishing to help and keep Rioto safe. If you don't believe me, I don't know how else I can prove that."

"I call BS. You know, I do believe him what he told us about you. You being strong. But honestly, I don't trust you one bit." Iku growls lowly. As for the other question, he glares, "Yeah..I'm a little pissed that you got away. Your answer confirms it. You said that we're not your target. So you're an assassin which makes me wonder...." Iku leads in, "Who the hell are you working for?"

Yuta sighed but he only keeps his hold but he took the hit once more ignoring the sting but he was used to it. However, he looks to Iku.

"Because I'm going to say this, whoever you work for you is going to change things. So I'm going to ask you the real question here."

Iku starts to escape and starts to kick at his thigh and grabs onto his collar, "If the target is us, are you going to kill Rioto?" Iku asked him.

"You don't have to believe me...I know you still hate my guts for what happened. You are not my target but another curse user that was trying to get away. He or you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was only after them..not you or the Oda. It was a mistake. As who I'm working for..." he mutters.

"I will say this; if you don't believe me. Who I'm working for is Sukuna Ryomen my boss but as I said, the demons of Oda are not my targets. They are not Mr. Ryomen's targets. He knows his limits but he follows the rules knowing he wouldn't have anyone come here unless something happened. They were never my target. So no, you guys are not my target like I said.....and NO I'm would never harm Rioto or kill you or the others.........I'm not that heartless because I just wanted to make friends. I only go after targets Mr. Ryomen tells me..I'm not trying to be a threat here." he said.

[wisteria-lodge]

why didn't voldemort kill draco when he failed killing dumbledore? i mean voldemort has no qualms killing and torturing those that failed him and draco already did his task/outlived his usefulness

Voldemort never actually expected Draco to kill Dumbledore. The fact that he got as close as he did surprised literally everyone. Draco is given a slow-burn suicide mission, on purpose, to punish Lucius. That's Narcissa's take on the situation:

"This is vengeance for Lucius’s mistake, I know it! (...) That’s why he’s chosen Draco, isn’t it?” [Narcissa] persisted. “To punish Lucius?” “If Draco succeeds,” said Snape, still looking away from her, “he will be honored above all others.” “But he won’t succeed!” sobbed Narcissa.

but Snape absolutely agrees with her:

“The Dark Lord is very angry,” repeated Snape quietly. “He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily.

Snape knows that the real plan all along was that he kills Dumbledore:

“He intends me to do it in the end, I think."

So... in Voldemort's eyes, Draco is useful essentially as a hostage. As long as Draco is around, he can punish/control Draco's parents. And of *course* he wants to be able to control Lucius and Narcissa: they're bankrolling him, they have the most societal power, they present the biggest threat. I also think he just ENJOYS torturing Lucius. Voldemort absolutely has a sadistic streak - tell me he's not having fun when he takes Lucius' wand away from him.

If I wanted to spitball and go all psychological, I think it's possible that Voldemort is projecting a lot of his specific issues onto Lucius. Rich, snobbish, attractive? Sounds a lot like his father, Tom Riddle senior. Rich pureblood with a connection to Slytherin? Sounds like Lucius Malfoy got the legacy Tom Riddle felt was denied to him.

Voldemort keeps Draco around basically as a punching bag. He forces Draco to cast crucio on the other Death Eaters, and I get why. That's like, triple torture. There's the literal torture, plus forcing Draco to do something he *really* does not want to do, and of course torturing Draco is going to hurt his *parents.*

"Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure . . . Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!” A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face — with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes. (...) Malfoy’s gaunt, petrified face seemed branded on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.

Like, Draco is *not* having a good time here. Also... interesting shift from "Malfoy" to "Draco" right at the end there, Harry.

[star2fishmeg]

having a bad day and coming home to flowers from Luke

You couldn't have had a worse day. It started with your teacher being in a foul mood, which killed everyone else's with snappy comments and criminal tasks, then someone threw juice over you (accidently and they had apologised but sticky clothing was still awful), you tripped up the stairs on your way to a study room and then another teacher just had to give you the most unhelpful advice on your assignment, leaving you stuck in square one. The worst part, you couldn't even go back to your own apartment because you had no hot water. At some point in the day you called Luke, you couldn't remember when, but you remember sobbing before heading to class and he did his best to console you despite just finishing practice exhausted.

You shuffle through Luke's door, slipping your shoes off sloppily with an overbearing weight on your shoulders, bag feeling heavier than usual.

"I'm home!" you call out, making your way through his place, the kitchen and living room seemingly unused, not even a sign of Jack, "Can we order take-out? I'm not in the mood to cook."

"Sounds good, angel." Luke's voice, mildly distant, responds from his bedroom.

A small, weak smile quirks on your lips for the first time that day and you follow his voice through the hallway, pushing his door open, expecting to see him changing but instead you drop your bag on the floor. Your lip quivers, gaze softening at sight of him standing with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, his smile making your heart warm.

"Oh, Lu." You coo with adoration, closing the door behind you and taking the flowers from his hands, sparks flushing over your skin when your fingers brush as if you weren't used to it. You bring the flowers to your nose, eyes fluttering close as you take a whiff of their scent before looking back up at him with eyes brighter than when you'd walked in. "This...you...you didn't have to; this is so sweet. And you got my favourites!"

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and chuckles slightly, "Hey, I listen! When you told me you were having a bad day, I wanted to give you something to come home to, I know it's, uh, not much but you've been wanted some and I bought some candles for a bath too...if you're up for it."

Tears slip down your cheeks, but happy tears because you wonder what you did to deserve someone as attentive and thoughtful as Luke. You really had expected just to come home to a hug since he had his own tiring day, but he bought you flowers. Flowers! No one's ever bought you flowers before. On top of that, you knew he tried hard with the candles, they weren't his thing, but he knew you loved them after a long day. He awkwardly stares a little, internal panic arising seeing your tears and he immediately thinks he's missed something.

You lay the bouquet on his dresser and urgently throw yourself into him, arms winding around his middle tight and pressing your ear to his chest. His arms secure around your shoulders, and he places a kiss on your head, smiling warmly. The weight you had been carried lifted from your shoulders, your body feeling light and cosy wrapped up in Luke's arms again.

"I love you. So much. Thank you." You sniff, tilting your head up at his soft eyes, "But you're always the best part of my day."

"I love you more,” his voice is quiet, his hands sneaking underneath your shirt to caress over your waist and back, "sooo...is that a yes to the bath?"

His eyes search yours with a glint in them, desperate to have the evening with just you before Jack bundles in. His palms soothe up to your ribs and hiking your shirt higher up your body with a growing grin pulling onto his lips.

"You're so cheeky, oh my God. Come here, Snoopy." You shake your head with a giggle, rolling your eyes playfully, fingers wrapping in the collar of his hoodie and pulling him down to connect your lips into a sweet kiss.

[jaikoyaki]

My Lover

//Kang Haerin x 6thMember!Reader//Short Oneshot//

SYPNOSIS ♡︎ Haerin isn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she tells herself—until she starts seeing clips of you and Minji all over the internet.

WARNINGS ♡︎ Jealousy, Possessiveness (soft and non-toxic), Brief Miscommunication, Shipping culture, Hidden Relationship(the members know lol)

WORDCOUNT ♡︎ 1.7k

TAGS ♡︎ Jealous!Haerin, Established Relationship, fluff, FLUFF(was literally kicking my feet while writing this), Light Angst??

A/N:This is a little 1am brain fart so If I cringe at it tomorrow, I’ll probably end up deleting it lol

"MINY/N SUPREMACY!!"

"Their chemistry is insane, are we SURE they’re just best friends??"

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

Haerin scrolls through the comments under the latest clip of you and Minji’s interactions. The video itself is nothing special, just you laughing at one of Minji’s jokes, leaning into her like it’s second nature. But the fans eat it up.

The video loops again.

Your eyes crinkle when you smile at Minji. She reaches out instinctively when you stumble, her hand lingering just a second too long. And it’s not just one clip, there are dozens of them now. Edits spliced together, set to soft love songs, moments slowed down to exaggerate the way you two look at each other.

You aren’t Minji’s girlfriend.

You’re Haerin’s. Only hers.

But no one ever ships Haerin and Y/N. No one ever slows down the moments where she is the one next to you.

The thought settles in her chest, foreign and unfamiliar.

Jealousy.

But Haerin doesn’t get jealous.

…Right?

"They’re reaching." Haerin mutters under her breath.

She locks her phone and tosses it onto the bed. It’s just fan edits. Just harmless shipping. She’s known for a long time that people see what they want to see.

"Don’t let them get in your head.” 

But then why does her chest feel so tight?

Because one comment keeps repeating in her mind.

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

And it’s true.

Lately, you’ve been stuck to Minji like glue. On stage. In the waiting room. During interviews. Even in practice.

And Haerin remembers—earlier, while filming behind-the-scenes content, you had shoved your phone in Minji’s face, barely able to contain your laughter.

"Min, look! "Minji looking at Y/N like she's the love of her life" oh my god, the heart eyes emoji is killing me! They're reaching so muchhh."

You wheezed, whispering the last part, playfully smacking Minji’s shoulder over and over as she groaned in embarrassment.

The members had laughed. Even the staff chuckled.

Haerin hadn’t.

She had been standing by the water station, fingers curling a little too tightly around a flimsy paper cup, watching as you laughed with Minji like it was the easiest thing in the world.

‘You’re not Minji’s girlfriend.’

She let the water run down her throat, but it did nothing to wash away the strange, unsettled feeling gnawing at her chest.

‘You’re mine.’

Before she even realized it, she was walking back toward the group.

She didn’t say anything, but you noticed immediately.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" You stepped in front of her, voice soft, concern evident in your eyes.

Haerin barely nodded.

You frowned, about to press further—

"Alright, break’s over!" the choreographer called.

You hesitated, eyes scanning her face, but eventually sighed and gave her hand a light squeeze before stepping back into position.

Haerin watched you go.

She told herself it didn’t bother her.

But that was a lie.

And now, before she even realizes it, she’s standing in front of your door.

Her jealousy isn’t loud. It never is.

But when she pushes the door open, stepping into the dim glow of your room, you feel it instantly—heavy in the air, simmering just beneath the surface.

The kind of jealousy that doesn’t need words to be known.

You barely register the sound of the door creaking open before a familiar presence fills the room.

“Rinnie?” Your voice is soft, questioning, as you sit up in bed. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother knocking.

Your girlfriend.

Sure enough, Haerin steps inside, her small frame swallowed by an oversized pink hoodie, the hood pulled up with little bear ears perched on top. On any other night, you’d tease her about how ridiculously cute she looks.

But something feels off.

Despite the cozy hoodie, her posture is rigid, her expression unreadable. Haerin has always been hard to read, but this, this is different.

You frown slightly, setting your phone aside. “Rinnie?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a slow step forward, then another, her gaze locked onto yours. And for some reason, the air between you shifts, thicker, heavier.

You swallow.

Something is definitely wrong.

You frown slightly. “Is something wrong, love?”

The second the word love leaves your lips, Haerin stiffens. Then, as if short-circuiting, she speed-walks toward you, her ears turning the faintest shade of pink.

Before you can react, she climbs onto the bed, quietly straddling your lap. Her arms snake around your waist as she buries her face into your neck, pressing impossibly close.

Warmth instantly floods your chest.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her in return. "You’re clingy tonight" you tease lightly, rubbing slow circles against her back.

Haerin hums in response, but doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she tightens her grip, nuzzling further into you, her soft hair tickling your skin.

Gently, you murmur, “Seriously Though, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. A few beats pass, filled only by the quiet sound of your breathing. Then, finally, she mumbles against your skin, her voice barely above a whisper—

“Do you like seeing those videos?”

Your fingers still against her back.

Oh.

So that’s what this is about.

Smiling softly, you shift slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her hood. “Rinnie…”

She doesn’t lift her head, but you feel the way she tenses ever so slightly, waiting for your answer.

You sigh, pulling back just enough to cup her cheeks to meet your eyes. She resists at first, gaze flickering away, but you don’t let up. Your thumbs brush over the warmth of her skin, and slowly, reluctantly, her eyes find yours.

Her lips are pressed into a pout, her usual neutral expression betraying just the faintest hint of something vulnerable. It’s almost too cute to handle.

“The edits are kind of funny,” you admit, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “But they don’t mean anything.”

Haerin’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t respond.

A small pause.

“You’re always with Minji when we film,” she mutters.

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the shift in her tone.

“Minji isn’t your girlfriend,” she says, quieter this time. “I am.”

Your chest tightens at how small her voice sounds.

A soft laugh escapes you before you can stop it—not out of mockery, but out of sheer disbelief that this is what’s been eating at her. That your Haerin, quiet and composed, is sulking over some fan edits.

“Wait, are you jealous?” you tease, poking her cheek playfully.

Haerin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently takes your wrist, her fingers curling around it, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. 

“…You don’t act like that with me.”

Your teasing smile fades.

“On camera, no,” you clarify, voice softer now. “You know how careful we have to be, Rinnie. I didn’t want to make things harder for you, so I thought keeping some distance was the best thing.”

Haerin stays quiet, her gaze locked onto where her fingers are still brushing against yours.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I don’t like it,” she murmurs.

You exhale, squeezing her hand. “Then tell me what you do want.”

“I don’t want you getting shipped with Minji.”

“I don’t want you to distance yourself from me on camera.”

You hold her gaze for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

You don’t break your promise.

The next time the cameras are rolling, you make sure Haerin feels it.

During a phoning live, when Minji passes you a snack, you thank her without much thought—but instead of eating it right away, you turn to Haerin, holding it up to her lips first. She blinks, startled, but opens her mouth after a small hesitation. The chat explodes instantly.

📌@stayrkieeiiw

"Did I miss an update?? Since when were they like THIS???"

💬 @ynhaerinupdate

"WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED???"

🔁 @haerinno111

"Haerin’s little hesitation before eating lmao she was definitely malfunctioning."

During a music show, while the members are waiting backstage, you casually walk up behind Haerin and rest your chin on her shoulder. The cameras catch the moment as she flinches slightly in surprise before relaxing against you. You don’t move, just standing there with your arms loosely draped around her. The staff members barely react, too used to your antics, but the fans? They lose their minds.

📌 @gay4haerin

"WAIT, Y/N AND HAERIN?? HELLO???"

💬 @haerinsoftie

"They act like a married couple and expect us to be normal about it"

🔁@kpopfangirl24

“Y/N and Haerin have been so touchy lately???”

During a variety show game, you and Haerin end up on the same team. Every time she gets an answer right, you don’t just cheer, you grab her hands and shake them excitedly, or wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in celebration. At one point, you’re so excited that you practically tackle her into a hug. She stumbles slightly, laughing, and the members tease you, but you don’t let go.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

“The way Y/N is all over her I CAN’T.”

💬 @njzrawr

“golden retriever x black cat energy”

🔁 @idkwhotostan

“Y/N and Haerin are so clingy In here, I need them to explain themselves IMMEDIATELY.”

On a phoning live, you’re seated next to Haerin, and for some reason, you can’t stop messing with her hoodie strings. You keep tugging them playfully, leaning in close whenever she tries to bat your hands away. Eventually, you give up on the strings and just rest your head on her shoulder instead. She freezes for a second, then lets out the softest sigh before tilting her head slightly so your temple rests against hers. The moment is short, but fans catch it instantly.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

"Haerin’s little smile when Y/N leans on her 😭.”

🔁 @multistan010

"Omg...do they know we can see them..?"

💬 @fuckhybeomg

"ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS?? IS THIS REAL??"

After a long day of promotions, the group films a short vlog in their practice room. You’re exhausted, so you naturally gravitate toward Haerin, flopping down beside her and resting your head against her lap. She stiffens at first, her hands hovering awkwardly over you before she hesitantly starts running her fingers through your hair. The fans don’t miss the way she tries to hide her smile, but the cameras catch it anyway.

📌 @haerinupdates

"SHE TRIED TO HIDE IT BUT WE SAW IT. WE ALL SAW IT."

💬 @idkiwannasleepsb

"DID YOU SEE THAT. DID YOU GUYS SEE HER SMILE!?"

🔁 @Y/nupdates

“Theyre not even trying to hide it atp. #YNsold”

🔁 @haerinwinning

"Y/N used to keep her distance from Haerin, now she’s acting like a lovesick puppy… what CHANGED???? 🤨"

📌 @ynhaerin_cult

"THEM. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE TWEET. #YNSold #Theyremarriedsir"

💬 @minjynomg

"Miny/n shippers are in shambles rn"

Later that night, you scroll through the comments with a smug smile. Next to you, Haerin peeks at your phone screen, then flicks your forehead.

“Stop looking at those,” she mutters, trying to act indifferent.

You just grin, nudging her gently. “You like it, don’t lie.”

She huffs but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she shifts closer, intertwining her fingers with yours under the covers.

————

OG MY GODO I CANNOT WRITE PET NAMES WITHOUT CRINGING OFMG KILL ME NOW😭🙏

Taglist: haha I'm lazy

[mameillieureennemie]

i had been thinking about this all day at work.

fwb!vi x f!reader - 1

summary: looks say far more than words can.

when you and vi first started this arrangement, the way she looked at you was different.

it was a look of hunger; a look that a mountain lion would possess as it laid its eyes on an innocent lamb. to say she wanted to eat you was too kind—she wanted to devour you, tear into your flesh with sharp, and wet her gullet with your blood.

it was possession that drove her to throw you on the bed before mounting you. the desperate urge to keep as she swallowed you whole, bones and all, until there was nothing left of you.

that was months ago, when the arrangement was still fresh. when you firmly stated that this was nothing but downright filthy sex, and vi agreed.

but everything has changed.

vi doesn't look at you the same.

except she does, but it's worse somehow.

while she still pins you down with that gaze of raw possession, it's...softened.

no longer is it harsh and jagged, slicing through your flesh with serrated edges. now, it cradles you, like gentle hands holding the delicate body of a baby bird. cautious, easy...

fond.

it terrifies you.

vi's nestled in the cradle of your thighs, hiding her face in the plush of your stomach. her arms are locked around your waist, tight and assured, and she's humming a tune. it's muffled, but it's familiar; a song that she lets loose when she's happy.

when she's happy with you.

there's a heavy rock in your stomach, pulling you down towards the ground. it may drag you through the earth, suffocating you in the terrifying heat of the earth's mantle. maybe the heat will kill you first, but you'll be killed nonetheless.

this is what your fear feels like. this is what you were afraid of.

vi's shifting on your lap momentarily draws you away from your inevitable breakdown. she's now lying on her back, baring her face back to the world—back to you.

the smile on her face is tender; it's what some might even call loving. the rock in your stomach gains five pounds, nausea pooling at the back of your throat.

no.

"hey, pretty girl," vi murmurs, low and slow, as if those words are her secrets. "what's going on in that head of yours?"

the words sit at the tip of your tongue, scrambling for freedom. they seep into your taste buds, leaving behind the most sour of tastes.

we need to stop this, is what yells to be said. we said no feelings. this was supposed to be about sex and nothing else. so why does it feel like you're in love with me?

why does it feel like i'm in love with you, too?

"nothing," you say instead, mimicking the low and slow, like you're also telling secrets. "just wondering about what i should do tonight."

you stress the i a little too harshly, but vi doesn't notice. or maybe she does and refuses to care. maybe she's acting on her own will, doing what feels right by her standards.

which is unfair; she isn't allowed to do this to you.

"well, if you don't anything in mind," vi says easily. "we could go catch a movie or something? maybe go and grab something to eat from jericho's?" the way she says we is too simple, as if it's always been we and not you and her.

you stare down at her for a moment, really take her in. the slope of her nose, the scar on her upper lip. the soft pinks of her cheeks, and her eyes. wide and power blue and far too expressive of their own good because she's looking at you with that look again.

that look that means way too much.

when you open your mouth, all that falls out is a lie.

"actually, i have to wake up early in the morning." you lie through your teeth because you need to get away from this—from her.

the look in vi's eyes changes, slips into something foreign; something unknown. you've never seen this look before, but you can't find it in yourself to worry about it.

when vi leaves, she presses a lingering kiss upon your lips. her hands grasp at you a bit too tightly, as if feeling you for the last time. then she's gone without a word, and a part of you wonders what that could have meant.

but as the weeks go by and vi goes unheard of, you suddenly realise on a deathly cold morning.

vi was saying goodbye.

[semisasseater]

But I'm overwhelmed with jealousy

Jealous! Se-mi x fem! reader

Summary: jealous gf se-mi headcannons!

Tw: jealous, possessive, aggression, intimation, killing/sabotaging players (didn’t get into detail), light hearted threats, se-mi is down BAD, se-mi wants readers attention, physical touch, humor + exaggeration (the kid part.) swearing and snarky remarks.. (kinda?) let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: can you see this is an enhypen reference? (the name of the fic and the pictures used..) dyk i actually name all my fics after my favorite artists (enhypen, illit, and ariana grande?!) also im gonna cry i miss my wife gabby but she’s doing SCHOOL. gonna sob

Not proofread!

Word count: 531

Jealous! Se-mi x Reader Headcanons

• Se-mi isn’t the type to openly admit she’s jealous, but the moment she feels threatened, her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes darken, her body stiffens, and her jaw clenches ever so slightly.

• She has a sharp resting glare, so sometimes people don’t even realize she’s fuming with jealousy—until she makes a snarky remark under her breath.

• If she sees someone getting too comfortable around you, she’ll silently step closer, standing just a little too protectively beside you, as if she’s reminding them who you belong to.

When a Kid Compliments You:

• You two were just casually walking down the street when a little kid looked up at you and innocently said, “Wow! You’re really pretty!”

• Before you could even react, you felt the air change—Se-mi went completely silent.

• You turned to see her standing still, her eyes darkened, lips pressed into a thin line. Instant panic.

• “Oh nononono, Se-mi! You’re not gonna hurt the child—he just complimented me!” you blurted out, quickly stepping in front of her.

• She scoffed, shaking her head. “You think I’d actually fight a kid?”

• …You weren’t sure. Because the way she was looking at that child made you think she just might.

• The poor kid, oblivious to the tension, just giggled and ran off. Meanwhile, you spent the next five minutes calming Se-mi down, reassuring her that even toddlers weren’t competition for her.

When Another Player Flirts With You in the Game:

• Se-mi is not subtle when another player tries flirting with you.

• She immediately steps between you and them, fixing them with a cold, unreadable stare.

• “Keep your eyes on the game, not my girlfriend” she says flatly scaring the other player away.

• If they don’t get the message, she doesn’t mind “accidentally” knocking into them during red light green light or making their life slightly more difficult.

• One time, Player 230 “jokingly” said, “Damn, Y/N, if we make it out of here, you should go on a date with me instead.”

• Se-mi didn’t say a word—she just gave him a look that made him rethink and question what he said then he takes what he said back.

Random Moments of Jealousy:

• Eye Contact? Nope. If someone so much as stares at you too long, Se-mi will stare back—until they get so uncomfortable they look away first.

• Physical Touch? Absolutely Not. If someone puts a hand on your shoulder or leans in too close, she’ll immediately pull you toward her with zero hesitation.

• Possessive Gestures. She often rests her hand on your waist, gives you her jacket, or calls you “mine” loud enough for others to hear.

• When she’s feeling particularly territorial, she’ll kiss you in front of others—just to make it crystal clear who you belong to.

When You Reassure Her:

• Sometimes, her jealousy is unreasonable, and you know it.

• “Se-mi, do you really think I’d leave you for a random stranger?”

• She crosses her arms and looks away, muttering, “I don’t like people thinking they have a chance.”

• You can’t help but smile and grab her hand, pulling her close.

• “You’re the only one for me, dummy.”

• She doesn’t respond, but you see the corner of her lips twitch—and that’s how you know she’s secretly pleased.

Overall:

• Se-mi is undeniably protective and territorial, but she trusts you enough not to lash out unless absolutely necessary.

• She won’t always voice her jealousy, but she’ll make sure everyone knows you’re hers in one way or another.

• Despite her sharp and intimidating nature, she secretly just wants reassurance that you love her as much as she loves you.

• And honestly? You think it’s kinda cute—as long as she doesn’t actually try to start a fight with a child again.

@semisasseater

[archangeldyke-all]

Hear me out hear me out...reader with a prosthetic leg that's like sevikas arm and it legit love at first sight bro trust!!

VERY cute omg

men and minors dni

your grandmother would try to kill you if she saw the way you're sitting right now. not only are you manspreading; you've got one leg thrown up onto the wood table in front of you as you sip on your beer.

"do you want me to take my boot off?" you offer, cringing as the dirt caked to your boots starts to dust onto the table top.

the little girl laying on the table shakes her head no. she's lost in her own world, her legs kicking in the air behind her as she doodles all over the smooth metal surface of your leg.

you stopped in the last drop for a quick drink-- but upon entering, the little girl sitting bored at the bar had gasped and ran over to you, gushing to you about your leg and begging to look at it up close. you had laughed and shrugged, bought yourself a pitcher of beer and settled in for a long night.

you've always been a sucker for little kids.

so when she asked if she could give you 'tattoos'-- pulling out a box of oil crayons from the pouch in her overalls, you'd just laughed, ruffled her bangs, and let her at it.

"this the first mech prosthetic you've ever seen?" you ask.

the girl shakes her head no. "silco has a creepy orange eyeball. and sevika's got her arm. yours is way cooler than theirs, though. less menacing."

you snort, wondering how a prosthetic could possibly be menacing. "who are you, anyways?" you ask.

"jinx!" a voice shouts. you both look up to the top of the stairs. a beautiful, angry, cloaked woman storms down the stairs, glaring at jinx, apparently. the little girl just giggles guiltily, like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. "fuck're you doing down here? you know you aren't allowed in the bar during open hours. get upstairs before i drag you up by your stupid little braid."

"geez, relax, sevika. i was just checkin' out this beauty!" she exclaims, knocking on your metal knee. you laugh.

"she's no bother."

the woman's eyes dart over to you, and you watch in fascination as her eyes grow wide. "th-that's your leg?" she asks.

you sputter, and jinx bursts into laughter beside you.

"it's attached to her isn't it?!" jinx teases. sevika huffs and flicks jinx's forehead, before reaching up and fumbling with the collar of her poncho.

"no-- i mean--" finally, she finds the seam, and her cloak comes off in one clean swoop. you gawk as a beautiful, sophisticated, and indeed, slightly menacing mech arm is revealed to you.

"oh, janna, look at that!" you gasp, standing from your chair to grab the woman's arm. you twist and turn it in your hold, gawking at the incredibly intricate design and function, running your fingers over the sharp claws of her finger tips-- it isn't until jinx gives an annoyed grunt that you snap out of your trance and take a step away from the woman you've practically ambushed.

only, sevika takes a step forward when you do, shoving her arm back in your grasp. you blink up at her, your stomach somersaulting when you meet her beautiful, twinkling silver. "did you make yours?" sevika asks, a little breathless.

you grin. "sorta. i got a cousin who did most of it. i handed her screwdrivers and stuff. did you?"

"y-yeah." she admits.

jinx scoffs. "oh, please. all the cool features are from me or singed. i was the one who told you to add the machete--

"machete!?" you gasp, your excitement growing.

"-- and singed did the shimmer injecti-- mph!" jinx is muffled by sevika's flesh hand.

"d-do you ever go to marty's mech--

"--repair shop?!" sevika finishes for you.

marty's the only man in the whole city who makes bio-chargeable parts.

you burst into laughter.

sevika smiles at you, a gorgeous little gap in her teeth revealing itself, and then she gasps and wretches her hand away from jinx. "you fucker, you bit me!"

"it's torture to force me to watch you two flirt. certifiable torture. peg-leg; come find me when you're finished giggling with general dingus over here. i'm not done with the drawing yet." jinx huffs and walks away.

you laugh as jinx marches off, then quickly wipe off the dirt covered table you were sitting at. "d-do you wanna have a beer with me? i gotta finish this pitcher..." you gesture to your table awkwardly.

sevika grins. "can't let good beer go to waste, can we?" she asks, settling down in a chair. you giggle with excitement as you sit beside her, and then you nearly explode when she pulls your mech leg up into her lap.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3