#Iron Curtain Trail

[kilometermacher]

Abenteuer Polen: Letzter Tag und Heimreise

[friedelio]

Eigentlich wollen wir ja nach Prag …

… aber gekommen sind wir nur bis Thüringen. Bodenfelde an der Weser bis Dorndorf an der Werra240 KilometerGefahren vom 10. bis zum 13. September Wir finden: Neben dem Mai ist der September ist doch eigentlich die schönste Reisezeit. Es ist nicht mehr so heiß, meist trocken und das Licht ist anheimelnd. Auch sind weniger Leute unterwegs und die Campingplätze nicht so voll. Traditionell haben wir…

[tonycries]

To Tame A Monster - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! nurse! reader, underground fighter! Gojo, scarred Gojo, he wears a muzzIe, slight vioIence, he’s a little (very) ínsane, muscular Gojo, manhandIing, full neIsons, semi-public, thigh grínding, edging, Gojo goes FÉRAL, tummy buIges, creampíes, face-sítting (fem rec.), cúmplay, BIIIG stretches, running from it, making it fit, HEADLOCKS, chokíng, fighting talk, squírting, dúmbifícation, víbrators, marks (on him), L bómbs, Sukuna cameos, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. Happy 100 chapters on AO3!! Here’s a lil’ something for my hubby <3

They say that Gojo Satoru could take down the strongest of fighters with only six moves.

Audiences adored him, opponents insisted that the man wasn’t even human. And it was well known around these parts that one had to be brave enough that it inched into stupidity to ever even think about challenging him. 

Hell, they’ve had to muzzle him in thick leather just to give his opponents even the briefest advantage. 

Some trembled in fear at the very mention of his name - peering ‘round, making sure they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of those haunting sapphire eyes, or those scarred fists that left no evidence. No witnesses. Others scoffed at the exaggerations of what were obviously little more than sketchy underground scraps. A publicity stunt, surely.

That is, until they saw him.

And you have, too.

With the nature of your job, you had to constantly be present after rounds to tend to bruises, scratches and - if Gojo was involved -  broken bones, after all. 

Only…you were here for him.

“OH! King of Curses down- Six Eyes knees him in the ribs so hard that I’m sure you could hear it, ladies and gentleman! Is he the one who’ll take the Shinjuku Showdown grand prize tonight?!” 

You’re grimacing at both the booming volume of the eager commentator, and the cracking slam of flesh-on-flesh. Having your special nurse’s position smack-dab on the first row meant that you could see n’ hear everything. 

Everything. 

From the roaring cheers of the bustling crowd on their feet, to the way that Gojo was gritting through his dark Stygian muzzle and grinning. Wild. Gorgeous.

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily - despite the way the entire underworld had his name in their mouths, the one thing nobody ever disagreed on was how…hot Gojo Satoru was. 

A devil masquerading like an angel. All curtains of silky, sweat-slicked white hair, and muscles for daaaays. His skin-tight t-shirt was hanging off of him in nothing but rings of tatters, showing off a snowy happy trail that makes you gulp. Milky skin glistening in the beating stadium lighting, all decorated in as much battle-won scars as sultry, sultry veins. 

Gojo’s towering shadow falls right in front of where you were gawking up at him, and fuck- he makes a big show of letting the rest of his shirt riiiip—! with only a mere tug. 

Well, there was a reason he was your favorite patient.

And you swear he was so close that you could practically taste the scorching iron dripping between his lips, lacquering his pearly whites with a thin film. All red and raw when he turns to you and winks–

“HOLY SHIT! The King makes a comeback- he’s still on his feet! And he’s swinging wide at our monster Six Eyes.”

The thundering, thick stadium air simmers a few degrees tenser as Ryomen Sukuna crashes his meaty, closed fist right into the other’s right cheekbone. Shocked inhales ring out all around you - because if Gojo was the monster of underground fighting, then Sukuna was the curse.

The only fighter in history to ever get a solid few knocks on the other. Both massive.

And if this was anyone else, the sheer force would have made them pass out right then and there. If this was anyone else, then they wouldn’t be snickering-

“Cute.” Gojo’s deep sing-song voice is cold. Seething. Just barely audible enough that your buzzing eardrums can make out. He throws one arm over the stretchy fighting ring ropes, “But I gotta lady ta impress.”

Crimson eyes flicker to you for nothing but a split-second, but it was long enough for the other man to grow rigid. On edge for the first time.

Smugly, Sukuna spits right into Gojo’s face. “Heh- Hell yeah, that chick’ll be impressed in the locker rooms by a real winner later. Me.”

Just a word about you is all it takes.

A breathless gasp departs from your lips as something in Gojo grows…different.

Without another word, he’s drifting over a hand to one of the bulky bands wrapped firmly around his wrists. Unlatching them. So often mistaken for somewhat of a fashion statement, but after so long spent in fighting company, you knew what they really were.

They were weights. Yet another disadvantage. 

And they crack the ground as they fall.

“Weights? Weights?! OH- Gojo headbutts! The King of Curse’s is down-” He’s bleeding and accomplished, every trace of humor wiped. Every degree of a smirk clenched into a steely scowl, and suddenly you’re feeling that perhaps those rumors about him being superhuman are true. Perhaps. “SHIT! He snaps back with an elbow strike-”

Gojo’s big, beefy biceps tense and flex as he curls it menacingly around Sukuna’s throat into a fucking headlock - and your thighs clench.

“You- fucking-” He chokes out past the sculptured harness, cushioned palms coming to slam down on Gojo’s forearm. “For- for some girl-”

Tightening, “What was that~?”

“The King misses- oh, he’s in some real trouble now! Place your bets, you greedy watchers, there’s a reason they call Six Eyes ‘The Strongest’.”

And you knew that underground fights had no rules other than attempt not to die - or, at the very least, try not to make a mess when you do. It’s hard to get stains out of the felt. But Sukuna’s vein-popped face was going purple now, and Gojo was blank-featured through it all. 

Barely even flinching as his opponent grapples a hand into his ridged obliques, lunging and lunging. And yet, the strongest doesn’t even flinch. 

Doesn’t even notice, it seems.

His ghostly cerulean eyes drift to you, seated on the edge of your chair, and he slams a knee into Sukuna’s rugged face. Letting the man drop onto the frictional ground with a resounding thud! - before his fists continue. 

Once. Twice. Clawing at his throat-

“FUCK- CALL THE MEDICS. SIX EYES IS MAKING A SLAUGHTER-SCENE–!”

And no one needed to draw the count, for fear of getting near. Why would they risk death incarnate?

Continuing and continuing until Yaga barks at four- five other referees to even get Gojo to budge. They only just manage to throw a few arms ‘round his powerful ones, and pull him far back enough to giggle down at the carnage he’s created.

Voice octaves higher. Crazed. “Don’t you talk about my lady, ya hear?”

Yaga, as Gojo’s burly coach and former champion, is the one that dares break his harrowing eye-contact to shake him into a stand. Ordering the organizers to get the awards ceremony done as swiftly as possible lest they wanted one of their top-earning fighters down for the count permanently. 

“S-Six Eyes is the champion of Shinjuku Showdown! And in LESS than his signature six moves- oh what a fight it was! One for the books, folks!”

Of course, Six Eyes is declared the winner.

And as Gojo is handed a glinting winner’s banner - dominant arm being thrust in the air - you watch as Sukuna’s barely half-conscious firm slurs out a ferocious, “Rematch. T-tomorrow.”

Cash. A shoddy belt. Champagne.

Tens upon hundreds of reporters and photographers scramble and keen to get the most-selling shots of him. The glare of the flashing lights illuminating him into some sort of other-worldly figure. 

A fighter so dangerous that they claim he hides six eyes. And yet, they only remain on you.

Though, it’s not as if you’re any better - you can’t look away. 

He stands tall, proud. Button nose overspilling with a wisp of cherry-red, perspiration-dampened shorts clinging onto thick thighs and showing you a pretty tuft of white in a way that was unintentionally sexy. Gojo’s leathery mask now dangles haphazardly to show off such a wicked grin.

And Gojo points. Right at you. In front of everyone. 

“Later,” he’s mouthing, whilst interviewers scream for a quote. 

Oh…

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuuuck, Toru–!” Your mouth floods with sheer bucketloads of drool through each wailing whine n’ whimper, back arched like such a slut into Gojo’s bumpy, Herculean front- though, what else could you have expected when the great Gojo Satoru himself accompanied you to your dingy clinic above the fighting ring?

Ready for his real prize of the night.

And lo and behold, bandages and rubbing alcohol forgotten, you’re finding yourself draped right over his lap so prettily; struggling to close your jittery legs ‘round his huge, meaty thighs. 

The fringes of your teeth nip right along Gojo’s plush, scarred deltoids once he tugs on your nurse’s outfit and clings onto a good handful of your ass, draaaagging you to grind all over his quadriceps. Dribbling out a fresh line of candied slick that smears on top of every dip and curve of his bulging muscles.

Your drenched panties catch onto his velvety boxing shorts and you have to hold back a tiny sob. With a deep inhale of his musky cologne, you murmur, “T-Toru, I wan’ you ngh- so bad, y’know?”

“Awww, how cute~” He’s crooning from above,muzzle still on. The pointed curve of his nose tickling your throbbing pulse. Dangerous. Gojo breathes in your sweet scent until it’s all he can smell, “But yer gonna get us caught, mama.”

And he’s so mean.

He fought mean, and he teases you even meaner.

You’re frowning, kiss-swollen lips down-turning into a pout once the sensory pads of his stern digits rover up to your cheeks and smush them together. Crashing your jutted mouth into his frosty mask–

“C’mon now, gotta- gotta be quiet.” Gojo groans at the way you’re getting ever-more soaked when he’s toying with you like this. Lazily, he drops his muzzle to let his plump, bubblegum-pink lips tickle down your own, “Suck on my tongue, there- you can do better.”

So filthy.

Huffing out, your further unfastened jaw basically floods with the damp rivulets of saliva that just kept on watering out of you. When it rained, it poured - and Gojo finds himself smirking at the slop. “Yeah- yeahyeah, you got it. Theeere’s a good girl.”

Weepy pussy positively throbbing at the scratchy texture of his tongue like candy, you couldn’t help but let your fuzzy mind wonder how it would feel inside-

“Oi, nasty girl.” Your pitchy yelp fills the paper-thin walls as Gojo gifts the right of your ass with a rude spank, and then one more just to hear you make that cute noise again. Gruffing out, “Can feel ya getting wetter on top of me. S’like a damn waterpark.”

Before you have the time to even catch your breath, he slouches back sensually to watch you - letting your thin patient bed ring out with an ancient creak! 

And Gojo stares at you lecherously- oh, he was devouring you with his heavily half-lidded gaze. 

The way you’re pouring out syrupy sap with every urgent back n’ forth of your hips, the way all he has to do is hook a thumb past your gluey stuck panties to watch you pulse and quiver. 

Hazy, summer blue peripherals roaming all over your needy expression for a split-second before he’s tap-tap-tapping the doughy mound of his heel on the tile floor. Bouncing you with every motioned lurch, your puffed-up clit catches on one of his zig-zagging veins and you squeal.

Oh? Speeding up, you’re struggling desperately at his whims. One hand grappling onto Gojo’s dimpled back, and the other clawing at the starchy bedspread, no matter how much you were trying to regulate the tempo - he would just speed up more. 

And more. And more. 

Over and over he’s lurching just a few carnal inches off of your bedsprings to chase your sensitive nub. Reeling you down - hard - with a hand stuck to you like adhesive, to pap! against his thigh, letting white-hot bliss spark all that way from your pressurized clit and up your clammy spine.

“F-fuck!” You’re babbling away, fingers interlocking with the soft creamy curls at his nape. Clawing. “Toru– k-keep that up and I won’t…”

Gojo perks his calloused thumb to swivel over your sloshing mess and promptly plugs up your unfastened lips, muffling you. “Shhh shh sh- Wouldn’t wan’ any of those fucks to hear those pretty noises, my girl.”

He was brutal.

Your lower tummy was tumbling and spinning and doing gymnastics you didn’t even think existed. And it was times like this that the strongest from all those headlines peaked his head through. 

Swirling your tongue around his plummy fingerpad, he tasted so much like caramel salt that made your legs grow weaker. Cadence springing to jerky. To oversensitive. “P-please- ngh!”

“Now, what was that pretty lil- hey now, c’mere.” Your lungs cave with a soft ‘please’ as soon as an engulfing, bruised hand crowns your sweat-oiled scalp and holds you still. Gojo doesn’t even have to try, and yet he’s showing off a few sexy flexes of his biceps just for you to ogle at. 

Rutting his jerky leg up into you until your head throws back, he can’t help but leave a sweet, innocent peck right there on the tender spot of your throat. “Don’t run. Don’t run from me.”

Another wet kiss near your slobbery maw, and yet another swat of his thickly tipped fingers right over the slivery slope of your pussy. The sharp sting was just enough to get your glassy eyes to focus on him, “Yeah? Look at me- gimme a lil’ kiss, mama.”

Oh, he always was such a ruthless opponent. 

Because as soon as your spit-glossed lips are crawling towards his, Gojo’s prying them open and spitting inside with a soft coo. Watching as the treacly wad of splashing syrup slides allll the way to puddle the back of your throat. 

“T-tease.”

“I think you mean…champion.” He hunches you over until you’re slipping n’ sliding all down the ridged rollercoaster of his abs. The fragile points of your hardened nipples massaging into his sensual scars and driving you mad. Sweaty and needy. Boring dead-on into your half-shuttered heart eyes, “Now, tell me what you want.” He hums, still tugging on your bloated outer cunt, watching you gasp. “Tell me what’s got this lady here so fuckin’ wet.”

Your words choke with every viscid tear - tears of bliss. Close. “Want t-to-”

“Mhmm–?”

“To-” You’re just so far gone, your gushing orifice only getting soppier and soppier by the second. And before Gojo’s fourth and final spank comes slamming down on your clit- you’re crying. “Cum- fuck fuck fuck- m’so close. So- m’gonna cum–”

And as soon as it was about to happen - it’s gone.

Immediately, your lungs depart with a disappointed whine. “Nooo–!” Scratching at the pronounced back of his throat, you’re struggling to maneuver your body within his merciless hold. And the entire time Gojo only watches in amusement at his sheer display of strength, “I was so close- fuck! Was about to cum, Toru…”

“Nuh uh.” Gojo’s grinning - grinning. And oh, despite the way that makes his cheek indent with a cute, cratering dimple you already know this won’t bode well for you. “M’starvin’ after that match.”

Before you can dredge up enough brainpower to ask what that meant - he’s already showing you. 

Falling back onto the stark white bed until his head hit the pillows with a dull whoosh! and for the moment you’re simply admiring just how pretty he is. 

This wasn’t the Six Eyes that everyone knew and feared. 

With his ethereal locks splaying out on the cushion like a halo, looking oh-so-pale in comparison to the pretty pink that he was flushing all the way from forehead to neck. Irises half-lidded, crazed. Gojo’s broad, scarred chest heaves with every murked out pant he was whistling out. 

Twiddling over the shoulder strap of that tight lil’ number you called your nurse’s outfit. “Take this off f’me- show me my hah- show me my lady.” 

Oh, it would never get old when you do that.

The way that Gojo’s toes curl, the apples of his cheeks staining with a scorching whirlwind of blushing red. Fuck- his heavy tongue droops even heavier with a slick covering of watery spittle, just watching you in your matching set of bra n’ panties. 

All in light blue.

“Knew I’d win, huh?” He’s quirking a snowy brow smugly as he does away with your bra, too. “C’mere.” Gojo’s long lashes flutter up at you delicately, his crowning smirk plastered permanently across his handsome features. And as you’re tentatively making your way on top of him, he cups a roaming grope of your left ass-cheek. 

Squeezing for a second - two - before the strongest simply lifts you up to straddle his face. He doesn’t even waste a second. Doesn’t even hesitate. 

Setting you down gently - you think he of all people would even need to try to manhandle your pretty self this way?

No introductions, no welcome mats necessary - your throbbing pussy was already pouring out in torrentials of translucent sap right through your underwear. Copious, dolloping droplets that hit his readily awaiting pinkish tastebuds in claggy splats!

“Mmm—” He’s swirling his soaked muscle all ‘round the insides of his mouth to just savor your sugary taste. Through a sharp, three-second spank to your ass once more, Gojo grunts, “No need to be shy. Sit on my face, mama.”

And Gojo was always such a messy eater - not even the slightest bit afraid to get his hands dirty. 

No wonder all his opponents complained that he had the filthiest mouth. His tongue was lengthy, dexterous enough to slither past your panties with a sapping squelch! the very nanosecond your drooling core hits the tip of his tongue.

Oh- Gojo’s eyes agonize shut simply to memorize the pattern in which your strands of dangling slick slipped into his mouth. Lathering his chin all glossy, “Yeah like that-” His rugged palms stick to that perfect curvature of your spine. “-sit properly. Sit.”

You’re mumbling out something barely audible, cut off when he curls a firm hand around your throat and pulls you down onto his ravenous face. “Said- fucking sit-”

Sweltering hot breath strikes your geysering hole and makes you keen, your cracked eyelids open just barely enough to spot the way Gojo lands a shimmering glob of saliva right inside. And more when it only adds to the steadily-growing pool you were formulating on his pointed chin, his neck. 

Whimpering when your weight settles on a purple-ish spot on his cheek where Sukuna had caught him off-guard. 

“Watch this.” He’s moaning throatily, making such a show of letting your slippery slit streak out utter cascades all down his tongue. “Told ya- s’a fuckin’ heh- waterpark. Come ride my mouth, my girl- come- come.”

Your head tumbles back with a loud ‘fuck’ when his parched muscle bullies right past the rubbery ring of your entrance. And he takes the time curling his mazing tip into your slicked hole and streeeetching out a cute lil’ heart that makes you whine your poor heart out. 

With a scoff at the way whoever walked by your clinic definitely knew what was happening, Gojo’s slapping the tender skin of your ass raw. “Yeah yeah, louder n’ maybe that ngh- bastard Sukuna will hear.”

Slowly yet sensually probing his tastebuds into every mushy ridge and corner embedded inside of you, he was roaming so deep. Raking a thorough grip on your right ass cheek to gyrate your sodden cunt rougher.

Fucking you wiiildly with his tongue - so wide. Fast. 

He was impatient. 

“Y’know with you sittin’ and- nghh-” You’re mewling once he tapes off that sentence with a pinch of your perked clit between his plush lips. Hollowing out those attractive cheeks to tug n’ tug until you’re sobbing. “-and- and squirming in the seats tonight- this was alllll I could think about?”

He spits back a loaded wad of drool that slides away back down to your flooded hole, pushing the webbed mess right back with the fat crown of his thumb. “Couldn’t wait-”

“Ngh- Toru—” You’re recanting like your own personal mantra, the crackles in your voice following every flop of his textured tongue in and out in and out in and out. “Keep going- hah! Feels so gooood–”

“Mhm, I know.” Gojo bites back cockily, chewing on the squishy inside of his cheek to stop himself from fucking moaning outloud at how your pussylips were just throbbing. The very same pulse you felt in your tight throat. “Had to stop myself from- ngh- making out with this lady right ‘ere all in front- in front of those cameras.”

“Y-you would-”

THWACK!

Oh, he’s snapping at the stretchy elastic of your panties to let the slimy fabric spank your precise pussymound.

Taking the filthy, filthy opportunity while you’re thrown into a dumbstruck daze to skim a few strong fingers underneath your stringy panties, Gojo pulls-pulls-pulls until it’s torn cleanly off of your hips. Freeing you completely bare, and gifting him with the perfect scented fabric for him to draw up to his nose and sniff–

Your jaw dangles widely agape, the same greedy oh! that your dewy hole makes when setting it aside to dip a finger sloppily inside your cunt.

Stocky and long. And yet you take Gojo’s length middle finger with great gulping clamps of your dripping pussy, so much so that you’re hearing a growling “Fuuuck, mama- m-made for me.” from underneath you.

You just made the strongest…stutter?

And you’re just pouring wet from the idea, but before you can stupidly open your mouth to taunt the big, bad fighter below you - Gojo squeezes his hold on your neck and draaaags you further down. Until you’re so pushed against his hot maw that you don’t know where you end and he begins.

He’s spitting, there’s another pop! as he adds another girthy finger to scissor apart your treacly slit. Rovering and rovering. Your voice shatters into numerous pieces so cutely, and he can feel the way your core pulsates frantically once he’s smudging the doughy tops of his digits nearer to your g-spot. 

Hmmm, he’s snickering internally. Gojo’s swirlin’ his manicured fingernail right over your bulging magical spots with such ease. It was so cute how obvious you were. 

“Got such a pretty cunt.” You’re arching desperately on and off his vibrato of words, the very same vibrations curdling that tightness in your stomach. “Such a pretty- pretty…”

“Sh-shiiit, Toru–” You hiccup, warbling shrills filling up Gojo’s ears like his favorite song. And it was. Almost as much as the plap! of a fresh wave of sap spraying a sheen across his face as he slithers in a third finger.

Sliding his pearly whites over your neglected clit, “Tha’s my name.” Gojo’s mouth hangs open with every slop, slapping alllll over the hood of your nub before trying to squish the very mound of his tongue in past your overstuffed entrance. Stimulating you. Driving you insane.

He’s swatting your ass a few more times until the mere touch of skin-on-skin sends your eyes sliiiding all the way to the back of your head. Gurgling – wet. “Say it a lil’ louder f’me now.”

“Toru–” you’re raking your hands down his pecs, nudging your plump clit right into the very tip of his button nose. And oh, you’re feeling the frigid whoosh! of air once Gojo leans his head in and takes a deeeep breath. Tugging gingerly on his unruly hair and he groans-

“Louder.”

“T-To-”

“No stutterin’.”

And you don’t know if you could comply with all his mean rules even if you could, the locked vice of his warm palm jostling your watery eyes until they were dead staring at him. 

He was peering up at you through angelic, white lashes with such loving. Cerise lips swirling all over your beating clit, he could practically taste the rapid ba-dump–! of it coating his heated mouth. 

Starting to crawl straightly up but you don’t even mean to. All he has to do is grasp your throat until all the air drains from your lungs and you’re held there. Solely by his monstrous strength. 

Swallowing back the leaden lump that’s permanently branded on your throat, with a flex of broad arms you’re being lazily shoved sloppier and sloppier by each passing second. And as you’re resting your dribbling slit back on his sensual chin, a steamy cloud of Gojo’s giggles hit where you’re stretched the most tautly tight. 

Blinking eyes flickering with primal need, your bleary vision is just filled with the heavenly sight of him him him. Urging your rickety knees to knobble faster, he murmurs into your folds. “Say it.”

“P-please.” The outdated bed sings as you’re shivering. Shaking. And no amount of cute gasps that you intake is enough to stop your heart from racing. “Toru. Please l-let me ngh- cum.”

“Hmmmm. Good enough.” He’s leering mean-spiritedly up at you, that very same wicked curve of his lips glued to your pretty clit. Gojo lets off a strained growl that almost makes you shy – desperate. “Now…you’re gonna squirt f’me, mama.” 

Another hit thud! of hits at your g-spot, and another few steps closer to your inevitable high. So close, in fact, that you’re not even realizing what Gojo’d uttered until he lolls out his fat tongue like he was drunken, silvery slabs of spit hitting your inner thighs. “Spit.”

Fuck- the very same moment your glittery cobweb of saliva is hitting his sizzling tastebuds, you’re hitting your high. Well, more like crashing headfirst into it. 

And Gojo was right, the way you squirted your brain-shattered release was in the most vapid spurts of juices. Spraying out of you like a fountain, sploshing all over the top of his face n’ gravitating down to his chin. “Squirt on my face- yeahyeah fuck, squirt on my face.”

One that he loooooves. Oh, how he loves it. Loves you. 

“So sweet- fuck…fuck, always the fuckin’ sweetest, my girl.” His guttural syllables ring out and make your eyes immediately flap helplessly shut. Toes curling, “Thank you- was so fuckin’ thirsty after that fight. Thank you.”

Lets his swollen lips slip open to drink up the honeyed squirts in big, deep sluuuuurps–! Scraping near your g-spot to draw out more and more of those pooling splotches all over his face. Gojo knots his fingers ‘round your throat and shoves your pussy to cling to his mouth ruthlessly. You’re watching through the white-hot stars behind your lids at how obviously his prominent Adam’s apple bumps and propels. 

Fuck. 

Glossy layers of slick stick to your folds like a candied apple, and every lil’ suck Gojo leaves drives you craaazy. Soon enough, your thighs are twitching right on top of him, “Please, Toru–”

“Mmmm–?” He’s panting, positively blistered in sweat at this point. And even when he’s catching his eyes with yours, his own look…cloudy. Feral. Murmuring something like ‘round one’ into your outer pussy.

“Want you in me–” You’re babbling out the only few sets of words you know will work to draw him away from the sweet, sweet dessert he’s found between your legs. And you’re watching with bated breath as Gojo takes a sloppy second to consider, still nibbling his canines on your sensitive clit. 

Huffing n’ puffing cutely, you’re reeling your sweet cunt back– only for Gojo to squeeze his hold around your neck and pull-

“Just one more-” He’s contaminating the heady clinic air with repeated saccharine, saturated squelches after every peck upon peck. Like it hurt to part with your pussy - it always did, n’ Gojo made sure to leave her more than enough goodbye kisses.

“One more-” Stringy oodles of slick washing over his face, “One- one more.” Again. Just another French kiss. “One…” And again.

And again and again until you’re dipping your hands through his mussed-up bangs of cloudy white and tugging, all that it takes for Gojo’s achingly hard cock to twitch.

“O-oh.” His voice breaks so many multiple octaves higher as he pulls away with a final - final - slimy graze of his stinging lips. Head lazing in an angle downwards, as if he’d just noticed the painful, rock-hard bulge tenting his too-tight boxing shorts. 

And Gojo’s cerulean eyes widen, flitting from the slushy wet spot soaked through his dark pants, to the way your glistening hole was winking down at him. Needily - as if to beg.

The middle of your bowed spine tingles with the remnants of your orgasm as soon as Gojo opens his mouth to growl. Low. Rasping. 

Depraved. 

“On- on my cock now, mama.” He’s tracing his hands admiringly over your tummy, the edge of his thick thumb drawing a long line right across the middle and your teary slit - measuring you. Where he’d already memorized the sweet lil’ targets he’d be fucking deeeep inside. Could never forget. Gojo nudges his straight nosebridge between your dewy folds once more, “Gotta really celebrate w’my heh- lady here tonight.”

And as you’re scrambling on your still-tottering knees to slide yourself down his Adonis-like body, he scoffs. 

With a blunt roll of his eyes, Gojo’s cupping the curve of your slam-driven ass and manhandling you easily. Trawling your weepy pussy down, down, down over every one of the calloused scars on his front, every one of his bumpy abs - you counted eight - to sit all prettily beneath the snug waistline of his shorts. 

Gojo spies up at you through his chalky bangs, plastered to his forehead with perspiration until you’re barely making his greedy stare out. Eyes half-hooded, pupils darkly dilated until you couldn’t even see those irises. 

It’s then - only then - that you realize just how ruined he looked. 

With that blossoming injury from tonight’s match across his cheek, burnished and purple - though, not even half as bright as the flush that coated his pretty features. 

All red and raw. You were practically basking in the scalding heat that radiated off of him, melting the glassy sheen of slick that dripped off of him in globules, so fucking wet. 

And yet, Gojo only ever wanted more. Kissing you with his cutely pink lips, he heaves in great panting gusts. “Take- heh-” Massive, twitchy hands fall on your own and guide them to his thick hem, a viscous gumdrop of your sap trickles from the point of his nose. “Take ‘em off f’me, mama. Take a goood long look f’me~”

“So bossy.”

“Mmm— I’ll be fuckin’ that rude mouth shut soon.”

Gojo sits obediently manspread as you fumble your eager fingertips underneath his shorts and pull–

The first thing you see is a curly tuft of his white happy trail, glimmering and drenched through with his own buttery precum. 

And the second thing you see…fuck. He’s never been harder.

Swollen n’ aching. Gojo’s furiously reddened mushroom tip dribbles out a constant stream of syrupy pre, hitting your hands with a loud splash! And not just that– he was spilling out a murked milky few dewdrops as if eating you out had him on the very verge of cumming. 

He’s sprawling his swole, veined arms behind his head, letting you gawk and ogle as you please.

And how could you not?

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how pretty Gojo and his erect cock was. Damn past ten inches, it’s as if he grows every time you see him for a post-match ritual. 

And so does his rosy cockhead, the exact same shade of pink as his burning cheeks. So wide that your slippery hole clenches ‘round nothing at the sight. All bloated and over-decorated with so many lightning bolted veins, you’re feeling your mouth water at the mere notion of tasting him–

“Ah ah-” He tuts, pulling you away as he once more cradles your throat softly in one hand. 

You pout, “B-but…”

Nodding sloooowly so you understand, “Wanna fuck this pretty pussy. Ride me like a hah- good girl now, m’kay?”

Oh, he was so evil. He knew exactly how that lil’ nickname would have your mind pitching into a state of carnal frenzy.

The desire purely evident on your gorgeous face as you’re toppling your capped knees on either side of his firm, toned waist. 

One masculine hand wrapping around his bulky hilt - aligning it all ready to smooch your pretty pussy - he sliiiides his heavy head to sandwich between your bloated folds. Rocking upwards into a teasing little back n’ forth that leaves his rigid head swatting on your clit. Pap! Pap! Pap! 

“Ready–?” Gojo drawls out in husked syllables, licking his lips to lap up any remnant of you. Wordless, the only thing you can manage out right now is a shaken nod.

Before it feels like you’re being split apart.

You’re whining when your hole stretches out with a rowdy sluuuurp–! just the thickened tip of his length popping in past your entrance. And he’s so fat, you could feel every solid ba-dump–! of his prominent veins tugging your cunt apart. 

“Oh, f-fuck, jus’ look at you.” He’s spitting through gleaming clenched teeth, words hitting you straight into your saccharine sweet pussy. Biting down on his pouty bottom lip, “Just ngh- look at you takin’ me- taking that biiig stretch, fuck.”

Your glassy eyes roll all the way back at the way he wasn’t even halfway inside yet already made you feel so dizzy. Stumbling flailingly into his arms, “Wanna kiss, Toru–”

“S’so cute when you’re all cockdrunk” Gojo whispers as he leaves a stinging spank on your ass, the shock of the force makin’ you swerve your hips deeper down his thick shaft. 

But he doesn’t kiss you - not yet. Instead, he’s chuckling deeply at your adorable irritation, sharp hips bucking off the mattress just so that he could fit himself inside. Up. Up. Up. Probing and probing his pulsing crowned tip over and over to ease inside a few more solid inches. 

“T-Tooooruuuu–”

“Mhm–” He places a warm palm faced open on your tummy, searching for that familiar bump where he’d be ruining you all inside. Where his rounded head would be prying apart your gum-like walls in urgent impales. “I’ll kiss you if ya say ‘biiig stretch’ f’me, my girl.”

You’re squirming your hips impatiently, only to be locked down with only one of Gojo’s hands. Honestly, what did you think going against a fighting champion? “B-big-”

“Nuh uh.” Bearing you with a wild, animalistic smile that makes you shudder. All wide and toothy. He’s rudely slapping you once more - this time on your dripping cunt. Quivering. “Say it. Biiig stretch, mama.”

“B-big-” You wail out whimpers just as soon as your little mistake leaves Gojo’s swollen shaft inching out of your hole, a warning. Already making you feel so empty inside- “Fuck! Big- biiig- stretch mmpf-”

Before you can register it, a hand clawed into your throat pulls you to crash your lips onto Gojo’s soft ones - muffling the absolute trill you’re letting off when he finally bottoms out with one big push. Finally. 

“Now m’kissing you here, too–” he has the audacity to flush. 

His sensual mushroom tip scrapes a swiveling line allll down your gooey walls, swirling ‘round and ‘round until he’s following the map directly to your g-spot. Giving her a good long snog, you’re curling your toes at the swashing waves of pre that dribble out of him and straight onto that tender orifice. 

You’re so full that your mouth overspills with generous helpings of drool, slobbering right onto the valley between his pecs where you found yourself laid. 

The slick velvety walls of your cunt scoop him up gladly, and Gojo finds himself wearing such a dopey smile at the instinctual way your gummy walls clench. “Hmm– have I ever told ya how much I ngh- love you?”

And maybe it was the way his thick cock was reaching you everywhere, maybe it was the way Gojo stared at you with heart eyes. It could’ve been anything and everything - you simply found yourself cumming. 

Right then and there, with only a few vulgar bludgeons of his merciless cock. 

And Gojo?

Gojo looks like he’s in heaven. 

Startling out a slight puff of laughter while he careens his hips back to fuck you through your sudden high, and you can feel the way he pinpricks your insides with every thrust. Feel the way he strikes right at your most favorite spots - precisely. 

“Already? I really am winnin’ tonight- heh. Already won Round 2, too.” 

Round 2? What is he…oh. 

Oh, shit.

He’s talking about how many times he’s made you cum.

The sounds of his raspy praises make your ears buzz, head throwing backwards when you start to arch your back and rut yourself, attempting to meet his vicious pace. To run.

“Fuh-fuuuuck” You’re biting your tongue to try and fight back those pathetic pitches and mewls seeping from your lips. And all it takes is a slamming whack into your cervix to render that useless. “Fuck me- fuckmefuckme, Toooru–!”

“Now now,” he’s tutting, and oh you can feel your tummy lurch with anticipation at that dark tonality of his. Or maybe that was just the feral twitch of his battering tip. 

Through eyes saturated with a film of fat droplets of tears, you’re glancing down at the way your hips are suddenly pinned to his toned pelvis. Unmoving. With just his steady grip of your throat. “Runnin’s against the rules, mama.”

And suddenly, you’re moved so fast your cottony brain begins to wonder if maybe you’ve teleported. 

You’re whimpering as your fatigued back ends up laid over the crescent curves of his pectorals, his front digging into your mounds of flesh as Gojo pulls your clammy knees back back back back. Into a full nelson so mean that you don’t even realize he’s positioned his cock until he sinks allll the way back in–

“Atttta girl. Look at youuu–” His hoarse pants sizzle the tender lobes of your ear after every unapologetic pound you’re being graced with. You gawp at the full-length mirror that was right adjacent to the patient bed, shit- you forgot that was even there.  

And now that you’d taken a glimpse at the lecherous scene, you couldn’t look away.

Gojo was so staggering. Swole muscles bending you pliably, the only thing holding you upright enough so that your cross-eyed stare could lock with your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. 

Your dizzy pupils circling all over comically the more n’ more he jackhammered away. Vehemently. 

The girth of his shaft was so big that your head lolls stupidly back into the planes of his collarbones, “Takin’ care of ya favorite fighter.”

Five exact circumferences of his fingertips sway over to that large, cylindrical outline being oh-so-thoroughly fucked into you. A tummy bulge that he thumbs over, that mushroomy globular end.

“Takin’ c-care of me alllll ngh-” He massages down on that cute lil’ bump going back and forth back and forth back and forth. Driving himself just as crazy as he was with you. Groaning, “-here.”

And Gojo’s body was still aching from the aftereffects of his fight, he was still sore in places with soon-to-be bruises. Yet, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even slow down.

Hard and fast.

His crownhead an angry red that prodded your deepest, most tender insides. Pushing and pushing and pushing. So wide that both you and the rickety bed were singing with whimpers after every delving drag of his vein-covered length.

Strokes vulgar. Alllll the way from the very strawberry divot in the middle of his globular tip, to the massive circumference of his hefty base. And even though every pricking whack into your cervix was hard, Gojo took his lazy time pulling back out to make sure you felt every bump and bolt of his swollen veins scraping down your insides. 

“Watch this.”

“Wh-what- oh.”

You’re peering through the smoggy mirror at the way the strongest himself rovers up his big, beefy right arm to wrap neatly ‘round your neck. His hard-earned biceps bulging against your throat and blocking off your airway sexily.

Watching yourself, you swear you could count every vein thumping down his forearm, every flex of his rippling muscles caging against your neck. Oh…you only got wetter. 

“Saw you lookin’ at me. Could tell how much ya- haaah- liked this, mama.” Gojo titters, words sloppy and his strokes even sloppier. “Almost drenched the heh- seat didn’tya? Watching me? Ohhh you like this don’tcha? W’my big arms puttin’ you in a ngh- big headlock?”

Babbling. Gojo himself was drooling, a thin trickle of spittle that befell with every passing second he watched your sloppy slit swallow his inches. 

Yearning for more.

Begging for more.

You half-couldn’t believe that was you with your face tear-streaked and oh-so-ruined in the reflection. And once you feel that familiar fluttering from your pussy, you’re slithering down a hand between your legs–

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He was breathless. 

It was so easy for Gojo to trap both your unsteady wrists within only one of his, gruffly bringing you back into your cute headlock whilst pinning them so you could struggle allll you want. But he wasn’t letting up.

Clinging onto your swiveling with one hand, and keeping you manhandled with the other. He bucks his hips so your curved spine is rubbed all down with his sweat-glossed abs, he knew how weak you were for it. 

Smearing the stocky end of his thumb over your needy clit, “Not when ya have me, mama.” He breathes next to your ear, so close. Drawing circles. Hearts. His name. Mindlessly lapping away the pearls of tears running down your face, “Not when your d-dear ngh- ‘Toru’s’ here.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words scratching a carnal desire set inside of you. 

“Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming- ngh!” Your previous orgasms had already taken so much out of you that it was all you could to will yourself not to pass out right now and here. 

“Yeah? Yeah? Go on- I- ngh- win- round three- heh.”

Sharp stings of pleasure buzzing all the way from your throbbing pussy to your empty head, you draaag your nails all over his sturdy forearms. Your body slicks over with sweltering perspiration, glissading you smoothly up n’ down Gojo’s sculptured body. 

Gojo jostles you in his headlock to stare deeply into your eyes while he drags out your high, counting every filthy spank he was honing out. It’s not too far into your overstimulated high before his creamy tip showers your drenched insides with sprays of buttery cum.

You could hear yourself mumbling out faint nonsense with every ropey smack you felt pumped inside you, and it was as if Gojo was orgasming harder than he had his entire life. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop - didn’t even know if he could.

And it was so weighty, too.

You could feel the soppy splosh of his sap being bubbled all up inside you, every swab of Gojo’s leaking cockhead frothing it even deeper inside. You’re swearing the bumpy outline of your tummy bulge was only being cumflated, feeling like he was glueing your very walls together.

Naturally, a few slicked gumdrops of cum ooze their way out between your teary slit. His hips jolt at the primal sight, thick seed dribbling out of you like frosting, formulating so many rings upon rings that Gojo just can’t help but admire and muse as his most favorite ones. 

Shit, with a humid pop! he’s inching out just to watch the butter-covered sheen that stuck to his red shaft. 

Hooded, his sapphire gaze rips away from your reflection to narrow down at you. At the way your ancient patient bed was now completely destroyed; headboard split, standing on only three feeble legs. 

“Broke the bed, heh- tha’s a KO, my girl.” Gojo lets go of his headlock on you, nuzzling your cheek with his sweat-lacquered forehead whilst you still attempt to catch your breath. “Mmmm– really do love you, y’know- the fuckin’ b-best prize I could ever have.”

“I love you too–” You find your cartoonishly dazed smile directed up at him. “-Six Eyes.”

With a soft groan, he twiddles his thumb over to toy with the sticky seconds of his seed pouring out of you. Lazily.

Letting it scoop onto his fingerpads, shoving it back between your slippy lips. Repeatedly even painting a languid heart with it over your tummy bulge- before skidding the salted cream between your lips. 

With a fat few fingers stuffed into your dampening maw, overflowing with glutinous saliva, you’re letting your eyes stray back to the reflection in the mirror. Blinking back your vision-

“Holy shit.” You’re gaping - at everything from the way that Gojo Satoru had seemed to gain more red, red scratches and bruises all over his arms, back, and pecs from you than in an actual fight, to the way he seemed utterly content about it. “T-Toru, I gave you more marks than Sukuna did during the Shinjuku Showdown…”

“I know.”

.

.

.

“Aaaand welcome back, folks! To the Shinjuku Showdown 2.0!” 

You wince, Haibara’s commentating voice would never grow any less booming no matter how many times you sat here. Front row for yet another one of Gojo’s famed fights. 

Though, you squirm in your seat, you wished he could get here sooner. 

“Requested by our very own King of Curses- he’s quite a sore loser you see- oh, my mistake, Mr. Sukuna, sir. You are the underground’s most honorable fighter, of course of course.”

Ryomen Sukuna scowls even as the crows roar and yell rambunctiously around him, eyes falling on you - for the briefest, tensest second - before he tears away. Pacing around the barren ring like a tiger prowling for his prey.

Only, said prey wasn’t going down without making sure that Sukuna knew the true hierarchy here. 

“FINALLY! Hereee we have our monster of Japan, Six Eyes, making his long-awaited entrance tonight! Ohhh place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, tonight is going to be goooood!”

When Gojo Satoru entered the ring, everyone knew. Everyone held their breath.

It never got old seeing his generously over six-foot figure loom menacingly towards the ring, draped in a dark blue robe of crushed velvet. Which just-so-happened to be the exact color of your matching lingerie tonight…

Usual gloves on hand, a tiny, plastic remote in hand.

You’re shivering as he twiddles it over deftly, pulling down the hiked-up hem of your nurse’s outfit. Just praying that nobody could hear the bzzz–! of that hot-pink bullet vibrator lodged inside your sloppy pussy.

Meant to be there for the entire fight. 

The cutting stadium air was so tautly-pulled that you could hear every resounding thud! of his powerful footsteps as Haibara rattles off Sukuna’s introduction. Jumping swiftly and athletically over the ropes of the ring. 

“And in THIS corner, we have Six Eyes, The Strongest. Some fear to speak his name. Some think he isn’t human. With a winning streak ever since he arrived here, with so many knockouts that it’s said they created a new medical term for it. Challenge him and you challenge death. The man. The myth. The nightmare-” 

Then Gojo straightens- 

“-a monster that can never be tamed!”

-and he lets his robe fall.

All red, angry patterns of scratches on full display for the countless rabid photographers and watchers to gawk at. Down his back, down his arms, down his pecs.

Everywhere and anywhere for the eye to see, and to see Gojo- Six Eyes of all people to be so thoroughly claimed. As if he was thrown to the wolves - someone put a hand on him?

Oh, you could hear the reporters stumbling over their questions as they screamed for answers and relationship reveals. 

Though, all of them were answered once he turns straight to you. Miniscule remote calibrated to the very maximum before Gojo fucking throws it somewhere into the ringside. Even through his muzzle, you could tell he was grinning as you gasped at the lecherous vibrations pulsating to your g-spot. 

Over and over whilst media personnel - realizing your connection to the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - jostled you for more juicy details. Fuck- everyone was going to know about this. Everyone. 

Gojo turns back to a fuming Sukuna with a quirk of his ivory brow. 

“The monster has- has been tamed! Let the fight begin!”

A/N. FAWK I NEED HIM. Was this slightly inspired by all the boxing talk going on in my blog? Mayhaps. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[littlexdeaths]

i get off - e.m.

perv eddie munson x perv fem reader

you don’t know that i know, you watch me every night…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), eddie is lil peeping tom but reader loves it, they both steal each other’s shit, oral (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, choking, spanking, dirty talk, mean!dom eddie, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, squirting, they both are nasty freaks

a/n: this is another edit and repost from my old account. it’s one of my favorite fics so i had to move it over here. enjoy freaks xx. 😘

based on i get off by halestorm

word count: 3.8k

you’re sprawled out on your bed, fingers running through your drenched folds. clad in only an oversized iron maiden t-shirt and a pair of knee high socks, you’re everything he’s ever wanted. plucked directly out of one of his dirtiest fantasies.

you can feel his eyes on you, you always do.

not that he realizes that.

and while you’ve lived barely ten feet apart for your entire lives, eddie has never had the courage to make a move.

so he settles for this— watching you through his bedroom window.

fantasizing that the delicate fingers now dipping inside you were his. and the fist currently wrapped around his thick cock was smaller, softer. yours.

the first time he witnessed you like this it was a complete accident.

you had been pent up all day, and didn’t think to shut your bedroom curtains before slipping your hand inside your panties. the bedside lamp bathing your room in a muted yellow hue. eddie had been working on a new song, guitar perched on his lap.

he was frustrated with trying to string together this new melody, glancing up in utter annoyance. that is until his gaze drifted towards the window, his eyes widened and his cock stirred in his jeans.

you looked beautiful, you always did. however this was the most vulnerable state you could be in, and the fact that he got to witness it— made you all the more enchanting to him.

he’d be embarrassed to admit that watching you touch yourself made him cum in his jeans, completely untouched. and that first time you were none the wiser, not noticing the dark eyes that were trailing your figure. but once eddie had gotten a taste he couldn’t get enough.

eagerly waiting by his bedroom window to enjoy his new favorite nightly program… you.

you weren’t sure exactly how long he’d been doing it for, but the night you caught him in the act, it awoke something within you. while eddie made sure to keep his bedroom light off, the moonlight was not on his side that night.

it had filled his room in a soft white glow, highlighting his pale skin. his naked form perched on the edge of his unmade bed, stroking his shaft in tandem with each thrust of your fingers.

his moans are what gave him away, as your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure. but he’d gotten a little too carried away, thinking about how pretty your pussy would look stuffed full with his cock.

the thin walls of the trailer doing nothing to conceal his sounds. when your eyes finally opened, you were met with the most glorious sight you’ve ever seen.

eddie fucking himself into his fist, his head tilted back as he spilled all over his ringed fingers. the image alone had your eyes rolling back, body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. one of the most intense you’ve ever had, and from that night on you always kept your curtains open.

desperately chasing that euphoric feeling again.

while you didn’t always see him, you knew he was there. the feeling of his greedy eyes on you was enough to have you cumming harder than you ever have in your entire life. your whimpers were muffled but still rang through his ears as he’d make a mess all over his hand and chest.

different images of you— on your knees, on top of him, taking you from behind, or his favorite with his head buried between your thighs.

it was slowly driving him crazy, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of you. he needed more. he quickly found himself staring out his window any chance he could. gazing longingly as you floated around your bedroom.

he watched you change, get ready for the day, study with your college textbooks. your pencil resting in between your teeth. eddie knew it was wrong, that if you ever found out you would be revolted.

if he only knew it was the exact opposite, and how you couldn’t finish without feeling his eyes on you. but you also needed more, desperate to feel his weight on top of you. his mouth trailing over your skin, his cock stretching you out perfectly.

so you became bolder, going as far as to leave your bedroom window open. letting your moans drift through the night air, teasing him further.

and when you noticed some of your panties had gone missing it only heightened your desire for him. knowing he was in your room, touching your things… holding your panties up to his nose as he came all over himself.

grunts of your name escaped his pouted lips, and his left yours as you drenched your fingers. but it wasn’t enough.

you needed him.

fueled by your insatiable lust you found yourself gazing at him more and more. as he sat on his messy floor, playing guitar or working on a dnd campaign. focusing intently on his fingers, and imagining just how good they would feel inside you.

but your favorite was when he was fresh out of the shower. his dark curls were drenched, water dripping down his inked chest. the patch of hair that disappeared beneath his towel drove you absolutely mad.

so you took a play out of his own book, sneaking into his room while he was working at benny’s. or coming home late from a gig at the hideout, surrounding yourself in everything that was so distinctly eddie.

eddie honestly wasn’t concerned when a few of his shirts had gone missing. or a pair of his cum stained boxers, a guitar pick… as he lost things all the time. he simply chalked it up to his forgetful nature, either he misplaced them or lent them to someone.

that is until tonight, as he peered through your window for what felt like the millionth time. his heart was in his throat as he instantly recognized the iron maiden shirt adorning your frame as his.

the realization dawns on him that you knew exactly what he’d been doing this whole time… and instead of being disgusted or upset, you liked it. enough so that you began doing the same thing to him.

that epiphany made any reservations or fears he still had fade into nothingness. the male decided that he couldn’t sit back and only watch you anymore.

he had to have you.

the brunette rose to his feet, pulling a pair of sweatpants over his long legs before slipping out of his bedroom window. quickly dropping onto the ground as he walks the short distance to your adjoined trailer.

his large hands grip the bottom of the window sill, pushing it open the rest of the way before he’s hoisting himself through it. a small gasp leaves you as he tumbles inside and onto your bedroom floor.

eddie is quick to get up onto back on his feet, as you eagerly eye the obvious tent in his gray sweats. he licks his plump lips as he practically sizes you up. he stalks forward like a predator, slowly crawling onto your bed and between your spread legs.

the male grabs your wrist, coaxing your fingers out of your drenched cunt. raising them up to his mouth, slipping them between his lips with a deep groan. “such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?”

for once you’re speechless, his actions jumbling your already fuzzy thoughts. you never imagined he’d actually come through your window, like you’d been dreaming about for weeks.

“speak for yourself, munson…” your confidence suddenly comes rushing back, pushing your fingers deeper into his mouth. feeling your wetness pooling onto the bed sheets as he swirls his tongue around them.

“guess we’re both a little dirty, huh baby?” eddie chuckles as he removes your fingers from his mouth, now leaning over you.

letting yourself fall back against the pillow, his face mere inches from yours. this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to him, now noticing the light freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose. the dimple that indents his cheek as he smirks down at you, little things that you found utterly endearing.

his hands begin drifting down your sides, his smirk only widening as you shudder beneath him. “is that what does it for ya? you like being watched, sweetness?” he grips the fabric of his shirt, starting to push it up your torso.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. “i get off on you…” you slowly trail your lips up his throat, sucking harsh bruises onto his pale skin. the male letting out a husky moan as you nip at his ear, “getting off on me.”

eddie curses under his breath before he’s pinning you down against the mattress, his lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in his wild curls, kissing him back just as forcefully. all the pent up sexual tension and desire now spills from both of you, as his hips rut into yours. you can feel his hard length pressing onto your thigh, causing you to moan into his mouth.

your impatience seems to get the better of you as you grip onto one of his wrists, guiding his large hand in between your thighs. a not so subtle way of telling him exactly what you wanted, the male nips at your lower lip before he’s leaning back onto his knees.

he spreads your thighs even wider, as his dark eyes zero in on the mess between them. his fingers dip between your folds, gathering your sticky nectar on the digits. swirling them around your swollen clit before moving lower.

the metalhead teases you as he circles the tip of his middle finger on your entrance. barely pushing it inside you before removing it, a wet squelch filling the room. “oh listen to her purr for me, baby… you want my fingers inside you?”

you nod frantically, lifting your hips up in an effort to get him closer to where you needed him. but he pulls them away immediately, causing you to whine from the loss. eddie grabs your cheeks in his hand, squishing them together as he meets your hooded gaze. “i asked you a question, sweet cheeks.”

he watches as your eyes glaze over more, the dominance he was exuding turning your brain to mush. “and i expect an answer, or is that pretty little head of yours too fucked out for me?” his tone is condescending, borderline rude but it only seems to fuel the fire in between your legs.

you let out a soft whimper, the male letting go of your cheeks to trail his sticky fingers down your jaw.

“need your fingers, eddie…” you reply.

the male merely chuckles, wrapping his fingers around your neck and hovering his face just inches over yours, while his thumb strokes along the column of your throat.

“need them where, hm?” he prods.

and you’re quickly becoming impatient, and he can tell from how your lips jut out into a pout. your thighs close in around his own, in an attempt to feel some kind of friction.

“come on now…don’t ya wanna be a good girl for me?” he can see the effect those words have on you, your pupils dilating and breath hitching in your throat.

“put them inside me.” while your tone is meant to be demanding, it comes out as more of a breathy plea than anything else.

your heart is pounding in anticipation as his fingers trail over your stomach before cupping your cunt in the palm of his hand.

“and what do good girls say?”

you now realize your mistake, the male raises a brow while he awaits your answer.

“please touch me.” you plead, and eddie is quick to reward you, by plunging two fingers into your awaiting heat.

“see? now you’re learning,” he almost purrs.

and another string of curses leaves his mouth as your walls tighten around his fingers and a high pitched moan falls from yours.

“shit sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.” he curls the digits up, watching in awe as your back arches off the mattress.

“fuck, i need to taste you,” he mumbles more to himself as he slips between your thighs.

his tongue darts out, encircling your clit with an urgency you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.

the noises you’re making are music to his ears, and while he’s heard them before—you’ve never sounded quite so needy. pride blossoms in his chest knowing it’s because of him, you need him. he was making you feel this good.

your thighs begin to tremble as he increases the pressure of his tongue, pumping his fingers even faster.

“m-more need more.” while eddie wants to reprimand you for not using your manners, he’s been waiting to have you like this for far too long.

but he’d make sure you didn’t forget next time…if there was a next time, he really hoped there would be.

he slips a third finger inside you, the long, thick digits reaching places you never realized existed until now.

but now that you knew what they felt like, your own would never suffice again.

“aww pretty thing, you gonna cum?” he chuckles mockingly as the sound vibrates against your core.

the feeling only aids in bringing your release that much closer, causing your eyes to flutter shut. a harsh slap on your thigh has them flying back open, your eyes meeting his own as he looks up at you from his position between them.

“eyes on me,” his tone is stern, commanding as his tongue returns to assaulting your swollen bud.

as you start to grind your hips up against his mouth, it pushes his fingers even deeper inside you. hitting that sweet spot that has you crying out a broken, “oh god, please.”

eddie hums against you, increasing the speed of his fingers. “while i prefer master…god has a nice ring to it.”

and if you weren’t on the brink of an orgasm you might have found that funny, barely registering his soft laughter as he sucks harshly on your clit.

the sensation is what finally sends you over the edge, your thighs squeezing tightly around his head and trapping him there.

not that he would ever dare complain.

once you settle back down into the mattress is when he pulls away, crawling back up your body toward you. your excitement covers his chin in a light sheen, tasting yourself when he kisses you with a renewed force.

you reach for the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs. you just barely feel his cock rubbing against your thigh, and you want nothing more than to feel it hard and heavy on your tongue.

“wanna taste you too, eds,” you whine as he trails his lips across your jaw, sucking onto your skin.

but as much as he would love to have you gagging on his cock, his own impatience had reached its peak.

“next time, sweetness…” he insists, “i need to be inside you.”

you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up, but the promise of a next time makes your heart flutter beneath your ribs.

eddie unwillingly untangles himself from you, now standing at the edge of the bed to fully remove his sweats. his cock stands at full attention as you sit up, eagerly crawling towards him. your mouth waters at the sight, as you’re finally able to admire him how you’ve been dying to for the last few weeks.

you wrap one of your hands around the base of his shaft, glancing up at him as you lick up the pre-cum that has smeared across his pink tip. the male grips a fistful of your hair in his hand, tugging you off his dick as a small whimper leaves you.

“hands and knees— now.” he nearly growls at you, releasing you as you continue to look up at him in a daze. “don’t make me repeat myself, baby.”

as much as you would love to test how far you could push his buttons, that would be saved for a later date. so you do exactly as you’re told, crawling away from him now on your hands and knees.

and you can practically feel his eyes trailing over the plush skin of your ass.

“take a picture, munson, it’ll last longer.”

what you don’t expect is to hear the snap of your polaroid camera, and you whip your head around to see the shit eating grin he was sporting. he sets the camera and picture back down onto your dresser, almost missing the wink he shoots your way.

“was just following orders, sweet cheeks.” he chuckles, crawling onto the bed behind you.

eddie lands a firm smack on your ass, his chest now draped across your back. his hot breath fans over your neck as he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “face the mirror, you aren’t gonna wanna miss this, baby.”

your thighs clench together, now turning to face the full length mirror that stands across from your bed.

you glance at yourself briefly before your eyes trail upwards, now meeting his in the reflection. a cocky grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hands now roaming over the full expanse of your ass.

when you feel the tip of his cock brush against your core, your hips push back almost involuntarily, desperate to feel more. eddie’s calloused hands grip you tighter, stopping any further movement on your part.

“don’t be fucking greedy, you’ll take what i give you.”

you squeak out a small apology, keeping your eyes focused on him as he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. you gasp once he slowly guides himself into your awaiting heat, a strangled moan tumbling from his lips.

his eyes squeeze shut as he bottoms out, his balls flush against the curve of your ass. you feel so incredibly full, the stretch so divine it makes your head spin.

“eddie, please.” you mewl, watching as his brown eyes meet yours.

desperate for him to do something—anything.

eddie’s rings dig into your hips, his eyes flicking down to watch as he slides his cock back out. letting out a low groan when he sees that you’ve already coated his length in your arousal, a sight he’d only ever seen in his dreams.

“gonna give you everything,” he grunts before slamming himself back inside, practically knocking the air from your lungs as you fall forward onto the mattress.

you grip the edge of it for support as he continues to rock his hips into yours, this new angle allowing him to rub against your sweet spot perfectly. you keep your eyes locked on the mirror, the image of him behind you—thrusting into you will be seared in your memory forever.

the black ink that swirls across his skin, the light sheen of sweat on his chest and the veins in his forearms that are much more noticeable as he grips your hips tighter. he looks more like a greek god than anyone had a right to.

your jaw is slack, mouth hanging open as you continue to watch him. the little ‘uh uh uhs’ that leave your lips mix with the sound of your skin slapping together which now fills the once quiet space of your bedroom.

“taking me so well—this pussy was made for me.”eddie moans, completely distracted by the way your pussy flutters around him. the creamy ring that’s formed around the base of his cock expanding with each thrust of his hips.

“look at me,” you whine, and that signature smirk returns to his features when he meets your eyes in the mirror once more.

“aww poor little, baby,” he coos, slipping his hand between your thighs and landing a harsh slap on your already sensitive bud. “always need my eyes on you…don’t you?”

a string of curses slips past your lips as you frantically nod your head.

“need it,” you whimper as his calloused fingertips circle over your clit. “need you.”

your words seem to have quite the effect on him, a low growl leaving him as he fucks into you even harder, “what do you need me to do, pretty girl? tell me.”

it takes you a minute before you can give him a proper answer, the male having fucked any coherent thoughts from your head.

“n-need it…inside.” is the best you can manage, but eddie understands all too well.

it’s exactly what he had hoped you would say.

“yeah, you want me to fuck you so full?” he grunts, “ruin this pretty little pussy for anyone else?”

those words along cause your eyes roll back in your head, as his other hand wraps around your throat.

he handles you like a rag doll as he pulls you up, your back now flush against his sweaty chest. the action forces his cock even deeper inside you, barely brushing against your cervix. his hand that was just wrapped around your throat is now cradling your jaw, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

your half lidded eyes watch as he leans forward, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“this pussy is mine now, got that, sweetness?”

it’s suddenly all too much, and the rubber band in your middle finally snaps as your body trembles in his embrace. cries of his name and ‘yours yours yours’ the only words tumbling from your mouth.

the brunette watches in amazement as you drench his thighs, your bed sheets—the pressure almost forcing him out completely.

the metalhead curses as he continues to bounce you on his cock, the wet squelching of your pussy finally sending him over the edge. the male grunts as he pumps you to the brim, and your body falls limp against his chest.

you’re both panting as you come down from your highs. and his grip on your hips is much more gentle than before as he coaxes you onto your back.

you hum contently, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion hits you. eddie cradles your face in his palms, pressing soft kisses to each of your eyelids before his touch suddenly disappears.

your eyes fly open in alarm, reaching out for him as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, “don’t worry…you aren’t rid of me just yet.”

eddie chuckles as he spreads your thighs apart, his dark eyes watching intently as his cum drips out of you. it pools onto the bed beneath you, making an even bigger mess of your sheets.

his head dips lower, inhaling deeply as he gathers the mixture of your arousals onto his awaiting tongue. he moans before diving in deeper.

“shit, we taste good together.”

“too much,” you whimper, wiggling your hips away from his eager mouth due to the oversensitivity.

eddie presses a kiss to each of your thighs before he joins you once more, collapsing next to you with a boyish grin on his face. you reach out to trace the stubble along his jaw, your fingertips carefully brushing over his plump lips.

you feel him release a shaky breath against your fingertips, the look he’s giving you makes your stomach do a little flip.

“so…is it too late to ask you out on a date?”

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface. 

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust. 

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body. 

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck. 

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against. 

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade. 

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more. 

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting. 

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to. 

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior. 

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name. 

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release. 

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” 

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard. 

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses. 

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you. 

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock. 

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours. 

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure. 

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight. 

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile 

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.” 

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown. 

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump. 

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip. 

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion. 

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip. 

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.  

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain. 

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours. 

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his. 

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm. 

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you. 

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface. 

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain. 

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words. 

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew. 

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it. 

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles. 

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him. 

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks. 

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him. 

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully. 

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes. 

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room. 

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest. 

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion. 

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion. 

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock. 

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response. 

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.” 

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss. 

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in. 

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load. 

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated. 

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock. 

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet. 

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless. 

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room. 

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face. 

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection. 

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully. 

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies. 

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you. 

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming. 

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious. 

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours. 

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer. 

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.” 

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers. 

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness. 

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit. 

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it. 

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I�� I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks. 

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze. 

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip. 

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption. 

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature. 

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water. 

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord. 

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild. 

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern. 

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him. 

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins. 

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders. 

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin. 

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated. 

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task. 

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin. 

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface. 

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk. 

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you. 

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.” 

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited. 

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now. 

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality. 

[hyunbelievable]

Painted in Sin

Part one.

Summary: a heated one night stand in your new city leads to a world of hurt

This is the new story I’ve been working on! It will be an ongoing series as I write it, and I’ll be posting chapters often. This is NSFW, minors/ageless blogs will be blocked.

Genre: College AU, Non-Idol AU.

WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI. Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), biting, marking/hickeys, alcohol consumption, student/teacher (college level 18+), overall tame but will become heavier as story progresses.

WC: 3.6k (lmao oops)

Chapter One:

The bar was dimly lit, jazz notes floating lazily through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of glass cups and silverware. You sit at the far end of the counter, one leg crossed over the other, your sketchbook perched on top of the bar, still infuriatingly blank.

With a defeated sigh, you press your pencil to the paper, tracing shapes without committing to any. It felt ironic to be an art student struggling to create, but something about the overwhelming newness of the city combined with the weight of tomorrow, left your mind empty.

You wince as the alcohol burns down your throat, tilting your head forward to let your hair fall like a curtain as you scan the room. The place wasn’t packed, but it had its share of interesting characters: a man in a suit nursing a scotch, a couple tucked into the corner laughing over shared secrets, and… him.

He sat a few stools away, one large hand wrapped around a glass of red wine, his head tilted slightly as if lost in thought. Shoulder length dark hair framed sharp features, and his eyes were observant; though they seemed focused on something far beyond the confines of the bar. He was the kind of man who looked effortlessly put-together, like he didn’t belong at this hole-in-the-wall bar, yet somehow, still fit in perfectly.

Your gaze lingers a moment longer than it should have.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s not polite to stare?,” he asks suddenly, his smooth voice teasing as he turns to pin you with his dark gaze.

Heat claws at your neck, but you refused to squirm. “She did,” you pause before adding, “But she also taught me to be observant in unfamiliar surroundings. I’m just being cautious.”

Full lips curve upward in a smirk as he shifts to face you fully. “Yeah? Consider me curious. Do I look like someone you have to be cautious of?”

You shrug, biting back the smile that threatens to bloom. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, as he tips his head toward your sketchbook. “What are you working on?”

You glance down at your sketchbook, still covered in nothing more than little scribbles. Shutting it quickly, you lean back in your seat. “Nothing, apparently.”

“That’s a shame,” his voice softens, almost thoughtful. “You look like someone with something to say.”

Something about his comment tugs at you, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Who the hell was this guy? Before you can come up with a witty retort, the bartender appears with a fresh glass of wine, sliding it across the counter with a hopeful expression. She grabbed the near-empty glass from his hand; her fingers deliberately brushing across his in the process.

But his eyes don’t leave yours.

She exhales a quiet, dejected sigh before walking off to tend to other patrons.

“New in the city?,” his voice was closer now, and when you glance over, you notice that he’d moved into the seat next to yours.

You blink, caught off guard by his accuracy. “That obvious?”

A soft hum escaped him, his dark eyes trailing over your face and lingering on your lips for just a moment too long.

“I’m observant too,” He murmurs, a corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Then, his gaze flicks back toward the bartender. You follow his eyes, watching as she works her subtle charm on the other patrons. “She’s either very, very desperate for male company, or she’s brilliant. She knows a little flirting means bigger tips.”

You breathe out a soft laugh, “Well, she’s gorgeous so I highly doubt she has trouble getting attention.”

Time slipped away after that. Hours passing in a blur of laughter and clever observations, the two of you taking turns making inferences about the other patrons. The warmth of alcohol burned through your veins, loosening you and making everything feel lighter. For the first time in days, you’d forgotten about your empty sketchbook and the crushing weight of tomorrow.

It wasn’t until you checked your phone that reality slammed back into you. Your stomach drops slightly as you straighten in your seat. It was well past midnight, and you had an early morning looming ahead.

The room tilts when you turn toward him, a laugh bubbling up in your chest as you reach out, steadying yourself with a hand on his bicep. He was solid beneath your touch, the heat of his body warming your palm. Leaning against him to push yourself up, you nearly lose balance, your fingers slipping down his arm further as you catch yourself.

You open your mouth to apologize, but the words die on your tongue when your eyes meet his.

His gaze was heavy-lidded, dark eyes hooded from both the late hour and the alcohol. Hiding beneath it all, there was something else. A slow burning heat, as he watches you closely, as if waiting.

Your tongue drags slowly across your lips, wetting your dry mouth. His gaze drops instantly, following the movement, darkening further. Lazily, he skims a hand up the side of your leg, fingers trailing a heated path before resting on your hip. His grip tightens, further steadying you. When his eyes meet yours again, the air between you shifts. Charges.

The next few minutes blur together, flitting through your mind like a stop-motion film.

The two of you leave the bar, his arm wrapped around you securely. Drawn together like magnets, your hands roam over his broad shoulders; tracing the hard lines of his torso as you wait for the Uber. In the backseat, he lifts you into his lap, meeting you halfway in a passionate kiss. The kiss is hungry, urgent, a mess of bumping noses and clashing teeth that leaves you breathless. His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, branding your skin as his fingers trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.

The Uber jolts to a stop outside his apartment and you pull apart, practically spilling out onto the pavement, laughing against his lips.

His hands never leave your waist. Instead, he chases your mouth with his own, barely breaking away long enough to slide his key into the lock. When the door clicks open, he doesn’t hesitate. He walks you backward into the dimly lit apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

His grip tightens on your hips as he lifts you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter. You respond instantly, locking your legs around his waist, pressing him closer. His thumb grazes along your jaw before tilting your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

His dark eyes hold yours for a lingering moment before he lowers his mouth to yours again. This kiss is different, less urgent but no less consuming. The slow, deliberate press of his lips ignites a heat deep in your stomach, and you sigh softly, letting one hand drift to the hem of his shirt. Your fingers trail across the warm skin just above his waistband, eliciting a low, pleased groan from him.

He slides a hand around your neck, fingers threading into your hair before giving a gentle tug, tilting your head back as his tongue sweeps between your parted lips. Your hands push beneath his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his torso. He breaks the kiss just long enough to strip the fabric over his head, tossing it behind you. His touch follows soon after, fingers tracing up your thighs before stopping at the hem of your skirt.

Dark eyes meet yours once more, a silent question lingering within them. Do you want me to stop?

You answer without hesitation, guiding his hands beneath your skirt while holding his gaze. Don't stop.

Like a fraying rope pulled taut, his restraint snaps. He pushes your skirt up, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck as his thumb presses against the damp fabric covering your core. A breathless sigh escapes you as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. His other hand skims across your waist, tugging at your shirt. You lift your arms to help him strip it away, leaving your chest bare beneath his heated gaze.

His lips part slightly as he takes you in, appreciation flickering in his expression before his smirk returns. He presses his thumb against your clit through the thin fabric, rubbing slow, teasing circles. A whimper escapes you, your legs trembling against his sides as he watches you unravel beneath his touch.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth. Then, without warning, he withdraws his hand.

A strangled noise leaves your lips at the sudden loss, and his dark laugh follows as he lifts you from the counter. One arm supports your back while the other pushes open a door, guiding you down a dimly lit hallway. The world around you fades into the background until you feel the cool press of satin beneath you. His bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows just as he settles between your legs, knocking your thighs apart with his knee. He drags your skirt down your legs before deftly undoing his belt, freeing himself of his jeans and underwear in a single smooth motion.

His hands find yours, pinning them beside your head as he lowers himself over you, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. He rolls his hips, the rigid length of him pressing against your center, separated only by the thin barrier of your panties. Even through the fabric, you can feel the heat of him grinding against you, pulling a desperate sound from your throat.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he rocks into you again, creating a delicious friction that leaves you breathless. He releases one of your hands, trailing his own down to hook a finger under the waistband of your panties. With a slow tug, he slips the fabric aside, his fingers slipping between your folds.

You gasp as two long fingers sink into you, curling and stroking with precision. His palm drags against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He hums in approval, finding you slick and ready. His mouth slants over yours, swallowing your moans as he picks up the pace, working you open with each plunge of his fingers.

Your hips move instinctively, chasing the heat building within you, thighs trembling once more as your walls begin to flutter around his touch. Just as your pleasure peaks, he withdraws his hand.

A groan of frustration escapes you, your chest rising and falling with short, shaky breaths.

“I was —” you barely manage to pout in protest before he interrupts you, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I know,” he soothes, slipping his fingers into his mouth, tasting you with a deep hum. “I just needed a taste. I’ll make it up to you.”

His hands return to yours, pinning them back down as he positions himself between your thighs. You barely have time to steady your breath before you feel him, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shudder races through you, anticipation building within you. The second you open your eyes to meet his, he rolls his hips, sinking himself inside you in one slow, powerful movement.

Your lips part on a choked moan, back arching at the divine stretch as he fills you completely. He starts at a tortuous pace, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His gaze remains locked on yours, pupils blown wide, dark eyes nearly black with desire.

You can’t look away, transfixed by the way his expression shifts. Brows furrowing, lips parting as if in awe, his chest pressing flush against yours, heartbeat thundering against your own. You ground yourself by wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. The shift allows him to sink deeper, and his groan vibrates against your skin.

“Oh, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck as his hips snap into yours harder. His fingers tense, gripping yours tighter as he lets out another low moan against your neck.

He releases your hands only to shift, pulling you with him as he leans back against the headboard, guiding you into his lap. His grip on your hips is firm as he helps you sink down onto his cock, groaning as you take him in. Your nails dig into his chest, tiny crescent-shaped marks marring his heated flesh.

You bring your lips to his throat, kissing and nipping a path to his ear before biting down gently on the soft skin of his earlobe. He hisses, head falling back against the headboard as he watches you through pleasure-hooded eyes. A smirk plays on your lips as you take advantage, sucking a mark onto the side of his neck.

He retaliates instantly, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs, forcing your neck to arch. He brings his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck, marking you in return before dragging his tongue over the bruised skin to soothe the sting.

Your breath catches as he shifts beneath you, his cock hitting a spot deep inside you that makes stars spark behind your eyelids. He catches your reaction and chuckles darkly before repeating the motion, thrusting up into you with deliberate attention.

“Just like that,” you whimper, voice breathless as you let your head tip back. His hand slides between your thighs, thumb circling your clit in tight circles, keeping in rhythm with his punishing thrusts.

The tension inside you snaps suddenly, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your body clenches around him, pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel his cock twitch inside you as his breath stutters, his grip tightening as he gives a few more shallow thrusts before he follows you over the edge. A low groan escapes his lips as he spills inside you, and your body goes slack, muscles giving out as you collapse against his chest, body trembling.

You lie together for a few long moments, your heavy breathing the only sound besides the steady pounding of his heart beneath your ear.

Slowly, you sit up, easing yourself off of him. Before you can rise and begin the inevitable search for your discarded clothing, a warm hand slides around your waist. He tugs you back toward him, and you don’t resist, settling beside him and resting your head against his chest once more.

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay?” his voice is low, fingers tracing absentminded shapes on your skin.

Your eyelids are heavy, and your head begins to throb. The promise of sleep is tempting, but morning looms too close. Staying would be a mistake.

You force yourself upright, immediately missing the comfortable warmth of his touch as your feet hit the chilly hardwood floor. Plucking your skirt from the floor, you tug it on before slipping out of his room, navigating the dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen. Crossing your arms over your bare chest, you squint into the darkness, searching for your shirt, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Light floods the kitchen, and you wince. You turn to the doorway, where he stands with a smirk tilting his lips and your shirt dangling between two fingers. Wordlessly, you take it, slipping it on under his amused gaze before busying yourself with your phone, pulling up the Uber app.

His dark laugh follows you as you awkwardly step out into the cold, your breaths visible in the crisp air.

—

By the time the Uber drops you off at your apartment, you barely have time to shower and fix your hair before heading out for campus.

Hooking up with a random guy from the bar wasn’t exactly how you pictured spending the night before starting at a new college. The lack of sleep is evident in the dark smudges beneath your eyes and the dull throb of a headache pulsing through your skull. Easing your car into a student parking spot, you take a deep, steadying breath.

With a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other, you navigate the campus. The layout is pretty straightforward: art majors grouped with music and performing arts. Your nerves settle once you find your first class of the day: Art History.

The day passes in a blur. You move with a group of fellow art students like a school of fish, eventually arriving at your last class: Studio Arts.

Walking into the room, two things become clear immediately. One, this class will undoubtedly be your favorite. And two, whoever designed this space put an incredible amount of care into making it beautiful.

The scent of paint and pencil shavings lingers in the air as you take in the room. Individual desks are arranged in a semicircle around the perimeter, leaving a wide open space in the center. Sunlight streams in golden arcs from the floor-to-ceiling windows along the expanse of the far left wall; illuminating the small easels, pens, paintbrushes, and palettes set atop each workspace.

But the most stunning feature is the wall behind the grand oak desk at the front. Spanning its entire length is a breathtaking mural — flowers of all kinds overlapping and blending together to create a striking cascade of bleeding-heart blooms.

Other students file in, each pausing to admire the display before claiming their desks. You hurry to one set near the large windows, sliding into your seat beside a petite girl with a black pixie cut and bright blue eyes. She tilts her head, offering you a small smile, which you return in kind. You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but the door swings open again and the words die in your throat.

A man strides in, a bag slung over his shoulder and a laptop clutched in one hand. His steps are confident, purposeful, his attention locked on the desk at the front.

The girl beside you hides a giggle behind her hand, leaning closer.

“Oh, he’s cute. I think this is gonna be my favorite class,” she whispers conspiratorially, echoing your earlier thought, though for a completely different reason.

You don’t respond. Your jaw tightens, teeth grinding together as your gaze stays fixed on the man who has yet to look at the class.

Because you know what you’ll see when he does. Dark eyes filled with amusement and full lips curled into an ever-present, cocky smirk.

Panic grips your chest like a vise, squeezing the air from your lungs. The room feels smaller, as if the walls are pressing in. No. There’s no way. Impossible.

But then you see it — the incriminating smudge of purple peeking from beneath his collar. A perfect match to the one you’d hidden beneath your turtleneck sweater. Dropping the bag off his shoulder, he turns, casting his gaze around the room.

His eyes widen when they meet yours, just a fraction, the only crack in his carefully composed expression. But it’s enough.

Shit.

He recovers quickly, setting his laptop on the desk with an infuriating calmness. Meanwhile, your mind is in shambles and you’re sure it’s written all over your face.

His voice cuts through the hushed murmurs of the students. That voice. The same one you’d heard only hours ago, low and rough against your ear.

Those eyes, once dark with desire as he wrung pleasure from your body.

Those lips, once curved into a cunning smile as they bruised your own.

“Welcome to Studio Arts. If you’re in the wrong class, now’s your chance to run screaming.”

He pauses. His gaze sweeps across the room, assessing. You sink deeper into your seat, heat rising to your neck.

“I’m Professor Hwang. If you’re feeling brave, you can call me sir.”

Chatter breaks out amongst the students, a few girls giggling nervously.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a world renowned artist or you’ve never held a paintbrush in your life. In this classroom, everyone is equal.” He leans back against his desk, arms crossing over his chest. “All I ask is that you show up and put in the work. So let’s get right into it. I’m not here to drone on and on about a syllabus.”

His eyes dart briefly to yours, and a nearly imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’d like each of you to introduce yourselves, to me and to each other, through your art. There are canvases and supplies on your desks. No rules. Just express yourself however you see fit.”

Uncrossing his arms, he stalks behind his desk and eases himself into his chair, his gaze sweeping around the room, locking onto each student one by one. When he reaches you, his gaze lingers.

“Show me who you are without using a single word.”

A moment of silence. Then, students begin sorting through their supplies, selecting different mediums for their work. You glance around, then down at your desk. Your fingers tighten around a granite pencil, the canvas before you offering nothing but a mocking expanse of white.

Blank. Just like your mind.

Your mind should be filled with ideas, but it’s empty. Focused solely on the feeling of those dark eyes burning into you from across the room.

What. The. Hell.

Fuck.

It’s only the first day of classes and you’ve already earned a reputation in your mind that you never wanted. You’re the girl who’s slept with her professor.

—

As always, thank you reading! This is something I’ve been working on for weeks, and although I’m nervous to share it, I hope you enjoy!! 💓🤭

Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated 💓💓

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💓 TAGLIST: @jeonginsleftcheek @inniesfanblog 💓

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© hyunbelievable, 2025. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to depict actual events or real-life personalities. I do not know or have any affiliation with Stray Kids or its members. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. No harm, defamation, or infringement is intended.

[sophie-looks-at-things]

Hi love! I hope you are doing well ☺️

If possible could I request a Aemond X reader? Maybe something where he takes notice of a hobby reader likes and surprises them with something related to it?

Piece de Resistance

Pairing: Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon your love for the arts, painting, drawing, sketching, and the like. <3

Warnings: none I don't think, Aemond being a cute and supportive husband. a good moment of domesticity :)

AN: Hello! I absolutely love this request! I hope I did it justice haha. Thank you so much for submitting it! The picture is from Pinterest! It's St Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne.

It wasn’t often you got a moment to yourself nowadays. With your husband acting as Prince Regent in his brother’s absence, you and he both were kept rather busy. Him with the Small Council and issues of the realm, you with the petty social gossipings and happenings of the Court. So rare moments of peace and quiet like this were highly coveted.

Your marital chambers echoed with emptiness as you entered and looked around. The curtains you had chosen fluttered in the breeze. Aemond had not wanted them, but ultimately he conceded, never being able to say no to you. 

He must be in a Small Council meeting, you thought. Or perhaps training with Ser Criston, letting off some steam. Your husband seemed to have an ever-constant knot of stress in his shoulders and neck. You’d tried to massage it out many a time, but it never seemed to budge, or it ended in a much different sort of activity –

Under your armoire, lay a dusty, maroon-red box. You bent down, moving to pull it out of its little hiding spot. You had snuck it under there after you had moved into Aemond’s chambers. The day after your wedding. Aemond had insisted that you move to his quarters as soon as possible. He didn’t like being separated from you more than necessary. If he could, he would have you seated on his lap in Small Council meetings or even when he sat on the Iron Throne. But alas, that was a touch too far, and people would talk. As they always do –

Your husband was kind and dotting, if not overprotective and possessive of you. You had known one another since you were children. Your house and family coming to visit the Court, your mother and the dowager Queen had been friends since their youth. They had hoped that you and Aemond would get along well, and you did, famously so. When he had lost his eye, you had come to the Red Keep, to offer him comfort and company. You had never left after that. 

Your fingertips graze over the top of the box, as you rest it on top of your bed sheets. Leaving an empty trail in their wake. The lock lay rusted and golden on the front, pulling a small key from the pocket of your skirt, you unlock it. A small, soft resounding click bounced off the walls. As you gingerly opened the lid, the stale smell of linseed oil filled your nostrils. Small metal tubes of colorful paint lay untouched in the box. Clean bristles and dirty brush handles scattered about, small rolls of blank canvas. All of which lay, unmoved, unbothered, from the last time you had used them. 

When you were little, you had complained to your mother once about the bore of your lessons. For your tenth name day, she had brought in a painter from Highgarden to tutor you. He had taught you how to mix colors and paint the prettiest flowers. As you grew older, he taught you more complicated things, like ladies in bushy skirts, and golden dragons in the sky. An odd prophecy of your future.

Taking some basic colors, red, blue, yellow, and white, some brushes, and a small roll of canvas, you set up shop at your dressing table. For the time being, altering it into a makeshift desk. Deciding to paint what you knew best, you began to sketch out a dragon among roses, with some charcoal that you had borrowed from Aemond.

He wouldn’t miss it, you thought. He had a small goblet full of charcoal and quills, hiding amongst the piles of books and scrolls on the table. Which he used to plot his war games, or occasionally take dinner with you. When you both grew tired of his family and their bickering. 

The dragon began to take form on the canvas, it looked slightly like Vhagar, large, old, and wrinkly. Her age showing in her face and eyes. Around her, you drew roses, peonies, daffodils, lavender, a great colorful bouquet. Once you had begun mixing the paints, on a makeshift pallet made of spare parchment paper. The other sounds of the world seemed to fade away, the monotony of the act being therapeutic. A much-desired mindless activity in the middle of the war you all found yourself in. You would never voice this to anyone, but it was silly to you. The hubris and hypocrisy of your husband's family was vast and great, and deadly at the worst. The blood of the dragon ran thick and hot, volatile and dangerous. 

You had become so absorbed in your work that you hadn’t heard the door open, the faint call of your name. Lost on the wind perhaps. Aemond stood, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a small smile playing at his lips, watching you, intently. He knew and had seen you become absorbed like this in a book or some piece of writing, but he had never seen you do this before. Paint.

The colorful oils stain your fingertips and wedge themselves beneath your nails. The same stale smell of the linseed oil met his nostrils.

 An odd sort of smell, he thought. He crept a bit closer, as close as possible not yet wanting you to know he was there. He silently rested his sword on the bed, the sheets muffling any noise it may have made. You were humming softly to yourself. An old hymn your mother used to sing to you. 

As he crept closer, Aemond could make out the picture you were working on. The colors came to life before his eyes, the eyes of his dragon staring back at him. 

“Gevie (beautiful)” He muttered, under his breath.

Startled, you jumped a bit, smudging one of the petals on the peony you were working on. “Shit” you breathed out.

“Aemond, Husband, I had not heard you come in!” You stand, turning to face him, stepping in front of your work as if to hide it.

Aemond chuckled a bit, noticing the pink tinge to your cheeks, embarrassed at being caught. He lifted an eyebrow, and gestured to the painting behind you, 

“May I see it?” He asked, his gaze meeting your own. After a slight pause, you stepped aside. Aemond walked past you, placing a loving hand on your waist, holding you to him slightly. Aemond has developed a habit of always having a hand on you, as if scared you were going to be snatched away, stolen from him. 

Again, he muttered a “Gevie” under his breath. He turned to look at you, your face twisted in anticipation of what he may think. You had hidden the hobby from him not out of malice, but rather out of embarrassment. Other ladies and some lords of the court had mentioned that painting was a poor man's job and that someone of “noble blood” needn’t concern themselves with such silly things. You had been worried that he would have agreed with them, not liking it. 

“I didn’t know you painted. This is lovely,” The hand on your waist moved to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear, it had fallen loose from your braids. 

“I was afraid you would disapprove –” 

“Why on earth would I disapprove my love? This is beautiful, you have a talent”. Your cheeks turned impossibly more pink at his praise and approval. 

“Actually, I would like it very much if you were to paint something on my sword. Vhagar perhaps –” He trailed off thinking, “Or maybe the seas or those flowers are quite lovely too–” You had placed a finger over his lips, laughing. Aemond stopped talking, kissing the digit instead. 

“Yes husband, I would love nothing more,” Your smile matched Aemond’s from before. 

“I would like to show it off–” He murmured against your finger, kissing it again. You moved your hand to his cheek, cupping it lovingly. This small moment of domestic bliss was needed, for the both of you. 

“Well then, go and fetch it, and I shall get to work,” With the excitement of a little boy, your husband retrieved his sword from the bed, unsheathing it, placing it on the desk in front of you. The previous painting moved to the windowsill, to dry. Aemond pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. 

He rested his elbow on the corner of the table, chin in palm. The only free spot on the table, not littered with paints and brushes. You began to work, and he watched you, with nothing but love and admiration in his eye. He could sit here, happily, forever, watching you work, with the setting sun twinkling on the ocean water outside of the windows. Your delicate hands painted the hard metal of his sword. He would let you paint the whole damn keep if it made you happy. And now, with the conqueror's crown resting upon his brow, maybe he would –

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr  @anukulee   @stuckinaf4nfiction

@darylandbethfanforever9

[jenscx]

FALLING — kim minjeong x f!reader

marriage life was great. minjeong was the best wife you could ever ask for; she’s sweet, caring, patient… the list goes on. she’s your favourite person, even when upset, you still think she’s the cutest.

TAGS — fluff, zero angst, ceo!minjeong, arranged marriage!au, established relationship, jealousy, continuation of daydreamin’

WORDCOUNT — 3.7k

being married to minjeong was like a dream. you had to constantly remind yourself by staring at the gleaming diamond ring wrapped around your finger. the weight of the ring on your finger never fails to bring a smile onto your face. already grinning at the thought, you turn your whole body, watching it shine in the moonlight.

unfortunately, turning to face the window meant turning away from the warmth of a body— minjeong’s. the girl stills in her sleep, groaning slightly and snuggling deeper into your hair. you take a peek at the sleeping girl, but take no action in turning back. seemingly upset, minjeong’s face furrows into a look of displeasure. slowly, her hand trails along the naked skin of your waist exposed by your sleep shirt riding up. a firm grip of your waist and you’re pulled back into her embrace. it was ironic that the cold girl was an extreme cuddler in her sleep.

she lets out a sigh, relieved that you were finally back in her arms. you retract your hand from admiring the ring in the moonlight back down to rub small circles over the back of minjeong’s hand. your wife doesn’t make any more movements, signalling to you that she’s finally fallen into deep sleep. it makes you content that minjeong is getting the rest she needs. after a rather exhausting day at the company, minjeong had come home, hair tousled and eye bags deeper than usual. you couldn’t help but notice the tremendous amount of yawns she let out during dinner.

if it wasn’t for her growling stomach, you would have immediately put her to bed. yet, she seemed equally hungry and tired. it had been a few months since she first brought up the deal with one of the businesses in china and minjeong had told you that they finally sealed it this week. you couldn’t believe your wife was the ceo of a company when she was jumping up and down joyfully. if she had a tail, it would be wagging.

(“minjeong, has anyone told you that you look like a puppy?”

“are you calling me a bitch? and yes, yizhuo said i look like a dog.”)

you were glad minjeong was such a competent worker who only strived for perfection. her work ethic was insane, and the company’s success spoke proudly of it. however, you just wished she could take a break sometimes. it seemed like her mind was overtaken with business and work. maybe your wife was a workaholic. that didn’t stop her from leaving the company building at exactly 5pm to get home to eat dinner with you though.

it only made your feelings blossom even further for her. kim minjeong, who cannot stay away from her job for less than a day, comes home on time to eat dinner with her wife. it was endearing. a whiny groan from minjeong makes you turn your head to her. minjeong had somehow burrowed her head even further into the crook of your neck, cheeks squished between the pillow and your shoulder.

ah, kim minjeong was so cute.

smiling softly at your wife, your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the warmth that minjeong provides, for both your body, and your heart.

the ray of sunlight beaming through the slit of the curtains is the first thing you see. it hits your eyes directly, forcing you to turn away from the window. the second thing you notice is that the warmth previously surrounding your body is gone. frowning, you open your eyes, disappointed that minjeong wasn’t by your side anymore. yawning and stretching your arms out, you peer around the room. the duvet has been neatly folded to cover your whole body and the pillows on minjeong’s side of the bed are tidied up against the headboard. you get up from the bed and quickly brush your teeth and shower.

fresh out of the shower, you notice the bedroom door is slightly ajar, leaving a crack for the aroma of pancake batter to seep in. your stomach gurgles unintentionally at the hint of breakfast, and your heart lightens when you realise minjeong’s probably in the kitchen and you can spend extra seconds with her.

padding your way to the kitchen down the stairs, the sight of minjeong with her now blonde hair tied sleekly back. her body is adorned with a cute, frilly, white apron that is knotted at her waist. it makes you swoon.

your wife is humming a familiar tune, you deduce that it’s one of the many harry styles songs she’s made you listen to. slowly, you walk closer to minjeong, who’s still unaware of your presence.

“mindoongie,” you greet, “good morning.”

minjeong jumps, gasping as the spatula in her hand falls onto the counter. she turns to you, eyes wide.

“you scared me, baby,” she sighs, picking up the fallen spatula and transferring the last pancake from the hot skillet onto a plate, neatly decorated with an assortment of various fruits. you giggle apologetically, “sorry, i thought you heard me coming.”

your wife shakes her head and carries the two plates to the kitchen island. you take a seat on one of the barstools, eyes laser-focused on the dripping maple syrup cascading down the pancakes like a waterfall. your mouth salivates.

“this looks so good.”

“I’m glad,” minjeong takes the seat next to you, gently slicing through the pancakes and tasting it, “i think i’m getting pretty good at cooking. maybe we won’t need mr park anymore.”

mr park was minjeong’s private chef, one that her father had hired.

“mhm,” your cheeks are stuffed full of pancake, “it tastes really good. but mr park makes the best soybean noodles.”

minjeong’s eyelashes flutter as her gaze lands on you, “really? i think the one you make tastes better.”

“you’re just saying that, you flirt,” you swat at her shoulder. your wife pouts and it’s adorable.

“i’m not,” and god, minjeong whines. it’s seriously harming you with how cute your wife is. is it possible to fall in love with someone twice? you might need to look it up. maybe you had an obsession— it would make perfect sense. everything that you see, touch, feel, they all instantly connect back to minjeong. you eat at a new restaurant; minjeong would like the tiramisu here. you hear a new pop song on the radio; minjeong would like this song. you see a pretty dress while shopping; minjeong would look amazing in it.

everything reminded you of her.

was that a blessing or a curse?

you hoped it was the former, but with the way she’s almost given you heart attacks with her puppy eyes, perhaps it was the latter.

a poke is felt on your cheek, distracting you from your imagination of minjeong’s puppy eyes. your wife stares at you cheekily, fingers squishing your face, “what are you thinking about?”

“thinking about you,” you answer honestly.

minjeong laughs, “seriously? that’s so cliche.”

you shrug. she only repeats, “what are you actually doing?”

“i’m doing something cliche,” you retort, stuffing a piece of pancake soaked in butter and syrup into your mouth. minjeong merely scoffs, not out of annoyance, maybe out of disbelief that you were still so cheesy.

“i have something to ask,” minjeong says out of the blue. you’re chowing down the last piece of delicious pancake and savouring the flavour when she suddenly springs a question.

“i have a company banquet i’m obliged to attend. will you be my date?”

you hesitantly nod. minjeong’s whole face brightens up, “really?”

“uh, yeah sure.” sensing your reluctance, minjeong slides a comforting hand over yours. “you can always say no if you want.”

swallowing, you reply, “it’s okay, i want to go with you. i’m just worried that i won’t be that extroverted or eager in making business deals or whatever.”

minjeong guffaws, “baby, all you have to do is be right beside me and i would be the happiest woman alive.”

“okay, romeo, you don’t have to flatter me, i’m already going.” minjeong just shrugs, “is it really flattering if it’s the truth?”

you take a large gulp of water.

“when’s the company banquet?”

minjeong flashes you a bashful smile.

“tonight.”

“kim minjeong—”

you pull the hem of your dress to cover the skin of your thighs. minjeong had picked out a black, fitting dress, akin to the one you wore to the family dinner a few months back. staring at the mirror, you take a seat down facing the vanity desk.

“baby,” minjeong calls out from the walk-in closet, “can you come help me?” you stand up, peering in the closet. your wife was facing a full length mirror, her body adorned by a two piece black pantsuit. it matches your black dress rather well.

“do you think this looks good?” she asks. you brush at her shoulders, admiring how good your wife looks. you run your fingers through her messy blonde hair, trying to calm the locks of golden.

minjeong sighs into your touch. “you’ll look great in anything, but this makes me want to jump you.” your wife preens at the praise, like a cute puppy.

“c’mon, let’s go already, it’s almost 6.”

you pull minjeong’s arm, dragging her to the front door. the chauffeur is waiting patiently on the driveway. after getting in the car, minjeong whips out her phone, fingers rapidly working against the keyboard. curious, you peek at the chat.

“it’s jimin unnie,” minjeong explains, “she’s going to be there too. along with some of my other friends.” nodding, you let your head remain hovering above her shoulder. minjeong glances at you.

“you can sleep if you want to. it’s a twenty minute drive,” she whispers, gently moving your head onto her shoulder. drowsy, you let your eyelids close, your hands instinctively going to rest on top of minjeong’s lap. you feel her hand slither into your palm. grasping the warmth, you eventually fall asleep, blonde hair and lopsided smiles burned into the back of your mind.

the comfort disappears soon after. your eyelids flutter open as minjeong brushes the stray strands of your hair out of your face.

“we’re reaching soon,” minjeong murmurs. you nod, your hands flying to the seat to support your body. her hands fly to wrap around your waist, humming softly. enjoying the solace of minjeong’s embrace, you lean into her touch for a few more minutes.

“mrs kim, we have arrived,” the chauffeur announces. minjeong lets out a little whine as she separates herself from the hug. “thank you,” she clears her throat, “i will inform you when to pick us up.”

your wife exits the car gracefully, unable to resist running to the other side where you were seated to open the door.

“charming,” you remark. minjeong has a hand out to steady you, a goofy smile on her face, “anything for my wife.”

you smile back and accept her hand. your jaw nearly drops at the sight. a stunning, white stoned mansion. small engravings of gold studded into the pillars on the patio. outside, the house was surrounded by neat and carefully trimmed hedges. the driveway was crowded, luxury vehicles dropping off their clients, who were decked in even more luxurious outfits. minjeong tugs at your hand. your eyes follow her movement.

“is it pretty?” she asks. you nod meekly, slightly intimidated by the grandeur of the mansion. you couldn’t believe someone would even hold a company banquet here. if it were you, you wouldn’t even allow anyone other than family and friends to enter such a home.

“do you like it more than the penthouse?” your wife asks again. your eyes widen, “no, i would feel really lonely in such a big house.”

minjeong nods, “but you have me. why would you ever feel lonely?” your heart melts.

“on business trips, honey. but i like our house more, feels more cosy and like home.”

she brightens up at the answer. you can’t help but giggle at her cuteness.

“if you said you liked it more, i would have bought it for you,” minjeong says offhandedly. you wonder if it’s possible to fall in love twice.

a security guard greets you at the entrance. while you admire the intricate detailing in the doorframe, minjeong converses with the guard.

“mrs kim minjeong and mrs kim y/n,” the guard repeats, looking up from his clipboard, “you may enter.”

minjeong leads you into the main hall. awestruck, you gape at the soaring ceilings and marble floors. a glimmering chandelier hangs from the ceiling, shining brightly. your eyes wander around, amazed at the sweeping staircase, adorned with ornate mouldings. the room is filled with crowds of people, murmurs bouncing off the walls. at every corner, a table, wrapped with white cloth, holds refreshments.

“kim mindoong,” a hand twirls you and minjeong around. yu jimin stands behind, grinning as she sips from a wine glass.

“jimin unnie,” you greet, smiling widely. the woman was wearing a beautiful black dress, frills of sheer black cloth embellished around the fabric. her sleek hair was tied up into a bun, accentuating her sharp jawline.

“y/nnie! you look amazing,” jimin gasps, eyes roaming down your figure. minjeong’s grasp tightens around yours.

your wife shields you playfully, “don’t look at my wife like that.”

jimin rolls her eyes, “i’m just admiring. is it illegal to look at people now? anyway, i heard aeri will be here too.”

minjeong scoffs, “dressed up nicer for her?” you laugh, thinking about jimin’s crush on your mutual friend. the mentioned girl only smiles wider, “why? do you think she’ll like it?”

“you do know she still thinks you’re with jaewook, right?” minjeong asks, “don’t you think she’ll be put off by you?”

you think back to a past conversation. minjeong had told you about jimin’s ex, or rather ex-situationship. honestly, you had no idea if jimin was purely straight or she just liked aeri. you thank god every day that you didn’t have to go through drama to be with someone you loved.

“ugh, i forgot about that. whatever, i’ll just have to show aeri what she’s missing out on,” jimin winks as she twirls away.

minjeong stands rooted to the ground for a few seconds, sighing, “i can’t believe her.” as you and minjeong venture further into the room, minjeong says, “if i were aeri, i would literally rip jimin’s head off the moment she told us she was seeing jaewook.”

“really? why?” you ask curiously.

your wife laughs, “why would i want to see the person i liked being with someone else? that’s lunacy.”

you nod in agreement, eyes drifting to minjeong’s side profile. your brain already starting to imagine such a scenario; minjeong being jealous. you could visualise her furrowed brow and the purse of her lips. she would look extra attractive when mad. this, you couldn’t deny.

“what are you thinking about?” minjeong’s soft voice floats into your ears. her face is positioned above your shoulders, staring at you with a curious gaze. you shrug, “i’m thinking about you.”

“cute,” minjeong smiles, “i need to go talk to hanbin about branching out into china, wait here for me?” a waiter swerves by, you reach out to grasp a glass of champagne. “of course, go be a ceo.”

minjeong grins at you one final time, and she disappears beneath the hoard of people. you sigh, taking small sips of the champagne. from the corner of your eye, you could spot jimin and aeri conversing. they were in a deep, heated conversation, borderline argument. soon after, they both slipped away from your gaze. you don’t bother looking for them. most likely, jimin would be grovelling while aeri watches.

at the other side of the party, you make out yizhuo’s figure, clinging onto the arm of a woman you don’t recognise. yizhuo was dragging the woman around, probably introducing her to numerous investors and executives. as you watch yizhuo and her guest, a figure shows up next to you.

he clears his throat.

your eyes flicker to meet his.

“hello,” you say slowly. you don’t recognise him either.

the stranger, fitted in a tailored suit, smiles, “hello, why are you standing off in a corner? not interested in talking to the big guys?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“no, not very.”

he flashes an even wider smile. your eyes drift to his hair, black, gleaming, probably run through with heavy amounts of gel.

“i’ve never seen you before,” he notes, “is this your first time attending such a banquet?”

“yes, it’s my first time.”

“i’m sim jaeyun, but call me jake,” he thrust out his hand. you grip his hand in a firm shake, “i’m kim y/n.”

jake’s eyes widened, “kim? are you part of kim minjeong’s family?”

you smile, thinking about your wife, “you could say that.” jake looks blown away, you wonder about the power your wife has.

“she’s kind of a big deal, ceo and all.”

“i’m aware of that.”

“how are you related? have you met her? are you guys close?” he rambles. you're slightly taken aback by the number of questions he throws at you. overwhelmed, you just stare at him.

slowly, he regains himself, coughing into his hand while fixing his hair, “sorry. i shouldn’t have… that was rude of me, but she’s extremely private about her life. i was shocked that a family member of hers would show up here.”

“it’s all right.”

“ah, to make up for my haste,” jake smiled bashfully, “could i offer you dinner?” you halt, gears turning in your head as you make out what jake is implying.

“no, actually i’m already here with someone.”

“i can’t charm you away for a few hours? surely they won’t miss your presence too much seeing as they left you here alone.”

you force a smile, irritated and through gritted teeth, you reply, “i said no.”

“really? who’s the person that brought you here? i’ll just let them know that you’ll be coming with me.”

a hand slithers around your waist, you lean into the familiar touch.

a sweet, honey-toned voice says, “good evening, mr sim. i’m glad you have met my wife, y/n.”

honestly, if it weren’t for the pity you felt for jake, you might have bursted out laughing at his reaction. yet, the humiliation of having hit on a taken woman seems to overwhelm him.

“your wife,” jake repeats.

“i’m afraid she will not be going to dinner with you, as she will be going home with me,” minjeong sighs, rather apologetically. you know this is all a facade. minjeong was just acting.

jake blushes, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know she was already taken.”

minjeong just smiles.

“have a good evening, mr sim,” she waves goodbye, dragging you away from the corner she left you in. her firm grip on your wrist doesn’t deter you from feeling relieved. fear bubbles slowly in your stomach at what minjeong might say. she pulls you outside, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, just as you imagined.

“y/nnie,” minjeong turns to look at you and god, the girl is pouting with full-on puppy eyes, “you let him flirt with you.”

fuck, why was she so cute? all your fear disapparates instantly.

“mindoongie, i wasn’t flirting with him,” you extend your hand to squeeze at her cheeks, “and why are you being so cute? you know i like you the most, right?”

“you didn’t reject him.”

“i was trying to be nice! what if he was a potential business partner for you?” you try reasoning with her.

“i don’t deal business with jerks who go after taken women, and especially not my woman.” minjeong’s jealousy and possessiveness was kind of attractive, you couldn’t lie.

you roll your eyes playfully, “it was just a possibility, and i didn’t do anything to encourage his behaviour.”

minjeong’s pout only worsens, “but you weren’t rejecting him.” you can barely hear what she says, her cheeks being squashed beneath your palms.

“i did reject him, minjeong. he was just insistent,” you explain, “he asked if i was related to you.”

just remembering jake’s surprised face makes you chuckle. minjeong arches an eyebrow, “related to me?”

“am i not your wife, mrs kim?” you pinch her cheek. minjeong winces, grasping your wrist again, “a-ah, yes you are!”

you let go, smiling cheekily at the red mark of your fingers left behind.

“baby, it hurts,” minjeong whines. your first instinct is to lean in, pressing a soft kiss onto the reddened skin. your lips touch her cheek in a feather like movement, softly and slowly, your lipstick covers the previous mark. minjeong stares at you, eyes blown open and a hand cradling her cheek. you pull back, admiring the way her skin flushes again, like wine spilling into her veins.

minjeong is the prettiest this way. all flustered and vulnerable, just for you.

“you’re so cute, mindoongie,” you blurt out. it’s crazy the way your wife has changed; from the brooding, gloomy ceo to the silly and affectionate puppy she is now.

“y/n, it hurts here too,” minjeong pouts, pushing out her lips. you swat at her shoulder, well aware of what she’s trying to imply. “stop it, stupid.”

“but it really hurts!” minjeong’s a second away from stomping her foot and throwing a tantrum. you gaze lovingly at your wife. her eyelashes flutter, big, brown eyes begging for a kiss.

you can’t resist leaving a quick peck on her lips. minjeong sighs happily, pulling you closer.

“only i can have you like this,” she says, more to herself than you.

nodding, you caress her cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark left there. your other hand tugs at her blazer. minjeong leaves slow kisses on your face, from your forehead down to your jawline. you let minjeong have her fun, occasionally letting out sighs and teasing remarks. minjeong just ignores you and continues.

seemingly finished, minjeong rests her head on your shoulder, nuzzling the crook of your neck.

“i love you, kim y/n.”

being married to kim minjeong was great, you would say.

“i love you too, kim minjeong.”

[yesimwriting]

Stawp!

Louis and bestie reader are so cute

They would be so satc coded and go out for drinks and vacays

Also i think reader would introduce him and call him "my beautiful louis" to other people

But imagine louis getting home and texting her with a smile on his face all cute 🥰

I like the idea of the person who makes vampirism good being her, a platonic relationship, in contrast of a romantic companion.

Also i imagine this convo:

Armand: do you have to go over to her apartment every other day?

Louis: first of, we have our movie night fridays together and you know this!

Armand: its 4 a.m

Louis: duh? I got to get there while the sun is down, besides we need to pick up thai food because she does not cook and she will starve herself before turning on the stove

AND ARMAND WITH HER

I feel like after he knows her, he would be jealous of any relationships/ one night stands she might have (louis knows about them obvi! She calls him all the time 💅🏻)

Im obsessed with this concept 😭

everything about this is so perfect!! i'm so happy you got the vibe! i feel like he just needs someone to pull him out of his (slightly subconscious) angst and something about that happening through a platonic relationship is so endearing to me

they're so satc coded too, just besties drinking and vacationing and having (slightly) delusional conversations <3

also bestie reader calling him "my beautiful louis" to others is everything to me 😭 they for sure love each other so much omg

armand is definitely so messy with this 😭 he's like a cat trying to gaslight their owner into thinking they don't want attention

bc i love this sm here's an actual drabble/fic:

pls be nice writing for new characters for the first few times is so daunting for no reason 😭, also armand is a bit messy here <3

----

Not unlike daylight's earliest hours seeping through shut curtains, the haziness--the easiness--you offer him is persistent.

Louis has grown accustomed to the feeling, to the consistent warmth of your friendship, but every once in awhile the sentimentality of it all digs at him.

"This is..." You trail off, legs crossed beneath you and television remote still loosely held between your fingers. "Complex."

Louis's focus flits between you and the screen you're intently staring at. The two of you hadn't set out to watch a documentary on some nature channel, but this is far from the first time you've gotten distracted by some default program while attempting to put on a movie. "Very."

His sarcasm is enough to break the spell. You turn your head, frowning, "Don't make fun of me."

The documentary cuts to a well lit, sparsely wooded forest. The camera focuses on a deer patiently grazing on the surrounding foliage.

"I’d never," he mumbles, suppressing a smile in an attempt at seeming as serious as he needs to be for the joke to work.

You let out a sound that's too gentle to be a laugh before straightening your shoulders and returning your attention to the television screen. There's something ironically pointed about the way the peaceful background melody fades into something more sinister. Looming Danger.

The deer, alerted by some sixth sense, stiffens, its body stretching to its full, insignificant height. The camera zooms in, focusing on the deer's wide eyes and unmenacing features. "That kind of reminds me of you."

This time, your laugh is full, sharpened by a partial scoff that's as amused as it is offended. "That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

The comment is almost enough to ease him. The camera pans out, allowing the audience to see the other surrounding deer. "Maybe the deer from that one animated movie."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking through the implication of the words before turning your head towards him again. "You mean Bambi?"

He had been much too old to be interested in the film by the time it came out, but the name is vaguely familiar enough. "I think so."

You blink at that, tilting your head slightly. "How do you know Bambi?"

"I don't know Bambi," the argument is a relatively flat one. Louis turns to better face you, resting his arm against the back of your couch. "I've just seen some commercials."

That only seems to confuse you further. You straighten, pulling your legs towards your chest. "Where would you have seen Bambi commercials?"

"They were everywhere when it came out in the 40's."

You don't respond right away, your attention shifting away from Louis and towards your bent legs. As far as references that remind you of his lack of humanity, this is far from a drastic one. The 40’s weren’t long enough ago to be inconceivable to you.

Still, you’re quiet, as if thinking through the potential outcomes of your reaction. You nod once. “Right."

When you look up at him again, there's a hesitant sort of curiosity behind your eyes. It's an expression Louis's more accustomed to than he wants to be, it's the way you look at him when you're reminded of the reality of the differences between the two of you.

You tap your nails against your knee. "Does it feel weird?" The question comes out with a suddenness that doesn't suit you, the stiffness of the words sharp and uncertain. "All that time--carrying it inside your head?"

For a moment, all he can bring himself to do is sit with the question. Your question. It's a simple enough thing to ask, but not a exactly a straightforward thing to answer. Especially not to you, who has yet to experience a significant passage of time even by human standards.

"Well," he starts, "You know about the way that time has impacted aspects of my memory." You watch him patiently, saying nothing to prompt or rush him as he thinks through his response. "It does make things feel different--years spent with someone can feel like moments, and moments with others can feel like eternity."

You nod once, allowing his answer to sink in. "Which one am I?"

He knows his answer before he knows how to put it into words. You’re too familiar for either.

“You’re more like a memory.”

Your eyebrows briefly pinch together at that. You part your lips, but before you can respond the documentary’s music swells.

You turn your head in time to see the coyote lunge at a deer. You sigh, screwing your eyes shut before leaning forward, You press your forehead against his arm. “That’s depressing.”

Louis could have anticipated the reaction, you’re usually more bothered by animals dying in movies than people. Still, though, your ability to find comfort in him of all things will never not perplex him.

Instead of pointing out that you’re the one that chose to watch this, he gently reaches for the remote. “Fine, I’ll put on the movie.”

----

The familiar ringing is so muted, so low, Armand's certain that if it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything at all. By the time he's turned his head, Louis is already reaching for his coat's pocket.

Armand frowns. If the late hour and limited number of people Louis talks to weren't enough to let Armand know who the message is from, Louis's smile as he unlocks his cell phone would be evidence enough. You--it's always you.

He continues forward, allowing Louis to type out a response without interruption. Once he's certain the message has been sent, Armand begins, "It's her again."

Louis's attention shifts away from the screen. "She's my friend."

"I know," he says, voice flat, "Your best friend."

"Stop it." There's nothing aggressive about Louis's response, but there's an underlying warning pressed into the syllables, the same almost-sharpness that Louis relies on whenever Armand implies a lack of fondness for Louis's latest source of entertainment. "It's not like that."

No, it really isn't. When you first began to weave yourself into Louis's life, Armand had almost convinced himself that this was a blatant betrayal that defied Louis's usual preferences. After about five minutes of assessment, Armand realized that the two of you really are as affectionately platonic as you claim to be.

"No," it's an easy enough concession. Armand continues forward, the coolness of the night's air sharp against his skin. Their walk hasn't exactly been the most exciting night of their companionship, but it has been non-contentious in a needed way after their latest session with Daniel. "You do spend a lot of time with her."

Louis's quiet for a moment, thinking through his response in a way that Armand finds unusual. "You could spend time with us, too."

The sentiment isn't as true as Louis intends it to be. While Armand's been around you regularly enough to consider you familiar, there are a few things that the two of you want to do on your own. Your weekly movie nights, casual drinking at bars, the surprise trip to Milan. And during the evenings in which Armand is there, Louis regards him with a subtle uneasiness that if you've noticed, you know better than to mention.

In your presence, what they are may only be portrayed in the softest of lights. The facets of vampirism must only ever be suggested, alluded to so faintly that they're rendered incapable of tarnishing that darling soul of yours Louis is so determined to preserve.

"And subject the poor, little fawn to an evening with two vampires?"

Armand keeps his gaze focused on what's ahead of them, but he can practically feel the lack of amusement radiating off of Louis. "Come on," he tries again, "She's not like that."

Although he'd love nothing more than to solely resent your existence, Armand does have to give you credit for that. You hadn't so much as missed a single step when Louis revealed the truth to you, never once treating him differently. You also barely flinched when Armand appeared in your home with no warning as a way of hurting Louis during a particularly lively argument. Armand's yet to determine if your bravery is a sign of idiocy or a testament to how certain you are in your connection to Louis.

It's far from rare for Louis to feel the need to defend you, but there's a determination there that seems urging. "She asked you to come over."

Louis's hesitation, though brief, is confirmation enough. He almost stills but seems to think better of it, placing his phone back into his pocket as if that will be enough to make Armand forget that you're the source of this. "She just ended things with the boy she's been seeing."

Hm. Not exactly an interesting update, but intriguing...more intriguing than why you usually call Louis, if nothing else.

"Alright," Armand agrees, "Let's visit your puppy."

----

The apartment building you live in is far from run down. You've slowly but surely transformed yourself into one of those rare artists with a curated following so obsessed with being able to credit themselves as the discoverer of the next big thing that they go out of their way to purchase anything that you've labeled as yours. Existing at the cusp of fame has allowed you to afford a decent apartment in the city, but it's nowhere near as nice as where you could be if you'd accept Louis's offer to get you a place closer to them.

Louis knocks on your door twice. In less than a second, you're clicking the lock out of place. You're beaming as you pull the door open, "Louis."

Armand watches Louis's expression melt into one of total warmth. There's a definiteness to your friendship that Armand might envy if he understood it any better. What's so special, so interesting about you that your presence is always desireable?

Louis extends an arm, offering you the bouquet of flowers he insisted on purchasing before visiting you.

Your smile widens even further at the arrangement. If it wasn't for the information that Louis gave him earlier, Armand would have no reason to think anything remotely upsetting happened to you tonight. "I love peonies. Thank you."

You lift a hand, your pointer finger gently brushing a thin petal as you examine the flowers. After a moment, you straighten, turning your head enough to acknowledge him. "Armand, hi." The greeting is cordial yet far from cold, the way you often are with him.

"Hello," he replies. You step back, pulling your front door open as a way of inviting them in. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

You pause at that, parting your lips as you look back at him. Louis speaks before you get the chance to, "I told you to look sad when we got here."

It's a playful chastising at best, but you react as if Louis had really meant it. In some ways, Armand believes he did. "Oh," the sound falls flat. You walk further into your home's entryway, giving them the space needed to enter. "Give me a second, I can do better." You turn slightly, holding onto the flowers a little tighter as you bring your free hand to your chest. "I'm distraught."

Your performance isn't worthy of a standing ovation, but there's a humor there that might have been charming if Armand's disinterest in you was less inherit.

"Nice try," Louis mumbles as he wanders towards your couch. He sits down with a casualness that highlights how used to existing in your space Louis really is. "Armand wasn't up for visiting anyone and I wanted you to at least look sympathetic."

You walk past your living room. Armand watches you for a moment before following, if for no other reason than to feel something resembling Louis's familiarity. He keeps his steps even, making a point of remaining a few paces behind you.

You stop in front of a cupboard. After opening the cabinet, you have to extend your arm so fully to reach a vase Armand's surprised when you manage to grab it without knocking it off its shelf.

"Trust me," you say, exaggerating the syllables as you approach the sink, "I'm very sympathetic." You place the vase beneath the sink before turning on the faucet.

Armand steps forward, setting a palm against the granite that makes up the island attached to your sink. "I'm sure." The words are spoken so lowly they're nearly drowned out by the sound of running water.

"What did he do?" Louis asks from his spot on the couch.

You lift the vase out of the sink's basin, shutting off the faucet as you move to set the glass onto the counter. "Broke up with me because he thought he had a chance with his ex-girlfriend."

"What?" Louis turns fully at that, craning his neck to look at you.

You nod sharply, completely validated by Louis's shock. "I know." You remove the plastic binding your bouquet together. "Men are the worst." You carefully pull a flower away from its bundle before placing it in the vase. The process of arranging the flowers must remind you who brought them to you, because after a second, you amend your statement, "Except you guys. Obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats in a way that only feels somewhat sarcastic. "So are you...upset? Angry?"

You pause, giving yourself a moment to really think about your response. "A little of everything, I guess." You pick up two smaller flowers by their long stems before placing them in the vase. "But not crushed." You reach for a filler flower. "I don't know...it's not like I was in love with him."

Louis rests an elbow against the back of your couch, propping his head up as he watches you continue to adjust your flowers. "I'm glad you weren't." You raise your eyebrows at that. "He wasn't the right person."

"You always say that."

"And I haven't been wrong yet."

You give him another look that would be threatening if it wasn't for the underlying fondness there. "Don't start." You don't wait for Louis's reaction before returning your attention to the flowers.

Armand watches you for a moment before allowing himself to take in your apartment. This place is a known entity, but it's not exactly familiar. He's never seen anything beyond the living but he has heard you talk about a room that you've converted into a studio space.

It's not as easy as it should be to imagine a space solely dedicated to your work when touches of it seem to cover your entire apartment. Two canvases too uniquely you to be purchased are hanging behind your couch, there's a ceramic vase on your dining table that reminds him of the way you paint, and then there's the abandoned palette and partially finished canvas still on its easel.

Armand walks forward slowly, approaching the painting as you and Louis begin discussing your least favorite things about the boy that ended things with you.

Even unfinished, the project is strong in its certainty, in its style. Your brush strokes are sharp, unafraid. Next to your well loved palette, there's a small photograph that parallels but doesn't exactly fully match the partially completed house on the canvas.

"That's an idea for a new collection--the repurposing of abandoned things, places..." Your explanation is abrupt in a way that borders on shy. "It's not meant to be as pretentious as it sounds."

There's a self deprecating quality to the disclaimer that doesn't fit you. Perhaps he's stumbled onto an actual insecurity. "Does someone seeing it like this make you uncomfortable?"

"Uh," you start, confused by his own suddenness, "No, not really. As long as you know to look it as a work in progress." You tap your nails against the counter. "I--I have a room down the hall that's full of half-finished stuff if you want to look at those, too."

The offer feels more like an attempt to convince yourself that you're okay with his analysis of your work before it's been polished than anything else. The concept of your uncertainty makes Armand curious enough for him to actively reach for your thoughts.

Armand's concentration shifts onto your mind, and he's immediately thrown by the vaguest implication of resistance. Your mental defense is so feeble it might as well not exist, but the fact that it does...that you're trying to at all is almost endearing enough to convince Armand to leave you be. Almost. "Are you attempting to block me out of your thoughts?"

You blink, the blood beneath your skin rushing its way up your neck at your embarrassment. "Are you trying to read them?" When your counter question doesn't impact him at all, you sheepishly offer an explanation, "Louis taught me."

Of course he'd teach his pet a new trick.

Louis lets out a small laugh at that. "The fact that he felt it at all tells me you're better at it than I'd thought you be."

Armand's gaze returns to your painting. You've managed to find a warmth, a beauty in the forgotten. "The implication of resistance isn't the same as resistance itself."

The criticism stings, but you don't let it impact your expression. You let out an exaggerated sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly to add to your point. "Be nice, I was just broken up with. Over text."

He continues to study the painting, his mind attempting to break the piece down by individual brush strokes. "That doesn't matter to you. Not really." Armand can almost imagine the creation of the house's boarders, of the formation of each individual stone and the heavy ivy covering them. "You're not 'crushed' because you're interesting and he's not, and a part of you knows that."

The sentiment behind the words leaves you desperate to push him away. Blood settles itself beneath your chest. Your feeble mental shield returns, this time determined enough for Armand to feel its desire to push him out.

"You don't know if I'm interesting," the response is too soft, too curious to reflect your unease.

You tap your nails against the counter, the gentle clicks of them hitting the granite echoing throughout the space. Armand refocuses on the canvas. "Louis wouldn't like you if you weren't."

Something about the statement seems to ease you. Armand's reminded of how almost overly genuine your friendship is. "Thanks."

Louis lets out an almost-scoff at that, his eyebrows briefly drawing together in a display of mock offense. "Don't make me sound so shallow."

"It's less about your shallowness and more about my winning personality."

"Uh-huh," Louis mumbles, pressing a synthetic lack of interest into syllables, "Well, as long as its about you."

----

a/n this is lowkey way longer than i expected it to be but i loved this dynamic so much so if you want to see more of them pls let me know <3

[heliosunny]

MANN I'M DYING FOR A VAMPIRE FYODOR X READER. It's like searching for a pond in a desert. i desperately need vampire Fyodor. Please , I'M BEGGING, could you write vampire Fyodor?

- 🐢🐢

Yandere!Vampire Fyodor x Reader

The grand estate was eerily silent at this hour, save for the distant crackling of a dying hearth and the faint rustling of curtains swayed by the night wind. You moved carefully, your footsteps muffled by the lavish rugs lining the marble floors.

You were never supposed to be here.

The noble lords and ladies who waltzed through the halls of this manor held no concern for people like you—lowly servants, invisible until summoned. And yet, your curiosity had drawn you beyond the gilded doors, into the chambers where only the elite dared to tread.

The scent of iron hit you first. It was thick, suffocating, clinging to the air like a veil of death. Then, the sight of moonlight spilling through stained glass, illuminating the lifeless body of a nobleman slumped in his chair, blood trickling from his throat.

And beside him, a man sat with eerie poise.

He was dressed in fine silk. His fingers, long and delicate, trailed absently along the rim of an untouched wine glass. His pale face was unreadable, but his eyes—cold, knowing, and touched with amusement.

“Ah… what an unfortunate turn of events.”

The smooth lilt of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“You really shouldn’t be here, my dear.”

Your legs refused to obey, to run. Fyodor Dostoevsky, the esteemed nobleman, the brilliant tactician of the court, the man whom even kings feared—was no mere human.

You had seen something you were never meant to witness.

“Now, what should I do with you?”

Your body tensed against his cold grip, your mind scrambling for something—anything—that might make him reconsider killing you. Logic said nothing would work, but desperation had a way of making fools out of even the most rational people.

“P-please…” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, wide-eyed and pleading. “I....I won’t say anything! I swear! I’ll forget everything I saw! I’m just a servant, nothing important! You don’t have to kill me, right?”

“Ah… is that so?”

You nodded frantically, trying to keep your voice light, as if you were reasoning with a dangerous animal. “Yes! Yes! I’m useless! Just a background character in this grand house! You wouldn’t even notice me if I hadn’t wandered in! I can go back to being invisible, I promise!”

A soft chuckle left his lips. “Invisible? My dear, I noticed you long before this little accident.”

What did he just say?

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You always walk a little slower when passing the eastern wing. Do you find the stained glass fascinating?”

Your breath hitched.

“You arrange the books in the library alphabetically, even though no one asked you to.”

Your hands trembled.

“And I do wonder… do you hum out of habit, or do you simply forget that others can hear you?”

He had been watching you.

For how long?

A gloved finger traced along your jaw, tilting your face up until your wide, frightened eyes met his.

“You’re quite adorable when you beg” Fyodor murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “Like a little rabbit, caught in a trap.”

“W-wait—”

“Ah, but what kind of master would I be if I let my pet run free?”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up- pure instinct, sheer desperation. You twisted in his grip, jerking backward with all your strength.

For a split second, his fingers loosened.

You didn’t waste it. You wrenched free and ran.

The door was just a few steps away. If you could just reach it, just make it into the halls—you could lose him in the endless corridors of the estate. You could warn someone. But the moment your fingertips brushed the doorknob, the room tilted.

A rush of wind, the blur of candlelight, the sickening realization that you were no longer in control of your own movement. Your back collided with the nearest bookshelf, the force knocking the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp left you as books tumbled to the floor around you, dust spiraling in the dim light.

Before you could even regain your footing, he was there.

Fyodor loomed over you, his expression eerily calm.

“That,” he murmured, “was rather rude, don’t you think?”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist again—tighter this time, with none of the deceptive gentleness from before. You struggled, thrashing in his grip, but it was like fighting against iron shackles.

“Let...go!”

“Shh…” Fyodor’s other hand came up, his fingers ghosting over your lips in a mockery of tenderness. “You keep making this worse for yourself.”

“You should have stayed quiet, little one” he sighed. “Now you’ve gone and made yourself so much more interesting.”

His grip shifted, effortlessly pulling you against him as he tilted his head, studying your expression with dark amusement.

“Struggle all you like” he leaned closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “but in the end, my dear…”

His fingers trailed down your throat, feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his touch.

“Even a pawn must obey its king.”

The clinking of metal was the first thing you noticed when you stirred.

You blinked blearily, your body sluggish, your limbs weak. The moment you tried to move, something stopped you—a harsh tug at your wrist.

Chains.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you finally took in your surroundings. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls of what seemed to be a private chamber. Lavish yet eerie, filled with books, maps, and an ominous grand chair positioned before a desk.

And you…

You were inside a cage.

Your breath hitched as you scrambled back, the cold iron bars pressing against your spine. The space was just large enough for you to sit, but not to fully stretch out. The chains around your wrists rattled as you gripped the bars, panic clawing at your throat.

“Ah… you’re awake.”

Fyodor sat nearby, his long fingers absentmindedly twirling a chess piece. He looked perfectly composed, as if caging another person in his chambers was nothing more than a trivial afterthought.

“You…” Your voice cracked, hoarse with fear. “Let me out. Let me out, please!”

Fyodor tilted his head, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Already begging? How precious.”

You gritted your teeth, ignoring the way your hands trembled against the bars. “This isn’t funny, Fyodor. You can’t keep me here—someone will notice I’m gone.”

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” His gaze darkened, his smirk sharpening. “No one is looking for you.”

The words struck like a slap.

“Liar.”

“Am I?” He hummed, tapping the chess piece against the table. “You were just a servant, weren’t you? No family nearby. No close friends. No one of real importance.” His voice was sickeningly sweet.

“That’s not true—”

“But now,” he interrupted, standing gracefully, “you belong to me.”

He walked toward the cage, his presence suffocating, until he was right in front of you. His hand reached through the bars, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

“A stray little thing,” he mused, his grip firm but not cruel. “But worry not—I take very good care of my pets. Though you're the very first human I kept.”

“I am not a pet!”

Tears pricked at your eyes, frustration and fear bubbling over. “Please… I don’t belong here. Just let me go. I swear, I won’t tell anyone—I’ll disappear, you’ll never have to see me again.”

For a moment, he simply stared. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape. “Please…” you whispered, voice breaking. “I just want to go home.”

Fyodor’s gaze softened, mockingly so. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to your level, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Silly little thing” he murmured, almost fondly. “This is your home now.”

The moment you realized that begging wouldn’t work, you forced yourself to stop crying. It was difficult, but if you wanted to escape, you had to be smart. Fyodor thrived on fear, on your desperation. If you kept breaking down, he’d never let his guard down.

So instead, you swallowed your pride and played along.

For days, you obeyed without resistance. You responded softly when he spoke, kept your eyes lowered when he touched your cheek, forced yourself to eat the food he provided. You pretended to be docile, slowly giving in to the role he wanted from you.

“Such an obedient little thing,” Fyodor mused one evening, watching as you quietly sipped the tea he had given you. “It seems you’re learning your place.”

You only nodded, keeping your expression neutral.

He smiled at that, pleased.

Then, the opportunity came.

One night, Fyodor received a summons, an urgent matter that required his presence elsewhere. He glanced at you through the bars before leaving, his gaze filled with silent amusement.

“Be good while I’m gone.”

And just like that, you were alone.

The moment the door shut behind him, you dropped the act.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the lock on your cage, your breath coming fast. No key, no tools—but that didn’t matter. You had spent the last few days observing everything in this room, including the way the cage door was secured.

"Come on, come on..."

You twisted the hinges, pressing your weight against the weakest part of the bars. It took everything in you to remain silent as the metal creaked, shifting slightly. Almost there—

With a final push, the lock snapped.

You stumbled out, your legs weak from days of confinement, but you didn’t stop moving. You darted to the door, pressing your ear against it—nothing.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Every step was a risk, every breath a gamble, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to make it out.

But as you turned the corner, your blood ran cold.

“Going somewhere, my dear?”

Fyodor.

The silence stretched between you like a knife’s edge.

Every muscle in your body frozen as Fyodor took a step forward.

“You disappoint me.”

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you were slammed against the cold stone wall, your wrists pinned above your head by a single, merciless hand.

Your vision blurred. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“Did you really think you could escape me?”

You whimpered, your chest heaving as you tried to twist free. “Fyodor—”

“Silence.”

His grip tightened, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“I was kind to you.” His other hand trailed along your jaw, deceptively gentle despite the bruising force keeping you trapped. “I gave you food, warmth… a place to belong.”

His fingers reached your throat.

“And yet, like an ungrateful little pet…” His nails grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You tried to run.”

“I-I just.....”

A sudden sharp pain shot through your shoulder. You barely had time to process the flash of movement before you felt the unmistakable sensation of his fangs sinking into your flesh.

The pain was deep, burning, a violation that sent every nerve in your body into a frenzy. Fyodor held you still, keeping you pinned as he drank—slow, unhurried, savoring.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were stained crimson. His tongue flicked out, licking away the last trace of your blood as he gazed down at you.

“Let this be a lesson, my dear.”

Your body trembled violently, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sagged in his grip.

“You are mine.”

His hand released you.

You collapsed to the floor, barely catching yourself on weak, trembling arms. The throbbing in your shoulder was unbearable, but worse was the realization that you had failed.

[musetheapothecary]

I'd wake up to you everyday if I could

oliver aiku x fem!reader (nsfw)

Light filters in through her closed eyelids as she pulls herself from dreaming. Sleep clings like taffy to her skin, sticky and stretched and saccharine sweet as she arches into the crisp sheets and flutters her lashes open, a smile teasing at her lips. Blinking past the haze in her eyes she sees that the ceiling is painted in streaks of amber, the purple orchid on her vanity dappled in morning light. The late-spring air is blissfully warm against her bare skin. 

Before she can roll from the bed she feels the weight against her waist go taught and she is pulled back into a firm chest, the action pulling from her a startled burst of laughter. Oliver’s skin is scorching against her own and she can feel more than hear his grumbling.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” He presses the words into the arch of her throat, the rough drag of his voice enough to send shivers skittering up her spine.

“Kitchen,” she gasps, trying to ignore the steady stroke of fingers over her navel and ribs.

Oliver hums, scruff tickling her jaw. “Nah.”

She releases another, slightly more strangled laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Too early,” he insists, pushing her down onto her back with ease, even as she half-heartedly struggles in his grip. The strength of him makes her dizzy. She’s never thought of herself as vain, but nowadays she finds it difficult to drag her eyes away from the ripples of taught muscle beneath his skin. “Relax, doll. It’s the weekend.”

She blinks up at him, dazed and dream-swept. Golden light haloes his rumpled hair and his mismatched eyes are lidded. Desire simmers in that gaze, but beneath that he looks overwhelmingly fond. Like a man in love.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat rushing to her face and has her turning a cheek into the pillow. He drags her gaze back to his with the curl of his fingers over her jaw.

The breadth of his shoulders swallows her whole, blocks out the fluttering curtains and dawn-drenched room and any promise of an early start to her day evaporates beneath her tongue. 

Yoga can wait, she decides. This is as good of a workout as any, and he’s been training so hard lately that lazy mornings have become a treasured rarity.  

He drags a thumb over her lips, presses down until plush skin swells on either side, then dips down to replace the digit with his mouth. 

“Was gonna make you coffee,” she murmurs into the kiss, swallowing down his answering laugh.

“Don’t need it,” says Oliver, licking into her mouth. He trails a line of fire along her jaw and the shell of her ear. “Got something better right here.”

He bites down on her shoulder, pressing fully against her front until she can feel him hot and heavy against the apex of her thighs.

She shudders, gasping and promptly forgets how to say anything but, “Oliver.”

He laughs into her skin, kisses pressed like promises over the swell of her breasts. “You’re so whiny in the morning.”

“Am not,” she huffs.

She wraps her legs around his hips, grinding up into him as best she can, feeling hot pleasure spark through her veins. Oliver groans, chin dropping to his chest as he pulls back just enough to watch her writhe. 

“So pretty, baby.” He flicks at the bud of her nipple and gives another slow grind against her molten core, mouth stretched into a nasty smirk. “And so wet. You dreamin’ of me again?”

“Always,” she gasps, fingers tangling through his hair and tugging him down for another messy open-mouthed kiss.

He hums against her lips, skating a hand down between their bodies and sinking two fingers into her heat, curving up with a precision that has her whining, much to his amusement. Before Oliver she’d always imagined morning sex to be gentle, slow and sleepy and sweet. 

But with him it’s none of those things. Fresh from sleep, his usual iron-clad control wavers. Most days he’ll build up to things, draw them out until the tension pulls taught and then just before she snaps–just before she breaks–he’ll give her what she wants.

But in the morning he has no such restraint.

His fingers drive into her again and again and again until she’s writhing and mumbling nonsense. He sports an open mouthed grin and she’s certain he’s talking her through it but she can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears and the molten need in her core.

Her orgasm creeps up on her lightning fast, pleasure so sharp it’s blinding. Her legs shake where they’re hooked over his hips and her back bows up. She thinks she might be drooling, just a little.Oliver laughs, letting her ride it out on his hand whilst lining himself up with the other. “There ya go baby, good fuckin’ morning.”

[kilometermacher]

Polen nochmal: Von Kołobrzeg nach Darłowo

[dollscotton]

20:16 • sᴛᴀʀɢɪʀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ (NSFW)

♡ dom!husband!Seonghwa x sub!housewife!reader

♡ domestic, smut

♡ WC • 1108

♡ Warnings!! (tags) • multiple positions, breeding, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism(?), nipple play, creampie, breeding, multiple orgasms, wet dreams, raking. (pls lmk if I missed anything.)

♡ This has been rotting away in my head but I could never get to writing it. Now I've written it in half an hour listening to 'stargirl interlude' (The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey) on loop. It really helped tbh idk why I didn't think of it sooner 😭. Anyways enjoy, enjoy this while I work on my long fics. Lmk if you want a part two ♡♡.

♡ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

   His hands were on your hips, pelvis meeting with your ass every second. The blue strip light of your cabinet illuminated the black marble below, contrasting with your white almond acrylics that desperately wanted to dig into the material as you felt his cock slip in and out of you.

   Your tits moved forward at every smack, threatening to spill out of your apron until they did, cascading like curtains over the neckline. Back arching, his cock hit into you at a deeper angle, making both of you cry out. He leaned down, grabbing you by the waist and breathing into your neck, his words inaudible due to your ears ringing.

   “My perfect little housewife, letting me fuck you for all of the city to see.” Seonghwa grunted, one of his hands coming up to pinch at your erect nipples. You whimper at the slight pain, grinding your ass against his pelvis before he pushes you down, holding the back of your neck and pounding into you at a rough pace.

   “Hwa!” You squealed, now feeling a tingle down your spine at the thought of someone below potentially seeing you; though it was a bustling city your windows were not tinted and it was nighttime. Everyone had a complete view of you being pounded by your husband. Seonghwa always fucked you like this, it was though he actually wanted someone to see. The clerestory windows of your penthouse give the people a full show of your bare form.

   Your husband slowed his pace. “Shh, baby, you want the neighbors to listen in?” He huffed, giving your cheek a firm slap before picking up his pace again. You shook your head, trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum despite the clapping overriding the noise of your television. Ironic, as you turned your head towards the windows.

   “Your logic does not make any sense,” you whined, city lights reflecting off your eyes. “If they can see me, they should hear me.”

   You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it definitely did not go unnoticed by Seonghwa, who hummed with a smirk forming on his features. “Yeah? You want a noise complaint, pretty?”

   He didn't wait for an answer, leaning over to grab the television remote and turning it off. Tossing it aside he began his pace once more, grabbing your hair and forcing your head up. “Let them hear you.”

   Tears stung at your eyes at the sudden tug, but you didn’t have time to wipe at them as you already felt the knot in your tummy forming. Your knuckles turned white. Your eyes start to roll back as your noises gradually get louder, as do Seonghwa once his balls start to tighten. 

   His hand snakes around to your clit, middle finger working its magic around the pearl as he moans purposefully in your ear. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” He says, making sure to make himself sound extra whiny.

   “,’m cumming,” you blubber, foot thumping against the ground and knee colliding with the cabinet as your lower half spasms around his cock, juices coating him like glaze. Seonghwa’s cock kept moving in and out of you regardless, thrusts starting to stutter and moans getting caught in his throat.

   “Gonna fill you up, 'm gonna fill that pussy…” He trailed off, pausing and holding you firmly against him as he came inside, breeding your little hole. You both groan in contentment, and you pull him out, turning to face him as you sat yourself on the freezing counter. “Again,” you whine, opening your legs.

   Seonghwa didn’t waste any time, pushing back into you and moving at a fluid pace. His arm went up and held the handle of the cabinets above for support, the other hand playing with your tits and wrapping around your throat.

   “Oh fuck me,” you sniffle, looking into his eyes. Your eyes shifted between looking into his and where you two met. He threw his head back, letting out a dry chuckle mixed in with a guttural moan. “You’re fucking crying.” he mused, tightening his grip.

    “I love it, I love it Hwa,” you whimper pathetically, locking your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your grip on the counter’s sharp edges tightened, the edge digging into your palm. Your fingers were going to ache soon. “Love it so much.”

   “You just love this cock so much, baby.” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his sensitive tip. “It’s gonna breed you so much.”

    Seonghwa’s face leaned into yours, taking in your expression. His pretty little housewife, all spread and open for him to breed. The hand that was wrapped around the handle of the counter went down to your thigh, raking his nails into it. His balls started to tighten once more, his cock felt harder inside you. You looked down at where you met before looking back up into his eyes, sharp as slits. 

   Your husband leaned down to suck harshly at your jaw, hand still on your throat, and hand now gliding over your under thigh as he started spurting into you again. The squelching sounds now increased in volume. You could feel the mix of your juices drooling out of your pussy and down to the rim of your asshole, making you moan softly and your eyes shut at the warmness.

   “Pretty girl,” Seonghwa cooed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His hand rubbed your shoulder as the warmness of your body slowly dissolved, only feeling the sweat on your back and wetness between your legs. 

   You slowly opened your eyes as your head came to again, your senses coming down from the intense session. Seonghwa kept crooning at you.

   “That’s a good girl, open your eyes baby.” he said, still rubbing your arm. Your eyes fully opened again, being met with your pillow.

   “You’re awake,” Seonghwa murmured softly, hovering over you. You looked up at him, blinking unnoticed tears away. You could tell by his expression that he was amused, though his eyes were soft as they admired your sleepy features. “,’m felt so good,” you babble mindlessly, thighs closing. The discomfort of sweat now gets to you as you sit up.

   “Poor thing, having wet dreams again. You’re like a pup in its rut, darling.” Seonghwa ruffles your hair, “grinding and wetting against the sheets again. You’re all drenched.”

   You heat up at the revelation, sighing deeply and leaning forward into your husband’s neck in embarrassment, who pets and scratches at your scalp and nape comfortingly. He chuckles softly; “Don’t frown, I’ll take care of you, baby.”

[iamthemain-character]

To Fall

xaden riorson x fem!reader

CW: Canonical violence, brief suggestive language

A/N: I'm currently reading Iron Flame so this is just based off Fourth Wing knowledge! Don't come for me lol

Song: I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier

I feel lighter than I have in so much time

I've crossed the border line of weightless

One deep breath out from the sky

I've reached a rarer height now that I can confirm

All our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

The first sensation you notice when you stir from your rest is the weight of your lover’s arm around your waist. You can feel the way his hand rests just under your breast, gentle compared to its touch just a few hours ago. You keep your eyes closed, savoring the peaceful intimacy of this moment. Your hand lifts from the mattress, trailing your fingers over the lines of his forearms, not needing sight to trace the familiar scars. You’ve gazed at these arms long enough, felt their strength, that you know each muscle as if it is your own.

“Good morning, beautiful.” The husky morning voice of Xaden curls around your ear, the sound traveling straight down to your heart. You feel his hard chest press against your shoulder blades as he pulls you in closer, his warmth permeating your skin, heating you up from the inside out. You could feel the bridge of his nose as he pressed his face into your hair, lips finding the bits of skin through the curtain of hair that fell over your shoulders. His hand pressed a little firmer against your ribs, as if he could meld you into his body through sheer strength. Not that you would have minded; you never felt as complete as you did when you were right against Xaden.

It was difficult to say what moments with Xaden were your favorite. He was an all consuming sort of lover, always giving his most in every second he spent in your presence. Yet the soft mornings, when the sun had not yet dared to cast her gaze over the earth, you perhaps cherished most. Xaden was entirely yours in those moments; not a Wingleader, not the leader of a rebellion, but just the man who loved you. And the man you loved fiercely in return. The bond between the two of you felt as fierce as dragons’, a desperate need to be near one another, to share in every part of your being.

Unlike dragons, however, the world tore the two of you apart. Your assignment to the front lines brought a chill into your bed, one that not even all of Xaden’s affection could brush away. You longed to give into his touches, the kisses that made you feel as if you were high above the world, but the knowledge that every minute brought you closer to your departure forced you to be sensible.

“You’re thinking.” Xaden murmurs, the plush of his lips ghosting over the curve of your ear.

“Always.” You sigh in return, turning your head to look into his eyes. There’s a shine in his Onyx irises, a light that you proudly note you bring to his life. You reach up your hand, trailing it over the path of stubble that covers his jawline. He makes a sound of contentment, one that you feel rumble in his chest, and he presses his head further into your touch.

“You’re going to need to write down all of those pretty thoughts for me.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against your palm, following the map of its creases.

“Most of them are going to be about you anyways.” You give a soft breath of laughter, knowing you would willingly write down every word for him if he asked.

“Even better.” He insists, moving his kisses to the pulsepoint at your wrist, as if he could kiss your very heart. “That means they’ll match mine.”

Your chest swells, and suddenly it's like your ribs have been cinched in, making your throat close in on itself. Your eyes prick with tears, and you blink rapidly, trying to push them away. You slip your hand to the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers with the messy curls, savoring the silky sensation. “I’m going to miss you.” You whisper, the words only audible for Xaden, as if the walls themselves will hear you and shame your vulnerability. But here, in the bed, with only his ears listening in, you know you can allow yourself the emotions too often denied in the life of a rider.

“As will I.” Xaden replies, his tone low and gentle. “But you will be back soon.” He says the words so easily, voice as calm as the morning itself. But his arms tighten their hold on you, his hands pressing flat against your hip and your stomach, pulling your body as tightly against his as possible without crushing you. There's a desperation in his hold, and you think that he may be clinging to you rather than holding. Every time you leave, there's the unspoken knowledge between the two of you that you may not return. The uncertainty of life comes with the job, and with the warlike state on the front lines, mercy has turned her gaze away from the world.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Your words are soft, but your tone is underlined with a plea. You know all too well how Xaden pushes himself when you are not there, pushing himself beyond his limit in his efforts to fulfill all the roles that fall on his–alebit perfect–shoulders.

“You’re the one we should be worrying about.” Xaden murmurs, his hands turning your body over so you’re facing him. His hand leaves your hip, coming up to stroke back your messy hair. “I hate knowing that I won’t be there to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.” You reassure him, your words truthful. You have more than enough skills to fend for yourself, and years of experience have trained you to be a dangerous opponent.

Xaden’s thick brows furrow, drawing together between his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.” He growls, his fingers on your waist digging in a little, most likely adding a few more bruises to his marks littering your body. “I should be there to protect you, to make sure that you’re safe. I don’t want anyone laying a hand on you.”

The fire in his words burns straight to your heart, making your skin tingle with the warmth. Even though it's not possible to let Xaden defend you at all times, the very knowledge that he would so passionately protect you from all harm makes you fall in love a little more. “You’re needed here. The cadets have so much to learn, and they really can’t protect themselves.” You pause, your voice softening. “Especially yours.”

He nods, and you watch his shoulders tense as he is reminded of all the people he is responsible for. You’ve traced those 107 scars more times than you could count, kissed everyone as a silent promise to help him. So much rode on keeping those boys and girls safe.

“Just promise you’ll come back to me.” He says, his dark voice tinted with need.

“Always.”

And though I burn how could I fall?

When I am lifted by every word you say to me

If anything could fall at all, it's the world

That falls away from me

The hands of smoke are curled around your esophagus, choking out every last clean breath from your lungs. Your entire body ached, encrusted in your flight leathers from the amount of blood that you had been bathed in. Furthermore, it was unclear how much was yours versus the enemy’s, but you kept pushing yourself, knowing there would be no peace until every one of the Poromish fighters backed off, or more tragically, were dead. Your heart hurt even more than your wounded body when you thought of the innocent people who were dying, wondering how Nevarre would twist this battle to be blamed on the Gryphon riders and not the true enemy.

You climbed back onto your dragon, the two of you taking to the skies to evaluate the battlefield. The landscape was a nightmare painted by the cruelest of artists, the dirt turned to reddish mud from the sheer amount of blood spilt. It was a small relief to see the battle finally winding down, though it may only be because there was no one left to fight. You and your dragon flew out to the edge of the wards, continuing to look for anywhere that your aide might be needed.

Suddenly, your stomach turned into a sinkhole, swallowing up any seed of relief that might have been planted. The edge of the wards had moved, evidently from further weakening of the stones, and suddenly you and your dragon were exposed. Your dragon quickly banked left to dive back into the safety of Nevarre, but just a second too late. You felt metal hit your neck, right at the junction of your shoulder, pain shooting out like lightning from the point of impact. Your functionality disappeared with the jolt of pain, as suddenly you felt nothing at all. Except, the world was tilting, and rather than seeing the neck of your dragon, you were looking up at it, watching as it grew smaller and smaller. In the haze that surrounded your brain, you wondered if you were falling.

You wondered if Xaden had eaten that morning.

And then you thought nothing at all as darkness consumed you.

You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

While you're as heavy as the world

That you hold your hands beneath

Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

You were warm. Your entire body seemed to protest against its existence, but you were warm. And surrounded by softness. You opened your eyes–the action taking more effort than it should–and had to blink away the blearyness that blurred your vision. As you looked at the ceiling, noting the beams of dark wood that arched the ceiling, you couldn’t help but think that this looks like Xaden’s bedroom in Aretia.

Your eyes confirmed your suspicions as they slowly moved over the room, spotting the familiar wardrobe, dresser, and desk. All of which were places that you were familiar for far less than innocent reasons, but knew nonetheless. Hope slipped out of its cocoon, fluttering her new wings in your heart as you looked towards the door, looking for the owner of both the room and your heart. And your hope took flight, soaring through your body as you saw Xaden’s head resting atop his arm, his tall body slumped over the edge of the bed. His other hand grasped yours, a desperate need in his grip even as he slept.

You had seen the way his hands could wield daggers, swords, clubs even–not to mention the dark and powerful shadows that he could conjure with barely any movement at all. But to you, those hands held up your entire world. You knew that his calloused palms could hold you in a way that took away any fear, could convince you of his deepest affections, and could bestow a love within yourself so deep that you forgot to be insecure.

Softly, you ran your thumb over the curve of his knuckles, smiling to yourself as you gazed at your beloved. Despite your stiff muscles, you pushed through the ache to shift downward on the bed, curling up beside his head. At the sensation of the mattress dipping, Xaden’s head shot up, his hand constricting around yours. For a moment, his eyes are dark and wild, as if he’s ready to manifest that darkness around whoever threatens him. But then he focuses on you, and immediately they soften into the gentle depths that you’ve lost yourself in countless times.

“My love…” Xaden’s voice is hoarse, the usual strength gone as water wells in his eyes. His fingers flex as he resists gripping you so tightly, afraid he’ll break you.

“Hi.” Your own voice is soft, scratchy as it begs for water. But what’s more important is having the love of your life closer, and so you open your arms, wanting to feel Xaden fill them. He immediately responds, up from his seat in a flash and letting the mattress take his weight. His own arms envelope you, barely restrained from simply crushing your body to his chest. Your arms feel weak from lack of use, but you grip onto the man as tightly as you can, your fingers finding root in his dark curls.

You press your nose into the little gap between his neck and his uniform, inhaling deeply. An ocean of scent fills your mind, washing your body over with comfort and ease. He smells like the tall pines that surround Aretia, of the dark leather that was molded to his form, and the warm skin that laid underneath. It was the scent of home.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Xaden’s voice is a growl, but you know him well enough to hear the worry and care in the rough words.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You whisper softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his stubbled jaw.

Xaden lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening on your nightdress, seemingly unconvinced that you’re not going to suddenly disappear. “I should have been there.”

“There was no way you could have been.” You counter, trying to soothe him.

“I should have been there to protect you.” Xadens voice comes out dangerously low, frustration dripping off his words.

“You have a duty-”

“My duty is to you, dammit.” He takes a deep breath, trying to control his voice. “There is nothing I would prioritize over you. Let them strip my rank from me, let this whole rebellion fall apart again, I will not lose you.” Xaden murmurs the words like they’re an oath, like he needs you to let him dedicate his life to you. “If I need to live and die at your hand, then so be it. You are the only thing that matters. Nothing else.”

For a long moment, your words fail you, Xaden’s passionate vow stealing any protest or promise from your mind. “I love you” simply wasn’t enough to convey the depth of emotion and connection the two of you shared.

You leaned back a little, fingers brushing the curls at the nape of his neck as you gazed into his gleaming onyx eyes. “Then live at my hand.” You softly request, your own voice as insistent. “I don’t want your sacrifice. I want you, here, with me, until we both draw our final breaths.”

Now, it was Xaden’s turn to lack a response, the words weighing heavily on his heart. His whole adult life, he had been prepared to die for his cause, for what he believed in. But to live for something? To live for you? It was something he never considered; but if it was all you wanted, then by the gods he would do it.

“I’ll live for you, my love.” He murmurs, and he brings your empty hand to his lips, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers, then down to the palm, and finally kissing your pulse point. Your wrist throbbed steadily, reminding him of just how precious living was.

Leave it now, I am sky-bound

If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

We'll float away, but if we fall

I only pray, don't fall away from me

Xaden meant it literally when he said he would live and die at your hand. He did not leave your side unless absolutely necessary, and even then he’d always drag one of his friends in to watch over you, despite your protests that you were fine. Still, it was a little endearing, seeing how much he cared for you.

The healing process was slow, the poison from the arrow having done a lot of damage to your body. But you made steady recovery, taking the medicine you needed to, getting rest as well, though the latter often had to be enforced by Xaden himself. It worked both ways, however, as you would often convince the man of shadows to rest as well by welcoming him into the warm bed.

Walking proved to be the most difficult task during your healing period. Your body had been so violently ill with the poison, as well as the wounds you took during the actual battle, that you had been greatly weakened. That, in addition to you being bed ridden for some time, only added to the issue. When you started to literally get back on your feet, however, Xaden’s arms held you, preventing you from collapsing, encouraging every step. In the moments when you would grow too fatigued, he’d scoop you into those same arms to return to his room.

At first, you were frustrated with your inability to do such a basic thing, feeling like a dead weight on Xaden’s shoulders. But as each day passed, you came to cherish those walks through the halls of his home, his arm around your waist, warm and sure. Xaden himself relaxed more during those times, allowing himself to speak freely and enjoy the borrowed time you two shared.

It was during one of these outings that the two of you wandered down a hallway you had previously not explored. It was quiet, with a few pieces of art or items that had been salvaged from the original house. And then your eyes landed on a portrait; it was vast, spreading across the majority of the wall, showing off the smallest of details the artist put in. There was a man, strong and proud, and a woman beside him, looking gentle and wise. But what drew your eye the most was the depiction of the young boy between them, head held high, dark onyx eyes staring directly at the viewer.

The same onyx eyes that stared at you.

“Thats Mom and Dad.” Xaden’s voice is soft, sounding more vulnerable and childlike than you have ever heard before. You glance at him, seeing the bittersweet smile that ghosts over his features. His strong hand grips at your waist a little tighter, as if he needs a reminder that you’re still here, that he didn’t lose you too.

“You look just like your father.” You remark, your voice as tender as your beating heart for Xaden and his family that you’ll never get to meet. “But your smile is like your mother’s.”

Xaden’s smile grows more real, his eyes looking over you, full of gratitude and hope from your words. “She would have liked you. Both of them, I think.”

“I would hope so.” You muse, studying the people in the portrait. You wonder what it would have been like to actually know them, to be able to note what traits your beloved shared with his parents. Seeing the portrait of his father seemed so different from the traitorous man depicted in all of the history books. “What was he really like?”

Xaden tensed beside you, as if the thought of what you must “know” about his father made him defensive. Yet he just squeezed your waist, perhaps a reminder to himself that you weren’t there to burn his memories too. “He was a good man. Not perfect, but a good man. The kind I wish I could be.”

For a moment you let the weight of his words sink onto the two of you, the air thick with the hopes and fears that formed your very lives. You both knew that you and Xaden would carry the blood on your hands for the rest of your lives; even if you won the war, there would never be a moment you could truly say that you were good. But perhaps Xaden’s father felt the same.

“We’re going to finish what he started.” You say quietly, placing your hand over Xaden’s heart. The motion draws his gaze to you, his eyes seeming to come back from whatever far off place his mind sailed to. “We’re going to make this world the kind he would have wanted.”

Xaden doesn’t say anything, just placing his calloused hand on top of yours, his thumb stroking your cool skin. “He wanted things to be better for me.” He whispers, his voice raspy with choked emotion. “I want things to be better for our kids. I want them to be able to choose who they are.”

The idea of “our kids” doesn’t go unnoticed, making your heart flutter as you are reminded just how much Xaden truly wants a future with you. “We’re making things better for all of us. For our friends, our future kids…” You pause, smiling a little, “For us. And we’ll be able to share the story of just how wonderful your father truly was.’

You could have been an angel from above, the way Xaden gazed at you as you spoke; his eyes were reverent, full of devotion, holy and unholy. “For us.” He echoes, like it's another vow to strengthen his heart. A vow that he seals with a kiss to your lips.

I do not have wings, love, I never will

Soarin' over a world you are carryin'

If these heights should bring my fall

Let me be your own

Icarian carrion

Once you fully recovered, Xaden still wanted to keep you in Aretia. The very idea of you returning to Baisgaith just to possibly be sent away again didn’t settle well with his protective heart. Still, you were determined, and just as stubborn as he was, so he begrudgingly agreed that you would return with him.

Despite your lover’s disgruntled attitude towards your decision, the flight back was gratifying for both of you. Side by side, your dragons never strayed from one another, and neither did the two of you. During the few stops that were made, Xaden was quick to encase you in his arms, often allowing himself to indulge in some kisses that increased the time of your journey. If Xaden had been doting before, the near loss of you had only made him even more devoted to claiming every moment he could.

This only became more apparent once the two of you returned to Baisgaith, reciting your perfected story of your terrible injury and how Xaden had managed to nurse you back to health. Leadership, of course, wanted to take you away so they could get the full report;you could have sworn Xaden was a dragon himself from his barely contained irritation at being forced to leave your side.

It wasn’t until the sun had set that you were finally allowed to return to your quarters, having had the details of your experience laid out and rehashed time and time again. Leadership could not find a flaw in your story, however, and eventually let you go with a welcome back to the citadel. You were a little tired, pent up with frustration at your lying authorities, and ready to be back in Xaden’s arms.

Your feet barely had time to step through the door, however, before shadows consumed you, slamming the door shut, nearly splintering it off the hinges. Immediately, heat rose in your body, Xaden’s desire palpable through the little control he had over his powers.

“Finally.” His voice whispers, low and husky with lust against your neck, his nose pressing into the soft skin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come get you myself.”

You inhale deeply, the distinctive smell that you know and adore filling your senses as you lean back against his strong body. He’s already shirtless, his heated skin making you wonder how long he was waiting for you, like a predator ready to pounce and claim. “You know how long these things go. Trying to make sure I’m not a traitor.”

“Of course.” He darkly chuckles, pressing warm, open mouth kisses up the curve of your neck, biting softly behind your ear. “Don’t you know I’m filling your head with all kinds of nasty plans?”

“You certainly fill my head with filthy thoughts, my love, but I don’t think it's the kind the government cares about.” You hum in reply, smiling to yourself as you feel his hands wander down your body.

His long fingers find the buckles of your flight leathers, popping them open with practiced ease. “Well well, perhaps it should be my turn to interrogate that pretty little mind of yours.” His voice curls into a coil in your stomach, stirring up your desire. “I would love to know just what I can make you imagine.” His hands continue their work on your pants, continuing the progressive removal of your layers.

Once you’re undressed, he spins you around, his hands ghosting over the shape of your body before settling on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow below the bone, his fingers splaying over the curve of your ass. It’s not unlike watching your dragons lay claim to their possessions, the way he grips onto you, but his possessive nature only stokes the fire in your belly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss over your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Gods, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You murmur your honest reply, your skin tingling with the sensation of his touch.

“I mean it.” He murmurs, biting at your collarbone before lifting his gaze to meet yours. “My whole heart, it belongs to you. I am completely, madly, and truly in love with you.”

Xaden is always such a man of action that you’ve never really had to doubt if he loved you. But as the words melt over your body, casting warmth like the early morning sun, you are taken by just how truly loved you are. “I feel the same.” Your words hardly seem equal, but Xaden’s smile reassures you that he is pleased.

“I want you to always be mine.” His voice has dropped, as if he wants only you to hear his words. His dark eyes glimmer in the little light of the room, making your stomach turn with anticipation. “I want to be able to love you for the rest of our lives. I want to have a life with you by my side.”

You watch as Xaden takes your left hand into his, his calloused palms comforting against your own smaller hands. His thumb brushes over your ring finger, sending a thrill through your heart.

“I can’t make you any promises right now.” Xaden murmurs, love radiating off of every single syllable that leaves his lips. “And I want to do this properly when the time comes, with a ring, and a beautiful setting. I want to get down on one knee so you know that I’m serious when I say I want to worship you for the rest of my life.” He looks up, finding your eyes, giving a small, tender smile. “But for now, all I can ask is that you’ll be mine. In whatever comes our way, whether we have one minute together or one hundred years, I want to know that I get to give my time to you. If you’ll have me.”

You blink, your eyes filling with water as you listen to his words. “Xaden…”You whisper, your voice choked with emotion. You swallow your heart, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you cup his jaw, thumbs stroking the stubble there. “No matter how far we go, no matter what we do…I am yours. Truly and irrevocably. Even if we fall, I won’t fall away from you.”

Xaden feels his own eyes smart with unshed tears, and so he gathers you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. You can hear him murmur soft “thank you”s and “I love you”s against your skin, his hands running down your back. You smile at his reaction, and you slip your hand into his hair, lifting his face enough so you can press your lips against his, pouring out your heart to him through your touch. Xaden immediately reciprocates, his heart always hungry for you, and his lips move demandingly, pulling you in deeper.

He lets out a needy huff, and his hands find your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. “Let me show you how much I love you.” He requests against your lips, sounding like a man desperate for water.

“I’m all yours.”

Xaden holds nothing back as he kisses you again, his tongue demanding its way between your lips, savoring your taste on his lips. He swiftly moves across the room, his bed becoming his altar as he lays you down onto it. He takes a moment, eyes moving over your body, as if he could commit every mark and line to memory. He takes your hands, his own strong and capable, but gentle as they hold you, and he presses kisses over the ridges of your knuckles. “And I, my love..I am all yours.”

If the wind turns, if I hit a squall

Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

If I should fall, on that day

I only pray, don't fall away from me

“Fen Xander Riorson, be nice to your sister!”

Xaden smiled to himself, hearing your voice carry over the springtime air. The sun was setting over the mountains of Aretia, the new grass soft under his body. As far as his eye could see, he saw the prosperous new settlements, the homes and businesses of his friends and family thriving within the new age. It was a sight he thought would only ever be fantasy at one point.

As he feels your familiar hands smooth over his shoulders, your soft lips pressing against his temple, he is reminded just how real his life is.

“That is your son.” You murmur in his ear, coming to sit beside him on the flowering hill.

Xaden chuckles softly, reaching out to snake an arm around your waist. “Our son.” He reminds you, nuzzling into your hair, inhaling your scent. Even after all these years and two kids, he still feels the intense need to just have you. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”

You huff, feigning indignation, but your wide smile gives away your true feelings. You lean against Xaden’s side, watching as your son ignores any reprimands and continues to chase his squealing little sister through the field. “He gets his rebellious side from you.”

Xaden lets out a small snort of laughter, his arm tightening around your waist. He doesn’t deny it, knowing that the two children both take after their parents. It was his greatest joy, being able to watch the very humans the two of you had created grow up and discover themselves. You had fulfilled your promise, after all; the world they knew was much kinder to them than it had been to him. His marks and his scars would always remind him of that.

Xaden’s gaze looks over you, the form of his beloved wife, and it only makes his smile grow. Gray hairs are beginning to intermix with your natural color, denoting the time that has passed within your body. You moan and complain about them, but he sees them as a mark that you two not only survived, but lived. Truly lived. And now, the fruits of your labor only grew in abundance every day.

“I love you.” He softly murmurs in your ear,, his hand brushing away the hair so he can press a kiss to your neck.

You smile up at him, a little surprised at the sudden words, but delighted by them nonetheless. “And I love you.” You reply, your words full of truth and affection.

The two of you return to watching the children play, and the sun continues to disappear with the last few moments of day. But now, you and Xaden simply note it as a passing thought, your love no longer on borrowed time. The night will only bring another day, with the promise of letting you cherish every moment, never to be parted again

[harbours-lighthouse]

hii i hope youre doing well. i really love your writing (especially your dc stuff) and i was wondering if you would be open to doing one in which the reader finds out they’re infertile. maybe with jason? the reader doesn’t react much at first because they never really wanted kids but then it just hits them that that choice was taken from them altogether now and they kind of spiral

(i totally understand if you’re not comfortable with this topic since it is really heavy. I appreciate you and your writing nonetheless have a lovely day <3)

𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

⁀➴ pairing: jason todd x f!reader

summary — you and jason spoke about kids, but neither of you thought that now was the time. being newly-wed meant that there were other things to worry about— jobs, housing, groceries, etc— but when you go for your usual check up at the only clinic in gotham that doesn't smell rank or employ questionable doctors, you're faced with something neither you or jason thought to consider.

author's note — hi my love! i am so sorry it took me so long to get to this. i hope it's okay! i appreciate you so much and thank you for sending in your request in the first place! God bless <3

cw: infertiliy; doctor's appointments; anxiety; grief; general angst (dash of comfort in there too) wc: 2.9k divider credit: @/tsunami-of-tears

THE WEDDING BAND sits heavily on your finger today. No longer an extension of your skin, nothing but a raised surface along the circumference of your digit.

But there is something even heavier sitting in the pit of your stomach, coiled up tightly. You imagine a snake nestled in your gut, knotted and slippery, hissing nervously.

Bile tickles up your throat. With a sharp inhale, you unclench your grip around the rim of the basin, glancing up at the mirror and the ruddy colour in your cheeks. 

You shouldn’t be feeling this nervous. 

With fingers that tremble, you swipe away lingering toothpaste from the corner of your mouth, and leave the cramped bathroom. 

The curtains are drawn closed, but through the gaps in the fabric, you can make out Gotham’s cloudy sky, the colour of iron. Already, you know it will be cold outside, so you change into a thicker jersey shirt, and contemplate wearing hand warmers too. 

Brushing those aside, as the energy to lace your shoes is already too much to handle, you double check in the full-length mirror, settled in the corner of the bedroom, that you look as presentable and as ‘okay’ as you should be.

Why are you so nervous? 

The gentle clink of cutlery in the kitchen slowly pulls you out of the bedroom, but anxiety trails behind you. 

Walking down the hallway and entering the main living space, you’re greeted immediately by the rich scent of toast.

With his back turned to you, Jason languidly scrapes butter across the scratchy surface of the bread, shoulder blades shifting with each miniscule movement.

The snake in your stomach loosens. 

Slowly, you pad over to him, knowing he can hear you. You gently tap your fingers along his ribs, feeling the curve of muscle and bone, before curling your arms around his waist. You press your cheek against his back, flesh against flesh. He’s considerably colder than you, and it soothes the heat lingering underneath your skin. 

“Morning,” Jason murmurs quietly, barely a breath. 

You hum, feeling too tired to say much of anything. 

Jason slides one hand behind him, squeezing the meat of your arm gently. 

“I have to go in a minute,” you manage to push out, though you shift to mumble the words against his skin. You picture them sticking to the soft flesh before sinking into his muscle, then the marrow of his bones. 

You wonder if he thinks of your body as a vessel carrying the words people say just as much as you think of his—a boat with words and meanings and symbols sloshing at the bottom, threatening to spill over the edges. 

If Jason were a vessel in the physical form, you imagine a small, humble sailboat. Nothing big. Nothing fancy. But practical. Sturdy. Able to withstand a good storm.

“What clinic are you going to?”

You blink, bringing yourself back to the present. 

“The Thompkins Clinic,” you answer softly. “It’s on Park Row.” 

“Yeah, I know. Leslie’s good. You seeing her?” 

Jason shifts on his feet, and you instinctively move with him, though your arms remain wrapped around him. 

“Yes—I made sure to book an appointment with her specifically. Dick was singing praises about her work.” 

“Hm. I’m sure he was.” 

Water from the tap gushes, the sound rushing inside your ears. You hear the clink of a knife hitting the bottom of the metal sink, the disruption of water as Jason washes his hands. 

You’ve never known why he washes his hands whenever he does anything in the kitchen, but you figure it’s an OCD sort of thing. You don’t blame him, you’ve got weird things too.

“What will you be doing while I’m gone?” you ask. 

Your cheek lifts with the gentle rise of Jason’s ribcage, the swell of his lungs as he inhales audibly. 

“Probably look over a case. This one’s been eating at me.” 

“I could tell.” 

“Always can, huh?” 

“Always.” 

Jason’s hands migrate to yours, and gently pry them away, unhooking your grip around him. At first, a cold shard of worry pierces through your chest. Was he going to slip away from your touch, migrate to another part of the house? Would he make you leave with your thoughts swarming your head like a frantic flock of birds? Would there be no kiss goodbye—

Thick arms wrap around your frame, the tightly coiled muscle soft to you and only you. Breathing out the anxiety that had fluttered between your lungs, you bury your face against Jason’s shoulder and let the panic dissipate from your chest. 

When it comes down to Jason, words aren’t always readily accessible. He’s not like Dick who can spin an enchanting sonnet on a whim to woo whoever he pleases. He’s not like Tim or Bruce who manage to sway someone towards a company deal within a manner of seconds. Nor is he like Damian who can only ever speak as if he’s rehearsing for a theatrical play, minus the Old English. 

No, Jason doesn’t find words easily, and his tongue often can’t wrap around them. So he does other things for you, if only to communicate in some small way that he’s thinking about you—though you never fully understand the extent of how much he thinks of you.

In this instant, you know that his pulse beats against your skin with the intent of telling you that he’s here—with you—and that he’ll remain here when you return home. 

With a deep, trembling sigh, you slowly peel yourself away from Jason’s hold. Meeting his gaze, you find his eyes already carefully tracing over your features, and you can imagine him filing away the small details.

Bags under eyes. Mouth drooping. Tired eyes. 

You smile softly with all the warmth you can muster. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

Jason nods, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide across your face, before landing on your lips. 

“Better,” he murmurs, before pressing a tender kiss to your lips. His wedding band glints in the pale morning light. He lingers. Lets you savour the taste of coffee on his tongue.

— 

The clinic smells like antiseptic and powdery flowers. Sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, you tap the heel of your foot anxiously on the linoleum floor. A red-faced child wails on her mother’s lap, snot bubbling from her nose. A little boy with his finger stuck in the neck of a coke bottle vibrates with embarrassment next to an older, gruffer looking man—either an older brother or his father, and an elderly lady sits next to you, reeking of musky perfume and periodically spitting into her handkerchief. 

At least the place is clean, you think to yourself, and admittedly, if any of the Bats speak highly of an individual in Gotham City—a healthcare professional especially—then you’re going to take their word for it.

Footsteps shuffle along the floor, before you hear your name being called out in a bored, questioning tone. Feeling like a student jumping up for roll-call, you perk upright in your seat and see a middle aged nurse standing at the end of a hallway, dark skin carved with age lines and heavy-lidded eyes scanning across the different faces in the waiting room. 

Adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you step up and walk briskly towards the nurse, who seems less than enthusiastic to appear chippery and sweet. She briefly gestures for you to follow her down the hallway.

She seems like a no-nonsense kind of woman who’s probably worked as a nurse longer than you’ve been alive. 

Wordlessly, the nurse leads you down the hallway with doors painted a gunmetal blue and punctuating each wall to your left and right. The air feels sharper to breathe, stinging your lungs with lingering antiseptic. It must be like a stain in a carpet with how distinct the smell is and how it always remains present in the air long after its use. 

Stopping in front of one of the doors, your gaze slides over the metallic plaque nailed to the wood. 

Dr. Leslie Thompkins - Internal Medicine

The snake inside your gut twists and for a brief, horrific moment, you think you might heave it up and out of your mouth, along with the coffee you had in the morning. 

You probably should have actually eaten something—you know Jason will berate you for it later, too. 

The nurse presses her palm against the door and pushes it open, and gestures with her eyes for you to enter. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, you slip into the room. 

Just like the rest of the clinic, the walls are painted a frosted white, though posters of medical diagrams and anatomical illustrations are sporadically clustered around.

The examination table sits like a coffin to your right, and opposite is a cluttered desk where a tall, thin woman sits. 

She swivels in her chair and eyes the colour of grass settle on you. They narrow, as if piercing through your skin to see what lies beneath, to see what’s wrong with you. 

Then she smiles, thin-lipped, but sincere all the same. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Thompkins, but you’re more than welcome to call me Leslie.” 

The informality of it confuses you, but you don't question it.

You smile and take a seat in the chair tucked against the desk. The cushions are soft, almost gummy-like to fall into. You offer your name with another flickering smile, and Leslie places her hands neatly in her lap. 

“Alright. Now, what will we be doing today?” 

You hate it when doctors start off with that, but you answer with a subdued tone regardless. 

“Everything.”

“Everything?” 

You smile weakly. “Everything.”

— 

You needed to walk home. Needed the smack of cold air across your face. The chance to let oxygen surge through your lungs like flooding water.

“It doesn’t seem likely…” 

Dr. Thompkins had trailed off, something that seemed out of character for her. You imagined with her stern mouth and knowing eyes that she would be more forthcoming about the truth. Had she not been a doctor for years? Is she not well-acquainted with the patterns of revelation and grief? 

Anger flares beneath your skin as you cross the street; the wind snaps at curled leaves as orange and vibrant as the sun. 

Why did she hesitate? Why did she approach you as if you were a skittish deer? Did she think you were weak? Fragile? Sensitive?

I’m none of those things, you think to yourself earnestly, and the anger fades slowly. It’s not her fault—she doesn’t truly know you. She doesn’t know that you and Jason have talked about this already.

She doesn’t know that you weren't truly looking for that sort of future. 

Pink patches of sky are visible between pearly clouds, hints of orange tainting the soft hue like spilled ink. The roads are beginning to crowd with taxi cabs and pedestrians, congealing into a blur of movement and noise—the incessant honking is doing nothing for the growing headache in the back of your skull. 

You left that clinic feeling as if you were floating. Your body wasn’t yours, the sounds around you were faraway, and the shoulders and elbows you were walking into were hardly felt. Only Leslie’s words rattled inside your head like a chapel bell, ringing out a mournful tune that you couldn’t discern the meaning of. 

But as you dart in front of a taxi cab and see the squishy face of a child pressed up against the glass with bright eyes and pink cheeks, everything changes. The snake inside your gut coils and grows bigger, heavier. You feel as if it’s growing so big it might burst inside of you, and you’ll have to hurl your insides out onto the pavement. 

Gulping in air at fast intervals that taste like exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke, you practically stumble blindly down familiar streets. You don’t need to look at the names of the streets, instead your feet take you along a familiar path with the ease of a child. 

A child. 

A child.

A child.

You never wanted a child of your own, right? 

The sound of your voice startles you, and you realise that you said that out loud.

Is that true? You never wanted a child? 

The door to your house waits in front of you, and the curved window at the top glints in the fading light of the sun, and you know that inside it’s letting painted light spill across the floor in the hallway.

You need Jason. 

Jamming and twisting your keys inside the keyhole, you all but shove the door open. The doorknob slams against the wall, and your bag falls from your shoulder to the floor with a thud. 

“Jason!” you call out, voice quivering. 

There’s a scramble of noise near the back of the house where the study is, and Jason’s broad frame jumps into your line of sight. His eyes darken with worry when they fixate on you.

You stand in the entranceway with your hands trembling. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you choke out. Your throat feels as if barbed wire is wrapped tightly around it, cutting into your larynx. 

Jason rushes towards you, one hand finding your bicep and tugging you forward, the other flinging the door shut. 

“What are you talking about?” Jason’s voice rises with worry, and it makes the snake in your belly writhe with guilt. 

Shaking your head, you stammer, “I-I don��t know—she just—I don’t know why I’m so upset about this—” 

Heavy hands move to cradle your neck. A thumb presses against your pulse. 

“Sweetheart,” Jason says slowly, calmly, and you force yourself to look at him directly.

“You have to tell me what’s going on in that pretty brain of yours,” he whispers. 

Feeling as if you’re standing on glass rather than firm ground, you glance at the couch in the living room with shaking lips. Jason catches the look, and just as easily as if you had told him, he leads you to it with his hand pressing against the small of your back.

He gently eases you onto the cushions, and takes a seat beside you. His hands find yours, engulfing them in warmth and calluses.

Jason murmurs your name. “Talk to me.” 

You remain silent for a short pause, not daring to say anything until you feel as if you’ve managed to gather enough strength inside your vocal chords. 

“I can’t have children, Jay…” you say softly. 

Jason’s breath stutters along the way as he exhales. His brows pinch inward. 

“Is that what Leslie said?” he asks after a tense pause, head dipping forward as if he wants to trap the words between you, keep them there. 

You nod your head.

“And she’s sure—” 

“Yes, Jason,” you murmur. “She’s sure. She showed me the results from the tests.” 

For a long moment, neither of you say anything. You feel like you’re drowning. Not even the waves of heat pouring from Jason’s body can ground you. You’re thrashing and flailing, choking on the sudden realisation that you can’t have this.

And you’re cold. So very, very cold. 

“I don’t know why this hurts, Jay…” you whisper.

Jason shifts, gaze sweeping across your intertwined hands. 

You can see the conflict in his eyes playing out like a scene in a Shakespearian play. He’s not good at this—the difficult things that come with relationships, with marriage. For a brief moment, you feel paralysed by fear. Afraid of what he might say, or what he won’t say. 

“Jason—”

“You should have had a choice.” 

Whatever you were going to say next dies on your tongue. You flounder, mouth opening without anything to say. 

Jason looks up at you through lowered brows, his tone carrying a layer of hurt that’s different to any other kind of pain you’ve seen from him. 

“You should have had a choice. That’s why this hurts.” 

His words feel like fingers digging into your chest, cracking open your ribs to expose the ache slowly growing inside. Like a chain reaction of a dam breaking, however cliche, you feel the first wave of tears burn the back of your eyes. 

“I should have had a choice,” you whisper, and your voice cracks just as your resolve does.

Just as Jason’s heart does. 

Tipping into Jason’s chest, you’re gathered into his arms as tears flood your eyes. Salt burns your cracked lips. Bile rises in your throat as each sob rattles between your lungs.

This isn’t fair. 

Jason’s arms tighten around you as if he heard those words himself—but you know that he feels it as deeply as you do. 

So he holds you, and you hold him in return. Pain throbs inside your chest. A choked wail is muffled into his shoulder, and your fingers tighten around the folds in his shirt.

“Shhh,” Jason soothes into your skin, pressing his lips there as if to seal the comfort into your flesh. Mark it there. Tattoo it.

You hold each other in the dying light, feeling lost with nothing beneath your feet. Nothing to catch you when you fall, other than each others’ arms. You sit in the ether, palms pressed against fabric and skin with the intent to keep the pieces glued together, rather than shattering along the floor in a bloody, tear-stained heap.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Jason murmurs, and you let the weight of your heart drop to your lap where it sits between the two of you. 

And you wonder if Jason will place his grief next to yours.

Maybe you’ll both cradle it in your palms, a shared mess of grief over something that never was, and never will be. 

tags: @kitkatlover015 (if you want to be on my tag list for dc stuff, just let me know!) © harbours-lighthouse

[cosmicstrawberrycake]

hange fluff drabble :3

small lil thing about cuddling while i bug everyone for asks and drabble requests eehee :3

GO!!! SEND ME A SILLY ASK- PLEASE, NOT FORCED, ALL THAT JAZZ- SO I CAN PUMP OUT MORE HANGE CONTENT WITH MORE MOTIVATION!! also doing eruri mermay possibly or jearmin mermay and eruri Oregon trail April. I dunno :3

as you blinked awake, you could feel their arms around you again. you couldn't help but smile- hange was warm, and the mumbles in their sleep that included your name made you feel disgustingly warm and fuzzy inside.

the birds chirped loudly outside your window, making you wiggle around to bury your face into hange's collarbone, inhaling their weird little paper-smoke-chicken smell that comforted you so.

luckily, hange was an incredibly strange sleeper, so when you shifted they simply rotated their arms to latch around your back, resting their face on your head.

you could still here them sleep whispering, and it was something like this from what you could hear;

"beloved... not here..."

really? even in dreamland, hange was still a giant hornball?

well, thats not really a surprise, but now of all times is ironic.

it's too comfortable to care- with the soft light coming in through the curtains, the soothing heat of hange's body and the blankets, and their breathing lulling you into a rhythmic little pattern, you couldn't help but fall asleep again.

-

when you woke up for the second time, your face was in between hange's hands as they were quietly cooing at how adorable you were as you slept.

"hans?"

they stopped their fawning, still squeezing your face in between their hands with a stupidly silly smile on their face.

"good morning, sugar. it's nice to see you finally awake."

their voice was so soft you almost thought it wasn't them for a moment- but it was just domestic hange time, not horny hange time. though it can be hard to tell the two apart at times.

when you didn't respond immediately with some snarky comment or a kiss, they squished your cheeks with their hands, activating their sad puppy eyes for attention.

"don't fall asleep on me, darlin'!! i need morning kisses before i can go to work, you know that."

you huffed, opening your eyes and squishing their face in your hands.

"let go of my face, then you'll get kisses."

"but your face is so adorable!"

"more adorable than kisses?"

hange sighs in defeat, removing their hands from your face. with one last little squish of their cheek, you do the same.

so, here comes the inevitable. you promised kisses, and now they are sitting there like a criminally large cat waiting for a treat.

sometimes they were a handful, but god they might just be one of the most lovable humans you’ve ever met.