#SHE IS SO POWERFUL AND STRONG. I LOVE HER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missnightshade · 3 days ago

Text

❝ I WILL REMAIN, LOVE ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Lilia's trial ends with an - almost - irreversible consequence for Agatha's lover.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Almost death experience. Mentions of blood, blades and death (aka Rio). Non canon. English not being my first language.

Word count: 2k and something.

The path narrowed as the Coven walked through it. Looking forward at the long-haired witch that had your heart, you felt that Agatha no longer held the confidence she once had while summoning the Witche's Road. Both of you knew, for sure, that the whole song was a catch. A nice, petty, centuries old trap Agatha created in hopes to gain enough power to bring Nicky back.

A witch’s life was never easy. Just as the world was a malleable cruel thing, so was the days that these powerful women had to go through. Things changed between almost four hundred years back and now, walking this makeshift magical road. Nothing was as it used to be. Yet, Agatha was the only constant in all of the eras of your life. One that didn’t need a real label for you to know that, no matter what happened, it was the two of you against the world.

As the time passed and your legs grew tired, your attention shifted to the teen boy. It wasn’t needed for Agatha to tell you that she, too, was suspicious he was the one manipulating all of that. Agatha was powerless, and you knew it wasn’t you. Jen, Alice and Lilia were powerful, but not enough to bend reality to fit their own agenda.

But Teen, or Billy, emanated strong ancient magic. It was applaudable how the seams between his mind and the reality were almost unnoticeable

“He doesn’t know.” you guessed, falling into Agatha’s steps as the rest of the coven stayed behind, carelessly discussing something trivial.

“What gave it away, love?” she smiled, but her mind was far, far away.

“He got himself deadly hurt. He would have to be insanely dumb to trust one of us would cure him.

“Maybe he is just a dumb boy...” Agatha started out playfully, but seeing your serious face, the shine in her eyes died. You hoped for it to come back. “I know. And this makes...everything harder.”

You felt the witch rambling inside, wishing to measure the weight of explaining her worries, but as she opened her mouth, a cold, sickining body passed between the two of you, harshly separating your shoulders. Rio's sinister smile echoed inside your mind, like she could indeed penetrate herself there. As the sharp blade of hers slid down the middle of her tongue, evil, inviting, you felt the path ahead tuneling before you.

“I see you in the next trial, Y/N.”

And right there, towering in front of both of you as Rio skipped happily towards it, was a dim lit castle with its imponent tower screaming at you. Your steps halted, and Agatha almost bumped into you. You couldn't notice as Rio’s aura still held you hostage there, but your partner, your companion, your constant, eyed you as if she could actually force you out of the road. She knew, you knew, but no one dared to say a thing, afraid of the consequences.

Inside the castle, the clothes changed drastically, almost as you were in a disney witches' reunion. A table of tarot reading stood in the middle of the room, and as Teen rounded the corner, Lilia stopped there.

‘It’s my trial. I should read it.”

There was no questioning, but as the first card was laid upwards on the table, a sharp sword crashed down right by your side. Arms full of worry pulled you in, and your body rested against a scared Agatha. Her heartbeat was rapid against your touch, but as you glanced at RIo, she was nowhere to be found. The celling, full of swords, was just now noticed as the trial’s count down began, lowering above the coven’s head.

“I think we need something more...” desesperadly, Agatha took the deck of cards from Lilia. “Imediate.”

She started to lay cards as if her life depended on it. And, at some point, it did. But card after card, mistake after mistake, more and more swords fell. Some not around you, but mostly too close to be safe.

“Agatha!” Teen screamed, stopping her. “It’s not by chance. This has to be done right.”

The deck of cards was, again, in Lilia’s hand. Even though she managed to find out who the reading reading was for, as the last card was placed and the celling stopped lowering, a heartless, mounstruous sound erupted around the room. Agatha looked behind, breathless, pushing you towards the exit that popped open.

“The Seven are here. Hurry. Everyone out!"

Lilia intended to be the last one out, but as Jen pulled her, there was only you, teen, and Agatha behind. You didn’t notice, but a quiet, sly snake rounded the corner of a pillar, morphing quickly into one of Agatha’s old nemeses. The scare made you tremble, steps a mess as you tried to block down an attack with your own powers. A flash of light sent you and them apart, and as the snake met the side of a blade, you met the other, both fallen from the trial. The sharp pain erupted, but looking behind, Agatha was as surrounded by another four of them. Lilia screamed something that only Teen managed to understand, and as he blasted both of you out, the main card was turned upside down, in time only for him to jump out of the door before the whole trial turned and screams of impaled witches were heard.

The instant died down. Nothing besides agitated breaths could be heard between all of the coven members. You, on the other side, could barely hear anything. Agatha’s voice calling for you was far away, and although you tried to answer, you choked in blood, the taste of the ironed fluid filling your mouth.

“What?” Teen asked Alice, who stared at him like a ghost was right above his shoulders. As he held you still, the protection witch could only point out to your own body falling against Billy’s, pale face, coughing blood till your whole figure hit the floor.

Agatha eyes were shining with tears. The leaves from the trees in Salem that spring were vivid, but not like her eyes. At that time, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something as deeply as “I love you” to the Harkness heir. And as your death seeped into your whole existence, the fear of losing her friendship felt...ridiculous. Her tears fell onto your body. Pierced through with Evanora Harkness’ magic for simply being her daughter support, you were sure that there was no better reason to die.

“Please, Sunshine. Stay with me. It will be okay.” Agatha cried and cried, cradling your body into her arms. Holding you for her dear life, your body slowly became more and more heavy against her lap.

“Shh..Aggy. Don’t cry.” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no physical damage, but your insides rotted by the minute. “This is honestly the best option to die. In your arms, you know?”

She scoffed, trying to pull your head up as if a miracle would happen. She was not only sad and griefing but also mad and frustrated.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to die.”

You regarded her tiredly, too tired to even speak. But you knew that there was no way death would collect you before Agatha was sure it wasn’t her fault. And how loved she was.

“Aggy...this is unfruitful. We both know it.” you swallowed your desperation to part ways with the living world. “Just hear me out, Angel. You were the best, best thing I could have in my life. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Don’t forget that. I would die a thousand times in your arms.”

She blinked, tears falling onto your forehead. Last time, your voice grounded her as her own magic saved your from death. But now, as Rio appeared again, there was nothing from you besides the blood that ran to the floor from a large perforation you suffered from falling against the tip of a sword without even noticing in all that commotion. Agatha blamed herself again. You were on the road because of her. Because of her restless search for power. Looking at your pale face and shallow breath almost dissipating, she felt for the first time in her life since her son’s birth that she didn’t need any magic if she could, perhaps, keep you.

“You know you can’t.” Rio’s voice echoed, but as the witches around your lifeless body moved around to recreate the spell used on Billy, Agatha stared at her. “You walked hand in hand with me for so long, Agatha. You, above anyone, should understand how life and death works.“

“Don’t!”, the witches voice screamed back, and the strength it held made Rio stop marching forward. “She can’t die. It’s not her time.”

“But it is.” death answered, showing her half skull face only Agatha could see. “She gave you everything. Her time has been completed.”

“No!” she didn’t plead. Tired of all the centuries serving as a cunt to give her more and more bodies even after having her son taken from her, it felt unfair. “That’s enough.”

Agatha didn’t waste another minute there, succumbing to Rio’s words. She cried out for Jen. Vulnerable, broken, the coven fell into a rhythm of trying the ritual over and over again, but not only the moonlit water fell onto your body, but also your partner’s tears as she was left disheveled from pleading to the Mother to keep your life. It was a side of Agatha Hakness no one had seen. No one besides Y/N and Rio. Yet, as the hole on your body closed, no one exactly knew what would be of you. Rio stood there, overing your body.

“She will be alright.” Teen reassured Agatha almost three hours later, giving her some of the berries he found on the road.

She wanted to curse him for putting you into that situation, but then again, the Salem Seven were her fault. A moment passed as your body was kept close to the fire. On the sidelines, Death eyed you, protected by Agatha’s love, something that she despised you for. The blue eyed witch gazed at you.

“You care for her.” Lilia said, voice flowing with the wind. “Like you never cared for anyone.”

“Just one person, besides her. My son.” she smiled sadly. It was the first time mentioning him, but the truth was just as painful as the current reality. The coven, her found coven, listened to it. “And Y/N helped me navigate all of that. Back from Salem to now. But this is not the first time i almost killed her.”

“If you are going to talk about our story...” a faint, tired, almost really dead voice startled them. Rio had disappeared again, but Y/N’s eyes flashed from her place on the floor. “At least wake me up.”

The others laughed tearfully, relieved, but as Agatha rushed to your side, still a mess of hair, tears and dried mud, they gathered the fire away from them.

“Y/N...sunshine. I’m...”

“Don’t, love. Don’t even think of it.” the maimed witch intercepted, reaching out just one hand to touch her left cheek. Her thumb caressed her face. “I’m here. And I'm not going anywhere. It's not easy to free yourself from me.”

“And i don’t want to.”, her lips pressed against your forehead, kissing it before pecking your lips. “I’m sorry I keep drowning you into my mess. This is unaceptable.”

“Aggy. Please, stop.” even laying down, you could still command her with those sweet eyes. “It’s not your fault.’

“But...”

“No buts. Now, come here.”

As you gently pulled Agatha down, her arms were protective around you. Your body still ached, but as your heartbeat fell into the same rhythm of Agatha’s, there was no doubt you would survive. With your head on her chest, your heavy eyes fell onto the image of the coven exchanging a cup of water they found. Behind them, the shadow of Death blinked slowly at you, turning her back before cutting Billy’s reality to step out.

It wasn’t over, but the worst was.

"I love you." Her voice hummed against your hair.

And you would do all over again for her.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha coven of chaos

227 notes · View notes

muffinpink02 · 1 day ago

Text

Suit (I beg someone give me a title)

Smut 18 word count 1010

Thank you for the request anon! ❤️

Your bare knees press into the hotel carpet. You're completely naked and on show for her.

Just how she wanted you.

She's also naked, aside from her suit jacket.

Her long legs are spread as she sits comfortably in the big black leather seat of the hotel room. A glass of brown liquor sits in her large hand, swirling the cube of ice. She looks powerful, regal even. God, she is so arrogant. But it only makes your cunt throb.

Your eyes land at her already wet sex. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You can't help but feel a sense of your own power in yourself for making her aroused just by your presence, though she holds that same power as you feel the first bit of your essence start to stick to your thighs.

A cocky smile pulls at her painted lips. Hazel eyes greedily roam your body, taking in every curve of you. She looks like she wants to devour you, it brings a chill to your already exposed body.

“Come. Let's put that mouth to work.” She hummed.

You move instantly. Your knees shuffle against the carpet. You didn't care if you looked eager, you wanted her.

You groan softly as long fingers dip into your hair, pulling your head back to meet her hazel orbs.

“I’ve wanted your tongue all night. Make it worth my time.” She purred before taking a sip of her drink and placing it on the table beside her.

You shiver at her words. Your own mouth starts to water as you smell her arousal pooling between her legs. You take another glance at her before she's pushing your head between her legs and she's in your mouth.

“Finally.” She hissed as her head fell back against the leather.

God, she tasted good. You hungrily lapped at her soaking wet folds, you didn’t have time to be slow. You had wanted her the moment you saw her in her suit. You fucking loved Alexia in a suit.

The blondes grip tightened in your hair as you took her clit between your soft lips.

“Si, just like that.” She moaned as her hips started to thrust into your face.

You looked up to see what could only be described as heaven. Alexia's tight stomach muscles flexed with each thrust of her hips, her abs moving in sync with her deep breathing. You suckled her against your tongue, wanting to please her as best as you could.

You groaned as she pushed herself deeper into your mouth, her essences smearing against your tongue as you took her in. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second as your ears were filled by her loud pornagraphic moans bouncing off the walls in the room. She clearly didn't care if she was heard, and neither did you, watching as she got lost by your touch.

You closed your eyes as Alexia started to fuck your mouth. Both of her hands laced into your hair, guiding you into her as she messily dripped into your mouth.

Strong thick thighs began to shake as the blonde was being pushed closer to her climax. Your tongue slurped and sucked at her velvet folds, drinking down every drop that washed over your taste buds.

“Bebé, keep doing that. Don’t stop until I come.” She breathed out, her eyes screwed shut as she painfully pulled at your roots.

You didn't have much choice, Alexia’s legs locked around your head as she used your mouth to get herself off.

You couldn't breathe, but oxygen could wait. Besides, you wouldn't mind going out this way, with Alexia's thick thighs wrapped around your face.

Though Alexia wasn't keen on that, she granted you some air as she moved one leg on your back allowing you to breathe again.

“Just like that.” She husked as she started to shudder against your lips.

Alexia groaned loudly as she came into your mouth. Her own mouth hung open as she flexed her hips, keeping you as close to her as she physically could. Loving the way her clit twitched against your tongue.

You cleaned her up, making sure to swallow every sticky drop that clung to her lips.

She breathed out a deep sigh. Smiling down at you between her still shaky legs. The same hands in your hair moved down to cup your chin. She looked at you with such love all while smearing her own essence that clung to your bottom lip.

“Your face is very messy, amor. Let me clean you up.” Her raspy voice whispered.

Alexia pulled you into her lap, her warm thighs sat against your own. You chuckled as you gripped at her suit collar, she was such a show off, but you adored it. She was only like this when you two were alone. It was like a secret side of her that you only got to see.

Her large hands came back to your face, gently cupping your cheeks as she locked her lips with yours, humming as she tasted herself on your tongue. You got lost in her kisses like you always did, her slow but firm movements making you forget every thought you had in your head. Her tongue casting some sick spell on you.

Your hips started to move against her. You didn't even care that your cunt was grinding against her suit jacket, making it messy with your juices, wanting the friction that you so desperately needed. Alexia smiled against your lips when she felt the small movements.

“Do you want something, amor?” She whispered against your lips.

You nodded, your hips picking up pace on nothing. Your clit was screaming to be touched.

“Please, Ale. I need you- Fuck!” You cried out as two thick fingers pushed into your entrance, finding space against your tight muscles.

Alexia looked down, watching the way your essence darkened the fabric of her jacket.

“You can explain that to the dry cleaners.” She teased before she started to fuck you at un unforgiving pace.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso x reader #alexia putellas x imagine #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader

361 notes · View notes

remiratboi · 2 days ago

Text

Death - Part 1

Masterlist

Death Personified M X Human GN Fat Reader

CW: Pet death, grief, death (obvi?), masturbation, monsterfucking, yandere if you squint, not sure what else yet, will add as I go.

Death wasn’t a single entity. It was more of a group. A way of being. There were hundreds holding the name “Death”. He didn’t know any others though. They didn’t interact. It was a solitary life. Flitting from life to life, helping souls move on. He held a rudimentary understanding of why the creatures around the souls would mourn, but it was a beautiful thing to him. He lived in an in-between realm. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Very few could see him, and most only could shortly before they themselves moved on.

This was why he was in their home. It was dark. He knew they were around. He had been checking up on the cat who lived with them for a couple days now. She was close to death.

He stood next to the couch she was curled up on. He preferred to take creatures gently. He was not malicious. He chose the souls who were ready to move on. The cat looked up at him with one eye, not bothering to move her head. She was frail. He could see her vision wasn’t strong. He mewled at her and she stretched her paw out towards him.

Death leaned down to press his finger into her paw when a voice snapped him out of his focus.

“Please don’t.” It was shaky and sorrow filled. Death turned around to see you. You stood in the door frame, illuminated by the light behind. Your face was covered in tears. You could see him? He hadn’t felt any connection that would signal your ability to see beings like him. And he knew you weren’t close to death. How could you see him?

He stared longer than he should, dumbfounded and with no idea how to respond. You sniffled and continued. “Please, just wait until tomorrow. I understand, it’s…. She’s old. But can I please have one last night with her?” You begged.

He took advantage of the out, and rather than trying to respond, he swiftly ran away. He didn’t go far though. He had been rattled, and he didn’t like it. He spent his eternity alone. Only dying and dark could see him. He avoided the dark, and the dying never saw him for long. But you were neither? You frustrated and intrigued him. He would never admit that the way your plush body had looked, and the way your skimpy pjs clung tightly to your form had also intrigued him.

It wasn’t unheard of for his kind to get involved with humans, or each other. But it was forbidden. And dangerous. That much power with something so frail had resulted in more often than not, a soul ripped from their body before their time.

Death’s touch wasn’t always an execution. He could control the touch. But it was difficult and took immense focus. Something others had learned too late, that they were worse at than they had thought.

He sat now, on your porch railing, gazing through the rain that fell in the night sky. He watched you through your windows. He never realised you could probably see him. He was so used to passing through unknown that he didn’t even consider it.

You made a fancy chicken dinner for your pet, he assumed her favourite. You curled up on that same couch with her and hand fed her. You cried. A lot. He wondered what it felt like to mourn. He wondered what it felt like to love enough to mourn. He wasn’t supposed to give creatures more time, but he hadn’t been able to look you in the eyes and take something you clearly loved so much.

You cried yourself to sleep sometime in the night. He floated through the wall and stopped in front of your pair of sleeping forms. You looked beautiful. Your face was no longer tensed by emotion and he could see the freckles that covered your nose. Soft eyelashes fluttered against your apple cheeks.

He reached down to touch them, before catching himself. What was he doing? You were human. You weren’t for him. Also, he was about to kill your cat. He thought you probably wouldn’t appreciate waking up to have death touching your face before taking something you loved so deeply, away from you.

But he didn’t move his hand from where it was. Stretched out in front of him, inches away from your face. He was shocked by his own desire. Had he ever felt desire before? He didn’t think so. You were just so soft. You looked so safe and comfortable. He imagined running his fingers down your curves, feeling every inch of you.

The sun started shining through the windows and he realized he’d been standing there for far too long. You might wake up soon.

He turned from you, eyes dragging. He looked down at your sleeping cat. He felt bad. There was another new emotion. He knew it was better, and that her soul would continue on in peace. But he also knew you loved her. For some reason, he didn’t want to be the cause of your pain.

He steadied himself and shook his head. This was what he had to do. This was what he was made to do. It was his only purpose. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your pet’s head, her exhale as he did, her last.

He watched her soul coalesce above her body and then dissipate. He had seen it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. It was beautiful every time.

He looked back down to you and took an instinctual step back as he realised your eyes were open. You looked up at him with a teary gaze.

“Th… thank you.” You said. His throat felt thick. You were thanking him? “Thank you for letting me say goodbye.” You finished. You curled your body around your pet and sobbed into her fur. He felt like he was intruding.

He started to turn away but hesitated. He looked back down at you. His chest hurt. He reached out a shaky hand and lingered above you again. He fought with himself. He should leave. He’d been here too long already.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He reached down, and so gently you could have mistaken it for wind had there been any, he brushed your hair from your face.

And then he was gone.

157 notes · View notes

maddiethedogstories · 2 days ago

Text

Her Own Worst Enemy

This is my entry into yet another writing competition with @baby-erica and @destinedfordiapers. Go vote for who made their target the blushiest here!

Erica absolutely adored Mads. He was tall, strong, handsome, and dominant.

Every word he spoke felt like an order. It sent shivers of pleasure down her spine to comply to his ever whim.

That's why she wasn't surprised when one night, after particularly amazing sex, Mads disclosed to her that he was domming another woman online. He told her that the other woman's name was Eri, the Erica's nickname as a child, that she was Erica's age, and that she got off on being Mads' pathetic, diapered, little cuckquen.

Mads told Erica that he spoke to Eri like a child. He ordered her to wear and use diapers. He also told her about all of Mads and Erica's sexual escapades, taunting Eri's face with details of sexual encounters that she would never have.

As Mads explained his relationship with Eri, Erica's pussy started to throb. She couldn't help but start rubbing herself. The idea of some pathetic women rubbing her pissy diaper to the thought of Erica's wild sex set her slit on fire. She felt like a porn star in all of the best ways.

"Um, Mads?" Erica asked her boyfriend coyly as he watched her pleasure herself to the thought of domming another woman, "Do you, uhhhh, think I could help you… mmmm… tease Eri…. gah… too?"

Mads grinned, crawling onto the bed next to Erica and replacing her hand with his own.

"I thought you'd never ask," he responded as his fingers darted into Erica's wet lips, bringing her to a quick, yet marvelous orgasm.

Over the next few months, Erica took an active role in domming poor little Eri. Although Mads never let Erica see or speak to Eri herself, Erica constantly teased Eri via video.

Erica recorded herself riding Mads, Mads taking her from behind, sucking Mads off, and Mads sucking on her tits. She memorialized each sexual encounter with her dream man, as she taunted and teased the diapered woman on the other side of the camera.

"Mmm, Eri, I bet you wish were being filled up with Daddy's cock like me, instead of filling your pants like a fucking baby!"

"Oh, Eri, don't you wish you got to suck Daddy's big, hard cock like me, rather than just that silly little paci?"

"Mmm, Eri, if you had big girl tits like me, maybe Daddy would want to… Mmm…suck yours instead of… fuck, Mads…. mine. To bad you're nothing but a silly baby… fuck… not a… mmm… real woman like me."

"Fuck… Eri, if you weren't so pathetic…. ghhhh… you might be bouncing on Daddy's cock… ffff… like me…. gah… instead of bouncing in your loaded…. fuck… pampers."

Each message Erica recorded got progressively meaner and more degrading. Mads urged Erica's sadism at each turn, begging her to be more ruthless in her naughty recordings as time passed. Mads swore that Little Eri was begging to be degraded and talked down to more with each passing day.

Erica loved it. The power, Eri's humiliation, the mind-blowing sex, it was all so intoxicating.

However, as time passed, Erica found herself wanting to become more involved in Eri's submission. She began to press Mads to meet, or, at the very least, to speak with the other woman.

Each time she broached the subject, however, Mads denied her.

"Eri is shy."

"Eri isn't ready to meet you."

"Eri is too embarrassed to introduce herself yet."

Time after time, Erica's requests to meet Eri were shut down.

That was until, one day, Mads finally relented.

"Erica, you're right, it's probably time you met Eri," Mads said with a sigh as he lied naked in bed next to Erica after a particularly wild love-making session, "but, to meet Eri, you need to understand her situation better first."

Erica swallowed nervously at Mads' last statement. She didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean, 'understand her situation better?'" She asked hesitantly.

Mads smiled. "Well, sweetie, before you can meet Eri in person, you need to spend some time in her booties first. If you agree to spend some time in the nursery, I'll arrange for you to meet Eri."

Erica turned on her side and shuddered in both pleasure and fear.

She had never seen the inside of attached to her boyfriend's master bedroom. The nursery always locked, and Mads never let her inside when she asked. She had wanted to see the inside of that room for months now, but not in the way Mads was suggesting it would happen now.

"Like," Erica licked her lips nervously, "Really spend time in the nursery?"

Mads responded quickly, "Yes, baby. ~Really~ spend time in the nursery. I've thought about it, and you can't truly meet Eri until you experience her life a little."

Seeing Mads' determination, Erica knew she had no other options if she ever wanted to meet her boyfriend's diapered pet. So, reluctantly, she agreed to spend some time in the nursery.

The next morning, Erica found herself stripped naked and led into the babyish . Her eyes grew wide as she took in the giant baby furniture, adorned with cuffs and straps meant to detain any unwilling occupants.

Mads led Erica by the hand to a giant changing table and lifted her up on to it with ease.

"Let's get a diaper on that tushy," Mads said, popping a pacifier into Erica's mouth before she could protest.

Erica's cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment as she was expertly lotioned, powdered, and diapered by her boyfriend. In fact, Erica was so embarrassed, she didn't notice Mads slip a suppository up her backside as he taped her into the infantile garment.

"Now, let's complete the look."

Mads helped Erica down from the changing table and immediately began to dress her in a onesie that, somehow, fit her perfectly. He then grabbed some ribbon and quickly tied her hair into two neat pigtails on either side of her head.

"Perfect!" Mads announced as he tied the second bow in Erica's hair, "You look adorable!"

Nervously sucking the pacifier she was given, Erica demurely let herself be lead to the crib and restrained inside with both wrist and ankle cuffs.

"Some time strapped in the crib will really let you know what it feels like to be Eri," Mads said, kissing Erica's forehead.

Erica blushed, wishing this would be over quickly, while at the same time beginning to feel a burning sense of pleasure growing within herself from the humiliation.

As she laid in the crib, Erica noticed a strange object covered by a cloth hanging from the ceiling spanning the length of the crib. The woman was unable to determine what it was. Erica also noticed a large television hanging on a wall nearby.

"Ok, baby, I'm going to let you get settled. Don't worry, Daddy will be back soon," Mads said, leaving the room.

With Mads gone, the suppository inside of Erica worked quickly. The small woman began to thrash in the crib futilely before ultimately giving in and loading her diaper for the first time as an adult.

Erica was softly crying as Mads walked back into the room. Erica was both humiliated and incredibly aroused by the horrifying situation.

"What's wrong, baby? Did somebody make a stinky?"

The mocking made Erica sob harder as Mads walked over and caressed her cheek.

"Hush, baby, I know what will make you feel better. I think it's time you meet Baby Eri!"

Erica watched in horror as Mads pulled the cloth off the object hanging above the crib, revealing a full length mirror. Erica stared at herself, hair in pigtails, strapped into a crib, sucking a pacifier, wearing nothing but a onesie and messy diaper. A horrible realization dawned on her.

"Erica, meet Baby Eri!" Mads said cheerily, "I think you're going to find you have a lot in common!"

Erica turned her head to the side as she heard the television click on.

"I'm going to leave and let you get to know each other. Have fun!" Mads said as he pressed play on the remote and left the room.

Erica, or Baby Eri as she had now become, couldn't help but release a small stream of urine into her thirsty padding as she saw her own face fill the large screen.

Soft panting filled the air before Eri heard her own voice ring out.

"Mmm, Eri, I bet you wish were being filled up with Daddy's cock like me, instead of filling your pants like a fucking baby."

Eri's pussy throbbed in pleasure as she realized what was happening. Not only had she become a diapered cuckquen, but, she was being cucked by herself.

Even worse, Eri thought as she tried to free her hands from the cribs cuffs so she could rub the front of her messy diaper, she couldn't deny this is what she really wanted: To be nothing more than Mads' pathetic diapered plaything.

#ab/dl kink #ab/dl story time #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl caption #diaper stories #ab/dl couple #humiliation kink #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl girl #ab/dl daddy #cg/l kink #cg/l #Cuckquen #Her Own Worst Enemy

135 notes · View notes

writerpeach · 8 hours ago

Note

I've lost count how many times I've been down bad for Annyeongz's legs

Both of them sitting on your lap, crossing their legs to firmly tighten their thighs together, the perfect shape to caress in the palm of your hands.

They are getting comfy to the point of just nonchalantly kicking off their heels, hearing them go 'kick clack' on the hard floor. Their well manicured feet slightly dangling in the air, toes barely touching the ground, forming the perfect arc with their soles.

If they 'force' you to choose who has currently the best legs, would you follow your gut and tell them the truth?

If this was the previous Peach then Yujin would probably win hands down. Now though... I'm not so sure... 🤔🧐

dammit frisky

---

You've never been so happy to have such a dilemma and these options. You have the best of both worlds; the smoothness of Wonyoung's long creamy legs or the deliciousness of Yujin's more powerful, thicker thighs—equally irresistible and silky soft when wrapped around your head, around your waist, never letting you go.

"Daddy likes my legs better, right?" Wonyoung questions, pulling her short dress even higher up, leaving you unable to help yourself, the urge to reach out, running a hand all along her inner thigh.

Yujin meanwhile does the same and scoots in closer, opening the buttons of your shirt and tracing her delicate finger up your bare chest until it reaches under your chin, lifting it upward, forcing eye contact. "Don't get ahead of yourself, princess. Daddy knows mine are the best. He loves having them on his strong shoulders while he drives his big, fat cock into me all night long. Isn't that right?"

Wonyoung, despite the cute little huff, isn't fazed as Yujin responds, narrowing her eyes at the youngest. You can sense the competitiveness building inside both of them, these two sets of manicured fingers roaming all over your chest. You swallow hard, already too distracted as the pair press lips against your neck and tease, just wanting to steal attention their way.

"Daddy loves when my legs are in the air, when I'm all folded up for him, letting him plunge into every deepest fucking part of me, nothing to stop him," Wonyoung adds with a cheeky, innocent look that stirs heat deep in the pit of your stomach. "I know daddy loves breeding me and pumping me full of his hot cum more than he loves anything else."

Yujin breaks off from her deep kiss that's already left a mark on your neck, looking Wonyoung in the eye with an intensity, a heat you've seldom seen on the girl, shaking her head. "Maybe, princess—but daddy loves fucking his thick load deep into my tight little cunt when I wrap my legs so tight around him that he can't possibly pull out. There's nothing he loves more than completely emptying his balls inside me while I'm all hot and sweaty."

"Slut."

"And proud of it. Jealous that daddy loves to creampie me so much? Sorry, it's not my fault that you can't handle such a big cock. I'm sure someday you'll get there," Yujin returns, never breaking eye contact and maintaining a constant smirk of triumph.

Wonyoung scoffs. She definitely won't admit defeat. And Yujin simply grins at the unsuccessful attempts to conceal her clear anger, the frustration. "Daddy, choose now. Me or Yujinnie. Come on, prove her wrong."

Just the thought of choosing either of them is torturous and absolutely impossible.

So you refuse to.

Yujin can't hide the amusement when you pick neither of them, instead silencing Wonyoung with a kiss, quieting whatever protests are rising in her throat. This is the sign for the three of you to form some semblance of a triple kiss, before switching between Wonyoung and Yujin, until you eventually lean back and watch the two of them make out all sloppily, swapping saliva and realizing how easy it is to shut Wonyoung up.

Then with this fleeting glance shared between the three of you, it's Yujin who speaks first, sliding the straps of Wonyoung's dress off and groping her chest, sucking, slobbering on those pretty nipples.

"Now that this is settled, help me get these clothes off this fucking brat. We've got a nice, big comfortable couch to ruin the princess on. Don't we, daddy?"

#asks

119 notes · View notes

vezpr · 1 day ago

Text

corporal: ch 1 - punishment

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ SYNOPSIS: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (not yet), references to cannibalism, I suck at tags

☽☾ WORD COUNT: 4.2k

As a little girl, you were inseperable from your sister, Emika. You spent countless afternoons giggling and dashing between the trees in the wood surrounding your home. The same wood you are now running through as your life depends on it.

Even as stitches crawl, burning, into your ribs, you picture Emika's smiling face in the dappled sunlight. When you trip over a root and catch the stony soil with your knees and palms, your mind conjures a memory of practicing katas and swordplay with her in secret, of the many times she put you in the dirt, herself, grinning as she tapped her bamboo sword lightly against your throat. "Dead," she'd giggle. She was so strong.

You bound to your feet and run despite your burning lungs and aching legs. As your pursuer knocks you to the ground, restraining you with a strong pair of arms, you recall the time you walked into your favorite clearing and found her kissing one of the servant girls. Later, she had shared her secret with you, only you.

As the guards drag you kicking and screaming back to your family home you recall how vacant her eyes had become when the servant girl was sent away. The way her lips no longer smiled when she was given to a man twice her age, a cruel man who kept her pregnant and did not love her. You would die rather than accept such a fate for yourself. You would be the warrior Emika had dreamt of being.

As calloused hands throw you into the closet used to confine you when you were had misbehaved especially severely, you pictured how Emika had looked at you on her wedding day, a tight smile under eyes shiny with unshed tears. As you scream through split, swollen lips and pound your fists bloody on the heavy wooden door, you pictured her nodding and mouthing a silent goodbye to you.

When you finally slump against the door and succumb to a darkness so complete that closing your eyes makes no difference, you hiss her name into the silence. Damn her. Why didn't she fight it? All that strength, for what?

Twenty now, you are half a dozen years older than she was when she was married. You are known for your wild behavior which has discouraged many requests for your hand, despite your clan being rather powerful. Your life was not pleasant, as a result.

You had been flogged and thrown into the dark more times than you could count. Your mother does not even come to sit on the other side of the door and tearfully beg you to change your ways anymore. You are utterly alone, and you suffer. But at least you have a modicum of freedom. At least this suffering is your choice.

"So you're back, father," you spit, blinking at the light that filters around his still armored silhouette. Fresh from one battle, into another. You do not give him the satisfaction of crying out when he yanks you out of the closet by your filthy hair. After all the pain you have suffered at the hands of this man and his lackeys, you hardly feel it anyway.

"Yes, daughter," he spits the word out like he can't stand the taste of it. "And I will finally be rid of you for good."

"Finally grown the balls to kill me?" You sneer as one of his underlings closes manacles around your wrists. You lean away as the back of his hand flies toward your face, angering him further when his strike fails to land. He does not miss a second time. You grin at him with bloody teeth.

"Worse," he answers. "You are to be given to the shrine." He smiles back at you when your grin falters, your heart skipping a beat. You know exactly what he means. You are to be offered to Ryoumen Sukuna, the king of curses. You have never seen him yourself, but his monstrous appearance and even more monstrous appetites are well known throughout the region.

You can remember looking out of your window one night as a child, seeing the orange tinge to the horizon in the distance, the faint smell of smoke. "It's the King of Curses, raiding," Emika had explained, as she stroked your hair. Goosebumps raised on your skin as she described the four-armed cannibal warlord, a powerful weilder of cursed energy. The strongest force known to the country. "Don't worry, he won't come here," she had soothed. "Father has ways of keeping him placated."

Your dismay is only momentary, however, as you realize the irony of your father presenting you as a gift: dirty, broken and wild as a rabid dog. You laugh softly. "Perhaps he will kill you for your trouble," you sneer.

Your father looks you up and down before averting his eyes and scoffing in disgust. "Vile as you are, I'm sure you taste the same as any other girl, and that's the only use that savage has for such gifts," he responds. "Have her cleaned and dressed" he says over his shoulder, already marching away from you.

It takes two men to hold you down while a servant girl is brought in to wash you. Her soft, dark eyes remind you of Emika. They are filled with fear when she looks at you. You do not give her any trouble, not even when she removes the muzzle from your face to clean it with a warm cloth. You slide your eyes to the gaurd whose fingers you had wounded before he was able to get the thing on your face, glaring at him threateningly.

The woman's hands are gentle, especially around your wounded lips, and the cleansing soothes your broken skin. "Thank you," you murmur to her as she pours warm water over your matted hair, combing it out as she washes it. She says nothing, but looks at you with pity, now. You had preferred the fear.

On the journey to the shrine, you manage to ruin most of her work, throwing yourself repeatedly into the mud. At one point, you even manage to escape, despite being shackled, and forced the guards to chase you through the woods for over an hour. As a result, you are late to court, but your father drags you through the doors, anyway, dripping from an impromptu "bath" he had given you in the river.

Standing on your tip-toes, you peer over the heads of the crowd. Your heart rate picks up a notch when you spot the monster lounging on a throne piled with skulls and bones at the head of the room. His enormous frame is draped over the chair, his cheek resting on his fist, as he looks down on one of his subjects. The squat old man is currently groveling next to a pool of blood at the foot of the steps that lead up to the throne. Presumably, his predecessor had not fared well.

Tattoos adorn the King's forehead and chin, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, as well. A pair of piercing red eyes are set into each side of his face, although one set sit inside a rough-textured mask of some sort. The halo of soft, pink curls on top of his head looks strikingly out of place. His white kimono edged in dark blue hangs open over his chest, more black ribbons of tattoos frame his exposed pectorals. An additional pair of arms sit relaxed in his lap, the wrists of all four appendages are circled by more tattoos, like bracelets.

Suddenly all four of his eyes snap up and he scans the crowd, until he sets his sights on you. You sink back onto your heels, heart in your throat, hoping, for once, that you have vanished into a sea of men. You are beginning to think that the eye-contact was just your imagination, when a booming voice calls out your father by name, asking him to approach.

"Hold her," your father hisses at his guards, who are, in fact, already holding on tight to your manacled arms. You are grateful for the muzzle, for the first time, hiding your fear behind it. The old man that had been stuttering at the King's feet scurries back into the crowd as your father approaches.

Sukuna glares down at him in silence for several very long and uncomfortable moments before he finally asks, "Brought your brat here, have you?"

"I have, your-"

"Is it true," he cuts your father off, examining a long, black fingernail as he speaks, "that she disarmed one of your generals and managed to wound several men with his katana before she was stopped."

"Regrettably-"

The monster cuts him off again with a low chuckle. "Bring her," he says.

Your legs feel like lead as the guards drag you foward, the crowd parting in front of you, many eyes casting curious looks in your direction. All four of Sukuna's eyes bore into you as you approach. You can't seem to tear your gaze away from his, though it is more out of paralyzing fear than defiance, for once. You wonder if he can sense it. Your fear. It has been a long time since you have been afraid like this, accustomed as you are to pain. The guards stop just a few strides behind your father.

It feels as if all of the air is sucked out of the room as the two of you stare at each other, neither moving. The man seems awfully fond of uncomfortable silences, you think, as he stares at you with the same heavy-lidded, bored expression.

"What is that shit on her face?" He asks without moving a muscle.

"Told you to take that off," your father hisses at the guards over his shoulder, even as one has already opened his mouth to answer Sukuna.

"A muzzle, Master Sukuna," the man on your left bows slightly, releasing your arm as he answers, "she bites."

Sudden inspiration strikes and you stomp hard on the toes of the man on your right, causing him to release your other arm and then you are running. You feel like you take only a half-dozen strides before a strong hand clamps down on your wrist. You spin, intending to smash your captor's nose in with your head, but you draw back when you are met with the muscled expanse of Sukuna's tattooed chest. "Leaving so soon?" He growls. He is enormous, you realize as you life your eyes to his, glittering garnets. He is smiling and you make a note of his long, sharp canines.

Frozen in place and unable to tear your eyes away from his, you don't even see the back of your father's hand flying towards your face. Your head reels back with the impact, a warm gush of blood colors one side of your vision red as his knuckles split the flesh under your eyebrow.

Sukuna flicks his wrist almost imperceptibly and then your father is screaming. A fine spray of blood lands at your feet seconds before his severed hand rolls into your line of vision. Sukuna's eyes never leave yours. You don't move when he removes the muzzle and lets it fall to the ground where it lands just out of reach of the twitching fingers of the severed hand.

"Going to bite me?" He asks, his voice so low only you can hear, he leans in, eclipsing your vision, his breath warm against your ear.

You shake your head. You decided when this man removed your father's hand with a simple gesture that no amount of biting or running would prove effective against him.

"Run if you want," he says, in the same low voice. "But you won't get far. Either they will get you," he says, nodding in your father's direction. "Or I will." He smiles, a cold display of sharp teeth, "and I like hunting."

He releases your wrist and turns to your father who is clutching his gushing arm. "You are aware that I appreciate useful offerings?" He asks.

"Yes, master Sukuna," your father bleats in a broken voice.

"What use do you think I would get out of her," he gestures at you, and you realize what a pathetic mess you must look, streaked with mud and blood and drenched in river water.

"I- well-" your father stammers, face gone pale from blood loss. "Your- your- appetites..."

He scoffs. "Execute your own children..." He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Uraume!" He calls, addressing a white robed monk, who, you are peripherally aware, had been standing serenely beside the throne throughout the proceedings. "Put her up in the East wing," he commands. "You know the chambers I mean?"

"Yes, Master Sukuna," the monk nods, but you don't miss the arch of her eyebrows above her pale pink eyes. Despite their surprise, Uraume descends the steps and places a hand lightly on your shoulder. You shiver, their touch is intensely cold, but allow them to guide you towards the exit behind the throne.

Before you are out of sight, you turn to look once more at your father. "If you survive the blood loss, I hope you die of infection," you bellow at the top of your lungs.

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs.

Uraume is silent as they guide you down empty corridors to the chambers specified for you. When they slide back the shoji door and you step in, you are surprised to find a sizeable suite with varnished floors, a large futon stacked with pillows, cushioned chairs and, what really draws your attention, a vanity littered with combs and perfumes.

"Who lives here?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at the feminine items.

"You, now," they answer.

"I mean before."

The monk hesitates, but finally answers with a shrug. "Master Sukuna's... concubines... but not for a long time now."

"I will not be anyone's concubine!"

Uraume clicks her tongue. "Master Sukuna does what he likes," they shrug. "But, if it comforts you, he has not shown interest in replacing those he... rid himself of."

"What happened to them?"

"I will bring you a basin so that you can wash up. I'm sure you will find some clothes that will fit you in the wardrobe."

"But-" you begin, but they are gone in a white and pink blur of hair and robe.

All that first night you lie awake on the futon, staring at the shoji doors, half expecting the demon to burst through them and make his motivation for keeping you known. He never comes, although in the wee hours of the morning you hear soft thuds and low growling from the wall at your back. You wonder if the monster's chambers share a wall with yours, and shudder to think what he might be doing to make all that noise.

After a few restless nights, you are eventually able to sleep. Although you are fairly certain that he is the source of the noises you are hearing at night, they almost comfort you at this point, as they mean that he is in his quarters, not thinking of bothering you.

Weeks go by and you barely see him, except in passing, and even then, he only addresses Uraume or other staff, never you, directly. It is as if you are invisible to him. Except for one instance in particular, you saw him entering through the West gate. Evidently, he was back from raiding and pillaging, as he was covered in blood and soot, wearing only a tattered hakama, hanging low on his hips. When he turned and saw you staring, he flashed a manic grin that had you spinning on your heel and hurrying in the opposite direction. You could hear him laughing behind you, and shuddered at the sound.

Most days, Uraume would collect you in the morning and assign you some task or another. Cleaning and food prep, mostly. Apparently, Sukuna enjoyed eating large quantities of a variety of foods, not only human flesh. Thankfully, Uraume was the only one entrusted with preparing fare of that kind. Other than that, you were free to explore the estate and no one seemed to bother you or ask what you were doing.

You often ate in the kitchen with the other servants, and it was from one of these that you learned what happened to Sukuna's former harem.

"Ate 'em, he did," Baba, croaked. She was a bent and wrinkled old woman who appeared to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. Her watery, cataracted eyes gleamed over her sunken cheeks as her toothless mouth sputtered out the story. "Got bored of fucking em, sure enough! Or fed up with them treatin' him too familiar, one! One tried running away but he caught her quick as anything and that's the truth! What a mess that was! Thought I'd never get up all that bl-"

"Baba!" Uraume scolded as they walked out of the back holding Sukana's tray. You tried not to look at the contents, or even think about them, as you poked at your salmon with your chopsticks.

"Well! It's the truth, it is!' The old woman screeches, spittle flying as she throws up her hands. "It is," she insists, leaning towards you and fixing her milky eyes on yours.

Normally, you would smile at the old woman's theatrics, but you find yourself frowning at your food, instead. You recall that first day, how Sukuna had said that he likes useful things. How are you useful to him? You doubt he is even peripherally aware of what little work you do here, and, even if he was, anyone could do it. Why had he specifically put you in a room so close to his own, a lavish one at that, nicer than anything you had ever had at home?

You look up from your plate and down the table at the other servants. The few that are looking at you drop their eyes. Come to think of it, Baba and Uraume are the only ones who talk to you. Everyone else avoids you like the plague. Why is that? You stand suddenly, knocking the table with your hips, causing dishes to clatter. Everyone is looking now. You hurry to clear your place and rush out into the bright daylight, no longer able to tolerate being confined indoors with your thoughts or with all those eyes on you. I have got too comfortable, you think to yourself.

Eventually, as you pace around the estate, you calm, although your eyes seek out the exit gates more than usual. The space is beautiful, with sprawling courtyards filled fruit trees, vegetable gardens, even a koi pond and a little stream that empties into a hot spring on the outskirts. Carrying your sandals, you walk along the edge of the whispering water. You smile to yourself as you watch the clear water rushing over the pebbled streambed.

Might as well enjoy all this while I can, you are thinking to yourself, when you hear movement ahead of you. Although you are somewhat concealed behind a stand of trees, you are only yards away from the hotspring. You hadn't realized that you had waljed so far. Sukuna stands at the edge of it, having just let his kimono slide off of his shoulders. Rooted to the spot, your eyes trace the lines of his tattoos, then the dips of his sculpted abdominals until they reach an odd line just below his navel. A scar, perhaps? You swallow thickly, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still focused on the odd slit on his belly- you could have sworn you saw it move- when his hands drop to loosen his hakama. As heat crawls unwanted into your cheeks and the tops of your ears, you avert your eyes and turn to go. Your heart was already threatening to hammer it's way out of your rib cage when he calls out, "Come here, girl."

Could be talking to anyone, you reason as you will your limbs to obey you and continue your retreat. A couple of splashes and then you hear him call out your name, louder than before. You are shocked that he even remembers it. Slowly, your movements dreamlike, you turn and make your way toward him. Holding your chin high and hoping you exude a confidence that you do not feel, you move to the edge of the hotspring opposite to where he is now half-submerged in the steaming water. "You called me?" You ask, bowing stiff and shallow.

"Closer," he nods, but doesn't otherwise bother to move. His upper arms are draped along the edge of the hotspring, his lower ones, concealed beneath the water.

Hesitantly, you move closer, but still just out of reach of his splayed fingers. He looks, first, at your bare ankles, then, his spider-eyed gaze lingers along the length of your body until your eyes meet. The silence twists knots in your gut, and, although you do your best not to squirm, you feel as if every drop of blood in your body is rushing to your face. He is smirking. He is young, you realize, looking down at his unlined face. Striking, you are unable to stop yourself from thinking of his tattooed features, his extra eyes.

"Do you need something?" You ask, thinking better of the 'What do you want,' you typically have on queue for unloved authority figures.

"Do you? Or are you content to spy on me from the shadows?"

"I wasn't-" you begin, scowling. "Actually," you change direction, crossing your arms. "I do want something. I want to know why you keep me here... and why in that room?"

His smirk widens until it is almost a smile. A sinister expression, nonetheless.

"Do you want to go home?"

"I-" you sputter. No you don't want to go home, but you don't necessarily want to admit that, either.

"I think what you mean to say is: thank you, Master Sukuna, hm?" He says as your mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Does that answer your question, or would you like me to think more about what to do with you?"

While you spoke he had inched closer to you and now you feel the warm slide of his fingers on the back of your calf. You look down at his extended arm, the tattooed wrist disappearing under the hem of your kimono, as you stomach does a series of somersaults.

When your legs finally decide to obey you you turn and speedwalk stiffly back towards the East wing of the shrine. You expect to be called back or struck down at any moment, but Sukuna only laughs at your retreat.

Thst night, ypu decide you will leave. You manage to gather some food from the kitchen and other supplies without attracting attention. Now all there is to do is wait until you hear the demon thudding around and growling through the wall. Then, you will know that it's safe.

What is he doing in there anyway, you think to yourself as you pace back and forth across the suite, stopping now and then to actually press your ear against the wall. Growling like that... the image of his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his hakama rises, unbidden, to your mind. You shake your head as if that will clear it. "Stop it," you hiss to yourself, absolutely hating the way your stomach twists and flutters at the thought.

Hours pass. It is much later than it usually is when you hear him on the other side of the wall. You press your ear hard against the wall and strain to hear, but the only sound is the pumping of your own heart.

You sigh raggedly.

Maybe he's sleeping.

Maybe he's traveling, doing whatever monsters do.

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing the bag full of supplies and slinging it over your shoulder. The shoji door is blessedly quiet as you slide it open. The hallway is dark, empty, silent. You breath a sigh of relief and close your eyes, centering yourself, gathering your courage. Maybe he won't even care that you're gone. Maybe he won't even notice. The thought comforts you and you draw on it for confidence as you take the first step out into the corridor.

"Going somewhere?"

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. It is a miracle that you don't cry out. You turn slowly, as you would in a nightmare, to see him leaning against the wall bare inches away from your door. You are surprised you didn't hear him breathing, as close as he is.

"For a walk," you answer evenly.

"With luggage?" He asks, nodding at the bag slung over your shoulder. His eyes and teeth glint in the dim light. He's smiling. This is entertaining for him, it seems.

He chuckles when you say nothing and steps toward you. "Go on, then," he says. "I'll give you a generous headstart... Although," he reaches out and plucks the heavy bag off of your shoulder as if it were nothing, "I suggest you travel light."

There is only one response to that.

You run.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna x you #no use of y/n #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x female reader #heian au

91 notes · View notes

justbelievinginmagic · 3 days ago

Text

like a waltz⎯ part 1: brisé.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is seonghwa x reader focused & wooyoung x reader focused! series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: the worst night of your life makes you recall what you thought was one of the best nights of you life - meeting jung wooyoung at the cromer opera house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, mature topics, strong language, ballet lore, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, violence, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, allusions to exploitation in ballet, pain, fear, injuries, alcohol mention, reader discretion advised. word count: 5.7k -> next chapter series masterlist

brisé ; french pronunciation: [bʁize]; literally 'broken'

All she had wanted her entire life was to be the ballerina prima. It was all she worked for. Every day she woke up to dance; she lived, breathed, ate for ballet. And she almost had it. It had been so close. The shining lights, the praise, the private dressing room, all for her. An escape from the shame of the petit rats, the groping from patrons, the reliance on a man’s wealth. She was going to be a star – in her own right. She was going to be a star.

Now, she laid in the dirty alley way, beaten and broken.

Through the torn bits of her hosiery, she could see her ankles were a purple-red color, splotched, like a gruesome Impressionist painting. The bones were at odd angles, too sharp, too extended for them to be not broken. Her hands shook as she tried to move them, tried to push at the pain that crept up her legs in a deafening manner. She could barely move them, roll them, anything without crying out in pain.

And cry she did. Wails escaped her chest in a mournful song. Her coal-mascara dripped down her rouged cheeks, melting into a mess and staining her mink fur coat. Their fur coat – their gift to her - that now felt suffocating around her, strands of the fur stuck to her sweatied skin and making her skin crawl with the feeling of maggots. She struggled to take it off, fighting with it as if it the animal had come back to life and was biting at her. Shoving it off and onto the alley floor with a huff, she moved to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands. They too were injured. Her dainty fingers were scraped and cut up from the harsh cobblestone beneath her. Phalanges dripped ruby red, and most likely had been smudged over her face with a false rouge. If someone had caught a look, they’d be afraid her face was bleeding. Luckily, that had been spared; everything had been except for her feet. Just her legs were mangled, beaten, bludgeoned with bats, and crushed into the ground ‘til the bone creaked and shattered. Her poor dancing feet.

She hadn’t thought they would do it; she thought…

Jongho had cried for her the night before, pleaded with her as she told him her decision.

She should’ve known then.

Wooyoung advised against it after dinner, hissing out in fear that Hongjoong wouldn’t be happy.

She should’ve known then.

Yunho refused to see her that evening, locked away in his study.

She should’ve known then.

Seonghwa had even grabbed her hand this morning before she left the mansion; he had said nothing but his eyes were dark and cautioning as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She should’ve taken his warning.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. His footsteps were heavy as he approached her. The familiar scent of his cologne that was once reassuring, exciting even, now made her face scrunch up into despair. She tried to shift away from him, wriggling away like a worm. Each bend of her ankles made agony crawl up her spine. Her throat flexed in pain and a whine escaped her chest unwillingly.

She couldn’t go far and Seonghwa easily pinned her down with simply a cold look in his eyes.

His eyes were always serious, a shadowy thing that only lightened around his lovers. But they did not lighten with her tonight. In fact, she swore they were the coldest she had seen them like a cold star staring back at her.

Seonghwa stopped in front of her with his feet straddled her legs; his perfect new shoes smelled of polish, expensive and shining. With a tilt of his head, he stared down at her with his handsome face shadowed by a large brimmed hat. She stared up at him, her mouth a scowl-like grimace.

His cool gaze carefully left her tear-sodden face to graze over her ankles. Blood coated her nylon tights, her knees rubied and torn. Her ankles looked worse for wear, twisted, mangled, and beaten. He could see the bone pressing into her bruised flesh, painting it ivory white.

“My dove,” he hummed out in a coo. He knelt. “My pretty dancer. Poor thing.”

Poor thing, he tutted. Poor thing, they all tutted. The same pathetic words from the matching mouths of rich folk who wanted to play with her like she was nothing but a ballerina doll spinning on a music box. Watching her spin around and around like a chicken with no head, whirling, out of breath for their amusement. All she had been was a marionette for them to play with. That’s what she realized she was even to him, even to them.

She stared up at him with a glower. She thought they were different.

“You did this.” She growled.

Her tone was low and vicious unlike anything he had heard from her before.

Seonghwa simply smiled. His carved lips twitched up on one side of his beautiful face, forming a wicked half-smile. His diamond-inlayed teeth glinted in the gas-lamp light that dripped into the alley way from the main road. A leather-gloved hand reached out to grasp her jaw, not unkindly but certainly with a firmness familiar for him. He directed her gaze his way, taking in the dripping stage-makeup. Surely it would leave oily remnants on his fingertips. Surely his touch would leave watercolored bruises on her jaw. He tutted again at her swollen waterlogged features. A smear of blood cut across the bridge of her nose. With the utmost care, firm and slow, he brushed away the grime. Blood seeped into his leathered gloved. Her blood.

“This is why Wooyoungie likes you so much,” he chuckled lowly. “You’re both brats at heart.”

Her mouth sneered in annoyance, mimicking a sneer she had seen him flash far too often. He thought this was nothing. That she was being disobedient for fun. Like this was just a horrible, horrible game. Despair filled her eyes as she tried to shift her jaw out of his hand with that, baring her teeth like a mongrel would. He caught her chin between harsh, gloved fingers again.

“But, like Wooyoung, I love you nonetheless,” he confessed. “Would do anything for you.”

His eyes were dark, inky, like tar swallowing her whole. But they were serious. Deadly so. Just like Hongjoong was when he had promised she’d regret her decision if she followed through with it.

Still, it ached like a lie. It ached bone-deep like her injuries. (She had seen the attackers’ tattoos on their skin. The word ‘A T E E Z’ inked onto their knuckles; ‘BLACK PIRATES’ on some of their bared arms. Their suits they wore were of the men at the mansion. The ski masks covering their features from view didn’t make them ghostly attackers like they had wished. She had seen the masked men before creeping out of the mansion’s office at the order of Yunho or Mingi.)

She wasn’t dumb.

His thumb caressed her cheek fondly. Expensive, freshly cleaned leather smooth and soft against her make-up muddied features.

“Let’s go home, hm?” he hummed. “You look like you need a warm bath and plenty of rest. We’ll have a doctor come assess your injuries, dove.”

And in a mimicry of a gentleman, he shrugged off his long coat to wrap around her – rather than grab her now-dirtied fur coat from the cobblestone floor. In fact, she bet he’d find it so filthy he’d leave it for the rats. Maybe another petit rat of the ballet would open the doors of the backstage only feet away and steal it away. With words of ‘oh, a patron gave it to me’ after she scrubbed and scrubbed the blood, the makeup, the grim away. Just as he’d do with her, wash it all away until she was shiny and new again.

With ease, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her close as he rose to full height once more. There was no discussion. No mention of her apartment on the far side of town, her home; no, they would be heading to the strange mansion the Kim clan called home. His grip was firm on her as he exited the alley way of the Cromer Opera House.

It was on this day YN wished she had never met the charming second-youngest of the Kim clan that day in the foyer de la danse. Then, her life and livelihood wouldn’t have been stolen by the ones who had once admired her.

The foyer de la danse was known as simply the ballet boudoir to the ballerinas. While it was a sort of dressing room, sort of practice room all-in-one, it was also dreadfully unprivate. The intricately decorated room of gold and glamour was the perfect frame for a pretty picture. Tall mirrors enclosed the room on all sides as new gas-powered chandeliers high above lit the room in a bright golden glow, highlighting each of the girls in view. There were no dark corners, no privacy screens, just mirrors, gold, light, and pretty girls.

None of the male dancers were allowed here. None of the female patrons either. But men who had high-status or who scraped up enough money to spend to stare at the young girls prepare for the show would promenade around. Freshly pressed fine linen suits, luxurious watches on their wrists or in their breast pocket, expensive cologne mingling with the aroma of their expensive liquor. Greedy eyes scanning up and down the ballerina’s half-naked forms as if they were just meat at a butchery.

They’d sip their bourbon leisurely, and approach the girls no matter what they were doing. If they were warming up at the barre, lacing up their shoes’ ribbons with patience, pressing fine powder over their face, or even mid-adjusting their costume with a costumier, they’d drop everything to smile coquettish and bite back the annoyance of disruption. In the ballet boudoir, the men were king, and the ballerinas were nothing but jesters for their amusement. The boudoir - it was a cruel nickname to taunt the young dancers who didn’t know any better. This was no private place. No, it wasn’t a dressing room like they’ve heard of.

If it was a less-than-full audience at the Cromer Opera House, there would be only familiar men in the room – who oftentimes already had their eyes on their prey. Lord Frederickson favored Julia with the red hair. Mr. Takahashi was leering after Mina. Kim Dohyun had been pursuing Imara for a year now; she had saved almost enough money to be out of the boudoir and have her own personal dressing room, maybe by next season! They were unfortunately lucky.

Now, YN had been the fortunate unlucky girl. Throughout her time at the Cromer Opera House, she had only a few male admirers. All who had little money and would spend most of their wealth getting into the boudoir and have none left to ‘woo’ with gift-giving or patronage. Even so, she had to act friendly. Smile with your cheeks, YN, an older ballerina had advised once. They can tell when there is nothing behind your eyes.

YN had been part of the corps de ballet for over a year now because of this. A petit rat at her age was mocked. She had no debut, no prospects. It wasn’t from not trying. She had practiced since she was three after all. She was an urchin with a seamstress mother and forgotten father who had passed in the war. It was typical of girls like her to try to seek fame - the easy-way - her mother claims. But there was no easy way in ballet.

Decades of training resulted in swollen purple toes, aching muscles, millions of destroyed ballet shoes, and countless inquiries to the choreographer to let her have a chance. The choreographer who had something against her. Maybe it was from when she was a child and would rather play than practice on the barre or maybe it was when she was a teen and had begun to read at breaks rather than continue to strain her muscles like some of the girls. The Madame hated her.

Regardless, she had never danced on stage alone, never was stand out. Her golden hour had yet to come. And with that, she wasn’t pursued by patronage suitors seriously. A blessing and a curse. She avoided wandering hands, wet mouths, and nasty tongues. But every costume had to be commissioned with her own coin (most often, she would sew it in the dark of night, icing her feet as she snipped at scrap fabric her mother owned.) Each ballet shoe’s cost was taken from her meager wages. The fee of practices, the fee of using the opera house’s rehearsal room, the fee of utilizing the boudoir’s accommodations like powder and rouge and candlelight if they could charge for that, all laid on her shoulders.

A true petit rat, lowly and searching for scraps. Digging her nails into opportunities where she can shine. But not from another’s assistance. No, her pride was too heavy on her back now for that.

“YN, YN, YN!”

There was a chatter – giggling and chittering between the younger girls – as they came padding into the boudoir before show-time. Tip tap, tip tap, tip. Around the corner of the opened grand doors, they came waddling in like a flock. Their swan costumes made them truly look like little ducklings; white feathered tutus leaving stray feathers onto the wooden floors as they scurried her way.

The one yelling her name was young, not even ten years old yet. She was short for her age too, a thing she despised. Only tall girls were prima ballerina her fellow ballerina friends taunted. She slid to her knees beside YN.

She smiled up from her spot on the ground, one pointe shoe on and the other resting beside her.

“Tiny, hello,” she greeted, finishing tying the ballet shoes’ laces up her legs.

“Have you heard? Have you heard?” Another of the young ballerinas chimed as she rushed forward as well, her dark hair tumbling from her half-up bun.

“Jane, your hair,” YN half-scolded, half-warned.

Her eyes glanced away from the youngers towards the grand gold-gilded doors of the boudoir, half-expecting their Madame to walk in and lash at them for looking so untidy. Despite this being a dressing room.

Pausing in tying up her laces, she gestured for the girl to join her on the cold wooden floor (they didn’t utilize the radiator heaters until mid-act 1, so it’d be warm for the patrons during intermission.)

Jane was thirteen and, with a huff, she plopped down, bony knees clanking as she did so. Her costume splayed out in a feathered mess. Her little fingers began to pick and fluff the costume. Her head lolled back, and YN began to untangle the pins from her curls.

“YN,” the one she called Tiny whined.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “What’s so exciting?”

“There are new young bachelors in town!”

“What?”

Cromer wasn’t a tiny coastal town anymore. It was bustling with people and money and trade. New buildings were popping up more and more, growing taller and taller by the day. The high society they were aware of was growing larger and larger until the folk they thought were rich and powerful weren’t all that rich and powerful anymore compared to the new conglomerates. But unfortunately, these millionaires were often married, unhappily.

“You know the Ateez House?”

YN laughed at that.

Everyone in town did. It was their most favorite ghost house. It was the largest sprawling estates in Cromer with the spooky story that all knew. The story went it was once owned by a pirate captain, the only Captain of the Black Pirates. They pilfered and ravaged ports one by one until they were known across the seas as a brutal blood-thirsty crew. No coastal town was safe from them. Until one day, they stopped sailing mysteriously. The story goes that the captain settled in the town of Cromer under a false name and built Ateez Mansion – a sprawling estate built with blood-soaked gold and diamonds. Some say its haunted with the deaths of the captain’s victims; others say the entire house was cursed from the stolen treasure hidden within.

All just tall tales to try to explain why a beautiful mansion remained unhoused yet perfectly taken care of. Sometimes you could see candlelight flickering in the foyer through the grand stained-glass windows or even ghostly figures with no faces walking about.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m the one who told you the ghost story about Ateez House.”

One of the youngest curled closer to her side, shivering a bit as she thought of the scary story.

“They moved into the Ateez House!” Tiny exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the wooden floor in excitement. Tiny loved to gossip and this was like Christmas. New bachelors meant new flings which meant new gossip!

“Was there a sale of the estate?” YN wondered as she finally got all the pins from Jane’s hair out and in a small pile on the floor beside her.

“No,” one of the other young teens said. She wasn’t even among the clambering youths around her; she was on the nearby barre stretching out. “No sale had been published in the papers. I heard from June who heard from Martha who heard from Wendy who heard from Lorelai who heard from her current suitor that the bachelors already owned the house but never stayed there.”

Now, that was news. YN’s brows rose in surprise.

“It’s been their house?” she repeated as she paused in gathering Jane’s hair into a bun. Another ballerina warming up nearby nodded enthusiastically.

“Do any of you tattletales know their names? How many are there?” YN asked.

Across the sea of swan-costumed girls, sparkling in gems and beads, their faces fell.

“That’s a no then… has anyone seen these mysterious bachelors leaving the mansion?”

There was a silence.

“Any proof of these men at all?”

Nothing.

YN sighed out. “Who would own that mansion and never live there? It’s been empty for decades now. None of us have known the owners. I don’t—I think it’s just gossip, girls.”

Jane wiggled in her grasp, bratty as she whined. “But YN,” she complained. She had been so excited to imagine and pretend and think of handsome suitors.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, hm,” YN encouraged as she finished wrapping the girl’s hair tight into a perfect bun. Pin after pin was slid in with precision. “For now, no more gossiping about ghostly bachelors in an abandoned mansion. Practice calls – Tiny, have you warmed up?”

Tiny furrowed her brow, her lips falling into a pout. Embarrassment heated her face as she curtly shook her head ‘no’.

“Go on,” YN encouraged the other with a smile before patting Jane’s shoulders to indicate she was done with her now-pristine hairdo as well.

“She acts like she’s the Madame,” Tiny mumbled under her breath as she stomped to her feet. “She’s not even a featured ballerina.”

The snide remark stung but YN tried to remember that they were young. Young and unaware of the hardships that awaited them. It wasn’t just dancing here. It was far more than that. YN returned to her shoes, tying them once more.

New bachelors in town. . . that’d be something. Far too often was it old men with oily money. But there is no way anyone truly owned that estate for all these years and no one in town knew it. No way. Somebody would know who owned it. It wouldn’t have become a ghost story. It was just silly gossip. Wishful thinking for a man to come sweep you off your feet.

She sighed and stretched her limbs before hoisting herself up to prepare for tonight’s show.

Swan Lake: a princess turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer's curse. She’d watch the prima ballerina, Odette, dance about gracefully from the wings each night. YN’s toes flexing at every movement, as if she were dancing it herself. She yearned for it. Ached to be the one performing. Instead, she was simply one in the crowd. The corps de ballet, the ensemble. She’d spin about in the back, pirouette perfect, leap lovely. Awe and comfort the lead throughout her struggle as a swan as she, YN, remained the ugly duckling.

Her gaze would dance throughout the crowd as she did an arabesque, slow and precise. There is Nikolai in his usual spot. There’s Mrs Lee and her young sons. Ariel and her suitor Sunghoon. Takahashi in Box 2 with his sisters. Box 4 had Fredrikson and his family. Box 5 was empty – wonder where Dohyun was, Imara would be relieved she could relax tonight she bet. Her eyes skipped over Box 8 because, of course, it would be empty. It was always empty. Except…

There was a quick plie of her knees before she had to jete away off-stage

Whispers consumed the backstage. Did you see? Did you see?

Box 8 was occupied.

Never had it been occupied in all the years of the Cromer Opera House.

Cromer held many superstitions even as a modern industrializing town. They had ghost stories about houses after all. But one of the strangest superstitions was the number 8. They skipped the 8th street; the eighth floor was unspoken in the tallest of buildings. No aisle 8, no 8th editions.

Box 8 of the Opera House was left empty strategically - for luck.

But now, there sat only one man. Shadowed by the dark curtains of the box, he watched the show from opera glasses and sipped on glittering champagne that would occasionally catch the candlelight of the grand chandeliers.

Did you see his face? Who is he? Is he handsome? Who could buy the box? Who would want to buy that box?

“Quiet!” One of the older ballerinas snapped at the youngers. “The audience will hear you!”

YN snorted behind a hand, standing ready in the wings. While she didn’t gossip, she listened. As if the audience was completely enraptured by their rendition of Swan Lake. The Opera, the Ballet, the Theatre: they weren’t to solely watch a show and be entertained. It was social. It was always social. Of course, the audience was wondering the same questions as they were.

Who was he? Was it a he? His form looked masculine.

She wanted to catch a glimpse.

It was a man she surmised after the next scene. YN was downstage this dance, sat among the young ballerinas and acting as a mother swan to them as they would do dramatic port de bras, arm movements. She had time to glance about once more.

In the shadows of Box Number 8 was a handsome man. Dark hair framed his face. He wore a suit that was a deep black velvet. And his eyes were glued to her, she swore it.

He was someone new. He was someone intriguing. And she waited to see if he was indeed watching her. Her group stood after sometime to chase after Odette, leaping this way and that until joining back in the right-upper corner of the stage on a lifted platform, stylized as a grassy hill.

She looked up at the box. He was staring at her. He was staring at her, opera glasses focused on her. They glinted in the candle-light. He disregarded the spotlit prima ballerina pirouetting around the lower left of the stage. For her. She smiled at him.

Tiny glanced her way with a giddy immatureness in her actions, breaking the elegance of a ballerina in her excitement. She could already hear Madame’s scolding at tonight’s debrief. But YN didn’t mind. Because he was looking at her.

And everyone knew it.

Act One finished in a roar of applause. Heavied red curtains slid shut for intermission as they hurried off stage.

“He was looking at her.” Jane exclaimed bouncing on her feet as she tugged her friend’s arm in excitement.

The corps de ballet was walking all together through the backstage halls of the Opera House towards the boudoir. The prima ballerina and the principal dancers escaped to their own private dressing rooms – YN watched as a patron, Mr. Kim, an older gentleman snuck into the prima ballerina’s room.

“No, he wasn’t,” another girl claimed.

“Yes, he was,” Jane defended.

“No, he wasn’t,” another snorted.

“Yes, he was!” Tiny yelled, indignantly.

“Tabitha!” the Madame rounded the corner of the boudoir, exiting out of its doors to meet the ensemble.

The Madame was a strict looking woman, tall nosed with her hair in a meticulous updo. Her cane did little to aid in her walking but much in discipline. Too many times had she felt the thwack of the cane against the back of her legs, her arched back, or her stomach.

Legs straight! Back straight! Don’t slouch! YN!

The group paused at her appearance; some of the girls bowed their head in respect; others hid behind taller legs.

“Miss Tabitha, must I remind you of your manners every day?” she queried, her tone loud and grating. “As a lady of this company, you must be a lady.”

“Sorry, Madame,” Tiny immediately apologized, head bending forward.

There was a heavy pause as the Madame’s fiery gaze lingered on the young girl before passing over the selection of the ensemble. She glared at YN pointedly. YN had long stopped trying to appeal to her; it never worked she had learned.

“Carry on, girls,” the Madame instructed.

They curtsied in unison before continuing towards the boudoir, hopefully with enough time to slip into their next costumes, if need be, before any patrons were lounging about. It was always uncomfortable to change with the men about – it made them feel truly like objects on display rather than dancers. Skilled ladies.

YN went to her shared vanity, glancing over her makeup. Dabbing at sweat that beaded at her hairline, she went to reach for a handkerchief but when she leant back up right was spooked by the sight of a man behind her.

Black velvet linen made up his suit; she had been right. It was perfectly tailored to his form, luxurious and hugging. His suit jacket was longer than typical but stylish with ornate, Greco-Roman inspired embroidered sleeves.

In the mirror, he was handsome. Strong jawline. Bare collarbones visible from his loose fitted button up beneath his suit jacket. With dark intriguing eyes that didn’t stray from her, a quirked brow, and delicate face-framing strands of hair, he stole her breath away.

“Hello.” He greeted coyly.

The boudoir’s chatter died down at his greeting. All eyes zeroed in on them. She stood to her full height once more, holding the handkerchief in between her hands. Sweat slid down her temple to her jawline delicately.

“Hello,” she greeted, patting down the sides of her face quickly before turning to face him fully.

His lips were plump, curling in a hint of a smile as he watched her spin to face him. He seemed to be examining her just as she did to him.

“You’re far more beautiful than any of these girls,” the mystery man commented leaning over the vanity to peer at her.

His fingers fiddled on the white vanity, making shapes this way and that. Knocking his knuckles against the wood, almost boyishly shy. But this patron wasn’t shy. She had seen men parade about and try every trick in the book with a girl. She could see it in the sparkle of his dark eyes. The curl of his charming smile.

He wasn’t shy. He was smart.

“You are a charmer, sir,” she complimented, opening a glass container holding puff powder.

She flashed him a cheeky smile before using the puff to powder over the sweat on her forehead, her cheeks. A jar of rouge was placed down near the mirror by another dancer. When she turned away, her tutu brushed against the mysterious patron’s waist. He didn’t take his eyes from YN all the while.

“I wish I was,” he softly crooned. So he wouldn’t have to watch her in the mirror, he turned to lean back on the ledge, fingers pressed behind him as he watched her touch up her lipstick with a delicate brush. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

It was a soft admittance. His eyes hadn’t left her features, darting from her eyes to the red petals of her mouth that pressed together in a pout as she finished apply the lipstick. Her finger went to dip into the pot before, with a quick movement, he grasped her wrist.

It wasn’t painful just surprising as she jumped in his grip. His hold loosened greatly, allowing her to pull away if she wished. She didn’t.

“Let me; don’t want you to dirty your hands,” he said.

She licked her lips; the heavy taste of beeswax and rosewater stuck to the back of her tongue as she nodded minutely.

The handsome patron’s cheshire cat grin grew. A dark mole on his cheek caught her attention the more his cheeks puffed up with his smile. Beautiful. He let go of her wrist. Long, long fingers dipped into the red makeup.

“What’s your name?” she asked, a first when it came to the patrons and male-visitors of the ballet boudoir.

Far too often, everyone knew everyone. They’d scratch and crawl away or towards certain men; attention meant everything to a beginning ballet dancer. It meant success. No one seemingly knew him, judging by the looks she caught the more experienced, older ballerinas throw her way.

“Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung,” he answered her before tapped the blush delicately on one cheek.

His touch made her heart race. He licked his own lips, looking down at her through tussled dark locks. His fingers pressed another dot to her other cheek. His free hand moved to cup her jawline, forcing her to look up at him before, with gentle motions, he began to blend the rouge into a soft gradient. One cheek, then the other.

The room felt quiet. Burning eyes on them grazed her skin but it didn’t make her stomach churn with anxiety. It felt like only the two of them existed in a perfect bubble. His touch didn’t burn or disgust her; it tingled across her skin making gooseflesh crawl up her arms, up her spine. She worried he could see them through the sheer nylon of her long-sleeved costume. If he did, he didn’t comment on it. His eyes were focused on adding to her beauty, gentle and almost reverent.

“And yours, little swan?” he tilted her chin up as he finished with his work. He loved to watch the rubied glow on her cheeks grow and grow, and not due to his careful make-up’ed handiwork.

“YN,” she said.

He grinned before he repeated her name. His fingers trailed over her cheek, over her chin, his thumb ghosting over her plush lipsticked lips. Before he pulled away and leaned back on the vanity; rouge staining the pure vanity below his hands, sloppily.

“Pretty name for a pretty swanette.”

She smiled up at him, the building, bubbling excitement writhing in her throat. She swallowed.

“Are you new in town? I’ve never seen you at the Opera.” She commented offhandedly.

His grin remained, the corners of his lips curling cat-like. “Mmhm,” he hummed out. “You can say that. I’m from Aurora originally.”

“Aurora… the island Aurora?” she queried with intrigue. “I’ve heard its booming lately. The Jewel of the Atiny Sea.”

He nodded, his smile not fading but his eyes crinkled as he raised his unstained fingers to push her hair aside. Just as an excuse to graze her shoulder she bet.

“I grew up there before it became beautiful,” he admitted. “Its much nicer now – I like to visit on holidays but I don’t miss it.”

“But now you are in Cromer. For how long?” she continued.

He hummed again leaning close. “For however long it takes to woo you?” he flirted.

It made a whirlwind of butterflies dance in her stomach. He watched as her blush extended to the tips of her ears. He laughed lowly.

“You’re teasing me,” she warned with a smirk. “We barely know one another.”

“Maybe,” he retorted. “I know skill and dedication when I see it. I like that.”

There was a ringing of a bell, delicate but a familiar sound for the ballerinas. Some turned their heads towards the stage hand ringing it to give him a smile. Others remained speaking to their patrons or changing their costumes to Act 2’s ensemble. Most remained eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Do you need to hurry along, beautiful swanette?” he fiddled with the crown of feathers pinned to her hair.

“Soon,” she replied simply.

His fingers trailed over her hair, tucking some behind her ear delicately before he grazed his hand down the sleek nylon of her sleeve to take her hand. His hand was decorated in countless rings. Gold, silver, copper. One was a series of silver circles ( …or were they sideways 8’s?) with jewels placed in between stylishly. There was another that was a polished silver with the emblem of a letter she couldn’t quite make out on its face. The metal felt cold against her hot skin. Running a thumb over her knuckles, he squeezed her hand.

“Will you indulge me in another meeting soon? I regret to inform you I can’t stay late after the performance,” he admitted. “I would like to get to know you.”

It was charming the idea he proposed. As if she had any will or way in meeting him. But she was intrigued by him. He was handsome, playful, and new. He was mysterious with how he sat alone in the forbidden, unlucky Box Number 8. She wanted to get to know him… and if he wanted to pay for her time like the other patrons eventually did with their ballerinas, maybe this would be beneficial for the both of them.

She leaned in close like she had seen other ballerinas do with their patrons. Closer than what was appropriate for a lady, but not close enough to have their forms touch. She looked up and smiled, enjoying the way his own ears were beginning to tint a playful red. This was a fun dance between the two of them. She had never enjoyed her suitors so much.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d love to talk more, Mr. Jung.”

“Call me Wooyoung.”

#wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #atz x reader #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #written by haley

108 notes · View notes

dissapointu · 11 hours ago

Note

I'm dying here, 4 tests, course, my house is a mess and I just wanted to sleep 12 hours straight.

Can I request for Arcane X characters scary!reader I think they would be a big person with a look at me and I'll break your neck vibe, but they are sweet with their partners.

Drink water, stay well 👋🏻

I totally get the feeling of being overwhelmed, but take a deep breath! You’ve got this. I’ll take your request and make it worth your while with some headcanons. These characters would absolutely be intrigued by an intimidating, “look at me and I’ll break your neck” type of reader who is sweet with them.

————————————————————————

Jinx

Jinx’s initial reaction is pure curiosity mixed with excitement. She’s not intimidated easily, so when she first meets you, she’s all over the place—sizing you up with a wild grin. The cold stare you give anyone who dares challenge you only fuels her chaos-loving spirit.

“Oh, I like this one!” Jinx cackles, bouncing around you with pure glee. “You could totally crush someone with just a look!” Her eyes gleam as she watches you—she admires your confidence.

When you’re sweet to her, though, Jinx melts. Your soft side balances out the sharp edges of your persona, and she clings to you like a koala. “You’re so soft with me, though,” she says with a grin, “but the second someone tries to mess with us… BAM! I’ll be ready to blow something up!”

Vi respects strength, and she can immediately tell you have it. The way you carry yourself, the air around you—it speaks volumes. While most people might shrink back, Vi doesn’t flinch. She’s more intrigued by the fact that you’re a force to be reckoned with, yet you’re still affectionate with her.

When you show her your softer side, she feels an intense mix of pride and adoration. “I gotta admit, babe,” she says, flashing a grin, “seeing you toss someone into the nearest wall makes me a little jealous… but I love how gentle you are with me.”

Vi would always stand by your side in a fight, but she’ll be the first to keep you grounded and remind you that you don’t have to use your strength all the time. She’s happy to see the layers beneath your intimidating exterior.

Sevika

Sevika sees herself in you—a strong, no-nonsense type who doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s genuinely impressed by your intimidating aura, and she can’t help but feel a little protective. She might be a bit reserved, but she always notices the way people act around you.

“Not many can make people shut up with a glance,” she muses, her eyes narrowing with admiration. When you’re sweet with her, Sevika’s face softens, and she’ll often pull you close, knowing no one else will get close to you as easily. “Don’t let your guard down, babe,” she’ll whisper, “But don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

She knows what you’re capable of, and she finds comfort in the fact that you’re with her—someone who’s just as tough as you are.

Silco

Silco is drawn to power, and he immediately recognizes the authority you carry. There’s something magnetic about you—people step aside when you walk through a room, and Silco is no exception. He knows your power can match his, and he admires that.

But when you show him your softer, loving side, it takes him by surprise. Silco is used to cold, calculated relationships, but you bring something else—a warmth he didn’t expect. “So you have this… other side,” he muses, his gaze intense. “I’d say I’m the only one who gets to see it, but I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

When you’re around him, Silco sees you as more than just a weapon. You’re someone who complements his ambitions and understands his dark side—but also reminds him of the humanity he’s lost.

Vander

Vander would be a little more cautious when he first meets you. He knows strength, and he knows how intimidating you are, but he’s always been a protector, so he’d approach you with care. Still, he can see your sweet nature beneath the surface, especially when you’re with him.

Vander would soften when you show him affection, seeing that you’re not all about intimidation. “You’ve got this fierce side, I see that,” he’d say with a chuckle, pulling you close. “But with me? You’re just my baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Vander would always remind you to keep your temper in check, especially around others, but he loves the balance you bring to the relationship.

Ekko

Ekko respects strength, but he’s the type to see through tough exteriors. He’d be a little intimidated at first, but once he realizes you have a gentle side when you’re with him, he’s putty in your hands.

“You’re like a force of nature, but when it’s just us…” he’d say, his voice teasing. “I’m your soft spot, huh?”

He would love how protective you are over him and always make sure you’re not just scaring people away with your strength. He sees that vulnerability in you and always offers his support. “You don’t have to scare everyone off, y’know,” Ekko would chuckle, “But I can’t lie—I love how you just walk in like you own the place.”

Jayce

Jayce has never been intimidated by anyone, but when he sees you command attention with just your presence, he’s intrigued. He might try to act like he’s unaffected, but there’s a clear glimmer of admiration in his eyes.

“You don’t have to use that aura on me,” Jayce would say with a smirk, feeling the weight of your power. But when you’re affectionate with him, he lets out a relieved sigh. “Good thing I get to see you when you’re not throwing people across the room.”

Jayce loves your strength and the security you bring to the relationship, and he secretly loves how you take charge in situations. He’s all about teamwork, and your balance of power and tenderness is exactly what he needs.

Viktor

Viktor might be a little shy when he first meets you, sensing the overwhelming presence you give off. But as he gets to know you, he becomes fascinated by your strength and how you seem to effortlessly control a room.

When you’re gentle with him, it blows his mind. “You’re the most intimidating person I’ve met…” he’d say, adjusting his glasses nervously, “But with me, you’re kind. I don’t understand how, but… I think I like it.”

Viktor loves how you balance your fierce exterior with a soft side that’s only for him. He admires your intelligence and strength, and it makes him feel safe and cherished.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn is not easily intimidated, but when she sees how effortlessly people back away when you enter the room, she’s impressed. However, she’s not afraid to challenge you—she respects your strength, but she doesn’t let it overpower her.

“You’ve got quite the reputation,” Caitlyn would say with a smile. “But when you’re with me, no one else matters, right?”

She’ll show you that she’s not intimidated by your power, but she’ll also soften when she sees the gentle side you reserve for her. “You don’t have to act tough with me. I know what you’re really like,” she’ll say, snuggling into your side.

Mel Medarda

Mel doesn’t get intimidated easily, but there’s something about your commanding presence that fascinates her. She loves the power you exude, but she’ll also quickly recognize your soft side, especially when you’re with her.

“You make the whole room stand still when you walk in,” Mel would say, impressed. “It’s captivating… but I’m the one who gets to see the real you.”

Mel loves how you balance the tough exterior with your caring, affectionate nature. She feels like she’s the only one who gets to witness your gentleness, and she’ll savor every moment.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa respects strength more than anything, and she’s immediately drawn to your power. She recognizes that you could crush anyone who stands in your way, but she’s not intimidated—rather, she’s intrigued.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with,” Ambessa would say, her voice low and admiring. “But I’m the one who gets to keep you, aren’t I?”

She’d always keep you close, making sure you’re hers. Ambessa would love how you soften in her presence, and she’d hold onto you with pride.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie might be a little intimidated at first, but as she gets to know you, she’s in awe of how you can be both powerful and gentle. Your presence commands attention, but when you’re with her, you’re warm and kind.

“You’re so strong,” Maddie would say, her voice filled with admiration. “But you never make me feel small. How do you do it?”

She’d absolutely adore your sweet side, and she’d love being the one to see you at your most vulnerable.

Lest

Lest isn’t someone who gets intimidated by anyone, but when she sees how others react to your mere presence, she’s amused. Still, she knows how to keep you close and keep others in line.

“I’m not worried about your strength,” Lest would say with a smirk. “But you’ve got me wrapped around your finger with that sweetness of yours.”

She’d love how you balance the toughness with tenderness, and she’d always make sure to keep you close and remind you that she’s the only one who gets your sweet side.

130 notes · View notes

burningcheese-merchant · 2 days ago

Note

Hi, you're the first person on Tumblr I ever asked (still don't know how it works)

But how does Nutmeg Tiger feel about the kids in your Beast Redemption canon? Golden Cheese? Burning Spice and how he changed so much?

My "actually sitting down and answering asks" bender continues lol.

Nutmeg Tiger was quite shocked and confused when she noticed her master start to change. She's been fed the same stories about him all her life, had the same thoughts and expectations drilled into her skull as all the other Wild Spices. They favor the strong. Burning Spice favors the strong. Their raison d'être is power, battle, and bloodshed, and anyone who stands in their master's way must be destroyed, in keeping with the wanton destruction Burning Spice always craved.

But... Golden Cheese. That woman... That bird. Nutmeg was aware of her master's fixation on her from the get-go (it creeped her out a lot sometimes, but she always held her tongue), and obeyed when he demanded the bird be brought to him. She hated Golden Cheese almost by instinct, for any enemy of her master was an enemy of hers. She was outraged whenever Golden insulted him, and tried to escape his clutches, and when she actually defeated him (now THAT was a shock. She always thought her master was invincible. How could this be?). But she stood by and continued obeying his commands, even after that illusion she'd had of him being unstoppable was shattered. It was all she could do, in all honesty, for she never knew anything else.

But Burning Spice kept going after her. First to fight - but not even for the Soul Jam, just for fun. When Nutmeg tried to question this, Spice shut her down with prejudice and without explaining himself. She never asked again after that; she only had one head, she couldn't afford to lose it... And regardless, he was her master, and she cannot and must not question him.

...But then he started doing more than just fighting Golden Cheese. He started just... talking to her. Spending time with her. His infatuation with her was ever-present, but Nutmeg saw it slowly evolve from entirely selfish and deranged (even Nutmeg thought he was a psycho lol) to more tempered, healthy and genuine. Furthermore, Spice himself began to... calm down, for lack of a better term. He became more somber. More subdued. He seemed lost in thought often, when he was back home. His words and tone of voice began to lose some of their bite. He didn't want to go on hunts or destroy things as much anymore. If Nutmeg Tiger had it in her to say it - to anyone at all, including to herself - Spice almost seemed... depressed.

And it was Golden Cheese's fault, Nutmeg Tiger was certain. She was doing something to her master. In addition to stealing his power AND his heart, she has stolen his spirit - and for this, Nutmeg Tiger only hated her more. Greedy, haughty, conniving bird. If only Burning Spice had succeeded in killing her when he had the chance (she does not know or understand that he never wanted this in the first place; if Golden died, who would entertain him?)...

Worse still was when her master started bringing her there. He started bringing Golden Cheese back to Beast-Yeast, back to the Spice Ridge, to visit the Wild Spices. What- what even- what is this? What nonsense is this? He's bringing their sworn nemesis around like it's normal! Like he's bringing his girlfriend home to his family! (Which unironically is what he's doing lol that sly dog) And the other spices are OKAY WITH THIS! THEY ENJOY SEEING HER! THEY WARM UP TO HER AND LAY DOWN THEIR ARMS ALMOST INSTANTLY! Fools! Weaklings! Cowards, all of them! Is she the only one with any backbone left?! Is she the only one who sees and remembers the bird's treachery?!

Of COURSE Nutmeg Tiger is angry when she actually realizes that Burning Spice has well and truly fallen in love with Golden Cheese - and that Golden Cheese has fallen for him in turn, and thus they'd begun a relationship. She can't really say she's shocked, not anymore (probably not back then, either, her master was down BAD), but she certainly is appalled. In fact, Nutmeg almost feels... betrayed. All of that time and hard work, the blood and sweat and tears, spent on trying to follow HIS orders. LIVES were lost in the pursuit of this thief! And he just... shrugs it off? Shoves them all aside so he can pretend he's a good person and walk off into the sunset holding hands with their enemy? It's honestly insulting. Hurtful, even. The Wild Spices were fools, and now Burning Spice was the king of fools.

She remains resistant to everything for a very long time. Nutmeg Tiger is nothing, absolutely nothing at all, if not principled (read: stubborn). She does not accept her master's change of heart. She is not happy like the other Wild Spices are when he stops mistreating them and actually starts behaving like a proper king/leader. She only engages with Golden Cheese and her entourage (they start coming around too, and she hates it and them, that hooded servant that reeks of smoke most of all) to snap and snarl at them. She does not approve of Spice's relationship with Golden, even if he's genuinely happy - the sort of happiness she's never seen him express before. The kind brought by something light and warm, not the starved, manic, ephemeral glee that came with the carving of flesh and bone by his axe. It's anathema to everything she's ever known. It's an attack on her people, her way of life, HER. Perhaps everyone else has bent the knee to Golden Cheese, but she won't. Even if she's the last one on Earthbread who doesn't.

Except... She ends up bending the knee, too. Last one in line, but even so. When you're forced to hang around people all the time, it starts to reflect on you in some way. Especially if those people refuse to leave you alone, and seem to make an honest effort to speak to you and interact with you and get to know you. Especially that damn bird. Never any anger or malice on her face or in her voice... Did she not remember their rivalry? The pain they inflicted on one another? How can she still treat Nutmeg this way? Why is she being nice to her?

...Nutmeg Tiger never forgot that day. That moment where Golden Cheese condemned Burning Spice for ignoring Nutmeg while she was injured. They didn't even know each other. They were at war. Nutmeg was trying to hurt her. And yet, Golden still spoke up. She still stood up for her. Nutmeg Tiger has never known real kindness, be it giving any to others or receiving it... And there was someone giving her some, even if she herself could argue that it was undeserved. Golden had already driven a nail into Nutmeg's coffin by doing that... And all these visits from her, every attempt at conversation and fun and honest friendship, was just another nail. They stung, but Nutmeg was no stranger to pain... Only this pain kept building until not even she could endure it anymore.

Thus, slowly but surely, with the help and kindness of Golden Cheese and those beside her, Nutmeg Tiger, too, learned to change. Like Spice, she ended up confused. Depressed. She had a crisis of conscience and identity that took a long time to resolve. But when she did, she came out of it all the better, finally realizing the error of her ways and joining everyone else in the light. Perhaps she cannot undo her past actions - none of them can - but forward is the only way one can go regardless. And now, she finally wants to, and there are people there willing to help her along. To say no would be another wrongdoing.

She's happy at Spice and Golden's wedding. She welcomes the unification of their peoples. She accepts Golden Cheese and the others as friends (how strange it still is, to have "friends"...). She proudly serves her master still - both masters now.

And she loves the children like her own. She's the grumpy aunt that takes things too seriously and has a temper, but they still adore her (and vice versa). She helps train them (it is now her life's mission to ensure they become the greatest warriors to ever live lol). She'll carry them around on her back if they ask. She likes when they spend time in the nutmeg tribe. They are Wild Spices just like the rest of them. (She wasn't there when Pepper Jack was born, regrettably; she made it to the GCK a few days later. But she WAS there when Matar Paneer was born. Now THAT was a crazy day lol)

So yeah, there you have it. Nutmeg Tiger gets redeemed, too. Slower than Burning Spice (which is fundamentally absurd lol), but even so. She comes around to everything eventually.

And maybe she starts paying closer attention to "that servant who reeks of smoke"...

#sorry for the essay lol. I hope you're satisfied with my answer #You may consider this part of my Reformed Beasts AU. I got “I can fix him” syndrome real bad lol #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #nutmeg tiger cookie #smoked cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #merchant shorts #Look at all that gobbledygook. This might as well count as a story lol

43 notes · View notes

lumillsie · 1 day ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow #jon snow x reader #x reader #oneshots #preferences #imagine #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #robb stark #robb stark x reader #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader

47 notes · View notes