#This took way longer to draw than I want to admit

[pursuitseternal]

“𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊 𝖆 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊:”

Ascended Astarion x Archdevil Supreme Raphael Explicit | 3.5 K

Happy birthday to the unparalleled @marimosalad, for you… your two pookies in power and in love 🎨🖌️ by them too. And 🩵 to @nyx-knox for her cheering and betaing

Summary: An arrangement for mutual power… no longer

CW: romantic fluff, two powerful men, pining/yearning, feelings confessions, anal sex

“Lovely place you have here, Devil. I must say, the eternal beggars are a nice touch. Homey. Especially the one with the chamber pot.” Lord Astarion giggles, dramatic, affected. Those scarlet eyes glimmering with roiling power. “I mean, when I tell people to ‘eat shit,’ I don’t mean it quite so literally.” His smirk broadens into something wicked and sadistic. “Good for you.”

Raphael sat at his desk in his boudoir, quill suspended midair in his grip. He didn’t need to look up to recognize that purring tenor or that refined, undead scent. He continued his writing, careful not to let the ink drip and make a mess. “To what do I owe the honor, Vampire?” he crooned, unbothered as he continued scribbling on the contract before him.

“Vampire Ascendant, devil,” the reply was clipped, Astarion reigning in his flash of a temper just before those brown eyes raised to observe him. “I am the one and only, and yet…” Astarion eased his stance, opting to lean against the side of a wingback chair instead of sitting in it, “the honor is all mine to be accepted into your glorious home here. One can’t always say they’ve met with a devil in his own home and lived to tell the tale.” He flashed that rakish, fanged smirk.

“You haven’t left yet, oh Vampire Ascendant,” Raphael’s mouth turned into a cockeyed grin. “Plenty of time for you to eat those words.”

Fingers picking at the threads of his ostentatiously embroidered jacket, Astarion took a heavy, dramatic sigh. “We both know you’re bluffing. We both know there is something you want that I could give you…” he raised his crimson eyes, their gaze roving down the Devil, lingering on the lines of his mortal form. “Perhaps more than one thing.”

“Speak plain, lest I cut out your churlish tongue,” he snapped back.

“The Crown,” Astarion replied. “You want it, I can give it to you.”

“You’d betray your own precious leader? The mortal that helped you ascend?” Skepticism twisted his tone, that dark amusement in his lilting his deep voice. “My, my, colour me surprised.”

“They’re nice, perhaps too nice. And they are short-sighted when it comes to their… ambitions. They think it will better serve another in our company on his own path to… ugh… healing.” The Vampire remained fixed in place, even as a storm of emotions danced across his expressive face. “But I am not one to pass up on an opportunity.”

Raphael leaned back in his seat, meticulously setting the quill down perfectly in line with the edge of his parchment. “Well… I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting such a gross betrayal within your ranks, but you know what they say…”

Astarion merely arched a silver brow.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

With a deep chested giggle, Astarion pushed himself off the chair. “Indeed,” he replied, a rakish smirk on those refined features. “But given all that the hells has done for me, I figure a little quid pro quo is in order. Besides, I’d much rather make myself useful to another powerful being that understands the ways of the worlds in the same manner as I.”

Those crimson eyes locked into Raphael’s gaze as he continued. “I don’t need some bleeding heart creating a new god. I need… assurances of power, protection…” he paused to draw just up to the other side of the desk. “I need the promise of a little something extra powerful in exchange for something you hold dear, Devil.”

Raphael scoffed, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head. “I’m not interested in matters of the flesh, especially not of the undead variety. However, given the look in your eyes, I could offer you my Incubus…”

“My days of seeking those services are behind me,” Astarion fought the need to bristle, smoothing his tone as if to dangle the idea of his physical allure. “No, I want the secret of Hellfire from you in exchange for the crown.” He smirked, his fingers playing over the curve of his cane, those fingers dexterously teasing the gilded golden dragon that ornamented the handle. “Sex is nice, but power… protection… a way to keep my position as the Vampire Ascendant safe from any who would dare challenge me…”

His smirk twisted even more wickedly, noticing how the devil’s eyes followed his fingers briefly before drifting back to meet his gaze.

“I’d rather have power now than anything, even a horizontal dance with a devil.”

Raphael chuckled, shrugging before he snapped his fingers. Fire and smoke flashed between them; a new simple contract appearing midair. “Hellfire for the Crown is a deal I’d be a fool not to accept. I’ll even sweeten our bargain, Lord Astarion, giving you early access to my promised goods to help aid you in fulfilling yours.”

Astarion’s eyes widened, shocked at the generosity. “What’s the catch?” he snapped, eager eyes scanning the scanty few lines on the paper with a magistrate’s eye.

“No catch, nothing but the assurance that it will help you succeed in granting me what I desire…”

Steady handed, the vampire took the quill from the air and signed his name with a flourish. “Very well, Devil. I’m glad to see that our exchanges can come to mutual satisfaction.” He replied as the contract disappeared into thin air, leaving him facing the devil, those brown eyes roaming over his guest with searing appreciation.

“Indeed they do. Now run along, little vampling. I’ll be patiently waiting for word of your victories.”

Astarion gave a quick bow and headed for the door behind him.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Raphael’s voice called, sweetly and sing-song. He waited for that pale face to turn its sardonic grin back in his direction. “No one said the dances had to be exclusively… horizontal.”

Archdevil of Avernus. It even made the Vampire Ascendant grin as he stepped through the portal and into a great hall filled with mirrors. To his keen eye, not much had changed by way of appearances, though… the guest list seemed slightly more refined this time around. Other devils and infernal beings, a clear collection of mortal rulers watching with curious eyes at the display of decadence it was in the House of Hope.

A self-satisfied smirk twisted Lord Astarion’s lips as he recalled the last time he stood here. Halls still filled with debtors, those decrepit skeletal servants chattering about on their ancient bones. How much had changed since last he wandered these fearsome halls, since the day he handed Raphael the Crown of Karsus.

But today, he took a deep inhale, relishing in the revelry, drinking in the decadence. This soirée might have been for the Archdevil’s rise to power, and perhaps it was vain, but Astarion liked to think it was just as much his victory as well. And what a victory it was… the rush of power, the thrill of conquest, and the glory of ambition. The vampire gave himself a sly smile, knowing and craving those same things. After all, it was what he deserved after centuries at the hands of a master; he would have no other. None but himself. And at last, like in the true mirrored reflections he enjoyed so much, that lust for power reflected back at him in the face of this new Archdevil.

And it was… delicious.

No one else knew the obsession inside him, the need, second to none, to maintain control and to dominate. Only Raphael.

And, speaking of the Devil, Astarion laughed in his thoughts as he entered the great chamber of the House of Hope, he instantly felt those flame-flickered brown eyes lock on his entrance.

He entered, head held high, cane in his hand tapping along with his footfalls as he made his way, headlong into the fray of guests to approach the Archdevil. His gaze was searing, following every graceful movement Astarion made until he was right beside the Devil. He didn’t bow, didn’t fawn or bend low before the infernal creature. He just smirked, standing beside the arm of the Devil’s throne… and then he flicked his finger to ping the metal of the Crown of Karsus on his head.

The slightest metal click made those brown eyes squint as Raphael smiled up at the vampire. “You accepted my invitation to attend? A bit foolhardy but ambitious.”

“Me to a T,” Astarion chuckles, turning to scan the crowd from this vantage point. “I must admit,” he said, running a finger over the gilded top of the throne then down its side, “you’re the only other being I’ve met that makes power looks good.”

Raphael’s brows arched, brown eyes flicking up to meet those scarlet ones. “Aside from you, you mean?”

Astarion gave that rumbling low giggle. “Naturally, darling.” He gives a twirl of his hand, his cuff’s lace dancing in the air along with his wrist. “Aside from myself, I have never met another being so deserving of a crown.” He tilts his head; his kohl-rimmed eyes glinting at it covetously. “Perhaps I need one… a crown I mean.” He sighs, “It just looks so wonderfully elegant and powerful.”

Raphael stood, drawing to his full height, meeting the Ascendent right in the eyes, he gave a twisted smile. “Be sure to get your own, my vampling, unless you’d like to make a deal…” He lets the question hang in the air, the noises of revelry in full swing around them. Voices and music, it all fell to a hum as they locked eyes.

“Eh, a deal? I think my dealing days are quite done. I’m just happy to know I’m in the good graces of one as powerful as you,” he bows his head, flashing that charismatic, easy smile. “Besides, it’s a precious thing just to be on your good side, Devil.”

One final twist of his smirk and he made his way down to the throng of guests. Congratulations given, he was determined to sample a taste of the pleasures the hells had to offer. Reaching a table set lavishly with all manner of food and drink, he drew up short to feel that same searing heat standing behind him once more.

A tanned hand reached around his, grabbing a golden cup and offering it as Raphael slid to the side. “Allow me, Lord Astarion,” he crooned. “This vintage is perhaps best suited to your… most refined tastes.”

Astarion’s crimson eyes widened a moment, staring at the cup for the briefest of seconds before closing his pale hand around it. “I trust your recommendation, Devil.”

He lifted the cup to his full lips, the fragrant bouquet hitting his senses full bore. It went right to his head, or maybe that was the way those flame-flickering brown eyes seemed to drink him in as he lowered his cup.

“Is it to your liking, Astarion?” he asked, velvet tones caressing his name with something equally heady as the wine now in his belly. For a split second, the devil’s gaze watched as Astarion licked a drop of wine from the corner of his mouth.

Oh. No, couldn’t possibly… Astarion nodded once and smiled politely. “You give excellent recommendations on all things decadent. This party for one,” he scanned the lavish room. “Food and drink. Music and sex. So many indulgences in one place. Makes me realize I’ll have to step up my own soirées at the Crimson Palace if I’m going to keep my hedonistic reputation intact.” He snipped the consonants.

Raphael smiled, that swarthy face lifting as he grabbed his own cup, appeased and relaxed for once as he looked out on the fray. “Perhaps you’d deign to include me on your guest list? It’s been some time since I rubbed elbows with the undead elite.”

Astarion smirked to feel that devilish gaze back on him. “Oh, my darling, you mean me? Tch, I do suppose I am the elitest of them all now.” He took another drink of the wine, savoring the burn down his throat. Only to find Raphael a bit closer. Those corners of his dark eyes a little… softer.

“I do not make such offers lightly, Astarion,” the devil spoke, “nor do I pin hopes on wisps of nothing. You are unique, a mirror to my own ambitions and drives. You and I, we are cut from the same fabric of power, molded by the same sorts of trials, and seen by the ignorant as monsters.”

Astarion held his breath, watching those lips lift in a small half smile.

“But I know you are no monster any more than I am, and I… appreciate that connection.”

“Connection?” Astarion gave that rakish smirk, crimson eyes glinting with his swagger charm. Then he gave that flurry of giggles. “I knew devils like to toy with the truth, but this… tch.” He sucked his teeth, scolding just a bit. A sarcastic arch to his silver brow.

Raphael merely matched that easy, daring twist of a smirk, extending his hand and glancing his dark eyes towards the center of the room. “Care for a dance, Ascendant?”

Astarion’s eyes widened at the gallant gesture. “I… I suppose it would be rude to refuse,” he flashed that rakish grin, but something about it felt false. Too much of a show of detachment for the nagging feeling in his belly. A belly that no longer gnawed with a spawn’s hunger, largely thanks to the owner of the infernally hot hand that closed around his own.

For once, that now-beating heart in his chest lurched, pulled into the crowd of couples dancing. The music beat and swelled, but nothing was louder than that thump of his ascended heart and the way he seemed to breathe too loudly. Carefully, he schooled his face into that easy smile even as that other infernally hot hand pressed tentatively on his lower back.

He cleared his throat, turning his head to view the room. “You know…” he began, stopping short the moment he felt a pair of fiery warm lips on the arch of his neck. Just one little press right over his scars.

“Apologies,” Raphael rasped, feeling the tension in Astarion’s body. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. What is it I should know?”

Astarion, brows furrowed and full lips twitching, he looked into that swarthy, handsome devilish face. He expected sarcasm, a look meant to intimidate and ruffle feathers. But all he saw was curiosity and, if he was honest, hesitation. “No I was just…” his own silken voice stopped at the lump in his throat. His hand gripped into the top of the devil’s shoulder as he pulled him against his lips.

Warm. A hint of spice like cinnamon. The slightest purse against his own. That’s what Astarion felt the second their lips met.

A taste of power, a thrum of recognition. Astarion felt those warm hands on him grip just a bit firmer, pulling him slowly flush against the devil’s chest. Then that velvet voice whispered against his lips, “I’ve waited too long for a taste of you, of your own power.”

The vampire exhaled, intrigued by the taste of heat on the mouth against his own. “And, how does it taste?” he purred in reply.

Raphael’s lips twisted in a smirk, throwing back a word he’d so often heard the Ascendant use: “Delicious.”

The moment a lull had fallen on the festivities, that warm hand into the vampire’s grip once more. “Follow me, Ascendant,” he murmured in that pointed ear. Soon the crowd dispersed the further into his House they went. Heads held high, hands held tightly, they smiled with confidence, nodding to those few straggling guests who sought to congratulate the new Archdevil Supreme… or who recognized the Vampire Ascendant, royalty of the undead. Unspoken, they both began to tread just a bit faster once that shimmering door to his boudoir came into sight.

Entering, the rushing of the rejuvenating bath seemed to fade into the distance as their lips met again, this time in hunger and aching need. Neither even acknowledge the whines and pouts of the incubus that paced deeper in, knowing best to let their master attend to his own affairs.

Raphael’s body reached its limit, a blazing inferno beneath this mortal veil as he pulled Astarion against his chest and pulled him towards that decadent and sprawling bed. Those burning lips parted, barely withdrawing from that fanged and hungry mouth as he rasped, “Astarion, I would very much like to share with you my appreciation… for your power, and for… your very being, one that mirrors my own.” He kept those flickering brown eyes closed, holding his breath tightly in his chest as he waited, as he made his offer with no strings nor contract attached. And it made his heart pound in his damned chest.

“Yes, devil,” the reply passed between his parted lips with that deliciously rakish giggle. “If you insist on worshiping me, how could I say no…”

His hands worked quickly to disrobe the vampire, letting that tailored suit of silks and golden thread fall to the floor to uncover the real luxury beneath. Skin pale and pearlescent, muscles etched and carved with strength, it even made his ancient heart stutter with lust and desire. He recalled seeing so many years ago already it seemed, on the road to Baldur’s Gate when this whole thing began. He felt him purr, lips twitching as they locked eyes again.

Smooth nimble fingers followed suit as Astarion pulled apart that elegant jacket to expose the chest of a man who was so, so much more. Trails and patches of dark patches of hair lined his body, and Astarion couldn't help but touch them, curious and aroused at the sensation so different from his own smooth flesh. He’d had mortal men before, of course, but none so sculpted and godlike… or perhaps not so devilishly handsome. He laughed at his own humorous thoughts only to feel a knuckle under his chin, lifting his face.

Raphael smiled at him. “Something funny, Ascendant?” he murmured, dark eyes watching those plush lips part to speak.

“The contrary,” his smile turned soft at the corner, hands winding around the heat of his back to pull him flush, to lose himself in that searing embrace. “I find myself very serious about you… how I, too, feel for you.”

Clothing shed, the bed caught them both as they tumbled into it. That dark skin and bristled hair was a crush of muscle, the devil carefully lowering himself on the pale elf, breathing rough and ragging into that fanged kiss. Arousals pressed together, and devilish hands clawed and gripped hard into that perfect swell of an ass beneath him. “So handsome, so powerful, a reflection equal to my own…” Raphael growled into his mouth, hips pressing and grinding into the vampire, slowly.

“Hells,” Astarion gasped, reaching between them to grip their cocks together and tighter, a bit more relief with the friction. Then he panted a laugh, “The irony… of that curse is not… lost on me.” His silken voice broke with each gasping breath he made.

“I’d rather hear my name cried from your lips,” he murmured, teasing his finger into that tight ring of the vampire’s ass. His laughter is slow, lazy and gentle for once, fingers suddenly coated in oil as if summoned from thin air…

“Neat trick,” Astarion purred, rocking his hips, lifting his ass for ease. “You’ll teach it to me… hgnf…” his voice broke as he was skillfully stretched open.

“That and more are yours, Astarion, when you’re by my side.” There was so much weight to his tone, so many asks and emotions implied, even as he pressed his cock at the vampire’s entrance.

Devils were vain, proud… and Astarion recognized the hesitation and vulnerability masked behind the words.

For they mirrored his own.

Nevertheless, a single, “Yes,” slipped from the Ascendant’s smirking mouth. Twisted lips parting in ecstasy the moment he felt hot, warm, and so full.

Foreheads pressed against one another—their breath a wash of warm and hot. Skin slid on skin—one dark and swarthy atop one pale and undead. For two such powerful beings, they drove one another to the brink.

Their voices huffed and panted, whimpered and growled until hot seed filled his insides, and Astarion’s own cum coated the rises of his belly.

Never, he thought, never was it so chivalrous with anyone, never had he felt so seen and desired by one so powerful and pleasing in shape. His mind awash with bliss, his vision filled with only those dark eyes set deep in that regal face, and Astarion actually felt his heart beat. Not just out of the magic of his rite or from the necessity of his new, glorious, undead life. No, this was an unsteady flutter… young and ruddy and uncontrollable.

A sensation he had long thought impossible. He pursed his lips, pressing them one last time for a kiss, clinging to the moment, to the feeling of seeing himself in the mirrored shine of those dark eyes.

As their lips broke one more time, that rich baritone voice crooned down at him, Raphael’s hot palm cupping his cheek. “Stay, Ascendant. Stay with me.”

“Yes, Devil,” he purred softly in reply, “my darling.”

@marimosalad I wouldn’t be doing this at all or still or this much without them. My tadpole sister, my constant collaborator. I am beyond lucky and blessed to call you bestie. 🩵🩸

[shinakazami1]

Borderlands fandom I'm cooking something

Meet Handsome Jack Fish

[honeycrispjamz]

i know it's not your usual ship but i've been stirring with lottievan abo thoughts. lottie's freak breeding kink with van's willingness to kneel and do anything for her... mmmm...

I took this ask and ran with it 🫶 the idea of Lottie bitching Van is sooooo good to me,,, their teeth clashing together as they kiss, Lottie constantly trying to get Van to relax but they can’t— especially not when their body is telling them to fight back,,, but as they think about pulling away, the taste of Lottie’s mouth and the smell of sex in the air only makes them want to submit 😵‍💫

Lottie whispering in their ear about how strong they were through the winter, how the wilderness admires their want to survive despite everything that’s happened,,, Van feels a little bad, thinking about how Taissa would feel seeing them be bitched by Lottie, but god does it feel good when Lottie knots them over and over and over,,, maybe they can convince Taissa to join next time, though part of Van wants to keep this all to themself,,,

[motherismotheringggg]

Heheh this is the sub Nicholas anon. And if you can’t or don’t feel comfy no pressure at all. Maybe virgin Nicholas with dom experienced reader giving him a blowjob for the first time. Maybe the reader has the house to themselves and invites him over. And he’s had a crush on them for so long and is so excited… he’s so whiny too 🫣

surrendered

summary: see request above, thank you to this lovely anon who suggested this <3

type: dom fem! reader x sub nicholas chavez

tags/warnings: 18+, dry humping, sex while slightly intoxicated, oral (m! receiving), nipple play (m! receiving)

author’s note: my first request 🤭🤭🤭 i really leaned into the sub! thing which made the reader more dom by comparison so this was SO much fun to write!!!

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Nicholas sat across from you at your dining table, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that felt both thrilling and a little shy. He tried to play it cool, laughing at your jokes, but you could sense his subtle nervousness. His dark eyes would drift to the side occasionally, or his fingers would tap his glass, and he seemed to hesitate just a fraction of a second whenever you leaned in closer.

This was your fourth date, and you’d decided on a cozy pasta-and-wine night at your place. The warmth of your space—the candlelight, the soft music, the little quirks of your apartment—seemed to relax him, bringing him into your world. After dinner, he offered to do the dishes, and soon after he returned to join you on the couch, where you handed him another drink. He accepted, but barely took a sip, glancing at you as if he was gathering the courage to make a move or perhaps trying to savor the moment in silence.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to him; everything about Nicholas drew you in. His appearance held a fascinating contrast—a rugged confidence softened by boyish charm. His dark eyes were intense yet warm, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, hinting at something vulnerable beneath his steady exterior. His strong jawline and light stubble gave him an air of maturity, though his laughter, easy and genuine, brought out a playfulness you loved. His tousled hair fell somewhere between dark brown and nearly black, and every time he ran his fingers through it, it gave him that effortlessly handsome look that was impossible to ignore.

Settling in beside him, you let the conversation flow. The natural ease between you felt grounding as if you’d known each other far longer than a handful of dates. Yet with every inch you shifted closer, Nicholas grew visibly tenser. His fingers traced the rim of his glass, his shoulders squared up as though preparing himself for something, and he seemed to hold his breath when you brushed against him. You could tell he was torn, the mix of nerves and anticipation almost palpable. His gaze met yours fleetingly, only to dart away again, his lips parting as if to say something before pressing them together, unsure.

Smiling, you leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against his neck, feeling the way his breath hitched. Emboldened, you let your fingers rest lightly on his knee, brushing over the fabric of his jeans. He stilled, his gaze shifting back to you, eyes wide and captivated.

"Do I make you nervous, handsome?" you teased, your voice low, just playful enough to draw him out.

Nicholas swallowed, trying to maintain his composure with a smile that didn’t quite hide his vulnerability. "Trying to not be," he murmured, though the faint blush rising on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Trying?” you asked with a laugh, pressing another soft kiss along his neck.

He hesitated, then took a steadying breath, and finally opened up. “I’ve wanted you since our first date,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “On our second date, when you wore that mini skirt, I couldn’t stop thinking about you… but, to be completely honest, I’ve… never been with anyone…sexually.”

You leaned back slightly, surprised but gentle, letting him continue without pressure.

“I thought I’d have more time to prepare,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed. His words began to tumble out a little quicker, the way they did when he was nervous. “There’s this whole idea that guys are supposed to just...know exactly what to do, you know? Like we’re born with some secret guidebook. And it’s not like I haven’t done anything, but I haven’t...gone all the way.” His voice softened, slowing as he looked at you, a vulnerability in his eyes that felt raw and genuine. “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

You watched him, warmth building in your chest. The trust he placed in you felt like a gift, and you found yourself even more drawn to him. With a soft smile, you took his hands in yours, bringing them to your lips and kissing each one. “You talk so fast” you started lightheartedly, to break the tension in the room. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” you said, your tone gentle but reassuring. “If we want, we all have to have a first time, and it only makes sense that yours is with someone you like.”

His expression softened, a grateful smile crossing his lips as he met your gaze.

“If you’re ready,” you continued, voice soft, “I’d love to be your first, and we can go as slow as you need. No pressure.” You placed another kiss on the back of his hand, feeling his fingers tighten around yours as he let out a long, relieved breath.

“And I can even take the lead,” you added, a playful glint in your eyes. “Forget all that stuff about what guys are ‘supposed’ to know. Trust me, you don’t need it. Besides,” you leaned in, your voice dropping to a whisper, you flicked your tongue gently against his ear “I was kind of hoping you’d let me control you just a little”.

Nicholas’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, and he let out a shaky breath, his eyes widening at your words. “O-okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with both excitement and nervousness. His fingers flexed against your waist, clinging to you as if you were his anchor, and he gave a slight, pleading whine, biting his lip and inhaling sharply while you continued to work on his neck.

You shifted closer, removing his shirt to reveal his firm strong chest and perfect body. You straddled his lap, your hands settling on his broad shoulders. His hands rose tentatively, resting at your waist as you leaned in, brushing your lips over his. He let out a soft, needy sound, his grip tightening slightly as if afraid to hold you too firmly. His response was hesitant at first, but as you deepened the kiss, he began to melt into it, a whimper escaping him as he pressed closer, almost desperately. His fingers pressed to your sides, in distress to keep you in your place.

You felt him shift, his grip tightening, as if he were gathering the courage to take a bit more control. Sensing it, you pulled back, just enough to keep him wanting, giving him a teasing smile. “Uh uh baby boy,” you murmured, your voice low and playful, “let me handle it.”

His eyes widened, a flash of that earlier nervousness crossing his face, and he let out a soft, almost frustrated whine. His hands loosened slightly, fingers tracing gently over your waist, his need evident in the way he looked up at you. “Sorry… just, you make it hard,” he whispered, his tone half-apologetic, half-pleading.

“I know,” you matched his pouty tone while caressing his face “but you have to wait, I want you to enjoy yourself. He leaned into your hand with heavy breath, you loved the nervous way his chest rose and fell, he was so desperate and needy for something -- anything in this moment. You started running your thumb over his lips a few times, before parting his lips slightly. You didn’t have to direct him before he you in his mouth.

Of course, that’s what you wanted but his willingness even caught you off guard - not that could show it. He looked up at you, wanting approval. You inhaled through your teeth calling him a good boy. His body responded to the praises, you could feel him grow as you sat on top of him, heat radiating from him.

You leaned in, brushing a slow, teasing kiss along his jaw, feeling his breath catch as you murmured against his skin, “Good. Now, just relax and let me take care of you.”

The soft sounds he made were adorable—small, breathy gasps between kisses, little murmurs when you traced your fingertips down his neck, skimming the sensitive skin just below his ear. The way he reacted to each touch sent a thrill through you, making you want to draw out every reaction, to push him just a bit further, to watch him come undone.

“Can I get a little rough with you baby,” you asked him. His half-lidded eyes fluttered as his body was still riding out the high of you nibbling on his neck. He nodded, cheeks pink, his hands resting lightly on your waist. “Yes, please,” he breathed, voice soft, the need unmistakable in his tone.

Without a second passing, you wrapped one hand around his neck and used the other to balance yourself on his knee. You started to rock rhythmically on his, making sure you made contact with his hardness. He turned into a mess, sweat beads forming on his forehead as he squirmed under you.

“Keep it together for me baby,” you begged him “We haven’t even gotten to the best part.” You teased, he complied letting out more whimpering moans, he was committed to trying. He bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut in a mix of effort and desire, trying desperately to hold himself back. His hands gripped your hips, trembling with restraint as he fought to keep his movements steady, despite the way you rocked against him. Sweat glistened on his skin, his breath ragged and shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though every inch of his body was on the verge of losing control.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice strained, “Don’t stop Y/N.” His words were laced with a mix of desperation and determination, his brows furrowed as he bit back another whimper.

You felt the struggle in his movements, the way he held himself back, the intensity in his gaze, and you couldn't help but smile at his effort. “I know, baby,” you teased softly, your voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m almost there and then I’ll treat you right.”

His hands flexed on your hips, his grip tightening, and you saw him swallow hard like he was fighting an internal battle. He nodded, still trying to keep his composure, but every little sound that escaped his lips and the way his body trembled under you told a different story. He was close, so close, and you knew the hardest part for him was still to come.

You rode out your climax on him, coming undone right on top of him. You took his hand and put it on your panties, letting him feel the wetness he created. “Thank you for being a good boy for me baby, now it’s your turn.” He crashed into your lips fast and hurriedly, he was so excited and just as grateful, immediately pulling away feeling apologetic.

You gave him a smirk and a gentle face tap as you shifted your position, guiding him back until he lay against the arm of the couch, letting yourself settle between his legs. He watched you, his eyes wide with anticipation as you trailed kisses down his neck, along his collarbone, taking your time, savoring every shiver and quiet gasp he let out.

Your body drifted lower until you were on your knees in front of him and his breathing became shallow, every inch of him sensitive to your touch. He whimpered softly when you paused, looking up at him with a teasing smile. You only had to give him a look to instruct him to take off his shorts, he did it with a starving hunger. He was in briefs, glaring at you in anticipation. You teased him, rubbing on his thighs getting closer and closer to him.

“For this, you just have to promise me that no matter what, you’ll wait to cum until I say you can - okay?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. His eyes filled with worry, he felt like he could finish just by your touch alone.

“Please,” he whispered, “I…don’t know if I…please” There was a desperation in his voice, a need so pure and open that it made your heart race.

“Shhhh,” you put your hand up to his face to calm him “You’re my good boy right?” He nodded his head. “And you want me to take care of you right?” he nodded his head again, “so you can do this for me right?” he nodded again, still nervous but ready to obey.

You took your time, savoring every second as you let the moment unfold slowly. Each touch was deliberate, designed to heighten his anticipation, to make every sensation feel more intense. You hovered just close enough to him, letting the tension build between you, before your fingers traced down his chest, brushing lightly against his skin. His breath hitched, his body rigid with need, and you couldn't help but smile at how easily he was unraveling.

With careful intent, you reached for the waistband of his boxers, your fingers grazing the fabric, teasing the edges. His hips twitched involuntarily as you slowly, agonizingly, pulled them down. The moment he was freed, he sprang up eagerly, his excitement evident in the way he was already so hard, flushed, and dripping with need.

You kissed his red wet tip a few times before taking him into your mouth. A few quick motions on the length of his shaft and he was so beautifully responsive —soft, needy whines escaping his lips, his hands flexing as though he didn’t know where to put them, eventually settling on your shoulders, his fingers gripping you tightly. The way he squirmed, the way his body responded to every touch, every brush of your lips—it was intoxicating, sending a thrill through you like nothing else.

You reveled in the control, savoring the power that came with every move you made. It wasn’t just the way he responded—it was the way his restraint faltered with each touch, every soft press of your lips, every calculated caress. You could feel the tension in his body, muscles taut under your hands, but you remained in charge, guiding him through the moments.

As much as he surrendered to the pleasure, it was something deeper for you. The way his body responded, how he trusted you with his vulnerability—it drove you wild. Each shift in your rhythm, each soft command, had him trembling with need, and you knew you were the key to unlocking every part of him. The power you held over him stirred something inside you, a satisfaction far greater than his pleasure, and it made every moment even more intoxicating.

You were still working on him, giving him praises when you could; “you’re such a good boy”, “you feel so good in my mouth”, “you’re so fucking hot when you moan like that”. Each compliment made him come closer and closer to unraveling. He writhed in pain trying to contain himself.

He responded, “I’m a good boy…I’m your good boy”, he thrusted a few times in your mouth, getting ahead of himself, but you knew what he wanted. You anchored him down on the couch, pressing your hands on his thighs taking him far into your mouth. He whined your name out, truly frazzled. His hair was a mess, he was drenched in sweat, and his lips were swollen from trying to contain his whimpers and moans - you knew he was very close.

“Y/N” he could barely get out between gasps, “I’m sorry but I’m close…so close”, he was pleading with you, “can I please cum…please”.

You kept a steady motion on him, taking his full shaft and using your hands to stroke him too. You acted like you didn’t hear him but he whined out your name again “Y/N please!”

You stopped for a split second to lick from base to the tip, only stopping to ask him “Do you think you deserve to cum baby?”

He threw his head back, his chest rising and falling with each strained breath, unable to form words—only a whiny sound slipping from his throat, thick with need. His body arched toward you, desperate for more. You kept him on edge, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard, quick beat of his heart beneath your touch. Your fingers teased over his pecs, then down to his nipples, pinching them sharply as you maintained a fast, steady rhythm with your mouth, drawing every shudder from him.

He gasped, his body trembling, his grip tightening as he fought to hold back. You could feel him unraveling, inch by inch, his desperate whimpers only fueling your control. Every movement, every touch, was a reminder of just how much you had him—completely in your grasp.

His mouth was stuck open, his eyes were shut tight, and he was seconds from it, he just waited on your command and you gave it, “cum for me beautiful boy” you said quickly going back to your motion. It took him no time to meet your request, shooting a full warm load into your mouth.

He let out moans and groans as he came down, you gave him a few last-minute licks around his tip just to make him squirm. He laughed and writhed in pain, leaning down to kiss you, “You’re amazing” he got out between exhausted breaths.

By the end of it, after you got him a towel to clean himself off and he changed into the clothes he brought for the night he lay sprawled against the couch, you nestled into his side and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice soft, a hint of awe in his tone. He seemed almost at a loss for words, still caught in the afterglow, a mixture of relief and wonder shining in his eyes.

You smiled, brushing a gentle kiss along his jaw. “Anytime,” you whispered back, already looking forward to the next chance you’d have to show him exactly how incredible a first time could be.

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter iii

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader (not poly)

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 5.3k+

Warnings: some time skips (none too huge), oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, lots of introspection, tornado of emotions, morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, themes of abandonment, mention of love bombing, reoccurring nightmares, sleep paralysis, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, death (minor character), life-threatening accident (major character)

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: ANGST ANGST ANGST...don't say I never warned you hahaha. Anyway, once again, I had an amazing time writing this! (although nervous af 👉🏼 👈🏼) Just FYI, there are some time skips as this starts a few weeks after the gala! So to clarify, it’s now 3 months since oc’s divorce was officially finalized, as in done (the process itself took way longer). The chapter continues from there and yeah, the pace is picked up. Okay, let’s go! Enjoy! 🥰

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Fresh linen. Warm breeze. The smell and sound of the ocean.

You know this place too well, like a memory you hoped to have forgotten. Why are you here now? You glance around, taking in the familiar details—the blank ceiling above, the soft comforter that curls around your body like silk against your skin, and delicate rose petals scattered at the foot of the bed. It’s exactly as it was before — it feels exactly the same; too quiet, too peaceful, and too good to be true.

The sunlight streaming through the window is blinding, yet it draws you in with a force you can't resist. Carefully, you stand up, your feet meeting the cool wood floor, and you shiver. Each step you take towards the window feels heavier, like wading through water. When you reach the window, you see the sandy beach below, the waves beating rhythmically against the shore. It’s beautiful, but the painful kind.

To the left, a young couple, not much older than yourself, their hands tightly intertwined, as if afraid to let go. To the right, an older couple sitting further up the beach, comfortably silent as they take in the horizon, reminiscent of their many years together. You always dreamt of achieving the latter, yet here you stand, having neither, and the chances of ever obtaining it growing dimmer with each passing day.

For many, this was supposed to be a place of happiness, a symbol of love, promises, and new beginnings, but not for you. For you, it was a cocoon, trapping you in a deceptive comfort. You close your eyes, trying to steady your rapid breathing, yet it doesn’t prove to be of much help. Images from your past that you’ve tried blocking out of your mind time and time again suddenly resurface — the arguments, the tears, the feeling of everything and nothing at the same time.

“You’re up early,” His voice startles you, causing you to spin around in a panic. At that moment, your heart tightens in your chest, and a cold sweat forms on your brow. You thought you were alone. You’re certain of it. Yet the sight of your ex-husband standing only a few feet away, his hair still damp from his morning shower, is enough to leave you completely speechless.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

"Why are you here?" he counters, his dark eyes piercing into yours. "Isn't this what you wanted? To remember us, to remember how it felt to be together?”

What? This isn't making any sense. Why is he talking to you as if he were a ghost? Your eyes search frantically around the room until you spot it—the wedding band on his finger. No, not again. You hear yourself plead, but the words don't leave your lips. All at once, the room begins to feel smaller, the walls closing in on you. You're stuck in another manifestation of your past, this time reliving your honeymoon, three years ago in Greece.

"I didn't want this," you say, your voice barely audible. "I wanted to forget this."

"But you can't forget, can you?" he says, stepping closer. “You remember this view. You remember the floors and the walls. You remember that we had our first time together here and promised our devotion to each other."

“That’s not fair, Jungkook," you reply, taking a step back, "it's not fair at all, you left me. You don't get to patronize me like this."

“We both know our marriage came with stipulations, __. So when did I ever give you a reason to stay? Or to love me?”

You’re back in the bed, the sheets now suffocating rather than comforting. The sound of the ocean is louder, more insistent, drowning out your thoughts. You want to scream, to run, but you’re paralyzed by the fear, the guilt, the regret.

"This isn’t real,” you say to yourself, tears streaming down your face. “I’m dreaming, none of this is happening.”

“You can't escape what we had, or what we lost. We’ll always be here, together __, in this place,” he says softly, reaching out to touch your hand.

"No," you whisper, pulling your hand away. "I need to wake up. I need to let go...of you."

The room fades, his figure dissolving into the shadows. The sound of the ocean becomes a distant murmur as you fight to open your eyes. Wake up, please wake up. It's your own pleads chanting in your head. Finally, with a gasp, you awake, the nightmare diminishing like vapor.

“Fuck,” you curse, fingers gripping your sheets, “just another damn dream.” Rolling onto your back, you take a deep breath before reaching out for the glass of water on your nightstand. Its coolness soothes your dry throat. You reach for your phone next, checking the time—4:47 AM. Too early to start the day, too late to attempt falling back to sleep.

Your thumb hovers over Jimin’s name in your text threads. It would be 10 AM where he is. You consider sending a message, but you find yourself at a loss for words. Forget it, you lock your phone and rise from your bed, you’ll go for a walk instead. Yeah, it’s brisk outside, but the fresh air will help clear your mind.

After tossing on your warmest coat and scarf, you head outside, the sun beginning to break over the horizon. At first, you wander aimlessly, lost in thought as you pass the odd person or two on the sidewalk. One individual accidentally knocks into you, yet he's quick to apologize. You easily understand their rush; perhaps they've just finished the night shift and are eager to reach the comfort of home.

You imagine their loved ones who must be waiting for them. You could be wrong, and maybe you're biased, but the image you depict is a future you once envisioned for yourself—one of laughter, love, and a warm family. It’s a dream you secretly carried as a child, amidst your unstable upbringing. But as the years passed, what was once a lifelong aspiration felt more and more elusive, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. It seems, in the end, it was just a dream…nothing more.

Of course, you've achieved other goals instead, success in your career for one. It's what you wanted most the more you became an adult. Even before Jungkook came in the picture you were thriving. Yes, you needed investors to expand, but you had already made a strong name for yourself, hence the reason his company even reached out to you for a partnership in the first place.

The second, and more formidable goal you’ve achieved was saving your company. You built your business with an earnest heart, good morals, and an ambition to serve a community. You couldn’t let it all be washed out by a larger, greedier industry giant. You had to do something. Too bad your judgment was skewed the day you saw a similar ambition in Jungkook’s eyes; he was just as determined as you to save what was his.

For a while you got what you wanted, stability for your business. But you got too invested, too short-sighted to anticipate that one day, it would all feel hollow without someone proper to share it with. Alas, your prior hopes, the ones you thought were buried long ago, began returning to you as if they were an overwhelming tsunami.

You wanted warmth.

You wanted intimacy.

You wanted a home.

You sought companionship with Jungkook but no, you read the signs all wrong. Once you dropped the L word, his attentiveness towards you skyrocketed. He began calling you while you were apart, surprising you with little gifts, and setting more time aside so you could both take Bam to the dog park on free days. But then it all stopped. After months of showering you with attention, his efforts exhausted him, so he looked for the first exit out.

You remember getting the text one afternoon— When will you be home tonight? We need to talk about something. Selfishly, you hoped he was going to tell you that you could take that trip to Fiji together. You had been hinting at it for the last two weeks. Of course, you were wrong because the last time you checked, trip itineraries didn’t come with divorce papers. At that moment, you realized that Jungkook didn’t try to love you in the slightest, he tried loving at you; love bombing 101. Your ties are now completely severed.

Yesterday marked three months since your divorce was finalized. You didn’t cry like you thought you would, but you did meet with Melody that day. As your therapist, she offered you her empathy, validation, and perspective. You feel you’ve gotten better since you started meeting with her, finally beginning to heal. Yet the unsettling dream that haunted your sleep last night shows you there are many things still left to resolve, feelings you need to confront, but where to start?

You love your ex-husband, but why?

Can it even be called love?

And do you really need him to love you back?

While you can only offer fragments of an answer for the first two, you seem to have a better-formed answer for the last.

No, you don’t need Jungkook to love you. He’s proven to you time and time again that you are not the one he can bear his heart to. He’s always reiterating that he wants you to find someone else, someone more deserving of you, whatever that means. Likely, it’s all projection. Out of the two of you, he’s the one more likely to re-marry.

As for you, you’ll always love him, at least a semblance of it. After all, he was once a part of you. But what was once a part of you, doesn’t need to be anymore. You have to let him go...though you wish you didn't have to.

You continue walking straight until you find yourself drawn to a small park overlooking the city skyline. It's fairly empty, with only a few people nearby. As you settle onto a weathered bench, you take in the view before you. It stretches endlessly. Sunrises have always held a special place in your heart—the amber glow breaking through the abyss of darkness as if a beacon of hope.

"You'll get through this __," you reassure yourself, “one day at a time.”

“Happy six months, boss!”

A goofy, boxy smile graces the man’s lips as he leans against the doorframe of your office. You take in his appearance: crème-colored sweater paired with dark brown slacks, the fabric impeccably tailored to his tall, lean frame. His ebony hair is perfectly parted down the center and feathered out to either side of his face, giving him a soft, approachable look. The glasses are new though, round with a hint of gold. Though a minor accessory, they seem to tie the rest of the look together.

Classy, yet cozy, you hum silently, it suits him.

Everything about the way he’s dressed today complements his features—not that it could be any other way, as Taehyung could never not look good in something. You learned that the hard way when you opted against a gaudy shirt and pant set your stylists suggested he wear for a commercial. Taehyung, being a free spirit, decided to try it on for kicks, and yeah, it strangely worked. He ended up shooting the entire commercial with it on. That video’s gotten your business the highest engagement rate across all your media platforms to this day.

“Mr. Kim, does six months of working together really merit a celebratory drop-in?” You lean back in your desk chair, arms folded as you narrow your eyes at the man. You're taunting him, not that he minds.

“Please,__,” he starts, stepping further into the room, his presence effortlessly filling the space. “The only person that still calls me that is the intern who works on set with us. Makes me feel old, like I’m double my real age.”

“Well, you are older than both of us.”

Taehyung gives you the look, a mix of amusement and mild aggravation.

“Two years is hardly considered older, but if you’re done trying to prod me, I’d like to ask you a series of serious questions.”

“Okay, what?” You straighten your back, curious to know what he’s thinking.

“Red or white wine?” He waits for your response, eyes seemingly hopeful. You're unsure where he's going with this, so you delay your response, suspicious of the spontaneity of the inquiry.

“Red,” you respond, cautiously. Taehyung seems pleased.

“Strawberries or blueberries?”

“Strawberries, though I prefer cherries most."

“Science or literature?"

"Literature." You surprise him with this one. "I like books, vintage ones."

"Do a lot of reading in your spare time?" he asks.

"When I get some, yes."

"Me too. Tolstoy?"

"Occasionally," you answer. "Where are you going with this, Taehyung?"

He shrugs. "Just making conversation." He pauses before continuing, “I also happen to know a place that offers all those things plus private bookings. How about you and I go for dinner tonight, as colleagues? If you hate the wine, I’ll drink it for you.”

The weight of his request hits you like a ton of bricks. Apart from a handful of social events, you and Taehyung haven't exactly mingled outside of the office. His sudden invitation to go out for dinner takes you by surprise, especially considering the nature of your professional relationship. However, you can't deny the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way he's been checking in on you more often, especially since the Winter Gala. Weeks have passed since then, but, no doubt, the memory of that night still lingers in both your minds—the shaming from a bitter business competitor, the unwanted press shining a light on your divorce, and your ex-husband who so easily approached you like it was nothing.

Taehyung suggested for you to slip away through the back door with him, offering to drive you home himself rather than leaving you with your limo driver. But you declined, feeling embarrassed that he wasn't merely a witness to the night's events, but also made to be a spectacle himself. You never wanted him to feel like he had to pity you or coax you through your personal trials. Being a good colleague is one thing, but he didn't need to go above and beyond.

“I don’t know if I can join you tonight, I'm sorry. I have a lot to do,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. It's not far from the truth with the mountain of business reports and budget plans to look over. Though your business remains functioning, it's a lot to maintain, especially with the number of investors having withdrawn their support once news got out about your marital separation. It's unfortunate how much a person's situation and the things they've built can change on someone else's dime.

“You sure?" Taehyung tries again, careful not to sound pushy. "The place isn’t overly posh, but we could go elsewhere if you’d prefer."

“I’m sorry, Taehyung, maybe another time?” you say, fingers fidgeting with a few documents on your desk, a nervous habit you developed ages ago. “I-"

“I understand,” he says, his expression softening, a hint of disappointment flickering in his eyes before he masks it with a gentle smile. "I have a film shoot that might go late anyway. Speaking of which, I'm expected on set in about half an hour so I'm going to head out, but if you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

You nod, recalling having his contact in your phone. The two of you agreed it would be easier to coordinate meetings and schedules this way. "I will, thank you. Good luck with your filming."

As you watch him leave, a twinge of guilt tugs at your conscience. Perhaps you shouldn't have dismissed him so quickly, considering how insistent he seemed. It's as if he was genuinely looking forward to the affair.

No, you can't entertain it any further. You have no way of knowing how far the night might've led—it's best to leave Kim Taehyung alone.

When you declined Taehyung's invitation to get dinner, you didn’t expect it to result in not seeing or hearing from him for the next week and a half. As an endorser, he doesn't work at the office regularly, coming and going as needed and since you hadn’t had any promotional projects for him recently, his absence seemed normal at first.

But this was Kim Taehyung. The same Taehyung who loved making spontaneous visits to the company, especially towards the end of the week. He often came in once, twice, sometimes three times a week to talk with Namjoon, your secretary, in particular. Somehow, the pair had become friends, and since Namjoon’s desk was near yours, Taehyung would drop by whenever he saw your door open. So, not hearing from him for 11 days straight was strange, like he'd vanished.

It was now Friday evening, the clock pushing 5 pm. You consider texting him to make sure he's okay, but wouldn’t that be hypocritical? You had agreed with yourself to leave him alone. Maybe he was on vacation, perhaps at a vineyard, or had taken on another film project. Being a highly talented actor, Taehyung had no shortage of casting directors contacting him for their movies and TV shows.

Embarrassingly, you hadn’t actually seen any of his movies. You enjoyed a good rom-com now and then, like the ones Taehyung starred in, but you usually opted for something more mindless when you had the time to watch anything.

You can imagine the loyal following he has though, as Taehyung was the epitome of a "dream boat" with his natural good looks and expressive eyes. He must be good at kiss scenes, which must be especially difficult for anyone dating him. You know you'd have a hard time accepting it at least, the fact that your flawless actor boyfriend was off making out with equally beautiful co-stars on set, that is. Anyway, as your endorser, maybe you should try supporting his films a bit more. There had to be one that would catch your eye.

Curious, you open a new tab on your phone and search for him.

"Holy fuck," the curse leaves your lips the minute the search returns. Dozens of articles display on your phone screen at once, all covering South Korean actor Kim Taehyung's recent motorcycle accident. You checked the publishing date—six hours ago. “Taehyung’s in the hospital. He’s in the fucking hospital!”

Panicked, you leave your office to speak with your secretary.

“Ms. __,” Namjoon greets you immediately, a trace of hesitation in his tone upon seeing your frazzled state. “Is everything alright?”

“Joon,” you refer to him by his pet name, “Did you know that Taehyung’s in the hospital?”

“What?” He seems as shocked as you, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm.

“It happened this morning around eleven or something. It was a collision, a motorcycle accident. Oh god, he’s—he’s been taken to the ER,” you choke out the words, struggling to maintain your composure as you try recalling one of the articles you skimmed. “We have to go. I have to go right now.”

“I’m coming with you.” Namjoon leaps from his chair, grabbing his keys from his desk drawer. “I’ll drive.”

“No,” you stop him, “I don’t know how long this’ll be and you usually work until 5:30, so I don't want you to have to be stuck at the hospital with me. I want you to be able to call it an early night if you want. We'll take separate cars over.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll meet you over there then?”

“Yeah.” You nod back, clutching your keys harder in your palm. “Yeah, sounds good.” You turn around to head for the nearest exit, but your secretary stops you mid-step.

“__,” he calls you by your name, having known you for the past decade permits him to do so. He softens his eyes when he sees the worry in your own clear as day. “He’s gonna be okay. We have to believe that. Please drive safe.”

“You too,” you say, then disappear from his sight.

When you arrive, it’s a madhouse. Sirens blare as ambulances rush into the hospital parking lot, doctors and nurses race from room to room, and fans—so many fans—crowd outside, all waving signs of comfort and support.

“I'm here to see Kim Taehyung,” you say urgently to the charge nurse. She recognizes you immediately and throws you a look of distaste, but you’re too focused on the emergency at hand to care. “I’m sure you know who I am, but I need to see him. We work together, we're colleagues.”

“Ms. __,” she replies, surprisingly calm and collected amidst her obvious dislike of you. “I’m afraid he’s currently receiving serious medical attention and won’t be able to have any visitors at the moment.”

“I’ll wait,” you blurt out the words faster than you anticipate. You feel like you're eating your words from earlier about leaving him alone, but this is different—his life is on the line. "I can wait for him.”

“Visiting hours are only until 8 pm. I really don’t think—”

“Please,” you interrupt, your voice stern and urgent. “He's part of my team. He's my...friend. I have to know if he’s okay.”

The nurse hesitates, her expression softening slightly as she sees the genuine concern in your eyes. “Alright,” she finally says, her tone firm but kinder. “You can wait in the family lounge, but I can’t promise you’ll be able to see him anytime soon."

“Thank you,” you say, relief flooding through you. She directs you to a quiet room down the hall, away from the commotion where you're better able to calm your racing thoughts. You find a seat in the far corner immediately and send a quick text to Namjoon, letting him know where you are.

As you wait, the minutes drag by painfully slow. You can’t stop replaying the articles in your mind from earlier, the words “motorcycle accident” echoing like a mantra. How did this even happen? How bad was his condition? How much strain is this going to put on his acting career? You wish you knew.

A handful of nurses enter the lounge occasionally, calling out names and providing updates, but none of them are Taehyung’s. You find your ears burning every time the door opens, heart racing, only to sink back into your seat when it’s not about him.

Finally, you catch sight of Namjoon, his face mirroring your concern. He spots you immediately and rushes over, taking a seat in the chair beside you. “Any news?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “They said he’s receiving serious medical attention and don't know when we'll be able to see him. We have to leave by 8.”

Namjoon nods, his expression grim but unwavering “We’ll wait together.”

"If you need to leave sooner than—"

"I know," he interrupts. "I appreciate it, but please let me be here too."

You sit in silence from then on, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavy on both your shoulders. It's not until 7:35 when a doctor walks into the lounge, his tired eyes scan the room until they land on you and Namjoon.

“Are you here for Kim Taehyung?” he asks. "I'm Dr. Min."

You nod, your heart in your throat.

“He’s stable for now,” Dr. Min explains, “but he's still in critical condition. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Can we see him?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs. “Only for a few minutes. And you need to be prepared—he’s heavily sedated and has sustained significant injuries.”

“I understand,” you reply, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

Dr. Min leads you through a maze of hallways until you reach the ICU. As you enter Taehyung’s room, the sight of him hooked up to machines and covered in bandages nearly breaks you. You take a deep breath and step closer, Namjoon right next to you.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, but he remains motionless, his breathing steady and rhythmic. The severity of his injuries is evident in the way he lies.

“We're here, Taehyung,” Namjoon continues, noticing your slightly frozen state. “We’re both here for you. Please, fight through this. You and I, we're good pals, remember? Like brothers. You have to—"

Although the more collected one before, Namjoon begins to struggle with his words. You place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Having known him for 10 years, you know that despite his strong exterior, he has one of the softest souls you know.

"I think I have to go, __. It'll be better if I see him when he's awake. I want to stay longer, but I just don't know if I can."

"I understand, we can't stay much longer anyway. Go home and get some rest. Dr. Min will call us when he's awake and able to talk."

After you give him a hug, Namjoon leaves the room, leaving you alone with Taehyung. You end up pulling up a chair beside his bed and slowly reach out to touch his hand. It's instinctive for you, the need to feel his heartbeat overpowering any other thought.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Taehyung," you start, your voice a mere murmur. "You'll push through this, right? Like in the movies you film. I confess I haven't seen any of them yet, but—but I will! That's how I found out about all this actually. We hadn't seen you for nearly two weeks, so I searched you up. Not in a weird way though, okay? Not like...anyway, I'm sorry I said no to you that day. When you asked to go for dinner, it threw me off. This whole thing with my ex-husband just has my mind in fifty million directions, so I promise it wasn't you. I hope you didn't think that."

"You've always seemed to show up for me, whether it's for the good of the company or even a little emotionally in some aspects. With the reputation I have these days, I'll always be grateful that you chose to work with me. You have a good heart, Taehyung, so much that I think if we ever got close, I think it might be unbearable for me," you pause, a couple of tears slipping down your face.

Just then, a creaking of the room's door momentarily pulls your attention away. Dr. Min stands a few feet away, clearing his throat—a gentle but firm signal that it's time for you to leave.

"I have to go soon, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Even if you're still asleep or not, I'll stop in and sit with you for a while because...because I need to be sure that you'll be alright. Namjoon will come see you too when he's ready. But I'll see you in the morning, alright Kim?"

You squeeze Taehyung's hand gently before heading out of the room, thanking the medical staff along the way.

When you get home, the first thing you do is head straight for the bathroom. Your whole body feels riddled with stress and exhaustion, and you know that the only thing that can offer even the slightest amount of solace is the warmth of water.

Yet not four minutes after immersing yourself in your tub does your phone ring, demanding your attention. Being this late into the evening, you figure it has to be Jimin.

But you're wrong.

When you reach to answer the call, it's actually an unrecognizable number that's flashing on the screen. You hesitate for a moment, debating whether to answer or let it go to voicemail.

"Hello?" you answer cautiously, curiosity getting the best of you.

There's a brief pause on the other end before his voice comes through, words slightly muddled. "Hey, it's me," he says, his tone soft. "I've been...I've been thinking about my life, you know? About everything.

"J-Jungkook?" Your heart sinks as you quickly decipher the owner of the voice, but then it hardens. It's obvious from the slurring of his words that he's been drinking. "Why on earth are you calling me? And at this godforsaken hour too."

"I told you...I've been thinking about my life."

"I'm hanging up."

"No, please, stay on the line for five minutes. Please, I have to tell you...what I've been thinking."

"You have three minutes," you sigh, ready for anything (except what he was about to spring on you).

"I wanted to save my company," he continues, his voice wavering slightly. "For my mom's sake, you know? My dad owned it and stuff but she was the one who was behind all the technology...and that's why I married you. You...reminded me of her."

Your breath catches in your throat as he reveals the truth behind his actions, the raw honesty of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You knew very little of Jungkook's mother, too, as he didn't speak of her often.

"And then...then there's the real reason I divorced you," he admits, his voice breaking slightly. "My parents had a terrible marriage, you know? My mom...she had to manage my dad's temper for years...he didn't love her at all. He just married her because she was smart and could make him rich. It made her so unhappy, but you know she loved him so much. She...she passed away when I was 16, and...and I didn't want that for you. I didn't want you to be trapped like she was, because I'm like my dad you know? My feelings are...weird... I never know what the hell I'm...feeling. I'm probably not making a lot of sense am I?"

"I'm trying to understand." You want to hang up here and now but every time he speaks, you cant bring yourself to do it. The pain in his voice cuts through you like a knife, and it's a side of him that you've rarely seen before.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry for being such a dumbass that day I got my stuff. That was like, six months ago and I still hate myself for it. I shouldn't have made an advance on you like that. I was...I was immature, and I wasn't thinking."

"After the gala," he continues, his words becoming more coherent as he speaks. "I...I felt even more guilty, you know? Because, I still have a photo of you and Bam on my dresser. It's small, but I've tried to put it away over and over and over again, but I can't do it. I don't know what's wrong with me...it's almost a year since we lived under the same goddam roof and I can still smell your perfume, I can still remember how you laugh with both your lips and your eyes...the way you scrunch you nose when—"

"What are you trying to say Jungkook?" You interrupt. "That you're sorry and can't get me out of your head, so you need my forgiveness to move on?"

"No! That's...that's not it at all. I mean, I do want your forgiveness but—"

"Well, what the fuck is it?" You hate how aggressive your voice is sounding, but the obscene amount of incoherent information he's revealing to you is overwhelming. "It's 10 freaking pm at night, I had a long day, I'm sleep deprived, and Taehyung's in the fucking hospital which is so distressing, so I'm sorry, but I can't handle any more of your cryptic messages!"

"I think I might love you," he finally says, his voice raising as well. "I know I'm...I'm being a dumbass, but I...I think I love you. I love you __, fuck!"

a/n: So....how are we feeling about Jungkook rn? Also, my darling Taehyung is taking one for the team here 😭 🤍 LMK what you think! Lastly, I understand the timeline of events is a bit tricky to follow, so if it helps I can put something in the series masterlist to help. Vote for jjk or kth!

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[prentissmultiverse]

Silver Temptation

Late nights in the BAU bullpen usually meant paperwork—but tonight, it’s different. With Emily Prentiss’ smoldering gaze fixed on you and tension crackling in the air, you realize this night could change everything, if you’re willing to cross the line tw: smut, age gap, power dynamics fem!reader (2,298 words)

The bullpen of the BAU was quiet for a change. Most of the team had called it a night, their desks now empty except for the faint glow of computer screens in sleep mode. You sat at your desk, the only source of sound being the clacking of your keyboard as you typed up a report for the day's case. The dim light cast long shadows, making the space feel both vast and intimate. You could feel it—her gaze on you, just as it had been since your first day at the BAU.

Emily Prentiss was perched in her office, the door ajar, her silver-gray hair illuminated by the overhead lamp. The sight of her always made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t expected to be so affected by her, let alone by the way her eyes seemed to follow you when she thought you weren’t looking. The tension between you was palpable, an undercurrent in every interaction, every briefing, every meeting.

"Agent Y/L/N," came her voice, low and sultry, cutting through the silence like a knife. You startled slightly, glancing up to see Emily leaning against the doorframe of her office, arms crossed. Her black blouse clung to her form, and the silver chain around her neck caught the light, drawing your eyes to the dip of her collarbone. "What are you still doing here?"

You stammered, fumbling over your words. "I—I just wanted to finish the case report. I know it’s due tomorrow morning, and I thought it would be better to get it done now."

Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she pushed off the doorframe and took slow, deliberate steps toward you. There was something predatory about her, a confidence that made you feel both small and exhilarated at the same time.

"You work hard," she murmured, stopping just in front of your desk. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked over your face, lingering on your lips for a moment longer than necessary. "But you also need to learn when to take a break."

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. "I... I guess I just wanted to impress you. To prove that I belong here."

Emily's smile widened slightly, her expression almost predatory. "Oh, you’ve impressed me already," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "More than you know."

The room felt hotter, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel a blush creeping up your neck, your usual awkwardness magnified under the weight of her intense gaze. "I—um, thank you, ma'am," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Emily chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Ma'am?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Is that what you call me when you’re alone in your thoughts?"

You felt your face heat up even more, your heart pounding in your chest. "I... I don’t know what you mean," you stammered, looking away.

She stepped closer, the scent of her perfume—a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely her—filling your senses. "Look at me," she commanded softly.

You obeyed, meeting her dark eyes, which were filled with a hunger you hadn’t seen before. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face up towards hers. "Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?" she whispered. "The way your breath catches whenever I walk into the room?"

Your eyes widened, your breath hitching. "Emily," you breathed, her name escaping your lips before you could stop it.

She smirked, her thumb tracing your lower lip slowly, teasingly. "Good girl," she murmured, her voice a husky whisper. "Now tell me... how long have you wanted this?"

You shivered at her words, your entire body tingling with anticipation. "Since the first day," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

Emily's eyes darkened, her hand moving to cup your cheek. "I’ve been watching you," she confessed. "The way you try so hard to impress me, to catch my attention. And you did. I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks."

Before you could respond, she closed the distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. It was everything you’d imagined—fierce, dominant, and demanding. You melted into her, your hands grasping at her blouse as she deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing yours.

You let out a soft whimper, the sound making her smile against your lips. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this," she murmured, her breath hot against your skin.

"Then take it," you whispered back, emboldened by the raw desire in her eyes. "I’m yours."

Emily’s eyes flashed with something dark and possessive, her fingers threading through your hair as she kissed you again, harder this time, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Mine," she growled, her hands gripping your hips as she pushed you back against your desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of you cared. The world outside of this moment didn’t matter.

Her lips trailed down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that would be impossible to hide. You moaned, your hands digging into her shoulders as she continued her assault on your skin. "Emily," you gasped, your voice laced with desperation. "Please..."

She pulled back, her eyes blazing as she looked down at you. "You want this?" she asked, her voice rough. "You want me to show you just how much I’ve been thinking about you?"

You nodded frantically, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Yes," you whispered. "Please, Emily."

She smirked, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "Good. Because I’ve been waiting far too long for this."

With that, she kissed you again, her hands roaming over your body, leaving no inch untouched. You lost yourself in her touch, the feel of her lips on your skin, the possessiveness in her gaze. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’d ever wanted.

And in that moment, under the dim lights of the BAU, with only the two of you in the world, you knew one thing for certain: you were completely, utterly hers.

Emily’s hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. You could feel the heat radiating off her, the intensity of her desire matching your own. Her fingers slipped under the hem of your blouse, trailing slowly over the sensitive skin of your stomach, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're trembling," she whispered against your lips, her voice low and laced with amusement. "Are you nervous, Agent?"

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers digging into her shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. "I’m not used to this," you admitted breathlessly. "But I want it—I want you."

Her smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous spark. "Good," she murmured. "I like that you’re honest. But I need you to do something for me."

You nodded eagerly, your mind already fogged with lust and need. "Anything," you whispered.

"Don’t hold back," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. "I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp, every moan. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," you responded instinctively, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Emily’s eyes darkened, a pleased grin tugging at the corner of her lips. "Good girl," she praised, her fingers tracing circles along your lower back, inching closer to the waistband of your pants.

Your breath hitched when she finally slipped her hand beneath the fabric, her fingers brushing against your soaked underwear. The sensation was electric, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, your hips bucking involuntarily against her hand.

"Already so wet for me," she purred, her lips grazing the shell of your ear as she spoke. "You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Imagining what it would be like to have me touch you like this?"

You nodded frantically, your fingers curling into the fabric of her blouse. "Yes," you gasped out. "I’ve thought about it every day."

Her hand pressed harder against you, fingers teasing you through the thin fabric. "Is that so?" she taunted, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Tell me exactly what you’ve imagined, Agent. I want to hear you say it."

The request sent a wave of embarrassment and arousal crashing through you. You struggled to form words, your mind clouded with pleasure. "I-I thought about you touching me like this," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "Kissing me...taking control..."

Emily chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your knees weak. "Is that what you want?" she asked, her fingers slipping under the fabric of your underwear to tease your folds. "For me to take control?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your head falling back as a rush of pleasure surged through you. "Please, Emily...I need you."

Her lips were on yours again in an instant, the kiss rough and demanding, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. Her fingers dipped lower, finally sliding inside you, and you let out a loud moan, the sound echoing through the empty bullpen.

Emily’s movements were slow, deliberate, and precise. Each curl of her fingers inside you felt like an exploration, a discovery of every place that made you writhe beneath her touch. She watched you intently, her dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she studied your every reaction. Her thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch.

"That's it," she coaxed, her voice a low, sultry whisper. "Let me hear you. Don’t hold back."

A moan slipped from your lips, your head falling back as a jolt of pleasure coursed through you. You could feel the pressure building deep inside, a coil tightening with every pump of her fingers, with every flick of her thumb against your most sensitive spot. Your body reacted on its own, your hips rocking against her hand, chasing that delicious friction that made your legs quiver.

"God, Emily," you whimpered, your fingers digging into her shoulders for support. The sensations were overwhelming, your mind a haze of lust and need. You were drowning in the feel of her, in the way she looked at you like she owned you—like you were hers to claim.

She smirked, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she watched you fall apart. "Such pretty sounds you make," she murmured, leaning in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Her teeth grazed your skin, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. "I want to hear more. Don’t you dare hold back on me."

The coil in your stomach tightened even more, your thighs trembling as she quickened her pace. Her fingers moved in and out of you with a practiced ease, curling upward to hit that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur. You cried out, clutching at her desperately, the world around you fading as the pleasure mounted.

"Emily," you gasped, your voice breaking as your body tensed, teetering on the edge. "I'm so close—I can’t hold on—"

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she pressed her thumb harder against your clit, rubbing it in firm, precise circles. "I know," she whispered, her breath hot against your ear. "I can feel you. So tight around my fingers, so desperate to come."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching against her. You could feel the pressure building to a breaking point, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Her thumb circled faster, her fingers curling deeper, as if she knew exactly how to push you over the edge.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice low and rough. "Let go. I want to feel you fall apart."

Her words were your undoing. The coil inside you snapped, sending a wave of intense, shuddering pleasure crashing through your body. You cried out, your back arching off the desk as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. The sensation was all-consuming, your muscles clenching around her fingers as she continued to work you through your climax, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you.

"That’s it," she murmured, her voice filled with a dark, possessive satisfaction. "Look at you. So beautiful when you come undone for me."

Your legs shook as you clung to her, your breathing ragged and uneven. You could barely think, the aftershocks still rippling through you as she slowed her movements, easing you down from the high. Emily slowly withdrew her fingers, her eyes locked on yours as she brought them to her lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, sensual swipe of her tongue.

"You taste incredible," she said huskily, her eyes dark and hooded with lust. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

You were still panting, your body limp and trembling in her arms. "Emily," you whispered, your voice filled with awe and lingering desire. "I’ve never felt anything like that before."

Her smile was slow, almost predatory, as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing tenderly across your flushed skin. "You will again," she promised. "This is only the beginning. I’m not done with you yet."

A shiver ran through you at her words, your body already aching for her touch again. You knew, without a doubt, that this was just the start of something intense, something that would leave you craving her even more.

And as she captured your lips in another deep, possessive kiss, you realized one thing: being hers was exactly where you wanted to be.

[ghosts-and-glory]

Some Narinder character analysis for y’all.

This is a slightly re-edited excerpt from a much longer post of mine where I was specifically trying to provide a rebuttal to someone else. I’m kinda proud of some of my takes here and the write up took me hours so I’m gonna repost it here on its own.

I’m going into specifically into Narinder’s

Speech patterns and way of expressing emotions.

Implications of his post defeat dialogue

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Feelings on Ratau’s death

And a little extra on why do we “babygirl” Narinder

Full analysis under the cut.

The way Narinder expresses his positive feelings

First I gotta establish Narinder’s voice. Narinder seems almost incapable of giving a genuine compliment especially without turning it into something about himself.

Here’s three examples of him giving a complement to The Lamb. Taken from after defeating Amdusias and Shamura. He also complements The Lamb when you sacrifice Ratau but I’ll come back around to that.

I wanted to grab the entire quotes so it didn’t look like I was nitpicking.

"Very good, my vessel. It seems I chose well when I kept you from Death.”

First example, “very good,” is the complement, but immediately after he takes credit for this by calling you “my vessel” thereby claiming ownership over you. His vessel did well. And again “I chose well” doubled down and complemented himself.

“I admit, you have worn it (the red crown) almost as well as I could have myself.”

Again we see the complement layered in ego. “Almost as well as I” in other words you did well, but don’t forget I’m better. Also important to draw attention to is “I admit” this is a very explicit statement of his refusal to acknowledge the success of others.

"Your appetite for death is something I can admire, Vessel. But the Crown is mine, and none - NONE - are worthy. None other than I.”

Here he almost lays down a complement. “Your appetite for death is something I can admire” straight up, states his admiration. He seems to almost realize what he’s done and quickly pulls back into his ego, “But the crown is mine” “-none are worthy- None other than I.”

These are the three of the four ONLY times that Narinder ever says anything explicitly positive about someone else when he is a god. Thus establishing that the head ass cannot give out a compliment to save his life. The one time he gives you full credit for your actions he immediately pulls right back into his ego.

I cannot stress this enough. Someone who is characterized as cold and emotionally closed off as Narinder is WILL NOT suddenly undo this characteristic when they try and express a positive feeling.

Okay with that established we can look at his follower dialogue. Specifically these two examples from when you resurrect a follower and allow him to go on a mission.

“I cannot begrudge supplantation by one such as yourself.”

Literally saying I don’t resent you for taking my place. It’s not an explicit statement that he respects you but this is he weird fucked up little way of saying it. Of course he still lays it out in a way that’s self centred but we know from the way he has spoken that this is about as much verbal praise he is capable of giving.

The other one is a less explicit statement but I think it’s a interesting reflection of the final place of his character.

“…my thanks, Lamb.”

Being his last bit of unique dialogue, it’s an incredible ending to a character. He thanks you. That’s all he needed to say.

Narinder’s reaction to his defeat that he would rather die.

Let’s go over his dialogue in some depth.

"You weak, snivelling, foul thing. You - wait! Waaaiiiiiit!"

I’m starting with this line as it compels me the most. I find that there are two separate readings of this and I can’t really point to one above the other. On my play through I had assumed his wailing was more in reference to being denied death. It could also be read as him not wanting to be reduced to a follower and realizing what your mercy really means for his future.

“-are you to be a vengeful false idol, or a merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me."

Okay, looking at the way he presents your two options he seems to push more for the murder action. “-vengeful false idol,” is how he refers to murder. It’s not exactly a glowing review but his use of the word vengeful is important. We know that one of Narinder’s main goals in the game is revenge, we he already acts with revenge I can’t say that he’s using this word as an insult. The false idol part of this statement seems like he’s attempted to separate himself from you, again for is ego.

Then he presents the spare option by calling you a “merciful coward.” The flow of this full sentence puts more pressure on this option. He presents it as the “or” the second option. This is the bad option, the option of a coward.

“So. vou are no different to me after all. You have become as I am."

I know this is a deranged order to go over these quotes but last we got murder. Compared to his spare dialogue this is incredibly sombre. We know from already establishing how big his ego is that saying you are the same as him is almost a compliment. I do find this dialogue incredibly interesting tho, I can’t exactly explain why but I can’t help but read this as damning as well. It’s like he means it in both ways, the ultimate fuck you. You are just as I am, for better and worse.

But from what we know about Narinder his edgy ass cannot express emotion. He wraps his statements in layers of irony and selfishness. Unless it supports the persona he puts on or inflates his ego he WILL NOT right out state his feelings or needs, especially when he was a chained god.

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Aym and Baal are incredibly hard to characterize. They don’t have much dialogue to work off of and only three characters every speak on them, Shamura, Narinder and Forneus. The context of the game does present them as more Narinder’s first (and second) hand, less followers more apprentices, almost, but where’s the fun in assuming.

"Intended as keepers, perhaps, but they were young and in need of guidance. Must I be blamed for my influence?"

I wanna draw attention to the specific wording of keepers. Again, based on the way Narinder speaks its safe to assume he means the formal meaning of a keeper, meaning a caretaker. It is unclear if Narinder was told they where his keepers or if he assumed so, but either way he still speaks on them as such.

For the sake of argument (and I don’t wanna rewrite this bit entirely) I’m gonna put the idea that Narinder brainwashed Aym and Baal against my presented idea of them being his keepers or apprentices.

The proposed idea of the brainwashing angle can be developed based on Narinder saying that “they where young and in need of guidance, must I be blamed for my influence.” This implies that, as much as Aym and Baal may have been sent as keepers, they where still young and Narinder could not help but be an influence on them. I am gonna come back around to this thread so hold onto this for a moment. Moving on.

“Two kits I did have, true love found! And yet one lackadaisy summer day, my beautiful children were taken away... a gift, they said, for the one they loved most, the one that waits...”

“Ooh, kits... I remember, I remember... two kits in my claws... a gift.."

It is unclear and morally dubious how Aym and Baal came to Narinder. First we’re not 100% where Narinder is chained. The wiki lists it as the afterlife and in dialogue Narinder refers to it as “at the gates between this life and the next, trapped at the nexus of what was and what wasn't.” (When he asks you to send him on a mission.) We can travel there both by dying and being summoned there by him.

Either way the assumption is that Aym and Baal had to die. (As an aside I have my own speculation on the conditions required for a person to be presented to Narinder or to be resurrected but that’s off topic.) The horrific implications being that either Shamura themself killed the kits or that they where already dying. However you cannot blame the reaper for ushering the dead away from life.

I’m going to work off of the cult specific definition and characteristics of brainwashing. It’s hard to characterize where Aym and Baal sit here as, again they have little dialogue and due to the nature of brainwashing it’s hard to spot. First I wanna grab my brainwashing resources.

I’m using Encyclopedia Britannica’s page on brainwashing, cults, indoctrination, manipulation as my primary resourse.

Again I kinda wanna apply a layer of irony to how literally I apply real life tragedy to this game that obviously uses cults in a comedic manner. I wanna focus in on the characteristics displayed by victims of brainwashing and the techniques used in brainwashing by an abuser.

Looking at the elements used in brainwashing the only one I can say off the bat that is present is isolation, obviously. But with that let’s grab all of Aym and Baal’s dialogue.

What is clear from their dialogue is their obedience to Narinder. They call him master while his keepers and still when you meet them later when adventuring. And physically we do see them by Narinder’s side the entire main game and they fight the Lamb first. But if we add some nuance and look at their role as keepers or my own theory of being apprentices both actions of obedience make sense still for those roles. On the same note they also don’t display traits you would expect for someone fully under Narinder’s control. They speak to the Lamb out of turn and attack without prompting from Narinder.

Other characteristics are hard to imply. With torture I do want to pass it off an unlikely as based on the way Narinder tries to manipulate the Lamb it’s only verbal and he cannot attack while chained and I don’t see that changing with the keepers. Traits like sleep, water and food deprivation can’t be applied for various reasons (mostly the being dead one) and we don’t know anything about Narinder and the keeper’s interactions in the past so I’ll have to disregard other traits like suggestion.

Baal: "It's you. Usurper of the Red Crown. The one who freed us."

Aym: "Ha! You are nothing compared to our Master. We have not been in this world long, but already I can tell you are weak. You lack discipline. Our Master wielded Death with precision and control. You allow chaos to reign."

Baal: "What my brother means to say is thank you."

Moving onto groupthink I can pretty comfortably say that this is not a present characteristic of Aym and Baal. In their limited dialogue we can easily characterize Aym as more outwardly defensive of Narinder but Baal is more reserved and even contradicts Aym and is able to speak freely of Narinder.

Looping back around to the way Narinder speaks on his influence on Aym and Baal. Again we know how Narinder speaks, he cannot give honest compliments and dodges affection like it’s a professional sport. With the way he will outright tell the Lamb to manipulate followers and then uses the words “guidance” and “influence” about Aym and Baal, he has to be avoiding admitting affection to the keepers. He does follow that up with “Do what you wish, scornful God. I care not for them.” But again does Forneus not also allow her kits to do as they wish?

My own reading of Narinder’s relation to Aym and Baal is that of mentorship but it could also be read as parental. But saying brainwashed is a big stretch.

His feelings on the death of Ratau

This is like another example of like, yeah, wow, an evil character does evil? Who could’ve possibly foreseen this? Sarcasm aside I do see his comments on this being a lesser evil.

First I do have to ask why, if Narinder held strong sense of unrest against his former vessel, did he not have him struck down? The main reason I can see is that Ratau is still devoted to the red crown, most clearly seen by the statue at the lonely shack which generates devotion.

Second, Ratau’s death isn’t on his hands, it’s on yours. I find his pride here is from The Lamb’s actions not the death of Ratau. You killed your mentor, he describes your actions as “treacherous opportunism” and says “A great Vessel takes their master's will as their own.” Based on his later dialogue this is likely more foreshadowing the Lamb becoming as Narinder is. Narinder tried to kill his siblings, and you did kill your mentor. “You have become as I am."

I’m gonna tangent quickly cause there’s a line here that is incredibly interesting.

"He renounced his position after striking a bargain that resulted in the sacrifice of a Follower. He was weak."

Incredibly interesting the way he condemns Ratau’s sacrifice of a follower. Narinder directly contradicts himself. It is implied that the follower was lost to another being that did not benefit Narinder, but the Lamb also sacrifices followers to the Fox and Midas. Just something to chew on.

Why do we “babygirl” Narinder and other evil characters?

This is kinda the last bit I’m gonna get into before I cap this off. It is incredibly funny for me to say “I babygirl Narinder” only to get a reply that’s like “I don’t think you babygirl him on purpose.” But I wanna talk about why this happens and why it happened to specifically Narinder.

When people complain about the fandom interpretation of Narinder I think they forget the tone of cult of the lamb. The closest thing I could think to call it would be a dark comedy kinda energy.

The game has very dark themes going on. Mentions of real horrible things like genocide, cults and religious abuse. But also just like look at the game, it’s visual style is so cute and non threatening, the bird characters have two mouths to commit to the bit. If you look at the way it depicts cults it’s very surface level, it’s more focused on being a satire on the common satanic media kinda look of a cult. Visually it bathes in its aesthetics, taking names from books like The Lessee Key of Solomon, uses villainous depictions of symbols like the pentagram or old Hebrew script, disregarding its nuanced origins.

And then they go onto do the funniest thing ever. The other bishop’s? Gross little freaks, based on commonly disliked animals, worm, frog, squid and spider. And then- and then they make the god of death, who they characterize and manipulative and evil, they make him a catboy. You cannot tell me they did not know what they where doing.

Why have I shot Narinder with the babygirl beam? CAUSE THE GAME DID IT FIRST!

I’m gonna call the god of death my little meow meow and point out his status as a Tumblr sexy man cause he’s a little guy and I wanna give him head scritches. But I’m also gonna call him a layered, fucked up and an incredibly interesting character in the same breath.

[novaursa]

Beyond Duty (marriage)

- Summary: Helaena refuses to marry Aegon because her heart was already given to someone else. You.

- Paring: brother!reader/Helaena Targaryen

- Note: @kmassey08 , here is the part 2 I've promised you. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The corridors of the Red Keep are eerily quiet as Helaena makes her way toward her father’s chambers. She can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, every pulse echoing her nerves. This is something she has thought about for weeks, agonized over in the solitude of her room, in the quiet moments before sleep, when dreams of a future with him seemed both impossibly distant and heartbreakingly close.

She pauses outside the door to Viserys’s chambers, her hands clasped tightly before her. This is a bold step, bolder than anything she has ever done before. But she knows she cannot wait any longer, cannot stand by and let her fate be decided by others without ever voicing what is in her heart. She takes a deep breath, drawing strength from the memory of his smile, the warmth of his voice, the kindness that has always set him apart.

Raising her hand, she knocks lightly on the door. A moment later, the guard opens it, bowing low.

“Princess Helaena,” he greets her respectfully. “His Grace is within.”

She nods, stepping inside. Viserys is seated by the fire, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders despite the warmth of the room. His illness has taken its toll, his once-vibrant face now drawn and pale, but there is still a sharpness in his eyes, a flicker of the man he once was. He looks up as she enters, his expression softening.

“Helaena, my sweet daughter,” he says, his voice weary but warm. “What brings you here at this hour?”

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to speak with you, Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “There is something I need to ask.”

Viserys gestured to the chair beside him, his expression curious. “Of course, my dear. Sit. What is on your mind?”

She moved to the chair, settling into it with a grace that belied the turmoil in her heart. She glanced at the flames, gathering her thoughts, then turned her gaze back to him.

“You told me I do not have to marry Aegon,” she began softly, her fingers twisting in her lap. “That I would not be forced into a union that would make me unhappy.”

He nodded, a look of concern crossing his face. “Yes, Helaena. I meant what I said. You are my daughter, and your happiness means more to me than any alliance or tradition. If you do not wish to marry Aegon, then you will not.”

She took a deep breath, the words she had been holding back finally tumbling out. “I want to marry Y/N.”

The room seemed to fall silent, the crackling of the fire fading into the background as her words hung in the air. Viserys blinked, his expression one of pure surprise.

“Helaena,” he begins slowly, carefully, “Y/N is your brother as well. This… this is unexpected. Why have you never spoken of this before?”

“Because I was afraid,” she admits, her voice breaking with the weight of her confession. “I was afraid you would not understand, that you would think me foolish or… or wrong. But I cannot stay silent anymore. I cannot pretend to be something I am not, to marry someone I do not love.”

Viserys’s gaze softens, the confusion giving way to a deep, abiding sorrow. “And what of Aegon?” he asks quietly. “He is your brother, too. He cares for you in his own way. This news about Y/N will wound him.”

She shakes her head, her heart aching at the thought. “Aegon does not love me, Father. Not in the way a husband should love his wife. He does not see me at all. We would both be miserable. I have seen it in his eyes, in the way he speaks. He would be as unhappy as I would, bound in a marriage neither of us desires. You did the right thing when you allowed me to reject the betrothal.”

There is a long pause, the silence stretching between them, filled with the unspoken pain of a father who only wants what is best for his children but does not know how to give it. Helaena can see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between duty and love, tradition and the happiness of his daughter.

“Y/N is good to me,” she continues softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “He listens to me, cares for me. He does not laugh at my dreams or my thoughts. He treats me as an equal, as someone who matters. I love him, Father. And I know he loves me, too.”

Viserys sighs deeply, running a hand through his thinning hair. “This is not what I had planned, Helaena. You know the importance of our house, the need for alliances, for strength. I had different plans for Y/N. But I see now that I have been blind to what truly matters. I never meant to make you both feel as if you had no choice.”

Helaena feels a swell of hope, tentative and fragile, but there nonetheless. “Father, I know our family must be strong, that we must protect our legacy. But I believe we can do that and still be happy. Y/N and I—we can be strong together. Please, give us this chance.”

Viserys looks at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers, and then he nods slowly, a small, weary smile curving his lips. “You are braver than I ever knew, my sweet girl. And perhaps you are right. If this is what will make you happy, if this is truly what you desire, then I will not stand in your way.”

Tears spring to her eyes, a mix of relief and joy flooding her heart. “Thank you, Father,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Thank you so much.”

He reaches out, taking her hand in his, his grip gentle but firm. “You deserve to be happy, Helaena. I only hope I am making the right choice.”

“You are,” she assures him, her heart soaring with the promise of the future that now seems possible. “I promise you, you are.”

And as she leaves his chambers, her steps light and her heart full, she knows she has done the right thing. For herself, for Y/N, and for the love that will now have a chance to grow and flourish, unbound by fear or expectation.

The day of the wedding dawns bright and clear, the sky above King’s Landing an expanse of brilliant blue, unmarred by a single cloud. The entire city buzzes with excitement, the streets filled with people eager to witness the union of their prince and princess. Banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen—red dragons on black—flutter in the gentle breeze, and the bells of the Sept toll joyously, their ringing echoing through the capital.

Inside the Red Keep, the Great Hall has been transformed. The long tables are adorned with garlands of flowers in crimson and gold, and the walls are draped in rich silks that shimmer in the candlelight. The air is heavy with the scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine. A hush falls over the assembled nobility as King Viserys rises from his seat, a proud, almost serene smile on his face as he looks upon his children.

You stand at the altar, dressed in the traditional Targaryen black, your cloak edged in deep red. A thrill of nerves runs through you, but it is tempered by a fierce, unyielding joy. Today is the day you have longed for, the day when Helaena will become yours, and you hers, in the sight of the gods and all of Westeros.

The doors at the far end of the hall swing open, and all eyes turn as Helaena enters. She is a vision of beauty, her gown a shimmering cascade of white and silver, her hair, adorned with delicate dragon-shaped pins, falling in soft waves down her back. Her face is radiant, her eyes bright with happiness as she walks down the aisle, her gaze fixed on you.

You cannot help the smile that spreads across your face as she draws nearer, your heart swelling with love and pride. When she finally reaches your side, you take her hands in yours, feeling the gentle tremor in her fingers, a reflection of your own nervous excitement.

“You look beautiful,” you whisper, your voice meant only for her. “Like a queen of old.”

A soft blush colors her cheeks, and she smiles up at you, her eyes shining. “And you, my sweet prince, look every bit the dragon you are.”

Viserys steps forward then, his voice carrying through the hall, commanding and strong despite his recent frailties. “Today, we gather to celebrate the union of my beloved son and daughter. This marriage not only strengthens our family but also reaffirms the bonds of love and duty that bind us together as Targaryens.”

He pauses, looking between you and Helaena with a rare, genuine tenderness in his eyes. “May your union be blessed with joy, with strength, and with the fierce, unyielding love that is the hallmark of our house.”

With that, the ceremony begins, the Septon’s voice rising in the traditional vows of marriage, the sacred words echoing through the hall. You and Helaena exchange your vows, your voices steady and clear, despite the emotion thickening your throats. When you slide the ring onto her finger—a delicate band of silver, set with a single, perfect sapphire—you see her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

“I will love you always,” you say softly, your voice full of promise. “In this life and the next.”

She squeezes your hands, her smile radiant. “And I will love you, my dragon, until the end of my days.”

When the Septon finally pronounces you husband and wife, you lean down and kiss her, your heart soaring as the hall erupts into cheers and applause. It is a soft, gentle kiss, filled with all the love and devotion you feel for her, and when you pull back, the joy in her eyes is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

The feast that follows is a grand affair, the tables laden with the finest foods and wines the realm has to offer. You and Helaena are seated at the high table, side by side, her hand resting lightly on your arm as you talk and laugh with your family and the gathered guests. The atmosphere is warm and joyous, the tension of the past few weeks forgotten in the light of this new beginning.

But of course, Aegon, already deep into his cups, cannot resist making a scene. He leans forward, a sly grin spreading across his face as he raises his goblet in a mock toast.

“To the happy couple!” he declares, his voice loud and slurred. “May their nights be as sweet as their words, and may our dear brother prove as... attentive as he seems so eager to be.”

The innuendo is clear, and a few nearby lords chuckle awkwardly, their eyes flicking between you and Aegon. Helaena’s hand tightens on your arm, her smile faltering, and you feel a surge of anger, not just at Aegon’s disrespect but at the thought of him making her uncomfortable on what should be the happiest day of her life.

You set your goblet down, turning to face Aegon fully, your voice cold and cutting. “Perhaps, Aegon, you should spend less time concerning yourself with my marriage and more with your own conduct. It would be a pity for your good name to suffer further from ill-chosen words and actions.”

The smile slips from Aegon’s face, his eyes narrowing as he realizes he has overstepped. “I meant no harm,” he mutters, his bravado wilting under your steady gaze.

“Then show it,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Today is a day for celebration, not mockery. For once in your life, Aegon, try to act like the prince you are.”

There is a moment of tense silence, broken only when Aemond, seated beside Aegon, speaks up. “Our brother is right, Aegon,” he says calmly, though there is an edge to his voice. “Show some respect, if not for Y/N and Helaena, then for Father. This day means a great deal to him.”

Aegon scowls but says nothing, slumping back in his chair and reaching for his goblet with a muttered curse. Aemond meets your eyes, a faint nod of approval in his gaze, and you return it with a grateful smile.

You turn back to Helaena, your hand covering hers, your voice gentle as you speak to her. “Are you all right, my love?”

She nods, her smile returning, though it is a little shakier now. “Yes. Thank you, Y/N. For defending me.”

You lean in, brushing a soft kiss to her temple. “I will always defend you, Helaena. Always.”

The rest of the evening passes more peacefully, Aegon’s ill-timed comments forgotten as the festivities continue. The hall is filled with music and laughter, the joy of the day wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You dance with Helaena, the two of you moving together as if you were made for each other, the world around you fading away as you lose yourself in her eyes, her smile, her touch.

When the night finally draws to a close, and you escort her back to your shared chambers, you feel as if you are walking on air, your heart so full it seems it might burst. You close the door behind you, the world outside falling away, leaving only the two of you in the soft, intimate glow of the candles.

Helaena turns to you, her eyes shining with love and happiness. “I am so grateful, Y/N,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “For you, for today... for everything.”

You take her hands in yours, pulling her close, your forehead resting against hers. “It is I who am grateful, my love. For you, for your courage, for the gift of your love. I promise you, I will spend every day of our lives making sure you never regret this choice.”

She smiles, a tear slipping down her cheek, and you kiss it away, your heart swelling with love and tenderness for this beautiful, brave woman who is now your wife.

And as you hold her close, the world outside forgotten, you know, with a certainty that goes beyond words, that this is where you are meant to be—by her side, forever.

[just-some-trans-nobody]

December Christmas Monstet stories

December 8.) Horny Krampus

Sorry everyone this one was supposed to br way longer than this but I'm having really bad writers block. I might try to rewrite it eventually I just had to finish what little I had if I want stick to the schedule.

Warnings: NSFW, spit as lube, bare minimum prep, swearing, possessive behavior, stalking behavior

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Three weeks. 

You only got three weeks a year with him and then you had to wait longing for his touch until next year. 

It was like clock work. December 1st at midnight the sound of heavy hooves landing on your roof waking you. The last two years you would wake up a minute or two before the stroke of midnight in anticipation of his arrival. 

Giddier than a kid on Christmas day you threw the blankets off yourself and rushed to the living room. Some years he came down the chimney, sometimes the window. He always kept you on your toes never fully knowing where he was going to enter. You weren't sure how a man of such a large size could fit down a chimney but your brain always turned off when he was around. Too dick whipped to think about anything but him and the pleasure he gave you.

Hearing his low growl rumble from behind you, your body trembled in response. He had come through your bedroom window expecting you to be there. Seeing you weren't there made him mad, he wanted his cock in you immediately. Having to wait irritated him. Turning you smiled at him before letting out a gasp when he grabbed you pushing you against the nearest wall. “Fuck.” You moaned out, leaning your head back. He let out a low rumble hearing your moan. The sounds you make when he's with you calmed his raging soul, if only a little bit. Seeing that you were still dressed he growled before ripping off your clothes. His clawed hands tearing your clothes to shreds. You know you should be mad about it but the act had only served to turn you on even more. 

Heart pounding in your chest you reached out to hold onto him as he lifted you up pinning you to the wall with one hand. Your legs dangled, unable to reach the floor by a good foot or two. He effortlessly freed his cock from its restraints with his free hand. Lifting a leg up you rested it on his hip spreading your legs for the large man.

Biting your bottom lip you trembled at his touch as he held your chin. “Open.” He growled in a low voice that rumbled in your chest. Obediently you opened your mouth, lightly sticking your tongue out. His fingers immediately slide into your mouth causing you to close it around them. He hardly ever took the time to lube you up first so this felt special for you. Keeping eye contact with him you made sure to lube up his fingers with your saliva as much as you could before he finally pulled them out of your mouth leaving a trail of saliva from his fingers to your plump lips. The trail broke after a second landing on your chin causing him to let out a low rumble at the sight. 

Lowering his hand to your entrance he pushed the lubed up fingers inside of you causing you to moan. He wanted to take you so much it hurt but he knew you haven't had him in such a long time you would need to be stretched out first. By the end of the month he would be able to slip it in without reliance, but that was then and this was now. He would never admit it to himself or anyone else that he cared deeply about you to the point it scared him. As much as he loved making you scream out in painful pleasure he didn't want to hurt you so badly he scared you off. He needed you more than he realized.

Hearing you moan from just his fingers made him smirk in pride. He loved hearing how well he pleasured you, he wanted to hear more. Spreading his fingers wide he continued to pump them into you faster drawing out more moans from your lips. “O-oh oh fuck keep going! Gonna cum!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. Your words encouraging him to pump his fingers harder. Reaching your orgasm with a cry you clung to his arms closing his eyes. 

You barely had a moment to come down from your orgasm when he slid his fingers out and replaced them with the tip of his cock. Gasping you opened your eyes to be met with his hungry gaze. Letting out a quiet moan you rolled your hips against his taking in more of his cock. He let out a low moan feeling his cock go deeper into you. It drove him mad. Growling he snapped his hips forward pushing all of his cock into you causing you to sob lightly. It stung but felt good at the same time. Whimpering softly you clung to him as tears welled in your eyes. He waited for a moment letting you adjust for a moment before he started to slowly rock his hips. Once your face started showing more pleasure than pain he sped his pace up thrusting faster into you. Pressing against you harder he pushed you against the wall even more making you feel a little squished. “Harder.” You moaned scratching at his arms. It was a request he was more than happy to comply with. 

The room was filled with the sounds of your needy moans and the relentless thrusts of Krampus. It was utter bliss being with him. December was by far your favorite time of the year and Christmas had nothing to do with it. 

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Cooper Adams x Reader • Includes themes of violence, murder, blood is mentioned often, period sex, infidelity, oral sex (m&f receiving) Reader and Cooper are both certified freaks seven days a week

You’d suspected for awhile.

You’d wondered even longer.

The question you’d wanted to ask Cooper had sat silent on your tongue so long, you’d have sworn you could taste it by now.

Even still, no amount of wondering could have prepared you for this moment: standing face to blood-streaked face with the man you loved, the question on your tongue quietly dying as it no longer needed answering-

Cooper Adams, your boyfriend, was The Butcher…

He stood still, lingering in the doorway, the one at the back of the house. Cooper had brought you here a couple of times, to smoke and fuck; and each time, he’d always brought you through that door, the one less likely to draw attention from neighbors. The house was isolated, but not completely. With Cooper being a married man, you’d understood his concerns and hadn’t objected to being brought in through the back of the house. Now however, it was obvious that he used the back door to conceal a much darker secret than his infidelity.

His left eye twitched, lips forced into a placating smile that chilled you to your core. “(Y/N)?” Cooper began, his voice wavering. “What are you doing here?” You swallowed as cracks in Cooper’s fake smile began to reveal themselves. Heavy rain pelted the ground behind him, lightning briefly illuminating his silhouette, tall and intimidating. He tightened his grip on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder; the sudden movement made you flinch, which Cooper found amusing.

Blood caked his jeans and the plaid flannel button-down he wore. His hair was tossed to the sides of his face, except for a few strands that seemed to be matted against his forehead with sweat. Cooper’s jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck flexing as he chewed the inside of his mouth, thinking. He’d have to get rid of you now, and that upset him. Cooper had enjoyed you, and not just fucking you. He’d grown fond of your dark sense of humor and the way both your mind and his seemed to play well with each other.

If he was being totally honest with himself, Cooper could even admit that he loved you. He’d confided in you, shared secrets of his past, his traumatic upbringing, the way he’d never been accepted by his mother or anyone else for that matter, until meeting his wife. And later, meeting you.

Your histories and minds were similar, in so many ways. Unfortunately, you’d proven yourself too clever for your own good…too clever to keep alive.

Cooper sighed, his insincere smile returning. “This is going to hurt,” he said, nodding for emphasis. “I mean that, (Y/N).” He took a step toward you; you shifted backward. “And I’m not even talking about the pain,” he continued. “Not the kind you’ll feel…” Cooper removed something from the bag, his eyes fixed on yours. It took you a second to identify the knife in his hand; it was so caked with partially-dried blood, you could barely make out what it was.

“…I’m talking about the pain I’ll feel,” Cooper continued, bringing the soiled knife to rest against his chest. “Here…in my heart.” He kicked his heel against the door, closing it behind him with a loud thud. You jumped, recoiling at the sound. Cooper held his hands tensed at his sides, the knife tucked under his right thumb. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, taking another step closer. You didn’t back away this time; your mind was racing for a solution, for a way to make Cooper understand that killing you wasn’t necessary.

“Then don’t,” you told him, trying to sound brave. You hoped he couldn’t see you trembling, couldn’t hear the plea in your next words even as you tried to suppress it: “Don’t kill me, Cooper…”

His expression was bittersweet, a resigned sigh leaving his chest. “They all say that,” Cooper told you, his voice eerily calm. “None of them want to die, (Y/N). They all beg me not to kill them.” He changed his voice to a slightly higher pitch, imitating his victims. “ ‘Don’t kill me, please…I’ll do anything, please…Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone’ .” Cooper’s free hand shot out and grabbed you by the wrist, tugging you into him, erasing the remaining space between you. “What makes you think you’re any different from the rest of the people I’ve murdered?” he glared down at you.

A tear rolled down your cheek, so hot it burned. “I’m different because I love you, Cooper,” you told him. And you meant it. His grip on your wrist softened immediately, the tension in his jaw easing. “I don’t care that you’re The Butcher, or whatever stupid nickname they’ve given you,” you continued. “I accept you. Cooper, I love you.” A few seconds passed in silence. “Have any of the others ever said that?”

Cooper’s eyebrows were drawn together in concentration as he wrestled with the conflicting messages inside him. One said to protect himself by ending your life. The second option was much more tempting for Cooper, to grant you the mercy of life, a privilege which he alone now held.

Cooper pressed his lips to the top of your head, his knife ghosting your cheek as he used the hand that held it to stroke your hair. His breath was heavy, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he spoke. “What am I going to do with you?” Cooper asked. It wasn’t a question at all, not really. You lifted your chin, eyes fixed on Cooper’s, tilting your head so the blade in his hand was deliberately primed against your throat. An offering up, not of surrender, but of submission. He’d seen his share of tears, heard more than enough screams to fill his ears a lifetime; but the way your resistance melted in front of him touched something in Cooper that hadn’t been touched in a long time, if ever. Faced with the darkest part of his soul, you still accepted him.

You placed a hand tentatively on Cooper’s forearm, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. While his hands were clean from wearing gloves, Cooper’s forearms were spattered with blood, a viscous crimson syrup drying in the tufts of hair lining his skin. He repeated his question, a huskier, seductive tone making his meaning crystal clear: “…what am I going to do with you?”

Cooper released his grip on the knife. It fell to the floor with a clatter, as lightning lit up the room, thunder rumbling close by. He was bent forward slightly so your foreheads could touch, his eyes drifting closed as you smoothed your hands across his broad shoulders. Warm breath dusted your neck as Cooper’s kiss traveled down the slope of your shoulder, his big hands securing you in place at the small of your back. The energy between you was electric, buzzing like an alarm whose warning you refused to heed. You were in too deep, now. With Cooper, you always had been.

He began to work the buttons of his flannel undone, as you went down to your knees. You looked up at Cooper from between his feet, his heavy boots caked with mud and grass from the storm outside. Lightning struck very close to the house; the lights flickered as thunder bellowed from above. And then, the room went dark, moonlight alone providing any visual for the two of you.

Cooper was unaffected by the loss of electricity. He folded his shirt and set it aside, hands moving to undo his belt and jeans. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness quickly; you were able to make out the image of Cooper, his hulking frame towering over yours, stray strands of hair fallen forward as he watched you at his feet. You were on your knees in front of The Butcher himself, and it felt…exhilarating. Rather than making a plea for your life, your tongue was gently pleading for his sex, padding thick and wet against the outline of Cooper’s erection.

He tugged his zipper down and freed his cock, the wet tip tapping against your lips in the darkness. You felt Cooper’s hand come to rest atop your head, his fingers knotting softly inside your hair, guiding you gently onto him. The only sounds in the room were Cooper’s shallow breaths and grunts, and the wet sucking sound of your throat closing around him. Cooper let you suck him a moment longer, before removing his cock from your mouth, breathily explaining “-the shower, baby-want to fuck you in the shower.” He felt around the floor for his duffel bag and retrieved a flashlight from inside it. Switching it on, Cooper smiled when he saw your streaked makeup in the light, knowing his cock had made a mess of it. He held the flashlight between his teeth and trotted upstairs with you, using the beam to light your way.

The bathroom in its entirety wasn’t that large but thankfully, the shower was. Cooper switched on the faucet and held his arm under the water stream to check the temperature, bits of dried blood re-wetting and dripping to the shower floor. You’d quickly discarded your own clothes and stepped inside, around the water stream till Cooper had adjusted it. He shed his pants and hastily folded them before tossing them onto the sink. He was in a hurry; he’d never wanted you this badly before.

The flashlight’s battery was almost dead, its last real bit of power used on the way upstairs. Now, you and Cooper were essentially in complete darkness again, except for the moonlight threading through the small bathroom window. Cooper had no trouble manipulating your body in the darkness. His right hand slipped immediately between your thighs, reaching around with his other arm and pulling your chest into his. Warm water cascaded down Cooper’s back and shoulders, dripping along his chest and between your breasts where your bodies were pressed together. His fingers rubbed rough circles over your clit, making your hips buck into the heel of his palm as you selfishly chased your climax. “That’s a good girl,” Cooper murmured in the darkness, his breath labored with arousal. “Gonna come for me just like this, yeah?” You whimpered a reply, but Cooper wasn’t satisfied. “Oh, you can do better than that, sweetheart,” he said. “Use your words. Tell me how you’re gonna come-.” He dipped his head forward, teeth catching the soft skin of your neck and biting just enough to make you squirm even more wildly on his hand. “Ungh-on-oh!” you squeaked, your hips trembling. “-On your h-hand, S-Sir!”

Cooper’s face was stoic but satisfied in the darkness; he was in his element, his happy place. He was in control. As you quivered and shook on his hand cupping your pussy, Cooper slid his other hand around your throat, briefly silencing your scramble of moans and whimpers. “WORDS, baby,” he gently reprimanded, his fingertips tapping against your pulse. “Can’t give you what you want till you ask for it-.”

Cooper slipped a finger between your lips, hooking around the smooth spot inside you, your spongy walls sucking his finger greedily. Your head fell backward, a string of desperate pleas tumbling from your mouth, interspersed with Cooper’s name. He let you come, giving you what you needed because you’d asked for it so nicely. You gushed all over Cooper’s hand and wrist, slick spilling between his fingers and onto the shower floor. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, and he didn’t need to; he could feel your blood on his fingers, knew the texture well and that your orgasm had surely painted the shower floor red at his feet.

He removed his finger from inside you, once you’d stopped squeezing it, and popped the slippery digit inside his mouth. A coppery, musky flavor sank warm on his tastebuds; Cooper exhaled gratefully through his nose, releasing his finger only after sucking every drop of you from it.

Lightning crackled above the house as Cooper lowered himself to his knees in front of you. You rested your hands on his shoulders, leaning into his sturdy frame as he sank his mouth between your legs. Cooper’s tongue found exactly what he’d hoped to find, what he craved…more of your sweet arousal tinged with the bitter tang of fresh blood.

You knew you were bleeding; your period had started that morning. You also knew that Cooper had a preference for fucking you on your period; you’d just never really thought much of it. The truth was, the blood aroused Cooper, reminded him of his other, secret life, and the power he held over others. Seeing himself covered in someone else’s blood, especially such intimate places like his cock, helped Cooper achieve the most powerful orgasms imaginable. It’s one of the reasons he’d grown to love you; your openness to trying literally anything sexually was liberating, allowing Cooper the chance to indulge his most taboo fantasies. One of those fantasies included eating you out on your period. He’d tried to bring other women around to the idea, but each of them had been repulsed by even the suggestion. You, however, had no reservations about letting Cooper use your body however he wanted, in whatever state it was in…

His tongue bathed your outer lips, licking them clean. Cooper massaged his cock in lazy strokes, in no hurry to come just yet. When the tip of his tongue pressed inside you, he grinned against your pussy at the way your soft, wet entrance trembled around him.

One of your hands was now on Cooper’s head, fingers locked in the strands of his hair. When he hoisted your leg over his left shoulder, you braced yourself against him, knowing he wouldn’t let you fall. Cooper held you steady as he nuzzled and lapped your essence, his eyes closed in a kind of reverent, trance-like high. It was the closest Cooper had ever come to a religious experience, drinking your most precious offering at the altar of your thighs, and for him, it was more than enough.

When he’d made you come twice more on his tongue, Cooper rose to stand, pressing red kisses to your belly and breasts that looked like lipstick marks. He reached for you in the darkness, his hands pulling your hips closer. You felt Cooper’s erection prodding between your thighs, and closed your hands around it. He hissed in a sharp breath as you grazed his tip; he was so sensitive, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Get on your knees,” Cooper panted urgently, his hand on your head pushing you downward. You sank to the shower floor, letting Cooper guide his cock into your mouth in the darkness. Lightning flashed outside, briefly revealing his blood-soaked lips parted in desperation, his eyes fixed on you at his feet while he used your mouth for his own satisfaction.

Cooper finished down your throat with a growl, his stomach tense as hot streams of cum pulsed over your tongue. You swallowed his seed with a contented grin, humming softly around Cooper’s shaft as you tugged the last drops of his cum between your lips.

The water continued to pour over your bodies as Cooper cradled you against his chest, rocking you gently. In that moment, he almost regretted his decision, almost thought of changing his mind. But there was no sense in getting sloppy after all these years, after so long a run of keeping his secret life secret.

Cooper glanced at the bathroom sink. A thin sliver of moonlight cast onto the knife you hadn’t noticed him bring upstairs along with the flashlight. He pressed his lips to your forehead one last time in a silent kiss goodbye, and reached toward the sink…

[roguerogerss]

The President; ‘Something Sweet.’

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: SMUT!!

(HEY! this is the second part to The President, part 3 will be out soon so plssss stay tuned, hope u luv it, luv you, bye) (requests r open! send me stuff here)

-

“Where did you go?"

Clemensia snatched your arm and stopped you in your place. You'd been trying to ignore all of the girls, weaving your way in and out of the crowd, accepting the odd congratulations or hug as you went, you thought you might find Tigris and stick by her until at least dinner time. You wanted nothing more than to be at home.

"Oh." You started but stopped short. If you even stuttered you knew she'd know, your legs were shaking and, if she looked at you closely, she'd be able to see that your hair wasn't nearly as smooth as it was an hour ago, and your lipstick had smudged over your chin and you'd spent longer than you should've trying to wipe it off. "Just had a few photos to be taken, Coryo wanted them out of the way."

Clemensia turned you to face her, gripping your forearms as she eyed you suspiciously. You held your breath a moment, she wasn't the type to keep her mouth shut. "Of course. Photos."

She was smirking at you, and you nearly hung your head in shame out of pure instinct. You teetered backwards slightly in your heels, and Clemensia barely stifled a laugh. "Did these photos involve you being bent over something?"

"Clemmie!" You burst out, hands clamping over your mouth, cheeks burning red. And then you couldn't help but laugh. "Don't say anything, please."

"I won't!" She laughed and took hold of your hand, starting to lead you back towards the rest of your school friends. “I didn’t say anything when you’d disappear for every free hour we had in school, did I?”

“Clemensia!”

Okay! I won’t say anything. Promise. It's your day, and Coryo's President now. I can’t say anything."

You laughed as you approached the other girls, Clemmie was your friend, as much as you hated to admit it, and you did actually like spending time with her, after you got over the initial idea of it. The other girls, however, were a different story.

"Where did you guys go?" Lysistrata whined when you rejoined the circle. She wasn’t the worst of the bunch, but, god, could she moan about anything. "Felix had an interview and they basically said that he actually would've won, had Doctor Gaul's vote not counted-"

"Well, her vote did count." Clemensia defended and sent you a small smile. "Why dwell on it, Lyssie?"

"Because it's unfair." Livia practically snarled, lip curled upwards like a growling dog. "Coriolanus will be president until he either steps down, or dies off. And we all know he won't step down, so none of us will even have a chance at it."

"You wouldn't have a chance at anything anyway, Livia. Festus is a slob." You snapped. You'd remembered why you so hated going to school, and then University with these girls. Livia especially always seemed to bring out the worst in you. You heard Clemensia sigh, and Lysistrata sucked in a breath to be held.

Livia looked as though she was about to lunge for you. "He is not a slob!" She threw her hands in the air and started to say something else, when Clemensia butted in, to avoid a public argument between two powerful men's wives.

"Ladies!" She held her arms out between the two of you in a calming manner, and you almost scoffed and walked away from them, but you knew you had to be here. For Coryo, you thought. "Let's just all be friends, okay? You managed it for seventeen years before today, you can certainly last another two hours."

"Oh, look!" Lysistrata pointed excitedly at the grand hall, drawing the attention of the conversation to something else entirely. "I think we've to go for dinner, now. Aren't you all excited? It'll be lovely."

You were definitely excited. The University provided three square meals a day, if you stayed long enough - you always did - but, since you'd graduated, it had been back to Tigris' cabbage soup and the occasional luxury like a loaf of bread or some beef mince, if Coriolanus helped Doctor Gaul with something she believed warranted an extra payout. The food was guaranteed to be something special, and, even better, you could leave your school friends behind for at least an hour and sit by Coryo instead.

An avox appeared by your small group, and gestured for you all to follow them, leading the gathering of wives to the dinner hall first. Clemensia, Livia, and Lysistrata were positioned at a table together, each one chair apart from the other, and you almost laughed out loud when Livia's scowl deepened further and Clemmie sighed disappointedly at her space between the other two.

After seating the three other women, the avox gestured for you to follow them even further, to a long, rectangular table overlooking a sea of smaller round ones. The hall really was magnificent, all marble and hardwood, a string quartet playing in the far corner, and Coriolanus' Grandma'am's roses decorating each table, in small glass vases. You smiled at the touch, assuming it was Tigris' doing, Coryo would love it.

"Thank you." You nodded to the avox as they tapped a chair for you to sit in. The table was laid with a white tablecloth and lace runner, and six plates, with dainty little place cards placed neatly atop them. The ones on either side of you read Tigris Snow and President Coriolanus Snow. You assumed the one next to Coryo would've been for the Grandma'am and the other two chairs for other government officials.

The room started to fill up with people, celebrities, guests, reporters, game makers. You tried to make out anyone familiar in the sea of people, but faces blurred into one another, distant chatter became almost deafening, and you found that, not only could you not decipher one person from another, but you'd given yourself a headache trying to do so.

The chair beside you pulled back, startling you from your squint-eyed staring, and then Tigris appeared, beaming and touching a hand to your shoulder. "He did it!" She cried and you embraced, squealing as you did so.

“I know.” You mused. “Did you do the roses?”

Tigris nodded, a satisfied smile crossing her face. “Yes, do you like them? I thought it’d be nice, something familiar.”

“They’re beautiful, he’ll love them.” You plucked one of the stems from the vase in front of you, inspecting the perfect flower, so familiar. You’d always loved the Grandma’am’s roses, almost as much as Coryo did.

You were only able to talk for a moment, Tigris complimenting the way you'd done his hair, you gushing over his suit. You loved Tigris, really. But the national anthem began playing, and then there were cameras on you both and you tried to remember to sit up straight and keep your chin down.

The entire room erupted into cheers and claps and cries as Coriolanus entered, looking dazzling as ever. You even noticed Livia giving a hand, which sent a sense of satisfaction through you. "There he is! Our brand new President, it's Coriolanus Snow!" Lucky Flickerman had appeared out of nowhere again, and you could just hear him over the sound of the crowd. "And he's making his way over to his gorgeous first lady! I heard they've only been married three days."

You stifled a laugh at Lucky's overly dramatic performance, and then you felt almost self conscious, seeing all of the people looking towards you, the cameras pointed in your direction. Tigris touched a gentle hand to your arm to soothe you, and you just about managed a grin as Coryo approached.

He sat down next to you and you found his hand placed on the small of your back, thumb rubbing soothing circles just beside your spine. You let out a sigh of relief and smiled until the cameras turned away and the starting course of the meal served. "That was good, darling." Coryo spoke quietly. "Are you okay? You seem nervous."

"I am nervous." You turned toward him and placed a hand on his knee. "I'll get over it, though. First day jitters."

"Of course you will." And then he leaned down to whisper in your ear, hand creeping up your thigh under the cover of the tablecloth. "What do you think I could do to calm you down, hm?"

"Coryo." You hid a small smile and wrapped your fingers around his wrist. "People are watching."

"All the more fun." You turned to face him, noticing the half-concealed grin playing on his lips. Your eyes flickered out towards the crowd and cameras, guests were all chattering and eating, but the cameras stayed put, and Lucky continued his constant commentary of you. You imagined him, broadcasting to the entirety of Panem, that the brand new President was fingering his wife at the dinner table.

Coryo's hand wandered up even further, underneath your skirt, into your underwear. You sucked in a breath and made a sort of uncomfortable grunt, biting back a whine as two familiar fingers pressed into you. You gripped onto the tablecloth and Tigris turned to you, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?" She asked and you nodded, too enthusiastically.

"I'm okay." You answered, but you knew your face wasn't communicating what you said, and Tigris' hand was pressed to your forehead before you could tell her again.

"You're hot, have you drank enough water today? And you're flushed, too-" Tigris was in the middle of pouring some water into the glass in front of you when Coryo cut in.

"She's okay, Tigris." He smiled at his cousin. "Wasn't feeling too well last night, were you, love?"

You shook your head, trying to act convincing while Coriolanus' fingers continued their assault inside of you. "Oh, honey! Well, get some rest tonight, okay?"

And then Tigris had turned back to her conversation with the Grandma'am, and you made a mental note to continue the narrative that you were sick, at least in front of Tigris. And then you noticed that Lucky was staring right at the two of you, massive grin on his face, as always, and the camera beside him was fixated on your table.

"Coryo, the cameras!" You hissed, but he silenced you, curling his fingers against your sensitive spot. You made another strangled sound, but Tigris didn't turn around this time, too invested in conversation with the Grandma'am.

"Shh," Coryo comforted you, nuzzling his forehead against your cheek in a way that could've been mistaken for a loving gesture for the cameras. "Let them see, honey. Just be quiet for me. My good girl."

He curled his fingers faster inside of you, so that you had to clamp your hand on your thigh to stop your legs from shaking aggressively, every now and again he'd lean down and say something like, "You're doing so well." or "So good for me." and your head would spin.

"Coryo," You whispered, a breathy moan falling from your lips, almost loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. "I'm getting close, you know how loud I get."

Dessert was being served, now, and you were almost glad that the avoxes didn't have tongues, because you were certain that the one placing your lemon tart in front of you had made a strange face whilst doing so.

Coryo's fingers brushed your sensitive spot once again, and you felt his hand on your back as it arched off of the chair, dimming the appearance of your arousal to the public. "I know. Not going to let you finish, not yet."

He pressed a short kiss to your temple and then pulled his fingers out of you, at which you huffed and pouted, he felt his cock throb, seeing you looking so bratty.

"Coryo!" You whined, bottom lip still jutting out. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" He asked, smirk playing on his face. He made you watch as he looked you straight in the eye, lifted his fingers to his lips - still glistening with your slick - and sucked them clean. "Mmh, so sweet, my girl. Now, I want you to go home, familiarise yourself with the mansion - you'll love it, by the way - and wait for me to get there. No touching yourself, you know the punishment for that."

A small smile grew on your face as you nodded. Coryo kissed your face, picked up your dessert fork and handed it to you, gesturing to the food in front of you. As you took your first bite, he slid his own across to the Senator sat next to him. The larger man looked at him with confusion in his eyes.

"You can take mine, already had something sweet."

[luvzshy]

hi bby!! could u do smt w teaser and billie like going to sleep later or smt and just having like deep talks? (fluffy pls)🙃

a/n: hi baby so idk if this is what u wanted but i tried 😣😣 enjoy ml

Whispers in the Dark

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft, ethereal glow through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. The atmosphere was charged, a mix of anticipation and warmth as Billie lounged on the edge of the bed, her presence drawing you in like a moth to a flame. She wore an oversized shirt that hung loosely on her frame, accentuating her curves, and her hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall.

“Are you planning to take forever, or are you coming to bed?” Billie teased, her voice playful yet sultry, laced with a hint of longing that sent a thrill through you. You turned to her, pretending to consider your options with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe I’ll keep you waiting just a little longer,” you shot back, knowing full well you’d never leave her waiting. The playful banter was your way of keeping the night light, even as the air thickened with tension. You finally joined her on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin as you settled in beside her.

Billie’s fingers brushed against your hair, her touch sending tingles down your spine. “You know I can’t resist you,” she murmured, leaning closer until your breaths mingled in the intimate space between you. Her lips hovered just above yours, teasingly close, igniting a fire within you that demanded more.

“Then don’t,” you whispered back, your heart racing as you closed the gap, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss was electric, sending sparks through your entire body as you melted into her embrace. Billie responded eagerly, her hands roaming down your sides, pulling you closer, her warmth enveloping you as if she were a blanket shielding you from the world.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself lost in the moment, the outside world fading away. You could taste the sweetness of her lip balm mingled with the lingering warmth of her breath, and it drove you wild. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss became more fervent, more desperate.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, Billie rested her forehead against yours, her eyes bright with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “I could get lost in you forever,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, filled with an honesty that made your heart swell.

“Good,” you replied playfully, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Because I wouldn’t want to be found.”

Billie’s expression softened, her eyes reflecting a depth of feeling that made your stomach flutter. “You make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. Every moment with you is like discovering a new piece of myself,” she confessed, her voice rich with emotion.

You smiled, warmth radiating in your chest. “You inspire me, Billie. You make me want to be better, to explore and grow. Being with you feels like coming home.”

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her features, and you could sense the weight of her thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. It scares me, but it also feels so right,” she admitted, biting her lip as she searched your eyes for understanding.

“Then let’s not rush it. We have all the time in the world,” you promised, brushing your thumb over her cheek in a gentle gesture that sent shivers down her spine.

Billie smiled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of gratitude and something deeper. “Okay, but if we’re sharing secrets, I have one for you,” she said, biting her lip as she took a deep breath, the tension between you thickening. “I think about us all the time—what this could be. I want to build something amazing with you.”

Your heart raced at her confession, the weight of her words sinking in. “I want that too. More than anything.” The vulnerability in your voices hung in the air, drawing you closer.

Billie’s hands found your waist, pulling you against her. You could feel her heartbeat, steady and inviting, and the connection between you deepened. “Let’s take our time tonight,” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “I want to savor every moment.”

Nodding, you allowed yourself to relax into her embrace. Billie’s fingers trailed down your back, sending electric jolts through your body. The gentle pressure of her hands ignited a fire within you, urging you to explore every inch of her.

Your lips found hers again, this time more urgent, filled with a yearning that had been building since the moment you’d met. The kiss deepened as you explored each other, tongues dancing in a passionate rhythm that felt as though it had been choreographed in the stars. Billie’s hands roamed over your body, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you, each touch igniting flames in places you never knew were waiting to be awakened.

With a low moan, you pressed your body against hers, feeling the heat radiate off her skin. Billie’s hands slipped under your shirt, her fingers grazing your waist as she explored the curves and angles of your body, each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmured between kisses, her voice thick with desire. You could feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, and you pulled back slightly to meet her gaze.

“Only because you make me feel this way,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of shyness and boldness.

Billie smiled, her gray-blue eyes glimmering with mischief as she leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and deliberate, drawing out every moment. You could feel the connection between you, deep and raw, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together in this moment.

With a gentle tug, Billie pulled you further into the sheets, her body molding against yours as you both sunk deeper into the bed. You could feel her warmth enveloping you, and it was intoxicating. The outside world faded into a distant memory, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and the soft rustle of sheets.

As the kisses grew more heated, you felt yourself surrendering completely to her touch, every caress igniting a fire within you. Billie’s hands explored your body with an eagerness that sent shivers of pleasure through your core. She traced delicate patterns along your skin, sending waves of warmth cascading through you, leaving you breathless.

“Can I show you how much I want you?” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation.

With a playful glint in her eye, Billie pulled you in for another kiss, this one laced with a fervor that took your breath away. As her hands roamed over your body, you could feel her warmth radiating through you, every touch igniting a spark that spread through your veins.

The passion between you two built steadily, a slow burn that made your skin tingle with anticipation. With each kiss, you felt your bodies melt together, the world outside forgotten as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands tangled in her hair, holding her close as your kisses deepened, more desperate, more fervent.

“Billie,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire as her lips moved down your neck, trailing soft kisses that sent shivers coursing through you. You could feel her smile against your skin as she explored, a mix of sweetness and hunger in each movement.

“Just relax,” she murmured against your collarbone, her hands exploring every curve of your body. “I want to take my time with you.”

With each lingering kiss, each soft caress, you felt your heart race, the world around you fading into nothingness as you lost yourself in her warmth. Billie’s touch was electric, igniting flames of passion that made you ache with desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations coursing through you, the intimacy deepened, becoming a dance of souls intertwined. With each breath, each kiss, you felt a connection that went beyond physical desire—this was raw, real, and undeniably beautiful.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered secrets and deep talks as you both surrendered to the moment. You shared dreams, fears, and laughter, each word weaving a tapestry of intimacy that bound you closer together.

“I love this,” Billie confessed softly, her fingers tracing circles on your arm. “Just being here with you, feeling like we can share anything. It’s like… magic.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest. “It is magic. You make everything feel so special, so real.”

Billie’s gaze softened, her expression filled with sincerity. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I want to hold onto this, to build something incredible with you.”

With a gentle tug, you pulled her closer, your lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that spoke volumes. “Then let’s take this journey together, one step at a time.”

The night wore on, the soft glow of the moon illuminating your intertwined bodies as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth. In that moment, you knew you were building something beautiful, one whispered secret and shared dream at a time.

[revehae]

sexcapade

pairing ↠ co-worker!johnny x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, professor!johnny x professor!reader, infidelity, unprotected sex, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, almost getting caught

summary ↠ with things in the bedroom getting boring with your husband, you start searching for excitement and your co-worker, johnny, is more than willing to provide it for you. on campus, you barely acknowledge each other, but in the sheets, you can't stop calling out his name.

wc ↠ 2.2k

a/n ↠ part 1/5 of the college-capades series! connected to do you like it, dr. lee?

don't like it, don't read.

it started in the spring. like there was pollen in the air, too there was lust, gentle breezes seemingly sweeping you flush against johnny’s chest where you could never not inhale the manly scent of him; never not leave with it clinging to you.

you were very aware that it was wrong. matter of fact, every time you laid eyes on your husband’s face and looked into his, saw how they twinkled at the sight of you and how they were bewitched by the charm of your soul, guilt ruptured your heart with an angry, unmistakable pang of ire.

so you did not think with the throbbing inside your chest, but the throbbing between your thighs.

a woman needed excitement in her life, a specimen that johnny was more than glad to offer. sex quickly got boring in the bedroom after so many years of unlively routines and you taught molecular biology to a class of undergraduates that couldn’t wait to get the fuck on with their lives. to say nothing of the long nights spent sifting through overdue assignments. you were allowed to have fun sometimes. after all, you were only in your early thirties. you still considered yourself young.

like many other women, specifically younger ones that found him attractive for an older man, you noticed that johnny did not wear a ring on his finger. upon further discussion, you learned that though he was no longer married, he had a twenty-something-year-old son who took your class. apparently, his son spoke delightfully of you, which was flattering, but you’d always been more interested in what johnny thought.

and you quickly found out.

“had enough?” johnny asked, poking his head through the doorway. 

not that you could see. there was a blindfold taut around your face, hindering your vision for the past forty-five minutes. to you, it felt like an eternity. the toy between your trembling thighs buzzed, inducing orgasm after orgasm, a number so great that it had tears slipping down your cheeks past the fabric of the blindfold.

speaking of orgasms, you couldn’t stop the cry that parted your lips as heat unfurled throughout your body for the umpteenth time, spreading from between your thighs to your head where there was nothing but empty thought and faintness.

“that was beautiful,” johnny remarked, only watching.

“please,” you croaked.

johnny played dumb with you. he had a penchant for it, drawing out your agony by pretending as if he were oblivious to your needs, when in reality he was the most attuned to them. “you want more?”

“no!” you exclaimed, desperate. you couldn’t even feel your legs if you tried, that was how long he had left you here with yourself - and this fucking toy. “please, no more. it’s too much, johnny.”

“but baby,” johnny started, donning his sweetest tone. “you wanted this. remember?”

that was true. you knew when this affair first started that johnny was available to open you up to new, exciting things, because your bedroom experiences with your husband could all be described the same way. though with johnny, there was room for variety.

it was just overwhelming sometimes. johnny could be so harsh under the guise of merely giving you what you wanted. you knew that it was what he wanted if anything, that you were just his lab rant to experiment on, but you never admit that you liked it that way. nor would you admit that you would’ve also liked to be a little more. 

but johnny knew that. he never mentioned a word of it, because it didn’t need to be said. it went without saying that you were his to do whatever he pleased with.

“johnny…,” you trailed, your voice shaky.

johnny, ignoring you, asked, “how many times did you cum?”

you gulped. racking your brain for an answer, you ultimately came up empty. by the third one, time lost all meaning and so did thought. “i… i lost count.”

“then, you know what that means, right?”

you gasped when the toy was moved. not at the action itself, but because you didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. his footsteps were so quiet.

“but…,” you started. 

“but nothing,” johnny said, snatching the blindfold off of your face. you blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness. the cuffs around your wrists were next. “you know the rules, don’t you?”

you whispered, “yes, johnny.”

“hands and knees.”

you didn’t hesitate to crawl into the said position, regardless of the exhaustion weighing down your body, because you knew what to expect if you didn’t comply with whatever he wanted. there were times were johnny was generous enough to let you cum, times where you didn’t deserve it, much like now. you wanted to get around punishment, but it would never happen if you didn’t satiate him.

the bed creaked when he raised himself atop of it from behind you, the sound of him fumbling with his belt making you wetter. once upon a time, you didn’t even think that that was possible, but you never stopped dripping when with johnny. somehow, he made even simple things like the anticipation arousing.

johnny dropped his shirt, followed by a toss of his pants. he had no need for them anymore. for the forty-five minutes that you’d been ruining his sheets, weakened by the overstimulation, johnny had been in his study trying to shake the thoughts of you while he attempted to grade papers. he was already hard from his imagination and the memories of stuffing you full of his cum, but seeing you in front of him, waiting for him, your pussy soaked for him, it did unfathomable things to his cock.

you released a shaky breath when you felt him lubricating himself with your arousal, slipping between your glistening folds, and writhed from the sensitivity. “johnny, it’s too much,” you whimpered. 

johnny chuckled. “baby, i’m not even inside you yet.”

your face burned. you could feel yourself dripping and it was humiliating, because you only got like this for him and him only.

“so fucking wet,” johnny cursed, having fun teasing your folds. “just for me.”

you cried out when he suddenly slapped your cunt, mouth parted as you gasped out, “john.”

“fuck, you always get so wet for me. isn’t that right, baby?” johnny asked, enamored with you. it was magical how he could pretend as if you meant nothing to him at work and become so addicted to you when nobody was watching.

you bobbed your head. “yes, johnny. just for you.”

that must’ve did it for him, because the very next second, you felt johnny finally start to roll inside of your cunt, mumbling curses under his breath. you almost collapsed then, almost slumped and gave out just from the tip of his cock, but you resisted because you had something that you needed to prove.

johnny was slow, but his cock slipped right inside you with ease, it was almost pathetic. not to mention that he was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined taking, so much that you always found yourself gasping when you realized that he wasn’t completely buried inside of you yet. you couldn’t believe that he had so much to give.

“oh my god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back from how full you were. no man had ever satisfied you like this, and johnny was just getting started.

not only were you filled to the hilt with his hard cock, but also the ache for him to fuck you until your entire body went numb like he’d already done countless times. johnny gripped your hips, using them as an anchor. when you felt so good as you did, as tight as you were, it would be dangerous not to ground himself.

johnny grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling just tight enough to let you know the trip was there. you were basking in his warmth and being crushed underneath his weight while he balanced your hips in one hand and the grip on your hair in the other. he smacked your ass and hissed, “so fucking pretty.”

sometimes you wished that he was yours. you could imagine coming home with him day after day, singing to music in the car together while his company made minutes feel like hours. you didn’t mind that he had a son, either. you always wanted a child, though not one that would be the product of shitty sex and a broken marriage.

the liking you’d taken to johnny went beyond sex, though the endless orgasms and fulfillment he never neglected you of definitely encouraged those feelings. moments like now, when he was balls deep inside you, you were more than willing to risk it all for him. you would get a divorce. you would move in. anything he wanted, just as quick as he said the word.

i am out of my mind, came your thoughts, though your grip on them slackened the more johnny fucked you into oblivion. 

“it’s so… deep,” you gasped, marveling. 

johnny chuckled. though you had never said it outright, your constant fascination with how big his cock was or how deep he could fit inside you, stretching out your velvety tight walls, was more than enough of an indication that your husband was not exactly packing like he was. you made it a point to mention that johnny was huge.

“yeah?” johnny asked huskily, wanting to suck a bruise onto the side of your throat, but he willed himself not to.

“mm-hm,” you mumbled. “can feel you in… in my stomach.”

“where?” johnny kept one hand at your hip but dropped the one at your head, wrapping it around you, and reaching for your stomach. “here?”

you bobbed your head. he could feel it too, and it elicited a deep growl out of him, one that had you clamping involuntarily around his size.

johnny could fuck you for hours if you let him. the same way that he was the best you’d ever had, he simply couldn’t get enough of you. there were times throughout the day where his mind would only flicker with debilitating thoughts of you, memories of your face and how you tasted. at times, you made it difficult to move on.

“dad,” came a voice from down the hall, one both of you were very acquainted with. 

“shit,” johnny hissed, irritated, and clamped his hand around your mouth. your cries and whimpers were muffled into his hard palm and your breath was cut off, because it was so difficult to breathe solely through your nose. “be a good girl and keep quiet.”

“dad,” sounded his son’s voice again, just outside the door. 

your heart was racing. your eyes were wide, the fear and excitement of getting caught fighting for totality in your icy veins. his son was one of your students and students talked. if it got out that you were having an affair with johnny, this could destroy you, but there was something so arousing about the thrill.

“i’m in here. don’t open that door,” johnny said, breathless voice betraying what was happening behind that door. 

his son was far from stupid, that you knew all too well, and retorted, “dad, are you getting laid? is it the hot nurse you were flirting with at the hospital? tell her i said ‘hi.’”

you frowned.

before johnny could even get a word out, his son added, “i’m leaving. you two have the house to yourselves again.”

“bye,” johnny huffed, dropping his palm from your face. 

you inhaled sharply. you could finally breathe again.

johnny kissed the back of your neck, nibbling at your ear. “you did so good,” he whispered, voice gentle and sweet as ever. “if you beg good enough, i’ll change my mind and let you cum.”

you hopped at the opportunity like a ravenous pack of wolves starved through the winter, begging with the utmost desperation, “johnny, please. please let me cum. i’ll do anything, oh my fucking god, i need it. i need you.”

“you need me?”

so fucking bad. more than anything. “i need you,” you repeated, whinier. needier.

“cum around my dick,” johnny commanded, voice deep and throaty and just the way you liked it. you would steal a soul for him if that was what he wanted.

it wasn’t very long before one final cry of his name escaped you, pouring out of your lips like honey as you stuttered around his cock, heat spasming between your legs. tears trickled from your eyes, the stimulation from all of the orgasms you’d had in one night alone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from convulsing. your muscles slackened and your limbs went limp to your sides.

johnny was directly behind you, spurred on by the sight and feeling of you coming undone around him, and you knew when his hold on your hips tightened and that lethal growl parted his mouth that he had met his climax, the feeling of his hot cum seeping into your cunt being the unnecessary confirmation.

“good fucking girl,” johnny praised, still sweetly in your ear.

you sighed contentedly when he flipped you onto your back, sweeping you into his arms and kissing your lips as a treat. he wiped the tears out of your eyes, watching you still shudder.

“stay the night,” johnny said, looking into your hazy eyes. 

you blinked, breathing heavily to catch your breath. “johnny, you know i can’t do that. my husband will...”

“i wasn’t asking.”

“well,” you replied, quietening. “i guess i can come up with something.”

johnny smiled triumphantly, smashing his lips against yours again. you sighed again, still content, though there was a thought lurking on your mind. i don’t know what i’m going to do.

[inkspiredwriting]

Silent Yearning

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five had first met Y/n at a coffee shop near the academy. He was waiting for his siblings, silently sipping his black coffee, when she walked in. The air seemed to change when she smiled at the barista, her laughter filling the room like a melody. Five's heart skipped a beat.

He’d watched her from his corner table, feeling a strange pull toward her. When their eyes met, he felt an instant connection, a spark he hadn’t experienced in his long, convoluted life. Despite the scars of time and the burdens he carried, Five felt a flicker of hope.

Y/n, oblivious to his inner turmoil, simply smiled back and went about her day.

Five’s encounters with Y/n became more frequent as if fate were drawing them together. They would often chat in the coffee shop, sharing stories and laughing over the absurdities of their respective lives. For the first time in ages, Five found himself looking forward to something other than his Job.

Their friendship grew, becoming a beacon of light in his otherwise chaotic existence. Five cherished every moment with Y/n, savoring the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions, the way she laughed at his dry humor, and the comforting warmth of her presence.

But as their bond deepened, Five noticed a shadow looming over his happiness—a shadow in the form of Y/n’s boyfriend, Michael.

Michael was everything Five wasn’t—charming, kind, and stable. He treated Y/n with a tenderness and respect that Five could only admire from afar. The sight of them together, holding hands or sharing a private joke, was like a knife twisting in Five’s chest.

Five kept his feelings hidden, burying his longing beneath a façade of stoic composure. He valued Y/n’s happiness more than his own and refused to let his desires complicate her life. But the pain of unspoken love gnawed at him, especially when he saw the way Y/n looked at Michael, with a love that was pure and unwavering.

One rainy evening, as Five sat in the coffee shop alone, he saw Y/n and Michael walk in, laughing and soaked from the rain. They took a seat near him, not noticing his presence.

“I have something for you,” Michael said, pulling out a small box. Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise and delight as he revealed a delicate necklace, shimmering with a simple elegance.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n whispered, her eyes brimming with emotion as Michael fastened it around her neck.

Five watched, his heart heavy with sorrow. He wished he could be the one making her eyes sparkle with joy, the one who could make her feel loved and cherished. But he wasn’t. He was just a friend, an observer of the happiness he yearned to be part of.

Unable to bear the weight of his feelings any longer, Five decided to confide in Klaus, the only one who might understand his dilemma.

Sitting on the academy’s rooftop, with the city lights twinkling below, Five finally opened up. “I love her, Klaus,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “But she’s with someone else. And she’s happy.”

Klaus, for once, was silent, listening intently. “Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

Five shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “Because it wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserves someone who can be there for her, someone who doesn’t come with the baggage of a broken timeline and a fractured soul.”

Klaus sighed, placing a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sometimes, the heart wants what it wants, Five. But you’re doing the right thing, even if it hurts.”

Five nodded, the weight of his unspoken love pressing down on him. He knew Klaus was right, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The inevitable day came when Y/n and Michael announced their engagement. Five attended the celebration, putting on a brave face, congratulating them with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He watched from the sidelines as Y/n beamed with happiness, her eyes shining with a joy that made Five’s heart ache. As the evening wore on, he found himself retreating to the quiet of the balcony, staring out at the stars, lost in his thoughts.

Y/n found him there, her expression concerned. “Hey, you okay?” she asked softly.

Five forced a smile. “Yeah, just needed some air. It’s a big night for you.”

Y/n stepped closer, her eyes searching his. “I’m glad you’re here, Five. You mean a lot to me.”

Her words, meant to comfort, only deepened the pain. “You mean a lot to me too, Y/n,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope you know that.”

Y/n smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I do. Thank you.”

Five nodded, unable to say more. As Y/n walked back inside, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knew he had to let her go, to accept that she would never be his. And despite the ache in his heart, he resolved to be happy for her, to cherish the moments they shared and to hold onto the memories of their friendship.

As the stars shimmered above, Five made a silent vow—to always be there for Y/n, even if it meant loving her from a distance. It was the least he could do for the woman who had brought light into his dark world, even if only for a brief moment.

Time moved on, and so did Five, carrying his unspoken love like a secret treasure. He continued his work, facing new challenges and navigating the complexities of his existence. But in the quiet moments, when the world was still and the weight of his responsibilities faded, he would think of Y/n and the love that could never be.

It was a bittersweet acceptance, a love that remained unspoken but forever cherished. And as Five looked up at the night sky, he found solace in knowing that some loves, though unfulfilled, could still bring a measure of peace to a restless heart.

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (1/4)

miles g. morales — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: miles morales always struck you as an apathetic guy, one who wouldn't particularly take relationships too seriously; until you both fell for each other, you realized... he did indeed fall for you, but he fell hard, way, way too hard for you. pairing: miles 42 x gn!reader genre: fluff !!

miles g. morales was, to you, such a cold, apathetic guy who always looked calm and composed in everything he did. he seemed like a guy that, you believed, wouldn't care too much if he was in a relationship–that he would put himself before his significant other; though you didn't have any evidence to back it up, save for how distant he seemed to you at first. but oh, were you wrong.

miles g. morales wasn't really all that insensitive as you thought when you got to know him, in fact–he was more sensitive to your thoughts, needs, and wants more than any other boy had ever been for you. it took a while, but the longer you spent around him, the more obvious was the fact that he truly, truly cared about you, from the bottom of his heart.

miles g. morales was the boy who'd stay after class, waiting for your class to finish so he could meet up with you and just be around you. ask him to explain why he's always risking his ass getting scolded for loitering outside your classroom, he can't give you one straight answer. "we had free time", "i had no where else to go", "i... left a pencil in that classroom. yeah."

miles g. morales would never admit to your face that he does indeed stare at you sometimes when you're not looking. whenever he sits close to you in class, be it behind, next to, or diagonally across to you–he always finds every angle of you to be a perfect angle to stare at and admire. don't be mad that he's looking, though, he can't help himself; you're way too mesmerizing for him to handle.

miles g. morales whose sketchpad gradually became a book full of... you in it. it started off as simple, small doodles of you; little cartoony you's that he found adorable and kept drawing when he wasn't focusing on anything else. but as time went by, he found himself focusing on you and your features more and more, almost as if he couldn't rip his gaze away from you.

miles g. morales had also noticed that whenever you speak, he hangs on to every word you say. he thought it would've creeped you out at first, how he can remember all the little details you'd tell him when you're telling him about something that happened in your day or how he remembers all the names of your pets, friends, favorite restaurants, favorite bands and artists–he hangs on to every word you utter, and he can't help it; your voice is just too tantalizingly sweet and attractive that he can't not listen to every word you speak.

miles g. morales was the boy who would use his intimidating appearance to his advantage and defend you against assholes who wouldn't take 'no' from you for an answer. he'd stare them down and glare at them, remind them for you that you said 'no', and if they didn't get the message the first time... they'll have to get through him to get to you. "i'm not gonna back down just because they're bigger than me, because i don't fear them. i don't fear them because, for all their brawn, they sure don't have any brains. and whatever happens after, i'll make sure you don't get in trouble; i'll shoulder the fault. i'd do this for you, every time."

miles g. morales would never wish to get in trouble or have beef with anyone else, but if it was you that others were bothering, then he'd willingly do everything he can to keep you safe and unbothered. he doesn't care what happens to him, so long as you stay safe, so long as it isn't your face being beaten in. you insist he shouldn't do these things for you, but... he can't help it. to picture you in danger makes his heart feel heavy; to get rid of that heaviness, he does these things for you, because he... he loves you.

miles g. morales doesn't dream at night, or at least didn't dream for a long while–or maybe he did and just forgets what he dreamt of the previous night–but when you two became much closer friends, he began to see glimpses and images of you in his dreams. in his wildest dreams, he was able to tell you in all kinds of scenarios that he felt weird around you–a good kind of weird. he'd feel a kind of warmth in his chest, accompanied by the pitter-pattering of his heart when your eyes lock with his, and he feels this urge in the corners of his lips to smile widely when you smile up at him. and, he'd never tell you this, but... in those dreams, he'd tell you how he really feels, and you'd teach him how to handle those feelings by placing your hands on either sides of his cheeks and pulling him close to your face–your nose feeling so soft against his own when your noses brush together–and with the feeling of your hot breath against his own lips... he wakes up.

miles g. morales wakes up to the reality that you probably only see him as a very good friend, a friend you used to think wouldn't care about those who love him but was proven very, very wrong. the friendship bracelet you made for him sits there by his nightstand, next to a cutely frame photo of the two of you at your birthday party. you designed that photo frame for him, and despite how a guy like him probably wouldn't care for cute things... he finds comfort and solace in a bit of cuteness in his life; he just wishes he could express that to you, you, who is cuteness personified. he wears that friendship bracelet every day–and wears it proudly. he doesn't hide it under his sleeve nor tuck it away when you're not looking; he's always got it on and shows it off by just having it on him. he loves having mementos of you on him, it gives him a feeling he hasn't had in a long time... and he hopes that, by some miracle, you'd feel that feeling for him, too.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @euphovlq @anikaluv @conitagray @q2ie @zalayni

[p0orbaby]

Stay With Me

summary: your habits put a strain on your relationship with leah

warnings: substance abuse, mention of drugs but nothing specific, a smidge of a toxic relationship

a/n: I’ve been feeling shitty so here’s some angst

word count: 969

-

You stood at her door, your heart pounding in your chest as you hesitated to knock. It had been days since you last spoke, and the guilt weighed heavily on your shoulders. But a moth drawn to a flame, you couldn't stay away any longer.

When she opened the door, a wave of relief and apprehension washed over you. She looked at you with concern etched in her features, her eyes searching yours for answers you didn't have. Or didn’t want or give her.

"Hey, Leah," you managed to say, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

Leah's brow furrowed in worry. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to see you”

She stepped aside, allowing you to enter her apartment. The familiar scent of her perfume mingled with the fresh scent of her fabric softener, and a candle she lit after games to calm her down hit you. The familiarity of it all almost had you crumbling in front of her.

As you moved closer, the gravitational pull between you seemed to intensify, drawing you towards each other. The tension that had hung in the air dissolved into a magnetic force, pulling you into Leah’s embrace without a second thought. In that moment, the world fell away, and all that mattered was the warmth of her touch and the softness of her lips against yours.

Leah’s breath hitched in her throat as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her jaw. She tilted her head slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she melted into your touch.

She pulls back, for breath, to talk herself out of falling for your tricks again, you’re not sure, but as her eyes locked with yours, her expression shifted from lust to concern.

She noticed the telltale signs—the dilated pupils, the glazed-over look—that betrayed the truth you were trying so desperately to hide.

"Are you… high?" Leah's voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a dissapointment you would’ve rather not been on the end of tonight.

You shifted uncomfortably in her arms, avoiding her gaze. "Maybe a little. It's no big deal”

Leah's expression hardened, her resolve evident in the way she held herself once she pushed you away from her. "No big deal? You know that's not true, Y/N. We've talked about this”

You took a step closer, reaching out to her, but she pulled away, the rejection stinging more than you cared to admit. "Come on, baby. Don't be like that. I just want to have a good time”

Leah's frustration boiled over, her voice laced with bitterness as she spoke. "You can't just waltz in here whenever you feel like it. You ignore me for days, weeks even, and then suddenly you show up expecting everything to go back to normal”

You flinched at her words, the sting of truth cutting deep. "It's not like that" you start to protest, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing irritatingly at your conscience.

Leah's eyes flashed with anger as she cut you off. "Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, it sure feels like you only come to me when you want something”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she wasn't finished. "Do you even care about me at all? Or am I just some convenient distraction for you to use whenever it suits you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words, the weight of Leah's accusation crushing you. "That's not fair. You know I care about you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rushing in your ears.

Leah shook her head, her frustration evident in every line of her face. "Actions speak louder than words, Y/N. And right now, all I see is you using me as a way to ignore whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into this time”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked at Leah, the pain in her eyes mirroring your own. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you," you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Leah's expression softened slightly, her anger giving way to rare sadness and resignation. "I know you didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that you did”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in as you struggled to hold back tears. “I’ll leave,” you offered quietly, already turning towards the door, prepared to flee the confrontation and the shame that threatened to consume you.

But Leah’s hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks, her touch gentle yet firm. “No,” she said firmly, her gaze meeting yours with unwavering determination. “You’re not leaving like this.”

Confusion flickered in your eyes as you turned to face her once more. “What do you mean?”

Leah’s expression softened slightly, a hint of warmth shining through the mask of stoicism she wore so well. “I mean,” she began, her voice soft but resolute, “that you’re staying here tonight”

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by her offer. “But I thought…”

“This is not a sign of forgiveness,” Leah interjected, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But it’s also not right to let you leave in this state. You need to sober up, and I have a spare room where you can do that safely”

You hesitated, torn between the desire to escape and the need to accept Leah’s offer of help. In the end, the weight of exhaustion and shame won out, and you nodded silently, unable to meet Leah’s eyes.

“Thank you,” your voice barely above a whisper, as Leah led you towards the spare room, each step a painful reminder of the mistakes that had brought you here.