#You Look So Pretty With Blood On Your Face

[elflutter]

— road trip

bf!joel miller x f!reader

synopsis

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip ;)

wordcount: 4.8k | masterlist

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), no use of y/n, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, creampie, light dom/sub, fingering, oral sex (f. recieving), fluff, age gap (joel is 37 reader is 27), established relationship, pet names, teasing joel for being "old"

a/n: this morning i went back to proofread and properly edit this, so it all should read a litle smoother now!

You cursed under your breath when you got out of the shower in the hotel room this morning. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, squeezing excess water from your hair, you searched through your suitcase. Digging through every article of clothing you’d packed for your cousin’s wedding once, then again. You couldn’t find it. Huffing out a defeated sigh, you plopped down on the mattress. You were out of clean underwear.

“Dammit.”

The sound of the shower quited, and a moment later Joel stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped low around his waist. Your eyes raked over his body, little droplets of water clinging to his tanned skin, taunting you. Laying in bed this morning, mind still pleasantly hazy in dawn’s rosy light, you’d fallen apart on his mouth. He had made you come again in the shower, this time on his fingers. But heat still pooled in your belly at the sight of him, relaxed and unguarded. He hadn’t given you his cock yet today, and you ached for it.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Falling back against the fluffy sheets with a soft thump, you let your towel fall away. Bearing your body as you threw an arm over your eyes and groaned.

“’M out of panties.”

The words were muffled behind your arm. Despite your current nakedness, despite the intimacy you shared with Joel, your cheeks heated at thought of being indecent beneath your clothes all day. Being exposed like that as you turned the key cards back in at the checkout desk, not to mention the risk of running into someone else staying in the block of rooms reserved for the wedding. Surely they wouldn’t be able to tell, right? People went commando all the time. It didn’t have to be sexual.

But then, you thought about the trip back to Austin. Pussy bare and dripping in the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, the hand he’d rest possessively on your thigh. And your cheeks heated for an entirely different reason.

Joel hummed, and the bed dipped with his weight. He propped himself on one arm so his face hovered just above yours. He wore a devilish smirk, morning light illuminating a glint in those deep brown eyes that meant nothing but trouble.

“Don’t sound like such a bad thing to me, pretty girl.”

His voice was low and rough, and you ignored the feeling blooming in your stomach. Trying very hard to fight the smile spreading across your face, you batted at his chest playfully.

“You old perv!” A giggle escaped your lips, unable to hold it back, like champagne bubbling over a newly opened bottle.

Joel ignored your dig at his age, graceful as always when you teased him. Barley ten years older than you, and you’d never let him forget it.

Instead, he ran a hand up your curves, fingers splayed wider than yours ever could. He cupped your breast with a barely there touch, sending strokes of electricity from your chest to your cunt. His gaze drank you in, greedy bordering on gluttonous. Like he was drunk on you from sight alone. Like this hotel room was a museum and you were its finest work.

“Can ya blame me when you look like this?” Joel pressed kisses from your earlobe to your collarbone between his words. “My gorgeous fuckin’ girl.”

If your cheeks were warm before, now they were on fire. You thought he’d surely be able to feel it, your face heating the space between you like a furnace.

You had been dating Joel going on three years now, but he could still get blood rushing to your cheeks—and lower—  with the briefest touch of those big hands and even bigger mouth. Sure of himself and what he wanted in a way that was so damn attractive.

His hard cock pressed against your side, hot and leaking. He’d barely let you touch him this morning, had devoted himself to worshiping your body. Didn’t want any distractions, he’d said. Now, you couldn’t help but buck your hips, pussy empty and clenching. Aching for him to fill it. A pathetic whine filled the air, high and breathy as it fell from your open mouth. Joel’s lips curved into a smile where they were buried in the crook of your neck.

“That pretty pussy’s droolin’ for me, baby, ain’t she?”

The damn mouth on that man. You nodded frantically, words casting a spell on you until all you could think was Joel, Joel, Joel.

The bed dipped when he shifted, his elbows resting on either side of your face. “Tell you what, sweetheart. You keep her nice’n wet for me on the trip back, and I promise I’ll fill her up just right when we get home. Think you can do that for me, baby girl?”

Another nod, eyes wide and pleading. “Y-yeah Joel, shit,” you laughed. The warm sound broke the tension that had pulled tight between you, the submissive role you so gladly fell into when he talked to you like that. A smile in your voice as you continued, “you really are a dirty old fuck, y’know that?”

“Thirty-seven’s old now, huh?” He challenged you, a teasing glint when he looked at you.

“Fuckin’ geriatric.”

You had done so damn well, packing your things and getting into the truck barely even thinking about the distinct lack of panties beneath your dress. The first few minutes of the drive went smoothly, but when Joel pulled into a gas station before leaving Dallas and sent you in to grab some snacks, your mind finally wandered just like you knew it would.

Knees pressed together, you slipped out of the passenger seat, determined not to give anybody a show. Anybody besides Joel, that is. Flashing him a little smile, you tried to ignore how the rub of your thighs together provided the perfect amount of friction on your bare cunt. Tried to ignore how the AC blasting in the little convenience store felt as it cooled the air under your dress. Tried to ignore the thrill of using the restroom when you knew all you had to do was pull up your dress and you’d be completely exposed.

Your mind raced, thoughts swirling as you tried to pick out some road trip snacks. You knew your taste, you knew Joel’s, but the task was made much more difficult by the throbbing between your legs and the fear that everyone who walked by you could tell how you ached. After pacing the snack aisle for what felt like an eternity, you finally grabbed Bugles and Takis to share, legs feeling like liquid as they carried you over to the cashier and out to the car.

Back on the road, the tangy scent of Takis filled the air when your gaze fell on Joel. He pretended not to care for them, but he always ate his half of the bag a little too eagerly. Joel’s eyes were on the road while he took each finger between his lips, hollowing his cheeks to suck off the red dust staining them. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, and a quiet moan escaped your lips involuntarily.

The light smirk playing on Joel’s lips told you he’d heard, though his eyes never left the highway.

“Gettin’ impatient, huh baby?” His southern drawl only added fuel to the flames in your belly.

“Don’t tease me, Joel, I feel like I’m on fire!”

“Think you’re bein’ overdramatic?” Joel arched a brow, glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes.

You pouted, just a little. “No.”

“Have some Bugles. You’re gettin’ hangry.”

Maybe you were, but the h certainly didn’t stand for hungry.

Admittedly, the Bugles did help the next few minutes pass a little faster. But eventually, you ran out of snacks; and were left, again, with only the dripping mess between your legs to keep you company. Joel had fallen quiet, no music on the radio, a taunting smirk painted across his face. Smug bastard.

Head resting on the window, the trees on the side of the highway filled your vision. A mottled mass of green, eyes blurry and unfocused—valiantly trying to think of anything except the ache between your legs. An hour had passed already since leaving Dallas, and you had another two to go. Two more hours before you’d be home and Joel could run his big hands underneath your little sun-dress and explore your curves, cup your bare pussy.

Head falling back against the headrest, you looked over at Joel, eyes wide and pleading.

“Can I touch myself?”

When your voice came out all high and breathy, you knew he could hear how desperate you were. It felt like your body melt into the passenger seat if you didn’t get some kind of relief right now.

“Greedy fuckin’ girl, aren’t you? How many times did I make you come this morning?”

Eyes on the ceiling, you gathered your voice to answer him. “Twice.”

“Twice, and it ain’t even noon yet, baby girl. Pussy achin’ again already?”

You whined in response.

“’N you had the nerve to go and say I’m the damn perv here,” Joel’s grumble was dark, sending even more wetness to your already soaked panties. The tone in his voice sent the sweetest chill down your spine— hunger and anticipation an intoxicating cocktail burning through your veins. “Filthy fuckin’ brat.”

His name fell from your lips in a high pitched plea.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, the low hiss of it filling the air between you. Finally, he sighed. You and Joel might like it when he talks dirty like you don’t have him wrapped around your little finger, but you both know the truth. He’d do anything you asked him.

“Fine.” Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Go ‘head and touch yourself, baby.”

You went limp with relief in the passenger seat, your hand ghosting across your nipples, down your stomach. Your eyes flitted to the road outside Joel’s pickup for a moment; judging the risk of someone seeing against the desire pooled deep in your core. The road wasn’t too busy, the windows slightly tinted so that you should be safe enough from prying eyes—as long as nobody looked too closely. You could be discrete.

 Finally, tossing caution to the wind, you hiked up the hem of your dress to expose your soaked cunt, the leather seat cool against the bottom of your thighs. The world went up in flames for a moment, as you dragged a single finger through your folds, breath catching as you felt just how much arousal had already pooled between your legs. Your finger met no resistance as your slick eased its passage, until it teased at your entrance as you babbled Joel’s name incoherently.

All you could think as one finger, then another pressed inside you was how empty you still felt. How you needed more. Needed Joel’s cock to carve out a spot inside you until you could feel him in your lungs.

Curling your fingers against that spongy spot inside, you raised your thumb to trace little circles around your swollen clit. Moans and the squelch of your pussy filled the cab, eyes closed and head thrown back. The warmth low in your belly spread and spread from your fingers to your toes, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge.

Joel’s gravel-rough order pulled you from your reverie. “You’re gonna look at me while you come.”

     When you opened your eyes to obey, they caught on his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. His eyes so wide they could pop right out of his skull as they glanced away from the road to meet yours for just a moment. The bulge starting to strain behind the zipper of his jeans. His jaw clenched, warm light dancing through the window over his form.

Your orgasm finally hit you, the steady pulse of your cunt swelling to a crescendo as the tension in your belly snapped. Waves of pleasure crested against you, again and again. As you came, his name tasted sweet on your tongue, gaze tracing over his profile as he switched the blinker on to change lanes. Fingers slowed their pump in and out until only your thumb was left moving—tracing lazy circles over your clit until the pleasure verged on pain. Finally, hand stilled, with a tremble, a stuttering breath left your lungs.

Lolling your head to the side, your brows drew together when you processed the sound of the blinker, the movement as Joel switched into the middle lane. Your eyes fell on the bright blue sign reading Rest Area - 1 Mile.

Joel followed your line of sight from his peripheral vision, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Figured we’d stop so you can use the restroom, baby.” He reached his hand to rest on your upper thigh, just inches away from where your own was still nestled inside your cunt. “Don’t want’ya gettin’ an infection down there, now do we?”

His words stirred a pleasant sensation in your middle– but this time, it wasn’t arousal. Your own soft smile stretched across your cheeks that he’d even think of that. How he was taking care of you like this even on top of driving the both of you the two-hundred miles it took to get back home.

After another moment, you pulled your fingers out from between your legs; mesmerized at the creamy spend that coated them. Touching your middle finger to your thumb, then pulling them apart as a thread of your come stretched into the space between.

You knew you were distracting Joel from the road, when you saw him watching from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t seem to mind the split focus while he watched you play with your own come between your fingers.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Taste it for me, baby.”

Joel swallowed thickly as you sucked the digits between your lips. Your cheeks hollowed,  lapping at your finger. You moaned at the depravity of it, the heady taste of yourself against your tongue. Finally, you let the fingers out with a slick pop, licked clean, throat working as you drank down your mess.

If his bulge was straining before, it was practically bursting through the denim now, fully hard beneath the fabric. Pride swelled within you, that you could still have that effect on him without a single touch. His eyes remained on the road, the deep brown drowned out by darkened pupils.

“Taste good?”

You pulled your dress back down as you answered him.

“Not as good as you, Joel.”

Your stomach sunk a little when you heard the tick tick tick of blinker as the metal roof of the rest area and old fashioned windmill came into view—disappointed that your fun was over. You always wondered who decided to make this rest area look more like a farm than a public building– Texas was fucking weird.

Your disappointment was short-lived. There was plenty of parking right out front, but Joel pulled around to the mostly-empty lot behind the building meant for semis and RVs. You threw him a quizzical look, and he adjusted his hard-on in his pants in lieu of an answer. Oh. Oh.

He found a spot in the back corner, the area empty save for you two. His head fell back against the seat before his eyes raked over you. Joel’s expression would have been unreadable if his pupils weren’t so blown out. You could feel his gaze burning your skin, stilled while he stared at your lips—still damp from sucking your fingers clean.

Tongue darting out restlessly, you waited for him to speak. The fire built in your belly all over again; his eyes on you a lit match thrown into kindling.

“Ain’t too busy.” Joel’s head nodded his head to parking lot.

“No, it isn’t,” you answered– wide eyes trained on his face. Your voice sounded wobbly in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was due to your present desire or the after-effects of your prior climax. Maybe both.

“Thought I’d have some fun with my girl.”

You nodded, words stuck in your throat.

“Before you go in there and clean up that pretty pussy.”

You nodded again, a little whimper escaping your lips.

The click of Joel’s seatbelt filled the air, before he reached over to unbuckle yours. Crowding you against the passenger-side door, you could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. The words dark with authority.

“Get in the backseat.”

The Texas sun bore down on you in the moment it took to fumble your way down to the asphalt and climb back up the side steps and into the back seat of the pickup. Your hands fiddled with each other as Joel did the same, the slam of the car door behind him as he got into the back on the driver’s side.

A swallow caught in your throat at the look in Joel’s eyes, mouth hungry and pupils blown out with lust. The smell of sex drowned out any lingering aroma of the snacks from earlier, your heady arousal seeping down your thighs and onto the flimsy fabric of your dress. Your core throbbed, Joel’s gaze weighing heavy on your skin.

His name tumbled from your lips; a plea more than anything. And that broke the spell lingering between your bodies. The tension in the air had pulled so tight that the only thing it could do next was snap.

Joel was on you in an instant– broad shoulders filling your space, large palms cupping your breasts through the smocked bodice of your dress. Your fingers tangled in his chestnut curls, shining in the warm sunlight. Tugging on it, urging his mouth to capture yours. His scruff scratched against the softness of your cheek as you moaned into the kiss; mouths slotting against each other like puzzle pieces.

His tongue moved against yours, teeth nipping sweetly at your bottom lip. Your movements against each other were hungry, hands exploring each other and leaving a trail of desire in their wake.

Little puffs of air ghosted against your lips as Joel breathed through the kiss, his jean-clad thigh slotting between your legs. The friction had you keening into his mouth, the sound pathetic and more than a little desperate. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into your boyfriend’s leg.

Joel finally broke the kiss, propping a palm against the passenger-side window to get a better view of where you rutted against him.

“Y’look like a damn bitch in heat.” The words were tinged with wonder, not degradation. Joel could never help but marvel at how desperate he could get you. The way you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

Through lowered lashes, you looked up at him, reaching for the bulge straining against his jeans. A ragged moan tore from his throat at your touch, and your smirk said it all. And you’re no better, cowboy.

Calloused hands ghosted up your thighs, pushing up your dress until it was bunched just above your belly-button. His fingers, pressing at the soft plush of your thighs, tracing the outline of your hips, flames licking to where you wanted his touch so desperately. His hands trailed back up to cup at the base of your skull, lips hungry where they pressed against yours once again. You drank each other in for a moment, your hips desperately seeking friction to quell the heat at your center. When he pulled back from your lips, Joel kissed down your body, following the path that his fingers had just taken. Brushing his lips behind behind your ear, against your collarbone, your breast, your stomach, your hips. Stoking the fire within you higher and higher until finally– finally engulfing himself in your flames.

Joel’s scruffy beard scratched against your inner thighs as he pressed a featherlight kiss against your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard. Hands tangled in his curls, you fell apart while he made out with your puffy cunt. You were still dripping with the release you found on the highway, nub still swollen and sensitive from your desperate fingers. He devoured you, each lap of his tongue sparking tingling waves of pleasure that had you jolting beneath him. One hand found the softness of your tummy as he pressed you against the seat to hold you still.

The needy sound of your whimpers and Joel’s grunts against you filled the air as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge. When he repositioned to push two fingers into your aching heat, lips never parting from where they worked, you tumbled over that cliff. Free fall, as you writhed against his mouth and fingers, working you through your climax.

Joel’s parted from you, grin was wolfish, his grip digging into your waist as he sat back and pulled you up with him. His dark eyes found yours before he spoke.

“Open up, sweet thing.”

The pet name was soft, but his voice was rough with dominance. Your mouth fell open for him, tongue hanging out lewdly. He pressed his fingers against it, before you tasted your release for a second time that day.

“Good fuckin’ girl. It taste even better on my fingers?”

You nodded around his fingers with a muffled mhm. Skirt pooled on his lap, you dragged your bare cunt along the outline of his hardness. You were beyond fucked out, two orgasms deep—four if you count the ones from the hotel room—but you still ached for that primal satisfaction only his cock could give you. Your touch brushed across his abdomen, hiking up his t-shirt to expose the soft skin underneath. Joel evidently got the idea, his next words coming out rough and low.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?”

Again, you nodded, your sound of affirmation still muffled.  Joel’s dark chuckle at your predicament sent electricity zinging down your spine with a moan. You barely had the presence of mind to be grateful that he wouldn't make you wait until you got home, like he had said. When he finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you whined at the emptiness. Your lips found the stubble at his jaw, kissing and nipping at the skin there as his belt came undone with a clang.

Hands fumbling around Joel’s, both of you worked to pull his jeans and his boxers down just enough to free his length. Your eyes were locked on his crotch as his cock sprang up against his belly button, the tip red and leaking. You never grew tired of the sight, his hardness long and wide, the head bulbous where precome dripped out onto the tan skin of his stomach.

Hips lifting, you bunched the fabric of your dress around your waist while Joel helped position himself at your entrance. You finally sunk down on him, savoring that sweet sting as he filled your warmth. You let Joel sweep you away in the sensations his body could give you– the gentle roll of your hips against his, the ghost of his breath across your lips as your foreheads rested against one another. The way your skin heated up under his gaze. The warm tone of his voice, sending pinpricks from your toes to the tips of your ears. It was so easy to forget that you were in the middle of a parking lot on the side of the highway when Joel could fill your senses so completely. Easy to forget that anybody could pull into this lot behind the rest stop, park beside you, and watch exactly how Joel Miller ruined you in the backseat of his pickup.

“Takin’ me so well, baby girl. Lettin’ me fill your tight little hole.”

His words were the sweetest encouragement, stoking your desire as it burned around where he was buried within you. You felt so good, so full, but you needed more. Muscles tightening, your pace increased, fingers tangled in his hair. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, and the familiar scent of pine and citrus enveloped you—still lingering on his skin from the shower he took at the hotel. Tiny whimpers fell from your lips as you began to truly bounce atop him, gasping each time he brushed that perfect spot within you.

“That’s fuckin’ right, bounce on this cock.”

You rode him until your thighs burned, skin slick with arousal and sweat, mewling pathetic little uh uh uh’s as you thrust up and down on Joel’s lap again and again and again. You were painfully close, but your muscles were too sore to keep up the motion. Joel tutted in mock-sympathy when you went limp in his arms.

“All tired out already?” He shook his head. “Woulda thought you’d have more stamina than a ‘dirty old fuck’ like me.”

You whined against his neck, almost regretting your earlier teasing. You knew it was all in good fun—but you also knew it gave Joel perfect ammunition for this little dynamic. Fingers dug into your cheeks, pulling you back up to meet his eyes. The deep brown glinted with barely restrained hunger. Yeah, there’s no way he’d let you off easy. Not that you would want him to.

“I’m sorry, Joel, y’know I was kidding.”

You tried so, so hard to be convincing, whining out the words. Joel didn’t buy it for a second.

“Call me fuckin’ geriatric, and you don’t even have the decency to keep goin’ until I’m finished. You’re gonna act like a brat, then I’ll fuck you like one.”

His harsh grip left your face and found the plush curve of your hips, fingers digging in as he urged you to lift your them. When you did, Joel set a brutal pace as he rutted up into you. Your head lolled to the side and you let him fuck out every thought you’d ever had. By the end, the only thing left was Joel. The hint of cinnamon as you kissed. The rough skin of his calloused hands roaming across your body. The deep plunge of his cock. You could have sworn he was rearranging your guts.

As you got closer and closer, Joel finally thumbed little circles on your clit; swollen and needy. His touch was light, and it sent fireworks dancing behind your eyelids.

“That’s right—fuck. Make a mess on my cock, baby girl.”

Joel’s voice was strained like he was just as close to the edge as you were. It didn’t take long after that before your walls fluttered around him, his pace never slowing as he fucked you through your climax. His thrusts got more and more erratic until his hips stilled, cock pumping his spend deep inside.

You both spent a few moments catching your breath, relaxing into each other’s embrace. His lips were soft as they pressed into the crown of your head before he pulled out of you with a slight groan. His voice was soft, too, when he spoke.

“Not so bad for an old man, huh?”

A smile played at the sides of your lips. You shifted your head on Joel’s shoulder to look up at him, his eyes warm and twinkling when they met yours.

“You know I just like to tease you.” A beat passed before you added, because you just couldn’t help yourself, “Grandpa.”

Joel’s fingers digging into your sides were swift and fierce, tickling you until you were a writhing mess in his lap, bright laughter filling the air. You ended up laying on your back across the leather seats, Joel’s head resting on your belly.

Your eyes were closed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re such a little shit.”

“It’s why you love me,” you sing-songed, fingers carding through his hair.

“Yeah, baby girl.” Joel pressed a kiss against your abdomen. “I guess it is.”

You rested in silence for a few more minutes, putting off cleaning up as long as you could. After all, Joel had been right, it was important to piss out any risk of a UTI. And the seats needed to be wiped down before you could pick up Sarah from Tommy’s on the way home. But with Joel in your arms, all of that felt far away as you lingered in the afterglow together for just a little while longer.

fuck neil druckmann, support palestine

a/n: thank you for reading!! inspo has been slower lately and life has been busy and i have been busy reading a lot of joel fic, but i am still planning to finish vampire!logan at some point. this was supposed to be a quick fun write, but i ended up shelving vampire!logan for two weeks to get this one done whoooops

btw i know the detail about the rest stop having a windmill is odd but... i did research to find the exact rest stop they would be passing at that point in the drive between dallas and austin and it actually has a fucking windmill lmao

tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip and/or have let me ramble in dms about the wip... thank u for that!!🏷️ @sceletaflores @eupheme @avocado-writing @joelsgoldrush

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[euthymiya]

you want to change my mind (and maybe you already have) — ft. wriothesley.

art credits: rana_co_co on twitter

synopsis: november 23rd comes and goes just like every year. wriothesley looks at you in his bed, curled under his sheets—pretty. soft. kind. a gateway to a cushy sort of life he never envisioned for himself. this birthday, he finally realizes that neuvillette sending you down for weekly compliance checks at the fortress was the first time celestia had ever favored him

word count: 8.7k — this was truly agonizing. just know that

before you read: female reader ; reader works at the palais ; work relationships ; fuck buddies who clearly are smitten ; newly turned duke wriothesley ; my own personal headcanons about his childhood and past (spoilers for his backstory ahead!) ; mentions of murder and child trafficking (his canon backstory) ; mentions of serial murders and disappearances of women (the canon missing women’s case so major fontaine spoilers if you’re not done) ; very lightly implied sexual comments about reader made by an inmate ; violence, injuries, and blood descriptions (wriothesley defends her honor) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; semi public office sex ; exhibitionism ; wet dreams + male maaturbation ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex (he pulls out) ; fluff and getting together

commentary: a little late, but here’s my birthday fic for my birthday boy who owns my whole heart <3_<3

“Duke,” you say as soon as you walk into his office, making Wriothesley want to hide in the corner, “You’re late.”

He saw it coming, really. Knew it would be the first thing you’d point out as soon as your shoes would thump against his quiet, peaceful office floor. Well, peaceful until now—now you’re here to disrupt that tranquility with demands that he’d like to politely ignore. Unfortunately, because Celestia have never exactly favored him, that’s not an option.

“Ah, my favorite babysitter. Whatever do you mean?” He smiles at you innocently. He knows exactly what you mean, of course—and he knows you know it, too, because you stare blankly at him before rolling your eyes. But there’s still a small hint of fondness underneath the staged irritation. He can’t help but throw you a little playful wink as he notices it.

As far as babysitters go, you’re not bad, exactly.

That’s how Wriothesley likes to think of you. His weekly babysitter. You come in once a week, keep an eye on him, check and make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to and following all the rules, tattle on him if he does anything wrong, and you force him to do his homework.

Neuvillette likes to call it an administrative compliance audit. You make sure Wriothesley is keeping things at the Fortress running smoothly, get an update on how the standing situation is, report back to Neuvillette so he stays informed, and make sure that no paperwork is submitted or completed past the expected deadline. 

Wriothesley says babysitter, you say compliance officer. Tomayto, tomahto. 

“You’re late to sending in the quarterly reviews of the most recent batch of prisoners,” you hum, jotting that down in your convenient little notepad that is the bane of Wriothesley’s existence. You return his cheeky wink with one of your own. Every time you pull it out, he knows he’s about to get a write-up. Every time he gets a write-up, he knows a letter from Neuvillette is coming with a lecture about his responsibilities and how seriously he should take them.

Fighting back a groan, he rubs his face tiredly as he mumbles, “I’m getting to it.”

“Yes,” you agree, “You are. It’s not exactly optional—the sooner, the better, of course.”

“You love pushing my buttons, don’t you?” He looks up at you petulantly. 

One thing about Wriothesley is that his rugged, almost tactless demeanor only adds to his charm. He wears formal wear only because he has to—which, to be fair, his outfit choices are considered formal by a very loose definition as is. He keeps his tie knotted loosely and borderline informal. He has a rather sarcastic and playful way of speaking professionally. 

All of these things should scream that he's a misfit for this position, but you think they almost make him the perfect candidate. In an odd sort of way, he’s not as stiff as a board and at risk of using his position to his advantage. He’s down to Earth enough that you can trust him not to take his role too seriously and run the Fortress like his own personal military grounds. 

Grinning, you walk over to him, seating yourself on the armrest of his chair before tracing a finger along his bicep as you lean in and murmur against his ear, “C’mon, they’re not so bad. If you finish it up, you might even have a nice little reward waiting for you after.”

He swallows thickly for a moment before reconstructing his carefully crafted composure. Raising a brow, he gives you an amused—although shaky—smile as he hums, “Oh? Is this some sort of incentive?”

“You could say that,” you bite your lip to keep from letting out a giggle. “Incentive. Reward. Compensation. Whatever you want to call it.”

 “Can I pick what I get?”

“Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have your way,” you tease.

Neuvillette sends you from the Palais to the Fortress to make reports about the Fortress of Meropide after observation. It’s imperative, of course, that during this weekly assignment, you stay fair and unbiased. That seemed easy enough when you took on the job.

That is until you met Wriothesley. 

It happens by accident. One second, you’re letting him walk you around the underwater prison that he calls his home, taking notes of the way prisoners do their jobs and how they're compensated. (The name credit coupon still makes you giggle sometimes, but you keep it to yourself for the sake of avoiding his glare). The next second, you’re slipping on leaked water from a burst pipe and heading straight for your demise of a face-first fall onto the hard metal flooring of a tunnel. 

Wriothesley catches you with ease. Effortlessly, his strong arms wrap around you to catch you against his chest before you have a chance to fall any further. It’s cliche, you think—how this weird difference between professionalism and personal attraction gets blurred more and more every day. How it all started with your body being pulled flushed against his for the sake of avoiding a rather painful injury, only to have both of your lips be mere inches away from each other as your wide eyes bore into each other. 

You never knew who kissed first. It never mattered. All you know is that you’ve been kissing in the comfort of his office ever since. Sometimes in his bed, too. He tries to convince you in riskier, less-than-appropriate spots, too—but luckily, between the two of you, one of you has a sense of proper risk calculation. 

That person would not be him.

“Would you do me the honors and make me a lucky man today, then?” He asks sweetly, blinking innocently before his arms wrap around you, pulling you from the armrest of his chair to his lap, comfortably perched for him to have easy access to your lips. 

“I’ll have to see if my schedule allows it,” you say slyly, pretending to look at his clock as you add, “I’m a busy woman, you know. They demand my time underwater and above land. Can you believe the requirements they have for me?”

“Sounds like you’re severely overworked,” he nods in faux sympathy, shaking his head as though he really feels for your predicament. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands firmly grip your hips.

That’s the thing about Wriothesley. It’s just so easy to be charmed.

“I am,” you murmur, leaning in.

He closes the gap as he mumbles, “I can think of a way or two to take the edge off.”

With that, your lips meet. It’s not the first time, and the Gods certainly know you hope it’s not the last. Your mouth slots against him perfectly enough that it feels like sunlight on water—warm, bright ripples of light gliding along the surface that waits for them to make their home against it. 

He brings you closer, dragging your body up his lap as he kisses you deeper, groaning lowly into your mouth as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. You feel it between your bodies—the proof of his arousal is clear and so hard to miss that you can’t help but reach a hand between your bodies to get a better feel.

 “Already?” You grin, pressing your hand over his hard, clothed cock. He grunts, glaring at you as he stiffens in his chair at the way your hand offers limited friction to a rather delicate issue. “I’m flattered.”

“Great,” he hisses, “Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

“Here?” You gasp dramatically, “In your office? What if someone walks in?”

“No one would disrupt the Duke without knocking first, sweetheart,” he gives you a smug, self-assured wink. You snort before shaking your head, slowly climbing off of his lap before sinking between his legs onto the floor. His breath hitches—sure, you’ve taken him in your mouth before. But it’s never been here and not there. Never in his office and at his desk instead of the bedroom that's just a few feet away. 

It feels more intimate there. He almost misses that sort of atmosphere. But there’s something filthy enough about watching you unzip his pants and slowly free his cock just enough in his office that almost makes his brain short circuit too.

So beautiful, he wants to tell you. Because you are. And he thinks he will, but just as he opens his mouth, his door interrupts him with a knock, vibrating through its metal surface. You pause. He almost curses under his breath.

“Your Grace?” A voice comes from behind his door. “There are urgent matters I must report to you.”

“Not now,” he grits, fighting back a groan as you take this opportunity to throw him a sly, almost evil grin before wrapping a hand around his cock, leaning in to run your tongue along the slit and get a taste of his pre cum. “I…I’m busy.”

“But Nurse Sigewinne has insisted we tell you immediately.”

Well, fucking hell. It’s not like he can exactly ignore that—and you seem to know it, too, because you blink up at him with innocently expectant eyes. So, gritting his teeth, he gently shoves your under his desk and rolls his chair to cover himself under the open leg space where you’re cramped. 

He clears his throat. “C-come in. I’m late on documents to the Chief Justice, so it better be quick.”

You hold back a snort at his convenient excuse that happens to consist of papers he’s really in no rush to get finished at all. He fights back the urge to glare at you, instead peeking up as soon as the door to his office opens and a guard steps in. 

“You’re Grace,” he nods politely. Respectfully. A small part of Wriothesley is still not used to being addressed so…seriously. So formally. So importantly. “The head nurse would like to bring to your attention that a group of inmates have been ganging up on others. This has been the third fight this week, and the infirmary is busier than usual from flu season for her to properly handle such constant injuries.”

He’s only half listening. It’s hard to pay attention when your lips are wrapped around his cock, sucking slowly as you move your head up and down his length. Warm. Hot. Tight. Your mouth feels obscenely good—he can’t help but let out a low groan of pleasure. 

The guard flinches slightly at the sound. “I apologize for springing this on you while you’re so busy, Your Grace. The head nurse insisted I tell you as soon as possible for things to be handled properly.”

It’s clear the guard is oblivious to the way Wriothesley is hardly holding onto his thinly kept composure. Your tongue traces that heavy, thick vein along the side of his cock. You take him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down impressively well along his length for being stuck in a tightly cramped place like under his desk. 

He grabs the edge of his desk, gritting his teeth as he lets out a sharp inhale when your hand reaches to fondle the delicate, sensitive sacs of his balls. 

“Your fault,” he hisses abruptly. 

The guard shrinks back, furrowing his brows in confusion as he stammers, “Y-your Grace?”

“I mean,” he clears his throat, barely fighting back a low moan as your swirl your tongue around his tip, “I-I mean it’s…it’s not your fault. That’s all.”

If relief was an expression, it would certainly be the cowering guard’s expression in front of him. Deciding it's time he put both of them out of their misery, Wriothesley barely grits out, “I’ll be done with this report for Monsieur Neuvillette shortly. It’s very—v-very time sensitive.”

You let out a quiet snort that only he hears at that. He nudges you warningly with his knee. 

“As…as soon as I am, I’ll drop a visit to the infirmary and have a chat with the group involved,” he continues. “J-just…fuck…just give me a few minutes.”

The guard rushes to insist a panicked, “No, no, no! No rush! Take your time, Your Grace. I’ll leave you to it—just wanted to get the message across as the head nurse wished.”

“Thank you,” he hardly manages to keep a straight face. A slight grimace of a smile is all he can offer before the guard nods and hurries out as if trying to avoid whatever wrath he thinks he’s conjuring up by being in the Duke’s office any longer than he should be. 

Wriothesley thinks that’s a habit of most guards he needs to correct: assuming that being anywhere near him is a quick to be punished sort of behavior. But for now, he’s too worried about sliding his chair backwards and letting you crawl out of his desk’s enclosure as soon at the door shuts closed and the guard is gone. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he glares down at you, watching as you suck on his cock innocently. Your lips look so wet. So sticky. So swollen parted around him that he almost wants to pull you off for just another taste. “You know that?”

You only hum around him, the vibrations forcing his head back against the chair as he moans low and drawn-out. Freely this time that no one’s here, but still quiet enough in case anyone’s outside the door. 

One more swirl of your lips around his thick, swollen tip, and he’s limp in his chair, groaning into his hand as he tries to muffle the sounds while cums down your throat. You can feel every twitch of him, hot, thick seed painting your throat white with his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, completely lost in his own world of pleasure. You watch him like that. It’s pretty. You’re a little too used to it—a little too dependent on the routine of watching his face break over the devastation of pleasure like that. 

When you pull away, making a show to swallow everything you can, he groans and rubs a hand over his face as he mutters something about trying to kill him. 

“So,” you wink with a cheeky, sly little smirk. “See you next week?”

“If I make it alive long enough,” he says tiredly. “You might kill me before that. Or these damn prisoners and their shenanigans.”

You laugh, standing and dusting yourself off before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to his lips. He tastes himself on you. Something about that makes him swell with more pride than it should. 

“You’ll be fine,” you hum softly. “I’m sure of it.”

────────────────────────

Wriothesley never earned the title of Duke—not at first, anyway.

You’ve heard the story.

He was supposed to be released from his sentence a few months ago. Except, by some stroke of bad luck, the warden at the time was nowhere to be found in his office the day of Wriothesley’s release. So, as on-brand as ever to his nonchalant, carefree attitude, Wriothesley signs the papers himself and effectively crowns himself with the title of Duke. 

He’s been running things down at the Fortress ever since. And pretty well, too—you’ve heard that things have improved rather drastically in prison for inmates. Free meals once a day. Better regulation of currency to exchange for benefits. A system of rules that keeps them in check and prevents them from behaving like dogs.

You’ve heard it all. 

But hearing everything means you hear the snide whispers, too: not everyone thinks he’s earned the title enough to keep it even if he’s done good—he’s a murderer, they gossip. We can’t have someone like that running the Fortress! That’s an outrage! Neuvillette has received enough formal complaints on the matter that you’re the product of a compromise—weekly audits done by a relatively impartial member of the Palais who doesn’t necessarily ignore his stained record but doesn’t particularly deem it as an irrefutable reason why he shouldn’t be Duke. You accept under the agreement of a slightly better paycheck for your troubles of making the trip to the Fortress and a little extra vacation time for the added paperwork to your usual responsibilities. 

Under the Palais and court rules, you take an oath to honesty and promise to offer, to the best of your abilities, the truth of what goes down in the prison and how its warden runs it. 

But, well…Wriothesley grows on you. A lot. It’s not that you ever have to lie about him—he really is a good Duke. But you like him enough that you’re starting to wonder if you could keep your honest streak if it really came down to it. You like him enough that you can’t claim anymore that the once sexually charged tension is just that: sexual. Because it’s not. It’s more complicated than that. Coming down and seeing him every week, finding your way in his sheets, getting to know him through a tangle of sweaty bodies and bantered pillow talk only makes you human. With feelings. Feelings for a man who’s more good than he’s not—you learn that pretty quickly. 

Wriothesley is a good person. Murder be damned. He did it to save people—sure, it’s a sin all the same. An extreme all in the name of justice, but it was to save people. He’s not a cold-blooded man. And he cares about the prisoners, too. That much is palpably abundant with the headaches he takes on to better the quality of life for convicted criminals.

No one believes in second chances like Wriothesley. No one has put as much work into offering people second chances like him, either. You think, despite initially earning his title or not, he’s certainly earned it by now.

So, when you watch him get pulled off of the limp body of a beaten prisoner by a handful of guards, you’re more than a little shocked by the almost feral, heartless look in his eyes as he snarls at the crumpled body on the floor in disgust. 

This is not the Wriothesley that you know. This isn’t the Wriothesley who runs the Fortress. The Wriothesley that you know doesn’t tolerate violence within his walls, and he certainly doesn’t instigate it. 

“What happened?” You ask quietly as you bandage his knuckles. It’s a deadly tone. He doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at his desk instead as he sits and lets you disinfect the broken skin. “Wriothesley.”

“He was being an asshole,” he grumbles vaguely. 

You raise a rather unimpressed brow at the juvenile response. He doesn’t seem to miss it either—even if he doesn’t meet your gaze to see it, the way he wilts a little is a hint enough that you know he’s aware. “Being an asshole,” you repeat. “That’s your sound logic for pounding someone into a bloody pulp?”

“Oh, please. He’s fine—”

“Really? He has a cracked rib, Wriothesley, for crying out loud!”

“So he’s fine,” he snorts almost bitterly. “In my time here, I’d have considered that lucky.”

“That’s exactly why you’re still here even though your time is over,” you say, the anger in your voice almost palpable as you throw your hands up and look at him in disappointment. “You’re supposed to be here making sure something like that is not the standard for luck anymore! Not upholding it.”

Wriothesley exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he leans back in his chair, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. He looks like a stubborn, moody teenager being scolded. You have to take a deep breath and remind yourself his teen years probably didn’t consist of a lot of patience, so you try to keep yourself calm for both of your sakes—the storm brewing in his icy eyes is far from calm.

“You just wouldn’t understand,” he says, his voice low and strained, “Things are different down here than up there.”

“Then explain it to me,” you challenge, arms crossed as you stand your ground. “Help me understand why the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide—the one who’s supposed to set an example—decided to act out like a rowdy delinquent.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to lose his temper, the same temper that’s already rather thinly composed. His hand clenches into a fist in your hold, the faint wince that follows indicating the pain in his injured knuckles. “He said something,” he mutters finally, his voice barely above a growl.

“Something?” you glare, your voice doing pretty much nothing to hide the frustration that’s mounting. “Wriothesley, I’m going to need a lot more than that. You realize I have to report this, right? To Neuvillette? People already have tons to say about your position as Duke at the Palais—we’re supposed to try and change their minds! You’re telling me you threw the progress away because some asshole said something you didn’t like?”

“Yes. He said something he shouldn’t have said,” he mutters vaguely, voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. It’s almost like he’d do it all over again if it called for it. 

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, then let’s hear it. What did he say?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the faint bloodstains on his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wriothesley.” Your tone is sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me.”

“He said something about you,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the room like one of his well-practiced uppercuts to a jaw. 

“About…me?” you frow, crinkling your brows in confusion. “What about me? Because of my job? Who cares—they’ll realize soon enough that I’m not here to harm the Fortress rather than help it. You didn’t need to—”

He clicks his teeth as his gaze drops to his legs, unable to meet your expectant gaze as his jaw works while he tries to force the words out. “Not like that. Something…disgusting. Something he had no right to even think, let alone say out loud. So yeah, I broke his rib. I could’ve broken more, but he got lucky.”

The ferocity in his tone leaves no room for doubt—he means every word, and he’d do it again if you let him. Maybe even worse without the intervention of guards dragging his body off the limp figure. You chew your bottom lip as you process what he’s telling you, the almost tangible way he’s so…so what? You stop to think. So protective? What exactly is it that he’s making you feel that has your anger washing away so fast? So respected? Perhaps he respects you enough to fight for your dignity, but that’s not quite it.

You know that. 

You know that really, at the heart of things, it’s so easy to stop being mad at him when there’s real proof that he cares. About you. Sure, you have faith in Wriothesley’s ability to be a respectable man to the ladies—you doubt he’d accept someone talking about any woman that way. But it’s clear that…well, he cares enough to take it this far because it’s not just a woman. It’s you.

You.

“Wriothesley…” you start, slow and careful. It’s like you’re approaching a cornered animal in a cage you trapped yourself. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, his tone softer now, almost resigned. He slumps back in his chair almost petulantly as if he’s accepted that this is a lecture he can’t avoid. “That I need to be better. That I need to think before I act. That there’s a lot riding on my behavior and all that nonsense about proving to some assholes in a chair that I deserve this title and so on. And you’re right—I know you’re right,” he sighs.

You raise a slightly shocked brow at his admission. “Oh, well—”

“But I had to, okay? So everyone knows things are different around here now. Things like that were normal before, you know? Things weren’t safe for girls like you in the Fortress, and it’s about time they changed, so yeah, I set an example. Not the best one, but it got the message across, didn’t it? I’ll take some losses, sure, but that’s okay. It’s one minor setback.”

“Yes,” you nod carefully, “And I just want you to know—”

“But…about you? It’s…it’s different when it’s you, and you know it. Hearing someone talk about you like that...” He trails off, his fists clenching again. “I couldn’t let it slide. Not you. So—”

“Thank you.” You interrupt before he can finish. You say it softly. Like you mean it. 

He pauses, reeling back. “What?”

“I said thank you,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make me say it again, you jerk.”

“You’re not mad?” He looks at you bewildered, like you’ve grown two heads. You snort, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He huffs at just the look on your face alone.

“I’m furious,” you shake your head, “But I’m not ungrateful enough not to appreciate someone defending my honor. I’d prefer it if it was less violent next time.”

Wriothesley sits in silence for a moment after your words, the tension in his frame ebbing. “Less violent,” he repeats, a sulky, almost pouty look on his face. “I guess I’ll work on it.”

“Yes,” you nod, “You will. So that I won’t have to lie to Monsieur Neuvillette next time.”

He blinks. “What—”

“Since an inmate attacked you, I’ll let him know you had no choice but to throw him off and crack a rib from the impact,” you shrug innocently. 

He looks at you in wonder, a small, amused smile curling on his lips as he lets out a soft, quiet snort. “I don’t know if you can crack a rib from—”

“You should be quiet and think about what you’ve done,” you hiss. “Awful behavior means you’re on time out!”

“Oh, yes,” he salutes, obediently straightening as he folds his hands together on his desk. He winces a bit at the strain it puts on his hurt hand, making you bite back a fond smile. “I’m deeply thinking about my mistakes and regretting my deplorable actions. I promise.”

“Good,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t let it happen again.”

You turn to leave, and he sinks back in his chair, sighing as he watches you go. Next week’s audit can’t come fast enough, he thinks.

────────────────────────

When he hasn’t seen you in too long, Wriothesley has dreams. Vivid ones, in fact. 

They start not too long after the shift in your fragile friendship—you’re still friends, of course. It’s not as though that part of your relationship was ever fragile. It's just that….now, you’re more than friends without actually being more. It’s a delicate sort of arrangement that can easily have someone like him wanting more. And regrettably, he wants more. That much is clear by these dreams of his—and you’re often in these dreams of his. Scandalizing dreams, if you will. 

He never really took himself for a guy who’s attracted to someone with a pristine and spotless record—if anything, all Wriothesley seems to be attracted to anymore is trouble. 

But you’re different. Not because you’re unique or anything special by any means (which, he realizes, sounds a little bit rude in his head when he really thinks about it), but that’s exactly why he likes you. You’re rather ordinary. You work your ordinary job at the Palais, go home, do what’s expected of you, and go about life simplistically. He can’t help but enjoy it because there’s this weird, odd sense of normalcy that you grant his life. 

Nothing about Wriothesley’s life is normal. Not now, not then, not ever. 

He was young as an orphan. Doomed to the fate of no family by the tender age of four. A poor, sickly father who left this world long before he left his mother’s womb and, by fate’s desire, later orphaned by a missing mother who never came home from work. By the time he’s old enough to piece together that his mother was yet another victim of the missing young women’s case in Fontaine, he’s far too past that life to properly grieve her. 

And then there’s the darker part of his past…the messy memories of blood and betrayal that he chooses not to dwell on for the sake of his own peace. It landed him on the streets for the better part of his youth and then in a dark, ruthless prison where just even a meal is a burden to acquire. 

Nothing about his life is normal. His mother was ripped away by the nation’s darkest mystery, his siblings weren’t ones he’d acquired by normal means, his “parents” were anything but standard, and his housing conditions (or lack thereof once upon a time) consisted of a large, metal cage situated at the bottom of the ocean. Even his romantic history, which he can count on one hand the instances of, have been odd, unconventional flings that he indulged in rarely because he was but a growing boy turned into a man, raging desires that make any form of relief seem like a blooming romance. 

His first girlfriend left the Fortress after finishing her sentence when he was barely an adult. She promised to write to him every day until his own release. He’d never heard from her again. His second “girlfriend” didn’t even make it far enough to earn that title at all. She was a girl, who was a friend, who sometimes when he was exceedingly lucky, wove herself into his sheets and let him have his way with her so his growing frustrations have an outlet. 

Romantic intimacy is a world beyond the skies of Teyvat for him.

So, when you wander into his life, working a standard nine-to-five job that requires nothing excessively abnormal of you, grinning at him with a happy, free smile that carries little to no burdens, he can only fight the human part of him for so long before his desires come hitting him full force. There was a time when dreaming of a wife and kids and white picket fences was well within his reality. When he dreamt of being like his father, hearing small, excited footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor to greet him at the door. When he dreamt that the mother of his children would smile just as sweetly and brightly as his own mother. 

That’s gone now, of course. Well out of his reach and far from his realm, but at the very least, you bring some rare burst of normality in his fascinatingly odd life. 

So he dreams of you. Admittedly, they’re not always the best-natured of dreams.

He wakes up sweaty and tangled in sheets as a familiar heat is already built between his legs—for quite a while, too, he surmises, because the ache is thick enough to let him know that he’s been sporting this erection for quite a bit. How—he wonders—did he end up with such a shameless problem in the middle of his rare and well-deserved rest? The answer is infuriatingly obvious, but he hates to admit it to himself. 

You. 

You’re the reason for this predicament—that raunchy, filthy dream of his from just a few moments ago, the vision in his subconsciousness of your mouth taking him, your hand stroking him, your lips kissing him. All of it lands him here with a thickly hardened cock and little to no dignity left for the pure filth he indulges himself in. 

Flaring his nostrils with a tired exhale, he decides there’s no point in dragging out his suffering any longer. What’s happened has happened. 

“Fucking hell,” he hisses as he frees his length from his boxers, tugging them down just enough to rest against his balls. Even under the protection of his blanket, he can feel cool air kiss the hot, velvety skin enough to make him twitch involuntarily. “Mmh,” he groans.

His fist takes shape around his cock. It’s different from your touch—he’s felt it enough times briefly to know that your hand is far smaller and far softer. Less wear and tear from boxing and fights, less scabs and calluses of healed skin. But he works with what he has, stroking himself slowly as he throbs in his own hand. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he all but whines to an empty room as if you’re right there with him, helping him through his glaringly obvious problem. “Fuck, it almost hurts, baby. You’ll help, right?” 

You will. You nod from the depths of his imagination in the back of his head, where you live to play out his shameful fantasies. He bites his lips and lets out a shaky breath as he imagines you leaning forward, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the tip of his cock. 

As if in response to the phantom touch of your mouth, his cock does another little twitch. I’ll take care of you, Wrio.

No one has ever called him that—not affectionately, at least. (He refuses to let his old prison nickname born from bantering mockery count.) The nickname falling from your (imaginary) lips has him throwing his head back against his pillow as he groans deeply. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease,” he demands gently. Obediently, you giggle and listen to him. “Gods,” his back arches as soon as your hand pumps his aching length, finally offering him some sort of relief as he bucks his hips up in time to meet your strokes.

Feels good, huh, baby? You hum. He nods, letting out a throaty sound in response. I can tell. It’s all over your face.

“Quit it,” he clicks his teeth petulantly. A thumb rolls through his slit teasingly, collecting pre cum and smearing it along the thick, sensitive vein along the side of his cock. “You’re…you’re such a brat, you know that?”

You like it, you hum.

“I do,” he lets out an airy, breathless chuckle of admission before the strokes get faster. And faster. He’s grunting freely now; something crossed between a moan and a gasp sounding through the small, secluded bedroom built in with his office. Luckily, it’s deep enough into the Fortress that no one could hear him if they tried—not unless they were standing right outside his bedroom door from his office.

No one has the audacity to do that, he thinks with smug satisfaction, so you don’t have to worry about how much noise he’s making. You’re the type to get stressed about things like that.

Close, Wrio?

“So close, baby,” he chokes.

Do I make you feel good?

“Better than anyone,” he confirms. 

You look so pretty like this, did you know?

“F-fuck, fuck—I…I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he warns.

Yeah? Then do it, pretty boy.

He does. He cums in thick, full loads of cum that have his cock twitching with every rope. Your hand is a mess, coated in his release, stroking him through his pleasure and smearing it along the heated skin. You know just what he likes—have his little quirks and preferences memorized as if you know him better than himself. You know he likes having the vein traced with your thumb, and you know that when he’s just about almost finished, giving his balls a soft squeeze makes him gasp and let out one final rope of his seed. 

By the time he’s done, slumped against his bed with boneless, tired muscles, he realizes with a sigh that the hand on his cock is not yours. It’s his.

Somewhere in the midst of his fantasies, he forgets what’s real and what’s not. Your voice in his head sounds so close, so real, so tangible, he forgets he’s talking to the empty air of his room and not you.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans to himself, rubbing his good hand over his face tiredly, “You’re seriously messing me up in the head. What’re you doing to me?”

────────────────────────

“What time do you need to return to the Palais by?” Is the first thing he says to you when you walk into his office. You pause, staring at Wriothesley before you blink and huff.

“Ah, yes. It’s wonderful to see you, too! I’ve been doing fantastic; it’s so kind of you to ask,” you bat your lashes with a sarcastic smile before adding, “And you? How have you been? Rather well, I’m sure.”

Wriothesley purses his lips, looking at you with a fractional amount of patience before giving you an equally as sarcastic smile and responding, “I’m doing quite well. Thank you for your generous concern. In fact, if it wouldn’t trouble you too much—because you know I’d hate to do that—I would be faring quite a lot better if you’d even more generously answer my question.”

“I don’t have to return to the Palais today,” you roll your eyes, “I go home directly after five and bring Monsieur Neuvillette your report card tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” is all he says. “Perfect.”

“Why—”

You don’t know how he got up fast enough to bridge the distance between you and his desk and cut you off mid-sentence with a crash of his lips to yours, but he does. His lips are pressed to yours in a desperate kiss that has you melting against him against your will. Like he’s expecting it, his arms are there waiting, catching you to hold you upright against him as he chuckles against your mouth.

Bastard, you want to say into his lips. He’s too busy keeping them occupied to give you the chance.

“I need you,” he rasps, “Now.”

“It’s technically still my work day,” you gasp between breaths, “I’m supposed to observe—”

“Then observe me from here,” he grunts.

With that, he sweeps you into the bedroom connected to his office. You’ve been in it so many times, yet you always wonder why it still shocks you that such a convenient room is in his personal office—but you figure the Duke of a prison surely would not sleep with the rest of the prisoners. And more importantly, it’s…good for the noise to be located in such a private, secluded area.

“Been thinking about fucking you all day,” he mumbles in between kisses, his large, callused hands cradling your face as your hands tangle in his hair. 

“Then fuck me,” you challenge, making him let out a low, unimpressed sound from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says lowly, trailing his lips to nip at your neck and jaw, “Trust me, I will.”

Your back meets his mattress. You don’t have the slightest concept or understanding of time—by the time you’re both bare with all your clothes tossed to the floor, you can feel a dull, building ache between your legs as a pool of slick coats your inner thighs. 

“So wet,” he grins to himself, bringing a hand between your thighs, right to the apex where he studies the leaking essence waiting for him there. “All this for me?”

“Not for long if you don’t make good use of it,” you hiss stubbornly. His gaze darkens at that, making him let out a snarled sound of displeasure before he lowers himself between your legs. 

“Careful, baby,” he warns, “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for.”

And you don’t. Because by the time Wriothesley’s face unburies itself from between your legs, your two orgasms and a semi-decent stream of tears smeared along your face in. He finally unlatches himself from your clit once the waves of your second high finally come down, glistening slick coating his chin and lips as he grins. 

“How was that for making good use?”

“I don’t know,” you huff. “I had something else in mind.”

Pointedly, you stare at his tall, standing and neglected cock. It’s clearly painfully hard and painfully aching for some form of relief as it twitches between his legs. 

You admire it for a moment. The nearly trimmed hair at the base—how Wriothesley supplies the necessary equipment to even trim himself downstairs in a place like a prison, you’re unsure but definitely not ungrateful. He’s always been pretty, in a ruggedly handsome way—but his cock…well his cock is pretty because it responds so well to you. To your body. To your every movement. 

You gently grab him, gently stroking a few times and humming in satisfaction as he groans and clenches his jaw while it twitches in your touch. 

“Sensitive,” you tease. 

“I could argue the same about you,” he replies smartly through a labored, breathless voice. You laugh, sweet as honey on warm bread. 

He doesn’t taste that too often in the Fortress, but he doesn’t think he’s missing out. Not with you here. 

“Come here,” you whisper. “I want you too.”

With that, you guide him slowly to your entrance. He shivers as he rubs the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness and swearing his own pre cum along your cunt before slowly sinking in. 

“Fuck,” you both hiss in unison. 

“Feel…feel so good,” he says hoarsely, “So fucking tight.”

With that, it’s a blur. Something you’re used to by what feels like your millionth week feeling him, but something that never feels like it’s not the first time all over again. 

He rocks his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm. You pull him close and feel his body searing against yours. Skin on skin. Heat against heat. Body melting into body. 

“Never get enough to you,” he whispers. 

“Then keep taking more of me,” you whisper back. 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breathless. Hopelessly smitten. It’s written all over his face. You’re sure the same goes for yours. “You want that? Want me to keep taking more and more of this pretty cunt?”

“What, you’re saying you’ll get bored of me?” You pout teasingly. 

He huffs, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss. “Never. You hear me? Never.”

Like that, you fall apart. And with that, he follows not long after. He pulls out just before he can spill into you, hand moving to pump himself until yours beats him to it, wrapping around his girth and stroking the way you know he likes it. With his vein traced. With a fast pace but not too fast. With everything he needs to feel seen and known because that’s what you do best. 

See him. Know him. Treat him like he matters. 

“Gods,” he says shakily as he finishes. “I needed that. Needed you.”

“You always have me,” you remind him softly. “Always.”

He grins. Kisses you softly—ike you’re a fragile, blooming lakelight lily. He’s gone momentarily to grab a warm, wet towel to clean you off before he’s sinking into the bed beside you, turning to look at you as he takes in your curled up figure under his sheets. 

He could get used to this. More than just once a week. 

“It’s the twenty-third,” you whisper quietly, like it’s a secret. 

Huh, he thinks. It doesn’t register what day it is until you bring the date to his attention—he didn’t even realize today’s date. Not that this date ever matters enough to make his day any different from the rest of the days of the year. But typically, he at least remembers when it passes by. 

It’s the first time it’s slipped his mind completely. 

“It is,” he agrees, looking at you with a slightly confused look. “Any reason why that’s relevant?”

“It’s your birthday,” you look at him incredulously, lifting your head off of the pillow to get a better look at him. 

He lays quietly beside you, still slowly catching his breath. He doesn’t answer at first—just pulls the sheets over both of your bare bodies as he curls an arm around you and pulls you close. You used to never take Wriothesley for the cuddling type. You used to never take him for the affection type, in general. 

Maybe, you like to think, maybe even people like Wriothesley aren’t above enjoying something soft. It’s a comforting thought. It’s nice to know that even someone so strong and immovable like him craves some sort of bond with another human. Some tangible form of safety and kindness. Some form of proof that people can be—and are—good enough to trust, good enough to lie beside and slowly lose consciousness around.

“And who told you that?” He quirks up a half amused, half shocked brow, voice low and smooth enough that you almost think you could go another round just from the sound of him.

You don’t tell him that, of course. The Gods know he doesn’t need any more reasons to be smug. 

“I read the files,” you answer with a wave of your hand, trying to dismiss him. “I like to know who I work with.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “That so?”

You don’t really have to answer him. You shouldn’t let him win—but something about that wolfish grin and that cocky glint in his eyes tells you he already knows more than you’d like. They have you huffing as you quietly mumble out, “Okay. I asked Sigewinne when it was. You’re awfully ungrateful about the fact that I cared enough to ask.”

“Your benevolence graciously exceeds my expectations every time,” he chuckles. 

“Well,” you raise a brow expectantly, “Are you going to do something to celebrate?”

He shakes his head. It’s too instant for your liking—and he seems to notice that, too, because he takes one look at your frown and shrugs, “My birthday’s not that important to me. I’ve never really celebrated it much.”

“What?” You ask incredulously. You think you’re being a touch dramatic—you seem more hurt about this than him, but you can’t help yourself. “What do you mean? Birthdays are the one important day we get.”

Wriothesley lets out a soft breath, his chest rising and falling steadily against you as he looks up at the ceiling. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something fleeting and hard to name. It’s not quite pain, but it’s close enough that you can feel it in the way his body tenses beneath your touch.

“They weren’t important growing up,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “And now I’m too old for it, anyway.”

He keeps the answer pointedly vague, like he’s avoiding the truth on purpose. You don’t mind. Not so much when it’s him, not so much when something heavy and unresolved that he doesn’t elaborate on is clearly there. You don’t like to push him—not yet. Maybe not ever. He deserves patience and compassion for once, you think—someone who puts his feelings first so he knows that his feelings aren’t at the bottom of some tiered list of relevancy that he somehow always ends up on the bottom of.

Instead, you shift closer, laying a hand against his chest and feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“Not even when you were a kid?” you ask softly, careful not to sound too intrusive.

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. That maybe he’ll throw you off his scent with some annoyingly smooth-talking joke and change the subject. You’re prepared for it—for the disappointment of being pushed away and not let in. You’re prepared for anything because it’s him, and you don’t mind when it’s him. But then, his hand moves, his fingers idly tracing along your arm as he speaks again, his voice low and resigned.

“I did celebrate. Briefly. We’d get a party every year, my siblings and I.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly. “And there would be people. I thought they were friends…you know? Friends my parents would invite over to celebrate with us. When I got older, I realized the truth. Those parties were just another excuse to show us off. To market us easier.”

Your heart clenches at the bitterness in his tone. You don’t need to ask what he means—you’ve heard the rumors about his past, heard the whispers about how the Duke of Meropide is a killer. Cold-blooded and ruthless as he watched the life drain from his own parents’ eyes without a single regret. Didn’t even hesitate to plead guilty and admit to his crimes.

You read the files in Neuvillette’s office before he first sent you down. Something about reading his testimony made you feel helpless—like there’s still a child stuck in an awful predicament with no way out instead of a now grown man who’s well on his way to being a rather significantly important figure in Fontaine. 

“—And after that,” he continues, his voice almost a whisper now as it breaks you from your thoughts, “I was stuck down here. Not many birthday festivities you can do down in the ocean alone, so I didn’t see the point. A birthday’s just a day. Another reminder of…everything I’d rather not think about if I can help it.”

“Wriothesley,” you start gently, lifting your head to look at him. He meets your gaze, his eyes darker than usual, guarded but not completely shut off. He doesn’t like being comforted—doesn’t like the idea of his emotions being in someone else’s domain to handle. It leaves him open to worse wounds. But you ignore the way his jaw tenses, cupping his cheek as you hum, “It’s not just a day or some reminder of them. It’s about you if you make it about you. And you’re not a sick marketing scheme. You’re…”

You trail off. Not because you don’t know all the things he is: cunning, resourceful, selfless, incredibly smart. But because you don’t know which one to start with. Like choosing one first means it’s the most important one—you can’t bring yourself to define him as one thing more than the others.

“Devilishly handsome?” he cuts in with a faint smirk, the tension in his face easing just a little as he pushes your buttons. “You seem stuck there, so let’s start with that.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your smile is impossible to ignore as you let his good-natured jab slide. 

“Yes, that’s one way to describe you, I suppose. But you’re also just…good.” You settle on that word because he is. He’s good, and he makes things good. He makes life feel okay and the day a little better. Like your own piece of good from the world to have for yourself. “And you deserve to have something good. Something that’s just for you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that makes your heart beat with a painful ache. Then, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and almost tender. “Maybe next year, I’ll let you change my mind.”

“Next year? Surely, if you mean I’ll be around for that long, then this is your way of asking me out?” Your lip twitches at the corners, hopeful. You force it down to a neutral look before faking a yawn and saying, “What an underwhelming way of asking.”

He raises an amused brow. Still, there’s something dangerously cautious about his expression as he looks at you. Like he’s guarding himself from possible disappointment. “You’re saying you’d say yes if I asked nicely?”

“Depends. Are you asking?” You ask softly. 

He lets out a shaky breath, studying your features and avoiding your eyes as he brings his gaze along your nose and lips and the slight sweatiness of your skin from your earlier activities. “If I’m asking, is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

“Then yeah,”  he stares at the ceiling, voice quiet. Hopeful. A rare moment that he lets himself try to be happy without worrying the world will fuck it up for him. You’ll handle it if it tries, he thinks—you always do. “Maybe next year, you’ll change my mind.”

“Not maybe,” you insist. It’s firm enough that he believes you. “I will change your mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Happy birthday, Wrio.”

“Thanks,” he grins, “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year,” you laugh, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t tell you that you’ve already changed his mind. Maybe he’ll even tell you next birthday that you haven’t managed to—just to have an excuse to keep you around one more year.

But something tells him you’ll stay even without such a ploy. 

This fic was genuinely such a struggle for me to write. I’m not sure why. I suppose because it doesn’t have a real conflict to guide me in a sense—I wanted it to be mainly happy and just a small sort of timeline of them having each other but still finding each other. If that makes sense. Idk if it does LOL. The main focus was just making his bday happy. Hopefully I achieved that but ANYWAY!! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! Kissing you on the forehead <3

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day nine: Cheating!

cw: cheating, dubcon, noncon, mentions on rape, open relationships? (Johnny and Simon share), rough sex, mentions of blood, mentions of saliva, fingering, oral sex on reader, bruising, voyeurism, ‘don’t get caught’ trope, ignorance, degrading names such as ‘whore’, vocal Simon, creampie, mentions of having a child

Simon and Johnny who are so used to sharing each other’s little toys: their own girlfriends. It’s a weird bond that brings the two of them together. It’s sick and fucking perverted but it’s something to talk about when the weather turns cold and on a mission.

Sipping on their drinks as they recharge their batteries mumbling a, 'Remember so and so?’ getting a ‘Yeah, they were a good fuck.' in response.

It was more than likely one of the reason why the two blokes struggled with keeping their girlfriends. Most of them rejecting and breaking up with them when they’d bring it up because what woman who was looking for a family, a life, love, would want to fuck their boyfriend’s best friend? Or be tampered with?

The two of them had grown a lot of respect and loyalty for each other from this little routine. A ridiculous amount when you put it against how much respect they gained from each other at war. Protecting one and others lives, killing for each other, just doesn't help the same than sharing some good pussy. Weird logic that not even they understood but with all said, they were tight, close.

So when Johnny got his hands on you, a pretty little thing that refused to fuck until the third date he knew not only was he in danger, but you were. He knew how much Simon would ruin you, take that precious little hole of yours and stuff you so deep you'd feel it for days. Johnny just fucking knew it would happen and when you'd finally let him inside, invited him into your heavenly cunt- he couldn’t let him steal you.

Too delicate and light for Simons heavy way with sex.

"So when's my turn?" The gruff, masked man would ask Johnny. Conversation of you being brought up and the words just tumbled from the cracks of his lips. Normality and need seeping through his tone because as it was such a statement in his and Johnny's relationship, he’d think no other way.

Not once would he even consider the possibility of Johnny turning around and refusing, saying no. Telling him that your pussy- your body- is just for him. Claiming you against his own kind. Barricading and locking you away from him in his designed cell of greed.

It wasn’t going to end well, Johnny was sure of it, so with an awkward laugh and the rub of his neck he spun around facing him, eyes catching Simons through the mask before clearing his throat. Words coming across shakier than intended because he wasn't intimidated by Simon, more fretful of what he’d do knowing that you were off limits.

"Actually, lass is a good' ne. Think she might be a keeper Si." Silence filling the room for about five seconds, the slow click of the clock on the wall the only audible thing. Simons gaze not changing once and it killed Johnny, bugged him harder than a kick to the teeth.

Everything about him yearning to know what Simons brain was thinking or what he was planning, wanting to reach out and shake him, beg him to back off. They were getting old now, it was bound to be called off at some point- when they properly wanted to settle down and have kids and a family, right?

"Oh really?" His accent and words a monotone warning but Johnny was so flushed with relief that he hadn’t exploded and raged at him, his ears missed it. Missed the way his blinks slowed, analysing the man in front of him. Missed the way Simons personally and mindset changed. New thoughts drowning his head so hard he forced out exhales to think straight. Did he think he was better than him? More deserving of your body than gruff ol’ Simon over here? Worthier?

He was fucking seething, the metallic taste in his mouth potent as he bit his tongue, refraining to tell Johnny to go fuck himself, stand up and find you. Go track you down and make you cry both of their names just so he can hear which one sounds better or which one turns him on more.

Moaning your boyfriend’s name so loudly while his friend hits that one part. Choking out, crying out for Mactavish as your eyes roll back, tongue drooping out the side of your lips too. He’d be a liar to say his dick wasn't twitching at the thought.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry Simon-" But he was already shaking his head, hand waving him off with a sly smirk on his face as he told him no worries! Told him that's its alright and that he completely understands. Barely moving an inch the rest of the night as he came up with plans on what he's going to do to you. What he did in fact do to you.

Face down in yours and Johnny’s double bed. Panties damp with your cum from how many times Simon had already made you orgasm, shirt wet with tears and saliva. Rubbing your clit so harshly and fast your body trembled at every little touch. The fine line between touching and fucking, abuse and rape being blurred but you craved it. You longed for it, days of wishing and wondering when he’d come back to please you again.

He’d force your legs apart, holding you by the ankles while he ate like a mad man. Devouring you messily, the noises sounding like a fucking porn movie. Ruining your makeup, your sheets, your body. You couldn’t look Johnny in the eye when he got on all fours, kissing your thigh and humming against the soft skin while asking how you’d got another bruise.

Day and night- when Johnny's downstairs and when he's away. He'd have you begging to stop, pleading him to let you go before you’d lose yourself. His thrusts silencing you, cries turning to moans back to cries to screams of joy- it was mesmerising and so fucking bad of him.

“Oh shut up, babe. You know you want me.” He’d grunt, eyes shutting as he took you in again and again. Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and ignorance for your cries. Knowing it was only a matter of time before you gave in again, joining him and thrusting back against his cock.

What made it worse was the moans that came from this man. Johnny was never vocal- never vocal enough for you but Simon sounded almost in tears. Each thrust like he’s on the brink of orgasm, you felt so good he couldn’t stay quiet- he didn’t want to.

His favourite memory was when he snuck into your window, almost kicking the stupid Halloween decorations Johnny had put up outside on his way up. The sky pitch black and your bedroom likewise but he could see you in his night vision goggles, sneaking behind you as you changed out of your clothes getting ready for bed.

Bending you over the bedframe, peeling down your panties and thrusting into you for a quickie. The sound of Johnny's electric toothbrush coming from the bathroom one room away only adding to his excitement. He could step in any minute by now, luckily from the darkness Simon had an advantage and most likely enough time to hide if he wanted to. If he wanted to leave your pussy.

Gloved fingers slipped into your mouth for you to suck or bite. Anything to help silence your moans. It excited him the fact that Johnny could find him, Johnny could catch him and realise all this time he though you were safe and committed to him you’d gone behind his back. His precious little girl who actually is just a dirty whore. A dirty whore who lets her hole be used. By men she doesn’t even know.

He wonders what you do when Johnny brings him up in conversation, I mean, he figures you haven't spilt the beans to him yet so do you just laugh and nod on along? Hearing his name, acting like you don't know his touch or how his tongue feels. Pretending he's a stranger, just some stranger who's dick is drilled into your memory. He doesn't fuck like Johnny, he's bigger than him, hits all the places that Johnny can’t. You can never get Simon out of your mind.

Filling you up with his cum and laughing deeply at himself. He's got to be careful with it- what if you two were trying for a baby? That would be a shock, wouldn’t it? Gorgeous little kid coming out looking just like Simon- Simons eyes, Simons hair; a little mini Simon left all for you to raise.

Maybe Johnny would be too thick to realise, too slow to pick up on why his son looks so much like his best friend- that the son he’d always wanted actually belong to Simon. Oh fucking hell, he was a dark deluded arsehole- who thinks like this? Slipping back out of the window and shutting it the same time as Johnny walked into the room.

Large soft body crawling on top of you and pushing you further into the bed. Lips attacking your sensitive neck as his already hard cock slips its way inside of your warm, creampied folds. The darkness hiding all the evidence and leaving him to believe it’s just how wet you are for him. How needy and desperate you are for him.

Blissfully unaware that the wetness lubing his cock up, letting him fuck you with ease and making him feel so hot and so good, was no other than his best friends cum. Dribbling out your hole and onto your thigh as he picks up the pace.

[kaisaerinlover]

half vampire sae who notices you at his game and feels so hungry for you he almost can’t focus on the game at hand :< your blood smells so sweet and he wants a taste so badly.

half vampire sae who secretly prays that you don’t leave too quickly so he can talk with you without anyone noticing it.

half vampire sae who’s usually expressionless face almost contorts into something akin to disgust as he sees one of the lukewarm players from the opposing team trying to talk to you.

half vampire sae who’s relieved it was so easy to get you to trust him so quickly after he dealt with the loser who was trying to talk to you. he makes small talk with you and calls you princess subtly and you’re giggling instantly and nodding so sweetly to his request for a date.

half vampire sae who realises why you smell so delicious: you’re so innocent. he hasn’t ever smelt blood as pure and it’s taking everything he has in him to not ravage you in the movie theatre he generously took you to for your date.

half vampire sae who finds you pretty cute actually, he notices your little quirks and how jumpy you are at any physical contact.

half vampire sae who completely flips a switch when he finally manages to lure you back to his mansion, but you’re a little too late to realise it. when you realise him guiding you to his room you blush and look down and tell him you’re a virgin.

half vampire sae who simply leans down a little and licks his lips, and tells you it’s okay, he’s not going to fuck you, as he pins you down onto his bed and salivates at the sight of your neck. so pure, so sweet.

poor you who’s confused yet enjoying him licking and nipping at your neck, til he suddenly sticks his fingers in your mouth whilst leaning over you and chastises you harshly, yet albeit a little soft voiced, that you need to ‘sh’ now.

poor you who’s still sucking absentmindedly on his fingers, you trust him right? stupid naive you, trusting someone as thirsty and deprived of a being as pure as you for as long as he can remember so quickly. he doesn’t feel bad for what he’s about to do though, this will teach you not to be so naive and trusting!

half vampire sae who finally bites into that sweet area of open skin on your neck, and he knows someone like him has no chance of getting to heaven if it’s real, but it can’t get better than the taste of this. he almost allows his mask of nonchalance to slip, not that it would matter anyway, your eyes are closed, sobbing around the fingers he still has slotted in your mouth.

half vampire sae who’s draining the shit out of your neck, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted. but he knows he has to pull away eventually, he doesn’t want to accidentally kill you after all. he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and is leaning over you, blood trickling down his lips.

half vampire sae who actually feels something for you, he thinks you look delectable down there, caged beneath his arms. and he does something he never did for any girl he thirsted for. he smashes his lips into yours. you can taste your blood on his tongue, and his sharp teeth cut your already aching mouth up.

half vampire sae who’s still showing no expression at all as he pulls away, but the way he just acted says it all. he wants you so bad, and he’ll keep you. you’re a real catch, little thing, he can’t let you go now. he already imagines how much easier life will become having a sweet fountain like you to drink from.

half vampire sae who’s staring down at your terrified form, trapped on his bed beneath his arms. cute. he uses his thumb to wipe away some of the blood from your lip, and sucks it clean. “mine now.” he mumbles to you.

half vampire sae who has one arm draped around you in bed holding you close to him so you can’t escape. he has you dressed so nicely in a white flowy nightgown and some frilly socks. he’s gross, he thinks, because he’s excited to stain it with your innocent blood the very next morning. no morning coffee can beat this, believe him.

half vampire sae who’s never really lusted for girls further than just their blood, which were lukewarm anyway, until now. he falls asleep arms wrapped around you thinking of how hard he’s going to fuck your innocence away whilst drinking you down even more. but he knows you’ll still taste as sweet as ever, you’re an infinite source of purity. he truly won today.

half vampire sae who wakes up and indulges himself immediately, waking you up in the process. you’re so fucking cute when you wear that fearful expression. so scared of him. his princess, his new everything. and he knows it’s sealed when he stops his brutality every few minutes to gently nibble at your lip and peck you so sweetly, an ironic act.

half vampire sae who’s excited to see how the rest of his life plays out with you by his side now.

[yanderedrabbles]

i love your yandere cowboy i was just wondering how he would treat reader when she’s pregnant and how does he react when other men try and hit on reader

Yandere Cowboy - Jealousy

Yandere! Cowboy ain't scared of a brawl. Hell, he's started plenty of his own.

Yandere! Cowboy who's the worst kind of rabbid dog - mean and just a bit too cruel to ever be a good man.

Yandere! Cowboy who assumes everyone on the ranch knows you're his girl, but apparently the new guy hasn't gotten the message.

It's been a long, shitty day and all he wants is his pretty lady and nice hot meal. Yandere! Cowboy who comes up on the barn and sees you leaning against the fence, smiling all pretty for some other man.

Yandere! Cowboy who wants to prove himself to you. Show off the muscles he earned hauling hay and wrangling steers. He's top dog, ain't he? You should know that.

Yandere! Cowboy who grabs the guy's collar and slams him into the fence, asking why the bastards talking to his girl.

Yandere! Cowboy who might have let him go if he apologised, if he said he didn't know you were taken. But instead the man spits and says such a pretty girl sure as hell shouldn't be with a mean bastard like him.

Yandere! Cowboy who shrugs you off when you try and pull him away. Who ignores you when you say it was nothing, just a little conversation between strangers. You don't understand the way men think - this bastard would've stolen you away in a second if he had the chance.

Yandere! Cowboy who throws a punch so hard that the guy ends up spitting blood. Who drives his knee into his stomach so the bastard falls to the ground doubled over and heaving for air.

Yandere! Cowboy who jams his spurs into his face, blood spraying across his boots.

The other guy might look strong but Yandere! Cowboy is protecting his territory and nothing could make him more dangerous.

Yandere! Cowboy who rubs the blood off his face with red raw knuckles. Who grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close to him. Who says if you ever talk so pretty to another man, it's your face he'll grind under his boots. You're his. And if he has to hurt you a little to make sure you remember, then so be it.

Yandere! Cowboy who thinks you look even prettier than usual when your eyes are all big and scared, when you look like a little rabbit he's got by the neck.

Yandere! Cowboy who leans down and kisses you as the sunset turns the field to molten gold. You can taste blood on his lips and the hand on your nape is too tight to be tender.

Yandere! Cowboy who's never had anything so pretty and so delicate in his life. Who's jealousy makes him deadly.

Yandere! Cowboy who's never learnt how to treat a pretty girl. So he treats you like he does all the things he owns - stashed away where other men can't steal it.

[ivy-elle]

"What are you even talking about?"

Or: How they react to you being overly intoxicated aka drunk af

Feat. Albedo, Scaramouche

Notes: No mentions of vomiting, do not worry

“You… are like totally the most beautiful being on this earth. How is that even legal?”

Your drunk-hazed gaze looks up at him, an admiring, nearly even mesmerised expression on your face.

Albedo stifles a surprised laugh behind a cough, his fist concealing his soft smile. “Thank you, y/n. Why don’t you sit down first?”

Obediently, you follow along as he gently guides you to the couch, the slight grin not wanting to leave your face. Even less, when he crouches down in front of you, studying you with intent focus. He can’t help the slight concern slipping into his expression as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

Meanwhile, you seem to have the time of your life with him being so close to you, with his gentle touch, like you’re something delicate.

How is it even real that you are able to call him your friend – let alone your partner. Like, your very own!

Just the way his crystal-like eyes follow yours, his shimmering hair catching the faint light of the room, down to how pretty his lips move when he speaks…

Wait. Right. He speaks. Listen.

Focus.

Right.

“If you’re able to eat right now, I suggest getting some carbohydrates into your system, my love,” he explains, gently tilting your face. “That way we can nudge your blood level back to normal again.”

You barely contain a silly giggle at his tender touch. “I’d eat straight-up eat wheat right now if you asked me to.”

Albedo nods, very slowly, his brows furrowing as he ponders about how to handle this situation best. “I see. Well, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” And yet, a part of him can’t help but be fascinated by your responses. “Would you be satisfied with some toast instead?”

You hum airily, but the moment he lifts himself up you feel your face fall into a pout, immediately missing his warmth.

“Wait,” you quickly try to prevent him from leaving. “On second thought – I am not even that hungry. You can keep staying here. Sitting.”

“I will remain here.” He slips his fingers from yours, a smile tugging his lips. “See? I am just across the room.” You should eat something to prevent some serious hungover.”

You watch him quietly, nearly enchanted by his smooth movements as he prepares some snacks, listening to his soothing voice. Has he always had this effect on you? You can’t tell. You can’t even care less right now.

“Personally, I’ve never experienced a hangover myself, but it starts right after the alcohol level in your blood starts to drop. And given your state…” He offers you a plate with some fresh toast and light fruits, “I presume it’s best to take precautions now.”

“Thank you,” you murmur fondly, accepting the plate. To your relief, Albedo joins you on the couch.

“Slowly. Take your time.”

“Maybe I was starving a bit. Archons, this is good.”

Albedo chuckles softly, gently taking your hand in his. You feel his thumb lightly tracing along your wrist before it settles on your pulse.

Your turn toward him, tilting your head in confusion. “I am still alive. I think.”

His eyes crinkle, soft musing laced in his voice. “Yes, I can see that, my love. I am merely checking your heart rate.”

Albedo looks you over and the moment your eyes meet his again, you feel your heart rate slightly quicken beneath his fingers.

His frown turns into a soft smile. “You’re feeling alright?”

“If you keep touching me this way, I’ll feel even better.” You hum, your eyes drifting to his lips.

But before you can follow your impulses, Albedo draws back, gently pushing you back by your shoulder. “Forgive me, love, but I’d rather you be sober first.”

Now you can’t help but pout, your face scrunching up. “That’s a bit excessive.”

Amused but persisting, he shakes his head, but not before leaning in and to place a soft kiss on your temple.

“Eat up. I’ll set up some tea and antidote for your headache.”

“I see you’ve lost your mind entirely,” Scaramouche remarks dryly as he halts at the doorway.

“Shhh. I need to focus,” you murmur, not even bothering to look up from where you’re lying on the ground. The room is cloaked in darkness - all windows are drawn shut to prevent any lights from falling inside, and disturbing work of art.

Scaramouche’s gaze darts to the perfectly good bed right beside you. Why, in Teyvat’s name, would you prefer the cold, hard floor? Hasn’t his day been eventful enough as it is already?

“Look at this,” you whisper again, and Scaramouche raises an eyebrow as your Electro Vision flickers to life again. His eyes follow your gaze to the ceiling, where charged threads of Electro dance in a chaotic disorder, illuminating the room in soft purple light. But your attention is glued on the lights, absolutely fascinated by this spectacle.

He steps closer, a pinched expression on his face. “Why don’t you-“

Before he can finish, you reach out, snatching his wrist and pulling him down next to you.

“Look!” you repeat once more.

Obviously, you’re only able to actually move him, because he lets you. But he does not lay down on the ground – who do you think he is? Instead, he crouches down next to you, fixing you with a look, like you’ve lost it entirely. His eyes narrow as he notices your abnormally flushed face, grasping that something is not quite right with you.

But you’re completely ignoring his unsettled expression, rather lifting your hand again to tilt his chin upward, directing his to the ceiling. “Listen to the sky, Scara,” you explain in a tone like it’s supposed to clear up everything.

Listen to the sky?

Scaramouche’s eyes dart down to you again, irritation building up inside him now. He dislikes this - having you physically here, but at the same time you not acting like yourself.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

Your eyebrows scrunch up as you turn your head toward him, like you’re pouting that he isn’t taking your lightning show as serious as he should. “You’re always complaining how fake the sky of Teyvat is. So, I recreated it. Now you have your own. Or, my own. Like – ours, I guess.”

For the sake of his pride, Scaramouche quickly schools his face. A strange combination of confusion, irritation and at the same time a strange warmth settles in his chest. His eyes flicker over your slightly dazed features.

“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, trying to sound unbothered.

For that he earns yet another. “Shhh!” This time a small, but sheepish grin tugs at your lips.

For a moment his eyes linger on you, before he tears them away, letting his gaze return to the ceiling. Now that he’s seeing the purple mist of electro from this angle, your perspective…

“How fake can it be, if I created it myself?”

At the sound of your gentle whisper, he feels his resolve weakening, eyes flickering between the charged branches, now finally taking form on the ceiling.

You created … a sky. For him alone.

Then, even softer, as if to not drive him away, you add, “Sometimes you need to be a bit intoxicated to see the world differently.”

Scaramouche stretches his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “The ground was the best solution you had?” But there is no real bite in his voice, he is way too immersed in the little universe you’ve created in the room.

For him, his own Electro Delusion has always been nothing more than a tool – a means to gain power. To destroy. Yet, here you are again, showing him the other side of the coin, proving, that in destruction lies its own universe of creation.

“You smell nice,” he hears you mutter suddenly, breaking him through his trails of thoughts.

Of course, you’d say something like this right now. Without looking at you, He doesn’t look at you the corner of his mouth twitches. “I know. You, on the other hand, have had better days.”

You gasp, pushing him away lightly. “Rude! I do not smell bad!”

“You reek of alcohol. It’s onerous.”

He hears you grumble something incoherent under your breath, slurring the words into a mess.

Unimpressed, he clicks his tongue. “Consequences of your own actions.”

But as you shift to stand back up, the electro particles above start to dissolve as well. Almost immediately, his hand grabs your wrist, holding you close. “Stay down.”

You stare at him. Then you blink once. Twice. And then a shit-eating-grin spreads on your lips. “Oho! So, you do like my sky. Ha!”

A scoff escapes him as he tries to act nonchalant and averts his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I simply prefer not having you stumbling around the room like a drunk sailor, just because you don’t know your limits. Which seem to be quite low.”

You sit back down, not without grouching a quiet “Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

The two of you glare at each other, daring the other to say something. Eventually, you relent, rising your hands and bringing the lighting to life once more.

Scaramouche remains quiet, savouring your presence for a second longer. Before he looks back at the stars again.

Who needs a fake sky, if a whole universe is right there beside him already?

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[stqrglr1]

Car sex with haechan

Genre: smut, established relationship

18+ minors pls dni !!

Unprotected sex (omg pls wrap it), creampie, mentions of blood

Pls this is so short and shitty pls forgive the hiatus i was dating a marine 🙏 inspired by true events

You’re bouncing on it as he whines so delicately. Its bliss. Every whimper from him makes you only that much hungrier. You cant stop, and wont stop, chasing your own orgasm as you feel floods of his cum fill you up so good. “Mmm baby it hurts but oh my god your pussy is so good.” Grunts and deep growls of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘oh my god’ spewing from his lips as he looks down where your bodies are meeting and pressing together. “i cant stop, im getting close. You can last a little longer right hyuckie? You’re my good boy yeah?” He gasps and hitches his breath at those words. Oh he loves when you call him your good boy.

He grips your hips, digging his nails into the skin. The flesh ripping yet you have no idea if its blood you feel or his sweaty palms on your hips. But hes helping you bounce so theres no complaints. Squirts upon squirts of his drawn out orgasm floods your walls until you see stars finally. You shudder and collapse on his shoulder. He coos and caresses your back “its okay baby you did so good, so good baby.” You both are gasping for air. The windows completely fogged up, the dense heat in the car finally noticeable. You feel all the creamy substance between both your groins. You try to lift yourself off him but you’re far too weak. Haechan takes you effortlessly by the waist and sets you in the seat next to him. You wonder how he has so much power in him to do so considering you drained him for all hes worth trying to finish, he always leaves you amazed. Theres still so much leaking out of you that your body is clenching onto. Its dripping so deliciously down your legs but you only think to yourself all your mixed juices is gonna be on the backseat of his car.

He rubs your sides, “are you okay babe?” He looks down at you with his big doe eyes waiting eagerly to hear about how you feel. Ignoring the mess in his car that hes gonna make you clean up with him later. “So good hyuckie. I feel so good” you lean into the corner of the backseat, spread out and bare, you smile and caress his face. Pushing his hair out of his face. The sweat making it stick to his forehead. Taking multiple attempts before you manage to remove it from its determination to stay on his skin.

“You’re so pretty hyuck.” Giving him a kiss on his cheek and pulling him down to hold him in your arms. Missing being close to him. “You’re my pretty boy.”

He chuckles snuggling into your neck “My dick that good huh?” You giggle a “Fuck you.” He responds with an “I love you too.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

xviii  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  Deja Vu 

Series mlist 

Tags — cliche I fear, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, possibly offensive humour (?) 

Words — 2.1k 

You elbowed your way through groups of people, ignoring the disgruntled looks sent in your direction. You suddenly felt completely sober, the fuzziness in your mind replaced by sheer panic. Toges text repeated over and over in your mind, the possibilities forming into endless images and scenarios. As much as you wish you didn’t, you knew exactly who they were talking about. Megumi and Kamo. 

The string lights hung around the yard did little to illuminate the space, the primary source of light being whatever leaked out from the house. When the brisk outdoor air hit you, your eyes darted around, very quickly recognizing where they were. It was pretty obvious, with the crowded people and nauseating sounds of the altercation. 

Panda, being the tallest of the bunch, was the first you spotted. You used him like a landmark as you weaved your way around, joining your group of friends near the centre of the action. When you were met with the sight before you, you felt as if you’d travelled back in time. There he was, in all of his glory. Blood trickling down the side of his face, though he looked to be in a much better condition than his opponent. Megumi versus Noritoshi, a fight driven by irrational jealousy and the effects of alcohol. His knuckles were battered, the crimson evidence of his rage staining the skin over the joints. 

He was just about to pull his fist back; just about to land another hit on the man, but then his eyes met yours. They softened, undeniably so, his grip on Kamo’s shirt loosening and arm lowering. Noritoshi took this opportunity to roughly pull from his grasp, giving Megumi a shove backwards on his way. He briefly passed you as he shoved through the crowd, retreating from the scene. 

“Control your dog,” he spat roughly before leaving you slack jawed and blinking in your place. Your eyes hadn’t moved from Megumi, the world around you seeming to dissipate, leaving just the two of you. You longed to reach out to him—no, your soul longed for him, longed to feel the touch and unity of his presence. 

By what seemed like muscle memory you moved forward, grabbing Megumi’s hand and ignoring the worried shouts of your friends. The warmth of his palm–or was that blood?–pressed gently into yours, the only thing keeping you grounded as you guided him away from the people. He followed you into the house without a second thought, blinded by trust, intoxication, and familiarity all in one. You’d been here before, he knew the drill. 

The familiar muggy atmosphere greeted you as you rushed through different rooms, the building seeming like a maze as you so desperately tried to find a washroom that wasn’t occupied by students, either puking or too immersed in each other to even notice you barging in. 

He trailed behind you like a lost puppy dog the entire time. He didn’t speak a word, he didn’t know if he knew how to anymore. Honestly, he was scared. Scared to speak to you, scared that if he dared to open his mouth everything would come spilling out. The bits of him he kept tucked away deep inside were itching to reveal themselves, crawling up his throat and making it tighten with the threat of guilty tears. He could barely face you. He felt like such a complete and total asshole. Ignore you for a week, snap at you, ignore you for another week, then almost kiss you and fight your boyfriend (as he’d begun referring to him as) in the same night? Who even was he? He felt as if he’d regressed years, being the same immature brat he’d been the first time he lost you except much more angry and much more aware. Shame gnawed at him like a plague, eating him from the inside out. Not that he necessarily knew himself very well beforehand, but any grasp of his character seemed to be lost the moment he saw you with… him. 

Finally, after countless trips down hallways and up flights of stairs, you found a place. A small tile washroom with a flickering light above the sink, chilly and empty. It didn’t do much to lighten the mood as you guided him in, your hand parting from his and leaving him feeling oddly empty as he sat on the low marble counter. 

He may as well have been a mime, dead silent as he watched you search the inventory of the room for a cloth. You muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t hear you. His ears rang with anxiety and his own thoughts, growing louder and louder until they were screaming at him. ‘You fucked it all up. You’re such an idiot. No wonder she chose him.’ 

“You’re so stupid,” you huffed, extending to your full height with a washcloth in hand. Well, he knew that already. 

“Mm,” he replied, a lazy hum. He couldn’t find it in himself to respond, let alone argue. There wasn’t a point, you were right anyway. 

Suddenly you were fourteen again, scolding him for getting into yet another fight. Yet again he’d developed some rivalry with your newest love interest, for reasons you couldn’t understand. He wished you did, that would’ve made this so much easier. Despite your anger and hurt, your hands were gentle and warm, every press of the warm wet cloth against his skin a soft caress. 

“I don’t– I don’t get you, Megumi,” you began, deciding to focus intently on your handiwork to avoid looking at him. If you saw that desperate, intent look on his face, you knew you’d break. You couldn’t, not yet. Though the only thing he was thinking was that you’d said his name, the familiar syllables rolling from your tongue with ease. Just like it had when he’d gotten ahead of himself, when he’d almost kissed you. He hated the way your voice sounded when you said his last name, made something bitter swirl in his gut. 

“You’ve been so weird lately.” Your voice was soft, almost afraid. It was a tone he hadn’t heard from you before, and he hated to be the cause of it. “You walk back into my life and everything is normal, great even. We spend months getting close and I’m actually happy, and you aren’t weird at all, in fact, you’re nicer to me than anyone. Then you completely shut me out, and you won’t even tell me why. You tell me you can’t, I don’t buy it,” you took a shaky breath. Your hand had stilled, simply hovering in the air. “And then you almost kissed me, and–and then you leave. You– I–..” you began to stutter, blinking away unshed tears. His heart clenched, feeling unfamiliar and afraid. He’d only seen you cry twice, the first being he’d found you alone in the rain on a dark stormy night and the second being when he’d taken you to see some sad dog movie (which he’d insisted wasn’t a date). You never spoke of the former after that. 

“[name],” he whispered. Someone should’ve started tallying how much he’d said that tonight, you were sure they’d have a full page by now. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. 

“Do you like me or not? I’m sick of this back and forth and I’m sick of using Kamo as a distraction and I’m sick of feeling like this just because you’re a ‘coward’. Am I too much? I just need you to tell—“ 

“If you want me to tell you, you have to let me speak,” he cut you off, taking the hand holding the cloth and gently pushing it away. “You aren’t too much. That’s the thing about you, you’re just you and it’s just right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I’m a coward. It’s just– you make me feel all of these things and I hate it, makes me feel weak. I am. You make me weak and you always have, fuck– it’s been this way since middle school.” 

You drew in a breath, trying to process his words. The effects of the alcohol lingered, but the both of you had somewhat sobered up by now. 

“You deserve better. You… you deserve everything. I can’t give you that, maybe Kamo can. I see why you went for him and that’s what hurts the most,” he whispered, voice oddly gentle. His throat felt tight and he had to stop speaking or else you’d notice the way his eyes stung, voice cracking. He was always a sad, clingy drunk. 

“Can’t you see? I don’t want better. There isn’t better for me, Megumi. I haven’t even spoken to Kamo since you stopped talking to me because I realized that,” you said, a weak sob chasing your words. He stared at you, wide eyed and ridiculously pretty as he tried to process what you were saying. He wanted to believe you, but could he? 

“I’ve always loved you. Maybe if you payed more attention to that instead of swinging at every guy that glances in my direction, this could’ve gone much smoother.” 

“… you love me?” 

“Too soon?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “I just… don’t understand, I guess. I’m not exactly one to be loved.”

“Don’t say that. You’re wrong. So wrong it’s laughable, actually,” you said, feeling your lip tremble as a soft, almost sad smile crossed your face. 

You didn’t realize when you’d gotten so close. You were brought back to a few hours before, when you’d almost gotten this until todo had sauntered by. But now you were in the secluded peace of the shabby tile restroom, not the most romantic place, but that was the last thing on your minds. 

Your lips met gently, almost chaste before parting. He breathed, “I’m sorry, are you sure you–“ 

“Please.”

It was barely enough time to breathe before he was surging forward once again, this time far more passionate and with a desperation he wasn’t even sure resided in him until that very moment. You wanted him to kiss you. No, you wanted him period. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing, for spending literal years believing someone like you couldn’t feel for him as he felt for you. 

His bruised hand caressed the nape of your neck, the other slithering around your waist and tugging you closer. His brows were furrowed, the love radiating from him so deep it formed a crease between them. You both tasted like booze and the music still shook the floor with every beat, but every bit of it washed away with every passing second of his lips on yours. 

You craved him like a vampire lusted for blood, and he kissed you like a deserted man that had found his oasis. It was sloppy and messy and filled with want, teeth occasionally clashing in your drunken frenzy. You didn’t feel drunk, though, you felt more aware than you ever had in your life. In that moment you were sure he was the love of your life, and you could see the years ahead stretching before you like a calendar all planned out. You wanted to see his hair grow grey and his wisdom form lines on his face, you wanted to spend the rest of your life holding him like this. His black locks of hair were soft between your fingers, and he let out a gentle groan against your lips as you tugged. His teeth dragged over your bottom lip and you shuddered, feeling goosebumps erupt all over your skin. 

When you parted, all he could do was look at you. Almost curiously, he ran a thumb over your bottom lip, right where he’d nibbled just a moment before. 

When he met your eyes, he realized he had forgotten to say something rather important back. It was hard to say, felt as if it was stuck in his throat, but the buzz he had helped. 

“I love you,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. He stood by the idea that you deserved better than him, you deserved more. But just this once, he wanted to be selfish. 

When you dived back in for another taste of him, you swore the declaration had made his lips taste sweeter. Sweet and soft and undeniably him, just like you liked it. 

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo @san-it-is-i-guess @harryzcherry @vivienne-jo

finally. Holy shit. I think there’ll be one more chapter after this?? Maybe two, then it’ll be 20 even I’ll see ending this feels like a divorce

[bella-goths-wife]

Kiss the barrel of my gun softly: chapter five

Chapter warnings: violence, prostitution, misogyny, men being men, arguing, angst, protective Sevika, mentions of sexual acts, mentions of non-con, cruelty

After the rough few weeks that Sevika had experienced, she decided it was high time to drown herself in her usual vices of drinking, smoking and gambling. So she took the night off from doing Silco’s paperwork and took herself to the bar in The Last Drop and hoped for a peaceful night.

She had hoped that every swig of her whisky would dull the feelings of guilt in her chest, had prayed that if she polluted her lungs with the smoke from her cigarillo she’d eventually be able to swallow the lump of remorse in her throat, begged for the winnings in her pocket to weigh more that the weight of her regretful, shrivelled up heart.

She had told Silco of the decision she had made and he expressed pride at her ability to weaken you, and the actions had been put into  immediate action. Silco had warned all chembarons to not associate with your brothel until his say so, and he wouldn’t lift the ban until you attended the meeting with him that he demanded.

The effects had been immediate from what Sevika had seen from her walks home and past the brothel the past few weeks, the lack of customers and incoming gold had been evident from the lowered prices the girls were offering. She can’t say that the pathetic state of your prized business that Madame Emerald had left for you hadn’t left her with a heavy heart.

But a part of her hoped this would lead you to see sense and to finally accept a partnership with Silco, and hopefully that would lead to you coming back to her and forgiving her-

“You need to see this” young Peter scrambles to her table and to the rest of her crew with a poster in hand which he slams down on the table they were currently playing poker on.

“What the hell” Sevika exclaims with a furious look, anger at her lost winning streak very visible on her face.

“Sorry boss” young peter coughs out sheepishly before pointing excitedly at the poster he’d laid out on the table “but this is just too good”

“What is it?” Sevika asks with a roll of her eyes, assuming it was another pointless fighting event that the younger members of her crew seemed to enjoy so much.

However, she stilled when she read the contents of the poster and her blood ran cold.

‘The Gemstone brothel presents once in a lifetime opportunity: A night with the Madame’ the poster read in large, bold print ‘gold offers will be accepted at brothel, highest bidder wins’

A night with the Madame was always a last resort for brothels, the Madame being the title that requires the utmost respect and one that gains you many enemies. By participating in the night with the Madame you are opening yourself to losing all the respect you had gained and being forced to do the most dehumanising acts all for the entertainment of the highest bidder.

You were prepared to at best have to sleep with a random for money and at worst risk having to perform dehumanising acts to protect your brothel from going into debt over attending a simple meeting with Silco? She knew your hatred could range on for miles but she didn’t think you were this reckless.

“I don’t get the excitement” Buff Wade’s voice breaks Sevika out of her shock as she watches the muscular man shrug and for once she feels something akin to pride for the idiotic man at his lack of reaction.

“Its a night with the Madame” young Peter exclaims in shock “you can pay to fuck her”

“Why pay for what I’ve already had” Buff Wade states smugly with a shrug and a smirk

Sevika loses all the previous hope she held for the moron as her eyes narrowed into a harsh glare.

“You and the Madame fucked?” young Peter shouts out in shock 

“Yep, before she became Madame Obsidian” Buff Wade confirmed with a smarmy smirk “back when she was still old Emeralds lackey and actually had to work for a living instead of sitting there and looking pretty”

“The madame never did brothel work” Sevika grunts out with a challenging glare, not wanting to listen to another one of this fools lies about you.

“Any of the girls living in that brothel will do brothel work if you offer them a gold coin or two” Buff Wade laughs out mockingly “I was just lucky to get the Madame for a night before she got that stick up her ass about us going in that shithole of hers”

“I don’t do brothel work” your voice echoes through Sevika’s mind

Sevika internally has to calm the waves of anger inside of her, she couldn't go making a scene and risking both your reputations over some stupid assholes lies and insults.

“Y’know the offer doesn’t say anything about multiple people spending the night with the Madame” young Peter howls out through laughs with a smarmy grin “Maybe we could finally teach that bitch to respect us”

“What’ve you got in mind?” Buff Wade asks curiously as he and the rest of the crew lean in with interested eyes 

“We can pool our money together and make an offer, we’d be a shoe in combined” young Peter looks almost sinister as the cruel words stumble off his tongue “we can make that prudish bitch do whatever we want and finally get some respect out of her”

The entire table erupts into rounds of laughter as they all list off things they could make you do, each request more grotesque than the last. Sevika can only sit and watch on in silence as her fists clench and she attempts to calm herself.

“Maybe I could go looking for that stick up her ass” Buff Wade laughs out before crudely wiggling his eyebrows “or make her shove something else up there-”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back as Sevika felt herself stand up, the entire table turning silent and looking up at her with curious eyes. She can’t stop herself as her hand snakes out and smashes Buff Wade’s head against the wooden table, her first hit on what would be a very long and violent massacre.

Sevika can’t help but think of you during this bloodbath, of how desperate and scared you must be right now to make this offer, of how much you must need her right now.

Of how stupid you were for not coming to her for help first.

———————————past——————————

Sevika paused in her steps when she saw you and Madame Emerald stood in front of Silco’s office, The madame staring down at you adoringly and patting your head gently before leaving you standing alone.

You hadn’t accompanied the Madame to any meeting for the last month and Sevika hadn’t been able to spot you around the markets like she usually has, its like you’d dropped off the face of the planet until this moment.

That's why Sevika can’t help but just stare at you for a few moments, enjoying seeing your pretty face after so long and all but forgetting your unpleasant ending to your last encounter. Your head turns to her direction after you briefly hear her shoes and Sevika knows she's been caught in her gawking.

“Oh” you say quietly “it’s you”

Sevika nods and wordlessly comes to lean against the wall to your side, almost routinely at this point.

“Didn’t think you’d be here” Sevika comments gruffly, almost wanting to yank you about and question you about your sudden disappearance from her life.

“Madame and Silco are having another meeting” you inform quietly “She needed me here”

“How long are they gonna be?” Sevika asks through a grunt, wondering how much time with you she has.

“Not long, it's unlikely they’ll make a deal” you speak quietly as you throw her own words back in her face.

There’s a beat of awkward silence between the two of you as Sevika looks at your neutral face and fights the urge to hold it in her hands.

“Where have you been?” Sevika asks quietly, breaking the silence between the two of you

“I thought it was best for us to have some distance” you admit through a sigh, your eyes looking down to avoid her narrowed gaze.

“Why would we need distance?” Sevika asks confused through a scoff, why would she need distance from you when all her body craves is to be near yours?

“Because I think we want different things” you say quietly as your voice wavers in hesitation on whether or not to have this conversation now.

“Like what?” Sevika grunts out with a slight sneer.

“I think you want sex” you state with a sigh “and i think you want to have it discreetly so that Silco and Madame never find out”

Your words shock Sevika as her eyes widen and practically bulge out at your forwardness.

“And what do you want?” she asks in an almost defensive tone

“I want love” you admit with a pleading tone “and I can feel it coming and I don’t want you to hurt me”

“You want love?” Sevika scoffs out

“It’s not impossible to want” you exclaim defensively 

“Just impossible to get” Sevika fires back mockingly but regrets it immediately once she sees your hurt expression.

Your hurt eyes look at the ground to avoid showing her your weakness before you let out an exhausted sigh.

“Sevika” your eyes snap up to look at her once again “what do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” Sevika repeats in confusion

“You’ve pursued me for a year now, we’ve kissed and you feel jealousy and possessive over me but whenever an opportunity for us to have something appears, you turn it down” you rant off with frustration clear on your face “so i'm asking you directly, what do you want from me because any of the directions you want to go in only lead to trouble”

Sevika lets out a huff of frustration as she listens to you talk.

“What do I…..” Sevika speaks quietly as she attempts to put her feelings into words, something she’s always struggled with “i want you, i want you for myself and you won’t give me what I want”

“Because I don’t want to sneak around behind our bosses backs and be accused of betraying them” your words come out quickly and in a pleading tone “because I don’t want to be your secret”

“Maybe I don’t like the idea of us having to be public for you to want to be with me” Sevika attempts to mask her true feelings with whatever excuse she can find, but you see right through her.

“That’s bullshit and you know it” you raise your voice in frustration at her shitty excuses “I want to be private but not secret, going behind our bosses backs will only end in tears”

“I can’t let my personal life get in the way of business” Sevika scoffs dismissively, not understanding the hurt her words could bring “bringing this to Silco would just be a waste of time”

You visibly stiffen at her words as your face becomes a mixture of hurt and anger, your eyes staring up at her becoming increasingly wet with the need to cry.

“So you see us as a waste of time?” you ask quietly with a hurt tone.

“No, that’s not what I meant-” Sevika quickly tries to backtrack but you cut her off.

“Good to know” you scoff out as you storm away from her and out of her line of sight.

Sevika wants to go after you and apologise, beg on her hands and knees for your forgiveness but she can’t when she sees two of her men approach her. She has to stay in her place, put on her usual stoic expression and pretend like nothing happened.

Pretend like she isn’t yearning to chase you down and beg for forgiveness for her stupid words.

—————————-present——————————

You pace around the room in an anxious panic.

Everything looked perfect, you’d arranged the candles and the decorations in the client room to make a romantic and relaxing atmosphere, you’d dressed yourself in the finest silk lingerie, you’d applied your makeup methodically and made sure to bathe and shave every part of your body to perfection.

But no matter how pretty you make the surroundings, it wouldn’t change the situation.

Tonight would be the night you would have to service a client or clients for the first time in your life for the first time in your life, and it scared you shitless.

The women around you had offered you many tips on how to make certain acts hurt less and reassured you that Ginger and a few others would be outside the entire time in case something went wrong but that did little to calm your raging nerves.

The client wanted to stay anonymous but the extremely generous offer they’d bid was enough gold to fund the brothel and feed its workers for the entire month, buying you enough time to figure out what to do next. You needed to suck up the fear you were feeling, you needed to do this for your girls.

You continued to pace the floor of the bedroom, fussing over small details to distract yourself from your undeniable terror. 

The door slamming open shocked you as you quickly whipped your head around to find Sevika standing there. She was covered with blood and was panting as if she’d just ran from piltover to the undercity just to see you, a bag of gold coins clutched tightly in her hands.

“Oh” you say in shock and disbelief with wide eyes “it’s you”

[randomsuggesteduseername]

SPIDER’S SECRET I

🕸️ SERIES MASTERLIST

‧₊˚ when new york’s famous vigilante helps you out of a mugging, an arrangement is quick to turn into a friendship….and perhaps more. after all, his charisma needs no face to work its magic on you ‧₊˚

spidey!steve x fem!reader

wc: 4k

description of wounds and violence, fluff, slight pining, smoking

Three knocks stronger than the rhythmic pitter patter of the rain have your attention shifting towards the window. Had you not been welcoming him in your room for the past few weeks you would’ve jumped right out of your bed out of fear. But this was becoming a regular thing, it’s now a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.

Pushing your biology course books out of your lap, your mind on him rather than the endocrine system you’re supposed to be studying. As you briefly wonder the gravity of his wounds, you remember to close and safely lock your door to avoid interruptions, aware it would be worrying for your mom to find you patching up Spider-man, the boy in a tight, red suit who always makes it on the news. Some say he’s a necessary vigilante for the troublesome city, others state he’s just a dumb kid playing superhero.

Although he always refuses to tell you anything about his identity or his life, you’re pretty sure he’s certainly not just playing around, countless bruises and cuts can attest to that.

The sound of the rain gets louder as you open the window, droplets smacking against the emergency metal staircase climbing up the side of the building. Poking your head out of your room carefully, you look to the left, met with a dark figure sitting on the stairs, leaning back against the brick wall, chest still heaving, shoulders sagged yet tight with pain.

“C’mon Bug-boy…” Urging him inside, you step back from the window, letting him come inside, droplets of water sliding down onto your carpet from his suit. He’s limping, you notice as much, his usual flexible self being rendered to a few pained movements. You briefly wonder how he managed to make it here.

The moment he’s inside your room, he plops down to the floor, resting back against the foot of your bed while his body seems to finally relax a bit, assuming he knows he’s safe with you and you’ll take care of him. Silently bending down, you reach under the bed and pull out the hidden first aid kit you bought a week ago, having realised that some small bandages and a disinfectant won’t do anymore.

Shutting the window, you take the precaution to pull the curtains shut, aware how paranoid he gets sometimes. Kneeling next to him, you tuck some hair behind your ears and speak. “Where, and how bad?” Hoping he’s not actually too injured, hating to see him like this, he pulls his mask up to his neck, showing a cut on his jaw, and as you gaze down, you asses another injury on his waist.

You’ve never seen his face. He’s kept his mask firmly in place, and has instructed you to do the same even if he passes out. You’re not sure what would be so bad about seeing his face, but you stopped questioning it after a while, now staring at the sharp jawline, biting your lip as some wet, brown and blond-ish strands of hair stick to the side of his neck.

Forcing yourself from building him a face you think would fit him based on what you’ve seen already, you rummage through the kit and furrow your brows as you fish the cleaning cloth, dampening it with disinfectant before you announce that it’s going to hurt.

He knows that, of course he does, he’s been through this with you before. But it does feel reassuring to acknowledge his pain. Focusing on the bloody split on his jaw, glad it’s not too deep, you don’t bother to ask what weapon did this as you know he never answers. The pain you cause him is evident from the way his fists stay curled tightly, pressed against his thighs.

Wiping the blood away from his skin and ignoring his groan, you grab a bandage big enough to fit his wound and place it over, making sure it sticks to his skin. However, the cut on his waist is more concerning. His suit is damaged, cut just like his skin is beneath it, though luckily it has stopped oozing blood for a while now, saving the mess it would have made on your floor and carpet.

Scared to approach it, you stare at it and watch as he pushes himself up a bit, having slumped against the foot of your bed due to the pain. “Thought you were about to become a doctor…you’re going to leave me out to die?” His tone, despite trying to sound amused, still has that pained tinge to it. The absurdity of his statement has your eyes rolling, huffing while a bloody cotton ball falls onto the floor. He’s here, laying on your floor after being beaten up, yet he still has the audacity to humour you.

“First of all, you are not going to die from two superficial cuts.” You can see his lips curling up, showing his white teeth as they split into a grin. Lips so pink, you stop to admire for a moment before remembering the point you were trying to make. “And second of all, I haven’t even started my residency yet! I’m purely working on you with the theoretical knowledge I have.”

He stifles his laugh, teeth biting into his lip before he quickly chokes up a gasp, grasping at his side. Pursing your lips, you let him calm down before shaking your head and murmuring about him being a dummy, regaining your confidence to approach his wound, you try not to think about it too much before you use a pair of scissors to cut more of his suit in order to gain access to his cut. Letting him know you’re ready, he breaches for the pain and you work through the mess of dried up blood, brows pulling together and eyes squinting while you carefully sanitise the wound, wrapping it up before you lean back, plopping on your butt with a soft thump before you gaze at him, his head now propped against the wooden pillar, taking calming breaths through his mouth.

“You’ll be fine, it didn’t look too bad.” Silently appreciating your assuring words, he moves to stand up. He never lingers, this sort of agreement you two have never went beyond you cleaning and patching him up, moments later to have him jump right back out of your window and disappear into the night, swinging from building to building.

It didn’t bother you at first, but now you’d like him to at least acknowledge you a bit more. It’s selfish, you think. You can’t demand something like that from him, so you keep your mouth shut and watch as he pads to the window, his steps as light as a cat’s.

“See you soon, doc.” The last thing you see is another stretch of his pretty lips before he tugs his mask down in place and opens your window, leaving you with a shudder as a wave of cold air enters your room, watching as he confidently jumps down from the rail.

Shaking your head and sighing, you close the window, lingering by it for a few moments before you pack up the first aid kit and throw away the bloody cotton balls.

—

THREE WEEKS AGO

Chilly weather always has you adding another layer beneath your jacket in hopes of maintaining a healthy body temperature. But as much as you want it to work, you always end up shaking, legs not able to carry you as fast as you’d wish. This late at night the streets are mostly empty, as was the uni’s library in which you spend your whole evening, revising one last time for your exam.

And just a ten minute walk is all it takes to get back home, so without hesitating, you walk with freezing hands shoved in your pockets. You’re not aware of the man taking an interest in you until it’s too late, his voice, gruff and raspy, calls out for you, and you make your first mistake. Stopping in your tracks to turn around.

He’s about the same height as you, a black beanie and hood covering his features, shielding him from the streetlight’s golden cast. He holds a knife, you can tell by the handle of it, the blade hidden behind his thigh as he speaks again. “Give me your bag.” He demands, his voice wavering as if he’s scared, paranoically looking back over his shoulder.

“I said give me the fucking bag!” He shouts, getting a bit more frantic now as he reaches his left hand for the strap of your bag, fist curling around the leather, but before he can even think of tugging on it he’s blinded by a web covering his eyes. You gasp, stepping back as his grip falls from your bag and instead scratching his covered eyes to free them, another ‘woosh’ sound echoes, another web collides with the man, this time glueing his hand to his chest.

A figure slowly comes down, hanging upside down, feet pressed to the thin string that’s connecting him to the street lamp while he keeps hold of it. You notice him wearing a costume, covering his whole body, a spider shape etched onto his chest. He drops down on the pavement, easily tripping the mugger as he tries to run away. You stand there and gasp as you hear the loud thud as the man falls onto the concrete.

“You, my dear sir, need to be taught a lesson.” The man…boy? in the spider costume tuts and crosses his arms over his chest in disappointment, pretending to care though he’s clearly mocking him. “This young lady didn’t do anything wrong. It’s always the undeserving ones who experience the worst things because of assholes like you.” His words seem to hold a sort of personal value to him, you don’t dare speak.

After the police picks up the thief, you continue making your way back, an uneasy feeling still lingering at the back of your mind. “So…” You yelp as the boy swings in front of you, landing on the side of the building a bit higher up and sticking to it effortlessly as if his limbs are made out of glue. “Why’re you walking alone? You didn’t get dumped, did you?” He tries his luck, jumping to the next building by crawling on the side of it to keep up with your walking pace.

“Um…no.” Keeping your hands tucked in your jacket, not daring to look at him, he jumps down from the building, and surprisingly enough he starts walking backwards in front of you, hands locked behind his back as he effortlessly side steps over a puddle of muddy water. “Just coming back from uni.” You’ve heard of him before, the one in the spider suit doing good deeds expecting nothing in return, but a few blurry images couldn’t really convince you of his integrity, so as he walks in front of you, you’re not sure what he wants from you.

Maybe he’s just another creep, playing the good guy role to gain the trust of others— “Hello, earth to pretty girl.” He waves a covered hand in front of you, making you snap out of your pretty ridiculous train of thought. “Relax, m’just walking you home to make sure you’re fine.” He flicks his hand, trying to bat away your obvious worries. “So, what are you studying?”

His question catches you off guard, eyes widening for a moment before he clarifies. “You said you were coming back from university, right?”

“Oh…” The sound is breathy, feeling a bit embarrassed as you respond. “Medicine, general surgery.” The slight saunter in his walk doesn’t fade, head cocking curiously to the side as he gives you an approving nod.

Stopping in front of your building, you bite your lip, eyes drifting away from the mask, trailing to his arm where you’re quick to notice the cut on his bicep, blood reddening the material of his suit. Stepping closer instinctively, you look at the damage before you frown. “You’re hurt.” He curiously lifts his arm a bit before he notices his cut.

“Hm, didn’t notice…must’ve cut myself while i was swinging.” By the way his words come out you’re assuming whoever is behind the mask is frowning.

“I could help.” Out of the blue, surprising yourself too, you offer to patch him up. You’re not sure if he can be trusted, but the way he helped you out of a street mugging, you feel like you at least owe him a bit of help back. “I’m on the third floor, room on the corner…there.” You point to the window and he takes a mental note. “Be quiet, my parents can’t know.”

After patching him up, he climbs out your window, and then once again, something in your mind has you speaking up. “If you ever need help…with wounds and stuff— you can always come by.” You fiddle with your hands and watch the curve of his back, head turning to the side to gaze back over his shoulder, at least you assume so since his eyes are covered by the mask.

“Will do, thanks doc!” You gasp as he flings himself over the edge, free falling for a few seconds before he shoots out webs, catching himself against the next building, watching him disappear into the night.

—

“The amazing Spider-man, infamous hero of New York City, has saved a family from a burning building. Earlier today, the masked vigilante made his presence known by pulling out a family of four from their top floor apartment as it went up in flames. Authorities showed up to the scene and from what we know so far, they detected a gas leak—“

Tuning out the news reporter, you sigh as you wonder if you’ll see him again. It’s been almost a week and truthfully you’re glad he hasn’t shown up at your window with another set of bruises and cuts on him, but you still feel somewhat empty. Maybe you’re expecting a sign? Something to let you know he’s alive and well, even though there’s plenty of news attesting to that already.

It’s absurd really, but spending your time sitting on your windowstill has become a habit, whether you’re studying or drinking a coffee, you look out into the night sky, hoping to see a dash passing by. Maybe it was for the best, maybe he’s found himself a licensed doctor to take care of him, not some second year student patching him up in her bedroom with shaky hands. Tracing your fingers over the spine of your book, the words jumble as your eyes pass over them, not making any sense of them in your brain. It’s your third time reading this page, but you pull your eyes away from it the moment a familiar voice rings through the room, your eyes finding the TV where he’s apparently giving an interview.

“Rest assured, New York, the Spider-man is here.” He gives a salute to the camera before he swings away, quickly disappearing from the screen. Great. Now he’s giving interviews.

Pushing yourself off the bed, socked feet dragging over the floor as you make your way to the kitchen, passing your dad in the living room. He’s watching some game, newspaper sprawled open on his lap. After grabbing some water, you return to your room, a cold breeze darting over you, eyes widening as you find the window opened. “What the…”

Stepping into the room to close it, your brows furrow as you turn around, a voice coming from above you. “Language, young lady.” You gasp, stumbling back against the bed, finding him sticking to the ceiling, hanging in the corner of your room. Clutching your heart, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” Shaking your head, you watch as he drops down onto his feet, moving to rest against the wall by the window, you’re wondering if he’s looking for a quick escape in case it’s needed,

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out,” He lifts his hands, as if surrendering, but you purse your lips, a brow cocking curiously. “You say that while you were just hanging off my ceiling.” That makes him think for a moment, letting out a soft chuckle before he brushes a hand over the back of his head.

“I guess you’ve got a point…” His smile is obvious in his tone, his body more relaxed than usual which has you wondering if he’s hurt, because that’s why he must be here in the first place. Standing up, you walk to him and give him a once over.

“Are you hurt?” Not being able to find any injuries which might need your attention, you breathe in and watch as he dismisses your words with a shake of his head, making the furrow between your brows deepen. He pushes himself off the wall, walking around your room as he seems to be looking around curiously, pictures hanging off the walls, decorations propped up on furniture.

“Nope, I’m fine. Thanks to this new suit…something about impenetrable nanofibers I think.” His hand reaches for a teddy bear, grabbing it as he turns around, propping it in front of his face before he speaks in a higher pitched, mocking voice. “Bad spider, scaring his trusted doctor like that.”

You must admit, he’s ridiculous, watching him do that makes you grin to yourself, rolling your eyes for good measure before you step closer, yanking the teddy away from him as you prop him back into his place. “Hands off, bug boy.”

“Bug boy— really? I’m- I’m not some ladybug, or stink bug. I’m a spider, I shoot webs. I’m cool.” Defending his case, he makes a few “phew” sounds as he pretends to shoot webs all over your room, but you cross your arms, standing still before he stops, leaving silence to settle in for a moment. “Okay, that was ridiculous, not cool at all.” Laughing softly, you bite your lip, taking a look at him.

“Why are you here? Since you’re not hurt…impenetrable nanofibres and all.” Waving a hand jokingly to dismiss the words as he had done earlier, he simply shrugs, moving to pull the curtains shut as a last minute safety measure.

“I guess I just wanted to check in on you, you know? I don’t think I’ll be needing any patchwork done anytime soon.” Ah. So that’s it, he’s come to tell you you’re useless to him now. You toy with your fingers and nod, assuming this is the last time you’ll get to talk to him like this.

“That’s okay. So that means you won’t have any reason to come here anymore.” That seems to make him silent for a few moments, this time it’s awkward, not carrying that comedic effect like before.

“I can still come and see you, you know? We could hang out…as friends.” Your eyes widen. He wants to keep coming to see you. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. Your mouth opens, no words coming out, instead you settle for a small smile and a nod.

This could be good, at least it seems to be that way.

—

Carefully stepping out of your room, holding onto the railing, you sit down on the metal platform, knees pulling up to your chest as you hug the sweater tighter over your body, not letting the cool breeze beat you.

You’re not sure when you picked up smoking as part of your regular routine, all you know is that you’re out in the cold now, trying to take your nicotine fill. Red knuckled hand grasping the lighter in your hand, thumb flicking over the spark wheel a few times until a flame bursts out, burning the tip of the cigarette, taking a drag before stuffing the lighter in the pocket of your sweats.

Watching the cloud of smoke flow up into the air, the back of your head pressed against the brick wall, the cold not being such a bother anymore. “Didn’t anyone tell you those are bad for you?” A familiar voice pulls you out of your own head, he’s crouching on the railing, maintaining his equilibrium perfectly.

Taking another drag as if to humour his words, you sigh. “You’ve got to stop doing that. One day I’ll have a heart attack.” He jumps from the railing, settling down in front of you, legs outstretched as they cage you in, feet pressing to the wall on each side of your body.

Though he’s not touching you at all, the position feels somewhat cosy, offering you a sense of protection. Blowing another lungful of smoke, you hold your hand out to him, offering him a drag. The way his head tilts lets you know he’s thinking about it before his hand reaches for the cigarette, his other tugging his mask up over his lips, exposing his lower face once again.

How is it that just his lips have you in a trance, trying your hardest to build him a portrait in your mind? You’ve never asked to see his real face, though you doubt it he’d actually show it to you. A so-called friend of Spider-man’s.

He puffs out the smoke in a similar manner to you, eyes following the way his tongue wets his slightly chapped lips, trying not to let certain thoughts encompass you. “So how was your night? Any bad guys?” Deflecting with the start of a conversation, you watch as he ashes the cigarette over the railing, passing it back to you.

“Pretty boring, but it’s gotten better.” Fighting the smile his natural charm tries to put on your face, you sigh and knock your foot into the inside of his knee lightly. “Funny…” Your word falls flat, followed by the slightest smile as you give him the last puff, letting him throw it away too.

“You know, for someone who is all about the law, you’re pretty ignorant of littering.” Quirking your brow as if to scold him, you notice him grinning, his mask still pulled up. “My apologies.”

Stargazing and small conversations ensued, he’d switched to resting against the wall right next to you halfway through talking about the moon’s colour tonight, shoulders and arms pressing together, you don’t feel like moving away, more so, wishing to drift closer even if by accident.

Tearing your gaze away from his jaw, you tell yourself how wrong this is, to want to reach out and pull his mask the rest of the way up, wanting to reveal his face. Something about the mystery of it has you yearning for more of him, though that would be insane since you don’t even know his name. All he gave to you was a few hours of his company from time to time.

“No, clearly you’re colour blind.” He feigns shock at your statement, hand pressing over his heart before he tuts with a disappointed look on his face. “Oh baby, don’t talk to me like that..”

He’s joking, of course he is, though the pet name, uttered so softly from his lips, makes you warm up, especially in the cheeks. Nudging your forehead to the side of his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle, yet still somewhat comforting, deciding to leave your head there, not uttering a word as he seems to accept the change in position, tilting your head back to gaze at his side profile.

You hate the way the moon lights up his angles perfectly, how the urge to reach a hand up to his face bubbles up inside of you and how everything is just nearly attainable but still out of reach due to your own self restraint. That doesn’t stop the words from coming out though. “Would you show me your face? I feel like we’ve known each other for a month already and all I’ve seen is that mask of yours.”

You feel dejected as he seems to tense next to you, his plush lips thinner now as they purse together. A beat passes where nothing is said, your head pulling back from his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly before he clears his throat, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips.

“I would, but that’s part of the trick, isn’t it? The whole—y’know, faceless act.” Looking down at your lap, you nod, feeling like he’s reducing you to the random passersby who might see his face while he swings from building to building. Trying to not let the disappointment show on your face, you force your attention back to the moon still high onto the sky, uttering softly.

“Yeah…I get it.”

[weepingchronicles]

Hi! I saw your requests are open, so could you please do a Jinx x fem! Reader where the reader gets hurt badly after a fight (maybe after episode 6?) and almost dies? How would Jinx react? And make it angsty and fluffy please. Thank you! 🩵

a/n: aaa i didn't know if you wanted yandere or not but i did it anyways, i am very sorry if you didn't want yan!jinx. i didn't know if you meant season one or two but to be honest i couldn't remember anything anyways so this is just a made up fight! hope you dont mind <3

❝yandere!jinx x fem!reader getting injured❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Believe it or not, Jinx drops everything once she notices you are hurt, especially if it is critical. Of course, if she is distracted by the fighting and adrenaline of a fight, it might take her awhile to notice until you collapse or the fight is over. I imagine pre-shimmer Jinx would be more attentive and notices if you are hurt even a bit.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But basically, she drops everything and would rush to your side nonetheless. She will kneel by your side, assessing your injuries. Oh god, that is a lot of blood. Since when did you have so many wounds?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thousands of thoughts swarm around her head. She is so scared of losing you, she can't lose another person she loves. She just can't. Voices of her adoptive brother's voice ring through her head and even Silco's. Saying things like how she just hurts everyone around her, this was bound to happen eventually. No wonder Vi didn't want her to come on the mission. She's a jinx.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thankfully, the marching and yells of incoming enforcers awakens her from her delusions. She scoops you in her arms pretty easily and rushes home to save you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But as she is racing away with you in tow, she looks down seeing your colored eyes begin to gloss over and droop, your skin getting colder and colder. No.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Without much thought she rushes you to Singed. He helped Silco save her, why couldn't he now?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Once you fully awaken you are not the same. The surgery was a success but your mind feels almost split into two. Your mind conjured the most horrible memories and distorted them into something worse. But Jinx was beside you through all of it.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You find your head laying in Jinx's lap, her painted nails twirling some strands of your hair between her fingers. She notices you, "Oh! You're awake!" She jumps and sit you upright. She is smiling but something in her face makes you believe she is worried, worried for you. Her motions are more jittery than usual.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She brings you a small makeup compact excitedly and open it up, showing your reflection through the small mirror. Your eyes were not the same color anymore. Instead they were a magenta color, something unnatural and not you. It almost reminds you of— "Now we match!" Jinx exclaims excitedly, as if you'd be happy.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "What did you do to me, Jinx?" You focus your gaze back onto her, feeling anger rising in your bones.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx scrunches her face, "What did I do? I saved you!" she says, practically snarling at your accusatory tone. She stands, throwing the makeup compact harshly at you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "You were going to bleed out in my arms so quit looking me like I'm some.. some monster!" Her voice breaks on the last note, showing her insecurity. You knew all about Jinx's past, about Vi.. Vander. You promised to never do the same thing to her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You take a deep breath in. reassessing your situation. Yes, you were.. different but you were fine, right? Your wound were gone and in fact, you felt more alive than before. More hyper-aware, like you are a fresh eyed baby seeing the world new again.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm.. I'm sorry, Jinx. I just feel so confused.. and different." You hunch over, cradling your own head in your arms.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx's look pities, all tension disappearing at the sight of your struggle. She knew exactly what it felt like, how violating it felt.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She kneels down in front of you, looking up and gently removing your hands from your face. "I know, I know what you must feel. But I promise. . I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have no other choice. Please."

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You lean down, pressing your forehead to Jinx's in an act of understanding and. . affection. "I believe you, thank you for saving me. We will get through this together, okay?" Jinx nods hurriedly, her eyes all wide and thankful.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 The rest of that day was spent with lots of cuddles and talking, maybe this new you wasn't that bad as long as you have Jinx.

a/n: why was this kind of a soft yandere for jinx? oh well. . it was really cute!! i hope you enjoyed :3

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hi can u pls do like a tag team type thing with Ellie Williams and vi or vi and Caitlyn please. Thank you!

Hi anon, thank you for this request. You gave me the perfect opportunity to try writing a threesome! I hope you enjoy this, I know it's more Vi-centric but I love my girl Ellie too.

Content: 1.5k words, Slight virgin/corruption kink (reader is their good girl and they gotta take her virginity!!), fingering (r! receiving), nipple-play (r! receiving), strap-on sex (r! receiving), use of pet names, not edited so may have some spelling errors

“I know what you want, angel.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your daydream. You were stuck on the way Ellie’s veins were visible through her hands and how you wanted her fingers deep inside you..you shouldn’t, ‘cause she’s supposed to be just a friend. Still, you’re a sick slut who’s imagining Ellie fucking you into outer space.

Not only that, but Vi, too. Her back, oh fuck..it’s so hard to think when she is wearing a wife-beater and her burly build is on display. You wanna claw into her back-

You’re so fucking obsessed with your two best friends, it’s unreal.

Ellie, for one, is a dream. She’s more standoffish and quiet—not shy, but prefers to keep to herself unless she’s with you and Vi. She feels comfortable, but she’s not like Vi in really any way that matters.

Where Ellie is into playing the guitar and reading comics, Vi’s into boxing and sports. You’re their cute best friend who somehow puts up with their bullshit. And right now, it’s so hard to study when Ellie suddenly shifts closer, and Vi’s words are on the other side of you, words spoken softly but teasingly into your ear.

You’re supposed to be doing peer review in your bedroom..

“W-What are you even talking about, Vi?!” You feign innocence.

Vi only laughs, and your core is heating up. How the hell did you go from playful banter to the room suddenly dripping with sexual tension, laid on so thick you swear it’s already filling your nostrils.

“Don’t act dumb, angel. We see the way you look at us. C’mon..” Her voice is alluring, soft, and it doesn’t help that Ellie is just staring at you with hungry eyes. She isn’t like Vi, not teasing and comedic when it comes to romance. That’s what is so enticing about the situation you’ve found yourself in; you have two completely different but beautiful girls in your bed! You’re somehow getting more pussy than the average masc, and you’re sporting stocking for fuck’s sake.

When your face goes all read and your fingers are trembling, it almost goes unnoticed by Ellie the way your thighs are squeezing together. She lays a hand on your left thigh, the side of you she’s sitting next to, and slowly traces her touch up and down, soft patterns as if she’s making sure you’re really into all this.

Ellie and Vi both know you’re into this..these bitches read your journal in which you talked about getting drilled by both their straps!

“Gonna get all shy on us now, angel?” Vi murmurs into your ear, lips hardly making contact with your soft skin. The funniest thing about all of this is that Ellie is the one touching you and she hasn’t said a single word. It’s Vi guiding this, and Ellie adds onto your neediness.

Then, you feel Vi’s soft lips trace over the side of your neck. You could’ve came right then and there, and Vi earned herself a gasp.

“P-Please..” Is all you can even say. Your brain is much too fucked to process anything else, to think of anything but getting fucked by your two friends who you cherish more than anything in this world.

Your thighs squeeze and Ellie leans closer into you. Now, her lips are smothering the opposite side of your neck. You’re currently feeling all the blood in your body rush down to your clit. Your panties are as soaked as they’d be at a water park.

“Please what? C’mon, baby..tell me ‘n Els what you need.”

“I need you to make me feel good!”

You sounded so breathless already, it was pretty cute. They couldn’t deny you when you were like this.

-

You were left in absolutely but your thigh-high stockings—Vi and Ellie mutually agreed to keep those on. You’re laid out, Vi holding your legs open so you don’t shy away, with your slick pussy on full display. You’re already a goner.

Vi has a huge dildo attached to the harness around her waist. You did not know she brought that monster. Ellie definitely knew this, it had to be planned.

Vi needs to prep you first, she doesn’t wanna hurt her and Ellie’s good girl. Her fingers first trail over your pussy lips, eliciting already desperate moans from you. Ellie is watching and you swear she has hearts in her eyes. She pressed her middle finger into your pussy slightly, making you immediately clench your thighs together around her hand, but she doesn’t let up because you’re giving her soft little little pleas, “p-please, Vi..”, all she wants is to please you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” She groans as she slides her finger knuckles deep into your sopping pussy, watching your reaction to make sure you’re doing okay, and then slowly pulls out and adds another, stretching you open slowly as your inner walls swallow her fingers up.

Ellie is sat beside your sprawled body, groping your tits and leaning down to swallow your little whines of need with her mouth.

Kissing Ellie is like another level of heaven. It’s what you imagine being high to be like, if you ever actually smoked weed. Her lips are so soft, so warm. Her tongue licks all over your mouth and it makes you moan even more. When she pulls away, you’re breathless.

“Think you can take my dick, baby?” Vi inquires, and you immediately let out a slutty moan.

“I can, I promise!! Please give it to me, Vi..”

Vi nearly loses her shit when she hears that. It’s always the good girls that are most desperate, am I right?

“Give it to her, Vi. She’ll take it.” Ellie assures the pink-haired girl, and it makes you even wetter that she is talking to Vi as if you’re not there, like you’re basically too dumbed down to understand what she is talking about.

Vi doesn’t seem to wanna waste much time. She pulls her fingers out slowly, making you whine in protest before letting Ellie lick them clean. She spits down and rubs it all over the silicone cock, then she runs the cock up and down along your pussy, making you dizzy with need.

She finally parts your pussy lips and slides just the tip in when she’s got enough of your slick on her dick, and your legs automatically wrap around her waist, making her almost say “fuck it” and pound into you like you’re just some whore.

Ellie watches with hunger as Vi slowly fucks her cock into you. There’s less resistance with all of your juices and Vi’s own..lubricant, but she can practically tell your pussy clamping down on the cock. She realizes just how long she has been sitting in complete awe and leans down to wrap her lips around one of your nipples, making you moan even louder and tangle your fingers into Ellie’s hair.

Getting fucked feels so dirty, and yet so, so good. You’ve got Vi pounding into you now, the ridges of the cock slamming into your spongey walls right where you need it. You’ve got Ellie’s eager tongue flicking against your nipples, taking turns with each while her hand is between you and Vi’s bodies, rubbing tight circles onto your clit.

Your eyes want to just close and feel what these girls are giving you, but you can’t. The sight is so embarrassing for you to watch, but it makes it all the more better to just watch Vi groan as she thrusts into you, and watch as Ellie softly bites your tits.

“Baby’s getting close, hm?” Vi teases, making you involuntarily clench on her cock, only hastening your upcoming orgasm. Ellie’s mouth leaves your nipple, much to your disappointment, to whisper into your ear.

“Cum for us.” Her words are so vulgar, but the soft pecks she plants on your neck is what really sends you over.

You cry out their names like you’re worshipping them, frantically grasping onto Ellie’s hair and tugging at it to keep her mouth all over you, her tongue on your throat, and Vi is saying the most filthy things you’ve ever heard her say as your orgasm crashes through you like waves.

“Fuckkk, swear I can feel your pretty little cunt milk me.”

“There you go, good girl..just cum for me and Ellie.”

When you finally come down from your high, Vi slows down and Ellie’s mouth leaves your neck to plant a few soft kisses on your lips, her fingers leaving your clit to squeeze your hand.

You’re all blissed out, cute little stockings still adorned, and panting with closed eyes.

You just know you’re gonna get the best aftercare.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - The Red Wedding

Summary - They attend a wedding where past promises and deep resentments threaten to unravel their fragile peace—a red wedding soaked in blood and betrayal.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Violence, injury

Word count - 2075

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"Aemond, are we certain this is the right thing to do?" I murmured, letting my head rest against his shoulder as his fingers traced delicate, mesmerizing patterns along the back of my hand. 

His touch, though gentle, did little to quell the unease churning within me.

"We have no choice," he murmured, the words weighed down by a resignation I had never seen in him before. 

He placed a lingering kiss on my hair before leaning back against the plush interior of the carriage. His expression was calm, but beneath it, I sensed the weight of his resolve.

"Attending this wedding together might be seen as a provocation," I continued, turning to meet his gaze. "Especially now that I am so visibly with child." 

My hand instinctively went to the swell of my belly, a protective gesture as much as a reminder of our delicate position.

"Lord Borros Baratheon extended the invitation himself, fully aware of my marital status," Aemond replied, his voice even and deliberate. "It would have been far more insulting to decline." 

He paused, his gaze drifting briefly to the passing scenery beyond the carriage window before returning to me with a flicker of steely determination. "Attending is our best option."

"Yes, but you must see how it looks," I insisted, my voice tinged with nerves. "The last time you were here, you made a promise to wed one of his daughters. And now we return—only for her to marry another—while you arrive with a wife and a child on the way." 

The words tumbled out in a rush, each one laced with apprehension. I could not shake the sense that we were inviting scandal and resentment.

Aemond's lips curved into a half-smile, his eye never leaving mine as he placed his hand over the gentle curve of my stomach. 

"You need not trouble your lovely mind with such matters," he said, his tone softening with rare tenderness. "We would not want to upset our child." 

His touch was firm yet comforting, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling to the surface.

His attempt to lighten the mood did little to dispel my concerns, but I found myself leaning into his touch nonetheless, drawing strength from the bond we shared. 

Whatever awaited us at Storm's End, we would face it together—consequences be damned.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Come closer, let me have a look at you," Lord Borros Baratheon's voice boomed through the grand hall, thick with arrogance and the simmering undertones of resentment. 

I hesitated, glancing nervously between Aemond and Alicent. Aemond's eye met mine, a brief but reassuring nod giving me the courage to move forward. 

I stepped closer to Lord Borros, bowing my head respectfully, though every instinct screamed at me to turn and flee.

"Ah, very pretty," he said, his tone teetering between begrudging admiration and veiled malice. "Prettier than this lot, that's for sure. And quite the figure." His laugh was a grating sound, coarse and hollow. 

Each word fell like stones into the strained silence. My breath caught in my throat, and I stole a quick glance over my shoulder. 

Aemond's expression had hardened, the faint smile that had lingered moments before now utterly erased.

"And you, my prince," Lord Borros continued, turning his attention back to Aemond with a sneer that only deepened the lines on his face. 

"You claim you betrayed our pact for love?" He spat the word as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I say you betrayed it for a pair of firm tits and a tight fit." 

He erupted into harsh laughter, the vulgarity of his words staining the air.

Shock rippled through me, and I stared at him, trying to comprehend his brazenness. Was he so embittered by wounded pride that he would insult a princess in his own hall? 

And why extend such an eager invitation, only to wield it as a weapon of humiliation?

A sudden, unmistakable movement drew my attention. Aemond had stepped forward, every line of his body taut with rage. 

Alicent's hand shot out, gripping his arm with surprising force. Her knuckles were white, and her face, though calm, was taut with tension. 

"Not now," she whispered, her voice low but commanding. Aemond remained still, his jaw clenched, but I could feel the storm brewing within him, barely restrained.

I willed myself to block out Lord Borros' continued tirade, his words fading to a meaningless drone. 

"Well, then!" he finally declared, gesturing with a dismissive wave. "Let the wine flow red, let the music drown out any unpleasantness. We shall move past this... indiscretion." 

His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp and unyielding.

I took a step back, desperate to distance myself from his presence, and returned to Aemond's side. His hand was cold when I grasped it, but I held on tightly, hoping to anchor him, to calm the tempest that raged behind his eyes. 

"It's alright," I whispered, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Let it go. We should have expected this."

His eye, so fierce and cold, softened slightly as it met mine. But only for a moment. 

"I'll put a dagger through his heart," Aemond hissed, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of iron. He took a step forward, murder written in every tense line of his body.

"No," I said, pulling him back firmly. "We are at a wedding. No blood will be spilled." 

My voice trembled only slightly, and he stopped, exhaling sharply as he ran a hand across his face, fighting for control. 

His body was a taut string on the verge of snapping, but he relented, if only for me.

With the tension still thrumming around us, I glanced down, instinctively placing a protective hand over the swell of my belly. 

The room's mood shifted; wine was poured, music swelled, and laughter—though forced—broke out. But my gaze never left Aemond's, and I could feel every ounce of his rage simmering beneath the surface, barely contained. 

In this den of wolves, our bond was the only shield I had, and I held on tight.

The celebrations carried on well into the night, a swirling blend of music, laughter, and clinking goblets. Torches cast flickering light across the great hall, their golden glow gilding the polished stone and embroidered banners that hung above. 

Floris Baratheon sat at the head table, radiant in her bridal gown, her new husband's whispered words drawing delighted laughter from her lips. 

The scene was one of merriment, but beneath the mirth, a current of unease twisted in my stomach.

Seated beside me, Aemond's jaw was set in a way I recognized all too well. His hand covered mine, squeezing gently as though to anchor himself—and perhaps, to calm me. 

I felt the weight of his attention and turned to find him watching me, his gaze softened just for me, despite the tension that bristled beneath his skin.

"See?" he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "I told you it would be fine." 

There was a hint of bitterness laced through his words—a reminder of Lord Borros's cruel taunts earlier in the evening, his vulgar words that had attempted to humiliate and reduce me to a trophy. 

"Well," he added with a grim twist of his lips, "as fine as it can be."

I managed a weak smile, more for him than myself. "Better than arrows at our backs, at least," I said, trying to lighten the mood. 

But my attempt fell flat; the specter of Borros's simmering resentment was too close, too real.

Aemond exhaled slowly, his gaze moving to the far end of the hall where Lord Borros and his sons presided over the feast like vultures perched on a branch. 

"He knows what he's doing," Aemond murmured, his eye narrowing. "A show of power, a reminder of his grievances."

"And yet, he invited us," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "He wanted this."

Aemond turned back to me, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "It doesn't matter," he said. "He can play his games and speak his poison. I won't let him touch you." 

His voice was hard as iron, but beneath it, I could hear the raw determination. "Not now. Not ever."

For a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. We were just two souls, trying to find strength in each other amidst a sea of enemies. 

I nodded, unable to find words, but the gratitude—and love—shone in my eyes. He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

"It will be fine," he repeated, softer this time, as if speaking it might make it true.

But the fleeting moment of calm was shattered.

The change was sudden—a shift in the air, a murmur that turned to sharp cries. A commotion rippled through the hall. I felt it before I saw it: a flash of movement, a figure too close. 

Time slowed as —a burning, excruciating pain—ripped through me. I gasped, a scream tearing from my throat as I clutched my stomach. Blood seeped between my fingers, hot and terrifying.

"Aemond!" I heard Alicent's frantic call. The next few moments passed in fragments. 

Aemond lunged forward, his face a mask of fury and fear, but he was too far. I staggered, my vision dimming. 

The floor rose up to meet me, and I fell, my hands instinctively pressing against the wound, desperate to hold in the life spilling out.

I tried to focus, to hold onto Aemond's face as he reached me, his hands trembling as they hovered over my blood-soaked dress, unsure where to touch, where to begin. His expression, usually so composed, was twisted with terror. 

"No, no, no," he chanted, voice cracking. "I'm here. I'm here."

His eyes widened, his body jerking as arrows found their mark—cruel, deadly shafts driven deep into his back. He stumbled but reached for me, collapsing to his knees. 

I pulled him close, using the last of my strength to shield him as best I could, around us, the world descended into madness—Baratheon men slaughtering without mercy. 

Screams of terror and death filled the air, but all I saw was Aemond.

My hands, slick with blood, found his. I pressed myself against him, my tears mingling with the blood on his face. 

"Aemond," I whispered, my voice raw with pain and fading life. I touched his face, my blood leaving streaks across his pale skin. "I love you." 

The words were heavy, each one a struggle. They were a plea, a promise, a farewell.

Tears mixed with blood as he cradled my face, his grip desperate.  "No," he breathed. "Please, don't leave me. I love you. I love you." He pressed a trembling hand to my stomach, the life we had hoped to share slipping between us. 

"Stay with me."

His plea was raw, unguarded—a prince brought to his knees by love and helplessness. I mustered a smile, though every fiber of me screamed in pain.

"Say it again," I begged, my voice a thin, fading thread. I needed to hear it one last time.

"I love you," he whispered, each word cracked and broken. In that moment, the world disappeared—the violence, the betrayal, all swallowed by the depth of his gaze. And then, darkness claimed me. 

My body went limp, the warmth of life slipping away as I fell into his arms.

Aemond's scream was a raw, guttural wail, tearing through the chaos. He clutched me tightly, rocking as if the force of his love alone could anchor me back to him. 

All around, death reigned. Alicent's voice rose above the noise, a mother's desperate cries. 

"Aemond! Get up! Walk out—please, please!" But Aemond did not move. His world had ended in his arms, and nothing else mattered. He would not leave me, even as his life bled away.

The clamor receded, fading into a dull roar. The hall was painted red—blood and betrayal staining every stone. 

Lord Borros approached, his eyes cold and unfeeling. In one swift motion, he plunged a dagger into Aemond's heart. A final betrayal, a cruel punctuation to a night steeped in treachery.

Aemond's body slackened, his gaze never leaving mine even as the light dimmed. His hand fell from my face, our blood mingling one last time. 

And as his world darkened, a bitter realization settled—a fleeting comfort in the agony. 

Though torn apart in life's cruel twist, perhaps in the realm beyond, we would be reunited. 

There, beyond pain and death, love would remain unbroken—a bond forged in blood and sacrifice, eternal and pure.

A/n - The Red Wedding did something to me the first time I watched it and I don't think I've ever recovered from it.

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy @veesuguru

[archiveof22048]

oceans and engines | michael kaiser sfw | fem!reader with she/her pronouns, swearing

he sees footprints on the sand, he smells the salty air of the sea, and he feels the coldness of your hand, who drags him along the bleakness of the beach. even as he closes his eyes, knowing that he trusts you with where you're leading him, he can still hear the huffing of his breath, trying to keep up with your pace, he can still feel the waves crashing around his bare feet, and he can still taste your expensive chapstick on his lips, as cold as they may be.

"open your eyes, mihya."

and so he does.

the sky is still as it was: desolate and devoid of blue, overcast, and sad. the sea is cold, vast, neverending.

immediately, he tenses up, and he thinks maybe he should have listened to you when he peeled off his jacket before you left his car in the parking lot (it's not even his own car, nor his own jacket, but he hasn't the heart to tell you). he's jealous of you, with your hands tucked in the pockets of your jacket, all bundled up in your layers.

then, you scream.

"the fuck was that?" he asks, his voice raised.

"i'm letting go," you say, just a bit louder than his question. you've got this smile on his face that begs for him to kiss you again.

he scoffs. "of what? you don't even have anything to let go of."

"just shout, mihya!"

and so he does.

"FUCK!!!!!!!!"

you laugh. "yes, that's it! just scream!!!"

"goddamnit!" he screams into the sea. "fuck you, dad! fuck my life! agh!" he kicks the sand, but the sand is wet and hard to kick up, so he gets even more frustrated, and he kicks harder. it splatters on the ground like blood.

again, you giggle. "look at you, soccer player. kicking up anything you see."

he rolls his eyes, but he's half-smiling. "you're lucky i left the soccer ball in the car or else i would have kicked that shit in your face."

"but then i would have a broken nose, and i wouldn't be pretty anymore," you quip, pouting.

he marches over to you, as shouting into the sea had migrated him away from where you are standing. he cups your cheeks gently. "whatever. as long as your lip's not busted, or else it'd be pretty hard to kiss you, huh?"

"jeez mihya, you're so clingy today," you tease as he leans into you, burrowing his face into your neck. he claims it's warm, but you can feel the cold touch of his lips right on the base of your neck. all you can do is wrap your arms around him, and you keep your giddiness to yourself by planting your feet in the sand (if you bounce your knees, he'll remind you of how excited you were when he returned your feelings for him).

"teach me something," he mumbles, dodging your tease.

you rub your hand over his back. "what would you like to learn today?"

"i dunno, just anything."

"but that's what you always say!"

"math, then."

you scoff. "i can only teach you so much math! i'm still learning geometry!"

he laughs. "isn't that just triangles and stuff?"

you pull away from his grasp, still holding onto his hand. your fingers are interlaced. "yeah, well... it's hard to explain."

eventually, you decide to review the vocabulary list that you learned in school the past week. you sit down on the sand, taking off your leather bag and pulling out your school notebook, and he sits down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

after reciting your fifty words for the week, you close your notebook, and you sling the bag over your shoulder. "well, that's vocabulary for you," you conclude.

"interesting," he says. "now i know what the word 'philosophy' means."

the both of you stand up and dust off the sand from your legs and behinds. he takes it as an opportunity to rub your behind, borderline caressing your ass, and you turn around and smack his hand away.

"mihya!"

"must've been the wind," he jests, giving you his signature half-smirk.

you look at your wristwatch. "ah, mihya. it's five after."

he rolls his eyes. "whatever. he's not going to get back 'til way later, anyways. gonna go gamble whatever money we have left."

you tuck your hands into your pockets, smiling sheepishly up at him. "well, let's at least start walking back to your car in case he does come back earlier than you expect."

...

he puckers his lips.

"give me a kiss before you leave."

rou've got one foot out of the car, ready to be dropped off in front of your house, while he holds onto your left wrist, stopping you from leaving. he looks like he really owns the car he stole: he grips the steering wheel like he's driven the car a million times, and his slouched posture is to show he's not afraid of wondering whether you're going to kiss him or not.

you close your eyes and smile while you lean in.

"i love you, mihya."

"i love you, too."

then, you leave the car and that is the last time michael kaiser sees you before he becomes famous.

...

"she's beautiful, kaiser."

kaiser looks up from his phone.

it's alexis ness, his teammate, who takes a seat next to him on the bench of bastard munchen's locker room. he's being awfully nosy right now, peering over next to kaiser, taking a look at what's on his phone screen.

"my stupid phone from five years ago has the shittiest quality," kaiser dejectedly states. "you can't even see her eyes clearly."

"but you have a new phone just last year," ness points out.

kaiser scoffs, and he starts rubbing his phone screen with the bottom of his shirt, pretending like it'll do something to clear up the photo of you. "yeah, and transferring all these pictures of her fucked up the quality."

ness hums in understanding (he doesn't get it). "well," he begins to pry, "who is she?"

kaiser's smirk that appears on the field, ness notices, is cold and haughty. it is angering, irritating, and would make any opponent of his shudder and scream. it identifies the emperor of the field, and it is an expression that rules over all.

yet, this smile of kaiser's is unlike anything ness has ever seen during his years of knowing him. kaiser's piercing blue eyes immediately soften, and only the corners of his mouth are lifted up in a smile- it's gentle, bittersweet, and humble. ness feels like he's intruding into the depths of kaiser's heart.

"she's my girlfriend."

ness stands up in shock, and he can't help but clutch the back of his head to accentuate his surprise. "you never told me you had a girlfriend, kaiser!"

kaiser can't help but laugh. "you never asked!"

"well, what does she do?" ness asks curiously.

kaiser hums in thought. "hmm. well, when she was in tenth grade she said she wanted to become a writer. dunno if that's changed, though."

it takes a second for ness to process his answer. "you... don't know what she's doing?"

"well, she's probably studying in university right now. can't say for sure what she's learning."

again, ness is confused. he furrows his brows. "are you saying you haven't talked to her since five years ago? since you joined bastard munchen?"

kaiser looks down in what could be described as shame. ness isn't really sure what he'd call it, but it is definitely not pride. it's such a foreign look on kaiser's face, no expression like ness has ever known kaiser to make.

it becomes increasingly difficult for kaiser to defend himself. so, he resorts to a different tactic: he begins to show ness different photos of you. "oh," kaiser says in fake surprise, "look at this picture of her."

it was a struggle to plan dates between the two of you, but on the rare occasion that you and he could hang around your neighborhood, you'd take him to your favorite ice cream parlor. during this particular date, you and kaiser challenged each other to see who could finish their ice cream cone the fastest, but it ended up as a default win for kaiser as you had accidentally knocked over your ice cream and it landed straight onto the ground.

ness is immediately drawn to the exaggerated faux frown on your face, coupled with happy eyes. he looks over your expensive outfit, and then down at where you're pointing in the image: the melting ice cream on the ground.

he laughs. it's a short "haha," and he isn't sure whether it's out of pity, or if he's trying to play it cool for the delusional kaiser, or if it is genuinely a funny picture. but, he looks past the phone in front of him and looks at kaiser, who has this expression that borderlines ignorance and pure joy.

"funny, right? she's so clumsy, i swear," kaiser says, swiping through more photos on his phone. ness cannot help but notice the softness in kaiser's eyes; how unfamiliar it is to see this boy so vulnerable. "take a look at this one."

after screaming at the beach, kaiser let you take control of the music in the car on the way back to your house. thus, you were granted access to his phone- shoddy, yet reliable. it was probably not the best for taking quality pictures, but pictures were memories, nonetheless.

it was a selfie of the two of you, with you sticking your tongue out and holding a peace sign, and kaiser with his eyes laser-focused on the road. he's got his left hand on the steering wheel and his right on your thigh. as casual as the photo was, ness already knew the intimacy of your relationship.

as kaiser pulls back his phone, ness watches kaiser's expression once more. he looks at his phone like he's in love. kaiser's peculiar smile, unfamiliar to his face, was born from the feelings he held for this girl that he hasn't talked to since he was whisked away in the world of soccer.

"i wonder if she watches my games," kaiser wonders out loud. "i mean, i must be that famous to be appearing nationwide, right?"

ness is taken aback by the sudden change of tone. "u-uh, yeah, for sure, kaiser."

kaiser is pleased with ness's answer. then, he goes back to his phone, swiping through more photos, and consequently chuckles. "oh my god, i forgot i took this video. look at this, ness."

the quality is so bad, but at least he can hear your voice.

...

you're holding onto his soccer ball.

your back is turned to him, and you're dragging him along by holding onto his wrist. his other hand is holding his phone, recording you.

"we're almost there, mihya," you call out from over your shoulder.

his hand holding the phone swats away tree branches, and occasionally dried up leaves crinkle beneath his feet.

"jeez, are you gonna kidnap me or something?" he asks from behind the camera.

then, it suddenly comes into view.

it's an open field. it's just pure grass for miles and miles, and for some reason, it's all trimmed.

the camera pans onto you, and it's slightly shaky. you hold up your hands in defense, and you exclaim, "i didn't cut any of this grass, by the way! i just found it like this, and i wanted to show you. so you can play soccer to your heart's content..."

you drop the soccer ball and begin kicking it around. you've picked up some tricks from him.

"there's no goal post though, i hope you don't mind..."

then, the phone drops.

he calls out your name. "i love you."

"i love you too, mihya."

"i love you more!"

"you better make it big, okay? i didn't show you this field for nothing."

"well, you better watch me, alright?"

"i'll always be watching!"

"shit, wait, where's my phone?"

[igbylicious]

you know i was wondering... when you have something in the pipeline about yunwoosan's oneshot, could you give us a spoiler? it doesn't have to be much just enough... please ⟵⁠(⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

pls accept these ~500 words of smut as a lil preview, i hope you like them ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ it dives right into the middle of the filth lol

preview warnings: dom Yunho & San, sub Wooyoung & reader, mxm Woosan (w/ anal fingering), voyeuristic reader, hand-on-throat, choking, spanking, degradation (reader is called a pervert & a cockslut), reader uses she/her pronouns, possessive Yunho, i get so dizzy writing him for this one yall

Your head spins as you gasp for air — and though you and Yunho have stopped moving, the bed still creaks underneath you, with familiar whiny moans filling the bedroom. You don’t even think about it, can’t think, when you peek back over your shoulder.

Vision blurred from unshed tears, you just barely make out the forms of San and Wooyoung. San is hunched over the smaller man, grunting as he finger-fucks him hard, his free hand pinning Wooyoung’s thigh to hold him down as Wooyoung jerks and cries out at the punishing pace.

He’s completely lost in the throes of pleasure, head thrown back and spine arching, his unpinned leg kicking out and spasming. His cock is hard and leaking on his stomach, his hand harshly smacked away when he reaches down for relief. San revels in his whines with a toothy grin… a grin that widens when he glances over and sees you looking at him.

“Oh baby, no.”

Your memory jolts back to life with a shock, eyes widening as you remember Yunho’s one rule, but it’s too late.

A hand closes around your throat and you gasp as Yunho forces you to look at him. You whimper, fully expecting to see fury in his eyes — and are thrown completely off balance when Yunho is pouting cutely instead, an unnerving contrast to his rough hold on you.

“And you were doing so well,” he sighs. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? What a little pervert you are, you really love watching them that much. What about me, hm?”

“I-I—” You stammer, blood rushing down your core you as his thumb slowly presses down on the side of your neck. “Yunho, ‘m so—”

Your breath goes wheezy at the pressure, all while Yunho stares you down with those big, beautiful eyes. His pout fades away, leaving nothing but cool disappointment. “I get jealous, you know,” he murmurs, leaning in to nose at your cheek, lips brushing against your jaw. “Don’t wanna share just yet. What’s a guy gotta do to keep your attention?”

You suck in a tight breath when Yunho smacks his other hand against your ass, and then again, warming the skin. You whine at every impact, reflexively arching into it. Needing more.

“Ah, so that gets your attention,” Yunho says, his eyebrows raising with interest. “You know what I think?” His fingers tighten around your neck ever so slightly. You feel dizzy, drowning in heat. “I think Sannie has been too soft on you. A spoiled little cockslut like you gets to do whatever she wants around him, don’t you?”

You weakly shake your head ‘no’; a bald-faced lie. San is soft like whipped cream when it comes to you.

Predictably, Yunho doesn’t buy it for a second. His palm connects with your ass again, a little harder this time. “No? You really expect me to believe that?” Yunho scoffs. “I bet all it takes is one needy look from those pretty eyes and he’s right down on his knees for you.”

[sweatyracoon]

Unlikely Scene

Based on this edit

A/n: I watched this edit and literally screamed. I would kill for them fr fr 💀

Warnings: smut? Knife play, blood? Death, Sub reader, knife fucking, fear play? Threesome, penetration, mxm, dom Lee know, switch Seungmin, freaky reader, let me know if I missed anything

You had known for while who your boyfriends were. And it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You were surprised when you first found out, but you were quick to assure them that you were heavily into it.

Ever since the killings had started, and you heard about it from the news, you were more intrigued than scared. You had always had a macabre fascination for murderers and their reasonings. You had studied a lot of them, in fact. Even fell in love with the idea of dating a killer, hoping that he would use it against you if he ever got angry with you. Threaten you with any weapon of their choice. Make you beg.

It made your knees weak just thinking about it.

When you saw that iconic black mask with a face that looked as if it were melting, you felt your heart flutter. Not in fear, but curiosity. The news itself had said each killing had started with a phone call. The killer was male, and enjoyed toying with his victims. That was all they knew. It made you fantasize about him, and how his voice sounded. You had become obsessed with this killer in particular.

To have a notorious serial killer in your lifetime made you squeal in excitement, and not only that, he was in your town! Why you were excited, you didn’t know. You knew that you should be afraid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be.

You kept your doors and windows locked, but you stayed up, wondering who was next. If you knew them. If he was anywhere near you. What type of blade did he use? Did he even use a blade? What if he used just regular kitchen scissors? You couldn’t help it as your mind wandered during the early hours.

You finally drifted to sleep.

The next day, reports were consistently flowing through the news about the new killer, and how the locals had dubbed him Ghostface. The name made you shiver, the sound of it rolling off your tongue in admiration.

How could he have gotten a fan following so quickly?

You unlocked your phone, inputting his name in the tag bar, millions of posts appearing in seconds. You saw pictures of people wearing a similar mask, but you noticed that none of them were the same. It made you wonder if the killers mask was custom made. You also saw fake deaths and pretty girls chewing their bubble gum while calling the guy a creep.

They might be next, you hoped, rolling your eyes.

A couple weeks later, two more deaths were caused at the hands of your new obsession, the people unknown to you. You didn’t lose any sleep over it. But you noticed that the next video caught of him, his body was slightly different. To most people, they wouldn’t notice. But you watched this man closely. The next photo was the same mask. The scuff near the chin and the small indent near the right eye didn’t go unseen by you, but this body was a few inches taller, and his shoulders broader.

That’s not him…is it?

You suddenly doubted yourself, unsure if you were paying enough attention. You cursed at yourself, pulling out your phone, looking at your ghostface file.

Okay. You confirmed that it most definitely wasn’t the same guy. The original was smaller, and more built. This guy was a tall scrawny guy. But the robes and large mask made it hard to see. Even the news people didn’t even notice it. They kept on speaking as if it were your killer. But it wasn’t. You sighed out, suddenly wondering if this was a two man job? Maybe three? Or if this was just a phony that wanted attention.

You sighed, hopping in the shower on your second floor. You didn’t even hear your phone ringing, the shower flooding your ear drums, the steam making you lazy.

When you stepped out, you noticed the missed call. It was from an unknown number, making you shrug, drying your hair. Two minutes later as you’re putting on your shorts, your phone rings again. The same number.

You answer, wiping your legs.

“Hello, y/n,” a raspy voice greeted, making you freeze.

“Hello? Do I know you?” You ask casually, dropping your towel at your feet.

“You might have seen me on tv. I’m a pretty big deal right now, some might say…an icon,” he said, chuckling a bit at the end. You barely caught it.

You had a feeling as to where this was going. You remembered that the news lady said it all started with a phone call. Your breath hitched in your throat, but your insides turned to jello, arousal pooling in your stomach.

“Well, give me a hint, then. What type of people consider you an icon?” You turned slowly, facing your bathroom door, looking passed the hinges into your room. Empty.

“The not so nice people. The ones that want to hurt others…People that crave violence, that worship the wrong god…And guess what? I see that you idolize me, princess. So which type of person are you? You don’t seem violent, just curious,” You could tell he was using a voice changer, but despite knowing it was fake, your thighs clenched together at his on point answer. You breathed deeply.

“I-How did-?” You stuttered, your face flushing. You had all of your Ghostface memorabilia in the guest bedroom, and if he knew that you geeked out over him, that meant he was here. In your home. You were next.

“You must worship the wrong god, sweetheart. Such a shame it has to be you tonight,” he almost sounded genuine, but it was hard to tell with his altered voice. You stepped forward towards your bed, sitting at the edge.

“You’re here?” You whispered, earning a laugh from him.

“Yes, sweetheart. I am.”

Your eyes glazed over, the reality of the situation reaching you before you knew it. A shudder ran through you, and you decided to press your luck. It was silent on the other end, and you took your chance.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?”

You heard a small gasp from him, making you lightly smile.

“Sir? Well with such nice manners, I shall grant you a question or two,” his voice was the same, but the tone turned slightly more playful.

“Are there…are there two of you? I noticed that, you looked a bit different from before…It’s hard to explain-“ you were cut off with a solid answer.

“Yes. There are two of us. A team, if you will,” his voice was thin now, almost reserved, which was so different then the previous playful killer that you had gotten used to in those few minutes.

“Lucky for you, we both came tonight,”

Your eyes widened, unsure how to feel at that statement. Both? What did that mean for you? Are they both gonna try and kill you? Was one here to take pictures while the other stabbed you to death? Your mind wandered, not hearing what he said to you before hanging up.

Your hand dropped to your side, your phone sliding from your palm and onto the floor. You sat still, suddenly aware of the footsteps coming from your hallway. They sounded heavy, and moved with a purpose.

Your eyes caught the black robes as they glided into your room, a knife in his hand. Just one?

He paused in front of you, frozen. You wondered what he was thinking, considering he was wearing the damn mask. You felt your panties sticking to your wet core, making you move your legs. You were desperately hoping he would take the mask off at least once before he killed you. You wanted to see the face of the man that had gotten you hooked over the past few months. It was the least he owed you.

He shifted on his feet, not coming closer.

He almost looked uncomfortable. You tilted your head.

“Were you the one on the phone?” You asked calmly, causing the man to recoil in response.

“I was,” you heard a voice say from your hallway.

You didn’t even hear his steps. When he emerged, he was wearing the same outfit and mask as the other, and you noticed how he was the taller of the two, the one with the broad shoulders. You gasped. He took his palace next to his comrade, towering over both he and you.

“Well?” He cooed, his voice significantly different from how he sounded on the phone. It was lighter and angelic. He could be a singer during the day. He tilted his head as you did to the other, his posture making you feel things you had never felt before.

“Can I see you both? Before you…you know?” You cringe at the thought of death, and the shorter of the two recoiled yet again.

“Why aren’t you running? You should be scared,” he finally spoke, his English slightly broken. Almost as if he was from out of the country.

“Cause she’s fucked up. Ain’t that right sweetheart?” The taller answered for you, making your mouth dry. His voice was so sweet, but his tone condescending. All you could do was stare as thy looked at each other through the masks.

“Let’s let her see. After all, she isn’t gonna be around much longer tonight,” he sighed, almost as if it were a chore.

Your focus was now pointed at them fully, watching the smaller struggle internally before sighing as well, nodding. They both reached for the hems of the masks, tugging the off. At first you couldn’t see their faces, shaking their heads to fix their messy hair. But when they flipped them up, your jaw dropped.

They were absolutely gorgeous. The shorter, his features were sharp, his eyes slanted like a cat. And his lips were thin, his bunny teeth showing as he cringed at the feeling of his hair pointing in every direction. His adams apple shaped like a heart as he tilted his neck to pop it. His gaze was intense as he observed you. His muscular build framed by the robe.

The taller of the two, scrawny, but firm. His broad shoulders held his beautiful face, his cheeks round, and his eyes big and devastating, reminding you of a puppy. His hair brown with a blonde bang. And his lips framed the silver braces shimmering as he smiled.

You fought the urge to make a noise of plea.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” The taller asked with a grin, making you gulp.

You didn’t respond, unsure if there was a right answer or not. You continued looking at them, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, sighing at the friction.

“Answer me.” His voice deepened, almost like a growl. You gasped when he came to stop in front of you, grabbing your chin to look up at him.

“Are you turned on right now?” He questioned, a mocking tone lacing his voice as he grinned at you.

Your eyes watered slightly, feeling a little spacey.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

He laughed, letting go of your chin, making you whine at the loss of his touch. He stepped back, his grin spreading as he went to whisper something into his friend’s ear. His eyes darkened as he smirked, both turning to you with lust in their gaze.

“Lay down,” the shorter barked the order, and you obeyed immediately, making their eyes widen in shock. They didn’t expect you to comply so easily.

“What should I call you guys?” You mutter, watching as they both went to opposite sides of the bed.

The looked at each other before nodding.

“Lee Know,” the boy said at your right.

“Seungmin,” the one on your left said.

Their names were beautiful to you, and suddenly you wanted to sing them as a mantra, your own prayer. But you held back, not wanting this moment to end.

They both just stared at what you for what felt like hours, your legs brushing against each other to relieve yourself any way you could. Your eyes caught Seungmin gaze, locking onto him as you admired him from your position. You didn’t notice Lee know moving his knife to brush against your throat, making you freeze, eyes widened but still focused on seungmin.

You felt the cool metal brush against your skin, moving lower, reaching your top. He paused before moving above them lower. You whined at the muted feeling of the knife above your clothes, making them both chuckle.

“Your liking this aren’t you, sweetheart? You like Lee Knows knife?” Seungmin cooed, bringing his hand up to caress your face.

You sniffled, “Yes,” you whine, your legs twitching when he pushed the tip of the board into your inner thigh. A slight prick that made you see stars. You turned to look at the other man, watching as he slipped it into the waistband of your shorts.

He used his other hand, using it and the knife to pull them off, immediately noticing you wearing nothing underneath. He groaned, tossing your shorts to the side. You gasped when the blade met your skin again, the sudden chill painful before heating into a deep fire.

“Then you wouldn’t mind him fucking you with it?” Your eyes widened, turning back to Seungmin, seeing his cocky grin. He brushed a hair from your face, raising his brows. “What, sweetheart? You don’t want this? Don’t want us?”

If you were in your right mind, you would be able to tell he was manipulating you, but you were too far gone to care, and you really wanted this. Wanted them.

“I want it! Please! I want it so bad…” you groaned, moving your hips slightly.

Seungmin smiled before watching Lee know flip the knife, placing the handle at your entrance.

The handle with warm from his hands, a deep contrast to the chill of the blade.

“Ready?” Lee Know asked. You barely had the chance to respond as he thrusted the handle in, pressing it to the hilt. The beginning of the blade hit your ass, but he positioned it to where it couldn’t cut you.

You moaned loudly, your back arching as he started thrusting the handle at a steady pace. You whimpered, turning back to Seungmin. He no longer held his mocking smile, instead his face filled with concentration as he watched where Lee Knows hands met your middle, his braces showing from his open mouth.

“You like it, Seungmo? She pretty, ain’t she?” Lee Know slurred, staring at his friend.

“So pretty, Minnie,” he breathed, listening to the squelching of your pussy. He looked up and caught his gaze, both of them staring at each other. It made your toes curl.

Suddenly Lee know pushed forward, capturing seungmin in a kiss. He was caught by surprise, but melted into it, quickly slipping tongue. You watched as you were being fucked, the sight alone enough to make you finish.

You felt the coil in your stomach burn hotter with each second, but it finally snapped when you heard the high pitch moan from seungmin. You came hard as the boys separated, a string of saliva connecting them together.

“Good girl, y/n,” Lee Know mumbled, his lips wet and swollen.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

You opened your eyes to see them both staring at you, their eyes glossy and focused.

“Did the knife cut you?” Seungmin asked, reaching for your discarded shorts.

You huffed out, not expecting that question.

“No…are you guys gonna…?” You made a slash motion at your neck, watching seungmin look at you hard.

“No…But I have another idea for you,” his playful tone back, he grinned at the two of you.

“Be our girlfriend. Our watchdog. Let us know if anyone’s on to us. I see you already have done plenty of research, sweetheart,” His head tilted as he grinned at you.

You looked at Lee know, and he nodded, smiling. You noticed the slick on the handle of the knife. You reached for it, Lee know flinching, thinking you were going to retaliate. Instead, you brought it to your lips, licking it seductively as you looked at them both.

“I’d be honored,” you giggled, making them smile.

That’s how you all become partners in crime <3