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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || william killick x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || your husband sometimes gets carried away with his devotion to you...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || noncon/heavy dubcon smut (18+ only!!! rough sex, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, praise and degradation, dark but the reader is lowkey into it lmaooo), jealousy and possessiveness, yandere vibes?, gaslighting/manipulation, established relationship, alcohol consumption

"Heavens, you look stunning!" Gordon announced when he saw you, opening his arms wide as an invitation for an embrace. You only went in for a quick hug, but he grabbed you tight and kissed the top of your head as you laughed delightfully. "Doesn't she look ravishing? Don't I have excellent taste?"

The other ladies nearby nodded in agreement, hanging off of him like they tended to. That was the way Gordon was: magnetic, for his personality just as much as his looks. Blonde curls with light brown eyes and that megawatt smile… as long as you'd known him, he'd never had trouble with ladies— he just made trouble for them.

"Aren't I the greatest literary agent you ever had?" he asked you, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're the only I've ever had," you reminded him. "You represented me when I was a teenage girl trying to sell my assignments from secondary school!"

"Yes, so I win by default," he decided with a big kiss to your cheek that made you scrunch up your nose.

"But that makes you the worst I ever had, too, doesn't it?" you noticed as Gordon relaxed his embrace to just an arm around your waist.

"See?" he prompted the nearby women, "Didn't I tell you? Can't get anything past this one— sharp as a whip, she is—"

As you shrugged in dismissal of the praise, you looked around the room in awe of all Gordon had done for you now. He had a taste for the extravagant, clearly; truth be told, it was nothing like you'd pictured it, and nothing like what you'd asked him for when he insisted on throwing a party.

"So, please, drink up, be merry, all of that," Gordon instructed his ladies, motioning out towards the crowded room, "get properly sloppy if you must— all in honour of this lovely woman right here… a genius of writing, and one of my longest and dearest friends."

As they departed in search of free drinks, you turned to Gordon with a nervous frown. "I'm not sure this is really all for me, Gordy," you sighed.

"Of course it is," he chuckled heartily, "I told you I'd throw something to celebrate another year of us working together— I wanted to have a gala for your novel's first publishing, but you were too busy on the honeymoon then—"

You smiled just at the mention of your honeymoon.

"All these people, doll, they're here for you," Gordon assured.

"The people, maybe; but the evening wear, the drinks, the music, the glamour? That's for you, isn't it?" you smirked.

But before he could respond to the accusation, his eyes fell somewhere at the other end of the room, and he turned you to look the same way. "Speaking of people here for you…" he trailed off.

You perked up when you saw William, slipping through the crowds of people, already approaching you with his hat tucked under his arm.

"You came!" you squealed with excitement as you jumped towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Oh, dear," you sighed when you saw that you'd printed berry-red lipstick on his cheek, starting to wipe it off with your fingers.

"I couldn't miss it, of course," he smiled at you, his voice so soft you barely heard it over the hustle and bustle of the party.

"They shouldn't have let you in," Gordon said, making you both look back at him. "It's black tie only, you know."

William smiled slightly with his lips pressed together. "He's only joking," you realised with an awkward mumble.

"The uniform seemed to go over alright," William replied, sticking his hand out towards Gordon for a shake.

"Oh, don't be so formal," Gordon laughed as he yanked William into rough side-hug. "We know each other, don't we?"

"Sort of," William answered under his breath as Gordon put a heavy hand— adorned with golden decorative rings— on his shoulder.

"Though I've half a mind to rough you up for convincing my star author to publish her next book under her married name," Gordon continued with a haughty laugh. "She's already so established with the maiden name!"

"I didn't convince her of anything, I only married her," William defended.

"Never thought you'd manage to tie this one down," Gordon smirked, "independent as she is."

"She didn't put up too much of a fight," William winked at you, and you felt a little flushed as you blinked quickly.

Apparently tired with that line of conversation, Gordon stood beside you and flipped it back to the real topic of the evening: your writing.

“She’s quite a prodigy!” Gordon exclaimed with a wide grin, wrapping an arm around you, then. “You’ve read what she writes, haven't you?”

“Some of it,” William admitted with a nervous laugh, looking down for a moment. “The rest is too sad for me, I’m afraid.”

“Her latest is a masterpiece,” Gordon assured. “Forbidden love, secrets, affairs—”

“Sordid stuff,” William frowned, shaking his head.

“Sells, though,” Gordon winked. “Men and women— we’re even selling copies in America!”

William only nodded, not seeming too convinced, and you deflated slightly as you reached out for your husband’s hand. “Aren’t you proud of me?” you asked, sounding much more pathetic than you meant to.

“Of course, darling,” he smiled at you, “always.”

“You don’t mind if I borrow your lovely wife again, do you?” Gordon beamed. “There’s some people over there she should meet— they might just sponsor the tour for her next novel.”

“All these book tours, I feel as if she’s hardly ever home,” William sighed.

“Well, we’ve got to keep her on the tours,” Gordon chuckled, “or that pretty face will go to waste!”

William’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly in agreement, and you felt nervousness turning in your stomach.

“You should have a drink, soldier,” Gordon offered to lighten the obvious tension, handing William a wide glass of champagne.

He patted your husband a little too roughly on the back as he drank, before dragging you off to talk to some publishers or whatever— you glanced over to try to see your husband at the bar, hoping to catch him smiling at you, but you only caught his icy stare over the edge of his glass.

Enough liquor loosened you both up, and you managed to enjoy the party well into the hours of the night— it was almost one in the morning when you got home, yet you had a shocking amount of energy still coursing through you as you started to undress at the vanity. It must’ve been all the people there, and knowing they were all celebrating you; it was electrifying, even as someone who preferred to be cooped up alone with her typewriter.

William leaned against the bedroom doorway as you shed your heels and stockings, then unpinned your hair. When you saw him skulking on the reflection, you smirked to yourself, taking out one of your earrings.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked sweetly, but he said nothing. “Love?”

“I guess I’m not much of a partier,” he explained flatly.

You smiled a little, taking out your other earring and then reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. You didn’t even really notice the silence before it was broken.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” William said suddenly, and you scoffed— once you realised what he was talking about.

“He’s just that way,” you assured, “I don’t take it personally.”

“And all the talk of your genius, of your prodigious writing— that’s not personal?”

You shrugged slightly as you turned slightly and looked at him over your shoulder, smiling but knitting your brows together in confusion. “Isn’t that why you married me? I thought you liked the way people fawn over me.”

“But you know him,” William insisted again. “You knew him before you even met me, you work with him— you spend long hours with him, when I’m gone—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laughed, standing up, but he only glared at you. You tilted your head as you approached him. “William, you couldn’t really think—”

“Don’t patronise me,” he sneered, and when you reached out to touch his face, he snatched you by the wrist and yanked you closer.

“William!” you scolded, whimpering as he moved his face close to yours, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through them. “William, please—”

“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your face with his other hand. “Look at your husband, darling.”

You bit your lip to suppress its shaking, meeting his fiery— yet cold— stare. “You’re hurting me,” you whispered, tightening your hand into a weak fist as he held it painfully tight.

“I can see, you know,” he told you sharply and quietly through his teeth. “I can see the way you laugh at his jokes, and let him pull you closer. His hand on your hip—”

“It’s nothing, William,” you breathed, and his hand moved down from your face to your neck, then your chest, where he brushed his fingers over the neckline of your dress.

“Wearing the dresses he buys for you,” he noticed with a sneer. “God, he’s got you looking like his fucking whore.”

He shoved you back and you tripped to land on the bed, hiding your face in fear and shame as he stalked towards you.

“Now you want to play innocent?” William spat as he towered over you. “I told you to fucking look at me!”

“I can’t!” you sobbed, fighting when he grabbed your arms and tried to pry them apart, attempting to force you to turn onto your back. “I can’t, William, not when you’re like this!”

“You made me like this!” he accused, eventually getting you to turn over so he could pin down your wrists on either side of your head. “You made me like this,” he said again, voice lowered from shouting to a soft growl. “You let him put his filthy fucking hands all over you, didn’t you?”

“No, William,” you denied, crying weakly as you shook your head. “Never. I love you— I love you more than anything.”

“But you won’t tell me the truth,” he snarled. “The truth, darling, not another story— not another one of your goddamn stories!”

“He kissed me!” you admitted suddenly, and before you could explain, William roughly slammed his lips onto yours. You whimpered into it, struggling against his tightening grip, and he pressed you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

“Tell me how it happened,” he demanded, lips still brushing against yours as he spoke, eyes still piercing through you.

“I swear, Will, I told him to stop,” you breathed, “I pushed him away. I told him I love you, William— and I do, don’t you know how much I do?”

“He kissed you,” William repeated, rage tinting his voice.

“That’s all, I swear,” you promised.

“And you didn’t tell me—”

“I thought you’d get angry,” you defended weakly.

“You didn't tell your poor, doting husband,” he groaned, “your heartbroken husband—”

“I’m so sorry, William,” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me, hm? Because you love him?”

“No! Fuck, no,” you cried.

“Because you considered it— because you thought about letting him make love to you?”

“No!” you shouted, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth to muffle it. When you stopped, stilling briefly as he looked down at you, he took his hand away and stroked your cheek with it.

“He must have forgotten,” William whispered under his breath, petting your face and acting oddly sweet. “He must have forgotten that you… belong to me.”

You blinked quickly, shivering as he pressed a slow, short kiss to your lips.

“That these lips belong to me,” he continued with a sigh, “that this neck belongs to me—”

He kissed it, but brushed his teeth teasingly over your pulse.

“That every single, beautiful, perfect part of you,” he went on, hands running down over your chest and settling on your waist tightly, “belongs to me.”

He bit down harder on your neck and you whined.

“Did you forget too, darling?”

“William, you’ll leave marks,” you whimpered, “you’ll bruise me—”

“Good,” he purred, “then you can’t just take your ring off and act single, can you?”

“I never take off your ring, William,” you swore, “not even to bathe…”

“I still want my marks all over you,” he explained darkly, “I still want you bruised tomorrow. I don’t just want them to know you’re married, darling— I want them to know how good I fuck you. I want them to know that your husband fucks you.”

Suddenly his hands were at your dress, tearing it to shreds right down the front.

“And I want them to know,” he continued with a groan, “how much you love it.”

He flipped you over roughly, yanking you up by your hair until you were forced to scramble onto your hands and knees. Your head dropped defeatedly when he let go of your hair, and he held your hips tightly with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other.

“W-wait,” you stammered, but he ignored you, reaching up under the tatters of your dress to yank your girdle and panties down. Before you could beg for some mercy again he slammed into you, making you choke out a wavering cry; instantly he was fucking you hard and fast, making you shake all over and try to reach back to grab his hips so he might slow down. “W-Will, love, please—” you whimpered helplessly.

“Fuck, if that son of a bitch could see you like this,” William sneered. “If he could see you now— he’d know who you belong to, wouldn’t he? If he could see you on your hands and knees, begging for me…”

He fucked you even harder— his hand reached up to hold onto your shoulder so you wouldn’t fall forward from the force of it.

“If he could see what a dirty little wife you are,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your skin— more marks, you were sure. “Fuck, you’re soaking me already, darling.”

A whimper slipped from your mouth as he leaned down, holding you tightly and speaking right by your ear.

“You like it, don’t you? Playing with me,” he hissed. “You like driving your poor husband crazy, thinking you might be stepping out on him?”

You shook your head, choking on a moan as he slowed his movements to make sure every thrust reached as deep into you as possible. “N-no, love, no—”

“You like how I fuck you when I’m angry, don’t you?” he went on anyways, biting the shell of your ear until your channel clenched around him. “Is that what got you so wet, darling?”

Biting your lip to hide your moans, you held tighter onto the sheets beneath you, and one of his hands came down to wrap around yours.

“So sweet,” he cooed, “such a sweet little wife. You look so innocent, darling, they have no idea what a slut you are— none of them do, but fuck… they will.”

He sped up again and you whined loudly; the pain and the pleasure together made your legs shake, hardly able to hold you up on the bed. He snatched one of the nearby pillows and shoved it under your hips— it kept them up when he began to fuck you so hard that you fell forward, and the angle hit just right inside you as a desperate scream was muffled by your face falling into the sheets.

"Yes, there she is," he praised, "my whore wife— how she loves to be fucked, reminded of her place. This is your place, isn't it? In my bed, sweet cunt taking my cock? Not out with that awful man— not on those godforsaken book tours—"

When you tried to reach back to keep him from going too deep again, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back beside your face as he kept thrusting even faster, making the whole bed bounce and shake.

"You can take it all, darling," he promised with a groan, "you can fit your husband inside, all the way— fuck, you're so beautiful like this. You're so perfect, my angel…"

He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted into you, his own moans rivalling yours while he kissed your neck and ear and shoulder.

No one could accuse your husband of lacking passion, even if they didn’t see him like this— which you really hoped they didn’t. From the very beginning, he’d pursued you fervently: he read one of your short stories, and wrote rather effusive fan mail to the magazine in which it was published. And then when he came to your publisher’s office hoping to meet you, he took one look at you and became properly obsessed. He insisted you were the love of his life… and before you’d even really gotten to know him! You were nearly offended at first; but the longer his seduction went on, the more you couldn’t help but fall for him. Strong yet tender, kind yet stern, intelligent yet sensitive… and creative, much more than you expected. He had quite an imagination.

Unfortunately, that imagination had a dark side, especially with his tendency to be quite jealous. It had never gone this far before, though.

He pulled out of you, only a moment of relief and disappointment, before turning you onto your back and hovering over you. “Look at me,” he demanded again, though his voice was low and gentle now, “look up at me, beautiful.”

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, admiring the tears in your eyes with a tender sort of expression.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck as he slowly pushed back inside you. Your back arched and he slipped one arm under it to hold you tightly as he set a more careful pace than before— though still not all that slow. "My beautiful girl— you can't help it, can you? The way men feel about you."

A slightly deeper thrust made you gasp and reach up to hold his shoulders, blinking through the watering in your eyes.

"Of course he kissed you," he breathed, "if you were another man's wife, I'd kiss you too. I'll always have to have you, darling, nothing could stop me."

"I pushed him away, love," you swore again.

"I know, I know," he cooed. "But I still can't stand to think of it… of my darling wife being kissed by someone else. He would've only done that if he thought you'd kiss him back, you know— he thought you would let him fuck you."

He picked up his pace, staring deep into your eyes and gripping you tightly.

“When you’re pregnant, then he’ll know,” William announced proudly as he held your hips. “Then everyone who sees you will know: you fucking belong to me.”

Overwhelmed by it, you felt yourself get even hotter and slicker between the legs at the idea of that. He was wrong about you wanting to make him jealous, but neither of you could deny now that you got some gratification out of it.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“I belong to you,” you promised, “I’m yours— you know I’m yours, love, always—”

He hummed in agreement, pumping deeper and faster into you as your head spun. “You’ll be the most beautiful expectant wife there ever was,” he purred, a rough hand tugging your bra out of the way and groping your breasts. “These nice and full— all of you swollen and soft—”

“W-William,” you stammered, hardly able to breathe with his weight on you and the way he filled you.

“Big belly,” he cooed, “and my baby inside— our baby. Fuck, how can I wait to see you like that?”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, “don’t stop, please… please, my love—”

“I’ll fill you, darling,” he promised lowly, baring his teeth as you started to fall into it— your head tilting back into the mattress, pleasure overtaking you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’ll give you everything I have, every night, until it takes—”

“Please,” you begged, holding him tighter and lifting your face up with what little energy you had to bury it in his shoulder. You cried from the intensity of it all— from everything— as shudders wracked your body. He groaned as he felt you pulsing around him, kissing your face and groaning beside your ear.

“What a good little wife,” he praised as you came, “what a perfect little wife— you want it, don’t you? To be pregnant, have my child?”

You barely managed to nod, you were so overcome by every sensation running through you. But you did, and he growled proudly.

“You will, my angel,” he promised, “I’ll make sure of it. Just say one more time that you love me, darling— that you’ll always be mine—”

“I-I love you so much, William,” you swore, muffled in the jacket that you clutched needily. “I’m yours— I’m always yours— oh!”

You lost track of your words, but it didn’t matter then because you were drowned out by his gasps: heavy, low breaths as he pressed into you one last time and filled you completely.

Instantly, you were flooded with even more emotions: shame, ecstasy, confusion, hurt, love. It was too much to take even if you weren’t still slightly tipsy and entirely sleep-deprived, but altogether it just turned you into a mess.

After coming down from his high— though he was still catching his breath— William seemed to sober up in a second as you cried harder. Cooing gently at you, he wrapped his arms tighter around you and hugged you close.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he breathed as he held you tightly, “I’m so sorry. You know it’s just my love that makes me this way— I just can’t stand to see another man lay his hand on you… I just can’t imagine you with anyone else, it breaks my heart, darling.”

“You break my heart, William,” you whispered back, still hiding in his shoulder, “when you think I could ever hurt you like that. When you accuse me of something like that—”

“I just get scared, darling,” he sighed, petting your back slowly as he rocked you in his arms. “I just get scared that you’re too good to be true. That this beautiful creature can’t be all mine.”

You smiled against his skin, holding onto him tighter. “I love you so much, William… I’d never— you have to believe me, I’d never—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, as he held your head and kissed the top of it. “I know, darling, I know. Because you belong to me.”

#william killick x reader #william killick smut #william killick dark fic #dark!william killick smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy dark fic

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casuallyimagining · 8 months

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Family. Duty. Self. || myg

Less of Them - One: Family. Duty. Self.

NSFW. minors dni Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 9,968

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: weaponry (swords), language; nsfw: awkward first-time, hand-job, fingering, unprotected sex

Notes: Thanks to @oddinary4bts for really coming in clutch and helping with the smut and to both her and @daechwitatamic for encouraging me to make it more sad.

The book mc is reading at the beginning is Wurthering Heights.

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

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The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind.

The clank of metal against metal grates against your ears and jolts you out of your book. It’s a nice day, and you had some free time; you thought that maybe it would be nice to read outside for a change. But now, you aren’t sure that was the greatest idea you’d ever had.

…shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully-

The soft thump of a dulled blade hitting the softness of a body and an exasperated curse again draws you away.

“Again,” a gruff voice commands, and there’s the clink of metal clashing briefly.

Another voice groans. “This is pointless.”

“Your father told me to teach you how to fight,” the first voice says. “Again.”

You roll your eyes. They’d been at this for a week now. You were starting to believe that maybe it was pointless.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the “missis,” an individual whose existence I had never previously-

Metal against metal once again, and then the clatter of a sword falling into the dirt. A frustrated sigh.

I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me-

A soft thud, then, “Shit.”

I bowed and waited, thinking-

The shriek of metal on metal, then the clatter of a sword hitting the dirt. “Shit!”

I bowed and-

“Take a break,” the gruff voice says, and the second voice grumbles something in response. “Don’t go far. We have more work to do.”

You try to go back to your book, you really do. But then a body plops down under the tree beside you. Ever so gently, the book is taken from your hands. He keeps a finger in the pages to mark where you’d left off, but he turns the book to inspect the cover and the spine. He hums. It’s his book.

“You shouldn’t torture him like that,” you chide once he’s returned the book to your hands. “You know he isn’t suited for it.”

“Your father wants him trained.”

“You and I both know Namjoon has no business on a battlefield.”

At that, he laughs. “His form is really terrible.”

“Even I’m better than he is.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh come on, Yoon.” You roll your eyes and nudge him slightly. You both know you’re right. His father had trained you beside Yoongi, and while you hadn’t been as quick to the blade as the young knight, you could defend yourself well enough.

He stands, plucks the book from your hand once again, and leans in so that his face is mere centimeters from your own. “Come, then, my lady. Prove yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”

He closes the gap, lips connecting to yours ever so briefly. Even though the kiss is short, it sets your veins alight all the same.

“Fine,” you say when he pulls back. “To battle, then, Min Yoongi.”

He smirks, and you steal a kiss when he helps you stand. For a moment, he has the audacity to look offended, but you push him out of the way.

“Come on,” you say. “You wanted to spar. Let’s get it over with.”

“We’ll see how smug you are when you’ve been defeated.”

You shrug and follow him to the training yard. It’s only a few feet from the tree you had been reading under, but your back had been to it, and you’d been unable to see Namjoon before he left. Now, though, you can see that your younger brother had gone in a huff, his practice sword tossed carelessly to the side. You pick it up. It’s a bastard sword, longer than you’d like and a little on the heavy side, but it’ll do. You roll your wrist, testing the balance as you wait for Yoongi to ready himself.

As he turns to face you, you widen your stance. You know you look ridiculous, legs and arms wide, positioned better to climb a tree than for sword fighting. It has its intended effect, though, because Yoongi erupts into a fit of near-silent giggles, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What are you doing?” he asks gleefully.

“Are we not fighting?” you question, deepening your voice to match Namjoon’s lower timbre. “Is this not how you do it?”

He almost drops his sword, he laughs so hard. “Okay, fine,” he says, body still shaking from giggles. “You can go back to your book.”

You smile. That hadn’t really been your goal, but you aren’t one to turn down an opportunity. You hand him the practice sword as you pass and open your mouth to leave him with one last quip about trying to be patient with Namjoon, but he catches your waist as soon as he can and pulls you flush against him. Immediately, your hands come up to rest on his chest, playing with the loose collar of his cream colored shirt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask coyly, tugging a little at the fabric over his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Can you?”

He kisses you then, properly this time, firm hands on the small of your back, holding you against his body. He’s warm and soft and solid, and you can smell a hint of the cologne you’d bought him for his last birthday. His kiss is slow, almost lazy, but there’s a greed in it, like he could keep at this forever if you’d let him.

You’re tempted to let him.

You slide your hand up his chest to tangle in the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You give a gentle tug, and he lets out a low whine.

“Don’t tease, my lady,” he mumbles darkly, pulling away just far enough to kiss up your jaw. “I’m afraid you’ll start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

You never get the chance to respond. Namjoon calls your name, his voice floating down from the walkway that overlooks the courtyard. Immediately, Yoongi jumps away from you. Your relationship is no secret, but he’s always been shy, and you’ve long grown used to his fleeing any time anyone sneaks up on you.

Namjoon calls for you again, this time, his voice is closer, and when you turn, you can see he’s running down the stairs. He pauses momentarily, catching his breath for just a second before blurting out, “Father is looking for you. He’s received some official-looking letter and asked me to come fetch you.”

You hum and nod. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be along soon.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’d better come now.”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi, who stands now just off to the side. His cheeks and ears are tinged ever so slightly pink, and he busies himself with inspecting one of the practice blades. He must feel you looking at him, because his dark eyes connect with yours. You shoot him a look that you hope conveys an apology. He nods toward the keep silently before picking up the discarded sword and wandering off in the direction of the armory.

“Lead the way,” you tell your brother, gesturing in the direction he’d come from.

You follow him out of the yard, up the stairs onto the walkway and into the keep. Evening is starting to fall, and the attendants already have the sconces lit in the halls to stave off the darkness. You pass some of them as you go, and they nod respectfully–more to you than to Namjoon, but he’s younger and has never really cared about being deferred to in the way that you are.

He leads you to your father’s study, and when you enter, you’re shocked at how full it is. You’ve always loved this room, filled to the brim with the finely crafted furniture made by the people of the forest town. Blackwood trees are known to have a delicate, earthy aroma long after they’ve been felled, so the study has always smelled as warm and inviting as it felt. Now, though, with the number of eyes that dart in your direction when the door opens, you’re uncomfortable.

The five of them sit at the heavy, ebony round table in the center of the room. Your father sits with his back to the window, his fingers steepled and his brow furrowed, papers strewn about in front of him. To his left sits your step-mother, a rare good day for her. She looks grim, but you get the sense that the pain she’s feeling may not be just her own. Namjoon takes a seat to her right. To your father’s left sits Jaesung, your father’s advisor and head of the armory for as long as you can remember. The look on his face is neutral, but you can see an anger behind his eyes. In nearly 30 years, you’ve never seen Jaesung angry. Beside him sits Seokjin, your elder step-brother, a fidgeting ball of nerves.

“Come,” your father says gently, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

You can feel a chill as you pass them all. Your step-mother, paralyzed by an unknown pain. Jaesung, poised for a war you don’t yet understand. And Seokjin, who refuses to look at you, even as you sit down beside him.

It all makes you nervous.

Your father stands, the chair pushing out behind him as he leans forward, passing you the papers in front of him. It’s a letter, the wax seal on the envelope indicating it was sent from the Ironhold.

A letter from the king, you muse. What could he possibly want?

It’s no secret that there’s little love between your family–the Lins of Castle Blackwood–and the Chois in the Crownlands. The Chois have sat on the throne of Cotaria for hundreds of years, and the seat of the Crownlands for hundreds of years before that, and their customs have been around for just as long. They don’t like how your father rules the Westerlands, but there isn’t much they can do about it. The Lin family is far older and has had far longer to build ties, and you contribute more to the Crown’s stores than the Chois would care to admit.

Your gaze falls to the letter in your hands, reading but not comprehending what it says. You fixate on certain words. Duty. King. Auspicious. Marriage. But no matter how many times you read it, no matter how long you stare at the neatly printed words in front of you, they don’t make sense.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t like how long it’s been since someone’s said something, don’t like how they watch you. Your mouth is dry, and it feels like you’ve tried to swallow a rock.

“This is real?” you manage, swallowing hard. When did your hands start shaking?

“I’m afraid so,” your father responds. His voice is soft, measured.

“And?”

“We did not ask for this.”

“And yet here we are.”

He sighs. “And yet here we are.”

You close your fist around the paper, crumpling it. Beside you, Seokjin jumps, startled. For the briefest of moments, you close your eyes.

Marriage to the king. A man you’d met once three years ago at his father’s funeral. He’d been miserable then, a spoiled brat too accustomed to getting his own way. You’d dreaded the funeral, dreaded being forced to interact with the young king, dreaded having to be pleasant to him. But you’d plastered on a smile and endured the funeral and feast. And now he wanted to take you away from your home, your family.

Your Yoongi.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts back to your father’s study. You can’t think of him right now. “This,” you lift your fist, the letter still clutched tightly within. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“There’s always a choice,” Namjoon blurts, immediately shrinking back into his chair.

Your father hums. “You can decline. Your brother is right.”

“Jaesung?” The man’s eyes snap to yours, and you’re struck by how similar they are to his son’s–dark, cat-like, ever-observant. “If I say no…?”

He takes a moment, his head bobbing back and forth as he weighs the options. “Chances of retaliation are high, yes.”

“We would weather it,” your father says. “Our family has endured far worse.”

“And if they strip us of our titles? Take away our home?” You toss the letter into the center of the table. “Either way, we lose.”

“So just tell him to fuck off,” Namjoon says. Your step-mother frowns, and immediately, he wilts under her gaze. “Sorry, mother. But you understand what I mean. If both options are bad, pick the best worst choice.”

You glance up, above your father, above the window behind him. The family crest hangs there, centered on the wall. A sea of blue with green chevron, golden thistle in the foreground. The Lin family words are engraved into the bottom: Loyalty does not yield.

Loyalty. It’s been ingrained in you since birth. To family, duty, self. All three in tandem. Now, though, they’re pitted against each other. Your family against your own desires. Your desires against your duty. An impossible choice.

You make eye contact with your father across the table. He nods almost imperceptibly and sighs.

“The steward arrives tomorrow?” you ask softly.

Jaesung nods. “Letter said they would arrive the day after it did.”

“Okay.”

There’s precious little to discuss after that. Jaesung is the first to go, the war in his eyes more fierce than when you’d entered. He doesn’t look at you as he goes. Your stepmother leaves shortly after, walking around the table to you. Her hands find your shoulders, skin cold against yours. She gives a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of your head.

When she’s gone and the door is closed behind her, Namjoon erupts. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right?” he asks. It’s directed toward your father. “They would never dream of doing this to any of the other old families.”

Seokjin sighs. “They couldn’t.” His voice is soft, but holds all the authority of older brother.

Ever insightful, your step-brother is right. The Lin family is the only one of the old families that allows for a female heir, and even then, your father had only married Seokjin and Namjoon’s mother after his first wife–your mother–had died. You’d been here first. In your father’s mind, you were the clear heir. It helps that Seokjin, older than you by one year, has never shown much interest in leading, and between you and Namjoon, you have always been more eager to learn everything. But because all of the other heirs of the old families are male, they will never be put in this position.

You stand. Your head hurts, and so does your heart. You don’t look at your father as you leave the study, too afraid of what you might see.

You’d intended to go to your chambers, but when you get to the staircase, instead of going up, you go down. Yoongi’s chamber is at the end of this wing of the castle, closest to the outer wall and the library tower. Over the years, you’ve probably spent just as much time there as you have in your own chambers. But this is the first time you’ve felt nervous standing at his door.

You knock. You almost never knock, but it feels weird barging in right now, when you’re standing on the precipice of a future so far in the opposite direction of what you’d been imagining. The door opens, and there he is, leaning casually against the heavy, blackwood door. You must be some sort of sight, because almost immediately, he frowns, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“Jagi?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

It’s all it takes. You surge forward, hands coming up to cup his face gently. It’s easy to fall into him, easy to lose yourself in his kiss. He lets you push him back into his room, shutting and locking the door behind you in one easy motion.

He laughs a little as you kiss up his jaw. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You don’t answer. Right now, you just want to lose yourself in him. The room is not large, and you’re able to push him toward the bed in only a few steps. He pauses when his legs hit the edge of the goose feather mattress. Gently, you push and he falls backward, his hands on your waist pulling you down with him.

You hover over him for a moment, just holding his gaze, losing yourself in the dark eyes you’ve come to love so much. You wonder if he’s able to read the distress in your eyes–maybe he is, because he pulls you down in a kiss that leaves your mind spinning, as his hands tighten on your waist ever so slightly.

His tongue hesitantly darts out to meet your lips, and surprised, you pull away to meet his gaze again. His cheeks are slightly flushed pink, and his lips glisten prettily in the light of the sconce on the wall.

You survey his features carefully, feeling your own cheeks turning red as you realize that you don’t want to stop. Not tonight. You want to be able to feel him at least once before you have to go. You bend down again to capture his lips in a languid kiss, welcoming his tongue against your own the moment he does it again.

You gently move your hands up his frame, burying them in his soft hair as he wraps his arms around you to pull you flush against him. You have half a thought that you’ll crush him, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his tongue awkwardly swipes at yours again, earning a breathy sound from you that you’ve never made before.

It startles both you and him, and you pull away from the kiss once more, meeting his gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, the flush on his cheeks having deepened from the prolonged kiss.

You find you can’t look at his eyes anymore, your own gaze sliding away. You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

He kisses your jaw to gain your attention again, but your eyes stubbornly stay away. That is, until he says, “It was cute.”

Your gaze shoots back to his. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me again,” he asks, and there’s something new in his tone. A desire you’ve never really seen, or maybe it’s just manifesting differently this time around.

Maybe he can feel the sense of urgency in the moment. But he doesn’t question you, just welcomes your lips against his the moment you kiss him again, unable to resist the pull of his gravity.

His hands move down your back, and hesitantly, he grazes his fingers over the curve of your ass, barely even touching. You feel electrified, like lightning is coursing through your bloodstream, and you bite on his bottom lip.

He grunts. He grunts and you know that there is no way you’ll stop now. Not when you sit back on his lap, hands resting on his chest to hold you up. Even through his linen shirt, you feel his heart beating wildly, echoing your own.

And right where you’re perched, you feel the hint of his arousal, matching the arousal that’s slowly warming up your core.

You’ve touched each other before. It was awkward, neither of you really knew what you were doing, and you’d stopped, too afraid to get caught, too afraid of the consequences.

Tonight though? You want to feel his skin on yours, want his warm breath to mingle with your own while you lay with him. So you grab his tunic, pushing it up until it reveals a small sliver of pale skin on his lower stomach. You look at it, admire it as if it’s art, and then you meet Yoongi’s gaze again.

“Can you take this off?” you ask, fingers shaking even though your voice holds firm.

He nods, sitting up so that he can remove the shirt. It brings him close to your face, and you can’t resist but kiss him again, molding your lips to his like it was always meant to be.

But not anymore.

You push the thought away, wanting to focus on Yoongi, on this moment with him. You want to commit it to memory, to remember every plane of his body as he finally, slowly takes his shirt off, revealing more of his sculpted frame.

Being a knight has its advantages. And they show in the powerful build of Yoongi’s body, even though he’s a little more on the lean side. You gently rest on your hands on his chest, before gently caressing down, reveling in the feel of his warm skin under your fingers and palms.

He watches you, lips slightly parted, until your fingers graze the hem of his pants. But then he stops you, grabbing your hands in his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs when your eyes meet his. “You really want to do this?”

You nod, breathing out a soft, “Yes.” You nod again, though your cheeks burn. “Yes, I want it. All of it.”

He gulps, eyes darting to your lips before going back to your gaze. “Can I take your corset off?”

The question sends your heart into overdrive, yet you agree, guiding his hands to the knot at the top of the corset. You notice his fingers shaking as he slowly starts untying it, much like your own fingers are trembling, and you let out a small chuckle.

It’s unexpected, and a little awkward, yet it feels right in this moment with him. He laughs lightly as he struggles, a sound that makes you feel like you could soar in the sky beside the ravens and falcons of the Blackwood.

Maybe, if you could fly, you’d never have to go to the Ironhold.

Again, you push the thought away to focus on Yoongi’s fingers as they struggle with the laces. He curses under his breath, which makes you chuckle again.

“Let me help,” you tell him, and he begrudgingly lets you take the lead, the tip of his ears red.

You’re much more efficient, and soon enough, you’re able to undo the lacing and take off the stupid garmetn, leaving you in just your linen tunic. Yoongi runs his hands up your sides, dragging the fabric of your shirt up, and your breath hitches in your throat when he slides his hands under the fabric.

His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and he brings his hands up until he’s able to grab your breasts, squeezing lightly. He grunts softly again, and you feel something twitch under your lap.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out.

He doesn’t look at you, just keeps staring at the spot where his hands cover your breasts, hidden beneath your shirt. You take that as a cue to pull the fabric off, and you throw it to the side, to meet his own shirt where it fell to the floor.

Yoongi stares at your chest, eyes slightly widened, cheeks flushed, and his breathing is quicker than usual, as if he’s been sparring for a while. It makes you feel powerful to know that you’re the one with this effect on him, and you smile down at him when he finally meets your gaze again.

“You really are so beautiful,” he says again, as if in awe.

You blush at the compliment, leaning down so that you can kiss him again. To your surprise, his hands leave your breasts to rest flat on your back, and you almost screech when he spins you around, until he’s lying on top of you.

As he’s hovering over you, Yoongi stares down at you, chest moving fast from his quick inhales and exhales.

“Sorry, my lady,” he apologizes at the look on your face.

You chuckle shyly. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He pecks your cheek, smiling against your skin. “I like taking you by surprise. Doesn’t happen often.”

You melt for him. Like the last snow under the spring sun, you melt for him. Your hand grip his biceps as he looks down at your perked nipples, and you feel like molten ore as he then traces his lips along your neck, down down down until he reaches the top of your breast.

He kisses there, once, before going lower, flicking your nipple with his tongue. When your hands wrap around his shoulders, he does it again, a little harder.

“Yoongi…”

His lips close around your nipple, and he sucks hard. You squirm at the foreign sensation, and Yoongi quickly meets your gaze, apologies written in his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you immediately reassure him. “It just feels… strange.”

He nods once, and then looks at your nipple, now shimmering with his saliva. “Do you want me to do it again?”

You grab his face, pulling him up to kiss you instead. He doesn’t resist, and he sighs against your mouth as you run your hands through his hair.

Yoongi is gentle. He always has been, but tonight he’s even more so, taking his time to take off your pants once you part from the kiss. He realizes that you’re still wearing your boots when your pants are around your calves, and he curses under his breath as he unties them and slides them off, while you laugh awkwardly, hiding your face behind your hands.

When he finally manages to take all of your clothes off, you look at him from behind your fingers, admiring how his eyes darken as he looks down at your pussy. You instinctively want to hide, to close your thighs together, and he quickly says, “Don’t… it’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re so pretty.”

Your hands fall away from your face, and you hold his gaze longingly, hoping that tonight will never end. That somewhere along the line, you’ll be able to stop time, so that you can dwell in an eternity of lying here with him.

But fantasies like that are works of fiction, and you can’t alter time. So when he stands to take off his own clothes, you quickly sit on the edge of the bed, helping him with his belt even though your hands feel clumsier than they usually are. Maybe because of the nerves wracking through you–it’s hard to tell, and you frankly don’t care.

Because this is Yoongi. Your Yoongi. You want this to be with him, a memory to treasure forever once you’re gone.

A few seconds later, Yoongi is out of his clothes too, and you think your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him.

You’ve never seen him fully naked like this. You’ve touched him, hands sliding in his pants to wrap around his length while you kissed. But you’ve never seen him, standing proud and tall and leaking precum just inches from your face.

It’s sinful, and you look up to meet his gaze as you hesitantly wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping quickly.

He winces, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Not so fast,” he tells you gently.

You slow down, biting your lower lip, and then your eyes fall down the pretty expanse of his body until you’re watching what you’re doing so that you can do it properly.

Or at least, what you assume is proper.

Yoongi grunts softly as you jerk him off, hips thrusting forward instinctively once in a while. Something wet is pooling between your legs, and all you can do is look at him, at the tip leaking with precum. He’s rock hard under your fingers, rigid veins and velvety soft skin, and it makes your heart race in your chest with every swift motion of your wrist.

“Stop,” Yoongi lets out, sounding out of breath. “Or I… I won’t be able to do more.”

You let go of him, hand sheepishly falling in your lap. Yoongi sits next to you, and he gently pulls you closer. This kiss is softer, slowly, born of the love between you and him.

He pushes you down until you’re lying on the bed again and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist, which leads to the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

You let out a soft moan that has him pull away.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

You laugh. “No, you’ve barely touched me yet.”

He seems conflicted for a while, brows furrowing. “Should I touch you first?”

“I don’t… know,” you admit.

You both exchange a look, and Yoongi quirks an eyebrow before finally deciding for the two of you, kneeling between your legs. His eyes drop to your pussy once more, and he hesitantly brings a hand to the apex of your thighs. You stiffen, waiting for his touch, and the moment one of his fingers slides between your folds, a volcano erupts inside of you.

He slowly pushes in, stopping at the first knuckle to gauge your reaction. When you don’t give any sign of discomfort, he finishes pushing in, until most of his finger is swallowed by you.

“It’s so tight,” he says, but there’s barely any lust behind it. Just curiosity, which makes you laugh. He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you. And then he starts moving his finger again. “How does it feel?”

“Strange,” you admit. “Good?”

Though you say it like a question, he nods. And he keeps at it for a while, slowly fingering you. The sensation is new but not unpleasant, the slow drag of his finger against your walls, the slight arch of it as he pushes in and out. It makes you want more, and you blindly grope for his cock, though your hand falls short and lands on his thigh instead.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“I think I want you.”

He stops moving his finger, before pulling it out to return to his previous position. Suddenly bold, Yoongi holds the base of his cock so that he can rub it on your pussy, and his lips parted as he looks down at you.

You moan softly, and he watches you for a moment, never pushing in. Once again, he asks, “You’re sure?”

You nod. “Please.”

It doesn’t take him more to push in, slowly. It hurts, and your face contorts in pain, which makes him stop between your legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, about to pull out.

“No, it’s…” You wrap your legs so tight around him that he can’t move. “They say it’s supposed to hurt. At first.”

“Oh?”

You shrug. You’d heard the handmaids gossiping, and after a while, you’d just accepted it as fact.

He nods once, before gently caressing your thighs. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“I promise,” you whisper.

And though it really does hurt, you don’t stop him as he finishes pushing all the way in, stilling when he’s fully sheathed within you. There, he stops, leaning down so that he can kiss you again, his tongue dancing languidly with yours. You hold him close, bask in the feel of the weight of him on you as his hand finds your hip, his thumb caressing circles into your skin.

It takes a moment, but the pain slowly lessens until it turns into a numb sensation that you can almost entirely ignore. You nod. “I’m ready.”

He moves from your mouth to your neck, and he says against your skin, “I don’t know what to do.”

You hold him tighter. “Just move. I want to feel you.”

He nods, and then he pulls almost all the way out, before pushing in again. It still hurts, but when he does it again the pain is less, and by the tenth time you barely feel it anymore.

You kiss his shoulder, and Yoongi sighs, his lips ghosting on the side of your neck before he decides to suck on it, and the sensation makes you moan again, your arms tightening around you.

“Jagi…”

“Yoongi,” you breathe out like an echo.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to last long,” he admits. “You feel… like silk.”

You nod. “It’s okay.” You kiss his shoulder again, before adding, “Do you think you can go faster?”

He stops moving for a time, meeting your gaze. His dark eyes are filled with intensity, with lust, passion and love for you. He kisses you gently, thumb brushing against your cheek, and then he increases his rhythm.

Your words seem to unleash him, because the second you let out a small moan again, Yoongi starts going even faster, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room. Even though it feels strange, you let him do it, keep holding him close, and soon enough, pleasure starts to vibrate in you, ignited by every deep thrust.

It’s a little rough, a little clumsy, but Yoongi’s pace doesn’t falter. He grunts in your ear, and you instinctively dig your nails in the skin of his back.

That’s when he loses it. He stills deep inside of you, moaning softly, and you feel his cock twitch as he releases. You hold him through his high, gently caressing his back even though he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat–you don’t care about it. It’s him, and you think you love all of him.

You breathe in and out, slowly, as he’s still deep inside of you. When he turns his head towards you, you kiss him deeply, trying to pour all the love in your heart into the act, trying to let him know that forever and always, he’s the one that you’ll love.

Eventually, the kiss ends, the need for breath overcomes it, and Yoongi lies next to you. When he pulls out of you, you feel his warm seed dripping out, and you blush at the feeling, at the dirtiness of it, though you don’t think there’s anything purer than what just happened between you and him. So you put your head on his chest, molding yourself into his side, content just to lay with him.

It’s quiet, your mingled breathing and the sound of his heart under your ear the only noises in the room. You try to concentrate on everything, to commit it to memory. The warmth of his body, the gentleness of his touch, the stillness of everything. It’s electric, the way his fingers slowly ghost up and down your bare arm. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the crown of your head, and you have to force yourself to stay here, in this moment.

You aren’t sure what prompts it, but his arm tightens around you. “What’s wrong?” he hums, tilting his head so that he can better see your face. “Are you okay?”

Until this moment, you’d been doing well, keeping yourself together as your world shatters around you. But the concern in Yoongi’s voice, it breaks you. You don’t respond to him, merely bury your face in the bare skin of his shoulder and try to stitch yourself back together somehow.

For the two years you’d been together, when you pictured your future, it was this–it was him. You’d loved Yoongi for as long as you’d known what love was. Probably longer. He’d been your best friend, your staunchest rival, your biggest supporter. You’d spent more nights than you’d care to admit sitting on one of the castle balconies and complaining to him about your brothers, and you’d listened as he’d lamented the rigidity of his father. Losing him, being forced to walk away, it feels a little like you’re losing a part of yourself. The part that feels safe, the part that feels loved, the part that could take on anything so long as he’s there with you.

He holds you close as you fall apart, the only thing keeping you from entirely shattering. He’s basically silent, and you can’t help but think that he must be so confused, which only serves to crush you more.

“I’m sorry,” you manage finally, wiping your tears.

“What’s wrong, jagi?” Yoongi asks softly. “You’re worrying me.”

You sigh. “I have been given an impossible choice.”

He hums sympathetically. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

His confidence almost spirals you back off the edge you’ve barely clawed yourself away from. But instead of breaking again, you reach up to cup his face. In the silence, you study him, trying to memorize all of him–soft, round cheeks; button nose; dark, feline eyes. He’s handsome in a gentle sort of way. Skilled in swordplay, with a mind to match.

“Not this time, I don’t think.” Where to start? Because you should start. You owe him that, at least, after appearing at his door, bedding him, and then dissolving into tears almost immediately after. “That letter father got earlier? It came from the Ironhold. As it happens, our darling king is looking to find himself a wife.”

He blanches, a frown immediately replacing the concern on his face. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

For the briefest of moments, he deflates, his head sinking deep into his silk and feather pillow. But then his arms snake firmly around you and he pulls you impossibly closer. He kisses the top of your head before nuzzling into your hair. You feel him breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment before he slowly exhales.

“I wish there was a way to get out of this,” you mumble into his chest. “But even your father said-”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I love you,” you say desperately. You know he knows, but you need to say it.

“We’ll get through it,” he says again. “Somehow.”

You don’t sleep. You’re pretty sure that Yoongi doesn’t either. You can’t bring yourself to miss a minute, so you lay there, skin on skin, listening to his breathing and watching the moon out the window. The night is slow, but not nearly slow enough, and eventually, the sky begins to lighten.

“I should go pack,” you mumble softly, snuggling into him more.

His arm tightens around you as he hums. “Want help?”

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m not ready to let you go just yet. And if that means I have to help you pack, then I help you pack.”

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest so that you can look at him. “I don’t even know how much I’m allowed to bring.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He sounds so confident, but looking at him, you can tell it’s a front. His eyes have lost the sparkle they normally have, and the smile he’s wearing doesn’t go beyond his lips.

You stall for a few more moments, but force yourself to get up. He helps you find your clothes and you dress quickly before sneaking out into the hall. It’s still early, almost no one should be up yet, but you have to pass both Seokjin and Namjoon’s rooms to get to your own, and Namjoon is known for keeping strange hours.

Thankfully, this is not the first time you’ve made this journey, and you know just how to move to avoid making noise. You manage to unlatch the door to your chambers with only the slightest of sounds, and you and Yoongi sneak in. He helps you light the wall sconces and a few candles, and as your room lights up, you sigh.

You suppose you should pack on the lighter side. The king’s letter hadn’t said… anything, really, about what awaits you in the Ironhold, but you suspect that whatever you bring won’t be good enough.

Yoongi helps you fill a trunk with clothes. Or rather, he handles everything, barely letting you do any of it. He folds each garment carefully, like it’s made of glass, choosing his favorite garments like a sommelier chooses wine. You can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking, but there’s a cloud over his eyes, and you know he’s lost in thought.

You leave him to it, figure that maybe this is something he needs to do, and busy yourself with gathering other things you want to take. A few books. A figurine of a duck your father had bought for you for your birthday as a child. Your favorite blanket. A drawing that one of the artists in town had done of your family–your father, your step-mother, Seokjin, Namjoon, and you. There’s one of you and Yoongi, too, that you tuck into one of your more boring books.

You aren’t quite sure when it happens, but you look up, and suddenly, it’s light out. A knock at your door pulls you out of the trance of going through your belongings. Yoongi’s closer, and he reaches out to open it before you can even say anything.

It’s Seokjin.

He stands there, looking a little sheepish, clutching a burlap bag. You aren’t sure if he’s nervous because Yoongi opened the door, or if he’s nervous just being there in general.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Do you–am I interrupting something?”

You exchange a quick look with Yoongi, and he shakes his head. “I’ll be back soon, yeah?” he says to you. And when you nod, he leaves you and Seokjin alone.

For a few brief moments, it’s quiet. Seokjin wanders silently and mindlessly around your room, looking at your desk, a shelf, your bedside table. But then he sighs, and a pained look crosses his face.

“What have we done to get here?” His voice is quiet, tentative, like he doesn’t want to talk too loudly.

You shrug helplessly. “I wish I knew.”

“There’s one good thing to come of it, I suppose.” He sighs once again, and this time, it’s dramatic. “Now you’ll finally have a reason to be a royal pain in the ass.”

In any other situation, you may have laughed. The two of you aren’t strangers by any means, but you’ve always been closer with Namjoon. Seokjin has always been far more interested in the artisans in the forest town than what goes on in the castle. You wouldn’t begrudge him anything, but you also annoy the everloving hell out of each other.

True siblings, your father had once proudly declared. You hadn’t always been quite as confident as he was, but the fact that Seokjin is here now… well, maybe you’re closer than you’d thought.

“I uh…” he starts awkwardly, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes before rubbing his neck. “Got you something to take with you.” He lifts up the bag, gesturing with it slightly before handing it to you.

Confused, you take it. The handle of the bag is rough, the burlap tightly woven for strength even though the contents aren’t particularly heavy. Looking in the bag, you pull out a box that’s about the width and length of a book. It’s made of blackwood, the inky black surface polished into glass. There’s a seam that splits it in half, and two golden hinges on the left side. The front of the box is engraved, a gilded thistle stands resolute against the darkness. You slide open the latch on the side and open it. The box is empty, but there’s enough room to store things.

“It’s very pretty,” you tell him, closing the box gently and slipping the latch back into place.

Gently, Seokjin takes the box out of your hands, and with both thumbs, pushes the leaves on either side of the thistle stem. There’s a quiet sound of sliding wood, and when he opens the box again, a panel inside has been moved, and suddenly, there’s more room. He closes the lid, presses the flower of the thistle, and the sliding happens again.

He pushes the box back into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours. You have questions, but the intensity of his gaze says enough.

“How?” you ask finally. You doubt he just had this lying around.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I asked Haejeon to put a rush on it.”

You nod. Haejeon is one of the artisans in the forest town outside the castle walls. He makes games and trinkets. Your father has hired him many times to carve and build small ornaments out of blackwood, and he’s old enough to be your uncle, but when you were kids, he’d given Seokjin a puzzle box to play with, and ever since, your step-brother has been practically stuck to the man’s hip. Over the years, as Seokjin has gotten more and more interested in the creators and builders and artists, Haejeon has taken him under his wing in a way, offering guidance and friendship outside of the castle.

“Thank him for me. Tell him it’s beautiful.” You hope to God you won’t have reason to use the secret compartment.

A noise outside the door draws your attention, and for a brief moment, Seokjin stares at the dark wood. But then he nods. “Probably Yoongi,” he says lightly. But when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you kids get back to it.”

But when he opens the door, it’s Namjoon that’s standing there. He’s still in his nightshirt, and a pair of warm, woolen pants hang a little crooked on his muscular legs.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,” he says from the doorway, looking completely past Seokjin. You motion for him to enter, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay long, I’m sure you still have plenty to do.”

“Namjoon,” you scold, barely any bite in your tone. Easily, he gives in, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

“I brought you this.” He holds out a book in your direction.

It’s bound in plain leather, and is neither particularly large nor particularly small. The pages are old and yellowed. The front cover is entirely non-descript, the only real identifying feature to the outside simply the word ‘Lin’ stamped on the spine.

You open it, and immediately you recognize it as one of the handful of tomes from Castle Blackwood’s library that details your family history. Its handwritten pages go back thousands of years, back to when Seinal Lin first settled the Westerlands.

“I thought that maybe you’d want it. To tell them about us.”

He doesn’t have to say who he means. If this turns out the way most royal weddings do, you aren’t sure when you’ll see your family again. These people who have been your life and your heart for over two decades will more than likely be strangers to any children you may have. This history that Namjoon has given you is more than just a book. It’s a reminder of who you are. It’s a lifeline.

Suddenly, you feel like you’re breaking apart again, but you fight it off, pulling Namjoon into a tight hug. He makes a noise of surprise but after a second, his arms tighten around you. You stand there for a moment, unwilling to pull away, and soon, you feel another body press against your side. Seokjin’s arms wrap around you both, and now you couldn’t pull away, even if you wanted to.

As quick as it came, the moment passes.

“We should let you get back to it,” Namjoon says softly, a hand still on your arm.

They both nod solemnly, and then, just like that, you’re alone.

The silence is unbearable, the soft crackling of the wall sconces deafening as you’re left alone with your thoughts. Thanks to Yoongi’s earlier efforts, your things are packed, so there isn’t much left to do. You pull out your desk chair and sit, picking up your quill and twirling it between your thumb and forefinger. Thoughts swirl in your mind, and you pick up a piece of parchment.

Once you start writing, you can’t stop, and the words flow out of you as quick as you can write them down. You’re mid-word when there’s a knock at your door, and you hurry to finish and sand the ink.

“Come in,” you call, blowing across the page to get rid of the sand and excess ink.

You have the parchment folded by the time the door opens. Your suspicions are confirmed when a dark head of hair pokes in. Yoongi. He enters slowly, almost silently, and sits on the edge of your bed, watching curiously as you hold a dark green wax stick, melting it with the flame of a candle. You press your seal into the warm wax, removing it quickly before it can stick. The thistle stamp glistens in the candlelight, the wax still soft. You leave it to dry and turn your attention to Yoongi.

His gaze follows your every move, dark eyes soft with fondness. You pretend not to see the redness and puffiness that accompanies it. Silently, he reaches out, catching your hand in his own to tug you toward him. His arms hook around your legs, keeping you close.

“Father asked me to tell you they’re close,” he says softly, a pained look crossing his face briefly. “Word was sent from the first guard post.”

You hum and nod, running your hands through his hair. He’s changed his clothes, but his hair’s still a little tousled from your earlier romp. There’s still some time–the first guard post is at the bottom of the mountain, where the forest is still a thin stand of trees–but suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It hadn’t felt real, not really, but now… You push his hair back off his forehead once again and swallow thickly in an attempt to hold yourself together.

“I love you.” It just kind of bubbles to the surface, quiet but necessary.

He squeezes the back of your thigh, a soft, “I love you more,” on his lips. After another moment, he releases you. “You should change,” he says quietly, standing.

He’s almost to the door when you stop him. “Stay.” You aren’t sure why you say it, but he freezes in place. “Please,” you add. And, after a brief moment of consideration, he nods.

You dress quickly, pulling on a pair of trousers and a new tunic, barely checking to make sure they match. Yoongi helps you with your corset, his deft fingers having no trouble with the laces this time round. When he’s done, you pull him close, wrap your arms around him tightly.

You are determined to not let go of him until you have to.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning back away from you ever so slightly. Your hands stay around his waist, but he brings his hands between you to tug at the ring on his littlest finger. Carefully, he pulls your hand away and places the ring in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

“What-?”

“Take this,” he says, squeezing your fist.

You inspect the ring. It’s funny, you’ve seen it before–you’ve played with his hands countless times, looked at it while it was on his finger–but it’s like this is the first time you’re actually seeing it. It’s silver, the flat face of it etched with a shield, a sword standing at attention in its center. On either side of the ring’s face, thistle flowers bloom along the band.

“Yoongi,” you protest. You don’t want to take his signet ring. It’s the crest of the Min family, the ring serves as a seal to press into wax. He needs it.

He insists. “Keep it. Don’t wear it if you don’t want to, but I want you to have it. To remember.”

“As if I could forget.”

Yoongi smiles at that, a soft, somber smile that curves his lips but doesn’t meet his eyes.

The quiet that settles is interrupted rather rudely by the door opening. A head of dark hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer in at you. It’s Jaesung.

“Lord John asked me to fetch you both,” he says, and you can sense the anger barely concealed in his voice. “They’ll be here soon.”

Yoongi nods, but you can feel him let out a sigh.

“Shall I grab your trunk?” Jaesung asks, gesturing to the now full case behind you. It’s probably heavy, but you nod anyway. You’ve seen him lift heavier before, and you trust him to know his limits. You pick up Seokjin’s box and press the leaves, slipping Yoongi’s ring into the compartment before shutting it back up and stashing the whole thing in your trunk.

Yoongi trails behind you, his fingers grasped loosely in your own as you slowly and begrudgingly make your way through the castle. The wall sconces have been extinguished and the shutters have been thrown open, bathing the stone hallways in morning light. Instead of taking the back stairs you did last night–the ones which go past Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s chambers down to Yoongi’s–you follow the plush carpet down the hall to the grand stairs. They curve around the main hall, criss-crossing from front to back.

You pause at the first landing, just above the grand entrance. Yoongi stops almost immediately, his head falling to one side in confusion.

“Take this,” you say softly, handing him the letter from earlier.

“But-”

“Take it,” you insist, pressing it into his chest. “Don’t read it now. Give it a day or two. Please.”

Your eyes meet his, and silently, you plead with him. For a moment, he stands firm, his grip on your wrist tight. But then he relents, shoulders sagging, and nods. “Fine,” he says, taking the letter from your grasp and stuffing it into his pocket.

The heavy blackwood main doors of the castle are at least double your height, and they stand wide-open now. Your father and step-mother are in the courtyard, you can see them out by the centuries-old blackwood tree that stands sentinel in front of the castle. You’d spent many days of your childhood climbing its thick boughs, throwing seeds down to pelt Namjoon as he sat in the shade and read. Usually, the courtyard is bustling with people–from the castle, from the forest town, visitors–but now, aside from your father and step-mother, it’s completely empty.

“Stop pacing, love,” your step-mother says. She sits in a chair just to the left of the sentinel tree. She must not be feeling as well today. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I fear it’s too late for that, Sara, my dear” your father mumbles. And when he looks up, he sees you and Yoongi approaching. “Ah.” He outstretches an arm, beckoning you forward.

When you’re close enough, your step-mother grabs your free hand, enveloping it in her own. Her hands are cold, and there’s no real strength to her grip. Yoongi stands close behind you, his chest practically touching your back as you hold the gaze of your step-mother.

“Brave girl,” she says softly.

“The towers sent word ahead of time. The envoy is in a hurry to get back to the Ironhold,” your father tells you. He’s stopped his pacing and now stands beside your step-mother’s chair. “We wanted to have time to say goodbye.”

You frown. Already, the king is not making a good impression on you. Between the sudden letter and the incoming envoy that feels more like an abduction than a transport, you’re certain that this is the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life. And yet, as you look back and forth between your father and step-mother, as you hold Yoongi’s hand, you know it’s probably also–unfortunately–the right one.

Your father comes forward, his big hands cupping your cheeks. “You are smart,” he tells you, voice low. “You are strong. You are kind. Give ‘em hell.” He kisses your forehead and lets you go, turning almost immediately and walking toward the castle entrance to watch the road. You don’t miss the glisten in his eyes.

Your step-mother pats your hand. “I don’t think he will ever let this go. The Ironhold may say they’re doing this for the good of our two families, but…” She sighs. “I fear they’ve made an enemy out of the west.” She meets your gaze again, honeyed dark eyes big and sad. “Don’t let them dull you.”

Carefully, she reaches up and unpins a brooch from the front of her dress. It’s beautiful–you’ve admired it since you were a kid. A mother-of-pearl thistle blossom inset into an oval of ebony blackwood. She stands, a little unsteadily at first, and you reach out to help her gain her balance. Without looking up, she pins the brooch to your tunic, right over your heart.

You hear the hoofbeats before you see the envoy, the clattering of a carriage and several horses enough to draw anyone’s attention. Jaesung arrives just in time; he and Namjoon place your trunk just under the tree beside your step-mother’s chair. Like a spectre, Seokjin appears to your left. They all huddle closer when the first horse appears at the gates.

It’s not really that large of a traveling party–two men on horseback, a carriage with its driver, and a supply wagon–but the sight of it has your stomach churning all the same. You’re glad you didn’t take time for breakfast, or you might actually be sick. Yoongi presses closer, your entwined hands hidden behind your back.

One of the riders dismounts–you assume the steward–and approaches your father. They shake hands, and you can see the man’s gaze flick to you as they talk. Yoongi squeezes your hand. After a moment, they come closer. Your father’s face is grave, almost ashen, as he gestures for you.

The whole exchange is silent. You dare not look at Yoongi, too afraid that if you do, you’ll falter or worse. But as you step forward, he refuses to let go of your hand. Only until you’re physically too far away does he loosen his grip, and as soon as his fingers are out of your grasp, you miss him.

Your trunk gets moved to the carriage. The steward shakes your father’s hand again. Namjoon hugs you. Seokjin kisses your forehead. You’re passed around your father and step-mother and Jaesung. You refuse to look at Yoongi. And then it’s over. And you have nothing left to do but get in the carriage.

The inside of the carriage looks lavish, with soft velvet covering the bench and luxurious curtains covering the windows. But when you actually get in, the bench is hard, and the fabric over the windows leaves the carriage dark and confining. It’s impossible to see out, but you do your best, pulling the fabric away from the window and shoving your face against the wood of the wall.

They stand there, everyone you hold close, clumped together. The carriage jolts forward, and even though they can’t see you, you wave. Yoongi is the only one that lifts his hand, and you hold his gaze until the carriage enters the forest town and you can no longer see him.

Your heart hurts, and somewhere, deep inside your soul, you feel something breaking.

prev. | masterlist | next

your support means a whole lot, especially now when I'm low on energy and time. grad school is hell, but I wanted to post this to give us both some joy. please let me know your thoughts. I hope to finish this sometime this century, so please look forward to the next two parts!

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader

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readbyred · 9 months

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may i request how the dps boys would react to realising they have a severe crush on a, preferably shy, reader! tysm <\3

Oh, I've been waiting for dps requests! Sorry for my late replies everybody, I got demotivated again because tumblr deleted a few of my x reader posts (and a few others). But I'll try to not let that happen again if I can even help it

I think Knox would have such a silly time trying to approach you. Because we all know he’s awkward, but determined at best and, well… pushy at worst. I'm trying to go with the version I saw in a play, because thankfully they cut out the party scene which means he’s still delightfully insufferable but not awful. Anyways, he would jump on every occasion to talk to you. And then just. Stand there. He’d try to give you flowers and poems, everything really. But he loses brain cells every time he’s around you. At least you’re both equally stressed about social interactions. He gets a little braver when you give him a smile or any other sign you like him. Not less awkward, but a bit more motivated to go for it. His main problem is that he can't read you well and despite being big on feelings and all, he still has a hard time actually talking to you. Clumsily, he showers you with over the top things, that most would find cringey but you think of as endearing. And if he thinks there's a chance he’ll lose you, he’ll confess right away. I think he is brave and pretty open about feelings. Just stressed out

With Neil, it's not an issue at all that you're shy. He’s more so taken aback by his own strong feelings. Because he wasn't expecting to fall this hard. But give him like five work days to process and he’ll be all in. I feel like he would take his time to confess but he’d make it known that he cares about you. He’d be checking up on you every time he can, bringing you coffee, asking to practice lines together, go to the movies in town. Even before you two start dating you just wake up and half of his sweatshirts are in your drawer (he likes to borrow you his clothes if you’re cold) and your desk is littered with poems he shared with you. He’s a gentle lover, but he knows what he wants and when the time is right Neil has no problem confessing

It's much funnier with Cameron because this boy is in panic mode 24/7. At first he legit thought he was sick because he always felt dizzy and distracted around you. And he’s a traditionalist. Everything has to be perfect when you’re around. Like he beats himself up about every little mistake he made around you. But also makes a point to treat you RIGHT. If you’re shy he might not know how to approach you at first, because he’s not sure if you’re even interested. And how to make you like him. After much teasing (mainly from Charlie, of course) he gets fed up with his friends and decides to make a move. It might not be the most romantic when he does, but it's sweet and genuine

Another one that would take time to confess is Meeks. He’s pretty quick to accept that he’s crushing on you. He’s like, yeah obviously they are amazing, now what do I do with that? He tries to give you things. Small things. Like maybe he could borrow you a book that you’ve wanted to read for a long time of buy you a coffee/tea if you’re out in the town. He doesn't explicitly say that he liked you but it's easy to tell and he’s not one to be shy about it either. So when you guys do get together, you already know his more… romantic side

On the contrary, Charlie takes time to process his feelings. He had crushes before, but real feelings (strong ones at that) aren't the norm for him. Sometimes he catches himself losing his cool around you and it messes with him so bad. He would probably ask Knox for advice. Which is a bad move. But he figures that at least his friend is more familiar with having those sorts of feelings. Nothing much comes of it because I can't imagine Knox giving him any good advice on the subject, but after he was able to talk about liking you, he decides to just go for it. Well, in small steps. Primarily because he’s just not an intense guy, but also because he’s surprisingly mature when it comes to respecting your levels of comfort. Doesn't mean it gets boring though, it's Charlie we’re talking about. Once you get together there's not a one dull moment with him by your side

With Todd, it might be difficult at first. He’s overwhelmed by fis feelings and has a tendency to talk himself out of making any sorts of moves. Why would you like somebody like him? He tells himself he doesn't have a chance, surely. It only confirms his suspicions when you don't take initiative. It's only after he’s been moping around for a few days that Neil approaches him about it and proceeds to give him shit for not doing anything to let you know his feelings. He’s like, bro, so you care about them so much that you’d rather not have them in your life because you want them in your life so much??? Make it make sense. So with Neil's encouragement, he tries to at least talk to you and see where it goes from there. Still shocked when you end up returning his feelings. You’re in his poems now, even if it's not very obvious (he's not as straightforward as Knox, so it's not ‘i love (yn) and I want them to be mine’ kind of deal). This is the only one where I'm sure you might have to make some sort of a move. Todd’s like a spider - he’s more scared than you are and if he could, he would just silently hang out in the corner of the room you’re in. But he gets a little braver after he starts feeling more secure

Lastly, Pitts is not as bad as Todd, but still takes his time. He’s comfortable with liking you and he knows what he likes, but he’s not in any rush to make things official. So any time he has any chance to talk to you, he does and just wants to see how things go from there. He jokes around with you, asks to come study together, tries to be close. He does care, just in a more chill way than some of the other poets would. If you two have been talking for some time, he would have no problem asking you to go out with him, doesn't make you feel pressured or anything. If the others are cool with it he will do his best to have you come to their meetings at night as well. So you do not only get an awesome boyfriend out of it, but also a great friend group

#dps #dps x reader #charlie dalton x reader #knox overstreet x reader #neil perry x reader #todd anderson x reader #gerard pitts x reader #steven meeks x reader #richard cameron x reader

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theanimeroom · 2 months

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Possessive! Ichigo x reader please 🥹❤️

AHEM. if i may 👩🏽‍🏫

💎 possessive!ichigo who hates going out in public with you because he can’t gouge out peoples eyes without going to prison.

the first time he noticed your popularity, you two had been together for about 2 months. he was used to you getting compliments about how pretty you were or how nicely you dressed, but he figured it would have calmed down at some point or another.

wrong.

it was never ending; countless glances being thrown your way, phone numbers being written down on receipts, one woman’s baby even started crying because she wanted you to hold her, but the woman said no. he couldn’t escape it even if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t deny the sense of pride that flourished in his chest knowing that despite their advances, you only had eyes for him.

it got easier as time passed to deal with the constant stream of onlookers, what with your reassurance after every encounter, small kisses being pressed to his face as you reminded him that you were his.

despite that, you always found his jealousy and possessiveness to be quite entertaining, sometimes using others advances to poke a little fun at the uptight male. you would never dare cross a boundary that you shouldn’t, but when you catch a glimpse of his flared nostrils and the rigid nature of his posture, a little flirting couldn’t be helped.

you knew that testing him probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had, but if you were going to be hit on all the time, then why not have a little fun with it?

he was only gone for a couple of minutes, a quick bathroom trip being all you needed to be approached by a random passerby in the store. you were a rather kind hearted person, always greeting people with love and light whenever you interacted with them, but you weren’t stupid.

you could tell from a mile away that the man was trying to hit on you, sly smiles and pitiful jokes being thrown your way. not wanting to be rude, you indulged in conversation until ichigo had returned from the bathroom.

“are you local? if not, then i know a couple of good spots that serve the best sushi i’ve ever tasted,” he rambled, your uninterested expression coating your eyes as you tried not to lose your patience. a streak of orange behind the man’s head caught your attention, a sudden smirk replacing the tight line of your lips. “if you were interested, we could try one of them sometime.”

you hummed as you watched ichigo pause a couple of feet behind the man, his eyes popping back and forth between you and your suitor. you gave the random the sweetest smile you could muster, crossing one of your feet over the other as you feigned interest. “hmm, what did you say the name of the place was again?”

you could see the sparks shooting in his eyes as he took his chance, quickly pulling out his phone to pull up the name of the location. you peered over into his device as hand rested on his shoulder gently, hiding the grin on your face when you suddenly felt another hand slither its way around your waist. you didn’t even get the chance to react before his other arm wrapped around your chest, neck being tucked into the crook of his elbow as he pulled you back against him.

your bottom lip hid behind your teeth as you felt his grip tighten, the slight pressure on your neck making your stomach turn delightfully.

the suitor paused as he noticed ichigo’s presence, eyes widening as he scanned the current state that you two were in. you had to hold back your giggle at the way his mouth dropped in horror, understanding the situation rather quickly, luckily for him. ichigo easily had a good two or three inches on the guy, his vision moving upwards to look your orange-haired companion in the eye.

“sushi does sound pretty good, doesn’t it?” ichigo grinned, looking down at you who was already peering up at him, holding onto his forearm with darkened eyes. ichigo shot his gaze back up to the man in question, giving him a harsh glare as he spoke again. “but i think we’ll pass, i can think of something else that i’m in the mood to eat.”

your breath hitched as he held you a bit tighter, your bodily movements being restricted by his vice grip. you barely even remembered that the other man was still present, your mind only being filled with thoughts of how ichigo would make you pay for your antics this time.

the orange-haired man didn’t give the passerby a chance to react as he pressed a kiss to your lips, before dragging your pliant body along throughout the store.

“did you have fun?” he asked, question being punctuated by a firm squeeze on your hip. you lurched slightly at his touch, a mischievous smile making its way onto your face.

“eh,” you shrugged, aimlessly following the man in front of you. “he was decent. i’ve had better of course, but-“

a sharp pinch to your waist made you yelp, ichigo glaring down at you with pupils so dilated that you couldn’t tell where they started or ended.

“enough,” he hissed, an even bigger grin spread across your face as you could practically see the steam spewing out of his ears.

yes, you loved to tease your boyfriend. but alas, every man has his breaking point, and you managed to help him reach his.

“mphh!” your words were completely incoherent with the fabric of ichigo’s t-shirt pressing against your tongue, legs shaking as you tried to keep yourself upright for longer than 10 seconds.

a handful of hair was wrapped around ichigo’s fist, harsh tugs leaving you moaning breathless whimpers into the cloth. his hips pressed quietly against yours as he held your focus on the mirror against the wall, his dark expression staring back at you.

his cock was pulsing inside of you, long drags leaving your mind hazy with lust as you tried to push back against him. he refused to fill you up completely, halfway as a punishment but also being cognizant of where you both were currently located, although, he was more than long enough to fill you up without having to bottom out.

you whined again, pushing yourself back until you felt his tip press against the spongey area inside of you, your eyes squeezing shut as a rush of pleasure sent needles through your fingertips.

another harsh tug on your hair and your eyes were shooting open, muffled words escaping into the quiet fitting room. his hips froze immediately, quiet pleas escaping you as you begged for more friction.

“what did i say about looking away from me?” he asked, waiting until your eyes made contact in the tempered glass once more. a content hum was all you got before he was forcing his cock inside of you, one of your hands reaching for his that was wrapped tightly around your hip. you could feel your vision trying to blur, the instructions given to you making you forced them back open enough to watch as ichigo rearranged your insides. “you’re gonna watch me fuck you until you remember that you belong to me, got it?”

i’ve always belonged to you, is what you would have attempted to say, but the only thing you could muster in your current condition was a desperate nod of your head, silently pleading with him not to stop.

a low curse left him as he fucked you mercilessly in the fitting room, the hand in your hair tightening even more as his head fell back. the beginnings of a heavy groan prepared to permeate the air, quickly being silenced by the skin of his lip being tucked away behind his teeth.

you felt your stomach starting to twist, your eyes glossing over as ichigo leaned down, mouth panting heavy sighs into your ear.

“mine,” the word came out like a definitive statement, your clit throbbing at the implication. “mine, mine, all mine.”

you dared to take a chance by reaching for the shirt in between your lips. a desperate huff escaping you the moment your mouth was free. you threw the shirt down onto the bench below you, whimpering softly before whispering back to him. “all yours, baby.”

BONUS:

💎 possessive!ichigo who definitely bought you a necklace with his initials on it afterwards, making sure that no matter where you went, you always had proof that you were already taken 🫶🏽

#late night post bc i was feeling a lil frisky 😛#blues asks 💎#blues anons 💙#bleach smut #ichigo kurosaki smut #ichigo x reader #ichigo x you #ichigo smut

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babyangelsky · 2 months

Text

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 6

Every week I think I cannot possibly be having a better time with this show than I already am and every week I'm proven wrong. I LOVE IT HERE AND I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME!

Well Mut, I suffer from this condition as well. It's called Permanent Heart Eyes and it's incurable.

This is such a universal expression. Anyone who has ever watched someone they love eat something they cooked for them and enjoy it has made this face. Food is the greatest love language of them all.

Also, very pleasantly surprised to learn that Tongrak is a leftovers girly. I didn't expect him to be and now I love him even more.

Peat really has mastered the shift from 🥺 to 🥰. He does it a lot this episode and it barely takes him a full second each time, I love it.

When I tell you I COULD. NOT. LOVE. THIS. MAN. MORE. We only see him in profile when he delivers the last part of this line but this is a delightfully murderous expression. If I don't get a scene of Mahasamut cussing Prin out I'm going to be so disappointed.

The utter shock at hearing that Mut wants to hear about Tongrak from him. The quiet disbelief. The relief. I can't show it in a screenshot but Tongrak breathes out when Mut says this and his shoulders relax. No one has ever given this man the courtesy of asking directly if they want to know something about him and allowing him to decide if he wants to share things and Mut does it so easily.

The way he marvels at Mahasamut as it sinks in that he gets a choice, that he gets to decide if and how much to tell is just... it's lovely and completely fucking heartbreaking at the same time.

And because he was actually given a choice, he had no choice but to open up. Mut has made him feel so safe and respected that opening up becomes easy.

"Even though they have a complete, loving family with a loving father."

Stab me, it would hurt less.

No expression but the vibe is "I didn't say you could hug me but also I'm going to cling to you for dear life and try to burrow inside of your chest".

This is another one of those scenes that could have its own dedicated post and for which I would hit the picture limit immediately because the expressions were phenomenal and numerous so I'm cutting myself off.

Would you look at that. Tongrak opened up and now we're cuddling and taking a nap inside of the bedroom no one has ever been allowed to enter. Phenomenal. I'm so proud of this sleepy kitten.

Quick, someone google "how to tell your buddy that you're his husband's best friend's new sugar baby" for Mut he's asking for a friend it's him he's the friend.

THE CUTE AGGRESSION IS ETERNAL AND RELENTLESS.

Fort does the scolded puppy face so well.

Well aren't WE a jealous little jellyfish, Khun Tongrak? He's so bitchy I love him so much.

Not pictured: him refusing to speak first when he talks to Connor even though he's the one who called and the 30 different emotions he goes through during that call.

I spy with my little eye TWO jealous lil jellyfish. What's a group of jellyfish called?

*looks*

A bloom. There's a bloom of pouty jealous jellyfish in this house. I do love when "fights" are for silly reasons and everyone involved knows they're being ridiculous.

Side note: I covet this wallpaper. I need it on one of my bedroom walls immediately.

Also, I would like to do my clown check in for the week and point out that Vivi has solid-colored textured pillows and patterned pillows on her couch but Tongrak chose to cuddle the patterned ones.

We finally got to meet Tongrak's niece Meena and oh but she's a darling, precocious little thing. I also look at Mahasamut like this but you have no business doing it, miss thing, you're a baby! Same goes for reading your uncle's novels I say as someone who started reading romance novels when I was about her age.

2.7 seconds apart. I timed it. I'm saying it every week at this point but Peat, I love everything you do with your face.

And I am very quickly growing to love everything Nina does with that cute little face, too. It's good for Meena to see her beloved uncle being so loved by the beautiful man living in his house.

I have so much more to say about Meena but that definitely will get its own post because it's not limited to her facial expressions. There's a lot to unpack in this scene and in the cafe scene with her and Mut.

I mean--do I even need to say anything? I can't wait to reblog every single gif I can find of this scene because it had me screaming into a pillow like Tongrak.

I'm reaaaaally starting to hate the 30 image photo limit because it truly is not enough to capture everything I love in this feast of a show. Prepare to be so sick of me because there WILL be more posts about this episode.

Also, if you'd like to be tagged in my weekly ramblings about micro-expressions, let me know! 💖

#maybe i should come up with a tag for my meta and ramblings #i'll think of a good one #rakmut #love sea #love sea the series

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orangekittyenergy · 5 months

Text

A little smutty ficlet (smutlet? Idk)

Gale x Reader (you - no mention of description or pronouns)

NSFW - 18+, blindfolded Gale, teasing, idk how many words I wrote this on my phone in a flurry

(Don't mind me, had to get a brain worm out so I could focus on my longer fic 😅)

Gale moans softly, his body tensing and wriggling beneath you. He reaches, as if by instinct, to the blindfold that covers his eyes. Quick as ever you grab his hands and force them back down to the bed.

"Tsk. Naughty." You say with a smirk down at him. He can't see you but you know he can hear the mirth in your voice; even if it is to chastise him.

He squirms again.

"I want to see you, my love." He breathes out, his chest heaving.

"In due time." You practically whisper, leaning down to let your breath gaze over his lips. He tilts his chin up, pushing out his lips, searching for a kiss but you have already pulled away.

"Can I touch you at least?" He practically whimpers, his hands clutching desperately at the sheets below your bodies. A smile plays at the corner of his lips; he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"In." You start to crawl backwards and place a kiss on his collar bone. "Due." A light flick of your wet tongue over one of his nipples. "Time." You're practically off him fully and place one final kiss at his navel.

He groans again. This time it's a noise of frustration. Most likely mourning the loss of contact of your warm body pressed against his.

Face to face with his groin, his stiff cock throbs beneath the fabric of his underwear. Whisper light, you trail a finger across it, outlining it with the barest of touches.

He gasps hard and you look up to see his jaw fall open. A wicked smile crosses your face. This was finally payback. All his nights insisting on spending hours between your own thighs, overstimulating you, teasing orgasm after orgasm from your body until you could barely move.

Every time, you said you'd pay him back through your chapped lips. But he would just smiled at you, give you a kiss, and the next time you were naked you fell into the same trap of his.

But Finally. Finally. You had caught him first. Pulling him to the bed and practically forcing him to accept the same devotion he gave to you. Mostly devotion... Maybe a little teasing.

One hand trailing around the upper part of his thigh your other goes back to his erection; softly touching it at first with your palm then more firmly as you slowly rub your hand up and down.

He moans loudly again and you look up to see his hands lift and twitch.

"No touching, remember." You remind him, your voice playfully sharp. He's touched you enough; this was your turn.

He sucks in a sharp gasp of air and lets his hands fall back down.

"I remember." His voice shakes as he answers and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

You give him another stroke of his cloth covered cock as a reward. After a moment of teasing, his pulse pounding beneath your careful hands you gently pull down his underwear down a touch and ease his hardness out. The movement alone, your warm palm finally touching his aching flesh, is enough to bring forth another moan from his lips.

You smile again and let out a satisfied breath, letting him feel it, hot against his skin. You feel his whole body shudder, again, at the barest of your teasing touches. You lick your lips, planting careful kisses along his thighs, working your way closer and closer to your main goal.

"Gods, please." He groans out. "Touch me. Anything."

You haven't even started yet and he was practically begging, panting and quivering from the anticipation alone.

"Since you've been good." You breathe out again and slowly give him a long slow lick with your tongue, from base to tip, before pulling away again to wrap your palm around him instead.

You were in no rush. This was going to be a delightfully long night.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale smut #gale x reader #uhh i wrote this in a hot minute so sorry for typos #my writing

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unfortunate17 · 15 days

Note

(wilmon.) Shivers run down his spine when Wille's fingers draw lines across his back.

another university!au - apologies that this isn’t the greatest, I’m currently on a train to Naples and exhausted LMAO

thank you for the prompt 💕

Shivers run down his spine when Wille's fingers draw lines across his back. Normally, Simon would be embarrassed about letting some rich boy from class he’d only talked to a handful of times press him up against a wall during the middle of a crowded party, but inhibition seems to leave him entirely when faced with Wilhelm’s warm eyes and hands.

Simon still remembers the first morning of the semester. He’d been late, blearily squeezing into a seat and trying to make sense of the syllabus already projected up front, when someone had tapped his shoulder. When Simon had looked up, it’s had been like all of his senses had come alive at once. Suddenly, he was wide awake, blinking back at deep, dark eyes and tumbling, soft-looking hair.

“Sorry,” Wilhelm had whispered to him, discreetly trying to hand him a phone. “Is this yours? I saw it fall.”

Simon had hastily checked his pockets, flushing when he came up empty handed. “Shit,” he’d cursed, “yeah, fuck. Thanks.”

And the rest, as Ayub often jokes, had been history. Slowly, as the weeks passed, Simon begins to enjoy quick hellos, the thrill of their shoulders brushing in class as he pretends to pay attention, and the sizzle of something more sparking in his chest whenever Wille meets his eyes.

All said and done, Ayub thinks he has a crush. Simon, however, vehemently disagrees. Wilhelm is smart, pretty, and funny - it’s only natural that Simon enjoys his company even if the Rolex on his wrist costs more than Simon’s entire tuition and Wille’s second cousin and brother lord over the university rowing team that Simon had tried out for last year only to be brutally cut despite being better than half the people there.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Wilhelm had tried to reassure him once. “Everyone that made it is a family friend. Erik and August can’t really cut them without it being awkward.”

“Then why do they even have try-outs?” Simon had grumbled, crossing his arms as Wille snickered beside him, his own rowing team t-shirt stretched distractingly across his shoulders.

It was always these little details that remind Simon that Wilhelm is not like him - that his family has millions upon millions of kronor, multiple summer homes - Wille had once mentioned a chateau in the south of France - and an aristocratic group of friends that look at Simon like he’s nothing more than the dirt beneath Wille’s expensive shoes.

Which is why he’s still stunned that he’s here, on a random Friday night, in the large penthouse that Wille shares with Erik and August, with people that have never spoken to him in his life.

Begrudgingly, Simon admits that maybe, just maybe, Ayub is right about that crush after all. It’s not like Simon can really deny it when Wille has him up against a kitchen wall, his mouth hot and slick as it works its way across his pulse point and down the length of his throat.

Simon gasps at the slight sting of teeth, tangling his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Wille’s neck. He tugs weakly, trying his best to angle them back into a kiss.

Wille makes a sound of protest at the interruption, but when Simon tips his head back to wordlessly ask for a kiss, he leans in immediately, crushing their mouths together.

The sounds of the party - pounding bass and the tittering of the crowd - all fade away under the boom of Simon’s heartbeat.

“Wille,” he murmurs, relishing the feeling of Wille’s firm, warm grip tightening around his waist, “can we - ”

A gaggle of people walk by, one of them jostling them hard enough that Wille has to pull away. “Yeah,” he replies, voice delightfully breathless as he pushes his mouth to the crown of Simon’s head, “my room’s down the hall.”

Simon swallows, heat flaring in his stomach. He nods, taking Wille’s hand in his own. “Okay,” he tucks in close enough to smell Wille with every inhale, dizzy despite the lack of alcohol. “Let’s go.”

Wille kisses his forehead again before he turns, half dragging Simon out of the kitchen. Just before they reach the hallway though, he freezes, turning back to Simon with an odd expression on his face. “You want this right?” He asks, eyes searching. “With me?”

“Yeah,” Simon breathes, pressing their bodies together. It’s hard to imagine anything he wants more. “Please.”

“Okay.” Now, Wille looks a tad uncomfortable, “I just - I need to know that you’re not just doing this because you think I’m going to like - give you money.”

Simon feels like he’s been dunked headfirst into ice water. He takes a shocked step back, flinching. “What?”

“I mean like, like,” Wille squirms, “my family’s - you know who they are. And I’m supposed to be careful about the people I associate with because everyone wants - ”

Simon rips his hand away, humiliation making his face feel hot. “So you think because I’m not - I have a job, Wille. I don’t need your fucking money.”

Wille’s expression is blown wide open, his eyes rounded with horror. “That’s not how I meant it,” he insists hotly, “I just - I wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” Simon shoves his hands in his pocket, turning to blindly push his way in the direction of the door. He’d been a fool to come here in the first place. A fool to think someone like Wille would ever take someone like Simon seriously. “We’re done here anyway.”

“Simon, wait,” Wille scrambles after him, tugging at his shoulder, “please don’t leave. I didn’t mean to - ”

“You did,” Simon sneers, the beginning of mortified tears burning at his eyes, “this never would’ve - I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Forget I said anything, okay?” Wille grips him tightly, spinning him around. Simon watches as neon lights play across his lovely face. “Let’s just - come on, Simon. Please.”

And Simon wishes desperately that he could - aches to even. But his pride is burning almost as much as his face is, so he shakes his head wordlessly, resolutely forcing himself away from Wille’s intoxicating presence.

The last thing he sees before he shuts the door behind him is Erik and August coming up to each sling an arm around Wille’s neck, steering him back in the direction of the kitchen. For a moment, he irrationally hopes that Wille will shake himself free, that he’ll follow Simon out into the night and back to his house. Instead, he watches, stomach sinking, as Wille only smiles in response, leaning into Erik’s side as the crowd swallows them up.

#ask #my writing #young royals

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spiderlily-w1tch-blog · 7 months

Text

𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗 (𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝)||𝚆𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft sitting in his lap, a hint of teeth, cock-warming + some grinding, human present, oral(R!Receiving), fingering; ft GN!Reader, no pronouns used to refer to Reader or explicit genitalia

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own X-Men/Marvel or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 2,082

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Includes reader being entirely nude except for a ribbon, pet names babydoll, babe, baby, doll, and sweetheart are used, No Use of Y/n, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: pet names used(babydoll, doll, sweetheart, etc) are all intended to be gender neutral, reader has a mostly ambiguous mutation, but it is mentioned to have a self-healing factor,, Also, I’d like to preemptively apologize for the puns, there’s only a couple but,,, yk,, puns

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

You carefully adjust the bow over your sex as you breathe to calm yourself before you present(I’m hilarious aren’t I?( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) yourself to the birthday boy.

Logan and you have been together for nearing 2 years now, but you still get flustered when it comes to things like this. You’ve fucked in front of people before but then it was strangers and you weren’t entirely nude except for a ribbon twisted around your form. Knowing it’s his birthday, you steel your nerves and don’t let yourself think too much as you wait for your cue.

“Now, Logan, I think it’s time for your big present!” Scott announces, making sure to be loud enough that you can hear him. One last quick breath to release your last bit of stress and you’re out. You take shy steps into the room and the bright red ribbon contrasting against your skin catches his attention immediately.

His eyes rake down your form and a wide grin slowly grows on his face the more he sees and the closer you get to him.

“Damn, babydoll. All that for me?” He bites his lip with a borderline feral smirk on his lips.

“‘Course it is, birthday boy,” You smile at him, it was intended to be sultry but became more soft and sweet than anything. His feral smirk softens and he beckons you towards him. He brings his hands up to stroke over your thighs once you stand in front of him and he takes in the sight of the ribbon delightfully contouring against your skin and how delicately it’s wrapped around your body. It perfectly frames his favourite parts of you.

It loops around your hips, dipping into the crevices where your thighs meet your groin. The red forms an intricate shape over your chest and tastefully runs directly over your nipples. It all connects in the pretty bow right at the centre of your pelvis to cover up one of his favorite spots between your legs.

“You look perfect, babe.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss, with an underlying hunger, on your belly. He pulls back just enough to look up at you with thinly veiled lust in his eyes, “Turn around, babe, I wanna see the back,” the light command sends a small surge of heat through your body as you obey.

Turning around, you see everyone else here for his party. And for his present. Scott sits in an armchair to the right with Jean sitting on the arm with her legs over his lap. Kurt sits on the floor cross-legged with his eyes trained on you with fascination. Rogue sits on an ottoman behind him, trying and failing to look indifferent to the situation. Remy sits in another armchair with his arms resting comfortably on the arms and one leg crossed over the other, looking almost like a mafia boss or something, orchestrating this whole thing with the smug look he has while watching you intently.

Hank is in a large chair, made for him with his beastly size, watching both Logan’s and your actions carefully. For one reason or another, you’re glad that the Professor had to leave on business. You don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye if he were here to watch you and Logan like this.

Logan still sits behind you as he appreciates the work you put into wrapping yourself up for him. The ribbon runs under your ass cheeks and across your lower back to perfectly frame your ass. Along your back, rather than being jumbled awkwardly to only make the front pretty, the ribbon crisscrosses delicately.

“You know exactly what I like, huh, doll?” He asks cheekily as he brings his hands up to trace over the ribbon. He reaches where it frames your ass and grabs handfuls of your flesh to squeeze and spread to get a good glimpse of his goal. He leans in and sets a long lick over his favourite hole, slicking it up and groaning at your taste. He pulls back to slap at your ass hard enough to watch it jiggle for him.

“Mmm, fuck, baby, c’mere,” He pulls your cheeks apart again and sucks on two of his fingers to slick them up to properly stretch you for his cock. Because of the healing aspect of your mutation, your body always resets itself so you’re tight as a virgin no matter how many times you take his cock.

His fingers pushing into you has you moaning already and makes you arch your back as your arms reach back to steady yourself on his shoulders. He turns his head to place a light kiss on your wrist as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, scissoring you to open you up.

“L-Logan… Fuck…” You pant and lose yourself to the feeling until he deems you ready and pulls his fingers back. You slightly whimper at the loss, hearing the snickering from some of your friends as they see how needy you can be.

“C’mere, baby,” Logan chuckles and turns you around to face him again, “you all ready?” He asks, a smug smirk on his face with an eyebrow quirked up. You nod with a slightly whiny ‘Mhm’ as he quickly shimmies his sweats off his hips to let his cock bounce up and hit his toned stomach. Once his cock is free and ready, he slides his hands back up your thighs to reach the ribbon over your crotch.

“Time to open my present,” He smirked and places a kiss to your hip as he carefully undoes the bow. After he pulls the tail, the ribbon unravels and lets all the rest of it wrapped around your body go slack. Not wanting to waste too much time but still wanting to appreciate your gift and all the detail, he follows the direction of the ribbon to pull it all off of you.

He pays extra attention to the bits between your thighs and framing your ass, and to the intricate design on your chest. As he unravels the design, he makes sure to stroke over your nipples and even pulls you down to straddle his thighs, once your bottom half is fully free, to lick over them and tweak them. Once the whole ribbon is off, he sets it to the side, making a mental note to keep it since it’s already catered to your measurements.

From there, he slides you forward and brings his fingers to your lips to have you wet them. He bites his lip and groans at the sight of you sucking on the appendages. When he deems them wet enough he slips them out of your mouth and brings them down to his cock to wet it for your entrance.

“Fuck… Logan…” You sigh at the sight of his hand pumping his big, hard cock.

“Don’t worry, doll, you’ll be feeling this in no time.” His smirk showed off his teeth and it reminded you of the night before when he’d marked you up with bites and hickeys that had, unfortunately, already healed. Soon, he brings his fingers back to your stretched hole and slickers it up even more before he guides your hips to position over his tip.

“You gonna be good and take it all, babydoll?” He grunts out as his tip rubs over your hole and his lips pressed to your chest.

“Yes, oh god, yes..!” You call out, feeling almost tortured by his tip only rubbing over where you desperately needed him buried inside you. At your answer, he smirks and helps to lower you down on him, not stopping until your ass is fully seated on his lap.

“Fuuucck… Tight as ever, sweetheart,” He mutters to you as he wraps his arms firmly around your waist and you bury your face in his neck. You go to move your hips to ride him but he tightens his hold around your waist to keep you in place.

“Lo..?” You ask, your voice no louder than a whisper in his ear.

“Just relax, babe, I want you to keep me warm, ‘kay? Just stay like this, baby,” He noses behind your ear and places a kiss just below it. You couldn’t concentrate with his dick stretching you full, but you nodded anyhow and buried your face further in the crook of his neck.

“Summers. You said you guys got a cake?” Logan calls out to Scott as if everything is completely normal.

“Uh, yea!” The brunette says, seemingly surprised out of a stupor as he scrambles to get up. He sends a quick confused look around the room but gives a quick shrug as he jogs to the kitchen.

“Wait, so, you’re just going to… stay like that?” Kurt asks, clearly confused at the concept.

“Yup. Here’s a lesson, bub, you don’t gotta actively fuck to have this kinda intimacy. I’m guessin’ you never heard of Cock warming.” There’s a small pause of silence which you assume is Kurt shaking his head in lieu of a verbal answer, “Well, this is it. You just got your partner sittin’ on your cock. Not movin’ or anything, just sittin’ pretty and bein’ a good little cock sleeve.” He moves his hands to not be clutching you so tight and to rub over your sides and your back, keeping you comfortable and sated.

He presses kisses to your jaw and neck, leading onto your shoulder as they waited for Scott to get back.

“Ow! Shit!” You all hear a quiet hiss from the kitchen after a small ‘zap’ followed by an equally small ‘bang’. You would have giggled at what you all know just happened but the feeling of your gut tightening accentuates every part of you that’s clamping down on Logan.

“Haaappy Biiirthdaay too youu,” You can hear Scott trying sing all wobbly like he’s trying to purely focus on the cake in his hands. Everyone else joins in, though it seems awkward as many of them are still distracted by the situation of you in Logan’s lap. You try and lighten the atmosphere by weakly joining the song which does earn a chuckle from your boyfriend. Luckily, it seems you succeeded when the others start to focus on the events now going on.

Soon enough, Logan has to shift slightly to look at the cake to decide what piece he wants as is customary. You clench around him when he shifts which affects you both, coaxing a moan from you and a pleasured grunt from him. Quickly, he places a light kiss on the crook of your neck before he does back to his task of picking out his piece of cake.

You can feel him give a nod of thanks to Scott when he hands him the small plate. It seems everyone simply indulges in the rest of the party while you sit and cock warm Logan. He offers you bites of cake every so often and occasionally licks frosting off your lip. Once he’s done, his hands return to your waist and he brings you back enough to kiss you properly.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. You feel amazing,” He murmurs against your lips before he indulges again.

“Wanna be good for you. Wanna be so good for you, Lo,” You let out in a whine. You grind your hips down on his and he inhales a hiss, his hands on your hips tighten at the feeling.

“Mm, fuck, baby… Stay still for me, ‘kay? Oh, fuck, you feel so good, doll, promise…” He grunts out. His hands move to your ass and grab big handfuls of it with a squeeze to still your movements, “If you’re good for the whole party, I’ll let you cum on my cock, alright? Would you like that..?” He asks in a teasing tone as he brings one of his hands forward to stroke your sex slightly, making your intended movements falter from the shock of pleasure he just sent through you.

“Mhmm!” You nod rapidly and completely still your hips. You can’t help but clamp down on him when he continues to lightly stroke your sensitive spots.

“You’re such a good little cock sleeve, sweetheart.” He smirks and brings you forward back into his chest and nestles his head in your neck. He leaves small, teasing bites on you as a promise of what’s to come. If you’re good, that is.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

@frosch-thefrog

#cw public sex #tw public sex #cw exhibitionism #tw exhibitionism #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #gender neutral reader #x men x reader #marvel x reader #marvel smut #x men smut #spiderlily spells

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blackkatmagic · 1 month

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for the ask game! how about granta omega?

Sometimes, there are doors to the spirit world in the most convenient places.

Granta slips out of the wild tangle of electric and organic and into the sterile halls of the Senate building, light on his feet in the darkness. The air here hums, heavy and dark, and Granta breathes it in and smiles.

It never fails to satisfy, the fact that so many thousands of benders and Force-sensitives are so desperately chasing one poor, powerless thief around Coruscant, howling like tookas that just got their tails stepped on.

Well. For certain definitions of powerless. And poor.

Pulling his hood up, Granta hums a quiet tune, scanning the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Mas Amedda isn't quite stupid enough to leave proof of his involvement with the Sith out in the open, but it’s a near thing. And he’s certainly not that careful with proof of his corruption. If Granta didn’t know better, he’d think Mas Amedda was outright asking for someone to blackmail him into betraying Palpatine, and, well. Granta will graciously take him up on the offer if he’s so desperate for it.

It only takes a few moments of slicing to find what he needs, and Granta tucks the data chips away in his coat, neatens the office to erase all signs of his presence, and heads for the hall. There’s another door into the spirit world three levels down that opens up in a plain half-consumed by wires that grow and leaf like vines, and from there Granta knows a path through one of the more misanthropic spirits’ territory, leading to another exit deep in the Undercity. As much as Granta enjoys making the Senate Guard pull their collective hair out over his entrances and exits, sometimes it’s more productive to get out with less of a fuss—

Glass cracks, shatters, and the wind howls like an enraged thing, so strong that for an instant Granta is almost spun off his feet. He snarls a curse, wrenches around, and stopping a bender’s power is possible but not here, not suddenly. Getting away is a better plan, because once Granta is out of sight he’ll be faceless, unremarkable even to a clone trooper.

When he goes to run, though, the airborne shards of glass that are supposed to be shatterproof are still spinning through the air, and the trooper in the center of the storm has his blaster up and aimed, perfectly steady despite the gale.

All benders are at least a little annoying, in Granta's perfectly objective opinion, but airbenders are some of the worst.

“Surrender,” the clone says, a clear warning, and Granta rolls his eyes even as he takes a half-step back, gaze flickering up and down the hall. Getting back into the spirit world is possible even without retreating to the door he emerged from, but the idea of giving away what he is so early in the game is disappointing. Granta was hoping to see the Guard scramble around looking for clues for at least another few weeks while he set up all the pieces on the board.

“Little old me?” Granta asks, pitched to faux innocence that’s meant to infuriate. He takes another step back, calculating his odds of getting into Mas Amedda’s office again before the clone can reach it. “I'm just doing my civic duty. Shaking off a few cobwebs, uncovering the truth about our esteemed leaders. Are you really going to persecute me for that?”

“No,” the clone says, entirely, delightfully unimpressed. “I'm going to persecute you for burglary and breaking and entering. Hands up.”

Obligingly, Granta raises his hands, palming one of his knives as he goes. “Really,” he drawls. “How uninspired of you. Commander, wasn’t it? I think I've seen you around before—”

Movement. Impossibly quick, almost as quick as a Jedi, with the force of a hurricane behind it. Granta flings the knife even as he throws himself to the side, hits the ground and rolls beneath a scything kick, a burst of air so concentrated that it leaves a dent in the wall. It just misses him, though, and Granta whirls grabs for the blaster at the small of his back and puts two shots in the air—

Impact, hard enough to steal his breath, and the clone commander slams him up against the wall with all the force of a tornado, grabs for his hood—

The face is as easy to slip into as a new coat, and Granta throws his hands up, turns his cheek like he’s braced for a blow as the dark hood falls away. The commander freezes, breath catching audibly, and Granta looks up at him with a clone’s face, eyes wide.

��Commander,” he says, and it wavers, almost cracks—

“Fox!” another clone shouts, and instantly Fox is moving again, grabbing. Granta throws himself to the side, but Fox follows him, hits the ground on top of him, and Granta laughs as he lets his own face flicker back into being.

“Fox,” he repeats, halfway to mocking. “What a good name.” In an instant he’s pulled that face up, twists out of Fox’s grip as a sleek black fox and flips free, then bolts sideways even as the other clones lunge to catch him. This shape is quicker than a Human, though, and in an instant he’s hurtling back towards Mas Amedda’s office, rounding a corner with Fox scrambling behind him—

One step sideways, a leap, and he’s back in the spirit world, landing lightly amidst a forest of trees with metal-veined leaves, the mortal world falling way behind him.

“Thank you, Mother of Faces,” he says lightly, and when he rises it’s as a Human again. The opposable thumbs are so useful, after all, even if wearing different faces all his life has left him only vaguely attached to any of them.

And then, with a whirling gust, wind sweeps through the forest, rattling the tree leaves and startling Granta. He whirls, and across the half-there shimmer of distance that marks the separation, he can just see Fox in his bright red armor, stalking up the hall and straight towards the spot where Granta vanished. He stops there, close enough to touch, and even if Granta can't hear what he says when he raises his comm, he can guess. Laughs, leans in, and there's no way for Fox to feel the brush of fingertips that aren't in the same plane, but Fox still pauses, turns his head.

“How interesting,” Granta says, and he can feel the shard of the Mother of Faces inside him, present since the moment he was born, turn towards Fox in contemplation. She likes the clones, so set in their identity, forging their own faces out of sameness. And that makes Granta like them, too.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can't play a few games, particularly when it comes to toying with Fox. The man is interesting, after all.

#kat answers #my writing #bender au #foxgranta #commander fox #granta omega #star wars

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clarkiewrites · 6 months

Text

The Final Straw

Warnings: Smut, G!P, kitchen sex, rough sex, cute cuddles afterwards

Word count: 1163

Summary: After Outreach Day and Wednesday’s shenanigans, Larissa is feeling stressed and wound up. Her dear girlfriend wants to help in anyway possible

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams behind me, furious footsteps following the abrupt sound. I turn around, dropping the tea towel behind me, the remaining washing up to be left for another day. Larissa enters the room, throwing down her handbag and removing her gloves, not caring where they land.

“Darling, what’s the matter, is everything okay?”

“NO! Everything is not okay, Wednesday Addams has gone and ruined everything. Again! Can I not have one day of peace!”

I lean on the kitchen counter, the blonde goddess still pacing about. Ever since this Addams girl has started at Nevermore, Larissa has become more and more stressed, which consequently leads to rougher sex. Not that I mind of course, but days like today only end up one of two ways.

“What can I do to help you Rissa?”

She stares at me before moving towards me, grabbing my neck with her right hand.

“You can strip yourself of all clothing and bend over this fucking counter. And do it quickly.”

Following her orders, I remove my dress in one quick motion before unclasping my bra and letting it fall to the floor. I shuffle over to the counter, placing my hand on it to stabilise myself against it before taking my heels off.

“Leave the heels on.”

I nod in response before reaching for my underwear, dragging them down my legs and letting them fall to the floor. Bending over the counter, I hear some shuffling behind me, but don’t dare to turn around. The anticipation of what might happen makes me wetter by the second as the shuffling stops and I feel her press her front into my back, her mouth right next to my ear.

“You are going to take everything like a good girl and be good for me, okay?”

Whimpering in response, I shuffle slightly, feeling something press into my lower back. Immediately, I know what is about to happen and can only pant, no words forming in my mouth.

Larissa moves her hand, slowly caressing me, her hand slowly inching forward before rubbing small circles on my clit. I moan out in pure pleasure, her delicate hand causing my stomach to flip on itself. I try to arch my back into her but she presses me back down, not letting me move from my position.

“Riss, fuck…please…”

“What do you want baby, use your words. Tell me what you want from me?”

She pushes the tip of her finger into me, not moving it, just resting it in my entrance making my knees buckle slightly.

“I want you to fuck me so hard, with your mouth, fingers or cock. Please, take me however you want!”

“However I want? You may well regret that my love.”

She removes herself from me completely before I can complain. I hear her dress hit the floor but I know that if I turn around now, I will be severely punished. Silence echoes around the room, time seems to stretch forever but eventually I feel a gentle hand run up on the inside of my thigh, grazing close to my entrance.

“Deep breaths dear.”

Before I can question what she means, I feel her push into me, being met with no resistance due to how wet I am. I sinfully moan as she draws back and pushes deeper into me, her hips meeting my back. Larissa picks up her pace, rocking backwards and forwards into me, stretching me delightfully, only feeling her and nothing else. The front of my hips getting pressed into the counter, I feel enclosed, held captive by this goddess.

“Fuck Riss, you feel so good. Please, please don’t stop!”

I cry out as she continues to fuck me, her movements becoming somewhat aggressive. Her slight animalistic side starts to show but I couldn’t care less as she pushes me further and further to my peak. Our pants and moans echo throughout the kitchen, pure pleasure coursing through our bodies.

A coil starts to form in my abdomen as my walls tighten around her. I move back into her, matching her thrusts as she grabs my hair, wrapping my locks around her wrist, making sure that she is in control of me.

“Are you going to cum baby girl? Are you going to make me proud?”

I moan in response as I continue to rock back on her, the peak reaching closer and closer.

“PLease let..god…let me cum, please…oh fuck…so good…PLEASE!”

Her movements get a little sloppier as she bends over me, her mouth once again next to my ear, hot breath brushing over the side of my face.

“Let go my dear, come for me”

She kisses my neck as I arch my back into her, releasing all over her. We cum at the same time, collapsing onto the countertop. I turn to face Larissa, stray hairs falling onto her face, a red flush adorning her face and neck. I push myself off the counter as Larissa pulls out of me. Attempting to move towards her, but instead crumble to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me.

“Oh my darling, are you okay?”

She kneels down beside me but I laugh in response.

“I feel thoroughly fucked, so yes okay. You work wonders darling”

She removes her own heels before scooping me up, her arms wrapping around my legs and arms before carrying me to our bedroom. She places me on our bed before removing my heels and running to the bathroom to start a bath.

I try to move off the bed to help her but she comes back, tutting at me.

“You are not going anywhere missy, you lay down here until the bath if run, okay?”

I nod before falling back onto the bed in exhaustion. A dull ache thrums in me as I can only stare at the ceiling, reliving the past few moments.

“Larissa, come lie with me for a moment. I want to hold you.”

I close my eyes and hear shuffling next to me, then feeling the bed dip beside me as arms envelope me. Soft hair brushes against my face as I turn to face her. A slight layer of sweat adorns her forehead, her bright blue eyes staring at me.

“I’m sorry if I went too hard on you, my love. Ever since-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself. I understand you are under a lot of pressure and stress, and I want to help you in any way possible. Even if it does mean getting fucked into oblivion.”

I cut off her apology, caressing the side of her face.

“No need to be so crude about it! Besides, you sounded like you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh, I did.”

We cuddle for a few more minutes before Larissa goes to turn off the taps, the bath finally ready. I know I shouldn’t ask her about the Wednesday girl, but I want to make sure everything is okay. A discussion for another time maybe

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #rissa #principal weems #gwendoline #smut #clarkiewrites

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jeongin-lvr · 1 year

Text

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ perverted, yang jeongin

ᝰ✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！ 𝗌𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗒！𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽！𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇， 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋，𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇， 𝗇𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗎𝗉𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌， 𝖽𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺𝗅， 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍，𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽．

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾：𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝟤 𝖺𝗆 𝗉𝗅𝗌 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌

[ 4281 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗝𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡 took those pictures with shame in his eyes. He often wondered why he was such a disgusting person, yet at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from uplifting your skirt and taking a swift peek at your deliciously soft flesh. He'd slip his phone under your thighs as well while you laid or even stood beside him, his mouth laying open as he wondered what would happen if he was caught. And later that night he'd look back at them with excitement, excitement that was forecasted with shame; yet, he'd look through every single one.

Over and over and over again.

He loved the little crease where your ass met your deliciously curvy thighs. He loved the look of your panties clinging to your ample cunt, sometimes he'd see a wet mark between your enticing lips and he'd wonder what you were thinking about that made you that way.

God forbid he ask however, it would be embarrassing to even say. So he preferred to just ogle at the perverted photos he took of you. He kept them safe as if it were pure gold.

So there he was swiping through the photos, some he'd seen a thousand times before. Some from MONTHS ago. Others from this morning. Jeongin was thankful you wore so many skirts; if you didn't he'd be left empty handed without these blessed pictures.

One in particular caught his eye, one of your denim skirt lifted up to expose the white and pink underwear you wore that day. It clung to your curves, dipped at your hips and tight against your skin.

In the photo you were asleep, laying sideways on the mattress of his own bed with your arms curled around your chest, his own shirt adorning your skin.

The combination of your tight little underwear and his baggy shirt draped over your body made him mumble desperately to himself, a quick curse as he felt heat rise in both his cock and face. Jeongin knew this feeling and though the guilt was strong, the horniness was stronger.

Jeongin glanced at his doorway, seeing it was closed, the light in the hallway outside was out, which he hoped meant everyone was asleep already. His members were, in fact asleep, but he didn't know about you.

The girl who haunted his fantasies, one by one, taking over the little world in his mind. God, he loved when you starred in his pornographic thoughts. It was like a movie every time.

Jeongin rubbed himself slowly through his sweatpants, eyeing the photo of your beautifully crafted butt, the soft pink lace of your underwear being something he never knew he needed to see you in. It must've been new, he hoped to get another picture next time. Maybe a closer look.

He whined to himself, squinting his eyes as he felt himself grow harder, his hand instinctively reaching into his pants to fish for his cock.

Already rock fucking solid.

The boy swiped more, eyeing the numerous, scandalous photos on his phone with lidded eyes as his own hand jerked himself off. The delightfully warm lube of his own cock making the sensation all the better.

He imagined it wasn't his pathetic hand, but instead your warm, velvety walls around him.

He moaned, shushing himself as he continued. Photo after photo only adding to the pleasure of his own relentless jerks.

I strutted down the hallway toward my room, the last door beside Jeongin's. It was deadly quiet apart from my feet against the cold flooring of the hallway, thanks to the silent night. I yawned to myself, scratching my bare thighs as I crept down to my room.

It was when I reached for the handle of my doorway that I heard a tiny whimper, something so fucking delicious I instantly quirked up. My head turned around, arms and legs frozen as I listened closer.

Another whimper, this time a tiny bit louder, I shifted at the repeated sound. My eyes lingered up and down the hall, pausing at every room while wonder threaded my mind.

Who is that?

Another whimper- more like a silent cry this time -that made my cunt throb. I raised a hand to my face, mouth falling wide as my eyes trailed to the final door before mine; Jeongin's door. His door was lit aglow from beneath the cracked underside, signaling someone was awake in there. And it was definitely the sweet boy I've known forever.

My curiosity pulled my body toward the door, while I knew it was weird and gross and made me seem almost disgusting, I pressed my ear against the soft wood. And I heard another groan, whinier than the others, almost like he was saying a name, but I couldn't figure out whose name it was. More intrigue filled my head, my eyes widening as I softened my breathing to hear more. There was silence, before I finally heard his gorgeous moan.

Yeah, it's a name. My name. I froze again, my palms flat against the door as I contemplated what was happening. Nothing was registering, nothing was clicking. My brain felt dizzy yet my morbid and terrible curiosity kept me upright.

"Y/n... ah, fuck..." his muffled whimpering that made my cunt throb once more, my eyes fluttering shut as I pictured the boy, wondering what he would've looked like right now as he murmured my name alongside his hot, breathy moans of bliss.

My hand rested on the door handle, wondering what he would do if I just turned it and waltzed in like some kind of confident bastard. Would he freak out? Would he... continue? Invite me to join him? My thoughts felt so sinful, so terribly gross. But they wouldn't stop forming.

"I can't- ah, g'cum-" Jeongin whimpered, his voice clear yet diluted by the doorway between us. I hummed to myself, licking my lips.

Then there was a loud, groan paired with soulful whimpers. The wet noise of his hand meeting the flesh of his body began to slow until there was no sound at all. Soon it was quiet. Not even a shuffle from behind the door.

Then suddenly the door pulled open, making me stumble forward a bit but I caught myself with my foot, dumbly standing. Jeongin stood in shock, phone in hand and the screen displaying something odd. My eyes flashed from his face to curious picture staring back at me. Jeongin looked purely terrified, his forehead sheen with sweat and his lips parted and pink per usual. Except now they were turned downward in surprise, eyes wide in fear.

But I didn't notice any of that. My eyes were directly on the familiar looking pair of panties on his screen. Pink and white lace... that's me.

"Y/n- what are- ah, don't look at that-" Jeongin continued to sputter out nonsense, but my hands were quick to snatch up his phone, fingers instantly swiping left and right at the photos. I stepped into his room, pushing him as I eyed the screen in horror.

I paced for a bit, seeing my ass and panties more and more explicitly with every swipe I made to his phone screen.

Jeongin blubbered and objected, trying to snatch his phone but failing miserably. Soon he gave up and sulked down on his bed, shamefully hiding his face in his perfectly made hands. I paused at one picture, finally looking at the boy with something amiss on my face.

For some reason, the idea of him being so fucking pathetic to take these pictures, to be touching himself to it- that made my cunt throb again. I found my eyes hungrily gazing at the sinful boy just a few feet away, obviously ashamed of himself, as he should be. That shameful expression on his pretty face was for some odd reason turning me on immensely.

I gripped his phone right, walking slowly over to him with a hand out, my fingers met the skin of his hands as I pried them off his face, studying his shameful looks.

"Did you take these?" I asked in a sweet tone, hoping to convey my desires and message across. Though, I'm sure my wild, almost narrowed eyes caught him off guard, "Did you fucking take these?"

Jeongin looked like his eyes were glazing with salty tears, definitely regretting his decisions now. I had to chuckle at his grossly pathetic look. I knew he was desperate, desperate for anything like this. I found it cute how ashamed he was. The sight was delectable.

"Please... pretty, I'm sorry," He whined as my hand held his chin firmly, tilting his head up at me while I simply stared down at him with what I hoped was an unimpressed, almost disgusted face, "I... I couldn't help it- Please don't be mad. I'll delete-"

"Don't." I stated harshly, my tone firm and commanding. He paused his sputtering, looking at me daringly with stupidity, eyes watching my face with that same curious gloss on them.

"Don't delete them," I chuckled, looking at them again whilst my hand held his jaw tightly, "Look how many there are... you're a fucking pervert aren't you?" I almost cooed, endearingly leaning in on his face as my eyes flashed between the phone in my hand to his eyes. His pathetically helpless eyes.

"Did you enjoy these, hm?" I kept my eyes firm and lidded as I met his desperate ones. His eyes remained glossy and pleading, lips quivering with confusion. But when I glanced down at his crotch, I could see the evident boner growing within the depths of his pants.

"Well, did you?" I jerked his chin again, demanding a response.

He nodded, "Yes."

"How pathetic," I dryly spoke, opening more pictures on his phone. Some of my panties and ass, others of just me. If Jeongin wasn't such a pretty boy I swear I would've been calling the police by now. But for some reason his odd obsessive and quite frankly weird habits made me horny as fuck.

"Please, Y/n, I'm sorry, please please please don't be mad-" Jeongin whined out loudly, cheeks red and sweat forming on his forehead from the raging nervousness he felt.

"Can you shut the fuck up?" I sneered, moving my fingers from his chin to his hair, tugging it harshly as I stared down at him lustfully.

"Do you think good boys take photos like this??" I asked, watching his eyes burn with more tears. I checked again and confirmed his dick was rock solid. I saw the outline in his grey sweats, "I don't fucking think so. Are you that pathetic that you have to take photos up my skirt to get off? Hm?"

Jeongin shook his head, a tear falling down his porcelain stained cheek, eyes faltering to my lips for a split second as I unknowingly got closer to his face, sneering but silently enjoying his expressions.

"Speak, baby." I demanded. His eyes widened at the nickname and I even found myself wondering where that came from. But when he looked at me with such pleading, submissive eyes I felt my cunt throb and realized why it rolled off my tongue so easily.

"N-no..."

"No? You were touching yourself weren't you? To these pictures?" I spat in his face, edging him on with my words.

"Mhm," His mouth spoke it in more of a moan as I pulled at his sweaty hair, eyes on his lips.

"Bad boy," I hummed crudely in his face, "How are we gonna fix this, huh?"

"I dunno," Jeongin groaned, lips brushed against mine.

I didn't speak as I let go of his hair, tossing his phone to the side as I stood straight up. He watched pathetically, eyeing me as I slithered out of my shorts, then my baggy top, leaving me in nothing but my pink and white lace panties. The very ones from the picture.

He watched with wide eyes, complete wonder and awe in his face as I walked back over to him. I straddled his lap, taking his hair between my fingers again as I jerked his face up to meet mine.

"You're gonna be a good boy and fucking take it, aren't you?" I asked softly, lips barely a millimeter apart.

I felt his erection rub against my soaked cunt, the cloth between us made the friction all the better.

"Y-yes," Jeongin groaned at the feeling, eyes fluttering from the desirable feeling.

I adjusted myself, taking my panties off one leg at a time, letting him ogle at the white and pink hues that were drenched in my natural lubricant. He watched carefully, sweat somehow still gleaming on his forehead despite nothing happening yet.

"Say ah," I ordered, switching into a softer voice. He widened his jaw and allowed me to stuff the fabric between his lips, his muffled groans filling the room as I continued to playfully rub my cunt on his hard dick.

"Since you like my underwear so much you can eat it," I giggled, clapping my hands against his shoulders as I began to grind on him harder, his eyes squeezing and eyebrows twisting with insurmountable pleasure.

"Let's see... does Innie want to be in me?" I asked, grinding becoming slower as I spoke.

He nodded ferociously, begging me with the low grunts and somber eyes he gave me. Pleading with me without saying a word.

"You want to be in me, huh, baby?" I asked, clit rubbing against his sweats and edging me on just right. I watched his lashes flutter. His dark eyes meet mine with desperate passion, "After all the naughty things he's done? I'm not sure..."

Muffled pleas left his mouth, some more audible than others. His eyes falling to my cunt, across my nude figure and while I wasn't a mind reader, I knew what was playing in his horny little brain; this was much better than the pictures.

He whined more, hands stifling holding himself up as I held his shoulders tight. My eyes never left the sight of his quivering, pathetic mouth. The way his lower lip trembled with delicious tenacity. I wanted to watch him sob and writhe for a release, this was only the beginning.

He just didn't know it yet.

Whine after delicious, sweet whine, he didn't stop pleading. My cunt was throbbing around nothing, but I held myself upright. Jeongin whimpered, grinding his hips upwards against mine, barely feeling the friction that was driving him wild. A muffled 'please' left his shimmery lips, sweat glossing the skin of his neck and face as he spoke.

"Okay, fine," I pulled the elastic of his pants down, showcasing his proud and excited member to the world. I admired it for a second as I took it between my palms, holding it tightly but refusing to move.

I adjusted my warm body over his cock, feeling the delectable prod at my entrance as I lined it up like two puzzle pieces. Jeongin whimpered through the muffling of my panties in his mouth, nodding ferociously as if to say to sheath myself unto him. He tried and failed to push his hips upward, trying to relentlessly to fill me up. But I smacked his cheeks lightly, string enough to convey my message.

Thought he sat stunned I felt the pathetic, egregious twitch in his cock.

Before I fully sunk down onto him, I bent to his ear, pressing my teeth into his lobe as my fingers played with the soft strands of his hair at the back of his neck.

I parted my lips, a whisper leaving my mouth, "Just so you know, I'm not letting you cum. Not yet at least. Can your pathetic little cock handle that?"

His eyes widened, only to be softened into little brown pools of pleasure as I sheathed my cunt upon him.

He whined as I ground my hips down, my slick wetness coated his lower region and made delicious squelches; proof of my delight for this situation. Soon I was rising my hips and plopping back down at a rhythmic pace, feeling every inch of him glide in and out of my hole as I made it my mission to push him to the edge.

"F...fucking pervert," I whispered harshly in his ear, once again tugging at the dark roots of his hair. My breath was hot as my lips brushed against his neck, kisses short yet wet, "You like this don't you? Being degraded like this? Tell me, Innie, did you want me to catch you being so sinful?"

He lulled his head, a desperate cry left his lips. He shook his head yet his cheeks grew redder the more I spoke.

"N-no," Jeongin placed his hands over his features, blocking his wonderful lustful stares. I didn't like that; I wanted to see all of him. The way his eyebrows scrunched with every slap of our skin, I wanted to see his face contort from the fucking heat of it all.

"No? Really? I don't fucking believe you, Innie."

"You wanted me to catch you didn't you?" I moaned, the sound muffled against his skin.

I pulled his hands away from his face, venom ravaging my words as I spoke, "Do that again and I'll stop." His hands willingly fell, yet the lay partially limp; more delectable skin slapping, and slowly I could feel him writhe beneath me, desperate for release.

His hands gripped the bedsheets, his body leaned back against the wall behind his bed as I did most of the work. Little helpless moans occasionally left his mouth, his groans higher pitched than normal.

"Fuck... ah," I breathlessly moaned, reaching to grab his phone again and swipe at the photos, showing him every single one, "Does my pussy feel as good as you hoped? You nasty pervert... mh, you don't deserve, ngh, to cum."

Jeongin pleaded through wild cries, helpless whimpers to cum, eyes tearing as his hands gripped the sheet again. One hand rose to my waist, gently holding the skin there before I objected.

"Don't touch," I groaned, showing him the photos again, "Bad boys don't deserve to touch me. I'm teaching you a lesson."

"F-fuck me," I made out his moaning cry, the underwear beginning to slip from his jaw.

"Gonna cum... Please, please let me cum!" The underwear slipped from his mouth, falling on his thighs as I rode him endlessly. Drenched in drool and flimsily laying on his softly toned body, sticking to the warm sweat that shone on his skin. I bent my lips to his jaw, finding my lips lazily kissing him, egging him on further with my tired whimpers; just to watch his face scrunch helplessly.

"No, shut the fuck up before I muffle you again," I gritted my teeth, planting my lips on his neck and nibbling repeatedly, over and over, repeating the same spots on his skin in a relentless pattern. I wanted to see the bruises the next morning, I wanted to see him wince each time he'd accidentally touch it. A signal that I taught him some fucking manners.

"Ah, f-feels so good," Jeongin couldn't help anything that left his mouth, especially when you scolded him like that. Or showed him those nasty photos he's taken over the course of almost a year. Or even when you just looked at him like some kind of creep, yet your lust wouldn't let you maintain that look. It was always the best to him. He just loved the way you degraded him. In every way possible. He never knew you of all people would be such a deliciously hot dominant, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"Too bad you're not gonna cum," I chuckled, my cunt clenching around him as I continued to bounce. He groaned at the feeling, eliciting a slew of deep groans and moans as I persisted in the same area.

Jeongin felt his stomach build up that lovely orgasm, he felt his arise. He just had no idea how to stop it. How to abide by your wishes. He truly was pathetic.

"I... you feel so- so fucking good," Jeongin arched his head back, knowing he had no choice but to cum. Then he felt my hips slow, my eyes on his as I smirked deviantly.

"Wha... why'd you slow down?" Jeongin whined, adjusting his body beneath mine to angle his dick upward. He pathetically thrusted up, hitting a sensitive part that I didn't want him to find.

I moaned and pushed him down into his mattress, halting his movements. My palms flat against his pectorals as I hissed in retaliation.

"Cut the shit," I scolded, enjoying his whines, "I said you're not coming. I mean it."

"Please, need you," Jeongin felt tears fill his eyes as your cunt clenched around him, yet there was no movements to enable that.

"Bad boys don't get rewarded," I scowled at the male, hands lacing in his hair while my lips peppered delicate kisses on his Adam's apple, then below his jaw. My hips slowly ground down, his tip delicately brushing against my walls and sensitive bits with every minute grind I made.

"I'll be good, please, wanna cum so bad."

"You'll be good, huh?" I smirked with a cocky sound in my voice, lips dragging to his lips but only kissing beside his parted mouth.

"Mhm, just let me cum, god, please," He begged, desperation and clear want in his voice.

I contemplated it for a second, "Eh, I was getting tired anyway. If you can make me cum I'll let you fill me up, how about that?" I breathed down on his face, lips pulling his own apart so my tongue could roam his mouth.

"Fuck, thank you," Jeongin groaned, deeply. His hands touched my hips, holding me as his overwhelmed face contorted again into more pleasurable pain.

"Let's see what your pathetic cock can do," I sat upright on him, watching as he began to thrust upward into me. Admittedly, my body felt so fucking good, especially when he hit that delicate little bundle of nerves in the deepest part of me. His hands found solace on my ass now that I finally let him touch me, his fingers pinching and squeezing at the fat. He would moan, loud and proud, without any of the previous shame he showcased before. I just knew he was eating this up; my feigned nonchalant attitude , my unbothered expression. He liked it.

I groaned, but his whines desperate whimpers were much, much louder. I wouldn't be surprised if another member of the dorms heard his mewling by now.

I felt the coil in my stomach build, slowly I synchronized our movements, grinding each time our hips met with a pornographic skin slap. My eyes fluttered but I forced them wide, stars clouded my vision.

"Ngh, I need to cum," Jeongin stated, pleading with me to release already so he could as well.

I chuckled, lips meeting his neck again and peppering slobbery, moist kisses along his skin.

"Not there yet," I teased into his ear.

He groaned, arching both his back and head back in disbelief. Jeongin's thrusts were deeper, harder and quick enough to the point where I could feel all of him. Every inch, every curve and every little quirk in his cock. I felt it all, and admittedly it felt so fucking divine.

Soon my climax was raging to be released, burning my thighs and insides, scrambling around my body and begging to be let out.

"Baby- fuck, please just cum! Can't hold it anymore!" Jeongin pleaded misty-eyed. His mouth wide, cheeks redder than an apple.

I whimpered, his cock's tip hitting my gspot stupidly fast over and over again. My eyes falling shut as I let my orgasm overtake me. The denial would've been too much to handle.

My cunt pulsated around his cock, sending his body into a whimpering, tasty mess. His sweaty hair clung to his forehead as he allowed his own to overtake as well. My cum leaked down his legs and my own meanwhile his cum shot into me, prolonging my climax by a few minor seconds.

"Fuck, fuck!! So damn good!" Jeongin bellowed between relentless moans, his hips drilling into my hole as he rode out that sweaty, desired high he's been aching for since the start.

Silence swept over us as we both left our blissful state, my head lulled onto his chest, still clothed by his shirt but promising sweat stains visible to my eyes. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, staring flat at the ceiling, post-nut clarity burdening his mind. I chuckled, slipping him out with a painful yet satisfying squelch. The sound made Jeongin snap out of his own mind, meeting my eyes.

"So... I hope that was better than your hand and my nonconsensual ass pics," I joked, enjoying the way his cheeks glowed red, eyes refusing to open anymore as he used his lovely hand to cover his mouth.

"Yes." A short yet definite answer.

"You gonna take any more of those?" I asked, fingers finding the collar of his shirt.

"N-no..."

"Boo, you're no fun," I kissed his neck, "If you do we can have some fun again." I whispered in his ear, already feeling his dick regain that overstimulating warmth, "Oh, someone's excited."

"Fuck...“

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