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carebearbussy · 2 months

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𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙮𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙥.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙫, 𝙥*𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩h (𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙), 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙘𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙨, 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙟𝙤𝙗, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙟𝙤𝙗 (𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙).

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 4.3𝙠 (𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮…)

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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You were sooo tired.

Sukuna had woken you up at the crack of dawn, seemingly out of nowhere. He had apparently informed you about your early awakening, but you cannot recall such events from him. But you knew how he became when he was upset, you you sucked it up and got out of your comfortable bed, leaving behind its warmth, for what exactly?

Another one of Sukuna's meetings, where he would sit hours on end in his large throne, as he awaits an endless line of citizens, listening to every one of their requests. The throne room at the estate was massive in size, being able to house thousands of people on end. And in the middle of it all, was Sukuna himself, nicely sat in it, legs spread slightly with one hand holding his drowsy head. You on the other hand, were seated right on his lap, one of his lower hands holding you close by the stomach, making you squirm in his lap every once and a while. Your kimono draping down your legs, covering most of your body. You looked ethereal, as you became the center of attention very quickly due to your appearance.

A civilian stood up, as he walked the crimson red carpet up to the steps of the throne. With a skittish look on the mans face, he respectfully bowed to the floor of the stairs, hovering his hands over his forehead, making sure to not make any unnecessary peeking, somewhat aware of the notorious temper Lord Sukuna gets when somebody oversteps their place when it comes to you. With a slightly shaky voice, he spoke.

"My Lord, you see, my family is in desperate times at the moment. My wife has fallen under an unknown illness, and we have no way of telling whether she will survive or not. Please, it is with my greatest esteem, if you could bless my family."

You furrow your eyebrows as you hear his story. To Sukuna, he has no reaction over such ridiculous things, but to you? You become very sensitive to such things, as you try to hide your discomfort by ajusting yourself on Sukunas lap, making him ever so slightly groan. He side eyes, you, as he continues to talk with the man kneeling before him. "I do not think you are worthy of my blessings, tiresome human. You may take your leave now." He says sternly, not giving any second thought.

Besides the throne on your left, is Uraume, keeping watch and a handy count over everybody who comes in and out. On your left, is a group of butlers, ready to take orders at any given moment. They stood tall, wanting to thoroughly impress Lord Sukuna to the fullest. And it seemed as though one particular one had wanted to impress you even more. He was tall, not as tall as Sukuna, but still tall compared to you. His eyes were dull with need, as they eyed your frame up and down, silently admiring you through his vision. God, he wished it was him instead of Sukuna. If he had a woman like you sitting all pretty on his lap like that, thats all a man like him could ask for.

Meanwhile, the man cowering on the floor was left in shambles, disappointment filling his system as he hears the words of Lord Sukuna. He stays on the ground for a while, not moving out of sheer disbelief. But his moment to himself was cut short. "Lord Sukuna said move, lackey." Uraume had said with a flick of the wrist, causing the man to quickly get up and make his leave, not wanting to disrupt the dwindling peace in the throne room.

"The nerve of some people to request such deplorable things from me, it makes me laugh, truly." He says, laughing to himself, causing you to slightly bounce in his lap, not going unnoticed by the same butler ogling at you from behind. But Sukuna is faster. He never makes any indications that he knows somebody is looking at you, but he is well aware of his staring. Sukuna has superhuman senses from all directions, making it a point to protect you from harm. He brings you in tighter to his chest, as he rubs the skin on your thigh under your kimono, causing shivers to crawl up your spine.

He brings your head closer to his with one hand as he pushes against it, his mouth coming dangerously close to your ear, as you can feel his hot breath gently fan against your neck. "I'm sure you are completely oblivious to this, but there is a man looking at my woman. You will know who I am talking about once I let you go." he says, squinting his eyes in annoyance at the man he can feel lingering his eyes on you. He is blissfully unaware that Sukuna knows what he is doing. He truly has no clue what he has gotten himself into.

Not only have none of the other butlers informed him on Sukunas constant desire for you, but the other butlers take note of what he is doing, too scared to move from their current position to stop him. They are afraid that interfering meant death, because they know what is about to happen shortly after this whole ordeal is over.

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It was nice to relax after a while, you thought.

The meeting with the civilians had lasted hours, your intuition being correct. You had come so close to just resting your eyes during the whole thing, but the tight grip Sukuna had on your waist prevented you from doing so. You were exhausted to say the least, needing a nice, well deserved bath to soothe your nerves.

You step into the large dimmed bathhouse with two handmaidens, immediately being enticed by the warmth of the atmosphere. Steam seemed to sprout from all sides, making you feel drowsy. But you felt at ease. You stepped over to a large bath, as it was slowly filled with warm water by your handmaidens with pitchers. You sat by the bath, as you watched them fill it to the brim with warm water. Your toes hit the water, making you hum with contentment.

"I'm ready." You say, signaling for the ladies to help you into the bath. You slowly strip yourself of all of your clothes, your handmaidens helping you do so. One of them holds your used kimono, as another slides off your shoes and undergarments. As you are fully undressed, both of your hands were held out in front of you, as each of your handmaidens take hold of each one, helping you keep your balance as you enter inside. You close your eyes, being content with the temperature. As you ease yourself into the water, you think back at todays events.

You had also somewhat noticed the man staring at you, only after Sukuna had mentioned it, and once the event had come to a close. But it couldn't have been that bad, right? Sukuna had a tendency to overreact to things like this when it came to you. This must have been one of those cases, surely. Or maybe, he was correct to think this way. After all, the butler had been starring for what was considered too personal. You could not see him, due to you being seated facing forward. But it was evident that he was thinking about more than what meets the eye. But as you relaxed into your string of thoughts, you were externally interrupted.

A large commotion could be heard from outside of the bathhouse, making you flinch and startling you by natural reaction. You turn your head in the direction of the noise, realizing it was the sound of one of the sliding doors slamming open. The doors in the estate were made with heavy material, so it could only be opened with such brute force from somebody as strong as Sukuna. The only person being as strong as him, being himself, of course. You knew how Sukuna got when he got mad, and you did not want him to be unattended when he got like this.

Wasting no time, you got up out of the bath, not thinking to put on your clothes, but instead grabbing the large bath towel that was next to you in the tub, instead of the robe that was freshly ironed for you. With hurried steps, you almost slipped as you exited the tub, causing your handmaidens to go into safety mode. "My lady, please! You should wear proper attire, and i'm sure another butler can handle Lord Sukuna at this moment!" She says, reaching for the robe, trying to hand it to you. But you were quick to ignore her, as you help up the towel to your body with one hand, as you stepped outside in broad daylight.

And to your horror, you had wished you stayed inside.

With your own two eyes, you saw Sukuna in all of his glory, basking in the feeling of strangling the poor butler that decided to linger his eyes on you for too long. The mans hands were trying to claw away Sukunas much larger ones, but to no avail. The sound of the air being knocked out of the mans lungs rung throughout the openness of the estate. Sukuna looked at the man, as he held him high in the air with one hand. He rested the rest of his hands on his hips, clearly unpleased by his previous actions.

"Tsk, you're pathetic. Laying your puny eyes on whats mine? Has nobody taught you any manners? Foolish." He says, smirking through his reactions. His face was turning more of a purple hue by the minute, seeming like he could pass out at any minute. He looks over to Uraume, who is smiling with him through the servants pain. "Yes, my lord, he made a very large mistake." Uraume says, agreeing. "Hm... what if I just..." He says, teasingly tightening his grip on the mans neck, as a loud 'pop' can be heard. This only amused Sukuna further, pushing himself to do more.

As you stood there watching in pure shock while resting your body on a wooden post, you really couldn't stand to see it any longer. You had to do something. You walked along the wooden floorboards of the foyer, trying not to make nay sound, but you fail miserably. A painfully loud 'creek' is heard from your direction, causing everybody in your vicinity to advert their attention towards you. You felt yourself grow how in embarrassment, realizing what you were wearing was highly inappropriate. Everybody except for the butler seemed unnafected, but on the inside, Sukuna was fuming.

So you're trying to show off now? He had seen your half naked body loads of times, but in front of another man? You were really pushing it at this point. His nose scrunches, as his eyebrows furrow in irritation. He eyes you up and down, not wasting any time before dropping the man before him, not taking into consideration his safety whatsoever. He walks towards you, each step making you more jittery than the next.

"Kuna, what are you doing to that poor man-!" You say, calling out to him as you stand on the foyer, almost standing at the same height as him, but still having to look up as he stood in front of you. "What the hell do you think you're wearing, woman?" He says, adding fuel to the fire, and completely disregarding the fact that he had just strangled a man. You look at him with wide eyes, as you scoff to yourself, trying to peek over his shoulder to get a better look of the man, but to no avail due to his tall stature. "That's not what's important right now, now tell me what happened!" You say, still searching for answers.

"Yes it is, do not make me ask twice. Go put some clothes on before anybody sees you in such a state." He says, starring daggers at your body. But you aren't focused on that, but instead on what was happening to the butler, who was clutching his bruised throat for dear life, making quick breaths in and out as he pants on the stone floor. Its uncomfortable to watch, but Uraume and Sukuna don't seem to care at all. You go to move past Sukuna, wanting to make sure the dying man on the floor was alright.

As you walk to where the man was, he instinctively tried to move away from you, not wanting to test Lord Sukuna's patience any further than he already has. But he finds himself unable to do anything other than stay still, as he watched the girl come closer to him by the second. Sukuna would let you have your moment, before he would decide how to penalize you for acting out of line.

You knelt down in front of the man, still holding up the towel wrapping your body. You looked at him with so much care, something Sukuna was selfish when it came down to it. "Hey, it's okay..." You say, reaching your free hand out to rub his back, hoping to soothe some of his pain. You knew what you were doing would be overstepping, but in the moment it really didn't matter. It seemed to work, as you noticed his breathing become ever so slightly more sturdy as you stood there. You smiled down on him by natural reaction, forgetting that a fuming monster of a man was watching this all unfold behind you.

This didn't last any longer, as Sukuna made heavy steps towards the two of you, as Uraume observed from afar. But you are too focused on helping the butler get back to his feet, as you attempt to try and hold him up with one hand. But all the sudden, your free hand that was once carrying the butler, now carried nothing, as Sukuna snatched your wrist into his tight clutch. This made you wince in shock, completely diverting your attention towards Sukuna. His eyes squinted as he looked at you, jealousy taking over his system once more.

"First you have men looking at you, then you walk outside practically naked, and now you are trying to seduce another man? I think I need to teach somebody a lesson." He says, forcibly bringing you up by the thighs, carrying you so your chests are pressed together. You wrap your arms around Sukunas neck, as you squeel from the shock of being carried so abruptly. You kick your feet as Sukunas hands lock underneath your thighs, making sure to not move the slipping towel. His hold on you bounce ever so slightly. "How was that flirting-"

"And you're also going to learn how to not talk back to those above you."

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"Please, m' sorry-"

You said, your eyes lolling back into your skull. It had been roughly an hour after Sukuna had brought you back to his quarters, and he planned on using this time wisely.

You were propped up nicely on the cozy comforters on the bed, but the comfort was far gone, with Sukuna edging you for what seemed like forever. It was getting tiring, as you chased upon a non existent race, which was your orgasm. Somehow, Sukuna always knew whenever you were about to release, having a sixth sense embedded in his body dedicated to you. His upper arms hooked under your upper thighs, his lower hands holding your hips up to maneuver you how he pleases.

This position he had kept you in made you feel practically numb, bringing you speechless. Your mouth squeezed shut from the pressure of his tongue secured onto your clit. He latched his lips, sucking on the bud, bringing you too much pleasure that you can handle at once.

"F-fuck, please let me come 'Kuna!" You say, barely able to look him in the eyes, hell, he wasn't even letting you touch him, let alone yourself. But this in his words, was to be deserved. "Tsk, acting like such a whore today, arent you?" He says, taking a pause in his antics, before giving your pussy some nice, playful slaps with his upper hand, making your hips jolt up, your eyes going wide as you yelp out. "Sensitive for your king, aren't we?"

He resumes his assault on your cunt, making sure to linger at your reactions. What he wants most, is a reaction out of you. And a reaction he is getting. You feel your legs start to tremble under his constant sucking, as you feel your body pulse every time he hits a nerve. You can't help the whimpers that fall from your mouth, from the combination of ungranted release, and the tingling due to the numbing sensation from how long he had been toying with you. But you could tell Sukuna was enjoying it. But you needed to cum, and soon. You felt as if you were going to explode if you didn't, and there was really nothing you could do to stop him.

The grip on his thighs tighten, as he soon realizes you are close to your release again, which seemed to pattern the last three? six? ten times? You couldn't keep track at this point the amount of times he had edged you, especially the way he swishes his head in the crevices of your folds, eating you out like a starved man deprived of nutrients. He blew into your wetness, causing waves of vibration to be loud enough to make a noise, almost sending you over the edge, before Sukuna halts his movements, then looking up at you. Your face was red, sweat trickling down every inch of your body. You felt hot, inside and out. Why did he have to be so difficult?

"Noooo, please just let me cum! I'll be good!" You plead, whining about your missed orgasm. You fiddled your hands above your stomach, eager to grip his silky pink hair, reaching out to it by instinct. But he notices this, and stop you by grabbing you by the wrist. "Ah ah ah, you have to wait a bit, brat. I'm not sure you quite deserve your reward." He says, crushing your high hopes in one sentence. You practically had tears in your eyes from how frustrated you were. "Beg for what you wish."

You shut your eyes, a loud exhale from your nose being heard. You looked down at him, still between your legs. He starts running his lengthy fingers along your slick, squishing your puffy folds each between his index and thumbs. You look away, not wanting to look him in the eyes at the thought of how pathetic you looked. You open your mouth, trying to find the right words for your tireless begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try to entice anybody, I was just worried, but that has nothing to do with this, please 'Kuna!" You say, looking down at him with glossy eyes, filled with need, You try to close your legs out of sheer shyness, but he stops you with two firm hands. He rewards you with a couple particularly harsh pussy slaps, making you jolt once more as he watches the way your hips buck upwards. He stays in his current position for a while, contemplating his decision.

He gets up from the edge of the bed, unhooking his arms as he towers over your resting form. You watch him slowly get closer to your body, crawling up the bed while looking at your face. He finds himself enticed by your neck, as he watches you extend it to the other side to hide your face. But that only shows off a noble part of your supple body that he adores. You peek up at him, as his face is mere inches away from yours. But he decides to attack your neck, going in like a moth to a flame. Sucking on the soft skin of your neck, he creates a multitude of different bruising, further marking you. Yeah, you were going to have a hard time trying to cover this up.

Coating your neck in his thick saliva, you whimper at the feeling of his thick fangs sinking ever so slightly into your neck. You try to grab onto his hair, but he stops you once more, pinning your hand to the bed with one of his upper hands, his lower hands reaching down to rub rough circles on your sensitive bud. You felt yourself bring a plethora of different emotions to yourself, no knowing what part of your body to focus on. You lifted your head back as a natural reaction, letting Sukuna fully dwarf you on the bed, as well as accidentally grant him full access to your neck. You try to close your legs, bringing your knees to your stomach, but his girthy hands keep them plied open.

He lets go of your nape with a 'pop', as he slowly pulls away, basking in the sight of his marks on your nimble skin. You are left panting, the combination of pain and pleasure seeping into you. He truly didn't mean to go too far, but he cant help it when it comes to you.

"Y'know, I was planning on having my fun with you until I tire, but since you asked oh so nicely, and the way you look right now, god, I think you're ready."

At his words, you felt a smile of relief hit your face, happy that after all this time, he is finally giving in. He felt his cock throb with precum, but one thing Sukuna is good at, is gaslighting you. He looks at you with a sinister smile, tilting his head as he moves his robe off of his body, pointing down at his pulsing length through his pants. "You see this brat? You did this. This is all your fault, and I know how you can fix it." He says, following with a loud sigh.

With one swift movement, he tugs off his undergarments. Your face contorts into that of surprise, being shocked every single time without fail whenever you see his two lengthy cocks, proudly pulsating against your thigh. You know you'll be able to take it, but with the kind of mood he is in right now, you are unsure. Sukuna is a very unpredictable man, after all. But one thing you were not expecting, was for him to be the one sitting up. His chest hit your back, as his legs resting on the floor at the edge of the bed for leverage. His lower arms held your hips up nicely, his upper arms hooking under your knees.

With another swift movement, no prep involved, he slipped inside of you with his bottom cock, his top one sliding against your pubic area. You moan out upon his arrival inside you, unprepared for the sheer size he was. His teeth connected to your shoulder as he slouched down to accommodate your height. "Wait-" You said, but were interrupted as he began to move at a moderate pace, as you sucked him in and out of your gummy walls repeatedly.

Wanton moans threatened to come out every second, as he plunged himself deeper into you, smacking his hips against yours as he did all of the work. You felt like you were floating, as you were being used like a ragdoll for Sukuna's pleasure. "Shit, just sucking me in like a vice, arent'cha? Are you gonna be a good little whore? You adore your kings cock that much?" He said, finding it amusing how your body reacts to his treatment. "Look down woman, theres something else there besides just the one inside you." He says, signaling to his free cock that was sliding against your lower stomach.

"Kuna, I can feel it in my-" "Your tummy? I know, you can handle it, it'll all be worth it. Now pay attention." He says, shutting you up once more. It was hard to focus, the bouncing of your body paired with the tight position Sukuna had kept you in being key factors. You slowly reach down with your right hand, cupping his free cock in your now wet hands, soaking them in pre cum. The squelching of the wetness of his cock thrusting in your hand, his hips and your pussy smacking against each other, and the sounds of your uncontrollable moans filled the room.

"You wish it was that pesky butlers cock in your tight, pretty hand, huh? Well i've got news for you, he is nothing compared to me. I shouldn't even be giving him a second thought, but thats what happens when you are in the picture."

You lazied your head on his bicep, trying to gain leverage on yourself. You were sooooo close. "What if I just..." He said, hitting the spot inside you that only he knows, repeatedly driving against the sweet ridge that sits nicely in your canal, thus almost sending you over the edge. "F-fuck! Right there-, holy-! I'm about to-"

But he stops everything, seemingly placing your world at an everlasting halt. That was to be your most intense orgasm of the night, but he ruined it. You were devastated, to the point where you tried moving yourself again, but the grip he had on you prevented you from doing so. You let out a loud sigh, tired of your release being denied.

"But you said you would let me, you said-!"

"Aww, whats wrong? You thought you would get it that easily? Now get on those knees of yours and put yourself to use, show me that you are truly sorry, brat."

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#sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #heian sukuna #heian era sukuna #heian sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x Charlotte #heian #heian era #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x Charlotte #jjk smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #sukuna jjk #sukuna x y/n

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karinasbaby · 19 days

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ENHA HYUNG LINE — YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S DADDY ! (they all have daddy kinks. sorry.) part 1 !!

P. enha hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader (17+) | W. unprotected sex, infidelity (but it’s valid), mentions of cheating, lots of pet names, cervix & womb fucking, enha r jealous & feral, breeding kink, biting & marking, other members from diff kpop groups being assholes & getting fucked over (this is just fiction don’t come at me), lots of other filthy shit i forgot | WC. 12k (idek how that happened) | A,N. this one has been in the drafts since july. and i just finished it up while waiting for my doctor’s appointment, enjoy!

IN WHICH the hyung line (+ jungwon) get addicted to a pussy that doesn’t belong to them in the first place ?!

♡ PS this part contains heeseung, jake & jungwon !! <3

✷ LEE HEESEUNG ⋆ 이희승

the one thing that always stood out about heeseung, a striking trait that he carried was his exceptional ability to hide his emotions.

though this odd trait of his did have its own pros and cons that appeared and made themselves pretty evident throughout his life, heeseung still thought this was a good characteristic about himself.

it helped a lot to hide his emotions when he lied, when he tried to make an excuse as to why he forgot to do his homework. when asked from his friends if he was feeling down and the list went on. to put things short, he was the exact opposite of an open book that was easily read.

but heeseung started to slowly doubt this speciality of his, especially when it came to his bestfriend. and his little sister, you.

jeno has always been a great friend of heeseung, their small age gap making the two feel comfortable with one another immediately after meeting. the friendship had a click of some sort, almost making them feel like they’ve known each other for decades when they’ve only been friends for a handful amount of months.

and heeseung wasn’t stopping his grateful and happy emotions to spill out whenever he was with jeno, the kind hearted guy that he always saw as a solid, constant figure in his life and future.

the issue came for heeseung when you, jeno’s cute little sister that he always seemed to eye for a bit too long, got into a relationship.

your first relationship at that.

jeno, as your older brother was rightfully protective, giving you advice every chance he could after checking up on you and your boyfriend, soobin. whom always rubbed jeno the wrong way. but he didn’t have the courage to point it out to you and potentially break your heart, it was a risk he could never take.

but if there was someone that was even more concerned and even more protective— overly protective even, than jeno. it was heeseung.

there was something about soobin that always seemed to just not settle with heeseung. he couldn’t tell if it was his weirdly ‘forgetful memory’ as you liked to call it, or the way his eyes were constantly glued to his phone whenever you four decided to hang out. not giving you a singular ounce of the attention you deserved.

his behaviour towards you, his own girlfriend, was dry. cold. dismissive. and he couldn’t tell if jeno was purposefully turning a blind eye into this, but it was so clearly hurting you.

especially with the way your shoulders would visibly slump whenever you would excitedly tell soobin about an a new event that happened during your lecture, an interest that had your eyes sparkling while he would just nod mindlessly along to your words. vision obstructed and glued onto his stupid phone screen that irritated heeseung to no end. he could see the disappointment rising in you when soobin would pay you no attention. so passive in his responses, so visible that he did not care.

and it was angering heeseung so tremendously. setting him off like a ticking bomb that would explode at the guy any second but he kept holding himself back.

for the sake of jeno. for the sake of you. after all, he was just a friend.

and he couldn’t tell if soobin’s attitude towards you angered him more, or the fact that he was always going to be stuck under the ‘friend’ title in your life.

heeseung had developed feelings for you way before you got into a relationship with soobin, might even be a mere month after jeno introduced you to him. he had always had his eyes lingering on you. a soft, gentle glint in them whenever your presence was surrounding him in any way.

he believed that it was just him forming a soft spot for you in his heart in the beginning, but as time passed by, especially after soobin ruined everything in heeseung’s opinion, his feelings grew. becoming a solidified fact for heeseung instead of a mere reverie that he cooed about in his head.

yet for the longest time, he knew he had to keep his emotions hidden again. falling back into his old routine of covering, blanketing his feelings. hiding and cowering away in fear of your brother finding out and the dear connection that heeseung held so close to his heart ending.

so he bit his tongue. holding back any words, any opinions, any thoughts and of course any emotions that were related to you and soobin. swallowing back his anger that swirled sombrely in the pit of his stomach. though no one was taking notice of his hatred towards soobin, it was only growing more and more day by day.

like a foul stench that would blind your senses, an evil beast that festered malignantly. his distaste towards soobin became a hardened feeling. a prominent one that settled in the front of his chest. growing and branching between his ribs to only pulse in hatred whenever he saw the guy.

he wasn’t sure how long he’ll be able to hide these feelings though.

because not only was he now dealing with the fact that he had to fight himself back from punching soobin everytime he saw him, he also had his own completely opposite emotions that bloomed like the breathtaking petals of a flower when graced by spring sunlight, his undying and thriving pure love for you.

it made his heart ache in dull pain when he saw the damage soobin was causing to you. his own insides ripping apart whenever you would come crying onto jeno’s shoulder because of another argument with your jerk of a boyfriend, he was growing tired. almost as tired as you were becoming from holding his shaking fists back from marking soobin’s god forsaken face. tired from actually capturing his tongue between his teeth before vile words spilled past his lips towards him.

he was so tired with this routine. so sickened of the way you were struggling and struggling. stuck in a bubble of anguish and pain formed by soobin that no one was able to pop.

but heeseung always carried a needle around, for safe measures.

the rainy day you decided to frantically knock on his door, your sobs echoing in his house when you buried your face into his chest because you actually found another girl’s number in the same phone that soobin had his eyes stuck on. was the day that heeseung finally snapped.

fuck all of this.

fuck soobin. fuck jeno. fuck both of their feelings. he had you, who so clearly needed a massive amount of attention, of care and love to pour all over your fresh wound that ached in heeseung’s embrace. he felt his heart shattering into the tiniest pieces when you sobbed in his hold. the desperate grip your fingers had on his arms pulling at his insides as he felt his own tears aligning his waterline.

he hated to see you like this. so heartbroken and devastated over a guy that didn’t even deserve you one bit. he would’ve never treated you like soobin. not even for a single second. heeseung would’ve treated you so much better if only you had looked at him the way he’s always been looking at you for the past months.

if only you took notice of the longing in his eyes. the yearn that clawed at his heartstrings whenever he saw you in front of him. right within arm’s reach but so so far away.

but that didn’t matter anymore. you were finally away from soobin, that fucker was out of your life and you were in heeseung’s arms. heeseung’s embrace that felt so warm, so welcoming as you fit perfectly in his hold. so right.

so you stayed, feeling the safety and comfort that seeped through your body in heeseung’s presence. a peace of mind that you’ve never felt with anyone, not even with your own brother. that lulled you into calmness, heeseung’s gentle touch that brushed against the skin of your face and neck when he would tenderly caress you as he whispered sweet, calming words to your ear that made the raging storm inside of you sizzle down.

the hurt, the pain and all the agony was pushed aside. stuffed inside of a box discarded into the back of your brain. your head throbbed in pain at the excessive amount of crying you did in heeseung’s arms. a pulsing ache that travelled from the back of your skull to the end of your spine as you sniffled quietly in his arms.

“feeling better, precious?” he whispered quietly, voice barely audible. so soft and delicate as if he was scared that any unexpected move or sound will scare you. make you cower away in fear. he knew how to speak to you. how to touch you and handle you just the right way.

so affectionate, calm and delicate when handling you. touch as soft as a baby bird’s feather as if you were made of glass, the most precious material that could break and crumble with the slightest incorrect move.

he made you feel so seen, so understood and cared for. you weren’t too much for him as soobin claimed you to be. not attention seeking or annoying at all.

“not really..” you closed your eyes, wet lashes heavy with tear droplets that didn’t have the chance to roll down your face, he looked at you. in his eyes an unfamiliar glow. unable to pinpoint or understand exactly what he was feeling, all he knew was that he wanted you close to him.

“what can i do to make you feel better, pearl?” the new petname that rolled off his tongue so easily had your heart leaping in your chest, you opened your eyes. glossy vision landing on his own expectant one, he was implying something with his words. both of you aware of the sharp edge in his tone, an invitation that he had slipped towards you. waiting for you to pick it up and accept.

“make me forget about him..” your warm breath fanned over his face, the feeling of finally having you so close made his head spin. a carnal, hidden urge in him awakening after being discarded and thrown away for so long. stuffed deep inside of him for months, a crippling desire. a wicked desire to have you, has surged forward again.

his emotions, feelings, thoughts everything about you that were invalidated by his rational side. concealed in the name of his morals and beliefs that he’s wrong. he shouldn’t desire a taken woman, shouldn’t look at his own best friend’s little sister wrongly, were all springing back to life. enlivened at your mere presence. your mere existence and attendance in his hold. and heeseung was no longer holding himself back.

he didn’t care if what he was going to be doing aligned with his stupid morals and beliefs anymore. didn’t care if you were to wake up tomorrow regretting everything. didn’t care if he wasn’t going to be able to look at jeno in the eye again. he was finally given a taste of you.

not a whisper of you, not a piece of you, you were entirely served on a silver platter for him only to devour. to ravish. to feast on with ardour. to finally satisfy and satiate the hunger that always ached in his stomach for you.

you were finally here. between his fingertips. within arm’s reach, looking at him. staring into his eyes and not only looking at the devoted shine in them directed towards you, you were reciprocating it.

“yeah? that’s what you want, pretty?” he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. you closed your eyes at the intimacy. a warmth spreading inside of you before settling into your core. dripping. that’s what you were. absolutely soaked.

“i want you.” you spoke, hit with an unknown urge to only speak the truth. removing each and every filter from your mind and mouth as you let your tongue speak whatever your brain formed at that current moment. and you wanted heeseung.

and who was he to deny you of that?

your sultry eyes that looked at him in pure lust asking him that? he was gone. your vixen like manners wrapping him in a chokehold. he was such a weak man for you. determined on pleasing you to the best of his ability, make you lose count on the amounts of times he’ll push you towards your high just so you can think about him and how good your pretty little cunt feels.

and so heeseung started, laying you on your stomach atop his satin sheets with your hands behind you, restrained by his fastened belt around your wrists while you squirmed on his bed. long, thick fingers that worked past your sopping entrance. leaking mushy walls tightened around his digits as if welcoming them for being inside of your needy pussy. fuck you were drenched.

“what a greedy cunt.. sucking my fingers in like this, wonder how long you’ve been waiting for this, pearl.” he laughed behind you, busy taking in the way your slick was drizzling down his palm, the way your puffy swollen folds swallowed in his long fingers entirely. the wet sounds from his abuse against your sweet spot was the cherry on top for him.

he was so fucking hard in his pants. his briefs feeling unbearably tight. heeseung breathed out short huffs of breaths, working his way to stretch your tight pussy open before fucking you on his length that he was sure you couldn’t take.

especially not with the way you were moaning and thrashing in his bed just from his fingers.

but who could blame you? he felt so good. his elongated fingers brushing against all of your sweet spots so deliciously. you could only imagine how mouth watering his cock would feel when he finally decides to fuck you like you’ve always dreamed of.

you couldn’t deny the attraction you’ve held for heeseung. the twinge at your heart that hoped to tug you towards him, an unknown pull that always made you stay up late at night thinking about heeseung. wondering about heeseung. dreaming about heeseung.

and for the longest time, it made you feel so guilty. so ashamed of the fact that you were thinking of your friend more than your own boyfriend. yet at the same time you heard a tiny voice in your head justifying your actions, a small part of you knew that your boyfriend was really anything but a boyfriend.

you did notice his passive behaviour. his curt responses and cold attitude towards you. but did you actually have the courage to confront soobin about it? to bring it up as an actual issue that was clearly building a separating wall between you two in your relationship? of course no. you decided to turn into a blind eye and hold faith in false beliefs that maybe, just maybe soobin will change one day.

except that day never came. it was never going to.

and the rational, logical part of you knew this. knew this so so well that it decided to give up on soobin long before your heart realised the change in your desire. the change in your mind, the way your thoughts quickly turned from being clouded with soobin, to being thundered with your beloved friend heeseung.

you didn’t even realise you had such a drastic change of heart. only coming to the chilling notion of how when you were with soobin, heeseung roamed your mind. when you were talking to jeno. heeseung was filling the back of your head. when soobin was trying to make dry love that lacked any sense of passion with you, you were left to fend for yourself with your fingers, and heeseung in your brain. heeseung on your thoughts, the whisper of ‘heeseung’ on your tongue when you finally reached the climax soobin couldn’t bring you to.

and in the beginning you were scared, terrified even of the thumping in your chest that you were sure anyone could hear if they stepped close enough to you when you were around heeseung. scared of the way your eyes would stray too far away from soobin and remain stuck on heeseung for too long. scared of the way you were only staying in your current relationship not out of love, but out of attachment to soobin when you yearned for heeseung.

hence why the only relief that you found in your love life was in your dreams. your unconscious daydreams that would conjure up a love story, a love vessel that branched between you and heeseung. every night with no fail.

yet you didn’t have to worry about this anymore. no longer tied emotionally to the false, unrealistic images and feelings that only existed in your head about heeseung. not when you had him currently groaning out praises to you, showering you with so much love and attention that you missed out on as he fucked you through your first orgasm on his fingers.

“such a good girl for me.. cumming around my fingers so well. my obedient little girl.” he trailed kisses from the back of your thighs, wet smacks of his lips against your skin till he reached your shoulder, where he traced his long tongue along your neck. “think you’re ready for me, precious?” he whispered lustfully into your ear. and god did he sound so much better. so much hotter than in your dreams.

voice almost gruff, an entire octave lower than his usual tone as he pressed his warm body against yours. brushing the exposed, leaking head of his cock and separating your oozing lower lips after discarding himself from his clothes. he was so menacing. teasing you so much when all your body ached for was to be filled up to the brim with his length.

“so needy for me.. look at your cunt trying to suck me in, pearl.” he hissed, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of the same hole that he just fucked open with his fingers gaping at him. dribbling more of your syrupy nectar down your inner thighs as if to seduce him. winking at him when you tightened around nothing just to entice him further. making a wave of thrill pass through his body just so he would fill you up.

and well, heeseung was a very weak, weak man when it came to you.

he pushed the head of his cock in. the two of you hissing in sync, your pretty plump lips falling in an ‘o’ shape while he bit on his lower lip, your gushing walls wrapped around him so tightly the first time he sunk his cock in you. as if greeting him, their new owner before moulding into his shape.

if heeseung stared at your form any longer, he would’ve came inside of you already, ruining both of your fun. but goodness was seeing you twitching in his bed, plush thighs pushed to the sides so he can stuff his cock inside of you so fully while your arms shook and jerked around his own belt was a divine sight. one he quickly imprinted onto his brain to always go back to whenever needed.

but something told him that that wasn’t going to happen, he doesn’t need to depend on his memory anymore. he felt like he was going to be able to experience the real deal after this.

he pushed his hips forward, thrusting in and brushing right against your g-spot that had you whining his name almost automatically. “found it..” he smirked in victory, “that’s your weak spot isn’t it, pearl?” leaning down just a bit to inch closer to your ear, “your sweet sweet spot, baby.” you felt tears aligning your eyes. glossing over when he continued to nudge his hips against your spot. the one corner in your walls that had you seeing stars.

legs already shaking under him, you mewled his name so adorably. each huff and puff of air past your glistening lips made his heart skip a beat. he was growing even more obsessed with you than he already was. “y-yes seung.. that’s— oh my god.. that’s it!” you whined and sobbed for him.

heeseung sucked a deep breath in, lips kissing his teeth as his body felt like it was lit ablaze. so many months of daydreaming about this current moment that he was in right now paid off. you felt so hot. so pliant. so malleable under him. body reacting to each touch of his so sweetly, like your body recognised his as its other half before either of you did.

“such a good- haah shit.. such a good pussy.. sucking me in so well. you feel fuckin’ divine, pretty.” his eyes rolled into the back of his head from the way your cunt just kept gushing and sputtering out wetness before wrapping around his cock and sucking him back in deep. so so deep he was bruising your insides.

“j-just for you daddy..” a broken, quiet sentence that was almost unheard. almost went unnoticed. but heeseung was so glad he caught it. as the second that endearing name fell past your parted lips, he felt an entire electric shock shoot through his spine.

his mind was reeling, breaths growing uneven as your voice played like a broken record in his head, so pretty. so small. so frail and so delicate. as sensitive and precious as an actual pearl you were. heeseung was sinking in so much deeper in love than he already was with you.

“yeah, little girl? daddy’s making you feel good, isn’t he?” he was so careful. each move of his made solely for the purpose of pleasing you. of pushing you closer and closer to your peak of pleasure. and before you realised it, your climax broke down upon you like a dam. tears rolling down your cheeks and onto heeseung’s pillowcases as he fucked you through your high.

god did it feel so relieving. so alleviating to have someone put your pleasure first, to push you to your pleasure first. to care for you, think about you and make love to you for you. it was so different. so delicious you couldn’t help but ravish in the ecstasy of it all. your first ever experience of pure, arrant love.

it wasn’t only heeseung that was getting high off of the pleasure of experiencing you for the first time, your mind was also reeling from experiencing such pleasure for the first time. “s’good daddy.. too good! you feel so warm.” hicupping and babbling on as heeseung only continued to thrust in more harshly.

he felt so feverish, the temperature of his body rising while his room turned steamier. it was almost as if he could no longer breathe. not that his mind registered that feeling in the first place, the only thing he could process was the way your pussy was trying to suck him back in more and more and more.

he leaned forward, allowing his hot exhales of breath to fan against your ear. hand sneaking between your shaking thighs and circling around your clit. “you can give daddy another one, can’t you pearl?” he whimpered next to your ear. his eyelids droopy as he held back on his own climax.

he rolled his hips in circular motion against yours, no longer thrusting his leaking cock in and out and only pressing his mushroom shaped tip onto your cervix, the sensation of him so close, so deep and so hot on top and inside of you made your eyes roll to the back of your head, his movements incessant as he worked and guided your body towards another release.

“f-fuck..” sobbing under heeseung as he coaxed another orgasm out of you, he cooed besides your ear as his hands quickly unclasped his belt from around your wrists, making your hands grip desperately onto the sheets while his laced around your shaking legs, tongue peeking out to lick against your tears as he felt relief in his chest at the sight of you crying from pure pleasure and not over your ex.

the feeling of being so intimately connected to you, having you entrust him with your body and pleasure made his head reel. you being so close to him was a dream come true for heeseung. and now that he had you in tears underneath him, he was never going to be able to let go of this moment.

every second of this night has already been engraved in his head. every emotion and every fast thump of his heart tattooed itself on his memory, and it made him feel so good. so accomplished, he felt complete.

he buried his face in your neck, relishing in the way your body was shivering because of him, the goosebumps that aligned your skin because of his touch, relishing in the feeling of having you around him in every way. “you feel so good, princess..” he drunkenly spoke, his orgasm creeping up on him as he continued to grind against you.

“wrapped around daddy so well, pearl.” he groaned, every sniffle and whimper that left your mouth due to his lewd words went straight to his throbbing cock, he felt like he was seconds away from releasing and filling you up entirely. the thought alone making his jaw clench in delirium.

“want daddy to fill you up, baby?” he whispered, his smirk evident in his whisper. luring you slowly into his trap that seemed so effective with the way you whimpered for him and tightened around him more. so pleased, ecstatic and needy of the mere idea.

“p-please, daddy! please fill me up.. give me your babies..” you begged, weaker hands wrapped around his forearms to keep him in place while your cunt squeezed around him, gushing around his cock just to urge him to not pull out and fill you up instead.

and fuck heeseung was losing it.

your words almost awakening something animalistic in him, a noxious urge to truly fill you up, give you his babies and keep you just for himself only. in that exact moment, all the worries from heeseung’s shoulders evaporated.

your brother no longer mattered, soobin no longer mattered, he himself didn’t matter anymore. he only needed to have you stuck with him for eternity. by his side forever, and you were asking him to do exactly that. asking him so desperately. how could he refuse?

after all, heeseung was a very weak man when it came to you.

“gonna take all of daddy’s babies, pearl?” he chuckled, sweat rolling off of his temples as the coil in his stomach tightened further, the feeling making his voice crack at the end. you nodded frantically under him, nails digging into his skin yet the pain made him hiss in pleasure.

“please give it to me..” you moaned as you felt another release wash over you, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks while heeseung bit your skin at the overwhelming waves of ecstaty that crashed on him. “i’m your good girl, daddy aren’t i? i deserve it.. please.” fuck you sounded so starved. the mere longing in your voice, you calling yourself his good girl made him lose his mind.

and before heeseung could even realise it, he was pumping you full with his warm ropes of cum, both of you groaning in vehement, blinding euphoria while he peppered kisses around your neck and jaw. “of course you’re my good girl, baby fuuuck— you’re my prettiest girl.” his own legs started to shake in pleasure as he rode out his high.

keeping himself so deep inside of you, pushing his load deeper with each slight thrust while he stayed above you. whispering praise after praise for you just to show you how much he truly loves you. heeseung was ready to die for you.

and once his high subsided, he carefully laid next to you, moving you gently to your side and staying rooted deep inside of you before covering both of your bodies with his blanket.

he placed a loving kiss to your temple, arms wrapped protectively around your weak and spent body. “sleep well, pearl.” he spoke, “don’t think about anything, daddy’s here.” you felt the way his hold tightened around you.

you felt too fatigued to reply, instead tilting your head just enough to kiss his hand that was close to your neck, the small gesture carrying your love for the man behind you, making his heart thunder in his chest as you fell asleep, feeling so protected and loved for the first time in so long.

★ SIM JAEYUN ⋆⋆⋆ 심재윤

sim jaeyun was great at many things. acing his physics exams, being the best captain for his university’s football team and being an absolute sweetheart to his teachers and friends.

the only thing that sim jaeyun sometimes lacked in was his ability to give a fuck. especially when it came to his childhood friend, his one sided enemy and shameless copycat.

lee anton, who’s also a close family friend of jake. has been living in his shadow ever since the two could even walk. countless comparisons between the two young boys drew a very fat, drastic line that only distanced them from one another without their parents’ realisation.

sure, anton and jake might’ve sat next to each other at family dinners, passed each other tissues or salt, but the second they were outside of the dining room or the house that pushed them to be in the same vicinity? it was over.

their so called ‘friendship’ was only a show the two of them had unspokenly agreed on in order to not have their families pry into their lives. and for the longest time, it worked.

jake didn’t care. jake couldn’t even bring himself to care about anything anton related while that clearly wasn’t the case for anton.

call it his insecurities or doubts towards everything, he always watched jaeyun from the sidelines with a glint in his eyes that not even he could decipher, whether it was admiration or envy. the only thing anton was sure he felt towards jake, was resentment.

years and years of all of his actions getting nitpicked and compared to jake’s made him only strive to be more. to be better than jake. to reach heights and places the older one could only dream of. but at the same time his dreams only stayed as that, dreams.

because jake— he was untouchable. a dude that had everything and anything really. he was perfect in every aspect. excellent grades, respected by all the sport coaches, admired by every teacher and fawned over by every girl.

and it sickened anton.

because he had multiple things that now he had to improve on, he couldn’t find the one singular thing that jake didn’t have that he could snatch. the one thing he could reach and claim before his enemy could even think about it. he had to figure out a way to make jake jealous, to pay for all of these years of one sided rivalry that only made anton almost lose his sanity.

and so he did.

he found exactly what would set jake off. the only way to turn the tables around and have jake eyeing him from the sidelines.

his crush. anton managed to date you, jake’s obsession and love that no one except his close circle of friends knew about. he had you wrapped around his finger.

you see now as mentioned before, jake didn’t care. he didn’t care what other opinions people had on him, who were getting compared to him or who he was getting compared to himself. he was content and happy in being present in his own bubble, surrounded by his own people he knew he could trust. and well just lived his life.

except he couldn’t do that anymore. not when anton, who was determined to climb up towards jake’s level by also becoming the co-captain of the university’s football team— walked around the halls with his arm wrapped around your waist and lips close to your ear as he whispered a stupid joke that made you laugh. right. in front. of jake.

jake was livid.

for the longest time in his life, he never felt the need to reach his hands out towards something that didn’t come for him first. his eyes never strayed too far away from things that were already meant for him. as difficult as this was to hear for others, jake was simply gifted in many factors in life.

he didn’t try too hard to study and ace all his tests. he was just very intelligent and paid a great amount of attention in his lectures, it wasn’t his fault that he was ridiculously handsome that (as cliche as this sounds) girls fangirled over him when he would pass by the halls. and it really didn’t cost a lot to not be an asshole to others.

so for jake to feel the need to have. the crave to own. the urge to desire something that he wasn’t already divinely gifted? was making him pissed.

he wasn’t even sure himself when his crush on you started, or how it developed to be something that gnawed at his heartstrings everyday. when the smart student of his physics class turned from someone that he only used to admire during his lectures into someone he thought about before falling asleep everynight. what he did know though was the fact that he wanted you.

and was jake someone that didn’t get what he wanted? pfft of course no.

that’s why he had you— anton’s beloved girlfriend who he seemed to forget multiple dates with because he spent too much time ogling jake— clenching down on his leaking length that thrusted past your sopping hole.

“f-fuck! jake— shit! he’s going to hear us!” you mewled his name, body feeling excessively warm, heart thundering against your chest in both anxiety and excitement at the thought of being caught with jake, sweat rolled down both of your bodies while you desperately clawed at jake’s open locker.

jake was currently balls deep inside of you in the football team’s locker room.

where anton was just a hallway away, calling out your name since he had to apologise for missing your fourth date this week.

“scared of letting that asshole hear us? haah— i have no idea why you’re still- fuck.. with him when you have me, angel girl.” he breathed out heavily next to your ear, eyes closing in pleasure as he thrusted into your walls that only seemed to suck him in further and further. he was feeling so ecstatic. so high on your touch and presence that he was holding himself back from filling you up entirely.

you pushed your hips back, actions completely contradicting your own words as you kept tightening around jake with each whiny moan that fell past his bitten lips, “you know i can’t leave him..” you whined, head pressing against the lockers while jake leaned down, hovering his chest above your back.

“why is that, baby? is he remembering all your dates? shit- is he buying you all the jewellery you deserve, angel? i-is he fucking you as good as i am right now?” he bit against the shell of your ear, voice growing desperate, needy, ravenous just to hear you say the words he wants to hear. his satisfaction bubbling in his stomach when you shook your head to everything he groaned to you, denying each and every action that jake would’ve done for you in a heartbeat.

“no! no no he doesn’t— hmm he d-doesn’t- fuck! only you do!” you thrashed under his hold, hips jerking forward from his grip as your abdomen only tightened and tightened further. you felt so good. the stretch of his thick cock splitting you open burned so well. you loved having him so deep inside of you, leaking tip of his dick pressing and kissing all over your sweet spots that had stars spinning around your head.

he laughed breathlessly behind you, reveling in your praises and the way each word was only a further push into his inflated ego, he already knew all of this. he knew how shitty anton was treating you as he was too busy trying to make him jealous. he knew every and each move anton was trying to pull but none of it was going to work.

as he was too busy to study jake’s reactions to even realise that he had his own girlfriend cumming around his enemy’s cock so prettily. falling apart in jake’s embrace as jake only cooed and encouraged you even more. to cum more. to make a mess over his cock. to claim him as yours just as badly as he wanted to claim you as his.

and that’s exactly what you did, with the way his cock kept bullying its way back inside of your walls that continued to milk him for all he’s worth. relishing in the feeling of his hot cum filling you up with warm and thick ropes of his load, you continued to do what he wanted. forming a sheen ring of your combined juices around the base of his cock.

jake kept fucking into you, whispering words after words of praise hotly into your ear while your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. his hand let go of your hip to push in between your sticky inner thighs, fingers working deftly in rubbing circular motions onto your throbbing clit that only pulsed in need under his touch. “telling me to stop.. when she’s sucking me in this well.” he groaned, breaths getting caught in his throat as he felt hot white pleasure spreading all over his body.

“asking me to not fuck you… only thinking about your stupid boyfriend what about her then?” he slapped against your cunt, the wet sounds of his fingers landing on your wet, glistening skin had your mind reeling. “always so selfish not thinking about her.. oh but i always do. i can’t get this pretty cunt out of my head baby.” he shivered behind you, getting lost in the way you kept sucking him in due to his words.

the two of your bodies were moulding into one at this point, your flimsy panties that were pushed to the side with your skirt pushed upwards and jake’s shorts that were pooling by his ankles were the last of your concerns, him fucking you this good and this deep in the public space of your locker’s room was also discarded into the back of your head that was getting gradually fucked into subspace.

your senses heightened, only processing the feeling of jake’s swollen, pulsing tip kissing and pushing against your throbbing cervix that begged to be filled up with his cum over and over again, filled up to the brim as many times as jake could give to you till the two of your bodies gave out.

“you don’t actually want me to s-stop do you, baby?” his voice became shaky, matching your own shaky breathes as he bit against the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. his hips began to grind against yours, thick swollen balls pressed against the curve of your ass as he barely pulled out an inch or two before stuffing you full of his cock. “t-think about her, princess.” he starts to slap against your pussy again, gentle wet slaps that echo embarrassingly loud in the empty locker’s room.

“telling me to pull out when she’s so greedy f’me?” he moans, chest heaving in deep gulps of breath as he kept holding his orgasm back, reminding himself to not cum before you again. “tell me baby, will he ever breed this pretty little cunt like i’m about to right now?” his hand that was gripping your hip dug his fingers into your plush skin further, leaving indents of his sharp nails behind while you mewled in pained pleasure at the sensation.

you loved it when he marked you, admiring all his marks whenever anton wasn’t home and hiding them away from his eyes, it made you feel excited. a rush of joy sparking in your stomach at the thought of these marks being a secret only you and jake knew about.

“n-no no.. he won’t, jakey he c-can’t!” you hiccuped, his favourite pet name spilling out while you felt your used, swollen pussy aching in pain and need. you felt so wasted, so febrile as your cunt only spasmed around him needily no matter how sore you already were feeling. and jake loved it so much when your body began to respond to him, reacting to every touch and contact made by him and he knew each response like the back of his hand.

he doubted if anton knew how to get your body like this too. flushed and burning in his hold, saturated pussy walls milking and squeezing him, salty droplets of sweat that dribbled down the back of your neck that he had no problem licking up. there was no way anton knew your body like he did.

he knew exactly which buttons to push and which parts to pull, just like how he knew that thrusting his hips so deep to the point where your cervix felt bruised while sneaking one of his hands under your shirt to tug at your hardened nipple and slither his other hand to wrap around your neck, pressing lightly just to make your head spin will have you unraveling again on his throbbing cock.

“there you go princess..” he breathed out, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head as your walls calmped down on him. cunt wrapping around his thick cock like a vice as you creamed and made a mess over his dick just how he liked it. “feels good, angel?” he spoke against the skin of your neck, hands now moving to grip onto his own locker door to stabilise himself. you nodded dumbly to his words. eyes closed as electrifying waves of euphoria twitched along your body.

“good baby.. so so good t’me.. you can take more can’t you now? my pretty girl?” he spoke over the approaching yells of anton, your name spilling past his lips as his eyes darted everywhere in the halls to find your figure. though he didn’t know why his feet led him into the hallway of the football team’s locker room, he just decided to not wonder about it too much.

and you might’ve not been able to hear him over the incessant ringing in your ears as you came down from your high that jake fucked you dumb towards but oh he heard it so clearly. the tone of desperation in his voice was like music to jake’s ears. this right here, was his chance. and he was going to take it no matter what happens.

“think you can take a bit more, princess?” he began to move his hips again, nasty, loud and squelching wet noises echoing in the locker’s room as he pulled in and out allowing a glistening, clear mixed with white mixture of both of your arousals to dribble past your inner thighs, he looked down at the sight of his veiny cock glistening in your syrupy juices. the locker room’s lights reflecting off your pretty stuffed cunt and his thick cock that disappeared between your dripping folds. god he could cum right now if he wanted to. but he still held back.

his hand moved onto your lower back, pressing slightly to bend you down more. deepening the arch of your back to make his cock slip past your drizzling folds, each thrust of his against your hips almost splattering your filthy wetness over your ass cheeks and his pelvis. he pulled his hips slightly back before ramming them forward again. the ridiculously wet noise in combination with your sinful moan made his muscles tighten.

his abs flexing as he lifted his shirt, tugging the hem of it between his teeth to allow the gushing combination of your juices to climb up his stomach, revelling in the way your pussy spurted out more cum, more squirt and more of your sweet syrupy nectar combined with his own on his skin. in a way he felt like you were marking him, rightfully staining your own territory and it made him feral.

“baby?” the distant yells of anton became closer and closer. the stupid pet name that he dared to call you made jake scoff. his jealousy, envy and all nastily negative emotions that swirlied within him made him fuck you harder. harsher. his length pulling at your walls, tugging against your sweet spots making you sob and wail his name, jake’s name in the locker’s room.

“who’s fucking you this good, princess?” he growled, drool dribbling past the corner of his lips as sweat rolled down his temples, the salty droplets finding purchase on his glowing skin before falling atop your shining one. “y-you! jakey.. fuck! oh my god- you you you!” you babbled on, if jake’s mouth was covered in drool yours was a mess. you salivated more and more as he bullied his cock inside of you, marking and moulding your insides to only fit his length. only recognise his dick and veins that decorated his cock.

“what’s my name baby? say it. yell it. scream it, princess. let them all hear who you belong to.” his shaking hand turned to land a harsh slap against your right ass cheek, palm burning at the aggressive contact of your soft skin with his making you cry even more under him. face almost pressed against the cool metal of the locker, pearly tears falling freely onto the wet puddle that the two of you had formed on the floor right between your legs.

“jakey!” you gasped loudly, vision blurry with both overstimulated pleasure and your own tears. a hot pounding forming in the back of your head as jake continued to fuck you stupid on his thick inches that dragged along your creaming walls, clenching and clamping down on him in cadence to his thrusts.

“that’s not my name, princess.” he frustratedly groaned, he was almost able to hear anton’s foot steps as they approached the locker’s room where he had you bent over and sucking in his cock like the perfect slut for him that you were. the slut that anton didn’t even know existed but jake had memorised like the back of his hand.

“d-daddy!” you choked out, swallowing back sobs as another orgasm washed over you, cumming so hard around jake’s cock while he continued to fuck into you, each squirt of your sopping pussy only encouraged him to push back into your cunt. “pushing me out now, is she?” he moaned, head thrown back in pleasure at the added pressure of your cunt both pushing him out and sucking him back in. making his head reel in ecstasy.

“say my name, baby. say it. who owns this fucking pussy?” he thrusted back, attempting to piston his mushroom tip against your sweet spots to make you see stars. “you do, daddy! you do!” mewling under him as your own nails began to dig into your skin. jake felt so much euphoria rushing deep in his veins at your words. the sound of your whiny voice mewling and moaning so sweetly for him while your body squirmed under his hold made him so happy. he had you exactly where he wanted.

at the best position for anton to see right when he walks past the door of the locker’s room.

“am i fucking this pretty cunt good, princess? want me to fill your cheating pussy up? knock you up so you have no choice but to stay with me and not your asshole of a boyfriend, hm?” he egged you on, knowing so so well that anton heard everything. the loud screech of his sneakers against floor of the hallway telling him everything he needed to know and god jake was on cloud fucking nine right now.

“gonna let me breed you? make you pregnant with my baby. have you all round and pretty carrying my baby so you’re mine forever.” he leaned down to kiss against your neck, his balls squeezing more tightly as he finally let go. allowing all the cum stored in them to push against your pretty cervix and womb. filling you up with his hot ropes of cum, knocking you up just how he wanted.

jake didn’t even mind the shocked gasp the fell past anton’s lips at the sight, too high. too drunk and wasted on the feeling of the way your pussy was sucking him in as he triggered another orgasm from you because of his own, he hummed at the feeling, soft whimpers falling past his lips while he held you close to him. god he was cumming so so much. filling you up to the brim so well you could feel his cum flooding your insides, filling up your swollen pussy and uterus so well. there was no way it didn’t take.

your drool was dribbling past your chin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jake grinding up against your ass to ride both of your highs out, his hand pressed against the bloated bulge in your lower stomach while broken sobs and whispers of his name made it to his ears. your body was so weak. so used and so utterly exhausted from the continuous fucking and breeding. “feeling tired, mama?” he whispered lustfully against your ear, peeking one eye towards the locker room’s door just in time to catch the faint sight of anton’s sneakers quickly disappearing behind the walls.

he smiled, satisfaction and happiness bubbling in his insides at the thought of finally having you. with no worries or concerns of anton. he felt so joyous. so relieved that you no longer had to deal with that asshole. he finally had you all to himself.

he kept his softening cock buried inside of you, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer before nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. you felt so soft, so nice and warm in his hands when you moved your hand back to tug at his neck, you turned your head back and connected your lips to his.

and just that action alone had jake’s heart bursting with love, he finally had you wrapped around his finger just how you had him for the longest time.

☆ YANG JUNGWON ⟡ 양정원

for yang jungwon, life had always been on easy mode. as if playing an easier, more smoother game of life with less bumps and obstacles in his path. everything almost moulded to his liking and every unfavourable decision changed for the sweethearted guy.

his life was nothing short than average— he was a remarkably good student, great president of his class. trusted tremendously by the teachers, very dearly loved by all animals— well okay maybe his life wasn’t that average.

but he just liked to believe that it was fate, or luck, one of those two didn’t matter which one but he did know that there was some other higher power that played an important role in all of his life events. as surely there was a reasoning behind every single thing that happens in his world.. or maybe not somethings are just meant to be the way the are.

much like his confusing rivalry with his number one public enemy, the guy that he would actually have no problem with killing if he could, haruto.

the hatred, dislike and absolute loath the two shared against each other was a mystery to not only the people surrounding them, but to their own selves as well. jungwon couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his relationship with haruto had began to bend incorrectly but as far as he remembers— it’s always been like that.

the two couldn’t stand each other to stay in the same room. throwing nasty glares at one another before turning their heads to spew hateful words. “this fucking asshole” “this stupid bastard” and their friends were used to it. no matter how many times they attempted to understand, to really know the reason as to just why there was so much ill dislike between them— they just couldn’t reach anything.

“because he’s a cocky son of a bi—“ “yeah okay i think that’s enough.” jungwon got cut off by his younger friend ni-ki when asked about his unexpected distaste towards haruto, no one bothered to figure out the weird and unexplained hostility between the two boys after that.

and for the longest time, with no interaction points between the two. everything seemed to be fine. both of their hearts calming down from beating so much hatred, mouths empty from nasty words and a calm and collected peace of mind for all parties.

but that didn’t last that long.

you see, jungwon wasn’t the best when it came to maintaining relationships— not in a cheating or unloyal kind of way. he just didn’t feel like he was reciprocating the same amount of effort and dedication he was receiving in a relationship, hence most of the ones he’s went through had reached their demise before they were able to fully bloom.

blame it on his busy schedule and duty filled routines, he just sometimes couldn’t push an entire romantic relationship to handle and be apart of into his life at certain periods.

something that haruto was clearly able to do. and god he did not let anyone hear the end of it, especially jungwon.

the problem wasn’t the fact that jungwon couldn’t keep a relationship anymore. jungwon had always wanted to be in one, to be loved and appreciated and doted on by someone he wholeheartedly trusted and saw a future with. he wasn’t afraid to love either. it was just the time factor that he wasn’t sure about giving. not the satisfactory amount for a lover atleast.

but for haruto to rub all of this into his face when he sat at a lunch table with his arm slinged around your hips as you gazed at him with hearts in your eyes? was a bit too much.

“that’s why you can’t keep a fucking relationship!” this sentence coming from haruto during another argument a mere two days later after seeing you two in the cafeteria? oh jungwon was fuming.

this was it. if haruto was so concerned about jungwon being unable to keep a relationship, why not just snatch away his?

which explains how you currently landed in this situation, laying sideways on his bed. one of his hands gently held your leg, keeping an open entrance for him to plunge his cock back inside of your wetness. he felt so ecstatic. so deep as he shoved his thick inches inside of your gummy walls. length exploring and massaging your insides so wonderfully you couldn’t help but moan so prettily for him, small praises tumbling past your lips. you were so dizzy in pleasure.

“feels good, precious?” he would mumble behind you, his own eyelids shut tightly at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in greedily. a ravenous grip around the base of his cock that had him seeing stars. “s’good won.. f-fuck.. t’ feels amazing..” you huffed, pearly droplets of sweat shimmering prettily over your body as he rolled his hips up against your ass.

his thrusts were short, not too much power behind him as he was so drunk off of your pussy already. they were just right. pushing and kneading against your sweet spots so deliciously and making you bite you lower lip harsh enough to draw a metallic taste into your mouth. he was stuffing you so well. fucking you so good you couldn’t even think about anything else.

especially not the date with haruto you were supposed to be on like right now.

and jungwon knew about it. he knew so well exactly what haruto was planning to do on this date, which flowers he was buying and to which restaurant he wanted to take you to make up for the fact that he was an actual asshole just like jungwon had always known.

because what sane man would be mean to you? no matter how many times you tried to hide it from everyone’s eyes, jungwon knows that you’re not happy in your relationship with haruto. hell— he even got into a relationship to make him jealous in the first place. it wasn’t out of love or whatever lie he was feeding you.

no one except jungwon knew about the disgusting and degrading comments and names haruto would make about you. about his horrible manners and actions that would only make you question the whole purpose of this relationship, because love— what was known as the basis for every relationship, was clearly missing in this one.

but you were too attached to realise that, too used to being around haruto to consider anyone else. so what if he was rude to you? atleast he was your boyfriend. or well.. that was until jungwon walked into the picture, more like waltzed into your life.

“you feel so good around me, doll. milking my cock with this pretty cunt— fuuuck you’re so good to me.” he praised you on and on. mouth and tongue never getting tired from showering you with compliments, something drastically different from you were used to and it felt so nice. different, but a welcomed different.

you shyed away adorably from him, whimpering in his hold as tears sprung into your eyes from both the sensitivity of your cunt and your heart, he felt the way your walls tightened around him at his words. the feeling paired with your body turning warmer and your cute mewls made him coo in your ear. how cute can someone be?

he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that haruto had actually managed to score you. to date you out of all people. such a sweet souled woman that only deserved praise, love and affection. all things that jungwon couldn’t help but shower you with as you laid under him, taking his cock so well like a good girl. seriously how could haruto not treat you right?

though questioning haruto did become something jungwon gave up on ages ago. the only point he took away from that was if haruto is wrong about something, then there’s a very high chance that jungwon’s right.

and haruto was so so wrong about degrading you. treating you so poorly when all you needed were a few soft whispers of how well you were doing, what a pretty girl you were as you took his big cock in so sweetly to get you to glow more. to flourish right before his eyes when you bucked your hips back against his. eyes shutting in ecstasy while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. feeling so loved and appreciated in the arms of a man you knew would never hurt you.

jungwon was enamoured by you. drowning completely in adoration and love for you. you were so warm in his embrace, body so pliant and responsive to his every move. almost like you were made for his touch. made to allow his fingertips to burn along your skin as they trailed from your waist down to your leg.

so needy, so so desperate to feel him all over you. and he felt the same way. the urge to press his skin against yours, cover your body with his and mould both of them into one you couldn’t tell apart where he was ending and where you were starting, everything felt so hot. so warm so electrictifying as he fucked you open on his cock in a way you’ve never felt before.

“p-please.. leave him for me bunny..” he stuttered out, throat closing up when your walls clamped down on him at the sound of his voice so distant, an entire pitch higher and so debauched in you. you shook your head mindlessly at his words, unable to agree to them, haruto still held a small precious spot in your heart. you were still attached.

“you know he doesn’t deserve you, precious..” his chest heaved in heavy gulps of air, his own waterline aligning with tears as he desperately clawed at your body as if he was almost panicked at the thought of you not leaving. begging you to leave his own enemy and become his. he wanted you so bad. to call you his so bad. to claim you, to please you and to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

and he could tell you wanted him just as badly. if your body language was anything to go by, he would think you were in love with him already. you were so good to him. felt so incredible around him he couldn’t help but feel his body floating in utter euphoria, pure ecstasy with you.

“i c-can’t.. i can’t do that won.. s’too mean..” you hiccuped, tears rushing down your pretty face making him coo, he slithered his other hand down your waist, middle and ring finger teasing your throbbing clit that pulsed with need. you were so close to the edge of your climax your eyes rolled back when he began to rub slow circles on your aching bud. almost matching them along with the rolls of his hips against yours.

he was fucking you so well. so good. teetering on the edge of complete pleasure as his heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your ass with every motion. the sound so lewd and sinful it made your head spin with each smack! smack! everything felt too good. too much.

“don’t you think him not fucking this pretty cunt good is too mean, bun?” he laughed breathlessly, eyelids fluttering shut when his raging hot tip that leaked tremendous amounts of pre nudged against your cervix, you sobbed out incoherent words. mind turning into a puddle of mush in your skull as you were unable to process or think about anything other than jungwon’s dick fucking you open like this.

he nudged his nose against your ear, hand and hips picking up in speed to ram inside of your snug cunt that only seemed to suck him in further. sticky, glistening ropes of arousal connected his hips and pelvis to your ass cheeks that were covered in a white mess. you had lost count about the amount of times you’ve creamed on him now, and jungwon didn’t mind at all.

with your hot breaths fanning against one another, warm, sweaty bodies moving in cadence and your insides feeling so sensitive and sore, neither of you were able to pick up the echoing sound of your phone ringing on the bedside table. the call coming from none other than haruto.

“come to me pretty bunny.. leave him and- haah— shit.. come to me.” he moaned by your ear, finger incessant in rubbing against your clit and to coax out another orgasm out of you and another and another.

you were feeling so delirious at this point. having jungwon— a guy that your heart soared for fucking you and dragging out so many highs out of you while begging you to leave your asshole of a boyfriend was so.. intense. it was so much. way too much for your brain to comprehend.

“you know i-i can treat you better right?… so much better than him..” he whined, so lost on you, so gone and drunk on the flavour of you atop his senses. overtaking his every thought, his every idea, his entire brain and whole heart completely. and he loved it. as if hexed by a spell you casted upon him, he relished in it.

and you revelled in his attention, his love that he continued to rain on you, possessed by his presence and enchanted entirely. as if stuck under his hypnosis, the movements of his body against yours, his whispers of sweet words, sweet promises and dirty nasty things he would do to you if you were his had you hexed so so deep into his own spell. tangled in a passion dedicated to him and formed by him only.

you nodded in a lucid manner to his words, eyes droopy as they opened and closed with your vision blurry. you could barely pick up the way you were unraveling around his length again. gummy walls clamping down around the base of his cock for the nth time in the past few hours as you came so hard.

“just like that bun… cumming around my cock so good doll.. needy cunt sucking me in so so well.” he spoke deliriously, his own consciousness slipping away before he finally heard your ringtone. the thought of it being haruto made his inside twinge in excitement. his hand moved imperceptibly, wrapping his fingers around the device while you were still lost in your stupor of pleasure.

he glanced at the small screen and couldn’t help the wide cheshire grin that spread across his features at the sight of ‘haruto ♡’ this was it.

he quickly answered the call, lowering the volume to not have you hear his worries and apologies that instantly began to spill out the speaker. you were so caught up in your own high, eyes closed as jungwon kept rocking his hips against yours making you get stuck on subspace as he remained restless. not taking a second to stop and trapping you in a constant state of ecstasy. and you were loving every second of it.

“feeling good, baby bunny?” he asked loudly, unnoticeably switching the phone to his other hand that kept holding your leg up and lowering the speaker right against your cunt. making the wet smacking sounds, the slaps of his heavy balls against your ass echo in haruto’s ears as he felt his heart drop.

that voice. was too familiar for his liking.

“s’good won.. shit— feels s’good..” you babbled on, soft hands gripping roughly at his ruined bedsheets as there was almost a puddle forming between the two of your bodies, more cum more wetness more arousal seeping out of your fucked hole when jungwon would pull slightly out. a mere inch that will make his cum leak outside of your gummy walls before squeezing himself back in and god the sound was so filthy. so nasty as it echoed for all three of you.

“who’s making you feel this good, hm? tell me who’s filling up this pretty little greedy cunt, bun?” he bit against your ear, licking the shell of it sensually as the need and urge to devour you was just worsening with every second. he needed to feel you everywhere, taste you everywhere and touch you everywhere.

“you are— fuck! you’re making me feel so good.” you mewled under his hold. writhing in complete pleasure and ecstasy as he kept pushing his cock between your puffy and glistening folds. “what’s my name, my pretty bunny?” he whispered lewdly into your ear, his mere voice almost acting like an aphrodisiac for you. making you more needier and wetter for him.

“daddy! ngh daddy you feel s’good!” gasping his favourite name for him so loudly, unaware of the fact that haruto choked on his own spit at how slutty you sounded. voice almost an entire pitch higher and voracious. he felt his own pants tightening at the filthy sounds filling his ears. you never sounded like this with him hell— your room never sounded like this when you were with him.

“good girl.. such a good obedient little bunny for me, screaming her daddy’s name like the good bunny she is..” he kissed along your skin lovingly, dropping the phone onto the bed without a care if haruto had hung up or not, you were right in front of him and he wasn’t able to not give you his full attention. not when you sounded so slutty and needy for him.

he wrapped his arms around your waist, relishing in the way your cunt tightened and tightened around his cock as another orgasm washed over you, you sobbed his name, pretty little tears falling along his stained bedsheets as he switched the position.

he gently laid down your aching leg, the soreness of your body making you wince with the combined pleasure before he situated himself onto his knees. holding your thighs open just enough to see your ruined gaping hole leaking in front of him. the sight making his pulsating cock twitch before he pushed it back inside of you.

the two of you groaned in pleasure, both of you way past being gone. you were completely cock drunk while he was entirely pussy drunk. his mind spun with the way you still tried to suck him deeper, tight mushy walls milking his length and greedily clamping down on him. “f-fuck i’m s’close bun.. gonna let me cum inside of your slutty pussy, hm?” he breathed out. sweat rolling from his temples down his chest and even reaching his glistening, muscular thighs.

you buried your head against the pillow, mind completely high and lost on the way jungwon kept fucking you into subspace. nodding against the wet pillowcases as jungwon was almost about to push past your cervix. “that’s my girl.. my pretty little bunny letting me breed her pussy like this.” he groaned, his abdomen tightening further before he finally released the cum stored in his heavy balls that slapped noisily onto your inner thighs.

hot, long spurts of his cum webbed along your insides, filling you up to the brim and pressing right against your cervix. your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt your lower stomach almost bloating with his cum. he was releasing so so much. warm cum making your insides turn hotter as he kept fucking it back inside of you.

his groans and moans, whispers of your name and how good you felt barely reached your ringing ears, hell he couldn’t even hear his own words himself. his ears popping as he finally released the final spurts of his unusually prolonged and intense release before he dropped on top of you. caging your body beneath his.

he cracked one eye open, moving to look at the phone screen that just now closed as haruto finally hung up from the call. he noticed the way you were trying to catch your breath, slipping in and out of consciousness and took this as an opportunity to open your phone.

memorising your password as haruto’s stupid birthday, he quickly went through your home screen to find your messages. where he could already spot multiple notifications from his enemy.

haruto ♡: you fucking bitch

haruto ♡: how dare you fuck my own enemy out of everyone else

haruto ♡: i should’ve never trusted a whore like you

jungwon felt his eye twitching at the way he was texting you. anger rising up like along with the fatigue in his body before he tapped onto your keyboard

my love ♥︎: never text this number again you stupid asshole.

read

haruto ♡ is typing…

and before he could text another nasty message, he blocked his number for good.

now discarding your phone back onto the bedside table, he turned towards you littering your shoulders and exposed skin with affectionate kisses before whispering how much he loved you into your ears.

and at the end of the day, jungwon still took the one thing haruto kept teasing him for and shoving in his face. his beloved girlfriend.

a,note. yay :D ! quick karinasbaby comeback while i’m busy w uni, hopefully ill be able to post more soon if not pls know that im trying my hardest 😞 hope u enjoyed !!! ♡

2K notes · View notes

sparklingchim · 17 days

Text

game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour.

But sometimes, it backfires spectacularly and gets him into trouble.

Which is why he stands in front of his fuming manage, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

Not only is Jungkook’s charm complicating things, but the fact that he is famous too.

Sometimes, he uses that as an advantage. Not in an obvious way — never by flaunting his own achievements or demanding special treatment.

That’s not his style.

His name alone carries weight, and he knows how to let it work for him, quietly bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Standing in front of his manager, Taesung, and his PR agent, Jiwoo, eyes downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” he pleads desperately, looking back and forth between his manager and his PR agent. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at the manager, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just a month away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But his manager doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

#jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader

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fayes-fics · 5 months

Text

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.

Benedict has no response to that.

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.”

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly.

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”

Even he can read between those lines.

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless.

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.”

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud.

The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #1k notes #2k notes

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pynkfairyheart · 3 months

Note

Hii I was wondering if you could do an collage au armin arlert oneshot, imagine or Drabble (totally up to you) where armin is a very popular soccer player at the college and since he’s so popular that causes him not have as much time for his gf so she catches an attitude and ignores him and he fixes it ifykyk. I was thinking more of like a dominant or switch armin for this yk?

pairings: soccer!player Armin x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, a lil angsty, orgasm denial, car sex

a/n: i love this request, armin is just so ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

Ms. Attitude

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll make it up later. I love you, bye” The monotone beep of the phone soon followed his hurried voice informing you he ended the call before you could even breathe.

“Yep, I love you too” You mumbled. Glossy eyes scanning the hair and makeup you spent hours on.

This was the second time Armin failed to show up for your date.

Soccer season was picking up and with Armin being the captain you understood you'd no longer be able to spend as much time due to practice, but the frequent outings with his team members were becoming infuriating.

Was it that hard for him to plan around your date nights?

With a deep breath, you soaked a cotton pad in makeup remover. Too exhausted to even take pictures before the excess liquid on the pad mixed with your stray tears. It was rare for you to cry over a guy, even rarer to cry over Armin, but the disappointment was turning into frustration that was too overbearing to contain.

What made things worse is that you felt it wasn't fair to Armin you were having these feelings.

You knew what you were entering into when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He told you his goals from the start; become captain, graduate with a 4.0, play professionally, and ultimately make it to the World Cup.

Of course, you knew achieving all he wanted would take time, and you wholeheartedly supported him.

To maintain a healthy relationship you two had a system. Once a week, you would set aside time for a date. It didn't need to be elaborate or fancy; the simple goal was for you to spend time alone. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Something Armin didn’t take into account with the new season was the influx of freshmen on the team. This meant lots of bonding time with the team and less time with you.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a week before you saw Armin. Granted it wasn't on purpose and you just happened to catch a glimpse of him from across the crowded room, but you saw him nonetheless.

The events on how you approached him are a little cloudy, your actions encouraged by the shots you took and your anger. The only true remembrance was Sasha’s attempt to make you stay and the snickers from certain teammates who could predict what was about to happen.

“What the actual fuck, Armin.” You huffed

“Baby? What’s wrong?” His smile disappearing at the pout settled onto your face

You were baffled, was he actually serious?

“What’s wrong is that I haven't seen you in three weeks all because of your little bonding outings. Which this does not seem like bonding” A mixture of frustration and hurt fueling your emotions as you motioned to the party

“I know how this looks, baby but I swear we just got caught up after practice, sit with us I promise to make it up to you- Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Nothing pissed Armin off more than when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes! You've said the same thing every week Armin, you're like a fucking broken record and it's actually pissing me off”

“I'm pissing you off?” The indifferent tone of his voice and minuscule smirk on his face should have told you to stop and think but you were just too upset to think.

“Isn't that what I just said” Your iris slightly disappearing as you rolled your eyes once again.

He’d been waiting for it.

Many people knew Armin to be the passionate sweetheart he was. It was rare to see him upset. That emotion reserved for whenever his team got a foul and occasionally whenever you gave him attitude.

Before you could even register what he was doing he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party

That little eye roll ended up with you in the backseat of his car, legs on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

“Minniee, pleaseee” You whined, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the pleasure building in your lower stomach

“You wanted my attention right? So stop fucking complaining and hold it like I said” His hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you with every thrust.

You were certain stars were blurring your vision. He was just stretching you out so well, the girth and the angle he was at leaving no spot along your walls untouched with how deep he was.

Just looking and hearing the whines that slipped passed your lips made him want to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Just looking at you had him on the brink of a second orgasm.

You just looked so pretty to him. Bouncing breasts no longer confined by the tight shirt you wore, hardened nipples glossy from his previous sucking. Don't even get him started with your teary eyes and glossy lips.

What really got him though was the way your puffy cunt surrounded him. Folds so warm and wet with your slick and his cum that your walls failed to contain.

Armin however didn’t reward bad behavior, especially yours. Maybe he’d let you cum if you whined enough, but who knows. For now, he’d continue to use you for his own pleasure as he pounded into you.

“What's wrong princess? Isn't this what you wanted? Caught an attitude just to get fucked like a slut” He hissed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead as he increased his pace.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, please. I just missed you” You spoke through your broken moans and cries

Leaning down he encaptured your lips, his pace slowing as the guilt seeped into him, oh how he wanted nothing but to go back and spend that time with you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make time for us, I mean it this time” His voice coming out in a whisper as he kissed along your neck

“Y-yeah? “ Speech broken by the newfound pleasure as he applied pressure to your clit

“Mhm, as long as you stop with that fucking attitude” Within that second the soft and caring Armin was gone and now replaced with the Armin whose only goal was to make you feel pleasure

You were so close, every rock of his hips hitting your spot so perfectly you were seeing stars and begging to cum but he kept denying you over and over. His responses consisting of “Be my good girl and hold it” or “You want it so badly don’t you?” a condescending pout resting on his pink lips every time

It was only when he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs up against your chest that he allowed you to cum, pace becoming sloppy as he watched you cream around him, basking in the way every contraction of your cunt added to the milky ring around his base.

The feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth as you came, it was too much for him to handle as spurts of his milky cum forced its way into your stuffed cunt.

“That's my girl” He mumbled. Smirking at the cum spilling from your hole the moment he pulled out

It was only when you felt his hands spreading your legs apart and his tongue plunging into you that you opened your eyes.

“Armin” You shrieked

“Mmm, relax, baby. I've got three weeks' worth of orgasms to get from you.”

#aot x black reader #black reader #anime x black!reader #aot x reader #attack on titan #chubby reader #aot smut #aot armin #armin x black reader #armin arlert #armin x reader #armin x black y/n #armin smut #attack on titan smut

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becgenius · 2 months

Text

bolted - sylus x reader

three weeks after you had broken up with sylus, you run into each other at a gala. his issue, however, is the fact that you came with a date.

!! nsfw, smut, fem!reader, exes to lovers, pwp, 18+

!!! not set in l&ds universe, reader not mc, pet names, cursing, might be angsty idk, jealousy, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, mirror sex, dirty talk, teasing, hair pulling, creampie, unprotected sex, fluff if u squint really hard, lightly proofread

wc. 2.4k

reblogs appreciated!

nsfw under the cut. minors dni

For the months you were dating Sylus, every one of your Friday nights had been reserved. Your own weekly ritual of being dressed in matching designer brands and attending various events: corporate galas, charity balls, and black-tie parties, to name a few.

For the past three weeks, every one of your Friday nights has been spent alone, completely free of plans.

Three Fridays have passed since you have shown your face at the social gatherings you so frequently attended. Three Fridays have passed since you officially broke up with Sylus.

Admittedly not your wisest decision. Sylus was a man of endless wealth, influence, and power. Your own status in society is not at all insignificant; but there is a part of you that still feels inferior.

Because you heard the cruel gossip about your relationship behind your back: whispers of she doesn’t belong here and Sylus would be better off with me. Because you felt as though you were holding him back. Because you were scared that he would be the one to leave first. And though you love him, you left because he deserves someone better.

But for the first time in three Fridays, you finally allow yourself to regret leaving. You allow yourself to miss your comfortable routine: Sylus buying an entirely new outfit for you to wear, sneaking out of parties together long before they were set to conclude, and ending the night on your couch with whichever takeout meal and show fit your mood that night.

The only reason you have the strength to drag yourself out of your weeks-long slump now is because of the invitation you received not long ago from some gentleman in your network, asking you to accompany him to tonight’s event: a fundraising gala at one of the city’s many national museums.

Of course, you have absolutely no interest in entertaining the man who invited you, you only know for certain that you would see Sylus tonight.

It doesn’t take long for you to lose your date. As adamant as he was about getting you to go with him, he proved himself to be quite inattentive now that he had gotten your agreement.

You are by yourself now, in spite of the crowd of event-goers drifting around where you stand in the extravagant ballroom, moving from one conversation to another.

The heels you wear add a few inches to your height. Not enough, however, as you can hardly see over the head of whichever wealthy socialite is in front of you.

You’re embarrassed to acknowledge the growing disappointment brewing in your chest as you fail to spot a familiar head of white hair.

Never mind the embarrassment of admitting that you are here for Sylus in the first place. You were the one that ended things, after all. What would you even say to him if you do happen to run into one another? Maybe seeing him would be enough. Enough for what? This was a bad idea, you begin to think.

That is, until you are suddenly very aware of Sylus’ presence.

It is first the undeniable heat radiating from something, someone, behind you. It’s then the penetrating scent of bourbon and cinnamon invading your senses. Rather, the scent of trouble.

“Looking for someone, Kitten?” It is finally his rich, husky voice that breaks through the crowd. Your heart skips a beat.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of turning to face him just yet. “I’m not your kitten.”

“Oh? But you are, don’t forget.” His voice becomes dangerous, and his sly hand sneaks itself around your waist from behind, “Done running away from me yet?”

Sighing, you turn, simultaneously facing him and shifting just enough to make his hand slip away.

“What do you want, Sylus?”

"You've always given me so much attitude.." He ignores your question. If he notices the desperation in your tone, he doesn’t show it. “Are you having fun going about your night with your arm around that moron?”

“He’s not a moron. And yes, I’m having plenty of fun, not that it’s of your concern.” You don’t know why you feel the need to defend your date or why you feel the need to lie to Sylus. After all, you weren’t having fun.

“Lies,” he immediately accuses. “Do not think that I have forgotten what you look like when you are being dishonest with me. Especially when you are doing so in an outfit that I bought you myself.”

The low purr of his voice easily sends shivers down your spine. He had gotten nearer as he spoke, his face now mere inches from your own, his eyes bearing into yours.

“Everything you do concerns me.” He comes impossibly closer, speaking directly into your ear now. “Besides, anybody here can tell, Sweetie, you are too out of that idiot’s league. Not your wisest decision.”

Sylus is right. No one can miss how your date’s eyes unfocus, zoned out, whenever you speak. Or how he never introduces you when he goes to greet the other party guests. He hadn’t even noticed you leaving his side and blending into the crowd just moments ago.

“I could say the same for you.” You counter. He pulls back, curious, “you don’t seem all that interested in your date either, and she’s your type, isn’t she.”

You don’t hide the fact that you’ve seen the various magazine articles and social media posts, all featuring Sylus and the new woman by his side as the main image. She’s obviously gorgeous. And, you discover with a quick web search, is also from an extremely well-off family with much more influence than you could imagine.

Though you hadn’t seen her tonight, you don’t need to be a genius to figure out that Sylus is here with her tonight as well.

“I have no romantic feelings towards that woman, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But you’re still here with her.”

“She isn’t you, you know.”

“I didn’t know that mattered.”

Now it’s his turn to sigh at you. His turn to be the defeated one.

“Come home, Y/n,” his voice nearly begging as he gets straight to the point, “it’s always been you.”

How could you bring yourself to deny him like this?

You don’t know if it was Sylus’ persuasiveness or your own willingness to go back to being his that brought you to where you are now: locked inside one of the museum’s many private restrooms, the noises of music and chatter from the party now a distant murmur.

You’re also: bent over the bathroom’s sink, thanks to Sylus, with the skirt of your dress hiked up to your waist and your underwear pushed down around your knees.

“Sylus,” you whine, your legs feel weak with each lick he makes to your pussy.

“Keep still.” He commands, tightening the grip on both of your thighs that both kept you in place aa well as spread out for him.

“You taste so fucking good, Baby.” He doesn’t move away to speak and the breath from his hot mouth stays directly on your cunt as he does so, the heat eliciting a loud moan from you.

His tongue fucks into your hole from where he is crouched behind your open legs. The squelch of your arousal on his tongue and your moans fill the quiet atmosphere of the bathroom.

You feel him chuckle behind you before feeling the cold air hit your wet core at the sudden loss of contact.

“Y’know, for someone who was just playing so hard to get, you’re really enjoying this aren’t you, Kitten?” He teases, and though he stopped eating you out, his hands keep their position on your thighs, massaging them up and down.

“Shut up.” You push yourself back so that you were practically sat on his face. He, thankfully, doesn’t object and gives your clit some much needed attention, sucking hard.

You can feel your climax sneaking up on you and so can Sylus, recognizing the way your moans got breathy and the way you clenched around him when he inserts his fingers into you, intensifying the pressure between your thighs.

He continues sucking your clit, lightly grazing his teeth on your sensitive bud. The stimulation startles you at first, he’s never done this before, but it soon turns into euphoria as the pain mixes with pleasure.

It all becomes too much for you and your walls finally come crashing down on Sylus’ tongue. He takes you through your orgasm, making it last as long as possible, until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer.

He’s quick to get up on his feet behind you. You immediately come to his understanding and slouch against him, letting him hold up all your weight.

“Look at us,” he gestures to your reflections in the mirror. You’re a mess: your dress straps cling to your upper arms and your face is covered in bliss. Sylus nonetheless towers tall behind you, annoyingly put together as he always is. “It’s like nothing ever changed between us, hm?”

You have to agree with him. The sight is not new to you, and you’re overcome with a sense of fondness for all the times you’ve stood like this before.

On the outside, your physical states are pure opposites. However, you know that right now, Sylus is as aroused as you are. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he has yet to come.

Still in your post-orgasmic haze, you try your best to reach behind you to where you assume his crotch is.

“Already can’t get enough, Dear?” He teases you but even so, he moves back and pulls out his dick from his pants, simultaneously guiding your body so you’re bent over in the same position you were previously in and sliding his erection between your folds from behind.

“Relax. You can take it,” he coos before slamming into your walls without warning.

“Sylus!” You gasp at the intrusion. It’s a miracle that you even have the effort to scream his name, it was as if all your breath was taken away.

“Still so goddamn tight as I remember, Sweetie, I thought I told you to relax?” He begins to hammer his dick into your pussy, not sparing you and your sensitivity at all. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your moans and yelps with each thrust fill the room.

“Sy, ‘s too much!”

“You can handle it. After all, you wanted this.” His tip finds your g-spot and hits it at that same brutal pace. “Are you still thinking about that asshole that you came here with? Hm? Even as im fucking you like this? Have you forgotten him yet?”

In the midst of being fucked, it takes you a second to figure out what, or who, he’s talking about. The truth is that you had forgotten all about the other man once you entered the seclusion of the bathroom you are now in. You don’t get a chance to reply before he continues.

“Can he fuck you like I do? Do you think of me when he’s this deep inside of you?”

Your eyes widen at the crudeness of his words.

“I- never- we don’t-!” You’re quick to deny his accusations, albeit struggling to get the words out between moans.

“Spit it out, Princess. Are you saying he doesn’t fuck you at all?” His hips smack against yours, hard this time. “Or are you saying that his dick can’t go deep like mine can?”

As he interrogates you, a hand reaches down between your thighs and begins circling your clit. The stimulation is all too much, and you’re still unable to properly speak.

“Sylus-”

He takes a fistful of your hair and nudges your head up, forcing you to face the incriminating scene reflected in the mirror. “Answer me.”

You watch yourself shake your head rapidly, still being held up from your hair. “No! It’s not like that.. He and I never did it..”

“Oh yeah?” He still has the same smirk from earlier in the night on his face, but now his eyes are shrouded in a devious darkness. “That’s a good girl. If I had found out that he fucked you I might’ve had to kill him.”

He snorts, seeing your shocked expression. “I’m kidding sweetie,” he clarifies. Sylus then lets go of his hold on your hair and your head falls forward with more of his thrusts. “Now keep being my good girl and come for me.”

The exchange is pushed to the back of your mind and you’re reminded of the physical situation that you’re in.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your whole body jerks up and down from bouncing back from his.

You uncontrollably spasm as you cream around Sylus’ dick, squeezing around him just right. Overstimulated, your jaw hangs open as screams burst from your throat. Afterwards, you become fully limp in his hold.

“Fuck. So fuckin’ noisy, huh? You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl..”

You feel the exact moment he reaches his climax. He thrusts himself one last time into your sore cunt before you’re filled with his cum.

You stay there for a while, neither of you bothering to move.

After what feels like hours of standing still, Sylus finally pulls out of you. And last moan escapes your lips as he does so.

He kneels, pulling up your panties from their bunched up state around your ankles to over your sopping hole before any semen could leak out.

“You think you can keep it inside until we get home?” He asks before leaving a kiss on your clothed cunt and standing to fix your dress, erasing any evidence of your sexual encounter.

“And when are we getting home, exactly?” You don’t comment on the fact that he said ‘home’ as if it was the same place for you. As if nothing had happened between you two. You don’t comment because you want both of those things to be true.

“Now.” It isn’t a suggestion, nor a question, but a statement.

“Wait, you’re not staying until the gala ends?”

“No, Sweetie. We’re not staying until the gala ends.” He laughs as if it’s obvious, “we both know that I could buy out this whole fundraiser if I wanted to.”

“What about our dates?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re my date, and I’m yours.”

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6esiree · 3 months

Text

They Barge Into Your Room While You’re Changing

Imagine Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Vox, and Adam walking in on you changing? Well, for the most part, they barge in and catch you in a difficult situation.

Warnings: I suck at these but uhh, NSFW, AFAB reader, Swearing, Usage of terms like good girl/little girl, oral, penetration, smut is brief tho. Not proofread. I wrote this lil thingy super quickly—sorry for the wait! MINORS DNI!!!

Alastor:

The sound of something shattering had Alastor’s ears perking up, but it wasn’t until it was followed by your helpless cry that he grew curious. You seemed…troubled, desperate even, so how could he resist the temptation to barge into your room? But as he whipped open your door, the doorknob rudely slamming against the cheap wooden paneling, he was disappointed but also slightly amused to see you stuck in a rather strange predicament.

“Fuck! Stupid thing—why won’t you come off?” You hissed, struggling to free your arms from a shirt that was nowhere near your size, your knees planted on the carpet. “Alastor? Oh, are you going to stand there and make me feel more embarrassed than I already am, or are you going to help me?” You snapped, your vulnerable state pleasing him. He closed the door behind him, his fingers carefully twisting the lock.

“Oh, forgive me for answering your pathetic cries for help! Perhaps I should take a seat over there,” Alastor gestured to your bed with his cane, bending down to your level, a shit-eating grin on his face, “And watch this amusing scene you’ve somehow concocted as punishment for your attitude, little girl.”

‘Wait, no!’ You started, but Alastor turned on his heel, the tip of his shoe dragging against the carpet fibers and pushing aside the remnants of your bedside lamp. ‘How thoughtful,’ You deadpanned, your bed creaking underneath his weight. Out of all the people who could have barged into your room, why did it have to be Alastor? He was such a pain in the ass, finding enjoyment in watching others suffer.

“What are you waiting for, hm?” You felt the butt end of Alastor’s cane tap at your ass, and you would have cursed him out if he hadn’t flipped your skirt up, the cold material teasingly dragging up and down your clothed cunt. “Go on, darling, I’ll help you if you put on a little show for me.”

You offered him a ‘Fuck you,’ before complying, hooking your fingers into the collar of your shirt, a distant ache coursing through your muscles as you pulled once more. You felt utterly humiliated, but at the same time, you were secretly enjoying what Alastor was doing to you, shivering as his lips parted with a pleased sigh at the sight of your panties bunching up and outlining your cunt due to your wetness.

“For someone who wanted to be helped, you’re being awfully compliant,” Alastor chuckled. You bit the inside of your cheek, however, especially with the sound of a belt being unbuckled gracing your ears. “Tell me, do you want to get fucked by my cane like the filthy little harlot you are?”

“I’m not…going to tell you that,” You stammered, Alastor clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment. Even if you had done so, the tightness in his pants was just too great for him to indulge you. “Very well, then,” He said, tapping your cunt one last time before withdrawing his cane.

You looked over your shoulder, confused by the sudden turn of events. But then he approached you, kneeling down to tear into your shirt with his claw, freeing your arms from the tight cotton prison. ‘Am I receiving compensation for this?’ Alastor hummed, sporting a hefty erection. Of course the bastard had only helped you for his own personal benefit, but you nodded anyway, his eyes widening as you wiggled your ass with a wicked smile on your face.

Lucifer:

Another boring, sleepless night at the Hazbin Hotel—or so that’s what Lucifer thought, the distant sound of a struggle penetrating his ears as he passed by your room. He would’ve continued on his nightly stroll if his feet hadn’t moved outside of his own volition. Well, that’s what Lucifer tried to convince himself as he tentatively pressed his cheek against the door…until the loose hinges suddenly gave him away. At least he was quick to straighten himself out.

“Oh! Hey there—hi! I didn’t mean to do that,” Lucifer coughed, his face flushing in embarrassment as you stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, your arms crossed over your chest, obscuring the top half of the tight little, long-sleeved dress you were wearing. “I tried to knock, I swear, but then the door kind of opened up all by itself. Really, I would never—“

“I, uh—I believe you, don’t worry. The hinges are kind of loose…I have a bad habit of slamming doors,” You chuckled, trying to stand up to your full height, but then the sound of fabric tearing echoed throughout your room. “Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing,” You squeaked, “I can’t handle anybody else seeing me like this, though, so could you like, help me out here?”

When you whispered his name with a pleading look on your face, Lucifer quickly closed the door behind him, dragging a random piece of furniture in front of it for extra measure. He tried not to make his nervousness evident as he slowly rounded you, but his fingers gave him away, trembling against your sides. Fuck, it was just so tight, accentuating the curvature of your body almost like a corset would.

“Alright, let’s see here—oh no,” Lucifer said, his fingers hooking underneath your dress from the sides, experimentally tugging it. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge, a blush crawling up his neck as it rolled up and revealed more of your skin instead. “Nope, that’s not going to work. How about I lift it up?”

“Please, this thing is practically strangling my arms,” You stuttered. Lucifer wondered how you managed to get it on in the first place, all while he gripped the dress, trying to maintain a respectable distance from you. “Shit, I’m never borrowing anything from Angel’s closet again. He’s so damn skinny.”

Lucifer tried to avert his eyes, but with your ass slowly coming into view, how could he resist stealing a glance—or two, or three, or even four? He felt so guilty, but then you just so happened to lose your balance, bracing yourself on the bed and practically showcasing your half-naked body to him. You offered him a meek apology as you stared at him from over your shoulder. Did you get back up, though? No, not at all.

“Maybe you’ll be able to get it off faster this way?” You suggested, subtly but not so subtly spreading your legs, revealing your damp panties. Lucifer breathed out an ‘Okay,’ pressing his growing erection into you as he leaned in. “Thanks for helping me, Lucifer. I hope you’ll let me repay you for your kindness.”

The moment you decided to balance yourself on the bed, Lucifer knew what you were doing; but your words had his pants pooling around his ankles, his fingers shakily tucking your panties into the inside of your thigh. Nothing could compare to the sight of you spreading your glistening cunt with your dainty fingers, however, your hole pulsating in invitation. Lucifer was so, so glad he chose not to mind his own business as his cock pushed past your folds.

Husk:

Every day you slid onto the barstool in front of Husk, his chest vibrating in amusement as your face lit up at the sight of your favorite drink waiting for you. That’s why the one time you failed to show up, the full glass in front of your vacant spot dripping with condensation and threatening the integrity of the already cheep wooden countertop, he decided to ask around for you. Unfortunately, nobody knew where you were, so Husk found himself at your door.

“Hey, doll, I don’t mean to disturb ya,” Husk started, his ears falling back against his head as a frustrated cry penetrated the wood. “Just wanted to check up on ya—“ but when he heard something shatter, he just had to let himself into your room, his heart sinking into his stomach at the thought of you in trouble.

“What the fuck, who—Husk?” You panted, staring back at him with rosy cheeks and tousled hair, the contents of a broken bottle of perfume leaking into the carpet before your feet. ‘Shit,’ Husk quickly averted his eyes when he noticed you were in the middle of changing, feeling utterly embarrassed but also secretly relieved that you were alright. “Uhh, I guess now that you’re here, do you think you could lend me a hand?”

Husk hesitated, mumbling ‘Ya sure ya want me to help?’ Of course he’d act so abashed, you thought with a snort. You watched him roll his eyes and close the door with his tail, the hinges softly clicking. Slowly, Husk approached you, his pupils dilating as you turned around and pointed out the strings tightly keeping your dress together with your index finger, the very reason you had failed to show up on time.

“Christ, what happened here?” Husk asked, trying to be mindful of his claws as he slowly untied your dress, the strings in all the wrong places. You looked over your shoulder, playfully telling him to shut up before following up with a serious response. “I’ve never worn a dress without a zipper, alright?” You said. “Damn, doll, I can tell. I mean, ya made a proper mess back here.”

“Hey, I wore this for you,” You admitted, your face flushing in embarrassment as Husk chuckled at that, but then relief quickly washed over you at the feeling of him completely undoing the last string. “I appreciate it, but, ya know,” He practically purred into your ear, plastering himself against your back, his hands sliding into your dress to caress your bare hips. “This is enough to please this old man.”

You tossed your head back onto Husk’s shoulder with a sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as his sandpaper tongue seized the opportunity to roughly caress the expanse of your throat. Meanwhile, the once-constricting fabric slipped from your chest down to your stomach, revealing more of your body to him. ‘May I?’ Husk’s question tickled your skin, answering him by pushing your ass back into his growing erection.

“Mm, aren’t ya just the goodest of girls?” Husk groaned, encouraging you to brace yourself on your dresser nearby. When he kicked your legs open, you expected him to unfasten his pants and fuck you til your legs were numb, but no. Instead, he knelt down, hiking a leg over his shoulder and shoving his snout into your clothed cunt, a smile gracing his lips when you gasped. “Is this fine with ya?”

Oh, you were more than fine with Husk eating you out, eagerly nodding as you stared down at him through your lashes. He licked a long, heavy stripe onto you before deciding to tear into your panties with his claw, exposing you to the cold air. ‘I’ll buy ya anotha pair, babydoll,’ Husk said, latching onto your clit, suckling until you were wet enough to handle the spines on his tongue. You secretly thanked yourself for your inability to use a zipper-less dress.

Vox:

The sound of heels clicking against linoleum echoed throughout the hallway, a product of Vox incessantly pacing back and forth. His patience thinned with every passing second, and as exaggerated as it seemed, you were already late to your dinner reservation. Five, maybe ten minutes was perfectly reasonable to him, but half an hour? No, you might as well call it off. When Vox felt himself overheating in frustration, he decided to zap himself into your room.

“Now, what the fuck is taking you—oh,” Vox said, the look of annoyance on his face quickly transitioning into one of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand the situation you had inadvertently designed. “What in the Hell—how did you do this to yourself, exactly?” Vox gestured with his hand, your arms sticking up with the way your dress was pulled over your head.

“It was too tight and I refused to accept that I had gained weight,” You explained, your voice muffled but understandable nonetheless. Vox couldn��t help but chuckle as he watched your mouth move against the fabric. “But then I put it on, and I realized if I even thought about trying to walk in this—look, can you just save me from the embarrassment and get this thing off of me?”

You impatiently bounced on your heels as Vox rounded you, squeaking at the feeling of his claws teasingly raking your sides. ‘Hey!’ You said, the man offering you an insincere apology before tearing into the fabric without your permission. A whine escaped your throat—what a cruel thing he had done, you thought, your favorite dress falling to the ground in two pieces. Seething, you turned around, unbothered by the fact that you were standing in just your underwear.

“You asshole, you didn’t even try pulling it!” You seized him by his suit jacket, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at you without a single ounce of regret. “Perhaps you should have specified that,” Vox hummed, clearly unaffected by your display of anger. In fact, he found it rather amusing, and oh, did that piss you off.

“Ah, fuck me! I’m sorry for believing that you had common sense,” You hissed, tightening your grip on his jacket, secretly wishing you had the strength to tear into it like he had with your dress. “Unless you don’t have that implemented in your system, you fucking bucket of bolts,” Vox furrowed his brows, “I suggest you download it—it’ll take you a long way, trust me.”

Bam!—Vox suddenly had you up against the wall, whatever you had on top of your dresser tumbling to the ground. You flinched at the sound of something shattering, but you couldn’t do anything about it, not when Vox had your arms pinned above your head with one hand, the other firmly wrapped around your throat. His claws dug into your skin, instilling a bit of fear in your heart.

“Hey, um, I think you’re forgetting that we could have been having a nice, romantic dinner at one of Hell’s most exclusive restaurants,” Vox started, his screen slightly buffering as he stared down at you. “If you hadn’t been so fucking stubborn.” You had the nerve to speak. “So…what now?” You shakily asked, your throat bobbing underneath his palm.

With an insurmountable speed, Vox had you on your knees, forcing you to watch him unbuckle his belt. ‘I’m going to fuck the shit of your mouth,’ He said, the tip of his cock kissing your chin when he finally freed himself. ‘Come on, sweetheart. It’s the least you can do.’ You hated to admit it, but Vox was right…to some degree. All of this could have been avoided easily. So, you obediently parted your lips, trying not to gag as you swallowed his cock.

Adam:

There was no such thing as barging into your room—at least not if you asked Adam. Your monthly meet-ups consisted of him descending onto your balcony and pushing your doors apart, furling his wings and discarding his mask as he’s welcomed by the heavenly but not so heavenly sight of you sprawled out on your bed. For once, however, Adam arrived about an hour earlier, walking in on you in the middle of a struggle.

“Surprise, surprise! Guess who’s here early—holy shit, babe,” Adam approached you, shocked, your face absolutely flushed as he took in the sight of you in a corset. He personally believed you didn’t need it, but that didn’t stop him from stirring in his robes with the way it accentuated your curves in an ungodly manner. “This is—I mean—wow. You look so fucking gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you think so, seriously. But, um, I’m starting to regret putting it on,” You admitted, dropping your head sort of shamefully. You really wanted to keep it on for Adam, but you had tightened it more than you should have, and now you just wanted to take it off. “I’ve been trying to get it off for a while already, but uh, I went a little overboard. Never worn one before, that’s why.”

Of course, Adam’s face dropped at your admission, but at the same time, he couldn’t have you feeling uncomfortable for your…activities. So, he offered you his help, even though he had not a single idea about how corsets worked. ‘Don’t worry, babe, I gotcha!’ He said, taking one last appreciating look before he rounded you. Yeah, Adam instantly regretted offering himself up—what the fuck was he looking at, exactly?

“Alright, uh, could you guide me through it?” Adam coughed, his fingers hovering above the laces, unsure about where to start. You reached behind you and grabbed his hand, gingerly guiding him. “Just undo these two loops here—pull them at the same time,” He followed your instructions. “Yeah, just like that, baby.” The praise definitely had him blushing.

You let out a sigh of relief as Adam repeated this over and over again, his fingers dutifully working away until he finally finished. ‘Thank you,’ You breathed out, tossing your head back onto his chest, reaching up and tapping his masked cheek. Adam quickly discarded it with a ‘Thump!’, leaning down to meet you halfway. He groaned, the sound of your lips softly gliding against each other exciting him.

“Do you have to take it off?” Adam asked as his hands came down to caress your sides before resuming the kiss. While you didn’t give him a verbal response, the way you groped him through his robes was a reminder of what he came to you for. “Fuck, okay. Maybe some other time, yeah?”

“Mm, you’re going to have to convince me,” You hummed, retracting your hand so you could open the front busk. Adam seized your jaw and placed his thumb on your lower lip, encouraging you to open your mouth. “You’re in for a long fucking night then, babe,” His tongue tangled with yours, eliciting a choked moan from you, “‘Cause I’m not gonna let up on you til you’re screaming ‘Yes.’”

As soon as your corset united with Adam’s mask, he turned you around and hoisted you up into his arms. You squeaked, the bed creaking loudly with your combined weight. His robes came off with a snap of his fingers, but your panties? Oh, he relished in pulling those aside himself. Slowly, his cock pushed past your folds, two fingers affectionately rubbing at your clit while his mouth latched onto your nipple and suckled. Adam was going to convince you, alright.

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qlossytbh · 4 months

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𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞? - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 where you find yourself with immense baby fever

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 baby fever, fem!reader, fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, reader and spencer are married, hotch x platonic!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i imagined older spence but younger jack so pretend jack is around 3 or 4 but spence is like around season 7/8 (?)

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“All I’m saying, you could’ve been a little nicer,” You turned to Morgan with a rigid sigh. If he didn’t know you better, it’d probably sound like you were deeply annoyed with him, on the verge of cursing him out. He knew you were only regarding the events of today's case.

“I think you’re mixing ‘being nicer’ with tough love,” You deadpanned at your friend, earning nothing but his signature snicker.

You shook your head, feigning that of disappointment. You rolled your shoulder back, craning your neck slightly to scan the files that rested between your fingers. God, how many files could one see in a day?

It was a few hours past midday when the case came to an end. Hotch had a sudden dilemma that he needed immediate solving, so he told all of you to make it back to headquarters. You and Morgan however, had been stuck together for the day and made it back a lot earlier than the rest of the team, prompting the two of you to get some necessary paperwork done.

You needed a day off— especially from Morgan.

The bullpens doors opened unexpectedly, drawing you and Derek out of your conversation. You turned, seeing the rest of the team waltz through the glass door— only this time, they were accompanied by a pair of small legs.

You couldn’t stop a reflexive smile from growing onto your face. “Is that who I think it is?”

Jack waddled into the bullpen, one of his tiny fists bundled up onto a small section of Hotch’s dress pants. You could’ve screamed, a reaction that was becoming more necessary every time you saw a kid, and most definitely when you saw Jack.

At the sound of your cheery voice, Jack looked up, biting onto his knuckles— something you learned was a sign of his bashfulness.

But when he realized it was you who was standing next to Morgan, his face immediately morphed into one that could only portray pure and innocent child joy, looking as if he couldn’t be happier to see you. Nothing could compare to how ecstatic that made you feel, chest getting fuzzy with endearment. Hotch placed his palm onto the back of his head. “Look who it is!”

You've taken care of Jack too many times you lost count, given since you and Hotch were close— practically family. You adored Jack and found yourself being struck with some newfound motherly instinct when it came to him— or any kid for that matter. He always gave you this very violent need to squeeze his cheeks and hug him so tight he might pop.

“Is that little Jackie?” Your voice was high and welcoming, trying to hide how utterly joyed you were with seeing him and failing miserably. Jack immediately pushed himself off of Hotch’s leg and began running towards you.

Well, he more so waddled his way over to you, small feet pattering roughly against the floor as he ran over to you in an unstable line. You met him halfway, crouching down and opening your arms for him. When he was close enough, he launched himself into said arms, voice loud with giggles and shrieks. “If it isn’t my favorite boy!”

You squeezed him tightly, rising once again to your natural height and hugging the small toddler. Morgan, of course, didn’t miss a beat to taunt. “Careful, Reid’s listening.”

“Oh please,” You rested Jack on your hip, keeping strong secure arms around him while he gripped the ends of your hair curiously. “Spencer knows that Jack comes first no matter what, isn’t that right Jack?”

“Yeah!” He laughed.

Spencer couldn’t keep in a single thought as he watched you interact with Jack so naturally. It twisted his chest in weird, scary ways. If it were anyone else he’d be terrified. But it was you. And he now found his head lingering with the idea of you as a mother— the mother of his children, specifically.

It was a conversation the two of you had once, very briefly a few months after you two got married. Spencer had been meaning to get back at it, but with the chaos of your jobs it had been really hard to think about anything other than serial killer and criminals.

But fuck, if Spencer said that seeing you interact so carefully and sweetly with not only Jack but many other children that had stumbled up on these last few cases— he’d be the biggest liar on the face of this earth.

Just the thought of starting a family with you was something that filled him with anticipation. It made his chest burn. Something he craved so deeply, it sometimes left him breathless.

“You’re getting so big and strong that I’m beginning to have a hard time lifting you up.” You huffed, setting him down onto the ground and crouching beside him. “You’re gonna give me back problems.”

“Derek says it’s because you’re getting weak!” His R’s were disguised as muffles W’s, which only caused your heart to clench further. A choke disguised as a strained laugh left your mouth.

“Is that so?” You turned over to him with a glare. Morgan scratched the back of his head and turned on his heel avoiding you and your piercing gaze.

“But who’s your favorite; big old chiseled Derek, or little weak me?” You squint your eyes at the boy, pursing your lips feeling very confident in his answer.

And to no one’s surprise did Jack point towards you and with a huge, wide smile laughed out. “You!”

You laughed victoriously, holding out a palm for Jack to clap. “Yeah, that’s right!”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan groaned.

After one last hug from the child, you ushered Jack over to Hotch, shooting an endeared smile towards him. God, you loved that kid so much.

JJ, Prentiss and Rossi made their way to the conference room. You look ahead, meeting the gaze of your husband and smiling profusely. It was a subconscious reaction your body had. You found yourself meeting Spencer halfway. “Hey,”

His hand rested on your hip as he leaned down, kissing you chastly. Spencer would’ve loved to actually take his time greeting you with a much proper kiss, but it was a middle ground the two of you found between professionalism and well— being married.

His hand, however, remained on the spot on your hip, thumb drawing circles instinctively. It was subtle, but his touch was still there. Your smile was big and lovestruck, looking up at him with soft eyes. “Hey,”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Jack's laughter ripped through the air as Hotch lifted him up. You and Spencer turned and you swear you could almost cry.

It was as if lately, when you allowed yourself to think even slightly about the concept of children you’d combust into a pool of tears and overbearing endearment. Spencer watched you looking over at Jack and noticed something pooling beneath your eyes.

You looked back at Spencer, lips tied in a pout. “I want one.”

“A baby?” He tuned, laughing slightly at how your body sunk against his, resting your forehead on his chest in exasperation.

“Yes,” You pushed yourself off his chest, throwing your hands around as you spoke. “The small hands, small feet— I swear everytime I see a baby, I get violent.”

You pouted. “Imagine a mini us Spence,”

And Spencer did. He thought about it in such detail that he forgot it wasn’t an actual reality of his. A little girl or boy, that resembled either of you, that held so many fractions and traits of the two of you— it seemed unreal to him.

“A mini us?” He repeated. You looked up at him.

“Well— yeah,” You reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, we haven’t really talked about it but..”

Spencer wanted kids more than he had ever wanted anything before— but he knew that he only wanted it if it was with you. He couldn’t phantom the thought of starting a family with anyone else.

“We should,” He spoke. Your fingers played mindlessly with the bottom of his tie, looking up at him with a teasing smirk.

“We should talk about it or we should try?” A blush crept up his cheeks as his eyes widened just slightly. You always found ways to catch him off guard and you loved getting even the slightest reaction out of him.

“Uh—“ He dragged out his words, before his eyes landed back on you. “Both?”

You laughed and he smiled. He always smiled when you laughed, he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. You reached down, tangling your fingers with his. “I’m serious though,”

He hummed. “So am I.”

“You actually want to start trying for a baby?” This seemed like a conversation that was far too intimate to be having in the middle of the bullpen— where you usually discussed varieties of atrocious things, but here you were I guess.

“Yeah,” He said, almost in disbelief that you had questioned it. You found yourself growing oddly shy, just thinking of a small version of the two of you running around.

Before you could continue on the subject, Morgan, who now held Jack on his shoulders, was calling you and Spencer over to the conference room. You turned to Spencer, smiling softly.

“Can we get back to this once we get home?”

“Please,” He breathed, leaning forward and pressing a longer kiss onto your lips. You grew giddy and smiled into the kiss, pulling away sooner than both of you would like.

“I love you,” You smiled. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and placed a loving kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.”

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sansaorgana · 5 months

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— QUICK LEARNERS

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You're sent to Giedi Prime to marry your distant cousin and become the new Na-Baroness. However, your new husband seems to ignore you. You come up with an idea how to gain his attention and you ask one of the Generals from your homeworld to teach you how to wield a blade.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — While writing my fanfic "Forbidden Fruit" I was inspired by the mediterranean and islamic cultures creating the Reader's homeworld. This time I was inspired by my own Slavic culture but as usual – the physical appearance of the Reader is not described. 💘 I really like coming up with all these new planets! Also, I decided it makes sense for the world inspired by the Slavic culture to be related to The Harkonnens, therefore Feyd and Reader are cousins but they're distantly related (as most noble people are, I guess).

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood – the Reader is injured, slight incest (distant cousins), SMUT, oral, hints of breeding kink, Feyd is a bit ooc in my opinion but... so what? he's cute 🤪

WORD COUNT — 7,840

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

QUICK LEARNERS

Your father, The Tsar, worked very hard to make this union happen. Baron Harkonnen had wanted his heir and nephew to marry one of The Emperor’s daughters but your father’s relentless visits, letters and arguments finally worked.

Your family was cousins with The Harkonnen bloodline. You were more used to their culture and you shared similar values. Of course your house was not as important as The Harkonnens. In fact, your planet was under The Harkonnen rule and your father only governed it in their name although his family had been allowed to keep their titles.

Giedi Prime was an industrial planet without any nature which was the opposite of your homeworld. Morana was mostly dark green – a never ending forest full of valuable resources. Sadly, most of them were being transported to Giedi Prime for nearly nothing in return. Your father was determined for The Baron to make it up to your people for all the centuries of colonisation and turn their Grand Duchess into The Harkonnen Baroness.

Your home world was supplying Giedi Prime with important raw materials and fearsome warriors that were known all over the galaxy as ruthless beasts in combat. Growing up in such an environment, you would easily adapt to Giedi Prime even though it lacked the greenery completely. You would make a much better Baroness than any spoiled daughter of The Emperor. Those were your father’s arguments at least.

So, you were sent to Giedi Prime with dozens of heavy wooden chests filled with your most precious belongings. Everything you loved, everything that was defining you – it had to fit in these boxes. You couldn’t take the forests with you nor the rivers, the songs of your people, the smile of your mother, the warmth of the fireplace. All you could take were the dresses and jewels, a few books. And a burden of the realisation how big responsibility had been placed upon your shoulders. To make your parents proud and to become a good na-baroness… and then Baroness. To give heirs.

You knew Feyd-Rautha from all the official ceremonies. You had never talked to him before, he would only greet you with a head nod and a word cousin in his low, raspy voice that was sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. A few times before you had watched him fight in the arena. He was an incredible warrior but his combats were for show which was disappointing for a woman from Morana – a planet known for its art of warfare.

You weren’t scared of him and you weren’t taken aback by his Harkonnen nature nor looks. You were used to The Harkonnens visiting your planet or you visiting theirs with your parents for official events and celebrations. However, you were not pleased with this union either. He didn’t seem to be a pleasant man and you didn’t like the responsibility that came with this marriage.

Your wedding was grand. Every governor and leader of the planet under The Harkonnen rule was invited. Your dress was white, decorated with traditional red embroidery of your people. On your head there was a flower crown made out of flowers that grew on Morana. But seeing all the people around you, you quickly realised it probably was the last time you’d wear something white. No one around was wearing any colour except for black. The only white clothes you could see were the ones of the servants.

The wedding party was a display of power and violence but it wouldn’t make a girl from your planet flinch. You focused on the cake and tried to remember all the advice your mother had given to you regarding your upcoming wedding night.

She had been straightforward with you. A strong Tsarina like her would never hesitate or shy away. She had told you it would be best if you took your husband from behind so you wouldn’t have to look into his face. And she had made it clear that the marriage should be consummated. No matter how much it would hurt.

You observed your new husband with the corner of your eye but he looked the same as his wedding kiss had felt – bored and unimpressed. Cold.

Around midnight he stood up to leave the table without making any announcements. Panicked, you glanced at your new servant girls and they nodded at you. So, you stood up as well and gathered the fabric of your dress to lift it gently and follow him down the corridor.

He walked fast, you could barely catch up. His silence was heavy between you two. After all, you were his wife now – you were supposed to share a life together – but he chose to treat you like air instead.

When the doors leading to his chambers opened, you entered them right after your new husband. That was when he turned around as if he was surprised. He looked you up and down with contempt and you realised that he had not been pleased with this union.

Perhaps because you were not The Emperor’s daughter. Perhaps he wasn’t finding you attractive enough.

“Cousin,” he drawled as usual.

“Can you not call me that anymore?” You sighed.

“Wife,” you swore there was a shadow of a smirk on his face. But he didn’t say anything else and you felt helpless. You didn’t know how to talk to him.

You tried to remember your mother’s words. You weren’t there to have conversations with him.

“Husband,” you nodded your head at him and he watched with tilted head as you approached his huge black bed and bent over.

“What are you doing?” He snorted at you.

You couldn’t understand. You furrowed your brows and turned your head around. His sneering facial expression embarrassed you but you stayed in your position.

“Would you rather take me the other way around? I didn’t expect you to be a romantic,” you commented.

“I do not intend to take you at all,” Feyd shook his head. “I’m going to sleep. You do whatever,” he shrugged his arms and began to undress.

Clumsily, you straightened yourself and smoothed out the wrinkles of your dress. Once he was in his underwear, without a word he got under the cover and ignored you completely.

You watched in shock as he began to drift off to the land of dreams. You had no idea what to do. Not only you had humiliated yourself but also you had failed to consummate the marriage.

You crouched down and picked up all the pieces of clothing he had scattered all over the floor. Like a dutiful wife already, you folded them neatly and put them away on the chair by his desk. Then you removed the flower crown and your dress, thanking all the gods above that it was not a complicated piece because you had no idea how you’d manage to do that without your servants’ help. You tried to be as quiet as possible while doing that, not wanting to wake Feyd up and cause his anger.

Once you were in your linen underdress, you decided to just join him in the huge bed and go to sleep as well. You were laying as far away from him as possible as you didn’t want to bother him. It was no easy task because he decided to sleep right in the middle of it like he had forgotten already that he was married now and had to share.

You didn’t understand the situation you had found yourself in. When the small orb of light by your bedside turned off, you stared at the pitch black room as all your limbs tensed. You could hear Feyd’s soft snores and the distant sounds of your wedding party, the firework splashes of white ink in the night sky. Yet, you – the bride and the new na-baroness – just laid on the edge of the bed, feeling lonely and humiliated.

The weeks passed and you remained Feyd’s wife by name only. You shared your chambers with him but he was always awake before you and in the evening you were often asleep by the time he would join you in bed. There were days when you weren’t seeing each other at all. He was busy with training for his fights but also with fucking his concubines. You had found out about all of them from your servant girls.

The most important ones were three scary cannibalistic harpies. The servants were terrified of them because they could end up as their meal any time. There were also other women in your husband’s life but they were regular pleasure slaves and they did not matter as much. With his harpies he seemed to share some sort of bond.

Of course. Now it made sense. How could you even compare to such creatures? However, you did not even want to. You just hoped Feyd would finally be reminded – by his uncle or the medic – that he had to fulfil his duties and produce an heir.

You felt lonely and rejected. Your duties were not many and you quickly realised that most of them were nothing but a show off – just like your husband’s fights in the arena. It was probably because you were a woman and a new addition to the family. The Baron would never actually put you in charge of anything important.

Your only companions were your servant girls. You grew attached to them but they were no friends. Not because you thought of them as less but because of their timid personality. They were terrified of The Harkonnens and they were often trembling whenever they spotted your annoyance. Such a dynamic could not be a base of any real valuable friendship although your heart was breaking for them.

They had told you that the people of Giedi Prime liked you. You were not like your husband nor his family and you looked different because of the pigment of your skin and your hair. Sometimes, to your new black Harkonnen attire you would add a jewellery or a flower crown from your homeworld. The citizens of Giedi Prime adored the additional splash of colour. You expected Feyd-Rautha to scold you for that but he did not. He seemed not to care at all about you and what you were doing.

You had tried everything to get his attention and to seduce him. You had started to wear more revealing nightgowns to bed but he would ignore you. You had walked in on him taking a bath on purpose – pretending it was an accident. He hadn’t even flinched.

You had been asking him things about Giedi Prime and The Harkonnen history – making a fool of yourself by asking him things you had known already. He would always answer dryly and coldly; often without even sparing you a glance. Then he would go on ignoring you.

You had tried to move closer to him in bed at night. Pretending to be asleep, you had adjusted your body slowly until your arms touched. He had woken up abruptly and moved aside, stealing the blanket.

You nearly gave up but there was one more idea you were thinking of. You wanted to share a hobby with your husband. It could not be sex because he refused to touch you, which made you feel so unattractive that you didn’t even think of flirting with other men to cause his jealousy. His coldness made you feel ugly.

No, his other hobby was the blade. And you sometimes observed his training and they always made you miss your home. On Morana the warriors would train day and night just like him. You had often observed them with your father as he was telling you grand stories. And perhaps you were a lady, but you were your people’s Grand Duchess and you could handle the blade. Or so you had thought.

You found one of the generals of The Harkonnen army who was from your homeworld. He looked different than the rest of them because of his longer, braided hair and tattoos on his face that were your people’s spiritual symbols. However, like most of the important military men from your homeworld, he had been sent to Giedi Prime as a young boy to be trained under The Harkonnens. Such boys were some sort of a tribute in the same way your natural resources were. All those years spent under the black sun had made his natural skin colour a few tones paler. But amongst The Harkonnens he still looked the healthiest.

“General Bohumil,” you approached him one day after watching him train with other soldiers. He was putting his blades away as he raised an eyebrow at you, surprised to see you wandering around this part of the fortress.

“Slava, Grand Duchess (Y/L/N), My Lady Na-Baroness Harkonnen,” he bowed down. You smiled at the way he addressed you as it brought back memories of your homeworld where you were addressed as The Grand Duchess and with the word slava meaning glory as a sign of respect. “What brings you here, My Lady?” He asked.

“I was wondering if you’d find some time for me,” you began, a little nervously as he furrowed his brows. “To train me.”

“Train you, na-baroness?” General Bohumil hesitated. He was looking for the right words not to insult you in any way. “What does your husband think of such an idea, my Lady?”

“I don’t think he cares about what I do at all,” you admitted honestly with a shrug of your arms.

He would never say that but you could see the look in his eyes. You were a spoiled and bored noble lady in his eyes and he’d only waste his precious time on you. However, he was too scared to say no. Your question was not a proposition, it was an order. That was the way of The Harkonnens and that was the way your father ruled on Morana, too.

“Alright, my Lady. I can show you the basics,” he nodded. “We can start tomorrow. But I warn you, you can bruise or hurt yourself,” he added.

“I am aware. Those are natural consequences of a combat, General,” you smiled at him. “I will find you tomorrow,” you nodded and went back to your quarters, very pleased with yourself.

The first week of your trainings – and you had insisted on them to take place every day – General Bohumil was only making you stretch and prepare your muscles for the future extortion. No whining about it could cause him to change his mind. But after the first week you were finally given a blade to hold. It was quite short and light but very swift to move. The handle was wooden with your people’s spiritual symbols engraved on it. It was a traditional blade of the warriors from Morana and it made you feel so proud to be your father’s daughter to wield it. It made you feel as if you were home again.

You were also given a shield-like device that would protect you from hurting yourself or from the General hurting you in an accident. You noticed that he wore one, too, probably expecting you to clumsily wave the blade around and possibly cause some harm with it.

“Repeat the sentences after me, my Lady,” General Bohumil began to show you the most basic moves. You nearly rolled your eyes at how easy they seemed to be but you wanted to be an obedient student and to prove to him that you were not just a bored noble lady. You really wanted to learn.

He corrected your posture and the position of your feet as he lifted your elbow and then he began to show you the same sequence again.

You had many traits that were considered to be positive – it could be seen now, in the way you obediently performed your duties, how you desperately tried to make your marriage work and keep both of the families proud. You cared about your family’s honour, you were aware of the responsibility placed upon you. You would never sabotage your union; you were loyal and proud.

But you also possessed some traits that were considered to be negative – impatience was one of them. You didn’t want to keep repeating the same basic sequence a million times all over again, feeling like a child with a toy sword. You wanted to feel the adrenaline already like your husband when you watched him in combat or the warriors on your planet. Not listening to General Bohumil’s warnings, you started to spice up the sequence with the moves you had only seen in the gladiator arena before.

“My Lady, please, that is too advanced. We will get to it in the right time,” he sighed, trying his best to contain his anger. As a military man he was all about discipline and if you were a common soldier, he would lash out at you, you were sure of that. But you were his Grand Duchess and his Na-Baroness and he couldn’t even scold you. He could only calmly try to explain.

But you wouldn’t impress Feyd with the basic combat moves. You were sure that if he caught you now, he would laugh with contempt. No, you had to be better than that. And you hated to wait.

“This stupid shield,” you turned the device off as General’s eyes widened, “it’s distorting my view,” you whined.

“My Lady, please, turn it back on,” he pleaded. “Your eyes will get used to it after a few weeks of training, I can assure you of that.”

“A few weeks?!” You sneered. “When you talk to me using such long amounts of time, I get discouraged already. You think I’m not good enough to master this art faster than that?”

“It’s not about your personal skills, na-baroness, I assure you. Every man needs time to get better,” he swallowed thickly as he watched you play with the knife in your hand. “Please, turn the shield back on.”

Like a spoiled child, encouraged by the fact that your little hand tricks with the knife came easy to you, you took a step ahead and attacked him. In one swift movement he defended himself as he crossed his knife with yours but you could feel he was not using his full force.

You tried one of the tricks you had seen while observing the fights and you tried to quickly take a step back and attack him once again but straight into his ribcage this time. However, you were not experienced enough to try such a move and the knife clumsily slid through your hand. You hissed out of pain as it sliced through the leather fabric of your pants and through the tender flesh of your thigh.

The General’s eyes widened as he turned his shield device off and approached you quickly. You were in so much pain, you were gritting your teeth but you refused to let out a scream or to sit down. You didn’t want him to see you like this although the tears were already pricking your eyes and you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your leg.

“Na-Baroness!” There was a worry in his voice but he used a scolding tone, not being able to hold himself back anymore.

“Don’t even mention it. I know,” you drawled through gritted teeth. “It’s my fault, I know.”

He nodded his head, relieved that you were not blaming your injury on him.

“You’re hurt, my Lady. Let me escort you to the medical wing,” he insisted.

“No, thank you. I will go there myself,” you told him. “I will be back when it’s healed,” you added and limped out of the door as quickly as your pain allowed you, too.

You wanted to be alone so you could finally start crying out of pain, although you made sure to do it quietly. You were thankful that the medical wing was close to the training section of the fortress for strategic reasons.

Your servant girls had picked you up from the medical wing. They had been looking at you as if you were crazy but they hadn’t dared to say a word. Your thigh was now disinfected and bandaged and your servants helped you to change into a nightgown as they recommended you to go to bed earlier than usual and get rest. They left you alone in your chamber and assured that they would be nearby if you needed them.

But you weren’t sleepy. You felt ashamed and humiliated as you kept overthinking your stupid behaviour. You knew one thing only – you didn’t want Feyd-Rautha to find out about this accident. He would think of you as weak and foolish… and he wouldn’t be wrong.

You were laying on the bed and reading a book, making sure that your leg was covered by both your nightgown and the duvet. When Feyd entered the bedroom – earlier than usual – you started to suspect he had found out about your accident and wanted to see with his own eyes. You pretended not to pay any attention to him but you watched him from the corner of your eye as you struggled to focus on the book. He sat by his desk and sighed while reading some letters that had been placed there in the morning and you realised it was his time to perform his na-baron duties as he was supposed to deal with the paperwork. He hated this.

Knowing that he was already angry at the fact that he had to answer the letters, you were trying not to bother him at all and you controlled your own breath so it wouldn’t be too loud. On the other hand, you had to admit that Feyd-Rautha had never aimed his anger at you… so far. You had known about his nature before and although you were not scared of him, you had expected him to get violent at times. That had never happened, though.

Sometimes you wished it had. Because at least he’d react anyway to your presence instead of treating you like air.

Deep in your thoughts, you lost your focus and dropped your book with a loud thump sound on the floor. You froze and glanced at your husband’s shoulders. He stiffened and you quickly leaned in to grab the book, forgetting completely about your new injury as the duvet and your nightgown pulled up and revealed your bandage.

Once you straightened your back with the book in your hand, you noticed the exposed thigh and quickly covered it, hoping that Feyd had not seen it. You looked up and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him staring at you intensely.

“What is it?” He asked with squinted eyes.

He talked to you so rarely that you nearly startled at the harsh and unpleasant sound of his raspy voice. You wondered if you’d ever get used to it.

“This? A book, dear husband. Something about the politics,” you chuckled nervously as you waved your hand, playing a fool.

Feyd stood up and approached the bed as you watched with terror in your eyes. He aggressively tossed the duvet aside and your skin got covered with goosebumps. He lifted up the hem of your nightgown and you hated to admit how electrifying his fingertips felt on your thigh. He had never touched you like that before.

“Who hurt you?” He asked after seeing the bandage again. His cold eyes stared into yours with a burning gaze.

“What do you care?” You asked and shrugged your arms. “It’s nothing,” you assured. “An accident.”

“I care,” he assured you but without any delicacy. “As your husband I am responsible for taking care of you and your honour,” he pointed out. “And as my wife you are my property. Whoever raises their hand on you, raises their hand on me and the Baronship,” he added.

“I did it to myself,” you bit on your lower lip and he tilted his head, visibly in disbelief. “If you paid more attention to me, you’d find out more things about me and you’d know by now that I tend to be clumsy sometimes,” you hissed at him and tried to cover your thigh again but he kept his hand there.

“I do pay attention to you,” he stated. “I observe you. I know when you’re lying,” he clenched his jaw. “Why are you defending the person who hurt you?”

“I’m not lying,” you protested.

“But you’re hiding something from me,” Feyd was relentless.

“Then we are only fair,” you put the book down as you looked at him angrily. “Your whole life is a secret kept away from me. Can’t I have mine?”

“Women on Giedi Prime do not have the same freedom as women on your planet do,” your husband reminded you. “A wife belongs to her husband in a way he will never belong to her.”

“What a relief then that I am not your wife,” you raised an eyebrow and he pursed his lips as he gave you a questioning look. “Because you have not consummated the union and refused so far to perform your duty and secure our bloodline.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Feyd snorted and looked away. “Stupid woman.”

“I do realise I am a disappointment to you. I am not one of the Imperial Princesses and I am not as interesting as your concubines. Not important enough, not attractive enough,” you decided to finally take your chance and tell him everything you had been feeling lately since it was the first opportunity to have some sort of conversation with your husband. He still refused to lay his eyes on you again. “I feel lonely, abandoned and rejected. Homesick. I want to be a good wife. I want to be a good na-baroness. But you’re not even giving me a chance. Out of boredom, I asked one of the generals to teach me how to fight and I hurt myself during training. Yes, it was pathetic of me. Go on, laugh. Make fun of me,” you encouraged him ironically. “At least it will be the very first reaction from you given to me in a long time.”

“Stop it! Stop,” Feyd-Rautha barked at you as he stood up and turned his back on you. He clutched his hands on the chair by his desk.

“Does the sound of my voice repulse you, too?” You asked, angrily. Now, when you finally let all these things out, you didn’t want to stop.

“You don’t understand!” He exclaimed and turned around to look at you with so much intensity that you curled up on the bed, feeling small and vulnerable. After all, he was a strong warrior and you were only a wounded prey. Like one of the rabbits in the forests on Morana, hunted by the hound dogs.

“Then explain it to me,” you whispered. “You owe me that at least.”

“I hurt everything I touch,” Feyd’s confession was sudden and it shocked you both. After a long while of silence between you two, he continued. “Just like him. It’s what this whole family is like.”

“I thought you liked to hurt,” you pointed out.

“Not you,” he answered nearly inaudibly. It was difficult for him to confess those things. You blinked a few times in disbelief.

“Why not me?” You asked, carefully.

“You’re supposed to be my wife. But I… I don’t know how to be a husband,” he looked at you again. You could swear that his sickly pale cheeks flushed slightly. “I was never… taught,” he explained.

“I didn’t expect you to be,” you admitted. “I knew life with you would be difficult. I knew you enough to know that. But nothing could prepare me for being… ignored. Completely,” you made your own confession as your heart pounded in your chest. You moved closer to him and reached your hands out, taking his gently and he didn’t even flinch. He just allowed it to happen, so you squeezed his cold fingers. “I am sorry I am not the wife you wanted.”

“It is not about that,” Feyd looked into your eyes. “And I do not ignore you. I let you be here. Sleep in my bed.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that was already a sign of affection,” you rolled your eyes.

“Protection,” he fixed you. “I don’t trust anyone here. They all work for my uncle,” he lowered his voice. “And as my wife, you are under my protection. If you want to learn how to fight,” he sighed and let go of your hands to sit on the edge of the bed again and reveal your bandaged thigh, “although I do not approve of that, from now on, it will be me training you. Do you understand? I don’t want any other man to teach you. I would never let this happen,” his fingertips brushed on your bandage and you felt a shiver go down your spine.

“I understand,” you nodded, trying not to smile too widely. Not exactly how you had imagined it but your plan to get your husband’s attention seemed to be working.

Feyd looked at your face again as his hand caressed your hair and cheek. You got startled at that at first but then you relaxed under his touch.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know how to act around… a wife,” he admitted. “All I know is that she should not be treated like a common concubine.”

“So that is why you prefer to be around them. Because at least you know what to do,” you pointed out and he nodded. “You could have told me that.”

He laughed at your words, grinning with that black smile of his. It made you chuckle, too, as you realised how stupid your words were.

“That’s right. The Harkonnens don’t talk about their feelings,” you guessed.

“Our what?” Feyd squinted his eyes at you as his face became serious again. “I don’t know anything about the arrangement between your father and my uncle. But the way you acted on our first night together, it made me realise you are not here by your own will. It brings me pleasure when my concubines fear me but I do not wish for my wife to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of you, Feyd-Rautha,” you assured him. “I have never been.”

He looked a little surprised by your confession.

“You admired me then,” he seemed to be proud of himself.

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” you cooled down his enthusiasm. “You annoyed me,” you explained and he gave you a scolding look. However, he was more disappointed than angry. “You’re a spoiled Harkonnen brat.”

“Look who’s talking. Like you’re not a spoiled little noble lady who decided she wants to learn how to wield a knife out of boredom,” he pointed out.

“I know, I do not deny. Perhaps we are not a bad match at all,” you giggled and his eyes sparkled again. “I’m not used to warriors cheating in the arena, you know.”

“He says it is not the time yet to show my real abilities,” Feyd explained himself quickly, a little embarrassed that you pointed out his cheating. Honour was important to him and it was his weak spot.

“In the bedroom as well?” You raised an eyebrow, surprising your own self with your boldness. “Perhaps you have not been taught about being a husband but you surely know what your main duty is.”

“You’re eager,” he smirked.

“I am not a concubine but I am a woman like they are. I have my own needs and desires. You do not make it easy, ignoring me after coming to bed late at night, smelling like fresh sweat, blood and leather,” you pointed out.

“I fuck like I fight,” he warned you as his pupils darkened. His face was now so close to yours that you felt his hot breath on your mouth and his eyelashes tickled your cheeks.

“Is that a promise?” You whispered.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he snorted at you and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“You’re right. You have to show me,” you teased.

“No,” he moved back suddenly and you felt a sharp pain in your heart. He was so close… you nearly had him. “I don’t trust myself around you,” he admitted. “You will show me,” he told you as you raised your eyebrow.

“Me?” You swallowed thickly as his words.

“I’m yours,” he said. “Do whatever you wish with me. If a child is what you so badly want, to make your parents happy, to make my uncle happy,” he explained with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “then go on, explore, have fun. At your own pace.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest as you realised that he was inviting you to initiate an intimacy between you two. You panicked as you had never expected that he’d want you to take a lead in the bedroom.

“I do not want to have a child to make anyone happy,” you fixed him. “Anyone but me. I want to secure our position on Giedi Prime,” you explained.

“So dutiful,” Feyd smirked.

“We share some values, dear husband,” you nodded and moved closer to him with a soft hiss as your injury reminded you of its presence.

“Easy, wife,” he watched you and you smirked as you put your arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you’re not doing it because you’re avoiding the paperwork?” You asked and pointed at the desk with your chin. Feyd sighed and you giggled. “I knew it,” you bit on your lower lip and sat astride him.

The first thing you did was to take off his shirt. You had observed his body many times before and the sight of his hard muscles had been the most delightful one. You tossed the shirt aside and gasped softly at your husband’s smooth pale skin. You allowed your fingertips to explore every crease, every bump, every vein and every tendon. Carefully, you leaned in and breathed in his scent as your lips softly brushed his shoulder.

His body was a work of art. Daily workouts and trainings were working miracles. He was strong and flexible. The sight alone was enough to make you feel hot. You began to feel the wetness between your legs as you allowed your fingertips to explore the upper part of his body. You tangled your legs behind his waist and moved your hands to his back, feeling the bumpy skin full of thin scars scattered all over. You had noticed them before but only now you gained the courage to ask him about them.

“Was it him?” You asked and Feyd nodded, carefully watching your reaction. But you didn’t flinch or make a disgusted face. You were sad about it. The scars were old. He had to be a young and scared boy once, tortured by his uncle to turn him into the ruthless killing machine he was now.

You leaned in to place a soft kiss upon his cheek.

“Turn around,” you asked and he looked unsure. “You said I could explore and play. I want you to turn around,” you repeated and he nodded, hesitantly, before moving away softly, making sure he wouldn’t hurt your injured thigh. Then he turned his back on you and looked behind his shoulder to see what you were about to do.

You put your hands around his waist and moved closer, still caressing the hard muscles of his abdomen, you leaned in and left a trail of soft kisses up and down his scarred back. From the short conversation you managed to have with your husband you quickly realised that what Feyd-Rautha had never known in his life was tenderness. You wanted to be the first and only person to give it to him. You were his wife and that was your job.

He flinched at the feeling of your soft lips upon his scars but then he relaxed. You lowered the hands resting on his muscular chest and put them on his hips as you shyly hesitated for a while before finally placing one of your palms on his crotch. Innocently peppering his back with delicate kisses, your hand started to massage his bulge through the fabric of his pants. He groaned softly and you froze.

“Don’t stop,” he scolded you.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you took the hand away and moved back. “You told me I could do it at my own pace. I am not a concubine to order me around,” you reminded him and he turned around to face you again, surprised by your tone. “I am not a shy mouse, Feyd-Rautha. You seem to be aware that women on Morana have more rights. I was raised by a strong Tsarina.”

“Forgive me, I am still learning,” he answered with an amount of sincerity that left you speechless for a moment. As if he really tried to be a good husband.

“It’s quite alright,” you caressed his shoulder. “Lay down for me?” You encouraged and he nodded, quietly.

Feyd moved up on the bed to rest his head on the pillow and you crouched down, waiting for him to be on display for your needy hands. The fact that this terrifying warrior that nearly everyone feared seemed to be so obedient for you just because you were his wife was making you even more and more aroused.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured as you caressed his chest again. “I mean it.”

“So are you,” he confessed as he looked up at you and you shyly lowered your gaze. “I mean it,” he repeated your words.

“I haven’t felt very beautiful lately,” you admitted.

“I didn’t know,” he confessed.

You didn’t want to talk about it now. You lowered yourself to his neck and sucked on the soft skin only to soothe it with a kiss right after. You went down with your kisses, making sure to leave it upon every inch of his torso before you finally found yourself facing his crotch. His pants looked very tight at the moment. Too tight.

Shyly but curiously, you unbuttoned them and pulled them down with his underwear, watching his hard cock twitching at the feeling of your hot breath. His size impressed you but also made you anxious. You helped Feyd to get rid of his clothes completely and tossed them on the floor before leaning in again.

You grabbed his length carefully as he hissed out of pleasure, trying not to think of all the concubines he had before you – concubines who knew how to please him way better than you did. You hesitated before placing a delicate kiss on the tip.

“Be patient with me, I am only learning,” you looked up, giving him puppy eyes. He was looking down at you with darkened pupils and haze in his gaze.

“Have fun down there,” he growled and threw his head back. You giggled and went back to the soft kisses and kitten licks as your hand pumped his length.

“I’m glad you didn’t take me on our wedding night,” you admitted. “This is so much more fun,” you squeezed his tip and he bucked his hip with a grunt as you watched the black precum leaking out.

You had been educated enough by your mother, servants, medics and all the explicit books you could find in the library. You smirked and licked him clean before lowering your head and taking him as far down your throat as you were able to. You kept yourself steady by holding his muscular thighs but when you felt his cock twitching a little, you let go quickly; your drool mixed with his thick black precum leaked down your chin. Feyd looked up with an annoyed expression on his face but he didn’t say anything this time.

“We can have more fun once I’m expecting. Now we can’t waste any of that, can we?” You tilted your head and pulled your nightgown up to your hips before moving up and lining his cock with your glistening pussy. You swallowed thickly at the sight of how hard and big he was.

“Take your time,” Feyd put his hands on your hips. “It’s a lot to take,” he bragged.

“Oh, so you think I can’t handle it?” You raised an eyebrow.

Just like when it came to wielding a blade, you didn’t like being told that you couldn’t handle something. You were an impatient lady.

“I am your wife,” you reminded him as you slowly lowered yourself. The feeling of his swollen tip brushing your clit made you shiver but you bravely kept a poker face on. “I was made to take your cock and carry your children,” you added. “No matter how big it is, I’m going to take it.”

Feyd winked at you and your heart skipped a beat at that. He could be adorable at times, you had to admit. It made you happy that you could finally experience this side of him. It was worth all the pain your injury had been causing you.

You lowered yourself some more, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he tightened the squeeze on your hips, surely bruising them, too. You hissed and shut your eyes as you threw your head back.

The pain mixed with pleasure, the overwhelming fulfilment with an endless desire to feel him even deeper, to fill you even further, to make you swell and heavy with his children. When you finally sat fully on his cock, you let out a moan of his name as your walls twitched and squeezed him.

“Easy, wife, take your time,” he reminded you. His hands were keeping you down, not letting you move for a while. He was giving you time to adjust to his size and you opened your eyes to look at him below you. You gasped at the admiration on his face. All those weeks of feeling unattractive suddenly vanished from your memory.

You were a daughter of your planet. Morana was known for its fertile soil like you would be known for bearing his heirs. You were his goddess at that moment but you didn’t feel the need to be cruel towards your subject.

“I want you closer,” you breathed out and he nodded, sitting up very carefully, making sure not to hurt you. Once his back rested on the pillow behind him, you clinged to his chest and joined your lips with his in a kiss as your hips began to move slowly.

Feyd’s hands moved your hips and helped you to find the right pace and rhythm. Soon enough you were bouncing on that big cock with ease that came with desire. Feeling that you didn’t require so much of his help anymore, one of your husband’s hands moved down and rested on your bandage. His touch was unusually gentle and you moaned into his mouth, not breaking the hungry kiss even for a second.

After all those weeks of being left abandoned and touch starved, you just wanted to devour him. Nothing mattered; certainly not your wound, not the sweat, not the exhaustion. Your only goal was to chase the high that was coming.

Feeling that your movements became chaotic, Feyd cupped your face and groaned into your mouth as his own hips picked up the pace, taking control over you. You trembled and let out muffled cries of pleasure as he rutted roughly inside of you through your orgasm. Not long after you felt his thick black cum spilling deep inside of you as both of your bodies relaxed.

You broke the kiss and tried to catch your breath. Your husband wiped all the tears off of your cheeks and laid your head on his shoulder gently. You hugged his chest and cuddled him like that in silence.

“Do you remember what you promised?” He asked and you furrowed your brows. “That next time you want to train, you’re coming to me.”

“Yes,” you smiled to yourself. “But I am only learning,” you added, shyly. “I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

“If you’re a quick learner with the blade like you are in the bedroom, then you will soon laugh at me,” he assured you and caressed your back as you giggled into the crook of his neck.

“You’re a quick learner, too, Feyd-Rautha,” you looked up as he looked down, confused. “How to be a husband, I mean,” you explained.

You watched the servant girls painting your husband’s beautiful body with the black war paint as you caressed your swollen bump through the fabric of your dress. They finished their job and took a few steps back with their heads kept low. One of them handed you the bowl of the black liquid and you approached him as he smiled.

You dipped your finger in the paint and drew one of the symbols of your people on his chest. He looked down, questioningly.

“And what does this one mean?” He asked.

“It ensures good favours of the gods and victory in battle,” you explained softly.

“You know that he hates it when you do that,” Feyd reminded you. Baron Harkonnen would prefer you to become a Harkonnen and give up your old ways completely instead of teaching Feyd more about your culture.

“I know,” you looked up. “That’s why I do that.”

In the beginning you had been indifferent to his uncle but the more you found out about him and the damage he had done to your husband, the more you hated him.

Feyd nodded at you and leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead.

“Na-Baron, five minutes,” one of the servants reminded him of the time left.

“I will bring you the hearts of my enemies,” he cupped your face as he looked deep into your eyes while making a promise.

“I have only one enemy,” you reminded him, “and he is not in the arena today.”

Feyd nodded quietly. He put his hand on your swollen belly and caressed it.

“Take care of your mother for me for a while,” he said and you chuckled with an eye-roll.

You watched him put the last pieces of clothes and take his blades. You couldn’t wait for the day when he’d become The Baron and he wouldn’t have to do it anymore. Even though the fights were fixed, you still feared for his life. And to think you had used to find this practice unhonourable. Now you were glad that his combats were cheated.

“Slava, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you blessed him.

He turned his head around for the last time to wink at you playfully and give you his black grin.

“I’ll be right back.”

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #lilysfiction #austin butler x reader

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