#but you blink and the sensation fades away

[idkyetxoxo]

Nine | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 3315

Warnings - None

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The next morning greeted me with a dull ache in my head and the sensation of fabric clinging awkwardly to my skin. 

I blinked awake, realizing I was still in the dress from the night before, hair a tangled mess, but at least I had made it to my own bed. 

As I rubbed my temples, groaning at the fragments of memories swirling in my mind, the sound of bustling footsteps filled the room, my handmaidens already moving with their usual efficiency.

"Did you have fun last night, Princess?" Adryana chirped, far too cheerful for the state I was in as she threw open the curtains. 

Sunlight spilt in like a tidal wave, flooding the room in blinding brightness.

I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. "Not so loud," I mumbled, but my complaint only earned laughter from her and the others. 

Despite my groaning protests, they set to work, easing me into a cool bath, scrubbing away the remnants of the night. The water was refreshing, reviving me bit by bit, washing away the exhaustion and too much wine.

By the time I was dressed and ready, Alaric was already at my side, shadowing me like always as I made my way downstairs for breakfast.

The dining hall greeted me with the sight of my father sitting at the table, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, and Nymor slouched miserably beside him, his head buried in his hands. 

Clearly, I wasn't the only one suffering from the effects of the night.

I planted a quick kiss on my father's cheek and ruffled Nymor's hair as I passed, settling into my seat with a sigh.

"How was the celebration, my love?" my father asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as I gratefully reached for the cool water in front of me, letting it soothe my parched throat.

"It was wonderful," I replied with a small smile. "More beautiful than any year before."

My father nodded, clearly pleased, but I couldn't resist teasing Nymor. 

"I barely saw you all night," I quipped, raising an eyebrow at him, knowing full well he'd been lost somewhere in the wine and revelry.

Nymor lifted his head just enough to glare at me through bleary eyes. "Maybe that's because you only had eyes for that Targaryen prince," he muttered, his voice thick with irritation.

The playful atmosphere shifted instantly. His words struck a nerve, my smile fading as a pang of guilt tugged at my chest.

I glanced at my father, who was now watching me with a cautious expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him with a sharp look. 

"Don't," I warned quietly, unwilling to turn this into a discussion. Thankfully, he seemed to understand and closed his mouth again.

Nymor, however, wasn't so easily deterred. He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, standing abruptly, casting me one last pointed look before storming out of the hall.

"Nymor!" I called after him, but he was already gone. 

Frustration bubbled up inside me as I ran a hand through my freshly brushed hair, my pulse quickening with the need to fix this. I couldn't let things end like that between us.

Without another thought, I stood and quickly followed him, determined to make things right.

It didn't take long to find myself outside his chambers, pounding on the heavy wooden door. "Nymor, open up!" I demanded, my patience wearing thin. 

When there was no response, I leaned my forehead against the door, sighing. "Don't make me get Alaric to break it down."

A pause. Then, a faint click of the lock.

I slipped inside to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, his expression guarded and closed off.

I sat down beside him, the bed dipping slightly under my weight. "Are you upset with me?" I asked, keeping my voice soft, almost tentative.

Nymor didn't answer right away. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the floor. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. 

"You swore you'd never even speak to a Targaryen, let alone fall for one." His tone was filled with disbelief, as though he couldn't reconcile the girl who once spat their name with the one sitting beside him now.

I sighed, the weight of my own confusion pressing down on me. "Nymor, he's not like the others," I said softly, knowing how empty the words must sound to him.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "What is this then? Do you love him?" The question was sharp, cutting like he couldn't believe it might be true.

My heart stilled. Love? The word hung between us, heavy, charged. I hesitated, the truth trembling on the edge of my lips. And then, quietly, almost to myself, I whispered, "I think so."

The room seemed to freeze. Nymor's head snapped toward me, shock etched into every line of his face. He hadn't expected me to say it, maybe hadn't even expected me to realize it. 

And yet, here it was, a confession, unbidden and undeniable.

I felt my pulse quicken, my hand reaching out to entwine my fingers with his. 

"I can't help how I feel," I murmured, my voice trembling slightly. "I've tried to forget him, but no matter where I am or what I'm doing, he's always there. In my thoughts, in my heart..."

Nymor's fingers tightened around mine, the war between loyalty and betrayal playing out clearly in his eyes. He was silent for a long moment before his shoulders sagged, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I'm going to miss you." There was no anger now, just a quiet, vulnerable truth.

My throat tightened at his words. "I'm going to miss you more," I admitted, feeling the bittersweet sting of what this meant for us—for the bond we'd always shared. 

We had been inseparable for as long as I could remember, and the thought of not having him by my side every day felt like losing a part of myself.

I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort, though the ache in my chest told me it was futile. "But I'll come back. I promise, Nymor. I won't let too much time pass between us. You know that, right?"

He tried to smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You better. The castle's going to feel empty without you."

I laughed softly, though there was a bittersweetness lacing my voice. "You'll manage. Besides, you've got Yoren and Meric to keep you company."

He snorted, shaking his head. "As if they could ever replace you."

With that, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. For a moment, he hesitated, then hugged me back tightly, the way he always had—protective, strong. 

We clung to each other, both of us knowing that this moment was a farewell of sorts, even if we didn't say the words aloud.

"I'll write to you," I whispered against his shoulder, my voice thick with emotion. "And when I come back, we'll pick up right where we left off."

He nodded, his hold on me tightening as if trying to hold on to this moment a little longer. "You better not forget that promise," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"I won't," I vowed, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. "No matter what happens, no matter how far I go, I'll always come back to you."

We sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, the silence between us filled with the weight of unspoken promises. 

And as we finally pulled apart, I knew that nothing—not distance, not time—could ever truly break the bond we shared.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The sun bathed the courtyard in a golden warmth, casting long shadows over the stone as I reclined lazily on a cushioned bench, drink in hand, and watched my brother and his friends pretend to train. 

Their swords clanged, but the effort was half-hearted, the clinks of steel punctuated by laughter and jest. 

What had started as an exercise in discipline had quickly dissolved into gossip and posturing, their so-called practice nothing more than an excuse to rehash the night's mischief.

I swirled my wine, half-amused by their antics, half-bored by the predictability of it all. 

My brother Nymor, always the ringleader, was at the centre of the group, gesturing dramatically as Meric and Yoren egged him on. 

They were acting like children, and I was content to watch the spectacle unfold—until Yoren broke away from the pack, swaggering over with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"And what about you, Princess?" he asked, voice teasing as he wagged his eyebrows. His grin was as suggestive as ever, causing Nymor and Meric to snicker behind him.

I met his gaze without missing a beat, a playful smirk curling at my lips. 

"No one," I lied smoothly, taking a sip of wine with all the nonchalance I could muster. Yoren's face fell into an exaggerated pout, though the twinkle in his eye remained.

"Oh, come now, Princess. You can't expect us to believe that" Meric chimed in, abandoning his sword to join the interrogation.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "There's nothing to tell," I insisted, though the smug look on my face probably gave me away. 

It was a game we played too often—this little dance where they pried and I denied, giving just enough to stoke their curiosity.

Yoren leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. 

"Are you sure it wasn't your ever-vigilant protector again?" he asked with a grin, nodding subtly in the direction of Alaric, who stood nearby, stoic as ever.

I gasped, swatting him across the chest with mock outrage. "You're impossible, Yoren!" I exclaimed, but the grin I wore betrayed the amusement I couldn't hide. 

Alaric remained as impassive as a statue, but I could have sworn I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth at the mention of his name.

"You three are absolutely shameless," I muttered, crossing my arms as they exchanged mischievous glances.

Nymor raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, his expression feigning shock. "I didn't even say anything!" he protested, but the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise.

"Guilt by association," I shot back, crossing my arms and taking another sip, my gaze narrowing playfully at the lot of them. Their laughter rang out in response, unabashed and carefree.

Meric, ever the cheeky one, slung an arm around Nymor's shoulders, shaking his head. "We can't help it, Princess. You're just too easy to tease."

I sighed dramatically, setting my glass down with a flourish. "One of these days, you'll run out of gossip," I said with a smirk, "and when you do, I'll be the one laughing."

Yoren chuckled, nudging me lightly. "We just want to make sure you're having fun too, you know."

I gave him a playful pinch on the cheek. "Oh, darling, I am the epitome of fun. In fact, there's no one in this kingdom who knows how to have more fun than I do."

Nymor snorted, wiping the sweat from his brow. "That's true. No one can keep up with you, sister."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a sultry whisper, drawing them all closer like moths to a flame. Their eyes widened with anticipation, hanging on my every word. 

"But if you must know," I said, drawing out the moment, savouring their eagerness, "there may have been a carriage involved last night."

The revelation hung in the air like sweet, forbidden fruit, just tantalizing enough to ignite their imaginations. 

Meric's grin stretched wide across his face, eyes twinkling with mischief. "A carriage?" he drawled, wagging his eyebrows. "Scandalous, Princess."

I laughed, tossing my hair over my shoulder as if it were the most casual thing in the world. 

I loved these moments, feeding them just enough to keep them guessing, watching them scramble to piece together the rest.

But before the teasing could continue, a voice interrupted from behind. "Princess."

I turned, and my breath caught for a split second as I saw Aemond and Helaena approaching. Aemond's presence was as commanding as ever, his single eye fixed on me with a calm intensity, while Helaena's smile, soft and unassuming, immediately lightened the mood.

"Aemond," I said, his name slipping from my lips before I could stop myself. I recovered quickly, offering Helaena a warm smile. "And Helaena. It's always lovely to see you."

"May we join you?" Helaena asked, her voice lilting with the soft politeness I adored.

"Of course," I gestured to the bench beside me, though my heart was racing at Aemond's presence, my usual fire momentarily dimmed under the weight of his gaze.

Yoren and Meric exchanged glances, eyebrows raised as they watched me—the sharp-tongued, playful princess—suddenly become uncharacteristically composed.

Helaena, ever oblivious to the tension, looked around at the swords scattered on the ground. "What were you all talking about?"

Before anyone could answer, Meric, with his usual lack of tact, began, "The princess was just about to tell us how—"

I pinched his leg, making him yelp and earning myself a wounded look. 

"Just how much fun last night's celebration was," I interrupted smoothly, throwing a quick, warning glance at Nymor, who wisely stayed silent.

Helaena, thankfully, took my answer at face value, her curiosity sated. But Aemond's gaze lingered on me, sharp and unreadable, as if he could see through the carefully constructed facade I wore.

In an attempt to change the subject, I asked, "And where is Aegon this morning? Still sleeping off his indulgences, I assume?"

Helaena laughed softly, her tone both amused and exasperated. "As always. He had quite the night."

Aemond's gaze flickered across the abandoned swords, his single, sharp eye taking in the remnants of Yoren and Meric's half-hearted attempt at training. 

The gossip and laughter that had replaced sparring seemed to amuse him, though he kept his expression impassive, ever the picture of controlled restraint. 

He turned towards Nymor, a faint challenge simmering beneath the cool civility of his voice.

"May I join you?" he asked, though his tone made it sound less like a question and more like a test.

For a moment, Nymor hesitated, glancing in my direction as if seeking silent counsel. I tensed, bracing myself for what I was certain would be Nymor's typical sharp refusal, the same one he reserved for anyone who crossed into his personal territory—especially Aemond. 

I could practically feel the air thicken with tension, my fingers curling into the fabric of my dress in anticipation.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Nymor gave a slow, measured nod, his voice calm and even. "Of course," he said, surprising us all. "We could use another pair of hands."

I blinked, stunned by the absence of sarcasm or barbed undertones. No mocking smile, no cutting remark. Just a simple, earnest acceptance that left me momentarily speechless. 

Aemond, too, seemed caught off guard—his face remained impassive, but I saw the faintest flicker of surprise in his eye. It was fleeting, but it was there.

It was a small gesture, but one that rippled through me like a quiet thrill. I realized, in that moment, that Nymor's nod was more than an agreement—it was an olive branch. 

A tentative truce, silently acknowledging that perhaps Aemond wasn't as unwelcome as he had once been. My heart swelled at the thought.

As the boys moved toward the training area, I found myself settling back on the bench beside Helaena, attempting to refocus my attention on our conversation. But it was no use. 

My gaze kept drifting back to Aemond and Nymor, their swords raised, steel catching the glint of the afternoon sun as they squared off.

Nymor tested Aemond's reflexes with a series of quick, precise strikes—each one calculated, probing. But Aemond countered effortlessly, every movement deliberate, honed by years of discipline. 

There was a quiet intensity about him, a controlled ferocity that made it impossible to look away.

"They look good together, don't they?" Helaena's soft voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back into the present. 

I nodded absently, still watching Aemond with a kind of fascination I couldn't quite explain. 

There was something mesmerizing in the way he fought—graceful, yet relentless. His focus was razor-sharp, each step, each swing of his sword, executed with deadly precision.

"Yes," I murmured, my voice distant. "I didn't expect Nymor to agree."

Helaena smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. "Your brother is stubborn," she said, her tone gentle, "but he's not blind. He knows you care about Aemond, and that's enough for him to make an effort."

Her words hung between us, soft yet weighty with unspoken understanding. I swallowed, the warmth of her insight sinking deep into my chest.

Before I could respond, a sharp clang of steel drew my attention back to the sparring match. 

Nymor and Aemond were locked in a rapid exchange of blows, neither one yielding an inch. But there was no hostility in their movements—no anger or resentment, just a shared respect that hadn't been there before. 

Nymor was testing Aemond, and Aemond was rising to the challenge without hesitation, matching him strike for strike.

With every pass of their swords, I could feel the tension between them easing, a tentative camaraderie beginning to form in the heat of battle. 

It was a dance of sorts—each blow, each parry, a step toward mutual understanding.

"It's odd, isn't it?" I mused aloud, more to myself than to Helaena. "Seeing them like this."

Helaena nodded, her smile serene. "Change is often unexpected," she said, her voice carrying a quiet wisdom, "but that doesn't mean it's unwelcome."

I tried to focus on her words, on the gentle rhythm of our conversation, but my eyes kept drifting back to Aemond. There was something captivating in the way he moved—fluid, powerful, like a force of nature contained within the elegant sweep of his sword. 

Every time he landed a hit or blocked one of Nymor's strikes, a surge of pride bloomed in my chest, warm and unbidden.

Nymor, too, seemed to be enjoying himself. His usual guarded demeanour had melted away, replaced by a rare look of concentration—and, dare I say, enjoyment. 

The tension that had once crackled between them like a live wire now seemed to soften, giving way to something quieter, more respectful.

I sipped my drink, though my thoughts were far from the conversation. A smile tugged at my lips every time Aemond pulled off a particularly clever move, and when Nymor gave a begrudging nod of approval, I felt my heart lift in ways I hadn't anticipated.

Helaena nudged me gently, catching the smile I was trying so hard to hide. "You like watching him," she observed, her tone teasing but kind.

I rolled my eyes, feigning indifference, though the warmth spreading through my chest was undeniable. 

"It's just... interesting," I said weakly, but the excuse was flimsy, earning me a knowing look from Helaena.

"Interesting," she repeated, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "I think it's more than that."

I didn't bother responding—there was no point in pretending anymore. Helaena's knowing smile lingered between us, and in the silence that followed, I couldn't deny the quiet joy I felt watching Aemond and Nymor. 

These were two parts of my world that had once seemed so far apart, now finding a way to coexist, however imperfectly.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. And that, in itself, felt like a victory.

Aemond caught my eye for the briefest of moments, and though no words passed between us, the look we shared was enough. There was an understanding there, a silent promise. 

Something was shifting, changing. And for once, the change didn't feel like a threat—it felt like a possibility.

Nymor's quiet acceptance, however subtle, was the first step in bridging the divide that had once seemed so insurmountable. 

And as Aemond and Nymor continued their sparring, swords clashing in the afternoon light, I couldn't help but feel that the path forward was starting to clear. 

The walls that had once separated them were beginning to crumble, and in their place, something new was taking shape. 

Something that, for the first time, felt like hope.

A/n - Second last chapter and she has finally admitted her feelings!

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

@thebirdandthebee @queen-of-elves @believeinthefireflies95 @veesuguru

[suguwu]

still thinking about aventurine with a former casino dealer reader...

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

 You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh.  Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply.  They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

[mariasont]

you should do more aaron hotchner x reader but they get drunk together and they just have a make out session or something 🤫🤫

Strawberry Wine - A.H

a/n: i took this the bimbo reader route because i'm slightly obsessed with them lately so i hope you don't mind <3

thank you so much for requesting xoxo

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: hotch is a lot more flirty when he's got some alcohol in him

warnings: kind of suggestive?, flirty hotch, making out, mutual pining

wc: 0.9k

You were vaguely aware of the dizzy sensation taking hold, your steps a little unsteady, cheeks a little more flushed. Penelope's voice, usually so clear, now sound like she was yelling from afar, her excitement over a new cooking show barely registering with you. It all faded into the background as your focus narrowed on one person alone--your boss.

Concentrating on something else was the logical choice, but logic seemed to falter in the face of such distraction. I mean, you had eyes after all.

He looked exceptionally good tonight. Jeans. He was wearing jeans and a zip up. His casual look held an irresistibility about it that you rarely got to appreciate, and now it's all you can dwell on. You could easily blame your preoccupation on a few drinks, but in all honesty, you'd be just as enthralled sober.

Your name was floating through the air, and as you turned, you saw Morgan. His grin was wide, the kind that told you he'd been trying to catch your attention for longer than you'd realized.

His eyebrows lifted, bumping against you with a shoulder as he waggled those same eyebrows. So childish. You knew what he was referring to. He was the first one to catch on to your little crush, but despite his behavior you knew he'd never divulge your secret. 

You nudged him back, not realizing your own strength until you were almost toppling over. You only found your footing when you felt hands on your waist. You leaned back, assuming it was Morgan. You were wrong. 

"You okay?" His voice was soft and low, a soothing sound that tempted you to both lean into him and step back in a fluster.

You glanced around, only to realize that Morgan had disappeared, leaving you with Hotch. You clamped your lips together, fighting the urge to let a stupid smile spread across your face, but the wine's influence made it challenging.

"Yes."

The room spun just a tad more as you tried to focus on Hotch, his usually sharp gaze softened just a bit more tonight. 

He chuckled--a rare, perfect sound that made you tingly all over--and leaned closer. "The wine seems to be doing its job. How many glasses in are we?"

You giggled, but the sound was more like a hiccup. "I should be asking you that," you said with a lopsided smile. "But then again, I guess I mean glasses of scotch, right? You seem like a scotch over wine kind of guy."

"Do I?" His voice was rich and warm. He stepped forward, his eyes briefly flickering to where the rest of the team congregated in Rossi's kitchen. However, they seemed miles away. "You smell good."

His compliment threw you off guard, you blinked, cheeks heating up as you swayed slightly towards him, voice a bubbly stream of words you couldn't control. "You think so? It's actually this new perfume--I got it on sale, can you believe it? And the bottle is just the cutest thing, all pink and pretty."

"I bet." He was smirking. Smirking. You were pretty sure you had stumbled into an alternate reality where Hotch was not just your boss, but someone who was relaxed, almost flirtatious? 

"Here," you said, pointing to the middle of your chest. You were a little breathless, "this is where I spray it."

He gave a low hum, almost inaudible, stepping in until you were toe to toe. You caught the hint of scotch on his breath--just as you had suspected--and it made the room spin a little more. 

His face moved down toward your chest, and you couldn't hardly believe that he couldn't hear your heart pounding against your ribs. 

You inhaled sharply, the valley of your breasts rising to graze against his nose, so lightly that it might have gone unnoticed if not for your intense focus on him. 

"What do you think--?" you started to ask, but as he raised his head, your noses were nearly touching, and the rest of your sentence dissolved.

The realization of how easy it would be to kiss him struck you, tempting and terrifying all at one, and you hesitated, knowing that was one line you shouldn't cross.

But you didn't need to cross it because he obliterated the line with a kiss that thundered against your lips before you could even blink. A smile bloomed against his mouth, and you returned it full force.

It was as if you were tingly from head to toe, like fireworks were exploding all around you, like you were floating on a cloud.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, as if the space between you could vanish entirely. You felt his broad hands sweep and down your spine, your tongues vying for dominance, the rich, smoky taste of that scotch lingering in your mouth, as if you were absorbing its essence through every five senses.

It was as if you were back in high school, making out under the bleachers, hiding from the rest of your classmates. You didn't want it to end, but reality intruded like a dream dispelled.

The click of a camera snapped you back to the present, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, hands on the damning evidence.

Gathered at the window there the team was, Garcia's fingers curled around her phone, its lens aimed squarely at you. Your surprised came out as a high-pitched squeal mingled with their distance laughter and cheers. You pressed your face into the fabric of Hotch's zip up, silently pleading for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

"Next time, we'll opt for the bathroom. Less room for an audience."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[cuddleprofiler]

STITCHES — When you save Aaron and land in the hospital.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader

Genre: Fluff, Whump & bickering

Warning: Kidnapping, getting shot, daddy issues (tell me if I missed any)

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Even if it's 3rd Nov officially here but I wrote this for Hotch's bday. It's not based around bday but I couldn't get an idea for that, so....Positive criticism is welcomed.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON HOTCHNER

“Y/L/N.”

“Y/L/N. Wake up.”

You heard a displeased sound, but all you could see was darkness.

“Y/N. Wake up!”

You heard the sound again.

“Y/N, as much as I would have wanted to let you sleep, this is not the situation.”

What is he talking about? Oh! Wait a minute. Who is he?

You tried to open your eyes, but it felt as if you had just returned from an exhausting shopping spree, stuffed to the brim and struggling to wake up. But that wasn't the case; there was no time for shopping now.

Your attention drifted to the sensation of someone's fingers wrapped around yours, pressing gently. The pressure wasn't hard, but it was enough to pull you from the depths of your subconscious, urging you to wake up and resist the temptation to whine for “five more minutes.” Suddenly, the memory of what happened rushed back, and your eyes flew open as if you hadn't been trying to wake up at all.

You glanced around frantically. The scene was tilted at an odd angle; everything seemed askew. That’s when you felt something—or rather, someone—shift beneath your head. 

As soon as you attempted to move, you were hit with the familiar ache of someone who had just completed their first day at the gym.

“Y/L/N! Y/N! Calm down, calm down,” Hotch urged in his ever-composed voice.

Your eyes locked onto his warm, chocolate-brown ones, filled with care and concern. His irises darted left and right, never leaving yours, even for a moment.

Your gaze then fell on your wrists, turning red from the ropes being tied too tightly around them. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was the fact that your right wrist was tied to his left, and his right was tied to your left.

“Who ties hands this way?” you exclaimed, looking up at Hotch with the innocent curiosity of a child in kindergarten, eagerly seeking answers from a teacher who loomed over you.

“I think it’s part of the ritual they perform before disposing of their victims. They want to create an emotional connection before they end their lives by manipulating them.”

You nodded in understanding, trying to focus your vision, blinking several times to clear the fog from your eyes. Suddenly, everything faded to black.

When you came to again, your head rested on Hotch’s shoulder, and both of your hands lay haphazardly on your thighs.

“It’s a symptom of the drug—losing consciousness for a few minutes,” he said.

“You let them drug me?” you questioned, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, sure that he would protect you.

He looked at you in confusion, his expression scrunching up as if you were an alien rather than the agent he had known for months—someone he had never fantasized about(why would you think that?)

“We’re being kept captive,” he said, as if he were reminding you.

“We're kidnapped.”

“You could say that.”

“Being formal about this doesn’t change anything, Aaron. We are kidnapped,” you insisted, your voice rising as you widened your eyes to look into Hotch’s, which had narrowed as he stared intently at you.

Hotch had never seen you like this. You were usually the one to shy away from confrontation, avoiding discussions as if you were facing a gallows. You would opt out of outings with promises of future plans, crafting convincing lies that most believed—except for Rossi and him, who saw through your facade. He didn’t know you had this fire within you.

“You said this would be safe. We’d go to the party to meet your colleagues and return home soon,” you said, accusation lacing your voice, making Hotch set his eyes on you, anger evident in them.

“Yes, but you also knew the dangers lurking around in the city right now, didn’t you, Y/N/N?”

“But you didn’t put a sign saying ‘idiot’ in front of your name, did you? You have years of experience dealing with danger; you walk around with that stoic ‘I am the boss. Don’t mess with me’ vibe, and you’re saying you didn’t know what you were getting into?”

“Like you knew what you were getting into? You came in with roses to propose that day, right before I was leaving, with your enchanting face and beautiful wide eyes. Yet none of those things told me about your lack of common sense and respect.”

“Oh, please! Like you have a lot of common sense. You know what? You should drink your coffee with some sugar. Maybe it will help sweeten your bitter tongue.”

“Yeah, like the amount of sweets you consume did yours?”

“Don’t go after my sweets.”

“Then don’t comment on my coffee.”

“Then what should I comment on? Huh? How you can’t keep your hair in place? Seriously, how do those strands keep falling on your forehead?” Your gaze drifted toward the way his hair fell, then back to his eyes, and finally to his lips.

He noticed where your eyes wandered but kept his expression neutral. By “neutral,” he meant hiding how his heart plummeted at the brief longing in your gaze.

“Y/N, have some dignity when it comes to my hair. You use serum to tame the jungle of your morning madness and keep it presentable throughout the day.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Hotch’s unexpected remark. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, a spark of connection flickering before you both returned to the weight of the situation.

How does he know I wake up with a jungle for hair?

Your mind wandered back to the other day when you were telling the girls about this, who then suggested you get some hair products while Hotch and Rossi walked by.

He remembers such trivial things about me.

Stop it! He’s a profiler. It’s in his nature to remember things about people. Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.

The team had profiled the unsubs to be from the upper class; they had the means to enter these sorts of parties without striking to anyone as odd. The way the victims were disposed of spoke about the unsubs being used to ostentation without meaning to, fitting into the norms of upper-class society.

You and Hotch knew you would be abducted. It was part of the plan; you basically set the stage to lure the unsubs in. Initially, you and Hotch were reluctant to go—more you than him because you found him attractive. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him the whole night, especially as the people at elite parties dressed to the nines, and you were sure the way the whole team was looking at you would make you drool all night. You pressed your lips together, trying to stop yourself from imagining your handsome boss in a tight shirt, flexing his arms, showing off his muscles.

No, no, no! There’s no way I would be able to focus on catching the unsub.

However, none of them accepted your “no”—not even Hotch. He told you how you would be the perfect choice, seeing the pattern of female victims remained the same—one that you would fit. He turned you slightly toward himself by your shoulders, looking you right in the eye, promising that nothing would go wrong and that he would be there the whole time with you. Promise!

What you didn’t know was that they would hurt you to make you comply. The female victims had fought back; you would have to do the same. But none had been hit in the head—either they weren’t, or you were the unfortunate one. If so, the coroner made a grave mistake, and you would deal with him when you got out of here because your head was pounding like crazy. You were sure you had at least a mild concussion

You and Hotch had strategized in his hotel room the previous night, reviewing case files and delving into the plan to demonstrate a temper akin to that of the unsub and to display behavior contrary to the victims.

“What if we don’t show fear?” you suggested.

He raised an eyebrow, and seeing his expression made you gulp. You hadn’t thought much before speaking; it was a bad habit, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“Elaborate,” he prompted.

When he nodded, you continued, speaking slowly to avoid waking the sleeping bear that resided within Hotch—the one that got angry and lectured people. 

“So what if we show other emotions? Throw them off? They’re organized and live for perfection. Fear is part of the torture they perform, but they won’t be able to if we don’t let things go their way.”

“What do you suggest we do?” 

He seemed impressed, his tone hinting at approval. You looked down to hide your blush, and as you pondered your next idea, you began pacing the floor while Hotch sat in his chair. After a while, he realized it had been too long since you started pacing and opened his mouth to stop you.

“Argue!”

Hotch widened his eyes in disbelief. “You want us to argue while we’re kidnapped?”

“Yeah!”

He was trying to match your enthusiasm, but he struggled to comprehend your willingness to argue with him—let alone with anyone. “Are you sure?”

You turned to him, feeling a seed of insecurity beginning to take root. “I think the idea could work well, sir. However, there’s a chance it won’t be effective with me. You can choose someone else from the team if you’d like.”

He immediately recognized that he had done a poor job of reassuring you. “I want you to be there. With me.”

“Are you really su—?”

“I am, Y/N. We will go to the ball and execute the plan.”

You nodded your head, without any further arguments. He used anyone's first name on the team only when he was quite serious.

Before you could speak again, one of the unsubs struck both of you, causing you to flinch in pain.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” one of them yelled, his brows knitted in frustration. 

If anyone asked them, they would surely return the two chuckleheads they had kidnapped. You two were effectively ruining their game.

“All of the previous ones shivered in fear before us, begged us to spare their lives, but you two are… bickering?” He toyed with the knife in his hands—the same knife you suspected had been used to stab the female victims multiple times. Stuffing down the feeling of emptiness inside, you forced a sweet smile.

“See, first of all, we were arguing, not bickering,” you huffed, feigning annoyance at their mislabeling rather than genuine fear.

Things I do for this job!

“Exactly. And what are you saying about fear? Try living with this woman—she's a walking nightmare!”

He means dream, actually.

You gasped. “YEAH! You didn’t see the nightmare when you happily accepted my proposal. Oh! Or at the altar?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be here, wearing the ring, would I?” he retorted, giving you a fake smile—more mocking than sincere.

The team had taken care of the rings for the whole undercover mission and made you guys wear them in front of them.You closed your eyes slightly, suddenly remembering the embarrassment of that moment, the heat rising in your cheeks.

The way your cheeks were turning red, Hotch was glad this was a mission and he was not actually married to you; otherwise, he would never be allowed to set foot in the house after the stunt he just pulled. He was definitely sure of that. You were clenching your fists. He wondered whether they were for beating him up or controlling your anger.Your eyes betrayed your frustration, the one you were trying to hide.

She’s a wonderful actor.

“I’m telling you, Aaron. Shut up!”

The way your name rolled off your tongue sounded so soft and fluffy that he could hardly believe it. He knew his heart would ache when you went back to Hotch. He pursed his lips.

“You always complain about me not giving you enough time,” you said, your voice harsh. He nodded in acknowledgment.

You and Hotch could see the team surrounding the room, clad in FBI vests with guns trained on the unsubs. When you glanced at Hotch, he signaled for you to proceed with the plan.

He knew it was risky, but it was a solid strategy to shock them. You were against it. Your face had turned horrified the night before when he explained his plan. It felt as if he had promised you paradise and then snatched it away. You were hesitant at first; he understood, but eventually, you warmed up to the idea.

“Tell me, why should I make time for you when you're always busy at the FBI? In your office, having an affair with your case files,” you said, your tone dripping with feigned anger.

“Like you aren’t in the office, working so hard that you don’t even remember your husband works in the same place.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. You mentally squealed at his use of the term ‘husband.’

How much I wish it were real!

“Wait, what?” one of the unsubs asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

“What?”

“What did you guys just say?” His tone was low, likely from the shock of realizing he had kidnapped two FBI agents.

“You’re FBI?”

“From everything we’ve said, that’s what you gathered?”

As the realization hit him and he raised his gun to shoot you and Hotch, Morgan and Emily barreled into the room, swiftly disarming them. Thus, ending your and Hotch’s plight.

“You know, for being a parent, you are quite adventurous.” You said to Hotch as you walked down the stairs, who in turn moved his head toward you. You were so close that one move and your noses would touch.  

“What can I say? Being with you brings out my inner talent,” he answered back, continuing the funny banter you had begun.  

You chuckled quietly. “Oh really? Then I probably should tell Garcia about this. She would be really happy for you to try new things.”  

“No. I’m pretty happy that those types of adventures are out of my comfort zone,” he added.  

“Getting kidnapped comes in your arena, huh?”  

“Absolutely,” he let out a laugh.

Lost in the bickering, neither of you noticed anything else. You were so invested in winning and being lost in each other’s eyes that you paid no heed to your surroundings.  

The team and the detectives were searching the place for any other evidence or things that needed their attention. Hotch, being the boss, should have been there. He knew that. You knew that, but neither of you made any attempt to move, staying in your place and bickering like an old married couple.

Unbeknownst to you, the hours spent in captivity had forced you out of your comfort zone with him. You were trying to retreat back to your ‘before-you’ self, but it was proving to be a challenge. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Hotch was grappling with similar feelings.  

He didn't interact like this with anyone on the team, except Dave, but he had known him before he became Unit Head. When he transitioned from prosecutor to agent and had a wonderful life—not the broken one like now—Dave had been a part of that life. It was easier to share things with the man who had seen him evolve into the man he was today. He would always understand where he was coming from.  

On the other hand, the others were too young to be burdened with his matters. They didn't know much about him, and it would be foolish to share too much with them. However, you were the exception.

Suddenly, your gaze landed on a figure at the top of the stairs, his finger poised on the trigger. You instinctively pushed Hotch aside, but you couldn’t move yourself.  

Though you had some inkling of what was happening, you felt no pain. Instead, you saw shadows moving around you, felt a shove, and then you were falling, like a ragdoll.  

For a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar fluttering stirred in your stomach—not the kind that came for him, but something more alarming.  

What the hell? Why does it hurt?  

You closed your eyes, wishing the pain would vanish as if it were a fleeting thought. When you opened them again, you found yourself in someone’s arms, both of you on the ground, the ceiling above seeming impossibly high. Your head rested on his forearm.  

Honestly, it was getting hard to put together what was going on. You closed your eyes again. But soon, someone was patting your cheeks, asking you to wake up!  

Rude! What happened to manners?  

As you opened your eyes to scold the intruder, you were met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen. Had you been more lucid, you might have noticed the worry and glistening tears in those eyes. You raised your hand to touch Aaron's face, but it felt impossibly far away.  

I need to eat more. I have no energy.  

Aaron caught your hand in his.  

“It's okay, Y/N. It's okay,” he said softly, a tone you had never heard from him before.  

I want to hear his soft voice every day.  

A sharp pressure at your wounds made you gasp. You gripped the person’s wrist, trying to stop him, but he didn’t flinch, continuing to apply pressure. Pain shot through you, relentless and overwhelming.  

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”  

He was feeling the pain of getting you shot. One minute, you both were talking, and the next he was on the floor while Reid shot down the assailant.  

Hotch grabbed you instinctively, lowering your hand to keep you safe before you could fall hard. His focus was solely on you, blocking out the chaos around you. Just moments ago, he was teasing you, trying to draw you out, and now he was fighting to keep you with him. He never saw the attack coming, but you had, and you had acted heroically to save him.

This moment shouldn't have happened. He took off his jacket hurriedly.

Your darting eyes and panicking face pulled him out of his train of thoughts—more of a train of depressing thoughts. He clutched your hand, trying to provide some comfort, some sort of… anything to keep you from feeling only numbness. To keep you here.  

Your breathing grew shallow, and he could feel your heartbeat racing beneath his fingertips.  

“Y/N, listen to me. Look at me,” he urged in a firm yet gentle tone, and you complied.  

“Take a deep breath. Copy mine.”  

He guided your hand to his chest, demonstrating as best he could.  

“I know it’s hard. Please, just try,” he said, watching your eyes flutter open and close.

His sole purpose was to comfort you, to ensure you lived. You had to— for the team, for your family, for him.  

He pursed his lips and scanned for the paramedics, who should have been there by now. He fought the urge to shout for them as your blood soaked his clothes at a pace that terrified him.  

Your groans sent a chill through him, a reminder of the stakes.  

How could I have made such a mistake? What did I do?  

Dave appeared as if summoned, taking the jacket from Hotch and applying pressure to your wounds. You winced at the pain, squeezing Dave's wrist to distract yourself.  

“It’s okay, it's okay, it's okay, Y/N. Don't worry. I need to do this. I’m sorry, but it's required.”  

“It hurts,” you said, tears in your eyes.  

“I know, I know, Bambina. I’m sorry.”  

“I’ve called the paramedics. They’re stuck in traffic,” JJ rushed in, her voice laced with frustration.  

“Tell them to hurry!” Hotch snapped.  

“I have, but they said it’s going to take time,” JJ replied, anger and helplessness evident in her tone.  

“It’s okay, JJ,” you said, trying to comfort her despite your own pain.  

Hotch’s mind immediately wandered to Kate. Just how similar the situation was. So much blood had been on the road in New York, and he was trying to stop the bleeding while Kate spoke whatever came to her mind. How he tried and failed! Failed Kate. Failed in protecting you. Today again, he had been placed in a similar situation. However, he wouldn't let you lose your life today.  

“Make it stop, Aaron. Please, please, please.”  

“I’m trying, Y/N.”  

He was sure your cries would forever haunt him. The pleas to save you would plague his mind like how Hayley's death did.  

“Hotch.” He looked at you.  

“What happened?”  you asked him, dazed.

“You were shot.”  

He could see the delirium in your eyes, the blood still flowing, your head tilting to the side. 

“Hey, hey, Y/N. Open your eyes. Keep them open.”  

“You're being mean.”  

“I would rather be mean than let you lose your life, Y/N,” he said in a desperate tone, wanting you to stay conscious until the medics arrived.  

“WHERE ARE THE MEDICS?”  

He yelled, succumbing to his instinct to urge them to hurry. 

“Don't yell, Aaron, please.”  

“Okay, sweetheart. I won't.” Neither of you noticed the slip.  

As sirens wailed in the distance, he gathered you into his arms, pressing his jacket to your wounds, and rushed outside, placing you on the gurney. He relayed the necessary information while clutching your hand, reassuring you both that everything would be alright. It had to be.

He looked down at his hands. Covered in blood—your blood—they were crimson, reminiscent of a child's crayon used for innocent drawings. Yet today, the red staining Hotch's hands and sleeves, which he had dismissed, marked your act of sacrifice to save him. Save him. He chuckled bitterly at the thought.

Why on earth would she save me?

He thought about the numerous times he let someone down in various ways. Hayley always topped the list.  He had ruined the one good thing in his life back then—the thrill of their early relationship.Guilt wrapped around him like a suffocating embrace every time he was away on a case.Not being there with her, even for a day, felt like a punishment.

However, as time flew, he gained more responsibilities, going from being a newbie on the team to being the Unit Chief when Gideon took the teaching job at the Academy. From worrying about not being home for a day, he became worried about how to solve cases and how to tell his wife he wouldn't be there again.

It was a mess. His life was a mess. He was a mess. And you put your life on the line to save the man who didn’t have anything in his life to live for except for his son.

He could feel the coldness of the hospital’s black seats, on which he was adamantly made to sit. While he tried to give a stare, he was no competition for Dave, who just raised an eyebrow in response. 

“How on earth do you plan to help her if you constantly try to land in the hospital, Aaron?”

With an audible sigh, he dropped into the seat beside Garcia, who muttered words that sounded like “She’s going to be okay” and “Don’t worry, Penelope. She’ll come back and confess her love.” Hotch had no idea what she meant.

His eyes drifted toward the operating room. He didn’t know how long he had been staring, lost in thought until he felt a hand resting on his knees. Morgan had placed his hand there, a silent reminder to stop bouncing his legs.

“She’ll be alright,” Spencer said, his voice filled with such conviction that it ignited a flicker of hope in Hotch’s heart, warming the void that had settled since he had held you in his arms, your blood and life slowly leaving your body.

He was struck by how quickly you had integrated into the team, despite having joined not long ago.

He couldn't help but reminisce about the first time you entered the bullpen. He always laughed at that memory. You looked like a child who had entered their favorite toy shop, looking around in the hope of buying the whole shop, even if it was impossible. He could see the way your eyes lit up at every scene they captured.

He concluded that it was probably due to being in the BAU, chalking it up to your dream. If you had such wide, radiant eyes at the prospect of meeting unsubs, then he needed to order an evaluation, stat.

Lost in thought, he didn't realize when he stopped and was basically in your path until you bumped into him and jumped two feet back as if you had just been electrocuted. Maybe you did, because he felt a spark through his body when you made contact. He shook his head slightly, hoping not to be noticed, and focused on your apologizing self.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn't see you there, Sir. I was—”

“No worries, Agent. It happens,” he reassured, sensing your anxiety and hoping to quell the panic rising in you.

He didn't know why, but the way you reacted stuck with him. As time went on, he couldn't help but notice how you reacted to things. It was rather wrong of him to profile you, but after being on this job for so long, he did it naturally. He sensed that your fidgeting stemmed from some past trauma, a lingering shadow you carried.

Once, Garcia and Reid came into the office, looking downright nervous.

“Sir, we want to ask you something, and we don't know if you’re gonna get upset, but we need to ask. We don’t mean it in a negative way—”

“Yeah, it’s just we’ve noticed things and thought we should clarify. We know you couldn’t do it, but—”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, hoping to get them out of the awkward situation they had placed themselves in.

“Have you said something to Y/N?”

“In what context?” He didn't know where this was going. He talked to you about many things—from cases to asking about your mental health to your godson’s picture, which you kept on your desk, and whose soccer game you attended where you met Aaron—and he knew they could be talking about anything.

“Sir, we’ve seen the way she fumbles and the constant fidgeting with her bracelet. So, we thought you had scared my new favorite pookie,” she said, now herself looking scared to stand in front of her boss.

“No, I didn’t, Garcia and Reid,” he said, addressing the genius as well, who looked at him with fear, the expression screaming, If you scare my friend, I won’t leave you. “I am not aware of the reason she does it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not behind it.”

At that moment, the reason for your anxiety walked onto the floor, flanked by a cadre of guards. He was a significant figure, an employer who provided for many—but to you, he was the man responsible for your fear.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor called out.

“Yes.” The answer came in unison, and the team exchanged glances as Hotch stepped forward.

“The operation was successful. We’ll keep her under observation for a few days, but she’s going to make a full recovery.”

They sighed in relief at the news and thanked the doctor, who walked away smiling. Hotch felt his knees ready to collapse with the sheer amount of relief he experienced. He shuddered, thinking of everything that had happened during the last few hours. Hearing the news about you brought a smile to his face. His professionalism faded into something more intimate, a shared feeling of happiness growing inside his chest at the thought of you being okay again.

Suddenly, a commotion drew their attention—doctors, senior staff, arriving to greet a man Hotch didn’t recognize.

“She’s doing okay now. The bullets went through, but we repaired the damage. She’ll be just fine,” one of the doctors assured.

Then the gruff voice reached him. “Are you SSA Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Arthur Y/L/N, Y/N’s father.”

“Hello, sir.” Hotch extended a firm handshake.

“And I assume this is the team, right?”

Everyone either nodded their heads or, in some cases, gave a little wave. However, the common factor was that they all looked confused.

“None of you got injured?” he demanded.

Hotch maintained his stoic demeanor while Emily replied, “No, sir.”

Arthur snorted. “Shows Y/N’s incompetence, doesn’t it?”

The team stiffened, sensing the tension. Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I know, I know. She isn’t cut out for this agent thing. I’ve known her since she was a child. I know her capabilities.”

Morgan and Reid exchanged incredulous glances, fully aware of your remarkable capabilities in fighting, learning, and prioritizing. Rossi shot them a warning glance, suppressing the urge to confront the man standing before them.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the audacity of Arthur Y/L/N cut him off, allowing the tirade to continue.

“Her decision-making ability was nonexistent from the very beginning. If I hadn’t guided her, she wouldn’t have even finished her studies—she’d probably be stuck with a GED or something. I know, Agent Hotchner, it takes a great deal of skill to thrive in this field.”

No, you don’t, Hotch thought, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Mr. Arthur Y/L/N sighed as if he couldn’t help but stop, having so much to say but not wanting to expose his problem child.

“I hope, Agent Hotchner, you make the right decision now. You’ve seen how she ended up in the hospital. What good could it do for her to stay? If she leaves the FBI, your headache would vanish. I have my son handling my business right now—he could do something for her.”

Listening to him talk about you—a friend, a daughter figure, perhaps even a future lover—filled everyone with rage, yet no one dared to speak. They knew Hotch would take care of it; he didn’t need their help.

“Listen, Mr. Y/L/N. Y/N is the most hardworking and dedicated agent I’ve ever encountered. So don’t you dare speak ill of her,” Hotch said, stepping closer, his anger simmering as he examined the features you had inherited from this man. The thought of you living under his shadow sickened him.

“The decision I’m about to make is to have you removed for speaking against a federal agent and trespassing when she doesn’t want you here.”

“How would you know that?” Arthur challenged.

“I’m pretty sure she never contacted you after moving out. You must have people watching her closely; you got here too quickly for someone who wasn’t even contacted. By the way, I just remembered—you aren’t her emergency contact.”

Hotch was. A fact he was pretty joyful and grateful about, despite how he felt he had broken your trust.

“A father having his daughter trailed just to know about her speaks volumes. Do you know she’s afraid to speak because she doesn’t want to be a bother, doesn’t want to be scolded just because you used to talk to her like that? She cut all contact with you so she wouldn’t have to be near you, so it would be best if you leave before I take drastic measures.” His voice rose, startling Garcia.

Now, everything fell into place for everyone in the room, and their hearts broke.

How could a father be like this?

They had encountered many men like Arthur, but they had hoped that beneath your caring exterior lay a loving family—something none of them had ever known. But they forgot that none of them had any chance of that; otherwise, they wouldn’t be in the BAU.

“Jack is lucky to have you as his father.” Your comment now made more sense in Hotch’s mind.

“She’s just another agent to you. You can dispose of her. No need to make a fuss,” Arthur continued with a crooked smile.

“She’s not an item you can dispose of. She’s a person, an individual. She’s special to many people.”

“Oh yeah? Who is she important to? To you?”

“Yes. And if I ever see you near her without her permission, I won’t hesitate to get a restraining order. I’m letting you off this time because you’re her father.”

“I will end your career, Agent Hotchner,” Arthur threatened, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Try your best.” Hotch turned and walked toward your room, leaving Arthur to simmer in his anger.

“What a pretty face to wake upto.” you said, making him move his head from the window he had been looking out of, thinking about your father. You looked at him with a soft smile.

As you offered the compliment, Hotch felt an unexpected warmth flood his cheeks, a rare blush creeping up beneath his usually stoic demeanour. His heart quickened, betraying the calm facade he so often maintained.

It was a warmth that contrasted sharply with the wan smile Arthur had worn. Hotch felt a surge of protectiveness.  Hotch was sure he would have done something if your father hadn’t left quietly. However, he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t have regretted it. He would never regret standing up for any of his teammates—especially not for you. Hotch smiled softly.Yes, you bore a resemblance to your father, but you radiated warmth and humanity that set you apart. And you had a very pretty smile.

When you finally woke up, it felt surreal. Before you sat the man of your dreams, the one who had invaded your thoughts for months.

I know I have a crush on you, but geez! Stay out of my dreams!

You squinted at him, still dazed.

“Was he here?”

“Who?” Hotch feigned ignorance, but you shot him a look that he recognized as one Dave had taught you.

“How do you know?”

As far as he knew, no one except the medical staff had been in your room.

“Your face. I have a talent for reading expressions, especially yours.”

“Seriously?”

“No. The nurse mentioned you argued with him earlier.”

“I’m sorry for—”

“Don’t. You did me a favor, Aaron.”

“Wow! Your name sounds nice,” you mumbled, and Hotch felt his heart swell. He knew the medication had you loopy, but he was genuinely flattered.

“Then also—”

“Shhh. Just listen. I would have fought him too.”

Your gaze held his, and he felt the weight of everything between you—the unspoken connection, the shared warmth. His usually stoic expression softened as he grasped your hand.

“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. I’m here for you.” He smiled, and you returned it, a spark igniting in the air between you. For the first time in a long while, there was hope.

From the doorway, the rest of the team watched, unable to tear their eyes away from the chemistry crackling between you and Hotch. It was a warmth that cut through the sterile chill of the hospital, a bond forged in adversity.

“What just happened?” Prentiss whispered.

“I believe we just witnessed the start of a love story,” Rossi replied with a knowing smirk.

“Bossman is in love,” Morgan added, grinning.

“Well, it’s better than watching them steal glances at each other and be awkward,” JJ said, smiling at the prospect.

“Actually, it’s going to be more. They’re bound to evolve into more affectionate gestures,” Reid chimed in.

“Nooo. It’ll be cringeworthy, but the blackmail potential would be priceless,” Morgan teased.

“Oh my! We can use this for their wedding speech!” Garcia exclaimed.

“Wedding?” Rossi raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” JJ admitted.

“Yeah, probably they won’t even start dating anytime soon,” Prentiss added.

“You haven’t been in love, Em. I’m telling you, they’re going to get married soon,” Garcia insisted.

But in that moment, as Hotch stood by your bedside, he felt the flicker of hope—perhaps even love—beginning to ignite in the space between you. A new chapter was unfolding, filled with promise, support, and a chance for happiness.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 4

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: JMKink is nothing and everything that you need and want it to be. Meanwhile, you are nothing and everything that Joel imagines you to be.

WC: 13.8k

TW: Warnings are below the cut in small red, feel free to skip them if you want to avoid chapter spoilers, but there are some descriptions of reader so I would classify this as more of an original character versus a blank canvas female reader.

AN: I actually cannot believe how many of you reached out all excited about September 1st approaching. From the bottom of my cold dead heart, thank you!! The more I write this, the more I picture video game Joel, so do with that what you will haha. Thanks so @ak-vintage and @lotusbxtch for beta reading for me. Support banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics. I recently got promoted at work (yay me), but the job is now waaaaaay more work than before, so enjoy this chapter slowly because I am not sure when I will be writing chapter 5.

Series Masterlist || My Masterlist

TW: p in v, dirty talk, sub dom relationships, age gap, alcohol consumption, flirting, voyeurism, description of a threesome and other sexual acts, use of sex toys, nipple clamps, female orgasm, talks of neglectful parents during childhood and loss of a spouse. Mutual pining.

“Hnnng, fuck yes, daddy.” He’s rutting into you deeper than anyone else ever has. Long, slow strokes of his heavy cock sending you into a spiral of white hot, sparkling nirvana. 

“So fuckin’ wet n’ tight. Fuck, sweet girl.” His deep voice devours you - rattling around your skull, echoing slightly as if you’re in a large, empty room. 

Everything is black; darker than the onyx pits of his eyes. You’re not sure if you’re up or down, and you’re either blindfolded or have your face buried in a pillow as he fucks into you from behind. All you can feel is the pleasurable push and pull of his thick, vein lined cock slamming in and out of you. The vast darkness and the feeling of him filling you so full is overwhelming

“Please, daddy. Please. I’m so close.”

The soft mushroom head of his cock is kissing right where he taught you to crave it, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that spongy spot had ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on it by now. Within seconds of him pressing inside of you tonight you had completely submitted to him; surrendering to the darkness, the sensation, the exquisite pleasure. This is exactly where you were meant to be, and he’s the only one you’d want to be here with. It has never been this good, and even with your limited experience you know that it will probably never be this good with anyone else. 

“Don’t stop this time. Please don’t stop this time.” You’re an aching, crying, desperate crumb of yourself; wholly at his mercy.  

“No coming until I say.” His voice seems further away with every word and dread settles in your stomach as it all starts to fade.

“No! Nonono. Please no.” You feel a hot tear run down your face as the euphoria fades. You can barely feel or hear him anymore as little slits of yellow light appear. You blink once, twice. After a third long blink your bedroom comes into view.

Fuck. 

This has been the start of your new three part morning routine for the last few nights, since that kiss with Joel, since filling out your preferences and signing all the waivers. Since being asked to submit test results and proof of birth control. Since Joel Miller became your Dom. Night after night you dream of him fucking you, and night after night, right as you’re about to fall over the edge, he tells you not to come until he says and you wake up.

The second part of your morning routine is a lot more cathartic and vocal - very vocal. Your newly painted cotton candy pink nails (anything to stay distracted and busy) dig into the soft cotton of your pillow as you pull it out from behind your head, pressing it to your face and screaming until your throat feels raw.

Fuck.

When all the breath is pushed from your lungs, you put your pillow back and kick off the blanket. Your bare feet drag along the worn down carpet of your bedroom to the cold and cheap linoleum of your bathroom. You pee, avoiding your clit at all costs when you clean up. You know you’re down fucking bad when even the scratchy 1-ply toilet paper is enough to make you almost crumble. 

Part three of your new morning ritual is probably the part that shocks you the most. You change into leggings and a tank top, slipping a ten dollar bill and your house key into the side of your sports bra. The old springs of your mattress creak as you sit to slip on socks and your lavender colored runners, that you honestly forgot you owned until the morning after your twenty second birthday. You sneak out of your apartment, careful not to wake your roommate and jog down the stairs from your fourth floor suite to step into the cool March morning air.

Fuck. 

After shaking out each leg, you start to run. There’s no technique to your form or a planned out route. You leave your phone behind, only sounds are the morning traffic and your struggling breath to keep you company. It's just you, pushing your body to forget how badly you’re throbbing between your thighs and trying to erase the feeling of him. As you turn the corner at the end of your block you can see the bright green grass and leafy trees of the park. Your calf muscles burn with every step, but it’s not enough; you can still feel him. As you reach the park your lungs start to burn; they feel like they’re filling with fluid. Your ankles protest with every strike of your feet against the concrete. Finally, just as you swear you’re about to meet your maker it happens, the sweet release you’re pushing for. Finally every trace of the ghost of Joel Miller disappears. 

Your legs slow below you and you clutch your side, wandering lazily around the park. The rush of blood through your ears is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the chirping of the birds and the trickling of the water in the large stone fountain. You suck in quick, deep breaths, essentially doing everything and anything not to pass out. You’re free from him, if only for a little bit, as you fight against what feels like death knocking on your door. 

As you walk home you grab a coffee - black with just a splash of almond milk, apologizing to the barista as you hand her the sweaty ten dollar bill that was tucked into your bra and begin mentally scheduling your day. It’s Monday, which means you don’t work today and you can focus on studying and laundry. Your LSAT retake is just a few days away, today is your last full free day, and you have to get as much studying and practicing done as possible. The dread of taking that test again has your hot coffee doing flips in your stomach. Getting some college letters would really help put you at ease. You know you applied early but it would be nice to know if you need to continue to push or if you can finally rest. 

When you get back to your apartment your roommate has already left for her classes. You check your phone and your heart lurches in your chest at Joel’s name across your cracked lock screen. There’s been no contact between the two of you since Friday night. You slide open the text with shaky fingers

Good Morning, sweet girl. Are you ready to learn? 

You bite your lip as you respond. 

Yes, please, Mr Miller. 

You stare at the text thread for a while. Although you aren’t sure if a total of three texts can be considered a thread, but you stare anyway trying to will more messages into existence. After a few minutes you give up, locking your phone and stripping your bedsheets. The trek to the laundry in the building feels like it takes forever and you rush back to check your phone. There’s no response but you do have a little red bubble on your JMK app. You excitedly tap on the app to see a new menu titled ‘Dominant Preferences’ added at the top. When you click it, everything from your Reddit wormholes is revealed.

 ‘Joel Miller likes to participate in bondage play, nipple play, toy play, dirty talk, oral sex (both giving and receiving), and fingering. He doesn’t like brat taming, but is willing to participate in scenes where his submissive needs to be put in her place occasionally. He never has sexual intercourse - vaginal or anal, this is a hard limit for him and his submissives need to understand that there is zero room for negotiation on this matter. He’s very open to impact play, but believes that only good girls should get spankings.’

You click off the little ‘Read and Accepted’ box at the bottom without hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to accept, he texts you seconds after your finger has made contact with the screen. 

8pm tomorrow. I’m sending a car for you. You should dress comfortably.

The same kind faced man from your birthday waits for you outside your apartment at 7:30 the next night. He opens the door, smiling gently at you as you hop in; leather and new car smell wafting around you. During the drive to the club you learn his name is Arthur, but my friends call me Cap. 

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” You ask as downtown comes into view.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you drive all of Joel’s, umm, do you drive lots of women around for Joel?”

He chuckles knowingly from the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror at you. “No ma’am. Joel is a pretty secretive man. I have driven him places when he’s alone, or I drive Tommy’s subs, but never Joels.”

You nod and look out the window. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you.

Cap rushes to open the door when he pulls up to JMKink. The club is in a different building than Joel’s office; that was in the tall building across the street. Three bright and expansive floors of that red stone faced building belonged to JM Inc. Assumingly, the home base for all the businesses he has his hands in. This building, however, is smaller amongst the tall skyscrapers of the Austin skyline. The entire building is coated in a shiny black chrome, from the steel framing to the windows, except for the golden JMK logo on the front door. You take a calming breath before heading up the steps, the blacked out glass door slides open automatically.

Your dark high heeled boots click on the black and honey flecked marble, the floor reminding you of Joel’s eyes. You wish the marble would suck you into it so you could live in that feeling you get when Joel looks at you. Where it might be seen as cold and intimidating to others, to you it feels warm and inviting, almost familiar, and that little box of feelings in the back of your mind stirs a little bit. 

He told you to dress comfortably tonight, and you felt most at ease in a deep green sweater dress and knee high heeled boots. The dress just barely skims your thighs, making your legs look long and toned. You could use a tan, but it’s only March, everyone in Texas could use a tan at this point. You left your hair down in loose curls and kept your makeup minimal, as always. 

There are three people in the small foyer. Two stunning women stand behind the hostesses desk in matching black dresses and collars. To the right of them stands a man who looks like he could kill you with his pinkie. He’s also dressed in all black, and stands in front of a large door. Everything here seems like it’s meant to intimidate but all you can see and feel is the safety that comes with knowing Joel Miller. 

One of the women looks up at you, smiling comfortingly and asks for your name. Before you can respond, Joel's honey lined voice answers her. The sound of your name on his tongue feels like taking a breath of fresh winter air. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your own breath leaping in your throat as you spin slowly to meet his gaze. There’s no other way to around it, Joel Miller is fucking exquisite. His slightly outgrown curls are pushed back, silver reflecting off his temples and throughout his beard. Tonight he’s wearing a deep midnight blue Tom Ford suit with one jacket button done up, underneath he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt, paired with brown dress shoes and what you assume will be a matching belt. One of his hands is tucked in the pocket of pants that literally look like they weren’t made for him, the other hangs loose at his side and you catch that gold ring again.  

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he speaks to everyone in the lobby, “You’re all to remember her name. She is my guest, my only guest, and as far as you’re all concerned she’s the most important person in this club. Understand?”

The little box of feelings lifts its lid a little. No, you say to the box, banishing it back to its dark corner.

A jumbled mess of ‘yes’ and ‘sorry’ fills the lobby but the only thing that’s clear to you is Joel as he wanders over, placing his hand on the small of your back, and leading you towards the large black door that the lethal looking man is guarding. As he pulls you into his side his voice quiets, his words a low growl meant only for you. “Hi, sweetheart.” When he sponges a soft kiss to your temple you press your lips together to stop the giggle that’s trying to burst out of you. Joel Miller makes you giddy in a way that you haven’t felt since you were much younger and saw a One Direction music video for the first time. 

This afternoon, you had your easily predicted moment of panic. As with every decision you’ve ever made, you started to think that this wasn’t the right one. Maybe Tommy was the safer choice. Maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, or girlbossed too close to the proverbial sun. Or in kink terms, flirted too closely with the St Andews Cross. But now, being here tucked tightly against Joel's side as he guides you into your first experience with the world of kink you couldn’t feel any more sure of your decision. 

You hold your breath as the shiny black marble door opens, this feels like one of those big climatic moments you see in the movies, like you know the main character's life is about to change, and a nervous excitement buzzes through your veins. As the club comes into view it’s nothing like you thought. For starters, there aren’t cages or naked people around, and at first glance it looks just like a lounge in a high end hotel or restaurant. JMKink is beautiful, breathtaking.

 Light pine flooring is set in a herringbone pattern across the entire club. Directly in front of you are a few tall tables and then, situated in the middle of the space, is a large black marble bar. The bartender is surrounded by a halo of soft chiffon light that casts down from a brushed gold chandelier. The tables and bar top have tealight candles on them, making the entire thing feel sensual and soft. It’s just dimly lit enough that you can’t see beyond the bar from here. Joel guides you gently to the right. The booths that line the wall are only illuminated by the flickering candle on the table. Three of the booths are roped off, guarded by a tank of a man in a black suit. As Joel leads you towards them, you notice each of those tables have a gold plated reserved sign along with a name; Joel, Tommy and Tess. 

Confusion swirls in your brain at the romantic feeling the club gives off. Part of you expected to walk into a sex dungeon or that red room that Christian took Anastasia to, but you definitely weren’t expecting this. If this place was just a bit brighter you could imagine studying here on weekends. 

This isn’t a sex club, there’s no way.

As you slide into the furthest booth you’re able to see a small stage on the back wall and empty dance floor looking area on the other side of the bar. You can feel Joel’s warm gaze on you as you look around with wide eyes. Right when you’re almost convinced that you interpreted the information you found on Reddit wrong, your eyes land on the far left side of the room.

No, now that you see if from this angle, you are indeed in a kink club; a well stocked kink club based on the entire sex shop in the corner. You feel your cheeks flush and you dart your eyes towards Joel, pushing at your cuticle under the table, smiling shyly at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is syrupy and warm as two drinks land on the table. Whiskey neat for him and some sort of pink martini for you.

“Nothing..I just, it’s not what I expected,” you swallow the sand that’s found its way into your throat at seeing all those sex toys just out on display in the corner and flick your eyes towards your drink.

“That's a cosmopolitan. I can get you something else if you want, sweetheart. The female staff here seems to love them.”

“No, I should have said thank you. I’m sorry.” His hand comes to meet yours as it’s picking furiously at the non-existent skin of your nail bed. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, and brings them to rest on the top of the table together.

“Take a breath, sweet girl. You’re ok.” His words wrap around you tightly, calming you. You’re ok. Your heart rate slows and you relax into the plush velvet lined booth a little bit, smiling sheepishly up at Joel. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your free hand grabs the martini glass and you bring it to your nose, it smells like cranberry and lime.

As you take a small sip Joel says, “You really don’t have to drink it, baby girl. I can get you whatever.”

The vodka burns away any sand that remains in your throat. It’s tart, and dangerously delicious. You can see yourself getting very fucked up these with your girlfriends one day soon. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

After putting the glass safely on the table, Joel lets go of your hand, wraps his arm around your waist and slides you across the seat, pressing you to his side. “Is this ok?”

JOEL

His cock twitches at the little hum you make in agreement. You lift your leg closest to him and rest it over his under the table. He squeezes your side gently, sinking into the comfort of you and grabs his whiskey. “So if this isn’t what you thought, what were you expecting?”

He loves the way you blush a little before answering him. “People just, you know, it’s a sex club, so just having sex here.”

He lowers his head to yours and whispers just for you, “There are people having sex here, sweet girl.”

He laughs to himself as your eyes narrow and you look around at the other people in the bar. “Not out here, just because you’re in a sex club doesn’t mean you have to consent to seeing or hearing people fuck. Or to be having sex yourself, really.” He loves the way you look at him with surprise at his boldness. He cocks his head towards a guarded door between the stage and booths along the wall, “But behind that door - well, people are indulging as we speak.”

He watches the small shiver of your spine, pulling back to take a sip of his whiskey, allowing you time to look around and become comfortable in your surroundings. He watches your perfect lips part, finding himself jealous of the rim of the glass as you take another sip. Great, first spoons and now glasses. As he watches your neck work to liquid down he says, “So did you leave that little pussy alone like I asked?”

Your head whips to face him, he can’t quite place your facial expression. It’s a twisted  mix of fear, shyness and embarrassment, like you’re worried that someone may have heard him say pussy; but if you only knew the kinds of things happening in this club right now.

“What?” you ask shakily.

“Did you come? Or did you listen?”

“Umm…I,” he can tell that you’re flustered, and he finds you nearly irresistible like this.

“Are you nervous, sweet girl?”

He’s not sure if you realize it, but when you’re tense and he calls you by that nickname you relax a little. Your shoulders lower, the little crease in between your eyebrows softens. “No,” you say, and he’s not convinced.

Joel deepens his voice, a voice he only intends to use when you’re at the club together. Or when she’s in my bedroom. He pushes any thoughts of you outside of the confines of this space away, “Lesson number one, don’t lie to your Dom. We have to be able to trust each other.”

You look up at him through your lashes and it damn near kills him. You’re so beautiful, absolutely glowing against all the black in the room. The soft golden light bounces off of every little perfect piece of you; from the deep cupid's bow above your top lip, to the caramel highlights in your hair. He can tell by the long breath you suck in that you’re about to do that adorable thing where you ramble. “I’m nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous. And no, I didn’t…that thing.” 

He can’t fight the smile at your shyness, “Lesson number two, If you can’t say it then you shouldn’t be here. What thing, sweet girl?”

You close your eyes and say, “Come,” and then open your eyes to look at him again. 

So shy. So cute. I’m fucked, so very fucked, he thinks. He takes another pull of his whiskey if only to keep his hands and lips busy and to himself. He usually enjoys the burn but with you beside him it tastes sweeter.

As you bring your martini glass to your lips he commands, “One more time, this time look at me when you say it.”

Over your glass, sparkling eyes locked on him you mumble, “I didn’t come, Joel.”

“That reminds me. Lesson number three, as soon as we cross the threshold into my private room, you will refer to me as Mister Miller only. Out here, and anywhere else, I can be Joel, but in there,” he tilts his head towards a door on the other side of the stage, this one isn’t guarded, instead there’s a security pad that you need to have a microchip to unlock, “In there, I’m Mister Miller. Understand?”

He watches your throat again as you swallow, the palm of his hand tingles at the thought of wrapping his hand around it again. One of your eyebrows raises just a touch and he knows that cheeky little line of your lips. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

Your voice is husky as you say it and this time it’s him who has to fight the goosebumps rising on his skin and the icy shiver trailing down his spine. So perfect. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You don’t make eye contact with him when you say it, like you fear he might say no and he has a feeling that whoever made you feel that you needed to make plans A through Z also told you are a burden for asking questions. Joel isn’t a violent man, but would happily ring whoever’s neck did this to you.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

You turn to face him, taking a sip of your martini before you say, “Why did you send me into your basement that day?”

Joel clears his throat, weighing how transparent he wants to be in his answer, but there’s no hiding it after what he said to you in his office last week. “I’m not always going to be nice to you here, sweet girl. I’m going to push you, I might even hurt you. Yes, it’s all consensual, but I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some sort of monster.”

He watches as you take a long pull of the pink liquid from your glass. You set it back on the table, the earlier tremble of your hand gone as you reply, “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t think I could ever see you as a monster, Mister Miller. I need this.”

The devious smile you give him has his cock come to life. He doesn’t fuck his subs, but he would take you right here in this booth if he could. “Would you like a tour of the club?”

Your eyes light up, “Can I bring my drink?”

“Anywhere out here, yes. But not behind those two doors.” He takes the last drink from his whiskey and then watches as you take two big gulps to finish your Cosmopolitan. Your nose crinkles at what he assumes is the burn of the vodka.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Joel says quietly, and hopefully just to himself, as he slides out of the booth.

No, you say to the little box of feelings when you overhear his whispered words, don’t start with me right now.

You follow him as he heads towards the store in the corner. Even with the condoms, dildos, plugs, gags, whips, lube and all sorts of other things on display it’s somehow still classy and beautiful. Lots of these things you’ve never seen before, or had any desire to play with, but you’re pretty sure you’d try almost anything with Joel. 

He nods at the man working the store counter and then walks you around the main area, his voice thick with passion as he speaks. “Usually on Friday and Saturday nights there's more of a nightclub feel, couples who like to swap partners can mingle with the room. This is a safe space, monogamous couples aren’t offended by the attention and everyone stays very respectful of others wishes and limits. There’s a drink limit of course, keeping things safe and consensual is my utmost priority.”  

You walk slowly, crossing the middle of the currently unoccupied dance floor, “That stage is often used for workshops or shows. This is a place to learn just as much as it’s a place to enjoy sex and kink. We have a new workshop coming up next week actually.”

The two of you stop beside the guarded door - the door Joel said people were indulging behind. You can’t help but be curious about what's happening back there, but you’re also desperately horny and unsure how you might react to whatever is unfolding in the dark. The man standing in front of the door is also dressed in a black suit, this seems to be the uniform of those who work at JM Kink, he says a cordial, “Good Evening, Joel.” Then nods at you and adds, “Miss.”

You jump as Joel’s hand connects with yours, his strong fingers linking with your slender ones. He spins you to face him. His freehand cups your chin, the band of his ring cold against your pink flushed skin. He tilts your face up to meet his, seriousness etched across his face. “My sweet girl, behind that door can be a bit intense at first. You’re an adult, but you shouldn’t have to see anything you don’t want to see. So you’re in charge in there. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to cover your eyes, do it and I’ll lead you away. On the contrary, if you see something you like and want to get closer, then get closer. If you have questions, just ask. Ok?”

You nod, and Joel leads you through what you hope is the second life changing door of the night. The air feels different on this side of the threshold, something about it makes you feel like you’ve been plugged into a low voltage socket, you’re buzzing in an exciting and dangerous way. It’s dark enough in here that you can’t see your black boots as they click quietly against the hardwood. Joel's strong hand comes around your waist, tucking you into the side of his body protectively. After taking a deep breath, the familiar ash and leather scent of Joel intoxicating and calming your senses, you look up.

You and Joel stand intertwined at one end of a long rectangular room. Across from where you stand and down to your left and right the wall is lined with large windows. On the side of the hallway where you stand are plush chairs and couches, some of which are occupied by singles or couples as they watch what’s happening beyond the windows. 

You wonder if it gets easier, standing in a dark hall where you can watch people fucking. Joel is so calm, like a still glassy sea, meanwhile you are fighting against the tides. He stands almost statuesque, his thumb rubbing calming circles on your hip, while keeping you tucked safely into him. He has made it clear that you’re in charge here, so staying in the shadows as much as possible, you wander towards the first window. As if he’s another limb on your body, Joel follows you effortlessly. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you approach the first window. The room has a large bed that remains untouched. A man is tied to a chair at the end of the bed with black silk ties, and you stifle a gasp at the painful looking device he has clamped around his hard cock. You can hear his whines through the ball gag, and the moans of pleasure from the woman spread eagle on the floor in front of him as she fucks herself with a large dildo.

Joel’s soft stubble brushes against your ear as he whispers, “We won’t be doing that.”

“Looks fun for me,” you giggle and he lightly pinches your hip.

The next window has the blinds drawn, little slits of light illuminating the edges is the only sign that someone is in the room. “You can choose to let people watch or not watch, as well as how much you want those in the voyeur area to hear when you rent the rooms,” Joel explains softly as you approach the next open window.

The bed in this room is occupied by three people. A curvy woman is lying down on her back, a copper skinned man with a shaved head has his face buried in her pussy while a fully tattoed beefcake of man fucks his ass. The look of pure pleasure on all their faces has your clit twitching and aching. And when Joel lowers himself to your ear the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“We also won’t be doing that,” Joel’s voice is so light and carefree. For a second you forget that any minute now he’s going to use that deep baritone voice to boss you around while you’re completely naked.

“Again, it also looks fun for me,” you joke, and a small smile crosses your lips as you feel Joel’s body shake with silent laughter beside yours. There’s about ten windows in this room from what you can see, most are closed or dark, probably since it’s a weekday. You lead the two of you down the room to the next open window. “Can they see us?”

“Not unless you get close to the glass,” he instructs. You stop in your tracks at the next window. Despite your teasing with Joel the last two were not your thing, but this window you could easily watch for a while. A man and a woman lay on the large red silk sheeted bed while hundreds of battery operated candles flicker around them. He’s on top of her, one of her legs slung over his shoulder, the other around his waist. As you step closer you can see a sparkly, thin layer of sweat coating both their bodies as they slowly grind together, kissing passionately. You take another step closer, if they want to be seen then it shouldn’t matter if they see you. Once you’re close enough you can hear the gentle moans she’s making as he thrusts slowly in and out of her. 

“Well,” you say softly, leaning into Joel’s side and looking up into his warm chocolate eyes, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

He cranes his neck and places a lingering kiss on your forehead and as your eyelids flutter closed you can no longer deny just how turned on you are. He pulls back to look at you, smiling slightly before saying, “When I first got here he had her hogtied and was paddling her.”

“Like I said,” you say while giggling softly, “That doesn’t look so bad.” 

The two of you watch them for a while as they fuck languidly. This should feel wrong, watching something so personal, but the beauty of them together like this is comforting and almost inviting. Her cries grow louder and as she starts to shake he pauses his hips, fully seated inside of her while whispering and smiling down at her, pushing her sweat soaked hair off her forehead. The love behind the glass is so palpable that you feel yourself getting choked up a little. 

Just as you’re about to ask Joel to take you to his room, you notice another window with about five people lined up along the glass. Curiosity gets the better of you and you lead Joel the few steps to see what’s going on. No longer feeling nervous or shy, you step right up to the glass. This time, Joel moves his body to be behind yours, pulling your back against his strong body. One of his arms wraps around your middle, the other sweeps your hair to one side and then rests gently on your shoulder. 

The set up of this room is similar to the others you’ve seen: a large bed to the right, a chair to the left, and a chest of drawers to the back. There’s a woman strapped face up on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of the frame. Her perky breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing. At the back of the room, a broad tanned man faces away from you, looking through a drawer for something. As your eyes travel up his back from his hard, round ass cheeks he spins to face the window. You step back into Joel as Tommy Miller’s gaze flicks to the people along the window and then to the sub he’s chosen for the night. 

In your sane mind you tell yourself that you should look away. It's one thing to watch strangers but watching someone you sort of know feels like an invasion of their privacy. Plus, there’s no way Joel wants to see his brother like this. As if he can read your mind, Joel's lips brush against your neck, “I’m right here, sweet girl. Tommy likes an audience, he’s an exhibitionist, and lots of members come just to watch him.” 

You glance up at Joel and he smiles softly. Your voice is just above a whisper, “Can we watch for a bit?” 

“You’re in charge, sweetheart.” He patiently reminds you as you nod and look back towards the room.

The horny demon that seems to have taken over your body since catching Joel in his office has you dying to see more: more sex, more kink, more Tommy. Without consciously controlling it, your eyes travel down his tanned chest, to the hair around his belly button and then down to his fully erect cock. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of his body, he looks like he’s carved out of stone, and that includes his cock. He’s decently long, but thick, a prominent vein running along one side of it. It’s slightly upturned and the head is smooth and glistening with precome. He looks so powerful and the small fire that’s been building in your stomach grows.  

You bite at your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms to rest on top of the one Joel has wrapped around you. Tommy walks over to the bed; grasped in one of his large hands is a black vibrator, his other holds a small glass jar housing a lit candle. He climbs onto the bed, then drizzles hot wax along the woman's thighs. Her back arches off the bed and through the speakers along the glass you hear her pained moans. Tommy watches her intently, his lips moving but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Once she’s settled back on the bed, Tommy places the vibrator on her clit.

She writhes and pulls at the velvety cuffs holding her to the bed. “Sir, oh god, I’m - I’m gonna - Sir, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

When she calls him sir you see the dark flash of obsidian across his eyes, the same look when you called him that at the poker game. Through your research, you know that doms have preferred names and your cheeks flush a little at the thought of accidentally using his with him. 

Tommy pulls the vibrator away right before she falls over the edge and drizzles wax on her stomach. She cries out with more desperation this time, and then again, once she’s calm Tommy places the vibrator between her thighs. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when you step back into Joel you feel his cock is hard against your back and a fresh wave of arousal coats the lace of your panties. 

Tommy takes the vibrator away as she starts shaking and moaning, then hot wax splashes down her sternum. You feel antsy, like little pins and needles are pricking along your entire body. You squeeze your thighs together, Joel's warm breath against your neck causes you to shudder. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums.

“N-nothing.”

“You sure? You’re squirmin’.” His hand runs slowly down your arm, your hands moving on their own so he can wrap you in his muscle lined arms. A light kiss lands just below your ear and you bite back a moan.  

The combination of not being allowed to have an orgasm, the feeling of Joel’s warm body pressed against you, and the erotic scenes you’ve witnessed tonight is almost too much. It’s also not lost on you that that could have been you in there with Tommy right now. Your clit is throbbing between your legs, and you aren’t sure if you have ever been this turned on. 

Joel smiles into your skin as you watch Tommy tease his sub with the vibrator again, “Do you like what you’re seein’?”

You nod, trying to calm your breathing. It hitches as he adds, “Would you like to try that one day?”

Wax hits one of her nipples, the beads hardening along the peak of her perky, round breast. You adjust your stance to cross your legs together, squeezing hard to ease the almost painful ache at the apex of your thighs. Her and Tommy speak softly to one another, he smiles down at her, puts the candle down and then adjusts himself between her legs, spreading the lips of her puffy pussy with two fingers and putting the vibrator right where you know it would ruin you. 

“Would you?” Joel repeats.

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say, your voice shaky, almost like it’s impossible to form words as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful in the shadowy light, his tanned skin almost seems to glow against the darkness.  

His eyes dance around your face, his voice comes out soft and sensual, quiet enough for just you to hear, “Do you want to go play now, sweet girl?”

You bite your cheek to try to fight the smile, but as Joel’s eyes flick to your lips it’s no use. A shy smile tugs at the corners of your soft pink lips. “Are you going to let me come?”

He looks at you the same way he did when you drank the water and ate that toast. Pride. He’s proud of you for asking for what you want, and you can almost feel your insecurity and fear around asking for things starting to shrink. 

The softness in his voice morphs into a growl, “If you’re a good girl.”

You spin your body towards him, determination lacing your face. “I can be your good girl, Mister Miller.”

Joel’s strong fingers link with yours and a quiet giggle passes your lips as he hauls you towards a door in the shadows close to where you two entered. Truthfully, if it wasn't for the little red light on the security pad, you wouldn’t have even known there was a door there. He waves his ring past the device and after a quiet beep sounds the light flashes green and the door clicks open. He pulls you through and as soon as Joel hears the final click of the door closing he hauls you over his shoulder. Your squeal at your world literally turning upside down with his brute strength melts into an aroused moan as his strong hands grasp the back of your bare thighs.

When Joel stops walking, you tear your eyes away from his perfectly sculpted ass, like these pants must be stuffed, there’s no way this man has a better ass than me. You glance up to see two other doors; assumingly belonging to Tommy and Tess. A familiar beep sounds in the quiet hall and your throat goes dry as he steps into his room. He takes a few long strides before sliding you down his muscle lined chest and placing you at the foot of the bed. He stays close, your breasts just barely grazing his warm body. Your gazes are locked, and even though you’ve grown comfortable with his intense need for eye contact your breathing still goes shaky and uneven. 

Oh fuck, this is it. 

His hand cradles your cheek, “You read and signed off on everything in the app, but I want to reiterate a few things, baby girl.”

You swallow hard, his finger now tracing down your throat and you swear you can feel every whorl of his fingertips as they trail along your soft skin. 

“From now on, you belong to me and I belong to you. No one else. You are not allowed to come unless I say.” 

His hand continues its road trip of your body, settling to wrap around the nape of your neck. “Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“I have a no sex rule. I’ll give you orgasms, I’ll fuck you with my fingers and toys, even my tongue, but not my cock. I need you to understand that my rule is nothing against you, sweetheart. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you coo. The nervous excitement from early has returned, every bit of skin that he’s touching is almost humming, butterflies with sharp wings scrape at your stomach. You bring your hands to the lapels of his expensive blue suit, fisting the soft fabric.  

“Fuuck,” he moans, “That sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, sweet girl.” 

You smile up at him. He squeezes the back of your neck gently, his other hand cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his thumb caresses your chin. “Nothin’ tonight that will require a safeword-”

“Stegosaurus,” you say eagerly, cutting him off. It’s silly really, but that little dinosaur on top of his coffee machine is what first intrigued you about the anonymous millionaire whose home had been assigned to you to clean. It also has some sort of meaning to him, so it seemed only natural for that to be your safeword. 

He smiles, laughing gently, “Not tonight, baby. If you want to stop tonight, just say so and I’ll stop. Ok?” 

Your pussy flutters at the unexpected moments to come, but a gnawing anxiety starts to claw at your chest. You’re not sure what causes the shift, but suddenly you go from excited nervous to just plain nervous. Am I ready to give up control? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t like it. He said it was only me, what if he regrets that decision? 

Your chest tightens, the knife-winged butterflies multiplying and traveling up your throat. Joel must sense a shift in you, he steps closer to you and softens his eyes as they dance around your face, a silent sign that he’s patiently waiting for you. If you said you wanted to go home you know he would kiss you softly and call your new friend Cap, but you don’t want that. You want this, you want whatever is about to happen; you just need to let go.

Vulnerability is thick in your voice as you break one of his rules and murmur, “J-Joel?” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice waivers, making you feel a little bit better. 

“I’m nervous.” 

He lowers his head towards yours, running the tip of his hooked nose down the slender bridge of yours. You close your eyes and take him all in. He’s warm and hard, yet somehow so soft. His familiar ash and leather scent is mixed with the expensive whiskey he drank earlier. 

“So am I, sweet girl,” he whispers into your lips before kissing you softly. You melt into him, his hands moving to cup your face. His soft lips sponge against yours and everything quiets. You’re not sure how he does it, but kissing him feels like dunking your head under water, everything silences, all the nervousness dissipates. It’s just the two of you, floating in tandem in an endless void. 

He’s nervous too? Because of me? I make this strong, successful, brooding man nervous? Your inner voice of anxiety starts to settle. I’m safe here.

The comfort of your thoughts is enough to have you pulling yourself into Joel more. You increase the intensity of your kiss, turning your head and parting your lips slightly. He follows suit, running his soft tongue along yours. The air in the room has morphed, it’s saturated with passion and arousal. With just one kiss he’s managed to erase all your fears and worries, your mind is silent and ready for whatever instructions he’s going to give you. When he pulls away your both panting for breath.

He turns his back to you, sliding his dark blue suit jacket down, the white t-shirt underneath clinging with perfection to the muscle and sinew that pack on top of each other along his back. He drapes his jacket over a padded bench about five feet away from you; you know from your extensive research that that’s a spanking bench. He spins to face you, slipping his gold and black ring off his hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he drops it in a dish on top of a low chest of drawers on his left. You can’t describe it, but the sound of the gold clashing with the ceramic dish puts you in a trance. Like a ritualistic symbol that you are his now.

His hands slip into his pockets, his voice taking on its deep dominant tone, “We are going to start now. You can stay fully clothed or you can get as undressed as you feel comfortable being. I’m serious here, sweet girl. Leave on as little or as much as you want. When you’re done, lay face up on the bed.”

Without thinking your hands fly back to the zipper on your boots, you unzip them and toe them off. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the hem of your sweater dress and pull it up and over your body. As your vision is temporarily blocked by the knitted fabric you can feel his eyes on your bare skin. You’re left in just a matching nude bra and panty set. He’s already seen your tits so you don’t hesitate to unclasp your bra and let it fall away from your body. 

Joel swallows hard and licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he mumbles appreciatively and it coats your skin in warmth. 

You hesitate for a moment with your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your panties. You know they’re soaked through, and you’re sure he can see that from where he’s standing. He’s so fucking good at reading you, so you’re not surprised when he says, “Only take off what you feel comfortable with, my sweet girl.” 

“I do…I am…I w-want to…I just,” you fiddle with the band a bit. 

“You can say it.” He nods encouragingly.

“I like having them taken off me. I - I want to see your face up close when you…when you see it for the first time.” 

Joel smirks, popping his hip out to lean on the spanking bench. “See what the first time?” 

“Don’t make me say it, Mister Miller.” 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Mmm, but I love hearing that pretty little mouth say dirty words.” You stay silent, chewing your cheek as he continues. “Come on…say it. Say, I want to see your face up close when you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

You feel your cheeks flush. Earlier tonight he asked you to look at him when you say it, so you roll your shoulders back and hold your head high. As confidently as possible you say, “I want to see your face up close when..” you take a shaky inhale, “When you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.” 

Before the last syllable has left your lips he’s across the room, lifting you off the ground by the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and gasp at the sudden pressure right where you’re aching for him. 

“I have memorized every answer from your preferences,” he growls into your collar bone, walking you around the bed. “I have strategically planned what I’m going to teach you and then you say stuff like that and fuck. I have to fight every sick and twisted thought I have, sweet girl.” He climbs onto the bed, laying you down just how he wants you, “You have no idea what you do to me. How out of control you make me feel.” 

Joel shuffles his body down, kissing down your sternum before cupping your tits. Pushing them together and sucking one of your nipples into his hot mouth. This is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about since that moment in his office. His tongue is warm and soft as it flicks across your hardening nipple. He lightly rolls the other one between his fingers.  

“Please - oh god - please Mister Miller.” You moan needily. You try to arch into him, but his large body holds you down. 

He grazes his teeth along your nipple then looks up at you, “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.” 

You can’t take your eyes off him as he dives back in. Sucking and biting at your other nipple. You plant your feet on the mattress, hands tangling into his hair, as you try to grind your aching clit into his warm, hard stomach. 

“Stay still sweetheart,” He says between suckles. 

“I c-can’t. Please.”

He pinches both nipples hard, harder than you’re used to, and you whimper, freezing your hips. His voice is as deep as the obsidian in his gaze, “Stay still. I’m going to make you come. I promise. You need to trust me, relax.” 

The pressure on your nipples eases and you pout before letting yourself melt back into the mattress. He smirks, a dimple carving itself in the patchy scruff of his cheek. “That’s my girl. You like your nipples being played with?” 

The pad of his thumb ghosts over the tops of them, you shiver and moan, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Then you’re going to enjoy what I have planned tonight.” He kisses your forehead and then climbs off the bed. You rise on your elbows, watching him as he pads across the room to a chest of drawers. He toes off his brown dress shoes and removes his belt before digging through a drawer. The actions were so simple, yet the domesticity of them has you fighting with your little box of feelings again.

No, you tell it silently as it inches out of the darkness. I am his sub and nothing more. The box seems to have grown a very annoying and persistent personality and it almost says, ‘but he’s nervous too’ back at you. 

He turns back to face you, snapping you out of your fight with the imaginary box in your brain. The same vibrator Tommy had is clasped in one hand, his other is palm up, cupping something that he’s shaking much like a gambler does with dice. 

“My sweet girl, you put a five for nipple clamps. Remind me, have you ever used them before?”

“No, Mister Miller.” 

He wanders lazily back over to the bed, and if he was anyone else you’d tell him to hurry up, but you never want to rush a single moment with Joel Miller. On top of that, you need to let him take control; he said he was going to make you come if you just relax and trust him, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do. He places the vibrator on the small table beside the bed and then sits beside you, holding out his free hand to help you sit up. 

He holds the clamps out to you and explains softly, “These are beginner clamps. See this little dial? I can control how tight they are.”

You watch his thick fingers along the dainty metal of the clamps, he’s so soft yet could have you crying with the snap of his fingers if he wanted. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs completely ruining the panties he still hasn’t taken off your body. You nod and whisper, “Ok.”

“You control what happens here tonight. If you tell me that it hurts too much or to stop, I will.”

It’s time to show Joel just how good of a girl you can be, you look at him through your eyelash and sweetly coo, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, “Fuck. Lay down..now.” 

You lay back, hair fanning around you. Joel stays seated on the edge of the bed beside you and lightly places the first clamp on your right nipple. It’s a light pinching pressure and it feels so good that your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the bed. He puts the next clamp on and you whimper. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, his strong hands gripping your hips, pushing you into the mattress and grounding you in the warm pleasure that floods your stiff nipples.  

“S-so good Mister Miller,” you groan. You’re almost convinced this is another dream, he’s doing almost exactly what you have imagined countless times. You open your eyes to watch him, determined to visually take in every single thing he gives you. 

“Good, baby. I want you to feel good. I’m gonna tighten them now, jus’ a little.” He twists the little knob. You start breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You bring your hands to his strong, warm forearms as you suck in air.

“Too much?”

Your chest heaves at the delicious feeling flooding your tits. “No, no. More. P-Please, more. More.”

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, the words settling right behind your clit as he tightens the tiny clamps more. The warmth around your nipples spreads to your arms and down your sides. When you cry out he asks, “Pain or pleasure, sweet girl?”

At this point you aren’t sure, it definitely hurts, but it also feels good, and his deep brown eyes are looking at you the same way they always do, full of concern and care, almost like he’s assessing you. 

“Both. Both, oh fuck. More, Mister Miller.” He kisses the left one gently and you arch into him, “More, more, please.”

“That’s as tight as they go, are you sure you want more?”

You keep your eyes on him, nodding fervently, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He pops them off and you gasp out in pain, heat rushes to both your nipples and it burns in white hot passion. Joel blows cool air along both of them and you can’t seem to stop your mumbling begging, “More. I need more. Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He opens the drawer on the bedside table and takes out two gold plated clamps. You look down, your nipples already look sore, tinged slightly purple. “I’m so fucking proud of you already. Askin’ so nicely like the good girl I know you are. Goddamn, look at these stiff, perky, perfect little nipples. I love seeing you like this, seeing them like this. Are you wet for me? Are those flimsy lace panties soaked through?”

He places one of the new clamps and you cry out a ‘yes’. 

“Ya? Just dripping and desperate for me?” He puts the other clamp on as you chant a chorus of yes’s and oh god’s. 

Joel

Joel knew that tonight would either make or break him. As his name spills sweetly from your perfect pouty lips he feels it, the same tug behind his belly button that he felt with Tiffany, that his grandpa said was how he’d know when he found something special; something to hold onto. 

“Please, Mister Miller,” you murmur. He doesn’t know what it is you’re asking for, and he’s sure you don’t know either. What is it about you saying those three little words that gets him so rattled? Countless subs have called him that in the past and it never made his cock swell this painfully behind his zipper.

He taps at your nipples lightly and watches your body shudder and arch off the bed. You aren’t even fully naked and he’s fighting the urge to come right there in his pants. He loves the way your body reacts, he can already tell you’re going to look stunning as you come. 

“That feel good?” He asks, his voice deep and husky. 

“Yes. Oh god, yes!” You haven’t taken your eyes off him and he loves how your eyelids have become hooded from the pleasure while your brows furrow with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Your cheeks are flushed pink making the colour of your eyes pop.

“Yes,” just as he’s convincing himself to remove the clamps you moan, “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel grabs the vibrator from the bedside table before sliding his body down the bed. He starts kissing at your hip bone before wrapping his teeth around the slender band of your panties. Your eyes dart down to him, this is what you asked for; to his face the first time he sees your cunt. He pulls your panties with his teeth, smiling against your soft upper thigh when you instinctively lift your hips to help him. As he shimmies down the bed his eyes stay on your face.

He gets to the end of the bed, standing with your soaked through thong still between his teeth. He relaxes his jaw, dropping the panties in his hand and bringing them to his face. “God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl. You smell so fuckin’ sweet. Imma crave that smell when you aren’t around.” He tucks your panties into the pocket of his four thousand dollar, custom made Tom Ford suit. As far as he’s concerned, that drenched thong is the most expensive and important thing he now owns. 

He trails his eyes down your sternum, your legs are straight out in front of you, not parted, but he can see your puffy pink clit pushing through the soft looking outer lips. He feels himself switching into full dom mode. The room around him fades away, everything outside of you and this room doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those gorgeous legs and show me that perfect little cunt.”

He crawls up the bed, following the path you make as you bend both knees up. He feels like a starved dog who’s about to get a meal. Your feet stop, and as he hovers above you, gaze wholly fixated on your core, you relax your legs and your knees butterfly open. God he loves how eager you are, how good of a listener you can be. He licks his lips as your outer thighs finally meet the soft sheets, baring yourself for him completely. He stops breathing as your lips part, sticky with arousal. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, your needy clit puffy and pink. 

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to the be, his face between your legs. Once he’s close enough he can see the tight little hole he’s vowed not to fuck. “Shit, sweetheart. This is goin’ to be so much harder than I thought.”

Your cries wash over him; he’s experienced enough to know that it’s from your nipples hardening under the clamps at his words. He smirks up at you, “How are you so wet already?”

“You, Mister Miller.”

“That right? Me playin’ with those nipples get you all turned on?”

“Uh-huh, and you said I couldn’t touch myself. I’ve been like this for days.” Your bottom lip pokes out and it absolutely ruins him, but he pushes down the overwhelming need to fix it and give you exactly what you need. No, you want to experience being a submissive, and that’s what he’s going to do. 

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tsking at you. He kisses right above your clit and you gasp. He’s close enough to know the heat of his breath is going to have you squirming and he can’t wait to watch how beautiful you’ll look doing it. “So wet. Smells so good. Fuck, She’s right in front of me but I already miss her. You look so soft and tight. Goddamn, you’re gonna have me breakin’ all my rules, sweet girl.”

“Please touch me. Please.”

“Mmmm, such a good girl for asking so nicely. I can’t say no when you beg like that, baby, makes me weak.” He kisses the crook of your inner thigh, he knows how much he’s teasing you right now, he watches you get wetter by the second, the beautiful folds of your pussy opening like a flower in the sun for him and flushing a deeper pink and the blood courses to your most sensitive parts.  

“I need you Mister Miller,” your voice waivers as you say his name, and you blink a little harder, he knows you’re fighting back the tears and it makes his cock throb harder, the teeth of his zipper practically digging into him.

After what feels like hours, he finally brings a thick finger to tease at your entrance. You buck into him, desperate for the friction.  

“Don’t make me tie you up. Stay still for me, please.” Even with the please at the end, it’s a command - deep and serious, and you don’t dare test him. Your nipples stiffen every time he speaks, and they ache under the clamps, it’s the perfect twinge of pain to heighten the bits of pleasure he’s giving you. 

You press your lips in a tight line, hands grounding you as they ball the sheets, focusing on keeping still. You want to shamelessly fuck yourself with his fingers; meanwhile, he’s being slow and calculated. Joel torturously draws slow little circles along the waiting hole with just the tip of his finger. He watches as your sticky white arousal coats his fingertip, then groans as he slowly pushes his middle finger all the way inside of you. You gasp at the welcome stretch and fight like hell to stay still.

“Look at you, fuck. So warm and inviting.” He slips his finger out slowly and lets out an exasperated sigh. Your heart falls into your stomach.

“Mister Miller, no. Please, it felt so good,” you practically cry at the loss at the feeling of him finally inside of you, finally giving you a taste of what you need the most.

“I know,” he shushes, “But that’s not what I have planned, not yet at least. My sweet girl, I need ya to be loud for me. I’ve been wanting this for so long. Need to hear you. Understand?”

The distinct sound of the vibrator you forgot he had comes to life and you squirm with anticipation. “Yes, Mister Miller. I will, just please, please make me feel good.” 

He reaches up, the black vibrator makes contact with your nipple and an intense pain shoots to your core before it blooms into pleasure. One of your hands leaves the sheets, fingernails digging into the forearms of the hand he has holding the vibrator and you sob out. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans before moving the vibrator to the other nipple, circling it around this time instead of holding it flush. “Jus’ tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t. Oh god, yes.” You know you’re screaming, you doubt anyone can hear you, but at this point you don’t care if they can. The pleasure becomes overwhelming, you slam your eyes shut and arch your back. Joel’s strong chest is warm in between your thighs, he’s so broad that he’s keeping you spread open. You grind into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt.

“Look at me. Focus, sweet girl,” you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze. Warm coffee and hazel eyes stare down at you. “Stay still, please.”

“I can’t - aah!” He presses hard on your sore nipple and it brings you back into your own body. You manage to still your hips and release your grip, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in his muscle lined forearm.

“Good girl,” he praises and then pulls the vibrator away from your breasts. His free hand comes to your mound, he swallows hard before breaking eye contact, pulling his hand back and looking at your puffy, and completely exposed bundle of nerves. A devious uptick of the right side of the mouth sets your blood on fire before he taps lightly at your clit once with the soft head of vibrator.

You cry out in pleasure. 

He taps again and you gasp out loudly.

He taps a third time and you’re almost certain that this is how you’re going to die. No man has ever teased you like this. You’re desperate to come, your body breaking out in sweat, but you never want Joel to stop. Moans and whines are pouring out of you without you even realizing it, he looks so fucking beautiful between your thighs, staring at your pussy like it’s the sunrise over the ocean, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful or fascinating and it makes your feel unstoppable. You make him look like that. Him. A man who could have anyone in the world, but here he is, looking at you like you’re his whole world.

“Let me hear you, show me how you can be a good girl,” he clicks the vibrator up and holds it tightly to your clit. The sensation is almost too much and your nipples ache under the little gold clamps.

Your body starts to shake involuntarily and your moans become longer and huskier, you’re going to come any second now. You squeeze your eyes shut and Joel pulls the vibrator away.

“No,” you gasp. “More. Please, I need more. Please.” The fear of him leaving you like this has the back of your eyes burning. Was there a time limit you weren’t aware of with the room? No, this is his private room. Right? Didn’t he say that he has a private room? And it shouldn’t matter if the club is open or closed, he’s the owner.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You blink your eyes open, trying to focus on his face, but you’re so turned on that the edges of him seem fuzzy. “That feel good? The vibrator teasing your desperately swollen clit?”

You nod your head, “Yes, again. Please, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you want?”

Historically, situations like this have riddled you with insecurity. You’ve never been a talker in the bedroom and as a textbook people pleaser you never, like NEVER, ask for what you want. Yes, being here fully naked with a fully clothed Joel makes you feel safer and more understood than you have ever been. You know that if you ask for anything in this room and beyond, he’d do it. 

The words leave your mouth without you even thinking about it, without second guessing or carefully planning what it is you’re going to say. “Please make me come. I’ll be so loud for you. I’ll scream and moan until I have no voice. I’ve been such a good girl and I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please make me come.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and his voice washes over you like honey, “Good fuckin’ girl. Eyes on me and hold on.”

It happens in an instant, the vibrator flicks to the highest setting as he adjusts his body to hold you firmly against the mattress with this forearm, your hands grab onto his shoulders as he presses the soft, thick head of the sex toy right onto your clit. 

You scream and squeeze at the strong muscles of his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your system, you tense under his touch. The build of your orgasm somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes, I’m - Mist - fuuuck.”

“I know, I’m right here.” He says darkly.

“Gonna come,” you sputter between your cries of ecstasy. You can feel that familiar tightness building.

“Relax and let go for me. Come for me, sweet girl. Let me see this beautiful little cunt twitch.”

His words send you over the edge and your orgasm rocks through you violently. You convulse with so much force that Joel grunts as he holds you down. You’re nothing but what Joel is giving you, not a single thought or insecurity, not a single worry about studying or school, you’re just what Joel has made you and it feels fucking fantastic. His dark onyx eyes swallow you whole. 

The pleasure of your orgasm, mixed with the pain in your nipples is so much more than you’ve ever known, and Joel’s deep gravel filled voice praises you the whole time.

‘There’s my girl.’

‘Sooo good for me.’

‘Fuck, that’s it my sweet girl.’ 

‘Beautiful when you scream for me.’

It starts to become too much. Your throat is hoarse from screaming. As your nails start to dig deep into his shoulders Joel slows the vibrator down and holds it lightly to your twitching clit as the aftershocks course through you. He releases your body from his and kisses your hip bone before shutting the vibrator off completely. 

He’s stills between your thighs, your hands resting on his shoulders. Joel smiles up at you sweetly and you pull at his t shirt to encourage him to crawl on top of you. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his stong body on top of yours, resting his forearms on each side of your head. 

“Do I have your consent to kiss you?” He whispers.

“Yes,” you coo. His mouth meets yours similar to how it did when you both confessed to being nervous. It’s soft and lingering as you take shaky, calming breaths through your nose. That annoying little box of feelings shivers in the corner of your mind and you mentally put a piece of packing tape over the lid. 

You end this kiss this time, pushing your head into the pillow. “I’m gonna grab some cooling spray and take those clamps off now, is that okay?”

You nod and hum in agreement. Your eyelids and muscles feel heavy and sated. Joel's warm body parts from yours and a chill runs up your spine. When he releases the first clamp you whimper, the burning ache goes away as soon as he sprays it with a cooling coconut scented mist. When he removes the second one, your pussy clenches around nothing, a small but powerful orgasm waves through you as the cool droplets of the aftercare spray land on your pebbled breast.

“Did you just come?” Joel questions proudly.

Your hands cover your face as you blush harder than you have in years, “Yeah.”

Joel’s warmth encompasses you again as he climbs back on top of you, he gently pulls your hands away by your wrists. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m addicted to you.” He kisses the tip of your nose, “Such a good girl.”

You shiver underneath him and he rolls the two of you so he can wrap the blanket around you, your head rests on his chest, your body half on him and half on the soft bed. He holds you tightly, his meaty hands rubbing any place they can over the fluffy down filled cocoon he’s got you in. 

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, your breaths in sync with one another. Your eyelids flutter closed, and that little voice starts to come back, lacing you with insecurity. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. You clear your throat quietly and ask, “Are you seeing any other subs?”

“No,” he replies softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “But I haven’t told all of them yet. The dom/sub relationship is a delicate one. I can’t exactly just message them on the app that it’s over.”

You settle deeper into him. “What else do you have planned for us?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m going to show you everything you want to know.”

A fire burns in your stomach, “When?”

Joel lets out a small laugh, then tilts your chin up, pulling back a little so he can look at you. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re eager. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but we’ll make sure to find time when I’m back this weekend.”

Him leaving is a bit of a blessing in disguise for you. “I take the LSAT again on Friday, so I guess this gives me lots of study time.”

He cranes his neck to sponge his lips to yours, the scruff of his mustache tickles a little and you giggle into his kiss. “How long have you owned the club?”

“Almost five years,” he replies.

You let an impressed hum, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are your mixed breathing and his calloused hand along the blanket. You remember all the times tonight that he called you ‘my sweet girl’ and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, or if he’s so used to all of this that it’s just second nature to him. The packing tape on that fucking box starts to peels as if to say ‘he was nervous too and it’s only you’.

After a while Joel breaks the silence. “Becoming a lawyer is a pretty intense process. Your family must be really proud of you.”

“Umm, well, I actually don’t really know,” you say.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Joel says lightly and you know he means it. You know he would never push you to give him something you didn’t want to, he might push your sexual limits, but never your personal ones, and for whatever reason that almost makes it easier to tell him.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your forearms on his chest. For a second you let your eyes look around the room. You were so focused on Joel earlier that you didn’t notice the rings and hooks along the black steel bed frame; or the paddles and ropes hanging on the wall next to a ladder and St Andrews Cross. In classic Joel fashion, everything is black and softly lit. Everything but the bed sheets which are plush and white. 

You take a deep breath, resting your chin on your hands, and start, “I don’t want pity for this, truthfully I’m grateful that this is my reality, but my parents had me when they were very young and they were both very selfish when I was growing up. Never abusive or anything, and not neglectful in a physical way, but emotionally I was left alone a lot. I realized early on that if I excelled in something they would show up, and for a long time that felt really fucking good. But as soon as I hit high school I realized they were showing up for themselves. They’d brag about me to other adults, but not actually congratulate me. They’d show up to honour roll ceremonies, but not with me or for me, it was so they could say I was their daughter. They didn’t help me get those grades, I did that on my own. And I’m still doing that on my own.”

Joel’s eyes soften, those two permanent lines between his eyebrows disappearing. “That explains so much, my sweet girl. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

The tape on the box of feelings snaps as the lid flies off. Not now, you scold.

“I know, but honestly, I don’t really need anyone to take care of me. I’ve made it this far and I plan on making it the rest of the way the only way I know how.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” He asks.

“Doesn’t this?” you say gently, gesturing to the room.

“No,” he blinks at you a few times. “I was in my early twenties when my wife died. I needed to focus on raising Sarah, but I’m still an adult male with needs, so I found the world of BDSM and kink. It allowed me to get what I wanted, and what my partner wanted, without the attachment of a relationship.” His words are so real and honest and in just those few sentences you feel like you know Joel Miller more deeply than you know anyone else.

“My way doesn’t get lonely either,” you say with a smile, tucking your head back into his chest.

Joel

Your breathing is calm and heavy, it kills him that he’s going to have to wake you up. Usually his aftercare doesn’t involve opening up about his past like this. He’s not a monster, but he is very strict about keeping his kink life and his real life separate. Something about you though has him opening up about Tiffany and Sarah.

“Baby,” he whispers into the crown of your head, shaking you a little. “We can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”

You blink up at him and his heart ceases at how beautiful you look all sleepy and supple. He finds himself unconsciously memorizing the little details of your face. Your lips are puffy from his kisses and you have a little mascara smudge under your eye. He thumbs the black make up away gently and says, “Let me help you get dressed and then Cap will take you home, ok?”

You nod lazily and he helps you gently roll off him. He stands and starts to gather your clothing. After a few minutes of looking around he huffs, “Where are your panties?”

A tiny giggle sounds from the cloud of white blankets, the sound shooting straight through his belly button, “Check your pockets.”

He laughs at himself, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out your lacy nude thong. He helps you sit up, “I’m keeping these, by the way.”

“Should I be expecting my panties to go missing every time?” You say jokingly as you take your bra from him and put it on. 

He nods and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good actually,” After you put your bra on he pulls your dress over your head and then kneels to help you with your boots. “I - umm - I was hoping that this would help turn my brain off for a while and it did. I feel, I don’t know. Recharged almost?”

This is exactly why he loves kink, it’s an escape from the world for him and his sub. He kisses your knee and moves to the other boot. “Good, that’s what is supposed to happen.”

He pulls you to your feet and allows you to steady yourself before pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. He hopes you know that he needs this as much as you do, how much this helps him clear his mind and reground himself.

After closing the door to the town car and sending you home he goes back into the club, waving for a whiskey and joining Tommy at the bar top.

“She was pretty,” Tommy says, clinking his glass against Joel’s.

“Yep,” he swirls the amber liquid in the cup.

“New?” Tommy asks.

“Yep,” Joel repeats and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m fucked, Tommy.”

Tommy puts his glass down and turns to face Joel, gripping his shoulder. “Are you ending it with all your other subs for this girl?”

Joel takes a long sip from his crystal highball glass. Repeating the only word he seems to know lately, “Yep.”

Tommy lets out a breath, “Shit. Ya, you’re definitely fucked.”

“Tiff told me to find someone who scares me. This fucking scares me, man.” Joel finishes off his whiskey, and even though there’s a drink limit, the glass is refilled before it’s even hit the table. “This is - I just - I ain’t felt like this in a long time.”

Tommy smiles at Joel, “I’m happy for ya, man. And look, as long as you aren’t keepin’ her panties then it’s probably not as bad as you think.” 

Joel pulls that nude thong from his pocket and puts it on the bar top as he finishes off his second glass of whiskey and then waves the bartender off, silently signaling that he’s done. 

“Shit, so you are fucked then?” Tommy laughs. 

“We didn’t,” Joel says defensively, brows pulling together.  

“I didn’t ask if you fucked. I said you are fucked.” Tommy shakes his head at his older brother. 

Joel runs a hand down his face and through his scruff. “Look, you gonna be ok this week while I’m in Paris?”

“Ya, me and Tess got it.” He claps Joel’s back roughly as he stands. “Safe travels, hey?”

Joel nods and waves over his head at his brother. He hasn’t fucked you or let you suck his cock yet and he’s already feeling all turned around. But god, the way your body twitched in response to him, the way you melt into his arms every time he kisses you. How brave and confident you were after overcoming the shyness of asking for what you want. He can’t wait to teach you more, but he’s going to have to find a way to not let whatever feelings he might be having get in the way. 

Next chapter

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒊𝒔𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉

Pairing: Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x reader

Words: 1366

Warnings: blood, drool, mentions of sex? Idk

Summary: you get your wisdom teeth out. Chaos ensues.

The world around you was a fuzzy haze of colors and sounds, and the strange tingling in your mouth had you more than a little bewildered. You tried to move your tongue, only to realize it felt like a giant, numb blob taking up most of your mouth. Somewhere in your groggy brain, you remembered you’d just had your wisdom teeth removed, but nothing was quite making sense.

Blinking, you saw two faces peering down at you, one with a halo of dark hair and green eyes full of concern, the other with blonde hair and dark roots, her brown eyes glinting with amusement. You blinked harder, trying to focus. The sight of them together made your heart swell, and you felt an urge to ask the one pressing question on your mind.

“Who… who are you?” you slurred, staring at them in awe.

Ingrid’s mouth curved into a gentle smile as she rubbed your shoulder, her soft voice filling your ears. “We’re your girlfriends, sweetheart.”

Your jaw dropped, as much as it could with the gauze and numbness. “Both… of you?” you whispered, eyes widening in absolute wonder.

Mapi, who was standing beside Ingrid, let out a giggle. “Yes, cariño, both of us.”

You looked from one to the other, a giddy smile spreading over your face. “That’s… that’s amazing.” You sighed dreamily, staring at them as if they were the most enchanting thing you’d ever seen.

In your dazed state, your gaze wandered down to Mapi’s exposed midriff, her crop top showing off her toned abs. Without thinking, your hand reached out, fingers outstretched to touch the mesmerizing sight before you.

Mapi, sensing what you were up to, swatted your hand away with a playful glare. “Ah, no, no. Hands off, cariño.”

You looked up at her, betrayal clear in your glassy eyes, and your lower lip wobbled. “But… I wanted to touch…”

Mapi’s eyes softened, and she shared a glance with Ingrid, who gave her a slight shrug. Mapi sighed, muttering something under her breath in Spanish that sounded like, “No puedo con esto,” before relenting and grabbing your hand, gently placing it on her abs.

The moment your fingers made contact, you beamed, eyes closing in bliss. “They’re so… perfect.”

Ingrid chuckled softly beside you, and you lazily leaned against her shoulder, basking in the comfort of being surrounded by both of them. But as quickly as your happiness had arrived, it faded, another question nagging at your addled brain. You tilted your head up toward Ingrid, squinting up at her as the realization dawned on you again.

“Wait, who… who are you guys?”

Ingrid sighed, her patience unending, and she brushed some hair out of your face. “We’re your girlfriends,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Your face lit up all over again, a broad, giddy smile spreading across your face. “Both of you?” you repeated, utterly enchanted.

They both nodded, and you let out a little squeal, so delighted that you puckered your lips for a kiss. But the gauze was making it impossible to keep your mouth closed, and you could feel the unpleasant sensation of saliva dribbling down your chin.

You waited, eyes closed, for a kiss, only to feel nothing. Opening your eyes, you saw Ingrid and Mapi exchanging an uncertain glance. Mapi’s brow creased, a little grossed out, while Ingrid looked as if she were weighing her options.

“Why aren’t you kissing me?” you wailed, hurt flashing across your face. The tears in your eyes were instant, your lip trembling as you looked at them, crushed by the rejection.

Ingrid sighed, and Mapi leaned over to plant a quick kiss on your lips, her nose scrunched up adorably. You were ecstatic—until, just as your lips touched, you tried to sneak in a bit of tongue, which made Mapi squeak in surprise and pull back, laughing and wiping her mouth.

“Cariño, no!” Mapi laughed, while you pouted, devastated. “You know you’re a little messy right now…”

You sighed heavily, your emotions swinging from blissful to heartbroken in an instant. “I’m sad you won’t let me kiss you properly,” you murmured, sniffling.

Ingrid gently stroked your cheek, attempting to calm you, but then something terrifying hit you. You tried to move your tongue, but it felt like nothing more than a numb, foreign object in your mouth. Panic gripped you, and you looked at Ingrid with wide, horrified eyes.

“Baby?” she asked, noticing the alarm on your face.

“I… I can’t feel my tongue!” you whimpered, the words barely intelligible through the gauze.

“Oh, love, it’s just the anesthesia,” Ingrid assured, trying to soothe you, but you were already spiralling.

“No, no! They took my tongue! I’m never gonna be able to eat you guys ou—”

Ingrid clapped her hand over your mouth, her cheeks flushed red as she glanced at a snickering Mapi, who found the whole scene utterly hilarious. “Cariño, shhh!” Ingrid tried to whisper, stifling a laugh, but you were insistent, your muffled words trying to escape as you continued to voice your distress.

“Cariño,” Ingrid interrupted again. “I promise, it’s just temporary. You’ll be fine.”

“I was just saying,” you whined when Ingrid finally removed her hand, only to have her cover your mouth once more. This time, though, your eyes welled with fresh tears, upset that they weren’t letting you speak. “You’re not letting me say anything!” you cried, breaking into sobs again.

Mapi snorted, laughing so hard she had to wipe a tear from her own eye. “Ay, Dios mío, Ingrid, I can’t take this. She’s too much.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, sulking as you reached your arms out to Ingrid, mumbling, “I want your face.”

Ingrid leaned forward, obliging, but the moment her cheeks were within reach, you clumsily cupped them, tracing your fingers over her soft features. You stared at her in awe, marveling at her beauty. But then, in a moment of misguided affection, you leaned in and licked her nose, leaving a smear of blood and saliva.

Ingrid pulled back, trying her best not to grimace as she wiped her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, doing her best to stay patient, but you noticed the hint of disgust, and it was enough to break your heart all over again.

“You don’t want me to touch you!” you sobbed, your head dropping in disappointment.

Mapi, trying to hide her smile, moved closer and rubbed your back, finally deciding that you were too upset to be left alone. “Come here, cariño,” she murmured, helping you up so that she could pull you against her. Your head rested against her abs, and a contented sigh escaped your lips.

You closed your eyes, practically melting into her, a blissful smile overtaking your face. “So perfect,” you mumbled, your voice slurring as you absently let your hand wander toward her backside, unable to help yourself.

Mapi caught your hand just in time, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she shook her head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

But the rejection made your heart plummet, and tears welled up in your eyes all over again. “Why won’t you let me touch you?” you wailed, completely dejected.

Ingrid, seeing that Mapi’s teasing was only making things worse, gave her a look before lifting you into her lap and settling you down. She rubbed your back soothingly, wrapping her arms around you as she whispered, “We’re here. It’s okay. You can relax.”

Your head drooped onto Ingrid’s shoulder, and you let out a tiny hiccup as you clung to her, finally feeling a little bit of peace amidst the chaos. “I just… I just wanted to be close to you,” you mumbled, sniffling into her shirt.

Ingrid held you tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We’re here. You’re with us, sweetheart,” she murmured, stroking your back as your breathing started to slow.

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice growing soft, drowsiness starting to tug at the edges of your consciousness.

Ingrid’s eyes softened, and she shared a tender glance with Mapi. “Promise, love. We’re not going anywhere.”

With that reassurance, you finally let yourself relax completely, nestling into Ingrid’s arms as your eyes fluttered shut. A blissful smile played on your lips as you drifted off, wrapped up safely between them, your heart full—even if your memory was a little fuzzy on exactly why.

**

Tags:

@codiemarin @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @marysfics @ceesimz @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[chiliyue-archived]

physical affection

includes; dazai, chūya, ranpo, atsushi

tags; these get just slightly suggestive (but its nothing too much).headcanons + some drabbles & shorts. these r longer than it should be - I got so carried away

I just woke up so if u find mistakes pls let me know :) I'm posting this before I come up with an excuse to delete it altogether

-

—DAZAI

handsy - that's really the only descriptor you need.

honestly, everyone knows you're his partner with how he acts around you; hand on your thigh, waist, shoulder. having to kindly smack him on the back of his head when his hands trailed a little too far-

^ only for him to send you a pout and doe like eyes that fade when you indulge him a kiss. he has zero shame (often at the expense of receiving a sneer from kunikida who had the misfortune of witnessing sometimes. even then, he didn't stop kissing you)

favorite spot is the inside of your palms and knuckles - with a lingering yield on your pulse point. if you ever kiss those areas on him, he'll have cartoon hearts around him & everything

holding his face though? call him your pretty boy or literally anything sappy and he thinks he might just die on the spot.

on the flip side he's also… a bit of a bitch.

traces your bottom lip tauntingly with his thumb, the other is cupping your head to keep your gaze on him. he maintains keen eye contact and relishes in the way you crack while he remains steady.

his mouth is so close that when he speaks, you could feel it vibrate against your lips. but he never closes the distance, he makes you do that instead for teasing benefits :/(if you're shorter than him, it's so over)

revoke his kissing rights and he trails like a lost puppy behind you. " just one, bella?" he whines when you maneuver your head away. it's cute seeing him get all pouty - not so much when his patience runs thin and he takes matters into his own hands

-> caging you in his physique and kissing you hard. fingers calloused are rubbing against your jaw or brushing past your ear to interlock, teasing the surface of the skin as he does so. he enjoys the tremors and shivers it elicits, such reactions becoming burned in the back of his head.

you could barely make a sound with the vigor he expresses his cravings in with your bottom lip becoming captured between his canines

contrary to his theatrical displays, however, i also believe he exhibits a softened demeanor when cherishing you proper (soft dazai agenda)

the tempo of his kisses are slow yet not in accordance with his teasing. while the meandering of his hands grows greedy, when he speaks his voice is reduced to a low whisper, mumbling sweet phrases with each kiss.

✿

dazai wants to blame the bottom of sake for his vermillion flushed cheeks. more alarmingly, he wanted to ignore the way his heart squeezed when you reciprocated the kiss.

" darling," he pulls away, studying your expression. your hair was tousled, a swell blooming on your bottom lip from his recurrent nibbling and ministrations. the moment wasn't perfect, but he could bask in it for a lifetime. " are you getting sleepy?"

the pretty brown eyes you met were half-lidded and blinking. his bangs traced along your forehead from where he hovered, and if you squint, perhaps you would have noticed how the pink of his cheeks deepened the tiniest bit when you laughed at the tickling sensation.

you murmur something intelligible, the words swallowed by his mouth; he shivers when the syllables reverbate against him and the hand at your hip falters slightly. when he reels back, he remains close enough for his forehead to brush yours.

" repeat that, love."

" i said," you mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth. " can we to stay like this forever?"

almost instantaneously his body shakes in anticipation, heart lurching at the sincerity; how can you be so honest to a known liar like him? he slowly nods, his body arching until your chests were touching and breath pricked at your cheek. ever greedily, he seeks out another exchange, this one careful with a lingering touch of desperation.

an "okay" became lost as he gingerly grabs your chin, angling it just the tiniest bit to deepen it. in between the withdrawals and recoil, dazai chooses to ignore the way his breath stills in the pinnacle of moment, made potent when he twines his hand with yours. he provides the appendage a firm squeeze in coordination with the stirring in his chest, your inhales and exhales becoming synchronized.

he can't lie, he's been thinking just as much.

✿

dazai also likes your hands. chances are his are bigger than yours and he finds himself comparing hand sizes with you. his eyes crinkle when your fingers are dwarfed by his.

adjoined limbs are swayed back and forth when you walk together. same applies with intertwined legs, but when he's not busy doing that, he's playing footsie beneath the table.

he needs to be with you whenever he can!! the spot across your table remains permanently empty as he makes a home of sitting as close as possible next to you instead

he can't even be embarrassed with overly sappy displays, not when he's loving it twice as much. " good morning, osamu," you once said, palms cupping his face. he doesn't know if something has ever made his heartbeat spiked as hard as that did. " can I have a kiss?"

if he didn't turn to putty from the request alone, then it was the way you circled your thumbs on his cheekbones when he brushes his lips to yours. tentatively, he curls his hands behind your waist, holding you close before you get too far.

" can i have some more?" his eyes are shimmering in mischief as ever but his skin has progressively grown warmer since you've found him.

dazai is cuddly. getting to hold you close and listen to your heartbeat? yeah, he could die happy right now

unsurprisingly, napping with him is among his favorite passing time activities.

the closest you may get to see a vulnerable side to him is if you card your fingers through his hair. admittedly, he finds it troubling how his built-up walls crumble so easily with a couple of strokes. but the only thing he can focus on now is the sensation of fingers devoid of pain carefully tend through his hair and how warm his chest feels

kisses on the forehead when you're in need of comfort ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

✿

" i'm right here, love." when you glance up at him with red eyes and puffy cheeks he could feel his heart break right into two. even more so when your voice cracks and he tries to hide the way his face drops when it echoes in the somber ambience.

attentively, he cups your cheeks as his lips apply delicate pressure against your forehead. he sighs when he feels your trembling hands subdue and your breathing regulate; its panning against his skin rivaled any other comfort he could ever receive.

" better?" when you nod, he could feel his grin return, just a bit weaker. " today has been hard on you. get some rest."

" can you stay with me?" he already knew the answer in his head but it still makes chest swarm tremendously.

he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, lips brushing your forehead again. " of course."

he wasn't the one needing comfort and yet he still felt a deep-rooted tingle right in his chest when you hugged him closer than usual. he depised the circumstances behind it, but he couldn't deny the way it made his barren chest feel less akin to a husk when you felt so secured against him.

his hands start to comb shrough your hair, watching as the strands bend between his fingers and he ensures to provide your scalp proper attention now and again.

he wasn't sure if he'll be able to sleep, he was more concerned in making sure you did.

he blinks when you move to press your cheek against his chest, right where his heart should be. " thank you," your words were muffled against clothes, sending vibrations along his bones.

" you don't have to thank me." he places a last kiss to your forehead, the longest one of the night. his legs shift to intertwine with yours, listening keenly to the sound of your breath until it slows into an assuaging rhythm.

dazai can't recall the last time he had to take care of someone. it's made apparent as he grapples with uncertainty - almost becoming overwhelming with how powerless he felt in the situation.

though tonight, he was sure to hold you a little tighter.

✿

likewise if you kiss his scars and the skin beneath the bandages, he could feel the breath in his throat still and his heart do cartwheels. it's been so void of human touch for so long and he appreciates the care you exhibit towards something he considers to be ugly.

" all better now!" you punctuated your words with a kiss to the newly coiled cotton on his arms. dazai could do nothing but swallow hard, his "thank you" mumbled under his breath; he didn't like the pain, but it wasn't so awful when you spoiled him like this ♡

neck kisses + scattering the expanse of your throat with baby bruises you can not hide. afterwards, he traces it out with his index finger while he takes in the markings with great interest.

when it starts to fade he gladly renews them

✿

" that tickles," you murmur, voice reduced to a whisper; you couldn't trust yourself, not with dazai scattering kisses along the exposed patches of your neck. the rehearsal of which doesn't falter, even when you tug on his increasingly unruly curls.

" my apologies, 'bella," you wince as he captures a patch of your skin between his teeth. " i think i've found my favorite form of art." he has the gall to feign a tone of sympathy, lips arcuated at the growing disparity.

in addition to the nibbling, his fingers skimmed along your torso, moving in taunting lines he knew ran your sanity thin. dazai knew all the places that made you shiver, it was a piece of information that became abused with the movement of his hands in that moment.

against your rationality, you sunk into his touch, fingers twitching along his roots. it brought a simper you couldn't see but his satisfaction is made apparent when his actions grow sloppy, scattering along the expanse of your throat and meandering along your collarbone.

" you had every chance to leave," he smirks when you don't reply, content with the way your nails briefly printed on him. predictably, he gives another nibble on your skin, tugging back gently. " this might be my favorite spot."

right on the center of your unguarded throat.

" i can't hide those there."

he laughs, breath cascading skin. " that's what i want, darling." he thinks he might lose himself when you bring a particular tug in his hair, a sound akin to a grunt reverberating against your throat.

" you're being mean." dazai makes the mistake of pulling back, gracing him with your disheveled hair, reddened lips and growing streaks of red. already he finds it to be his favorite piece of jewelry.

" don't look so down," he pressed a kiss to one of the blooming blemishes, grinning as it became more pronounced. " you'll get your turn soon."

-

—CHŪYA

he takes his gloves off when he goes to touch your face. he doesn't want the sensation of skin on skin to be hamper by the piece of article.

kisses to your temples & neck are exchanges he shares on the frequent. though depending on the height difference, it may also be a gesture reserved for when you're sitting on his lap or cuddled up into him. head kisses in particular feel appropriate for anything really

as for himself, i'd say he likes to be kiss on the lips(mainly so he can distract from the growing crimson that tickles his forehead)

but it's hard with the handsome face chūya has. his growing pout tells you he's growing impatient when you favor his cheeks, but the hand gripping your sleeves are so counterproductive

" can you do it properly?" he gruffs, brows furrowing that weaken by your persistence. his skin was growing warm from the kisses you spoiled him with but it hardly compares to the proper thing on his lips, aching for the familar sensation almost painfully.

he shivers when you trail to his mouth, just shy of it and his grip tightens. " like this?"

his eyes flutter shut when you close the distance and before he could realize it, his hands began to sift through your hair. " yeah," his exhale was shaky, voice dropping to a low lilt. " don't stop that."

he sleeps with his head buried in your stomach - his nose is brushing against your abdomen with toned arms slithering around you like a form of cocoon

it reaches a peak when you brush your thumb over his scalp, and you can physically note the way the muscles in his body sink. you can't see his face, greeted instead by a cascade of reds; but his lips pull into a grin at the action

it grants you the opportunity to play with his hair. and sometimes, when he wakes up to find the claw clips and cute brooches that push his bangs aside and show off his pretty eyes, he won't be tempted to remove them right away.

✿

he wanted to roll his eyes when he saw you pull out the collection of hair clips, taunting pastels and neons gawking back at him. but he has to admit, he stopped caring the moment you started to play with his strands of hair. the locks weaved through your fingers, silky and soft stirring a form of ease that compels him to remain still. when he did move, it was only in an effort to bring himself closer, almost like snuggling(though he profusely denies it as such and regards you a scoff that doesn't compliment the rest of his actions).

had he not been treading precariously the boundaries of sleep, he may have been able to pick up on the way his heart quickened; a solace riveting up his spine and leaving in the form of a breathy sigh.

he blinks his eyes at you, nose scrunched up when you start mapping out his handsome features with your thumb. " you're getting distracted."

you acknowledge his statement with a coy grin and chūya felt his heart swell even at its simplicity. "i know." you move to press your lips to his forehead; if the smile wasn't enough to dissipate the frown on his face, that was the drug.

a flash of color peeks in the corner of his eye as you draw another clip. " i was just wondering how you would look in pigtails," you joke and chūya could feel his face twist— eye twitching at your jest.

" you're pushing your luck."

" it won't be that bad, chū."

" i could leave right now." his voice was terribly unconvincing when brooches adorned his head.

" you would have left a long time ago." you grin when he doesn't refute you. " just relax."

chūya knows he's defeated when you thumb his scalp again, eyes screwing shut involuntarily. " you're enjoying this too much," he grumbles. he tilts his head to the side, granting you access to his hair, hands falling pilant against your thigh. it bewilders him how much relief washes over him as you start to pry the strands apart again.

you know he's fallen asleep when he stopped replying to your ramblings; his words going from full sentences, to sporadic words and then slurred vowels. when you peek down, he's resting comfortably on your lap, lips slightly parted and allowing light snores to fill the silence.

chūya is far too deep in his subconscious to contemplate anything, but if he could, he thinks he might just get addicted to this.

✿

a clingy drunk. in addition, the alcohol is effective at loosening his tongue, resulting in declarations of his undying love that are muffled when he goes head first into your stomach (≧▽≦)

in lieu of that, he likes to spoon you, with himself being the big spoon. he has his head in the crook of your shoulder, and you feel his inhales and exhales against your skin.

he likes your body heat, it grounds him to earth and coaxes a soft demeanor that he fails at suppressing

thoughtful when it comes to kissing in the public eye. he isn't fond of drawing that form of attention to your relationship, but he isn't opposed to stealing a couple of kisses now and then.

it's fast, it's simple and enough to satiate you and himself. and it's enough to tell onlookers that he's your bf

it that didn't give the memo, its the gloved hand on your waist that spoke to people that you were taken.

though that doesn't stop him from tugging you closer in a spur of his protective tendencies. it's a subconscious act he does when you pass a group of people or when yokohama is notably crowded. it's not merely because he's short and is worried about losing you to the sea of wayfarers(at least thats what he tells you) - rather, it roots from a concern that's only repleted when he knows you're safe

behind close doors, however, his kisses lack patience if the way he's gripping your clothes is anything to go by. and while he demonstrates a growing restlessness, he remains pensive to his own strength and withdraws to give you proper time to catch your breath.

but he knows exactly what to do intensify each one and make your brain go hazy

cupping your cheeks, tilting your head, voice speaking in a meticulous timbre that shakes your skull. you're far too consumed in the kiss to recognize when his free hand has found its way to your back, gliding along the spine before slipping beneath the hem.

his gloves are cold against your skin, mumbling a faint 'sorry' that's nearly swallowed when he brushes his lips to yours for nth time.

the limbs explore along the dips and contours, pinching your sides and smirking into the kiss when you yelp in surprise (inwardly, his heart is beating so fast, he wonders if you could hear it when his chest is pressed against yours.)

without the gloves, his hands are a hint warmer. but even warmer are his cheeks when you press kisses to it. he knits his brows together in an attempt hide how much he likes; ultimately, he betrays himself when he pulls you closer

✿

" what the fuck are you doing," he stammers as you press a kiss to his warm cheeks. despite himself, he makes no effort to move when you brush your lips on the other - even warmer than the neighboring pair.

"kissing you," you hum. "... want me to stop?"

" no." he hates how fast the words left him and he hates how you grin at that. it was just the thing to crumble his resolve - and more specifically, it's just the thing to make him go mellow, subservient to your ministrations with his heart beating erratically - even within the scrutiny of strangers and coworkers.

" give me a warning next time." he wants to frown but the expression dies when you crane your head to make contact wherever you can reach. in reponse, an arm finds purchase on your hip, shuffling you closer until you are nuzzled up to his build.

he wasn't sure what rumors would circulate if people saw him being soft - and frankly, he couldn't bring himself to quite care much about the prospect either; inwardly, he was already missing the rehearsal of your lips on his, a desire not easily quelled and he was far more occupied with fixing that.

you let out a confused hum when he suddenly taps at your cheek indignantly. " well?" a thumb hooks beneath your chin, bringing you just shy of his mouth. "are you going to finish what you started?"

✿

when he's making kissy faces with his partner, it's nobody's business.

if you have dimples, he kisses those, each one before concluding it off with your lips

chūya just likes to be in contact with you in some way really. longing to hold your hand and scribe incoherent phrases on the palm. reflected in the way his feet nudge closer to yours and how he never fails to hold your hand beneath the table. when handing you items, he reveals a form of reluctance when he detaches away.

i really want to say he does that thing where he places his fedora over his chest when he kisses your knuckles. he tries really hard to maintain eye contact, but it falters when you send him a beam that makes his chest ache from beating so fast.

and lastly, he never leaves without getting a goodbye kiss first.

✿

" you're forgetting something." chūya vexed— furrow brows bruising his otherwise neutral expression. he hasn't moved from where he stood, silhouette stilled by the partition with nothing but the perpetual tapping of his foot to remind you of his presence. it took all of your strength to push back your laughter at his childish display.

" i am?" you question with a tilt of your head. the inquiry rewarded you with a huff from the former, lip twisting into a frown. admittedly, he looked cute when grumpy, pretty dark eyes tracking you behind colored bangs.

" my kiss?" an index finger points to his neglected lips, promptly chooses to ignore the red hue that harbored along his cheeks, tickling his forehead tauntingly.

chūya tracks your movements as you stride forward, cupping his cheeks within your palms. he resists the urge to close the distance himself - as alluring as it was - he sought out satisfaction when you comply with a genlte kiss. against his own volition, a breathy and likewise dreamy sigh leaves him, just barely audible by the exchange.

his hands sneak down to rest on your waist, twitching when you press a final peck to his cheek. promptly, you decide not to comment on the way a grin was threatening to crack on his oh so serious face.

" better?"

"very."

-

—RANPO

yk in the movies where the guy picks up the girl and spins her around when they kiss? ranpo wants you to do that with him but he's the girl.

piggyback rides ! except he's the one on your back :/ " to the detective agency, y/n!" he jabs out a lithe finger, his dimple smile steady even when you meet him with a glare over your shoulder. it makes him more eager than anything, face squishing against your cheek as he loops his legs around your waist.

" don't give me that look" he exasperates, a brow quirk at your nonverbal response. " the world's greatest detective can't be in better hands."

" you can get there yourself," you sigh, averting your gaze back in front of you. it was hard to fight against him, his persistence shaping your decision the longer he clinged to you.

" thats the boring alternative. duh," he breathes, nuzzling his cheek against your hair. " you know me better than that. besides, i like it when you hold me."

likes kissing you. he will rope up any excuse to steal a kiss. he finished a piece of paperwork? he deserves a reward. finished eating a cookie? kiss the crumbs off. you have absolutely nothing else to do? well, his lips are right there, give him a smooch <3

his kisses taste sweet, the faint traces of chocolate and jams coating his lips. it won't be too far from him to make you guess the flavor of cake he had that morning, but really you think he's just trying to pull more kisses from you. cause he is

✿

" tastes sweet." ranpo shudders when the words vibrate against his lips, cheeks deepening to a rosy hue but the playful glint in his eye ceases to falter. " banana or strawberry?" you blink, a pensive look comprising your features.

a hand cups the back of your head, bringing you close enough for your lips to hover his, still glossy in faint syrup. " nope~!" his proceeding laugh was cut short as he closed the distance again, the ache to kiss you too profound. and with you seated on his lap, he utilized the given opportunity greedily.

you resist the urge to gasp when his tongue swipes along your lower lip, with it the tinge of a fleeting flavor; you recall watching him eat something sweet and sugary in the morning.

he smiles against your mouth, savoring your reactions and attempting to draw out the kiss. " that's definitely strawberry," you contemplate.

ranpo whines when you withdraw, grip tightening against your hands in a stubborn display - it was perhaps the most desperate response you've gotten from him that evening. " are you lying?" you tease with a knowing look; you don't think you've ever seen him shake his head as vigorously as he did now.

" i think," he brushes the corners of your mouth, fingers settling against your chin. "you'll just have to kiss me until you get it right."

the possibility to ponder a response was stolen from you, swelling lips already chasing your own with renewed zeal. dumbfounded, you were naive to the abandoned slice of shortcake just a couple tables away. but by the time you discover it, your little game would be long forgotten.

✿

his childish demeanor often seeps through into his portrayal of affection, fond of sweeping you off your feet at the displays(and at times quite literally too)

it varies in forms; one day he can slump against you like a koala, grip like a vice. and the next he decides to randomly squish your cheeks and bring a kiss to your puckered lips

" ranpo-?!" you sputter, disoriented from sudden and hasty movement. you recall looking over some documents, the next you were gazing into wide green orbs and a nose bumping yours. a self-satisfied look curls on his face, relishing in the way your face fumes beneath his touch.

" surprise~"

" what was that for?"

" just wanted a kiss." he evades the hand on your cheek in favor of curling your bangs around his finger. " i'll come back for more."

he's shameless, unafraid and bold. perhaps not to a similar depth as dazai, but ranpo yields an unpredictability that easily leaves you mellowing in his ministrations

blows raspberries on your cheeks and palms just to coax a laugh from you. it's a reaction he can't help but mimic too and implores you with a "my turn!" while tapping his cheek expectantly.

has probably nibbled on your cheeks at some point too…. :/

likes to hold your hand, slipping it into space randomly and nonchalantly. he sticky like that; appearing from thin air and finding your hand trapped with his.

even better if you sit on his lap or vice versa

when you sleep, he lays on top of you because he doesn't want you to leave him alone. plus! it provides him the perfect advantage to pepper his lips on your collarbone or other patches of expose skin

goodnight kisses (and nap kisses) are a must and he turns greatly fussy when denied such "necessities" as he puts it

✿

" i'm only going to get a glass of water," you reassure him, sweeping his messy bangs aside to press a kiss to his forehead. the crease between his brows goes slack, but his grip remains fixed; it was late, and the last thing ranpo wanted was for you to leave your spot on the futon. " i promise."

his eyes surveyed your face for an inexplicable answer and the fidgeting of his fingers against your forearms tells you he's hesitant.

a silence shrouds the dorm before he speaks again, voice weakened and resigned - it almost made you want to stay in bed with him, enveloped by the unspoken words and his endless aura of affection. " okay." you trace your finger over his cheek, pallid and smooth beneath the pad - the gesture was persuasive enough for his grip to grow lax. he didn't let you get too far yet however, an outstretched pinky waiting before you. he bestows you a broaden grin when you accept it, pressing a kiss to the tip of the adjoin digits.

he doesn't leave your side even as you fix yourself a glass of water, your shared blanket haphazardly draping his shoulders and trailing behind him. he lingers by your arm even as the facet runs, interrupting his thoughts with tired green blinking in impatience. and he watches you through his bangs as you replenish your thirst, already looping your arm and guiding you back to your futon.

not a second after your head meets the pillow, ranpo wraps himself around you, dawning a smile now that you're back with him. he didn't care if his elbow was probed at an odd angle, he just wanted to be as close to you as possible.

" you can't fall asleep yet!" he whines, pulling on the sleeves of your shirt languidly. " it's only fair if you give me a kiss."

" i gave you one earlier."

his gaze shifted to a mixture of displeasure and yearning, small hands pulling eagerly on the fabrics of your clothes. his pleading green eyes made it hard to resist his demands, obscuring into a candid vulnerability you seemingly wielded over him.

" but," ranpo leans close enough for his nose to brush yours, messy fringe framing his sleepy face. his hands flex around your palms, nails scuff on the contours, voice going so low you almost didn't hear him. " i can't fall asleep without it."

✿

pinches your cheeks when in vie for your attention. in any case, he isn't against stomping his foot and whining as a last resort :<

his pout dissipates when you grant him with a collection of kisses or allow him to sit on your lap, fiddling with the ends of your hair or scribbling random phrases on your thigh that he makes you guess

i wouldn't put it against him to randomly jump into your arms or back. the questioning glances he receives hardly impedes him, instead murmuring an "i miss you," into your shoulder. he quivers in your arms when you comb your fingers through his hair, eyes squeezed shut in an air of bliss.

when it comes to deep embraces, he nestles against you akin to a cat, hands pawing wherever he can reach with greedy intent. and that cloak of his can easily encompass the pair of you, performing as a makeshift den of sorts. it feels like your enclosed own little world with him pressing kisses along your face like a butterfly

ranpo is attentive, all too familiar with your habits including the ones you don't cognitively account for. he notes the way you fidget with your fingers, and increasingly it came to be with his fingers you grew fidgety with. if you have a habit of tugging your sleeve, it's not your sleeve you're tugging on anymore but his instead.

he comes to recognize these patterns and responds in kind either with a squeeze to your clasped hand or tapping against your skin in a form of code.

has love hearts in his eyes when you offer to feed him. if he's feeling kind, he'll reciprocate the gesture, though, often at the expense of getting something he wants.

napkins are overrated, kissing off the crumbs or using his thumb are so much more favorable alternatives to him

" say ah~"

you cocked a brow as sugar became smeared on your lip - hardly helped by the titter coming from him. ranpo's persistence was tenacious and the myriad of his treats proved to be bottomless. you weren't sure how many treats you've been fed at that point but it's evident the former found enjoyment from the coddling as evidence of his dimpled smile.

ranpo offers you another confection, a velvety cookie glazed in congealed frosting. when you indulgently take a bite, the filling melts in your mouth and the taste of vanilla floods your taste buds.

" it's good right?" he gives you a smile as he observes your face, brightening when you react positively. " i got them just for you. i knew they were your favorite."

he suddenly pauses, eyes fixating toward your direction. he pays little heed to the look you send him, not when his gaze centers south; that should have been your first sign to up and leave - you want to blame his bribery of treats for your reason to stay.

" you got crumbs all over your face," he said, eyes squinting. while his tone was gentle with a trace of mirth, the way his eyelashes batted innocently at you alluded otherwise. ranpo always held a resurgent glimmer in his eyes, one that he couldn't blink away easily.

he hastily stops you before you could grab a napkin to dapple it away, residing to instead run his thumb along the corners of your mouth. the deliberate proximity catches you off guard and given how his lips shift into a faint smirk; that was exactly the reaction he was hoping to coax.

" much better," he leans back but not without pressing a peck to your nose first.

he plucks out another cookie - and much to your surprise doesn't eat it down right away. more accurately, he crudely cracks it half, revealing an abundance of sugary filling hidden within the confines. without a hint of hesitation, he dips a finger into the cream frosting and messily swatches it against his mouth.

his dimpled smile doesn't leave him for a second even as he slots in front of you directly. his pink cheeks and light stutter chipped away at his facade but his green eyes and lips pulled into a firm beam remained confident.

you almost detested the way it was infectious otherwise you would have rolled your eyes.

ranpo reached out to cup your cheeks, waiting. " it's only fair you do it back, okay?"

-

—ATSUSHI

he holds a lot of hesitation when it comes to enacting anything physical and it shows.

modest, never performing any actions without your explicit consent. even so he exercises slow movement and allows you the opportunity to withdraw if you so desire.

he follows you around a lot though, seeking comfort from being your presence

it shows in the way he inches himself closer to you when you're in the general vicinity. in the way he glances at you for confirmation before lacing fingers. in the way he scoots his chair to close just so his thigh is just slightly nudging yours.

he questions how you're able to be so composed even with something as minimal as brushing clothed skin because inwardly he's going abrack and he can't focus on anything else

" atsushi are you listening to what i'm saying?" your voice broke him from his stupor, head perking up

in the following moment he could do nothing more than let out a nervous laugh, eyes fluttering in companion of scarlet cheeks. " ye- i… erm.. can you repeat that please?"

actually him -> (〃´𓎟`〃)

his favorite physical attributes about you are your hands, i think! they're so strong, and it fits into his perfectly <3 he can spend an hour just tracing the lines along your palm and appreciating the details

as such he's a hand holder as well. he shyly links his pinky with yours before gradually lacing the rest of the digits. when he looks at the joined limbs, it's like a shot of comfort runs right through him.

✿

you often catch him peering at you in the corner of his eyes, mosaic of yellows and purples squinting in intrigue. presently, his hands go clammy, fidgeting against his pants at a random manner; it was a common gesture of his, one that didn't go by unnoticed by you.

" something wrong?" he eases up a bit at the sound of your sincere tone.

" no, not at all," he gives off a nervous laugh, hand scratching the back of his neck. too far into his nerves, he failed to to recognize how the area became chafed. " i was just wondering," he paused, lips shaped into a bashful smile. " can i… hold your hand?"

atsushi didn’t have a mirror on him but he doesn't doubt that his face can put tomatoes to shame.

fortunately, the stiffened muscles on his back go slack at the giggle you release, a nervous chuckle pouring from himself. the erratic beat of his heart meanwhile, resumed its ricochet against his sternum, blood pounding on the lobe of his ear.

"you don't have to be so hesitant about holding my hand, 'sushi." you accentuated the statement by dipping your palm to take his.

it's evident he takes your words to heart, as next time he wordlessly hooks his index finger with yours before properly weaving the rest of the appendage. it was like a perfect puzzle, he reckoned and he gave his head the faintest tilt to gaze at it.

without realizing it, he rolls his thumb over the knuckles, savoring the exchange and the sensation of your fingertips on his. you haven't even spoken a word and already, his heart fills immensely full.

and if you pay attention, you may even catch him grinning at the presumably courageous gesture he mustered himself to do. his clammy palms tell you he's nervous, but it's hard to resist him when he's genuinely trying so hard.

✿

when he does garner the confidence however, he holds his hand out for everything; helping you out of the car(princess treatment w him tbh!), guiding you to bed when you're really sleepy, or when he just needs to be in some form of contact with you. he may even take it a step and pepper some kisses on the knuckles or rub the joints

moving his hand along your back when you're having a bad day of sorts. he may even resort to drawing shapes or random designs with the back of his nail as he listens to all your troubles

whenever your face scrunches up he kisses the pinched muscle until it goes loose again.

" there's that smile." he pushes aside his diffidence for your sake, cupping your cheeks before pressing kisses along your cheeks.

for himself, he finds a sort of reprieve by lying down on your lap. the moment his head makes contact with your thighs is like instant relaxation for him.

and all he can pay attention to afterwards is the sensation tickling his ribs and the way you mindfully took his roots within your fingers.

he seeks stability in such actions; his deep exhale occupying your dorm and meandering with the dust particles that float around him. he doesn't even realize how he's nuzzling closer into your body, eyes squeezing shut when you favor his scalp for a few seconds.

if he could purr, he would

kissing the tips of your fingers and hugging you from behind ♡

its the best form of affection he could ask for when he comes home groggy and sore from work

✿

" i'm home." exhaustion claws at his voice, movements stiff and sluggish as he strips of his tie and other accessories. his eyes surveyed the area, searching until…

a pop of familiar hues sweep into his vision. it revitalizes just enough energy to sustain a pair of open eyes, belied to the fatigue housed prior.

" welcome home, 'sushi." you greet with a smile he couldn't help but mimic even as the muscles in his body disagreed with it.

your mouth moves to mumble something else, but the words become intelligible to his ears. he was more far more concerned in slumping into the crevice of your shoulder, head falling into familiar position.

" miss you," he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against you, affectionate as ever. his hands wander down to your waist, finding the hemline. perhaps his growing daze subdued his rationality, for his hands slipped beneath, pinky faintly hitting skin.

" let's go." you gently tugged on his arm, intending to guide him to your futon; you only managed a couple steps before his grip went firm. almost uncharacteristically. when you turn your head, your met with a pair of fluttering lashes gazing at you - droopy but in its reflection was an intangible touch of fondness.

" this is fine," he brushes his lips to your cheek. the gesture was sloppy but enough to rekindle a grin on your face. " just want you here."

his finger sprawled against your stomach, heart hastening when you leaned back into him. he took the opportunity to douse himself in your comfort, relishing when you brush your fingers past his ear and scratch along his head.

he feels himself sink more when your nail caught a certain spot, just lateral to his head.

if it weren't for your voice breaking the silence, he would have surely fallen asleep at that moment.

" i'm right here," you murmur. " go ahead and rest." he wasn't sure how those words could weigh heavily on him as it did and also provide him the lull to drift off to sleep. but it didn't matter. the real thing is so much better than he can ever imagine.

✿

when you cuddle together, he prefers to settle with his hand or head where your heart should be. the thumping is so reassuring, especially when his insecurities pipe up. he needs to know you're still there :(

on the days he can't sleep, he finds himself playing with your fingers: gently flexing the joints and counting the knuckles

he's docile at anything routley intimate; fuming a pair of uncomfortably hot cheeks and legs reduced to jelly. his words often come in the form of stutters and slurred syllables, the slightest of touches jolting him.

his actual kisses though are gentle and considerate, favoring areas such as your hands and cheeks.

in contrast, the drawn-out gestures are hesitant at first. when it came to the first kiss, he had to swallow down his nervousness.

" did i do okay?" he inquires, eyeing your countenance. he feels a crash of relief when a grin curves on your lips and in turn he flashes you a dazzling amiable smile.

"good." he nods at that, removing the space again with the intentions of lengthening it and making it better than the last. good was fine, but he wants perfect when it came to you

when atsushi gets a taste of what physical affection can be like; pecks at his face, squeezing your hand and spooning you close - he's hooked. and he wants more, becoming akin to an insatiable pit. and it's profound.

he yearns for more kisses and lingering embraces that set his nerves aflame. he yearns to be closer to you until it was just impossible.

it also spurs a part of him(and in consequence of his ability as well) a yearning to leave some markings along your skin. he tries to be considerate in where he places it, but he himself is awful at hiding his own blemishes.

✿

a shaky expression drops on his face, the faint pink on his cheeks deepening to a cherry blush. he wasn't familiar to having your lips press beneath his chin, outlining the thrum of his throat - you could feel it's cadence whenever he sharply exhales, in pair of his palpitating heart.

even within his daze, atsushi remained cautious to not sink his nails into your shoulders. in comparison, he fails to suppress his shudder when your lips brush against a particular spot, air knocked from his chest.

when you glance up at him, his face contorts into a form of raw desperation, tugging onto your clothes until you were just shy of his mouth. meekly, he tries to not linger his gaze on your lips as you spoke; " is this fine?"

it's like you're teasing him, puffy magenta lips gawking at him and he wants nothing more than to kiss you again.

" it is." from the corner of his eye he could make out the faint reds that probed from his clothes hemline, dotting along his collarbone like swatches of paint. he doesn't think he'll ever grow use to it, filling him with an exhilaration he reasons can't be replicated elsewhere.

" i like it actually." his eyes squeezed shut in an effort to steady the eruption of red on his cheeks but it did little to quell his racing heart when you cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

" i'm glad, you look handsome like this."

his smile reaches his eyes. "you look pretty too." his nails dug into his palms in an effort of restraint as he returns the gesture in kind.

-

I was originally hoping to include fyodor but this was so long already. w/ him (& unfinished) it would be 8k words. I rlly want to do version for sigma and akutagawa too. ty boxing fyodor anon 4 enabling my behavior TwT

these have so much room for improvement but I've fiddled around with it sm (๑′°︿°๑). if this doesn't leave the drafts now, it never will. I'll fix mistakes laterrr

taglist; @eynnwwyjth @anqelically @seisitive @iheartpieck @seiiblue @averagebsdwatcher @solandiss @4nthonyyliving @guacamole-roll @sunnyx07

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[furuu]

your writings are so incredibly warm and cozy i love you😭 can i please request a drabble with king of curses sukuna around his pregnat darling? like he doesn't know how to act! each uncareful word can make her upset and her behavior changed so weirdly and she seems so fragile now!

𐔌 . ⋮ Sukuna was the King of Curses, feared and revered for his ruthlessness, his might, his absolute power. But faced with his you, a strange sensation took hold of him—something that almost felt like nervousness.

He was out of his element, to say the least.

You were still you, but… different. Your moods swung wildly, and the smallest slip of his tongue could send you into tears or a heated lecture. And, on top of it all, you seemed so delicate, like even the most careful embrace might be too much.

Today was no different.

He’d been watching you out of the corner of his eye, taking in how your hand rested on your belly, the way your eyes softened as you absently rubbed small circles. His heart unexpectedly lurched at the sight—an emotion he’d long since abandoned, reserved only for you, and now… the child.

“Do you want anything?” he asked carefully, a touch hesitant. It was strange for him to be asking anyone what they wanted rather than simply deciding, but he didn’t want to risk accidentally upsetting you.

You looked up, a slow smile gracing your face. “I think I’m fine.”

He huffed, almost relieved, crossing his arms as he tried to keep his own voice steady. “Good,” he replied simply, trying to appear nonchalant. But your smile faded, and immediately he tensed. “What? What did I do now?”

A pout formed on your lips. “That’s all you’re going to say? ‘Good’? I just thought… maybe you’d say something sweet for once.”

His eyes widened. Sweet? He was… bad at sweet. His hands itched with an unfamiliar sense of inadequacy. “What do you want me to say, woman?” he asked, almost pleading. He took a half-step toward you, then hesitated, unsure if he should come any closer.

Your face softened, a slow chuckle escaping you. “You’re hopeless, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Me? Hopeless? For being careful around my pathetic, fragile wife?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

The faintest wobble in your lip had him freezing in place. “Pathetic? Fragile?” you echoed, blinking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

Oh no. He had really done it now.

Instantly, he was at your side, his arms hovering awkwardly before he dared wrap them around you. “I didn’t mean that,” he muttered, panic rising as he forced himself to soften his tone. “You’re… you’re strong. Stubborn, maybe, but strong.” He took a breath, feeling like he was fumbling through every word, yet determined to get it right.

You looked up at him, sniffling, and he felt a strange twist in his chest—a knot of guilt he’d usually ignore but now couldn’t bear. “I just…” he started again, almost helplessly. “I don’t know how to do this. You’re acting different. I don’t want to… hurt you, or the kid. So… just tell me what you need. I’ll do it.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you, and you rested your head on his chest, reaching for his hand to press it gently against your belly. He went rigid at first, but he didn’t pull away, feeling something beneath his hand that could almost be described as… precious.

“You’re doing fine, Sukuna,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

And in that moment, he felt something swell within him. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t frustration. It was new, strange, but not unpleasant. For once, he didn’t try to brush it away .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

day twelve: somnophilia | NSFW MDNI 18+

The mansion was quiet, all the students long since tucked into their beds, the halls dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the tall pane windows. This was the time you always liked the most—when the hectic energy of the day faded and the quiet moments with Logan began.

For the past few months, sneaking into Logan’s room at night had become a ritual of sorts. It wasn’t anything sexual—just platonic comfort. You’d climb into his bed, curl up against his strong, solid frame, and let the warmth of his body lull you into a peaceful sleep. Logan didn’t mind. He never questioned why you did it; maybe because he craved the closeness, too. There was a quiet understanding between the two of you, unspoken yet perfectly clear.

Tonight was no different. You’d slipped through the darkened hallways, past the other students' rooms, and gently tapped on his door. He opened it without a word, stepping aside to let you in. You climbed into his bed, feeling the familiar softness of the sheets and the instant comfort of being wrapped in Logan’s arms.

He was the big spoon, as always, and you nestled into his chest, his steady breathing becoming your lullaby. Logan had always been like a protector to you, and it was in these moments that you felt the safest, cocooned by his presence. Within minutes, your eyelids grew heavy, and sleep claimed you.

But tonight, sleep wasn’t the reprieve it usually was. As you drifted into the depths of slumber, your dreams began to take a different turn. Flashes of heat, of desire, of need coursed through your subconscious. You dreamed of Logan—not the way you usually did, but in ways that made your breath hitch, your body tingle, and your core clench with a deep, aching want.

Unconsciously, you shifted in his arms, pressing your body closer to him. A small, needy whimper escaped your lips.

You shifted again, unconsciously grinding against Logan’s front as the wet dream intensified, your body acting on instincts buried deep in your subconscious. Your soft moans broke the silence of the room, and Logan, who had been lightly dozing, blinked awake at the sensation of your hips moving against him.

At first, he froze, confused, trying to understand what was happening. But as your small whimpers filled the quiet night, it became clear that you weren’t awake—you were still dreaming. His sharp senses didn’t miss the subtle scent of your arousal lingering in the air. His mind whirled—this was different. You had always just been close friends, cuddling for comfort. But now, with you pressing against him, your body so warm and needy in his arms, something inside him stirred that he hadn’t let himself acknowledge before.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest as he felt you arch your back, pressing your ass harder against his groin. He could feel his body reacting, heat pooling low in his stomach as the situation unfolded. His hand tightened on your hip, the rough pads of his fingers gripping the fabric of your sleep shorts. A part of him wanted to wake you up, to stop this before it went too far—but then you moaned again, his name slipping past your lips in a breathy sigh.

"Logan…"

That single word, spoken so vulnerably, ignited something inside him. He swallowed hard, his body tense, trying to fight the wave of desire surging through him. You weren’t awake—didn’t even know what you were doing. But you were so responsive, so needy. His rational mind struggled to push the thought away, but the way you moved against him, your hips instinctively rolling to meet his growing hardness, made his self-control waver.

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered hoarsely, "Darlin’, you have no idea what you're doin', do ya?"

You didn’t respond, too deep in your dream to hear him. Logan’s hand slipped from your hip to your stomach, his thumb grazing the edge of your shorts. His other hand gently brushed the hair away from your face, his touch soft despite the conflict raging inside him.

He let out a low growl, his body betraying him as he felt himself harden completely against your backside. Your whines only encouraged him further, the friction building as your hips pressed and rocked in a desperate rhythm, entirely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

“Fuck,” Logan cursed under his breath, his restraint slipping more and more with every little sound you made. He could feel how wet you were through the thin fabric of your shorts, and the sensation sent a surge of primal need through him.

"Such a naughty girl… dreamin' of me like this," he muttered, barely recognizing his own voice. His hand slid lower, brushing over the waistband of your shorts, teasing the edge of your panties, testing the boundaries he was so close to crossing.

You moaned again, your head lolling back against his shoulder as if offering yourself to him even more. Logan’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. He could feel how soaked you were, and it took everything in him not to groan at the sensation.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with desire. But you didn’t stir, still lost in your dream, grinding against him as though your body knew exactly what it wanted. His hand moved on its own, slipping under the thin fabric of your panties and finding your slick folds.

The sound that escaped you when his fingers brushed your clit was pure, breathless pleasure. Your hips jerked, pressing into his hand, seeking more of the touch you’d been dreaming of.

"That’s it, darlin'," Logan rasped, his voice rough, "Show me what you want…"

He circled your clit slowly, teasing you, watching as your body responded to every touch, every flick of his fingers. You were still dreaming, completely unaware of his actions—but the way you moved, the way your body arched into his hand, told him everything he needed to know.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he growled, pressing his lips against your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

Your breath hitched, and Logan could feel you trembling in his arms, so close to the edge. He rubbed slow circles over your clit, dipping his fingers lower to feel just how wet you were for him. His cock throbbed against your ass, the need to bury himself inside you nearly overwhelming.

But he held back—barely. He wanted to watch you come apart first, to feel your release in his hand before anything else. "Come for me, darlin’," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, "I know you’re close."

With one last stroke, your body tensed, and a broken moan spilled from your lips as you came, your walls pulsing around nothing, your arousal soaking his fingers. Logan groaned low in his throat, feeling the intensity of your orgasm as it washed over you, your body shaking in his arms.

You slowly blinked awake, the haze of sleep fading as you realized where you were—what you’d been doing. You gasped, eyes wide, but Logan held you close, his lips still against your ear, his fingers still buried between your thighs.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a mix of comfort and desire, "I gotcha. Just relax."

You could feel his erection pressing against you, hard and insistent, and the realization of what had just happened made your heart race. But the heat in his eyes, the possessive way he held you… it made you shiver with anticipation.

There was no way you were going back to sleep now.

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[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men with a small-chested reader

Pairings: Toji x reader; Gojo x reader; Choso x reader; Nanami x reader; Sukuna x reader; Geto x reader

Word Count: 4,5k

Warnings: this is LONG so get seated; reader gets confronted with hate regarding small boobs so if that's not for you don't read, also this implies JJK men are into small boobs so if that triggers you don't read, smut mentioned in Toji's & Nanami's part, abusive ex relationship in Nanami's part, Gojo is a dick in Geto's part and in general I feel like this one isn't that great so sorry for all my Geto lovers out there I'm tired

Click here for the big-chested version

Toji Fushiguro

You can’t help but let yourself fall into his rough touch, enjoy the sensation of his body pressed against yours. How you ended up here? You couldn’t care less. Is it pretty bad to be minutes away from getting laid by your enemy? Maybe, but you don’t give a damn.

Until his hand yanks towards your breasts.

“N-No. Stop”, you whimper, pushing against his broad shoulders to get him off you.

“C’mon, what’s wrong babe? Don’t ya enjoy yourself?”, he purrs against your ear.

Oh god, just the sound of his deep voice lets your mind wander to places where it hasn’t been for ages, makes you arche your body towards him like a needy teenager.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

But just when he’s about to stretch his hand towards your chest again, you lift yourself off the couch so suddenly that you almost fall over. No, you just can’t do this.

Automatically, you cross your arms in front of your chest, eyes gazing down at the nothingness you hold. Since you can remember, you’ve got picked on for having small boobs. Oh, how desperately you waited throughout whole puberty for them to finally grow, how much you secretly begged for those delicious female curves you’ve seen all over media and anime. But every time you look into the mirror, you are greeted by basically nothing. If a man like Toji would see you like this. God, if he only touches your breast and realizes that your décolleté comes from nothing but a push up bra…

It’s impossible for a man like him to find a woman like you attractive. Why were you even stupid enough to consider a one-night stand with him, when looks are the only thing that really counts? If he sees you’ve been lying into his face, that you don’t look like those girls on magazines…

Would he make fun of you? The disappointed look on his face as soon as he unclips your bra would be too much to handle alone.

“I can’t do this. Sorry”, you mumble, fingers frantically straighten your clothes.

Just forget about what happened today. Get home, take off your bra and stare at the ceiling. You don’t need a man to satisfy your needs anyway…right?

He grabs you by your waist so suddenly that you aren’t even able to react when his other hand unclips your bra and pulls up your shirt.

You fail to breathe, glossy eyes staring into his unbothered face in sheer disbelief. Did that man just expose your whole chest within the blink of a second?

“Why are you actin’ all shy, huh? Those are some nice tits”, he speaks out with a sly grin.

“I…”

You are lost at words, lost at thoughts, lost at sight. This man is walking sex himself. Damn, he could probably pull any girl on this planet. But no, he decided to get into your apartment and he just said that…Your breasts look good?

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all day for that”, he signs.

His usual so rough fingers cup your breasts gently, swallow them whole with ease. Toji’s eyes are completely fixated on the sensation between his fingertips, how your warm flesh feels against his palms.

“I thought you…you aren’t into…small boobs”, you moan, closing your embarrassed eyes to shield yourself from his intense stare.

“I’m a man of culture”, he comments.

Oh, you can tell he’s grinning like he always does. Slowly but surely everything seems to fade away. All the dumb comments about your body, all the times you looked into the mirror and blankly stared at your flat chest. No, everything that counts now is that the force of a man standing in front of you clearly enjoys your sight, that your boobs alone are enough bring a grown man onto his knees, to make him whimper against your heated skin and the bulge in his pants grow with every second.

“Fuck, I need ya”, he hisses.

Toji pully your top over your head before you’re even able to think straight. There he stands, his hand unzipping his pants in slow motion while you gaze up at him panting like a dog.

“I’ll show you how much I’m into you, babe…”

Gojo Satoru

You look yourself up and down in the mirror, mind raising. It’s your third date with none other than the Satoru Gojo. The men who turns women’s heads on a regular basis, the men who invited you into the most exquisite restaurant of the city, the man who even sent you a dress for the occasion. A jaw-dropping gorgeous black dress with a delicate waterfall neckline, just the right fit for a man like him.

But not with your flat chest. The fabric seems to hang on your body like a potato sack, filled by nothing but thin air. And because of the cursed deep back, you aren’t even able to wear a push up bra underneath. Fuck, what are you supposed to do? The more you stare at yourself in the mirror, the worse it seems to fit. Satoru chose this dress only for you. There’s absolutely no way in hell you’ll wear something else, that you disappoint him like that. But do you have another option?

You let yourself fall onto your bed, eyes darting to your phone. Shit, you have only 10 more minutes left before he gets her. How are you supposed to fix this? Will Satoru be disappointed? You never wore tight or unflattering clothes around him before, always hid your smaller chest well behind casual sweatshirts or push up bras. But this…You aren’t able to hide anything in this.

Will be there in 5. Can’t wait to see you in that dress &lt;3

Oh god, you feel like throwing up when reading his message. Everything went so well between the both of you, so unproblematic and genuinely fine. But are you even good enough for Satoru Gojo when he’s surrounded by so many beautiful women? Your hands wander up your stomach, come to a stand on your chest. No, you definitely can’t keep up with Mei Mei and the others. Will he lose interest in you after tonight? Will his facial expression drop the second he lays eyes on you in that dress?

Your palms get sweaty, mind overwhelmed by all those venomous thoughts.

“Fuck, don’t cry”, you hiss to yourself, angrily blinking into the mirror.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart drops.

Shit.

Didn’t he say 10 minutes?

Your feet carry you to your front door automatically, the tall frame of none other than Satoru clearly visible outside. No, why is he here? You didn’t have enough time to think about a solution, didn’t even try on that sticky bra you’ve bought a few months ago-

He rings again. There is no way of out this now. Like in slow motion, your shaky hand presses down the door handle, exposes yourself further and further to Satoru.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, (y/n)”, Satoru comments jokingly.

Hot tears slowly but surely start to take your sight while you stand there like an idiot, covering your chest with your arms. This will be the moment Satoru realizes you aren’t playing in his league, that he can do so much better. What was he thinking anyway, starting to date a girl like you?

“You look absolutely hot in that dress. Oh my god…”, he breathes out.

“Don’t lie to me”, you mumble.

No, you can’t take it. With a swift motion you turn yourself away from his gaze, away from his presence.

“What? I would never lie to you! Hey, are you cryin’? (y/n), look at me.”

Gently, he cups your face with both of his hands, forces you to get lost in the blue ocean of his eyes.

“I’m not doing justice to the dress you’ve gifted me”, you breathe out.

Satoru has to blink a few times, mind trying to process what the hell you are talking about. The minute you opened the door earlier, he was lost. You looked exactly how he imagined, so well-fitted into that black dress, your curves so delicious that it takes all his strength to keep his composure.

“You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen and I’m serious about that. Why would you think something so ridiculous? Look at your-“

“I’m flat”, you finally snap.

“Flat?”, he repeats in disbelief.

“Flat like a pancake. Flat like a board. I…I have nothing!”, you blurt out.

Satoru can’t believe his ears, has to stare at you in sheer disbelief for a moment. Is this why you’re crying, why you’re crossing your arms in front of your chest like that? Because you think that…your breasts are too small?

“C’mon, you can’t be serious about that.”

He desperately waits for a reaction, for a cute little giggle coming out of your mouth and this being nothing but a prank. But instead, you just stand there in silence and hide yourself even more.

“Okay, let me get that straight: You.Look.Gorgeous. I can’t stop fucking looking at you, that dress fits you so well and when I saw that neckline for the first time…I’m only saying this before you force me to, okay? I’m thirsting over you like a teenager, (y/n)! And I adore every inch of your body, I adore the way your tits look.”

“Stop”, you mumble, his words making shivers run down your spine.

“I won’t stop until you say it.”

“Say what?”, you question, confusion written on your face.

“Repeat after me: I have nice tits.”

Is he serious? You drop your arms to the side, completely bamboozled by the Satoru Gojo in front of you.

“Let’s do it, (y/n)!”

“I have…nice tits”, you breathe out.

“I can’t hear you”, he shouts.

Gently, he grabs your shoulders and shakes you a little. What the hell is going on right now? His smile seems contagious, makes the corners of your mouth turn upwards just the slightest bit.

“I have small tits”, you giggle out.

“NO!”, he screams.

“I have nice tits!”

“I have nice tits”, you shout back.

“Yes, now…Can I touch them?”

“Let’s get going, okay?”, you mutter, head red like a tomato.

Choso Kamo

“What are you doing, (y/n)?”

A high shriek escapes your lips when you look at Choso standing in the door. Fuck, what the hell is this guy doing here while you tried on that bikini you’ve bought earlier?

“Oh, that looks good”, he comments and nods towards your chest.

God, you feel like fainting. Out of all people, why does it have to be Choso standing there? And why do you feel so damn insecure all of the sudden? It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High that you have a huge crush on Yuji’s bigger brother, that you can’t take your eyes off him. And while you feel pretty comfortable in your own skin, there is this one thing that makes you trip over and over again…

Your breasts.

You didn’t even notice until your female friends began to comment on the size of your boobs when you changed for sport lessons.

“You look like a child, (y/n)!”

“Omg, are you sure that’s normal?”

“You’re a board with nipples…”

“I’m so sorry for you, (y/n)! After all, all boys are into big tits these days! Well, at least you have a good character.”

And still, you didn’t even care that much. But now, with Choso Kamo standing in front of you while you wear nothing but a bikini top instead of your oversized uniform, you feel trapped.

“Well, thanks I guess”, you mumble, cheeks heating up in an instant.

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowed. Oh god, when is this finally over?

“Why are you looking so uncomfortable?”

“Well, maybe because I’m half naked-“

“I can tell it’s not because of that. Are you insecure?”

Fuck, this man reads you like an open book without mercy. For an incarnated curse, he’s way too emphatic.

“I wouldn’t say it like that but…I mean, look at me.”

“Is it because your breasts are smaller than those of the other female members of Jujutsu High? This doesn’t seem like an issue to me at all, (y/n). After all, breasts are mostly made of adipose tissue. Depending on your fat storage and how your body-“

“Oh god, please stop right now”, you interrupt him.

May the ground swallow you whole and keep you. How on earth did you get into a serious talk about your small chest with none other than Choso Kamo? And why does he know all those things about how women’s breast work?

“You seem to know quite a lot about women’s boobs. Did you study them or something?”

Why does your heart suddenly feel so heavy? It shouldn’t bother you that he talked about those things as if he looks at other women’s tits on a regular basis. But…You fell for him because he seemed like a guy who doesn’t care about those things. Were you mistaken about him?

“Not at all! But I overheard you talking to that other woman about the size of your breast and that you don’t feel comfortable about them, so I did research about this topic.”

Oh. Your heart stops beating for a second, your mind going blank. He did research because he overheard your conversation with Shoko?

“You did that…for me?”

“You’re important to me and I don’t want you to feel sad about something minor like this, (y/n).”

You stare at him like an idiot, still only covered only by a bikini top while all he does his holding your gaze in silence.

“What I want to say is that…You are absolutely beautiful. And so are your breasts-”

“Okay, this is getting a little out of hand. Would you mind if I…Change into something a little more modest?”, you interrupt him before you lose your composure completely.

“Of course!”

Choso doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there like before and looks at you.

“Would you…Get out so I can change?”

“Oh…Yes, of course.”

Nanami Kento

You can’t help but stare at him through the dim moonlight, hands wrapped around his neck. Oh, he sure feels good pressed against your body so tenderly, his breath caressing your cheek ever so slightly. Kento and you have been together for a few months now, taking things slow since your last relationship was like a trip to hell and back. And even though you are fully aware of the fact that Kento would never treat you badly, you still need time for certain things.

And these certain things contain him seeing you naked. Just one glance into the mirror is hard to bear, especially when it comes to your small chest. You simply hate the way they look, how they ruin every single outfit, how they make you look like a child. No matter what gorgeous gown you’re wearing, you never feel like a woman, like someone worth to be looked at. But still, Kento caresses every curve of your still dressed body carefully.

“You look absolutely stunning in moonlight, darling”, he hushes against your ear.

You love this man with all your heart. How he treats you with way more kindness than a single human would ever deserve, how he makes you feel good about yourself without even knowing. Kento Nanami picks up the pieces of your past and puts you back together like a complicated puzzle. Slowly and steady, step by step.

A whimper escapes your lips, the sensation of his fingertips brushing against your covered skin simply drives you insane. Oh, how much you adore that man, how much you admire him for making you feel so alive. Suddenly his plain touch doesn’t feel like enough anymore. You need him even closer, want to feel him even better.

“Please, take this off”, you mumble against his lips.

Kento stops in his tracks for a second, eyes staring at you intensively in your dark bedroom.

“Are you sure? I told you I can wait”, he reminds you gently while pulling a strand of hair behind your ear.

Are you sure? You didn’t let a man touch you after your ex, after all those nasty things he said about your body. Especially your small chest.

“Don’t you wanna get these things…y’know, fixed or something?”

“Leave your shirt on or I’ll turn off the light, these things turn me off...”

You hate how his stupid comments still haunt you even after all those years, despite the fact that you’re laying in the arms of none other than the epitome of a gentleman. Until today, you never allowed your boyfriend to take off your shirt, to even take a single glance in the direction of your exposed chest. But today feels different. With his eyes filled with nothing but affection, you finally feel ready.

“I don’t want you to wait. Please, take off my shirt”, you whisper into the night.

“Tell me to stop when you feel uncomfortable.”

You nod slightly, too occupied by the way his hands carefully wander down to the hem of your shirt, eyes fixated on yours. Your heartbeat picks up in an instant. Out of excitement, out of fear? You glance into his gleaming orbs that are filled with nothing but love. No, you don’t have to fear this man. But still…Will he like what he sees?

“You know I don’t have…I don’t have nice boobs. They are quite small…”, you suddenly blurt out.

“(y/n), you are the love of my life, my precious girlfriend. Every fiber of your being is way more than ‘nice’. I adore every inch of your gorgeous body”, he replies so softly that you feel like tearing up.

As if in slow motion he pulls up your shirt, reveals inch by inch of your naked skin until he pulls the fabric over your head.

You take a deep breath, try to read his face in the dim light. Is he disgusted, does he even look at you? Maybe he’s regretting his decision, maybe he finds you just as ugly as your ex did-

“You are so beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off you”, he hushes.

Kento Nanami stops your train of thoughts before you get lost in yourself, quiets the stinging voice of your ex-boyfriend inside your head.

Kento thinks you’re beautiful. Kento’s hand caresses your naked skin, gently cups your breast while he never fails to gaze at you.

“I love you, (y/n). In fact, I am the one lucky to have you. Thank you for putting your trust and love in me.”

“You…I love you so much, Kento.”

You can’t contain yourself any longer. Without hesitation, you pull your boyfriend’s face even closer, press your desperate lips against his. What a treasure he is, lifting you up without even realizing how much his words heal your soul.

If a man like Kento Nanami is able to love your small breasts than maybe, just maybe, you’ll start doing that as well.

Ryomen Sukuna

“There’s no way in hell”, you press out, groaning in scorching pain.

“Do you have a death wish or are you just dumb, woman? You know you’ll die if you don’t take off that uniform, right?”, Sukuna remarks dryly.

“I would rather die than taking off my shirt in front of…you”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Sukuna can’t help but stare at you in sheer disbelief. Surprisingly enough, he decided to save your ass instead of using his time more efficiently. And now you’re laying in front of him, a gaping hole inside your chest, he offered to save your life.

And you, dumbass of the century, refuse to get saved by none other than the king of curses himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you really wish to die so badly?”

“I…I don’t want to die!”, you blurt out.

Fuck, how did you get yourself into that situation? Bad enough that you’ve got hit by that curse right into your chest, even worse that the king of curses himself appeared and wants to help you. But the worst thing is that you need to take your shirt off.

It is ridiculous and you know it. This is not the time to be insecure about your small tits. No, this is absolutely not the time to even think about shit like that. But the sheer thought of Ryomen Sukuna seeing your flat chest alone makes you rather die than letting that happen. No, the last thing you want is him making fun of you.

“Then why are you acting like a child? Hold still. You strange human, I should kill you right on the spot. Good for you I still have use for someone this skilled. You impressed me earlier.”

Under normal conditions, you’d feel some kind of pride over his words. But with death whispering in your ear and the stinging fact that his hands begin to bottom up your shirt….

You freak out.

“GET YOURSELF AWAY FROM ME!”, you scream pathetically, hands fighting so poorly against his that he catches your flying fists mid-air.

“Stop beating me before I’m losing it, brat”, he barks at you.

Just one more button. One more button and you’ll be completely exposed to him. The king of curses, seeing your small boobs.

“DON’T LOOK AT MY BOOBS!”

“What?”

He can’t believe his ears. This can’t be the reason why you pull up this fight. No, there’s absolutely no way in hell you’re acting like this because you’re ashamed of him seeing your breasts.

“Please…Don’t look at my boobs…”

The king of curses just stares at you emotionless.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do, woman?”

His gaze wanders right down to your bloody chest. You are rather flat chested, but oh you look delicious. Too delicious to take his eyes off you, too delicious to think about saving you. He never hunted after women, was never interested in all those big-chested females with their neck-line hanging to the ground. But you…This looks pleasant.

“Delightful”, he finally speaks out.

Too late for you to hear before your hand smacks roughly into his face.

“I SAID DON’T LOOK!”

“I SAID YOU LOOK DELIGHTFUL YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

“YOU…You what?”

Geto Suguru

Geto can’t help but stare at you, how your hips swing from side to side, how you wear your cute summer dress so easily. Not only the scorching heat of this summer day, but your sight as well make him feel light-headed.

“Staring again, Suguru?”, his best friend teases him in an instant.

“How could I not stare at her. She looks gorgeous in that dress”, he replies, not able to take his eyes off you.

“But she has no tits.”

You wish you didn’t hear those words leaving Satoru’s mouth, wish you could just giggle like a little girl and let your heart beat out of your chest because Suguru said you look gorgeous. But the second the meaning of his saying hits you, you stop in your tracks.

The stinging fact that your breasts are smaller than those of any other women at Jujutsu High and all those popular girls was always hard to bear for you. But with Suguru by your side, with his words sweeter than honey, you slowly but surely began to feel comfortable in your own skin again. Instead of oversized shirts, you started to wear dresses from time to time, bought the one you’re wearing right now with a slight neckline.

All that, only for your confidence to get crushed by that single comment.

You can’t contain yourself anymore. Without even trying to pretend you didn’t hear his venomous words, you turn on your heel and sprint down in the direction of your dorm. How stupid it was to even consider that a man like Suguru would actually like you back. After all, Satoru is his best friend, it’s clear that you look nothing like the girls they usually hang out with. Maybe your small chest isn’t enough for him…

Tears take your sight completely as you run straight to your room.

“(y/n), wait!”

No, not him. Not right now. Your heart almost drops to the floor when you hear his footsteps close behind you. If Suguru tries to cheer you up right now, you might break down completely.

“Hey, please wait for me.”

Gently, he grabs your wrist and spins you around.

“Let go of me”, you hiss, yanking your arm away out of instinct.

You don’t want to get touched by him, to even see him. God, you were really stupid enough to think that this man with the most tender eyes you’ve ever seen would actually like you back.

“Satoru fucked up with that comment. Hey, look at me. I know he made these comments before and I know you’ve had a hard time because of those stupid comments at school. But I’m here to tell you that I love you just the way you are, (y/n) …God, I love you with all my heart, I love you wearing those dresses, I love the way you move, I love the way you look. And it might sound totally weird, but I love your boobs. I’m…I’m obsessed with you.”

You have to blink a few times, try to process what just happened. Within a few minutes, you’ve heard your crush complimenting you, his friend insulting you for having small breasts and now Suguru is standing in front of you again, confessing his love for you and…your boobs?

“You don’t have to say those things to make me feel better”, you try to brush him off.

“I’m saying this because I mean it, (y/n). And I’ll kick his ass for saying something so stupid about you. When it comes to women, Satoru and I are the opposite of each other”, he explains briefly.

Oh, you are fully aware of the fact that Satoru Gojo hunts after every woman with cups bigger than your head. But something about the way Suguru stands in front of you, how his eyes literally beg you to believe him…

“I have enough of people judging me for something I can’t change”, you warn him.

“I don’t want to change a single hair on your body, (y/n).”

Slowly but surely, your eyes stop to burn in agony, your heart stops to ache, your body wakes up from its trance.

“So…you’re into small chested girls? Why am I supposed to believe this?”

Without wasting another minute Suguru steps forward, engulfs your body. And with one last glance into your widen eyes, he presses his lips against you’re the way he always imagined it.

“Is this proof enough?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings@sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly   @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp@wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @yukiotacon @satoreo

Gorgeous divider by @saradika 🤍

[suntoru]

❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ❞

─ ✰ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: scaramouche thinks you’re an awfully clumsy human being. you’re lucky he loves you just as much as you like to see him suffer.

─ ✰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, kissing, slight blood (you get hurt), 1.4k words

─ ✰ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is very half baked ill write more genshin I SWEARRRR

"stupid," scaramouche mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

if you didn't know any better you'd think he was degrading you, but his actions betray his words. though his tone may sound brash and condescending, you've grown accustomed to his prickly demeanor. there's a subtle shift in his voice, a hint of concern mingling with a sense of protectiveness. he squats down right next to where you're clutching your bloody knee.

pulling you snug against his chest, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he carefully inspects the scrape you received from tripping over a rock. despite his initial dismissal, there's a sincerity in his actions that speaks volumes. it's as if beneath his layers of harshness and sarcasm, there lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being, hidden behind a facade of indifference.

he sighs, tenderly blowing air on the scrape in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "does it hurt?" he mumbles, his tone attempting to regain some of his abrasive personality. but when it comes to you, he finds it impossible to maintain his usual harshness. you nod softly, your eyes glazed over in a blurry haze, and he can't help but feel a strange sensation in his chest. or rather, the place where he would feel a sensation if he had a heart.

he's at a loss for how to make it feel better, his mildly annoyed faltering in the face of your discomfort. his nose crinkles. if it were him in this situation, he would have brushed it off easily, perhaps even stomped on the flowers in the surrounding area for good measure. a scrape like the one on your knee would be insignificant to him.

but mortals are so fragile, so easily breakable. you cry over small, uncontrollable events, like someone passing away or falling on your knee. you're bad for his health, he swears silently to himself. every time you trip or stumble or shed a tear, he finds himself inexplicably worrying about you. it's a strange feeling, one he's not accustomed to— caring for the emotions of someone other than himself. he doesn't like feeling vulnerable, yet in your presence, vulnerability seems inevitable.

but it's not all mortals he feels this way for. if it were one of his subordinates, he would have had them punished severely for shedding tears over such a small thing. however, with you, he finds it's different. he knows, all too well, the nature of human life, witnessing countless souls fade away in the blink of an eye; your lifespan is but a fleeting moment compared to his eternity. perhaps that's why he worries so much. scolding you for not taking proper care of yourself, angrily patching you up when you get hurt— these actions have become common occurrences.

yet, it doesn't stop the sinking feeling he gets every time it happens. it's as if with each scrape, each tear, he's reminded of the fragility of your existence. and in that reminder, he feels an unfamiliar pang of concern, a whisper of something resembling... affection. how strange.

he finds his fingers instinctively wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek, a frown marring his usually composed features. retrieving a spare bandaid, patterned with cute bunnies that you had insisted on buying, he takes extra caution when tending to your wound. somehow, you always manage to find trouble, a fact that both frustrates and perplexes him.

you're such a baby, always getting yourself into situations that require his attention. and yet, for some reason, he doesn't exactly mind it. after all, he'd rather you seek his comfort over a dimwit like a certain ginger harbinger.

you nuzzle into his touch, letting out soft sniffles as you pout sadly, wincing at the pain. he tries to be as gentle as possible, tenderly placing the bandaid over the scrape with the utmost care. and when you're not looking, he shoots a glare at the stupid rock that caused you harm, silently cursing its existence.

"hurts..." you mumble, tugging on his sleeve with pleading eyes. "will you kiss it better?" you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability. he hesitates, his mind immediately conjuring up logical reasons why such an action would be ineffective and potentially harmful. but the look on your face melts his resolve, and with a resigned sigh, he leans in and tenderly presses a kiss on top of your so-called 'boo boo'. it's a small gesture, but he can't deny the warmth that spreads through him at the sight of your grateful smile.

in one motion, he tilts his oversized hat downwards, completely blocking his face, leaving you blinking softly and cocking your head in confusion. what could he possibly be doing?

"...scara?" you question, attempting to shift to where he seems to be looking. but as soon as you move, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, and you mimic his movements, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"would you stop that?" he scowls finally, ceasing his movements and refusing to meet your gaze. his cheeks are tinged with a pretty pink hue, gradually deepening into a full-blown red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. you can't help but stare at him innocently before bursting into laughter, playfully pinching his cheek as you tease him about his flushed face.

"aww, scara, you flustered?" you taunt, but he swats away your hand, attempting to evade your playful teasing. "i'm not—" he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words, but the embarrassment on his face speaks volumes. with a bratty huff, he removes his beloved hat from his head and places it firmly onto yours, obstructing your vision. his hand remains firmly placed on your head to ensure you don't pull it off.

"hey!!!" you protest, squirming in an attempt to lift the hat, but his grip remains steadfast. he's adamant on not letting you see his face; perhaps you've gone a bit too far now. is he pouting at you? gently, you intertwine your delicate fingers with the hand that's pressing down the hat, silently coaxing him to relent. eventually, he does, allowing you to lift the hat and meet his gaze, although he still stubbornly avoids making direct eye contact, staring off into the distance with a petulant expression.

he resembles a toddler at this moment, cheeks puffed in annoyance, yet his hand remains firmly clasped against yours. despite his outward irritation, you don't miss the way his thumb gently moves back and forth, caressing your fingers.

it's endearing, really, and you can't help but smile at his adorable display. surely, he wouldn't mind too much if you continued to tease him, would he? with that mischievous thought in mind, you press a tender kiss to his cheek, lips as soft as custard pressed sweetly against his pale porcelain skin. nuzzling into his face softly, he predictably flinches back, his embarrassment turning a deeper shade of red.

"hah? what was that for?" he hisses, but you can see the subtle fluster dancing in his eyes, betraying his composed facade. suddenly, he feels trapped in a dizzying spiral of butterflies in his stomach, unable to think clearly as every single thought in his head revolves around you. "hm?" you giggle mischievously, playing innocent.

"i'm just... kissing it better."

bonus!!

a day later, scaramouche stealthily makes his way back to the spot where you had tripped and hurt yourself. squatting down, he inspects the object responsible for your fall with a disdainful glare. it's just a stupid, ugly grey rock. annoyingly mundane.

"you'll never be a precious gem like you wish you were," he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he channels his elemental skills against it, slamming it against various surfaces with relentless force.

"you're boring. get out of my sight." with each strike, he vents his frustration, punishing the rock for its audacity to cause you harm. he continues to torment the poor rock, his determination unwavering until it's reduced to mere shambles, pebbles scattered haphazardly across the ground. only then does he allow himself a satisfied huff, a smirk of triumph gracing his lips as he surveys his handiwork. with a sense of accomplishment, he strides proudly away, eager to return home to you.

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[s7toru]

you've waited for gojo plenty.

back when you were alive, you'd wait for him to walk through the door you held open. he'd take his sweet time crossing the threshold just to see your polite smile fade away into an irritated frown and for your arms to tremble, not under the weight of keeping the door open, but from the force of holding back a fist.

you'd wait for him the morning of a scheduled detention, after your argument had grown and grown until the noises of barely supressed loathing slipped into higher frequencies and yaga had spun around to throw his chalk at gojo.

you'd wait for him at the front of your favourite restaurant, checking your phone for any notifications with his face on it, and sourly noting the time.

you'd wait for him to win at the claw machine, and wait for him to hand you the prize with a beaming smile, the one he typically adorns when he's smug and bragging. "see," it seems to say. "i can get it first try, i always do."

you'd wait for him outside his dorm door before heading to a mission together, you'd wait for him to ask for a bite of your crepe before you dig in yourself, you'd wait for the vending machine to spit out a second drink knowing that when he sees you holding one, he'd ask for a sip.

it became a habit.

even when he no longer needed you to wait, you find your hand reaching for another bag of chips, another dangling figure from a keychain, another ticket to see your favourite show.

sometimes it drove you mad. all this time, you've naively assumed that nothing, not even change itself, could affect how gojo was around you. you've let all those moments go for granted, and now that time has pulled up to your stop, you realise he's left you behind whilst all you've done was wait.

you had waited for him on your deathbed, but even then gojo never showed up.

the scent of the train station persists under your nose. you wonder how the afterlife was capable of mimicking such a distinct scent, of train exhaust and someone's split drink. it was truly fascinating.

getou nudges you, drawing your attention to the incoming train. you see its blinking lights off into the distance, having just emerged from the heavy fog. "look, someone's getting off here."

curiosity has you sitting upwards, back straightening.

"who do you think it'll be?" haibara wonders aloud, standing up to greet the train.

nanami puts his arm out to catch the boy before he steps over the line. "careful, the train's coming in fast."

"we should still greet them though." you say. "remember how confusing it was when you died, nanami?"

"greeting is fine and all, just make sure you stand behind the line."

you go to walk up beside haibara, chattering happily away at his best guesses, when you remember the figure seated on your left.

"aren't you coming, nobara?"

nobara sighs, her hand creeping up to itch the skin under her eyepatch. "i just don't want to recognise whoever walks out."

"i know, me too. but don't you think they'd want to see you again?"

she clicks her tongue and begrudgingly stands to follow after you.

the train doesn't seem to slow even as it approaches the platform, and the speed breaks through the still air, blowing hot steam in your face. you press your eyes closed at the sensation and only open them again when you hear the engines trail off into a quieter hum.

the doors slide open and you hold your breath unconsciously. you think you might know who it is before they walk through.

gojo steps off. his eyes sweep the small crowd waiting for him, an lazy grin on his face showing a clear absence of confusion, of anything fearful or disorientated. you think any other expression might have looked uncanny on him.

your blood freezes at the sight of him and it bleeds painful when his eyes settle on yours. something brighter spreads his smile wide and his next breath spells your name.

“you waited for me.”

the next words out of your mouth are easy as he draws you into a deep embrace. into his shoulder, the train smell dissolves into a scent you know all too well, and you smile.

“i always do.”

a/n: i think i've gone through three denial phases where i still believe gojo is alive . hopefully this current phase will be the last, i say as i write about him dying

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hugs

About time I finished this WIP that randomly appeared in my head. I've just finished defeating Cazador and mannnnnn I really really want to hug Astarion and never let him go.

Summary: Astarion learns to hug you.

“Can’t get enough of me, darling?” Astarion purrs into your ear, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you closer. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the tip of your ear before letting his lips trail downwards, sending a shiver up your spine but you push him away, placing a hand on his chest.

“We don’t need to do this.” You shake your head, “I just want you, not your body, not your services.”

He feels his heart jump into his throat, anxiety gnawing at him but he smiles outwardly anyways, as practiced. “Which part of me exactly do you want?”

“All of you,” you breathe. He blinks, surprised as you intertwine your fingers with his, a thumb gently brushing over his smooth skin. The warmth sends tingles from his arm to his body, a fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest that fills him with uncertainty.

Is this genuine love? Is this how love is supposed to feel like?

Why would you want all of him?

He cannot understand why you would want the monsterous side of him, the side that craves blood, the side that is spoken in hushed whispers, woven into stories parents tell their children to scare them into bed. He hides his fangs whenever he smiles, afraid that your gaze will be drawn to them and that they will be all you ever see of him but you never seem to be scared of them, always open to him sinking them into your soft neck so that he can drink the ambrosia that is your blood.

You place an arm around his waist, noticing that distant look in his eyes and press your chest against his, hoping the sensation will bring him back from whatever abyss he’s fallen into and his head snaps up, ruby eyes locking with yours with a look you’ve never seen in them before. You feel his hand tremble as he tentatively rests it on your back and he inhales sharply.

“If you’re not comfortable we can stop,” you murmur. “I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

“You’re…not, darling. It’s just…” He swallows. “It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. If all this time spent with him has taught you something, is that every time he says ‘it’s nothing’ it’s always something.

“Astarion, you can tell me anything, but take all the time you need, alright?”

His lips quirk up for a split second, instinctively sending you a reassuring smile but the smile quickly fades, replaced by a sorrowful look. He gazes at the ground, suppressing the urge to just melt into you. You deserve someone better than him, someone who could love you properly, who understood what love truly meant and didn’t feel disgust rising every time they placed a hand on your skin because of their past. No matter how much he loves you, he’s not the best one for you.

You reach out to him, a hand gently touching his cheek but he pulls away with a snarl, fangs bared and you quickly stumble backwards, surprised at his hostility. His eyes widen when he realises what he’s done and guilt devours him even further. Your touch feels tainted, even if it lacks the usual lust and desire behind it, but that is no reason to hurt you. He forces himself to reach for your hand, muttering a quiet apology as practiced and rests it on his cheek, willing his body to remain still like always.

Doing this should be easy, he’s been doing this for centuries, so why does it feel so difficult now?

You look at him with concern, an emotion usually devoid in the eyes of those who touch him and pull your hand away of your own accord.

“I’m sorry.”

Why were you apologising? He was the one in the wrong, he was the one who had broken the moment, he was the reason the night had turned from one of tranquility to one of tension.

“There’s no need to apologise, love. Shall we continue?” He leans in once more despite the sickening smell that your scent has transformed into. “You’re just that intoxicating.”

Still, you push him away, noticing how he’s zoning out each time he moves closer to you. Worry creases your eyebrows and you take a step back, moving just out of his reach.

“Did I overstep any boundaries?” You ask. “I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t, darling.” He shakes his head. “You’re far too perfect to make such mistakes.”

Far too perfect for him.

“Astarion,” you realise what’s plaguing him. “No matter how long it takes, I will always be by your side. You are my star, my entire world, no one else can possibly replace you or be better than you.”

“I shouldn’t be,” he mumbles. “I only add to your burdens.”

“Well, it’s only fair that you do that since I do the same to you.”

“No you don’t!” Astarion snaps. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself!”

He glares at you, fists clenched, his clawed fingertips digging into his palms. You raise your hands in surrender, slowly stepping away from the riled up vampire spawn upon whom realisation has dawned. He inwardly curls up even more, despising himself for taking out his anger on you and yet no matter what he does, you refuse to leave. You’re still standing there, a safe distance away but within his line of sight with no intention of leaving him. He cannot wrap his mind around why you would do such a thing, why you wouldn’t leave someone as unstable and unloveable as him, but a small part of him is grateful for that, he can’t bear to watch you leave.

“Sorry.” He chokes out, the word leaving a foreign feeling in his mouth. “I —”

“It’s alright, apology accepted.” You smile. “We should return to camp, the others must be wondering what is taking us so long.”

Astarion shifts from one leg to another, scratching the back of his neck, “wait, darling, please.”

You pause, turning around to look at him, “yes, Astarion?”

“I…” He starts. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Everything feels tainted, touching you feels disgusting, being so close to you feels nauseating, but it’s not your fault. It has nothing to do with you, I promise, it’s —”

“I know. You don’t have to say it out loud if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I can’t erase the past, but I want to help you forge new associations with touch.” You raise a hand, palm facing him. He does the same, shakily moving his palm closer to yours but encouraged by your smile, he presses your palms together. He swallows the bile rising to his throat and looks to you, waiting for you to make the next move. You take a step closer and he does the same, although his step is filled with much more uncertainty. You give him an encouraging nod and take another step. This time, his step is more certain, made with the signature confidence you know and love.

After a third step, the both of you are close enough that your nose fills with the scent of bergamot, rosemary and a hint of rosemary, overlaying Astarion’s real undead scent. You cautiously put an arm around his waist and when he doesn’t flinch, you grow bolder, removing your hand from his and putting the other arm around his waist.

He freezes, but the action raises no memories he’d rather keep locked away so he tries to keep himself grounded, to feel the soothing warmth of your arms around him that mean him no harm. He locks eyes with you and your gaze washes all the fear away, stirring something within him. He wouldn’t have dared do this before, but tonight you’ve given him more than enough courage to attempt this.

Astarion steels himself, and then puts his own arms around you. His undead heart thunders in his chest, fear consuming his mind. What if you pull away? What if you hate his cold touch? What if —

You lean into his embrace, silencing all his fears and nuzzle into his chest. He lets out a breath he never realised he was holding and buries his face into your shoulder, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Your embrace is vastly different from the previous embraces he’s had, all you want out of it is a display of love and care, you don’t want his body, you don’t want what he can offer, you don’t want anything in return.

As he continues to hold onto you, never wanting to let go, he lets a hand wander up your back, finding a better position to pull you closer and you hum in response, happily burrowing deeper into his arms.

“I like this, you know,” he whispers. “Whatever it is that we have, I don’t want it to end.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper back, breathing in his scent. “Let’s stay here like this, the others can survive on their own for a little while longer.”

“I’m sure they can, my love.”

Hugging has definitely made its way to the top of his list of favourite things to do with you, Astarion thinks, listening to your happy hums as you soak in his embrace. He should do this more often.

[novaursa]

i can has a sad request? Rhaenyra lose her only daughter to childbirth….

Marry the reader to aemond or cregan or jace but she will deliver a healthy boy. And the cost is her life. And Rhaenyra lose her mother because childbirth now she has to deal with her only daughter.

Heir to Grief

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You give birth to Jace’s and yours first child, but fate decided you would never see him grow.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: I've chosen Jace, because it makes this only more tragic.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

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

The labor comes upon you like a storm. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, a wave of pain crashing against your body, relentless and powerful. You grip the sheets beneath you, the fabric soaked with your sweat. Your chambers are filled with the sounds of midwives rushing about, offering reassurances, though their words barely reach you. In the haze of agony, Jacaerys is beside you, his face pale, brow furrowed in worry. His hand tightly clutches yours, his knuckles white with the strain, as though he can take on some of your pain if he holds you tightly enough.

“Breathe, Y/N. You’re doing well, you’re strong,” he murmurs, voice trembling despite his effort to stay calm. You try to focus on him, on the sound of his voice, on the love in his eyes. Your brother, your husband, your Jace.

But the pain is all-encompassing, stealing your breath away. It feels as if your body is being torn apart from the inside. Another contraction surges, and you scream, unable to hold it in. The sound startles Jace, but he quickly steadies himself, brushing your damp hair from your face.

"You have to push now," one of the midwives instructs, her tone firm but kind. “The babe is coming.”

Your vision blurs with tears, but you nod. You have to do this. For his love growing inside of you, for the child who will be your and Jace’s firstborn. You feel a surge of resolve, even as your body strains and protests with every movement.

"That's it," Jacaerys whispers, his voice barely holding together. “He’s almost here.”

You push with all your remaining strength, a scream ripping from your throat as you feel the pressure begin to ease. Then, in a rush of warmth and wetness, the baby is born. His cries fill the room almost instantly, piercing through the fog of pain and exhaustion that clings to you.

“A boy,” the midwife announces with a tired smile, wrapping the child in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

You stare down at your son, blinking back tears of relief and overwhelming love. His skin is warm, his little fists curling and uncurling as he cries out in confusion at the world he’s just been thrust into. He’s beautiful, with tufts of dark hair and the unmistakable eyes of a Targaryen. Your heart swells at the sight of him, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

Jacaerys leans in close, gazing down at the babe with wonder. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, “You’ve done it, Y/N. He’s perfect.”

The baby in your arms stirs, his cries quieting as he nestles against your chest. You can feel Jacaerys’s hand trembling as he reaches out to touch the boy's tiny fingers. But then, you feel it—the coldness creeping into your limbs, the strange, sinking sensation deep in your stomach. Your vision swims, and you suddenly feel much too weak, the weight of your son growing heavier in your arms.

“Jace…” you manage to whisper, your voice thin and weak. "Something's wrong."

His eyes snap to your face, concern flooding them as he notices the pallor of your skin, the way your body seems to be trembling. "Y/N? What's—?"

The midwives are at your side in an instant, their hands moving quickly, their voices hurried. You hear them talking about the bleeding, too much bleeding. Panic rises in Jacaerys’s eyes, his grip on you tightening as if he can somehow anchor you to this world.

“No… no, no,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Y/N, stay with me. Please, stay with me.”

The world around you fades in and out. You can hear the baby’s soft whimpers, feel the warmth of Jacaerys’s hands on yours, but it’s all slipping away from you. Your body feels so cold now, so tired.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You force yourself to look at him, wanting to hold on to the sight of his face, the man you love. “I… I love you, Jace. Take care of him… of our son.”

“No, don’t say that,” Jacaerys pleads, tears welling in his eyes. “You’ll be fine. You have to be fine. Please, Y/N… don’t leave me.”

But you can feel it. The life slipping from you, the darkness closing in. You want to stay, you want to fight, but your body is giving up, the blood continuing to flow no matter what the midwives do.

The last thing you see is Jacaerys’s tear-streaked face before everything goes dark.

Rhaenyra stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at your still form, her face frozen in grief. Her only daughter. Gone, just like that. She feels as though the world has ripped a part of her soul away, a pain she knows all too well. It’s the same pain she felt when she lost her mother.

“Not her…” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice shaking. “Not my daughter…”

She moves forward, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch your cold cheek, but the reality of your death is too much. Tears spill from her eyes as she collapses beside your bed, her head bowed. “Why… why does the Mother take my own this way?”

Jacaerys stands at the other side of the bed, cradling the baby—your baby—in his arms, his face twisted with guilt and sorrow. He hasn’t spoken since you passed. He can’t. There’s nothing he could say, nothing that could undo what’s happened.

“It’s my fault,” he finally says, his voice broken. “I killed her. I asked too much of her. If I hadn’t—”

“Stop,” Rhaenyra snaps, though her voice is hoarse. She looks up at her son, her own heart breaking at the sight of his despair. “This wasn’t your fault, Jace.”

But he doesn’t listen. He can’t hear her through the weight of his guilt. He clutches the babe closer, his tears falling onto the child’s dark hair. “She’s gone… because of me.”

Rhaenyra reaches out, her hand resting on his arm. Her heart is shattered, but she knows she must be strong for him, for the child you left behind. “You have a son, Jace. Her son. You must live for him now.”

Jacaerys lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the baby’s brow, but it does nothing to ease the ache in his chest.