#crackle x reader fanfic

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

jax is THE "obsessed with his girl when she wears sundresses or those slip nightgowns" like theres a CRIMINAL lack of fanfic around him going bark bark awooga over that shit do u agree with me

Sundress.

it’s sundress season. jax can’t keep his hands to himself.

pairing - jax teller x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. jax is a terror.

word count - 1.5/2k maybe? i’ll check later.

authors note - you’re so right. that man is not surviving sundress season.

masterlist. inbox.

You felt it as soon as he walked in.

There’s always an atmosphere between you and Jax. A tension that’s alive, crackling, buzzing with anticipation of itself.

You’ve been waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear off for years. It never has.

All evening, he’s been watching you.

Careful, concentrated blue eyes repeatedly raking over your figure. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Eventually, it’s making it too hard to work. You ask one of the girls to take over the bar and stride across the space, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into the back room.

“Okay baby, I like it when you-”

“Cut it out.”

He stops in his tracks, slightly taken aback.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, Jax. Cut it the fuck out.”

He leans against the wall, cool as ever, eyes still wandering.

“Cut what out?”

“That!” you scold, smacking his chest. “The eye fucking. I’m trying to work.”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“You are not just looking at me. You look like you’re going to bend me over the bar at any given moment. Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, darlin’.”

He takes a step forward, sliding his hands across your hips and pulling you into him.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty in this dress. It’s takin’ everything in me to not rip it off you.”

You try to stand your ground, but his warm body pressing into yours is making it difficult.

“You can do whatever you want to me when we get home,” you tease, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “When we get home.”

“That a promise?”

“It is if you can cool it with the stares. You’re scaring people.”

“Good.”

He kisses you roughly, hands migrating down to palm at your ass. You moan into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck to stay steady.

“Jax,” you hiss as you pull away. “Everyone’s gonna think we’re fucking back here. Behave.”

“I like it when you tell me to behave,” he smirks, smoothing out the skirt of your dress.

“Behave,” you repeat, tugging his hair roughly. His eyes close in bliss and for a moment, you debate just letting him have you now.

Remembering the entire reason for this conversation, you slap his cheek lightly.

“Best behaviour until the end of my shift. You hear me, Jackson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He mock salutes you before stealing a quick kiss. Opening the door for you, he smacks your ass as you walk by, laughing when you turn around to glare at him.

“I mean it.”

“Oh I know, baby.”

To his credit, he reels it in. Slightly.

He’s still watching your every move, but with a little less intensity than before. You catch his eyes occasionally, winking as you grin. He shakes his head, beaming smile on his face telling you everything you need to know.

As the night comes to a close, people start to vacate the bar and make their way home, drunk and merry. Jax sticks around, arm slung over the back of the booth as he watches you clean.

“You two gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, Chibs, we’re good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving, as you hear his bike roar to life.

As soon as Jax has confirmation he’s gone, he’s getting up, sauntering over to where you’re wiping down the bar top.

“What’s my prize?”

“Hmm?”

You look up at him with big doe eyes and he almost melts, leaning across the wood towards you.

“What’s my prize? For behaving myself?”

“You’re insufferable,” you laugh. “You’re supposed to behave yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head and lean down to throw the rag under the sink. When you stand up, Jax is pressed against you, body warm and firm.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His big hands cradle your face, rough and gun calloused.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty.”

You flush, heat rising across your chest. Jax lunges in, smashing his lips to yours and pushing you up against the bar. The lip of the wood is digging into your back as he presses you into it further, rocking his hips into yours as he kisses you.

You gasp as he bites down on your lip, so he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and the gum he chews because he knows you like it. You tangle your fingers into his hair, trying to plaster yourself to him.

Jax leans down and presses open mouthed kisses to your ear, your neck, your collarbones, your chest. No skin goes left untouched as you tilt your head to give him more access. He smirks at how quickly you’ve relented.

“I know you wanted this,” he murmurs against your throat. “Wanted it just as bad as me, didn’t you?”

When you don’t respond, he snakes a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Jax. Please.”

He presses his lips into the junction of your shoulder as his hand slips underneath your dress. He traces you over your underwear, cupping you as he chuckles.

“Filthy girl. So fuckin’ wet.”

You drop your head forward into his chest, trying to take deep breaths so you don’t pass out.

“Can’t take my time with you like I want to,” he murmurs. “Don’t want anyone walking in and seeing you like this.”

In the blink of an eye he’s spinning you around, hand on your shoulder blades to push you down onto the bar top. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it around your waist.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day. Pretty fuckin’ girl.”

Jax pulls your underwear to the side as he fumbles with his jeans, pushing them down just enough. You feel the warmth of him behind you, sliding through your wet heat with ease.

“Please,” you whine. “Don’t tease.”

“Needy baby.”

His tone is so patronising, so condescending, that on any other day you’d slap him. But in this current moment, the only thing you can thing about how is how you might die if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

“Okay, honey. I’ll give you what you want. Only because you look so fuckin’ gorgeous in this dress.”

He slides himself home as both of you groan. You rest your head on your folded arms on the bar as his hands find your hips, setting a brutal pace instantly.

His rhythm is consistent, deep thrusts reverberating through the core of you. Your knees threaten to give out as he knocks your entire body forward, his hips smacking into yours.

His mouth is running constantly, spewing filth right into your ear as he breathes down your neck.

“Prettiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. This goddamn dress. Drivin’ me insane.”

“Yeah darlin’, just like that. Fuck, baby. S’good.”

“You feel like heaven, fuck. Atta girl.”

“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, there we go.”

You can’t do anything but take it, babbling nonsense right back at him. He chuckles, snaking his hand around your front to circle your clit.

His fingers are your undoing, clenching around him like a vice as your legs give out. All you can do is whine his name, all high pitched and breathy.

“Fuck, baby.”

Jax comes as soon as he feels you, groaning as he rests his head on your back. He squeezes your hips a couple of times, kissing across your skin.

You’re both revelling in your post orgasm bliss when the door flies open, hitting the wall and startling you both.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, lovebirds.”

Chibs is grinning, laughing as he looks around the booth where he was sitting. He finds his keys on the floor, holding them up as he shakes his head at the two of you.

Jax pulls out of you and buttons himself up, smoothing your dress down to preserve your decency. You hide your face in his chest as he chuckles, the sound rumbling through the both of you.

“See ya tomorrow!” the Scotsman yells as he leaves, stupid smile on his face.

“What did I tell you about behaving?”

Jax can’t help but laugh at you, pulling you in to press a kiss to your head.

“Let’s go home, pretty girl. Wanna fuck you in this dress a couple more times.”

@lauratang @ladyjbrekker @myhappyplaceofstuff

[queenendless]

💀🎃👻Spooky Greetings👻🎃💀

A/n: This literally came to mind when I saw something similar in the actual game event. First time posting twst content here. This may get a sequel. Gonna try to post variety spooky content here cause HAPPY OCTOBER YALL!

SPOILERS for the new Halloween game event going on, somewhat. Also, a bit of Skully x fem!reader and implied fem!reader x the twst bois shown/tagged down below. Short Harem drama, kinda. Not much. But I think it ain't half bad.

*DON'T STEAL, COPY, EDIT, REPOST AND TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. REBLOG, LIKE, FOLLOW PLS N THNX.*

“Hello, my lovely~”

The moment this new strapping figure — “Skully J. Graves at your service~” — appeared holding you in his arms as you awoke, you were awestruck at the spooky strapping young man.

After introducing all of yourselves, watching him kiss the hand of your schoolmates was amusing; seeing their appalled expressions. Guessing they don't get that brand of greeting often, huh?

Him kissing Grim's cheek had his fur stand on end to your delight.

And yet?

The moment he took your hand — only to pull you in and kiss you smack dab on the lips?

You felt the fires of envy and hate turn ablaze as the various pairs of eyes glowed outrageously.

Many hands, gloved or not, snatched him off you.

And all hell broke loose.

“Get your grubby hands off my beloved, you cretin!” Riddle turned red even his paled up Gothic aesthetic; Trey holding the struggling boy back in his arms.

“He means MY herbivore, skeletal bastard.” Leona growled in Skully’s face as he grabbed his collar.

“On the contrary, MY angel isn't up for auction when it comes to kisses from mere worms.” Azul's irked smile gave off unpleasantness.

“Oho? That doesn't seem to be the case, surely.” Jade jested to his boss's ire.

“MY jewel’s already doing so, octo pimp. That goes for you too, street rat.” Jamil hissed them both back and forth.

“Have you no manners of consent, you mongrel? Besides, my darling Y/n has better taste than you all. Me, for example.” Vil flaunted in the others irked faces; Epel looked just about done at this point.

“Don't you dare take away my Otaku goddess, you noob!” Idia gripped dramatically to the others nuisance. 

“How dare you lay a finger on my beloved human.” Malleus spoke doom.

The air around them crackled with literal lightning as emerald flames had his hands full.

“My future Queen … prepare yourself … FOR HELL.”

“WAKA-SAMA!” Sebek switched to fanboy mode at his God's might.

“For once, we're on the same page.” Leona's smirk sent his way spoke volumes as he dropped Skully before the dragon prince.

“TSUNATARO, STAND DOWN! ALL OF YOU, PLEASE!” You got in the way to defend the new anime boy from the others' united wrath, especially Malleus's. “One kiss is not that big of a deal.”

You could hear a pin drop now as everyone, even Skully, viewed you as if you had two heads.

“Good grief. Ya sure you're not magical? Cause you're bewitching them into lovestruck fools. And you're not dating any of ‘em. God, you're an idiot.” Grim griped.

Leona, Jamil, and Sebek appeared as glowing eyed phantom monsters ready for the kill. “YOU'RE ONE TO TALK, FUR BALL!!!”

Yet Skully looked unperturbed, his charming toothed smile arised, as Grim got chased by three SSR dressed pissed off mages. “Oya oya … What a lively bunch, you all are. And all because I took a kiss from your sweet lips, lovely Y/n. But if you are single, then may I ask you out?”

“NO!!!” All the former overblot cases now turned bachelors for your token affections shouted in unison.

Trey, Jade and Epel and you hung your head in exasperation.

Ah, quite the Harem dilemma.

Halloween coated, no less.

[athenacoreii]

" Jealousy, jealousy "

Law x reader, Kid x reader

tags: love triangle, jealous law

A/N: I'm new when it comes to making fanfics but I hope you enjoy reading this:_)

------------

The battlefield was pure chaos—a storm of clashing blades, roaring beasts, and Devil Fruit powers tearing through the floors of Onigashima. Amidst the madness, you kept your focus, cutting down enemies, fighting alongside some of the most dangerous pirates in the New World.

And then there was him.

"Oi, Y/N!"

Kid’s rough voice cut through the din as he crashed into the fray beside you, his metal-covered arm slamming into a group of Beast Pirates and sending them flying. He grinned, wild and dangerous. "Try to keep up, yeah?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smirking. "I don’t have time to babysit you, Kid."

He laughed, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You wound me. But I don’t mind—since you’re way prettier when you’re mad."

Before you could retort, a sharp voice cut in.

"Quit screwing around, Eustass-ya. Focus."

Law appeared in a flash, the distinctive shambles sound of his Devil Fruit power following him. His sword slashed through an enemy behind you, effortless as ever. His golden eyes flicked to you, scanning you quickly. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, smiling slightly. "Captain! I’m fine. We need to push forward—"

"Then stop getting distracted," Law snapped, voice tight. But his glare wasn’t aimed at you. It was locked on Kid.

Kid grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "What’s the matter, Trafalgar? Jealous?" He leaned closer to you, his voice dropping into a mockingly low, flirtatious tone. "Can’t blame you… Y/N's a hell of a fighter and easy on the eyes."

The temperature dropped.

"Room."

Before you could react, you were yanked backward, the battlefield shifting in an instant. Law’s power had placed you behind him, his tall frame shielding you from the chaos. His sword pointed straight at Kid, his face eerily calm—but his eyes were sharp, cold.

"Say one more word, and I’ll dissect you," Law said, voice dangerously low.

"Try me," Kid shot back, his grin never faltering.

The air between them crackled with tension, but you didn’t have time for this.

"Both of you, knock it off!" you snapped, stepping between them. "We’re in the middle of a war, or did you forget?"

They glared at each other for a long beat before Law finally huffed in frustration, turning away. "Stay close to me," he muttered.

Kid, of course, wasn’t done. "Don’t worry, Y/N. When this is over, I’ll take you out for a drink..If you survive sticking with him," he added with a smirk.

Law’s glare darkened, but before he could react, you groaned and covered Kid’s mouth with your hand. "Enough!"

You could feel him laughing under your palm, mumbling something muffled but no doubt infuriating.

"Room. Shambles."

The battlefield blurred, and suddenly, you and Law stood alone in a secluded area, away from the chaos. The only sounds were the distant echoes of battle and your own quickened breath.

"Why did you—?" you started, but Law turned to you, his expression unusually serious.

"You’re reckless," he muttered. "Letting him pull you into his games when there are enemies all around. It’s dangerous."

You raised an eyebrow. "I can handle myself, Captain."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know," he admitted, softer this time. "That’s not the point."

You frowned, watching him carefully. This wasn’t just about Kid anymore. There was something deeper in his voice, something restrained.

"Then what is the point?" you asked quietly.

Law hesitated, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword before finally meeting your gaze. "I don’t want to lose you."

The words hung between you, heavier than the battlefield, heavier than the war itself.

Your breath caught. "Captain—"

"Kid flirts because he has nothing to lose," Law interrupted, voice steady but tense. "I don’t have that luxury. I don’t say things I don’t mean, Y/N."

Your heart pounded. This was Trafalgar Law—always calculating, always keeping a distance. But now, there was no distance. No barriers. Just him, raw and unguarded.

You stepped closer. "Then say it."

Law’s golden eyes searched yours. A battle raged behind them, fiercer than any war around you. And then—

"I love you."

The words were barely a whisper, but they carried more weight than anything he’d ever said before.

You didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing the front of his coat, you pulled him down, crashing your lips against his. Law stiffened for a moment, but then his hands were on you, pulling you closer as he kissed you back—slowly, deeply, like he was memorizing the shape of your lips.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled breathlessly. "You took your time."

Law exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours. "I had to be sure."

Distantly, you could still hear the battle, but it didn’t matter. Because for the first time, Trafalgar Law wasn’t just fighting to win.

He was fighting for you.

[xichilie]

mydei x reader (x phainon) where they were on a quest and they had to rest and they stayed at a hotel to rest except it was one room available with one bed, or u can make it two beds where mydei and phainon fight for whoever gets to sleep with reader heh (id perfer one bed…..) imagine them all 3 in one bed

i need more mydei x reader fanfics dont leave me hanging…….

The way I giggled and kicked my feet at this, one bed with mydei and Phainon YES, JUST YES😌

(BTW, mydei is wearing a shirt in the bed scene)

Mydei x (fem) reader x Phainon

Only one Bed

The rain had started coming down hard by the time Mydei, Phainon, and Y/N finally reached the small inn nestled between the hills. Their mission had taken longer than expected, and all three of them were exhausted. The golden glow of lanterns inside the building was a welcome sight as they stepped inside, shaking off their damp cloaks.

“I’ll go book us a room,” Phainon announced, stretching his arms. “You two just sit tight.”

Mydei scoffed. “Like I need your permission.”

Phainon shot him a grin before sauntering over to the innkeeper. Meanwhile, Mydei shifted his attention to Y/N, who was absently rubbing her shoulders as if trying to shake off the chill from the rain. Without a word, he reached over and took her bag from her hands, effortlessly slinging it over his own shoulder.

She blinked up at him. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“Just take it,” he muttered, looking away. “You always carry too much.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t argue.

Phainon returned a moment later with a slightly sheepish expression. “So… small problem.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

Phainon rubbed the back of his head. “They only had one room left.”

Y/N tilted her head. “That’s not so bad.”

Phainon hesitated. “And… only one bed.”

There was a moment of silence as Mydei and Y/N processed that. Then Mydei let out a sharp exhale. “Absolutely not.”

Phainon crossed his arms. “You got a better idea, champ? Sleep outside?”

Y/N, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Mydei’s arm before he could actually consider that. “It’s a big bed, isn’t it? We can share.”

Mydei scowled, glancing away. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Fine,” Phainon said immediately, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “Then I’ll keep her company in bed.”

Mydei turned back so fast Phainon barely had time to react. “Like hell you will.”

Phainon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Wow, relax! Just pointing out how ridiculous you’re being.”

Y/N sighed. “You two need to stop bickering. We can just share the bed. It’s not like any of us bite.”

“I might,” Phainon muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Mydei.

“Fine,” Mydei finally grumbled. “But you two better not kick in your sleep.”

They made their way upstairs to their room, which, true to Phainon’s word, only had one large bed dominating the center. A warm fireplace crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls.

“Well, this’ll be cozy,” Phainon said, already unfastening his cloak. “Who wants the shower first?”

“You go last,” Mydei said immediately. “Or else you’ll use up all the hot water.”

Phainon placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ll go first, then.”

They both nodded, watching as she disappeared into the washroom with a towel. As soon as the door clicked shut, an awkward silence settled between Mydei and Phainon.

Phainon flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “So. Just us now, huh?”

Mydei shot him a look before leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Don’t talk.”

Phainon smirked. “Aw, come on. You’re not still mad about the bed thing, are you?”

Mydei scowled. “I should throw you out the window.”

Before Phainon could retort, the washroom door opened, and Y/N stepped out, drying her hair with a towel. Her damp locks clung to her shoulders, and the fresh scent of soap filled the room.

Both men froze. Mydei felt his cheeks heat up slightly, but he quickly looked away. Even Phainon, who was normally unbothered, rubbed the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

Y/N, oblivious to the effect she had, continued towel-drying her hair. Seeing this, Phainon started to reach out. “Here, I’ll help—”

“Go shower,” Mydei cut in abruptly.

Phainon sighed dramatically but relented, gathering his things and heading into the washroom. The moment the door shut, Mydei let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His gaze flickered back to Y/N, who was still focused on drying her hair. Without thinking, he stepped forward and gently took the towel from her hands.

She blinked up at him. “Mydei?”

“Sit,” he muttered. “You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t dry it properly.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying, sitting at the edge of the bed while he carefully ran the towel through her hair. She hummed softly. “You’re really good at this.”

Mydei scoffed. “You say that like it’s hard.”

She giggled. “Still, it’s nice of you.”

His hands faltered slightly at her words, but he quickly resumed. “Just don’t tell Phainon. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Mydei’s usually rough hands surprisingly gentle as he worked through her damp locks. By the time Phainon stepped out of the shower, stretching and sighing in satisfaction, he paused mid-step at the sight of them.

“Well, well,” he said, smirking. “Look at this cozy scene.”

Mydei tossed the towel at his face. “Shut up.”

Phainon laughed. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Y/N smiled. “He’s been very helpful.”

Phainon waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I bet.”

Mydei glared at him. “Do you want to sleep outside?”

Phainon held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Let’s just get some sleep.”

They all climbed into the large bed, with Y/N in the middle. Mydei made sure to keep a respectful distance, but Phainon, being his usual self, sprawled out comfortably. To Mydei’s dismay, Phainon had no problem cuddling up to Y/N, and she didn’t even seem to mind.

After a few moments of silence, Phainon muttered, “This is kinda nice, huh?”

Y/N hummed in agreement. “Yeah.”

Mydei grumbled. “Go to sleep.”

Phainon chuckled. “Night, lovebirds.”

Neither of them responded, but in the dim light of the room, Mydei’s ears burned slightly.

As the night settled in, the soft crackling of the fireplace was the only sound filling the room. Phainon, being the most relaxed of the three, had no trouble dozing off first. He had sprawled out, his head resting against Y/N’s shoulder as he nestled closer, completely at ease.

Y/N, warm and exhausted from the long day, soon followed. Her breathing evened out, her body shifting in sleep as she unconsciously adjusted. At some point, without realizing it, she turned towards Mydei, pressing against his side, her head lightly resting against his chest.

Mydei, who had been lying stiffly on his back, immediately tensed. His golden eyes flicked downward, catching the sight of her peaceful face just inches from his own. Her warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing against him.

His heartbeat, normally steady and composed, faltered slightly.

For a brief moment, instinct told him to move away—to put some distance between them. But as he shifted slightly, her hand absentmindedly curled into his shirt, like she was seeking comfort even in her sleep.

He swallowed, exhaling quietly.

Phainon had draped an arm lazily over Y/N’s waist, holding onto her like a human pillow, his face buried in her shoulder. The sight irritated Mydei more than it should have. But Y/N’s warmth against him—her quiet presence—was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

His muscles, once tense, slowly relaxed.

“…Just this once,” he murmured under his breath, barely above a whisper.

Careful not to wake her, he let himself rest, his gaze lingering on the ceiling. Y/N remained nestled against him, her breathing soft and steady, and despite himself, Mydei stayed still, allowing her to stay close.

Sleep didn’t come as easily for him, but with her warmth beside him, he didn’t mind as much.

The soft golden light of morning streamed through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. The fireplace had died down to a few embers, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of breathing from the bed.

Phainon was the first to wake, stretching his arms with a lazy yawn. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light—until his vision settled on the sight before him.

Y/N was nestled comfortably in Mydei’s arms.

Phainon’s eyes widened slightly. At some point during the night, Mydei had taken her from his grasp and pulled her against him. Her head rested against his chest, one hand lightly curled into his shirt, and Mydei's arm was wrapped snugly around her, holding her close.

But the real kicker? Mydei was awake.

And he was smirking.

Triumphantly.

Phainon gawked. “You absolute—” He huffed. “I had her first.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, his expression smug as he tightened his hold just a little, just enough to make his point. “Looks like she disagrees.”

Phainon groaned dramatically. “That’s not fair. I want cuddles too.”

Without hesitation, Mydei grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his face.

THWACK.

Phainon let out a muffled yelp as he peeled the pillow away, pouting. “Rude.”

“Too bad,” Mydei said smoothly, settling back into the pillows.

Phainon huffed and crossed his arms. “This is favoritism.”

Mydei simply shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Phainon squinted at him before flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Fine, but next time, I’m stealing her first.”

Mydei chuckled lowly. “We’ll see about that.”

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, snuggled closer into Mydei’s warmth, sighing softly in her sleep. Mydei shot Phainon one last smirk before resting his chin atop her head.

Phainon groaned into his pillow. “I hate you.”

Mydei closed his eyes, perfectly content. “No, you don’t.”

[z0mbiezbite]

Modern Dedication (Draft)

Yandere Gotham x M!reader

Warning: these fanfic are gonna be for freaks by freaks. Also bad spelling and punctuation - this was posted for I can weed out anything unnecessary.

(Y/n) pulled a pack of Marlboros from inside his suit pocket. “Cigarette?”

A person was by his desk with a body of a battle axe and a cape that pools like a melted candle - Batman. chitty chitty bang bang, Batman. “The Joker, where is he?

(Y/n) struck the cigarette in his mouth, disinterested, “I’m not his keeper, babes.”

“A week before he escapes, the only outgoing mail he sends is addressed to you.” He said, and threw a stack of letters on (Y/n)’s desk - unintelligible and informal.

It was hardly evidence of anything. It only stressed that (Y/n) is one of the few who put up with the Joker’s insanity and Batman knew it. He had a sinking suspicion, Vengeance came for a different reason.

Quite foolishly, (Y/n) asked “Is a client not allowed to talk to their lawyer?” As his cigarette smoke blew over his shoulders like a locomotive.

"Your client is about to commit a crime. Legal confidentiality doesn’t protect you here.” Of course like all things that had to do with the Joker, the letters were incriminating.

Resigning himself, (Y/n) crossed his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And you want me to...”

“Find him. He responds to you.” His voice held a slightly accusatory tone.

“Gross. Why’d you phrase it like that?”

“(Y/n).” Batman studied him with steal eyebrow only given to seasoned detectives. (Y/n) could practically feel Batman’s palpating anger.

Truthfully, (Y/n) didn’t find his particular reason a big deal, people die everyday whether from a stroke or strangulation from a clown. However, he knew Batman roughly cared and that was enough to throw a dog a bone.

“Alright, Alright.” (Y/n) held up a conciliatory palm. He reached for a pen in a cup on his desk and wrote laboriously on a note sheet; 50 W 33rd St. The ink was still wet and the hand writing, masculine.

He gave the note to Batman. “It’s a strip club” (Y/n) said “He goes there sometimes to blow off steam.”

(Y/n) unceremoniously tacked on, “You’ll like it there. They have big chested hard bodies that you can bury yourself in.”

Rather violently, Batman fisted his tuxedo in his hands. (Y/n) could hear his chair crackle underneath the weight. “You’re revolting. People are going to die.”

(Y/n) tried to animate his face in symphony. “Like that shit heel, Jason, did?”

That seemed to get him. Batman lunged his fist forward so hard and fast, (Y/n) felt his broad latex knuckles hit the back of his brain. His head dipped in a thunderbolt of pain with his broken nose and busted lip and a fury on his tongue,

“Fuck! You ass-“

(Y/n)’s frenzied sentence cut off jaggedly as Batman knuckled deep into his lapel once more and smashed their lips together in a ferocity that always seemed to always catch (Y/n) off guard.

Batman has always been restrained and aloof, a caution that comes with being vigilante. But now, from this close, (Y/n) could see the way Batman’s muscles worked, the flex of his shoulders - not out of shyness nor shame, but desire that only his skin could keep inside.

When they parted with hot and heavy breath, Batman, acutely missing (Y/n)’s cocaine tint tongue, said, “You owe it to me to find him.”

And, (Y/n), utterly dazed, licked his bloodied lip and said “You know how to keep a man wanting, bats.” then dipped his head in for another kiss.

The way Batman’s tongue lapped at the sliced skin of his bruised lip - (Y/n) knew he was a man possessed.

[jam3sacaster]

“I’ll be gentle, angel.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by @nebulastarr / Rupert discovers it’s readers first time.

18+ FANFIC / SMUT. Reader character aged at 21.

Hopefully isn’t too disgustingly dirty, or too long. Rather let myself get carried away. • indicates the beginning of the smut. Please request more if you want to see more! 🩷 Can do longer pieces.

“Good evening, Mr Campbell-Black.” You rehearse aloud, having placed a gentle knock on the regal front door of Penscombe Court, the clock ticking just past 10pm. No, far too formal, you decide.

“Good evening, Rupert.” You chime once again, self-cringing as the words fall loosely from your mouth.

“Good evening, angel.” You hear a gruff, distinguished voice reply. Pure embarrassment ripples through your body as your eyes dart immediately to the effortlessly handsome man stood before you. Before you could reply, he pushed the door ajar to let you in to his magnificent home. By instinct, you make your way to the lounge — where the flames dance and crackle in the fireplace and cast an amber glow against the two freshly-poured tumblers of Scotch. “Drinks already?” You ask, sitting on the sofa and attempting to take us as little room as possible.

Not once averting his piercing gaze from you, Rupert takes a seat next to you and takes a large swig of his Scotch. “Helps to loosen us both up. Stop any awkward conversations.” He replies, undressing you with his eyes already. “Tell me, angel,” Rupert begins, “You have been here 3 nights in a row now and haven’t even so much as looked at me in the wrong way. Why is that?” He finishes, in an interrogating tone.

The silence thickens around you both, and the warmth of the fire wraps itself around you like a comforting hug. Shuffling the cardigan off your shoulders, you take a gulp from your drink and, for the first time, hold eye contact with Mr Campbell-Black. “Because… I know what you want from me. And that scares me.” A tiny voice replies that you recognise to be your own. How pathetic! You need to exude confidence around Rupert before he chews you up and spits you out. Without replying, Rupert pushes out an almost sarcastic-sounding laugh and lowers his head towards his right shoulder, cracking it in the process, and again towards the left.

•

“Darling, you’ve got nothing to be scared of.” He smirks, after what feels like an eternity. As he speaks, he places a gentle hand on your knee and blood rushes to your cheeks, immediately flushing them a bright crimson. It’s now or never — the inner voice in your head speaks as you stand up in front of him, and shimmy out of the figure-hugging black dress, stepping out of it and kicking it away from you.

For once in his life, Rupert is speechless as he takes a moment to drink in the picturesque image in front of him. A woman built of soft, fleshy curves and intricate lines, held together by red lingerie — an elaborately woven bra and thong and black suspenders held up with black garters. The best piece you owned, ready to be christened by Rupert’s yearning fingers peeling them from your body. “Wow angel.” He manages to spit out, eyes unmoving from the marvel image of your body. He sits at the edge of the sofa and smothers his face amongst your breasts, breathing in the feminine aroma of your skin. “You have no idea how hard you make me.” He adds, pulling back to rip the shirt from his body.

Now it’s your turn to marvel at the man that is Rupert Campbell-Black. Bulging veins sitting atop rippling muscles. Carnal lust aflame in his eyes. And, most importantly, the most impressively large bulge growing in his trousers. After you had wiped the drool from the corner of your lips, you lay yourself down on the sofa. Within seconds, he had stripped himself of his trousers and was leaning over you, propping himself up with one arm. The look in his eyes told you all you need to know. Inching backwards, he pulled your thongs from your body, revealing how terribly wet you’d became from his stripping. “My God.” Rupert smirked, instinctively delving his tongue between your folds. Arousal left your lips in laboured moans, and your fingers gripped a handful of his jet black locks. “You’re so fucking wet.” He spoke, pulling himself away and taking a hand to his cock, stroking it slowly and readying himself to enter you.

“Rupert…” You whisper breathlessly, scared and reluctant at the sheer size of his manhood. Readying yourself, you place your hand on his cock, pushing his own hand away and matching his rhythm. “I don’t know about this.” You mutter.

“Why? Don’t be scared, angel. I won���t bite… Unless you want me to.” Rupert chuckles, and pushes out a moan at the soft touch of your hand. Rupert grabs the base of his cock and lines it up with your soft opening. He attempts to shove himself in, but within seconds, winces in pleasure at the tightness. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Rupert… I’m…”

“Darling, you’re so tight.” He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Are you?…” He asks, not wanting to make assumptions. Is it really that obvious? “Rupert, this is my first time.” You speak gently under your breath. Closing your eyes momentarily and expecting to hear his condescending chuckle, you quickly open one eye to see a soft smile across his mouth.

“I’ll be gentle, angel.”

He replies earnestly, and with pinpoint precision, softly pushes his way inside you. Looking up at him, you capture a glimpse of something you’re certain no one has ever seen before. Rupert Campbell-Black encapsulated in complete ecstasy. “Fuck.” He manages to spit out, his words fighting for power over your ever growing moans. With each thrust, you felt the knot in your stomach loosen. Rupert’s eyes were glazed over in pleasure as he tenderly thrust in and out of you.

“If this is how wet you get for me, you must come again.” He spoke breathlessly, grabbing handfuls of your breasts as he spoke against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Fuck, Rupert, please go slow.” You splutter, wincing ever so slightly, stretched out completely around the girth of him.

“Sorry, darling. Is this better?” He asked, tentatively making his strokes slower. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes in euphoria. Tension builds slowly in your lower stomach as his large member managed to hit the right spot every time. “You feel incredible.” Rupert manages to speak, as the intensity of his thrusts slowly speeds up. You can feel him twitching inside of you. You cannot believe you have just lost your virginity to THE Rupert Campbell-Black.

Flipping yourself over onto all fours, you positioned your shapely arse as an offering for the rugged man, and he grabbed a firm hold of your hips and began thrusting himself into you. Moans escaped your lips faster than you’d have liked. With each pulsating thrust inside your body, Rupert drew nearer and nearer his orgasm. “Cum inside me,” You pleaded, almost begging him to release himself. “Please, Rupert, I need it.”

Rupert placed a gentle fingertip to your lips, then ran his thumb across your tongue, desperately wanting to feel every single inch of your body. His abs tensed and twisted — his body preparing for his release. “Fuck angel, I’m going to cum.” He spat, and a smirk pulled at your mouth. Never in your life have you been so ready for anything. “Cum. Cum for me, Rupert. I need it so badly.” You reply, bringing your arm to his level to scoop up his balls and inch him closer to ecstasy. He paused for a moment, and pushed out a low grunt. You felt his cock twitch and pulsate as spurts of his hot load shot deep inside you, so much so that it began to drip outside of you with every weakened thrust from Mr Campbell-Black. “Fuck… Oh, fuck.” Rupert exclaimed as he pulled his dripping cock from your wet spot, and you lowered your mouth to lap up every missed drop of cum. You had never seen him to enamoured in desire. You wanted to please him this intensely every time — you and only you. In a pool of sweat, Rupert collapsed next to you and huffed out a sigh of relief.

“Angel, you were incredible. Thank you.”

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (5)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6k words

summary | aemond goes to reader for comfort after murdering luke. aegon throws a feast and reader and aemond sneak out.

tags | mentions of death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, tensionnnnn, mentions of incest, SMUTTTTT (MDI), oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, p in v

note | born to give aemond heirs, forced to write fanfics about him. also I loved writing aemond's pov, though it is way more difficult than reader's. also I might be projecting with that finn incident.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the oppressive weight of the night enveloped you. The velvet drapes fluttered slightly with the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, a rare moment of tranquility. However, your slumber was a mere illusion, your mind cloaked in the abyss of darkness, devoid of dreams and visions that now troubled your sleep.

But your heightened senses—bathed in the echoes of vampiric instinct—felt the air shift, heard the soft footfalls quicken in the shadows. The atmosphere crackled with apprehension, jolting you into awareness. You turned, just as the chamber door burst open to reveal a figure cloaked in night and anxiety.

“Aemond,” you breathed, relief washing over you as you recognized him despite the disarray surrounding his presence. Yet, the relief was short-lived, for the anguish etched on his face struck you like a dagger of ice.

Without a second thought, you flung the silken covers aside, the fabric whispering against your skin as you stood, a vision of natural beauty in your nightgown. It was a modest garment yet beguilingly elegant, the way it clung to your form had no intent to seduce, but it still felt unseemly for him to be here.

“Aemond,” you intoned once more, your voice laced with concern that echoed in the silence of your chamber, frantic to breach the bubbling tension, “What troubles you?”

He remained mute, his expression haunting—a specter in the moonlight. Each heartbeat that passed deepened your worry, and so you closed the space between you, tenderness guiding your hands to cradle his sharp, angular cheeks, your thumbs brushing against his skin with a gentle intimacy. You sought to anchor him within your presence, as if your connection could dispel the shadows that clung to him.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged, your voice softening with each plea, like a lullaby meant to calm a frightened child, “Speak to me.”

At your touch, something flickered in the depths of his violet eye, swirling with shock and unutterable things. “I… I did not mean to,” he stammered, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, as though each word was a struggle against a tide of despair.

“Mean to what?” Your heart raced as you searched his gaze, desperate to uncover the truth beneath the turmoil. “Aemond, tell me what you have done that weighs so heavily upon you.”

He leaned into your touch, surrendering momentarily to the comfort you offered. “I have damned myself,” he breathed, a confession laced with the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

“Please, Aemond, tell me,” you implored, your heart thundering in your chest.

Aemond shook his head violently, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall of starlight, wild and untamed. “I cannot! You will condemn me.”

You withdrew your hands from his face, your fingers intertwining with his as you drew them toward your heart, your palms cooling against his warm skin. “I could never. Please, reveal it to me, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice insistent yet tender.

His breath hitched in his throat, a harsh swallow betraying the turmoil within him. As tears glistened in his violet eye—he turned away, shame etching deep lines into his brow. “I did not mean to. I did not mean to take the boy’s life, you must believe me.”

The air froze around you, a chill creeping in as your breath caught in your throat. You slowly led him toward the intricacies of your bed, pulling him with you into the sanctuary of silks and shadows. “What boy, Aemond?” you pressed urgently, your heart aching for the truth, a desperate need to understand the depths of his torment.

His voice broke, drowning in hysteria, a stark reminder of his usual composed personality made from steel, “I didn’t mean to— I swear, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, desperation pouring from him like the dark tides of the sea.

Frustration welled within you, sharp and biting as the chill of autumn winds crept into the chamber. You pulled him down beside you, urgency fuelling your movements as you grasped his face, forcing his haunted eye to meet yours. “Aemond,” you said firmly, your tone dripping with the magic that came naturally to one of your kind. The allure of your compulsion wrapped around him like a silken trap, gently commanding his frayed emotions to still. “Calm yourself and tell me.”

Gradually, his breathing steadied, though the tremors of his fear still lingered. You held his gaze, and through the dark storm of pain reflected in his eye, he managed to choke out the words. “Lucerys. He was at Storm’s End. When I laid eyes on him, all I felt was fury—so I chased him through the skies, on Vhagar’s back…” His voice cracked like the thunder that often heralded the tempestuous nights, and he swallowed hard, “And then… I did not know Vhagar would react so violently.”

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Lucerys—Rhaenyra's beloved son. The weight of his loss hung heavily in the air, and the grim reality sank in; Aemond had killed him. The Blacks would demand retribution, blood for blood. "Tell me you lie, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation seeping into every syllable.

He turned his gaze from you, shame encasing him like a shroud. There was a slow shake of his head, and it felt as though the world around you had muted, the chaos outside overshadowed by his revelation. "I cannot bring myself to lie to you. There is no penance that could ever atone for what I have wrought."

The sadness in your heart twisted anew as you murmured his name, "Aemond," the pain manifesting in your voice like a lamentation for the boy lost beneath the weight of his rage.

In the stillness that lingered between you, it seemed he had finally drawn a breath of composure, yet he refused to meet your eyes, speaking softly as if confiding a terrible secret. "I went to Aegon first, and he laughed... whilst Mother..." He faltered, the memory flickering like a dying candle. "She looked upon me as if I were a stranger, as if I were no longer her son."

Your heart ached for him, your hands clasped in his, both a comfort and a tether to the boy he had once been. Finally, he looked up, his eye reflecting a glimmer of vulnerability. "May I stay here with you?" he asked, almost timidly, as if fearing your rejection.

In that moment, you were transported back to another time, a fleeting memory of innocence—of the boy who had fled from the ignoble raucousness of a brothel, a shadow of the boy who once sought solace in your presence. You nodded, and the words flowed freely, tenderly, "Of course."

Yet, unease lingered in the air, evident in the way he fidgeted, lost amidst his thoughts. So slowly, you knelt before him, taking his leather boots in your hands, gently easing them from his feet. He remained poised on the edge of the bed, lost in his struggles. Next, you reached for his finely crafted doublet, peeling away the layers that held the weight of his distress. He remained clad only in his trousers and a simple cotton shirt, the stark contrast highlighting the tension etched into his features.

Your fingers found their way to his tousled hair, and with a tender caress, you could sense him leaning into your touch, a semblance of solace in the storm raging within him. But when your hand drifted towards the eyepatch concealing his scar, he recoiled instinctively, shaking his head as if to banish the very thought.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged softly, noting the flicker of resistance in his eye. “Remove it; it cannot be comfortable.”

His response was a stubborn shake of his head, reminiscent of a petulant child, “No, it is… hideous. You will turn away from me, repulsed.”

A sorrowful smile etched across your face as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb traced the remnants of his scar. “I have seen your truth before, Aemond,” you promised, sincerity tethering your words. “I swear on my mother's grave, it will not scare me.”

There was a moment of taut apprehension, then, led by both fear and a flicker of hope, he slowly lifted the eyepatch. You fought against the shock that threatened to break through your calm facade, for nestled where an eye once was, a sapphire gleamed—brighter than the sky itself. It was an iridescent gem, the very one you had gifted him just before you had left.

Slowly, you led him with great care to lie beneath the sanctuary of your blankets, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. After a moment's pause, you nestled beside him, drawing him close to your chest, his face instinctively burying itself in the curve of your neck, your arms enveloping him in a protective embrace.

After a time, Aemond's voice broke the silence, a mere whisper against your collarbone. "Do you hate me?"

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your grip tightening around him. “I could never hate you, Aemond.”

He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes as you held him resolutely, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down upon both of you. In that moment, it felt almost surreal, how intimately connected you were to his emotions.

Gently, you began to hum, your voice weaving through the stillness like a soft breeze. The lullaby your mother once sang to you, a sweet melody birthed in the warmth of her embrace, flowed from your lips as if casting a spell of solace.

You wished, with every fiber of your being, to take all his sorrows and put it upon yourself, so he might find peace at last. You longed to envelop him fully, to draw him into the depths of your heart, to safeguard him from the malevolence and peril that lingered just beyond your chambers.

Aemond Targaryen loathed this wretched place, the shadowed halls of King's Landing, where the very stones seemed steeped in whispered betrayals and the lingering scent of ash. The oppressive weight of recent events pressed upon him like a heavy cloak; the death of Lucerys Velaryon hung in the air, suffocating him with its bitter aftermath. His beloved mother, Queen Alicent, having made her choice, had cast him aside, suspending him from his seat on the small council as if he were some wayward pup rather than the proud dragon prince he was.

Now, as the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Aemond found himself trapped within a feast thrown by Aegon — a disgraceful celebration in honor of Aemond’s brutal deed. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of lords and ladies feigning joy, their revelry a cruel mockery of the bloodshed that had transpired. How could they toast to this, when the realm itself was a tapestry of grief and strife?

Aegon, reeking of wine and folly, reclined upon his gilded seat, a silver goblet clutched in his hand as he guffawed with a drunken abandon that made Aemond’s skin crawl. With each passing moment, the king grew more intoxicated, rejoicing in his own foolishness while the kingdom itself threatened to unravel under the weight of his incompetence. Aemond could hardly bear to watch. How could they hope to usurp Rhaenyra and her support when Aegon was unfit to rule, lost in a haze of mead and merriment whilst the fires of war devoured their domain?

As the raucous clamor swirled around him, Aemond's thoughts turned treasonous. He was the prince with blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, rider of Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the skies; he had wrested mastery over sword and word alike. His studies had taken him deep into the philosophies of Targaryen history, strategy, and the art of war — all knowledge he wielded like the sword strapped to his side. Why must he remain the second son, languishing in the shadow of a brother who was more a child than a king?

The Grand Hall was stifling, heavy with the clamor of lords and ladies engaged in mindless revelry, their laughter slicing through the air like blades of Valyrian steel. The goblet of deep red Dornish wine— he had forced down his throat—now boiled in his stomach. He stood abruptly, ignoring the wary glances of curious courtiers, and stormed toward the moonlit balcony, pursued by a dread that felt all-consuming.

Upon stepping into the cool night air his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze fell upon you. There you stood, framed by moonlight, leaning against the aged stone balustrade of the balcony as you gazed at the stars above. In that moment, the world around him faded, the cacophony of the court silenced, as if the realm had been reduced to just the two of you—two souls adrift in the sea of night.

The moon cast a silver halo around you, illuminating your features as though the Seven themselves had blessed you. You appeared ethereal, a vision of solace amidst the tempest of his thoughts. You were an otherworldly being, a divine presence—you reminded Aemond of an angel gazing longingly at her heavenly home.

You wore a divine gown of crimson, its fabric clinging to your curves and accentuating your remarkable beauty, stirring memories of the first time he had beheld you in childhood innocence. Your hair was artfully braided, interwoven among the strands were glimmering rubies, and nestled between your breasts hung a necklace bearing your family’s sigil, a house still entirely foreign to him.

The last time his path had crossed yours was after the wretched deed had been done—when he had barged into your chambers, a storm of pain and regret in his heart after slaying Lucerys Velaryon. You had held him tight, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace, while your gentle whispers—sweet reassurances—had washed over him, as soothing as a dragon’s breath on a winter’s night. He recalled the way you had traced fingers through his hair, the delicate caress of your breath against his skin, and how he had surrendered to your comfort.

When dawn had broken and shadows had retreated, he woke before you, overwhelmed by that precious moment, and with the lingering scent of lavender and warmth still clinging to him. He had kissed your forehead tenderly and slipped away, haunted by what he had done and striving to shield you from the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

"Are you not enjoying the feast?" Aemond murmured, his voice a soft cadence as he moved closer to you.

You turned, meeting his gaze with a fierce intensity. "Am I meant to revel in a celebration held in honor of someone's death?" With a sharp breath, you averted your gaze, a flicker of regret crossing your features. "Forgive me."

Aemond’s eyes remained locked on you, the truth like a weight upon his heart—he had taken Lucerys' life, a shadow he must now bear. “You speak only the truth,” he admitted, the gravity of his words mingling with the cool night air.

You shook your head slowly, those captivating eyes piercing through the veil of his turmoil. “It is Aegon’s folly to throw such a feast given the circumstances,” you replied, your tone laced with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

Aemond couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at your disdain for his brother's decision. "You tread upon treasonous ground," he teased, though there was an undercurrent of approval in his tone

With a resolute lift of your chin, an unbidden smile danced upon your lips, illuminating your beauty, "Do you intend to tell?"

In that charged moment, Aemond closed the distance between you, the space that once separated you now laden with tension. He leaned closer, whispering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, "You know I shall never."

With a soft sigh, you began to turn away, “I think I shall retire to my chambers now.” Aemond feigned indifference, though he struggled against the urge to let out an exasperated breath at your obvious attempt to distance yourself from him.

“Then I shall escort you,” he declared, a hint of determination flaring in his violet gaze. He noticed the way annoyance shadowed your features but sensed no protest forthcoming.

The two of you slipped away from the feast, indifferent to the lingering glances that followed your hasty exit. Festive laughter faded into the background as you walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep,

As you walked side by side, silence hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of your dress against the stone floor. Aemond cast furtive glances in your direction, grappling with the right words to breach the gap between you. The tension was palpable, and eventually, he settled on candor. “I wish to know more about you."

“Aemond,” you replied, and he could detect the undercurrent of hesitation in your tone as you reached your room.

With a sudden, almost frantic motion, Aemond pivoted to face you, his fingers brushing against your forearm, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you persist in keeping yourself at a distance from me? You are like an angel I am forever barred from touching,” he implored, desperation edging his voice.

You yanked your arm away from him, your gaze fierce, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside. “You must not perceive me in such a way! I am not the paragon of virtue you think I am.”

“Then share something,” Aemond pressed, his violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that threatened to unravel your resolve. “Something dark, something impure.”

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Is that what you seek? So you can soothe your own conscience?”

“Perhaps,” Aemond admitted with unvarnished honesty. He was, after all, a man well aware of his own self-serving tendencies, and he would not shy away from using emotional manipulation to achieve his desires. “But if you hold any affection for me, you will grant me this.”

Your eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned if he had ventured too far. Yet, as the heat in your gaze began to dim, he felt an uneasy tension settle in the silence.

You drew your arms around yourself, a familiar gesture that he now observed closely. Your gaze fell away as you began to speak, “The Targaryens... Your customs are indeed strange. Some might even call them sinful or abominable. Yet there exists a rationale behind them, no matter how obscure.”

“There can be no justifiable reason for my desires,” you whispered, Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion as he sensed the shift in your tone. But when the next revelation slipped from your lips, it left him reeling with disbelief. “I once harbored unnatural feelings for my eldest brother.”

A surge of jealousy twisted in Aemond's chest at the mere thought of you harboring feelings for another. He cleared his throat, the taste of bile rising, and asked, "Did anything come of it?"

"A fleeting kiss—one I initiated. He loathed me for it thereafter," you murmured, your gaze falling to the ground in shame.

A grimace contorted Aemond’s features. "Loathed you?"

"He could scarcely bear to look upon me after that moment," you replied, your voice heavy with sorrow. Aemond felt a visceral urge to take vengeance upon your brother, to avenge the hurt he had caused you. "That was the moment I realized I had lost the only one who truly loved me."

"I recall you speaking of your mother’s grave," Aemond said softly.

You nodded, a glimmer of sorrow passing over your face. "She is gone," you said, and a bittersweet smile flickered briefly. "And I dare say, my family may be worse than yours."

Aemond shook his head with an amused glint dancing in his violet eye. “Impossible,” he replied, the word rolling off his tongue like the soft murmur of waves against the rocky shore. Then, in softer tones, he pressed, “Do you still harbor affections for your brother?”

“No,” you murmured, the admission barely escaping your lips, “Not anymore. Not for ages.”

Aemond studied your features, the interplay of moonlight illuminating the subtle lines of your face. A low chuckle escaped him, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Your brow furrowed, an indignant spark igniting within you. “What?"

“A mere infatuation does not alter the truth of my feelings, nor my perception of you,” he said with an air of certainty, the tension between you thickening as he took a step closer, almost as if the distance between your hearts diminished with every passing heartbeat.

“Then you must be a fool,” you whispered, breathless and yet emboldened, as his presence encroached upon you like the tide reclaiming the shore.

“A lovesick fool, indeed,” he replied, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a mere heartbeat away. The memory of your last kiss flared in your mind— so in that fleeting silence, Aemond’s voice lowered, almost reverent. “May I kiss you?”

He could see the tempest of emotions raging within you, wrestling against reason and desire, your heart at war with itself. Aemond, sensing your internal struggle, began to withdraw, the flicker of disappointment clouding his striking features, but in a sudden rush of bold resolve, you seized the collar of his embroidered doublet, drawing him close, your lips colliding in a swift, fervent embrace.

His breath hitched at the warmth of your touch, and he instinctively cupped your face, anchoring you both in this stolen moment as if the world around you had ceased to exist. Tentatively, his tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, a question hanging palpably in the air—one you answered with the soft, desperate parting of your mouth.

Aemond’s heart raced, a primal longing igniting within him as he explored the depths of your mouth, each caress of his tongue inviting a sweet sound of pleasure to escape from you—a sound that intoxicated him, filling the air with a heady blend of passion and unanswered yearnings.

In that dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep, time lost its meaning, turning to mere whispers around you. The world outside faded, and all that remained was the intoxicating exchange of breath and soul, each sweet caress a vow sealed in secrecy and yearning. But the moment was fleeting; the distant sound of approaching footsteps pulled you both back to reality.

Without hesitation, Aemond seized your hand, urgency painting his every movement as he pulled you into the sanctuary of your chambers. You could not stifle the startled gasp that escaped your lips at his haste. Before you could utter a word, his mouth found yours again, this time with a fervor that struck like wildfire. It was wild and fervent, a collision of passion tinged with desperation.

He broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours, heavy and frantic. "I need you," he murmured, his gaze dark and intense, searching your face for any trace of doubt.

But all resolve melted away in the warmth of his presence, and you nodded quickly, breathless and eager. "Take me, Aemond."

Though reason whispered for him to temper his passion, to shield you from the storm he bore and not taint your innocence, the dragon's need screamed louder still. His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring the fabric of your gown, tracing the soft curves beneath the layers of silk and lace.

A soft whimper escaped your throat, the sound intoxicating him as it echoed in the chamber. You tugged at his doublet, your voice a barely contained plea, “Get this dress off me, Aemond.”

A wild grin spread across his features, the kind that promised mischief and fervor. “With pleasure,” he declared, the words a fervent vow rather than mere amusement. In a swift motion, he spun you around, deftly severing the laces that bound your dress. You gasped as the fine fabric slid away, pooling at your feet, leaving you clad only in a tantalizing shift that clung to your form like mist in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, Aemond gathered you into his arms, your surprised laughter ringing like bells in his ears as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. He carried you with ease, the weight of expectations and honor forgotten in that moment as he made his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, his gaze a blend of fierce devotion and raw desire, like a dragon surveying its treasured hoard, and he leaned closer, whispering a question that weighed heavily on his mind. “Tell me, sweetling,” he began, his voice a low rasp, “are you still a maiden?”

You nodded, your wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The confirmation sent a bolt of need through him, further arousing him as he hastily shed his own garments, baring himself to you. He crawled over you, a predatory grace to his movements, and as you reached out to caress his face, he halted, your touch grounding him.

"I wish to see all of you, Aemond," you whispered.

His lips twitched with a mixture of hesitation and determination. With a deft movement, he removed his eye patch, exposing his scar and sapphire. In response to his bravery, you leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, the warmth of your kiss wrapping around him like wildfire.

As his lips trailed away from yours, they descended to your neck—his warm breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely over your body, caressing and squeezing as if memorizing every curve. His fingers brushed against the hem of your shift, lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.

As his hand ventured beneath the fabric, his fingers brushed against the delicate curls of your mound, a low moan escaping your lips, raw and unbidden. "What treasure lies hidden here? Hmm?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and intoxicating.

His smirk deepened as your hips instinctively lifted, surrendering to the ghostly touch of his fingertips gliding over your wet slit. In a moment of tantalizing tension, he withdrew slightly, seated back as he used two fingers to part your folds, exposing your glistening cunt to his keen gaze.

He was captivated by the sight—your essence glistening, beckoning him forth like a siren’s call across the sea. His breath hitched as he lowered himself, savoring the intoxicating scent that wafted from your cunt; it was a heady blend of desire and vulnerability. With a swift flick of his tongue, he brushed over the tender bud of pleasure, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as your hips jerked in delightful shock.

Aemond’s dark laughter rumbled softly in his chest, a sound that resonated with satisfaction at your response. He ventured further, dipping into the folds of your drenched warmth, his tongue dancing along your slit as if tasting the sweetest of wines. Each movement of his mouth sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, prompting your fingers to clutch at the silk sheets in desperate need of tethering.

You were ambrosia made flesh, a divine fruit of the gods that rendered him intoxicated with longing. He lost himself in the act, the rhythm of his tongue reflecting the primal hunger within him, driving him to worship at your altar without restraint or decorum. There was no pattern in his movements, merely the frantic need of a man raised in the crucible of ambition, now reduced to a ravenous beast by your taste.

His low moans vibrated against your skin as your fingers tangled in his silken hair, urging him closer, deeper. Each sound that escaped your lips heightened his fervor, sending him spiraling further into a haze of lust, where only the two of you existed.

He thrust his tongue deeper, igniting fires within you that threatened to consume all sense. A tremor raced through your body, a shuddering gasp escaping as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive peak. The intensity of the moment left him breathless with longing as he stole glances at your rapturous face, seeking the delight in your face as he skillfully coaxed you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

In one final surge of fervor, he took your pearl between his lips, sucking with fervent need. Your voice rang through the air, calling his name like a battle cry as your release washed over you, your body clenching and shuddering beneath his eager mouth, leaving him lost in the euphoria of your pleasure.

Spent and quaking, you fell back onto the sheets, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as the final ripples of ecstasy coursed through you. Aemond watched you with an entranced intensity, his lustful gaze drinking in the sight of your debauchery, before he positioned himself between your thighs, claiming his rightful place.

With a swift, possessive motion, he grasped the neckline of your shift, ripping the fabric asunder with a growl that echoed his primal desire. The cool air met your flushed skin, and a fresh wave of longing washed over you, eliciting a soft moan as your hardened nipples strained against the chill. Aemond, unable to resist, descended upon you, drawing one of your peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing the way your whimpers filled the air. He felt your fingers weave into his silken hair, tugging him closer, urging him on with your breathless pleas.

He reveled in the contrast of your previously cool skin, now warming deliciously beneath him, the heat of your body igniting a primal fire within him. He pressed his hardness against your lower belly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both. “I could be so good to you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he nipped at your shoulder, “So fucking good. So why do you deny the need that lies between us?"

Your breath hitched, interrupted by a soft moan as he pressed against you with deliberate intent. “I do,” you gasped, desire flaring within you as his cock pressed against your pearl. “I do need you.”

“As I need you, sweet girl,” Aemond murmured, a predatory glint in his eye as he continued to grind against you. Though he was no man of debauchery, the fiery knowledge instilled by whispered secrets and that one fleeting encounter coursed through him.

You responded to his movements with an intoxicating sigh, rocking your hips to match his rhythm, a melody of desire unfolding between them. Aemond’s breath caught as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he breached the sacred barrier that had kept the two of you at bay. A yelp escaped you, sharp and sweet, and he immediately softened, pressing featherlight kisses across your face, murmuring apologies as he reveled in your warmth.

Gripping your hip with a fierce intensity, he drew a sharp breath through his teeth as he buried himself deeper, engulfed in the sensations of your tight, welcoming embrace. You were exquisite—so wet, so warm, so perfectly crafted for him. Aemond began at a measured pace, savoring the glide of his cock within you, the exquisite stretch as you enveloped him, but the fire within quickly ignited into an unquenchable blaze.

Once he'd found a rhythm, he succumbed to the recklessness of desire, thrusting with urgency, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber, a rhythmic drumbeat of passion. His hips snapped against yours with fervor, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure cascading through both of you, an unravelling of control as he sought to claim you in the way that dragons claim their territory.

Your moans echoed within the room, each sound a sweet melody, a heady mixture of fervor and abandon that filled the space with a primal energy. You had long since discarded any pretense of modesty, your voice rising like a songbird caught in a storm. His name spilled from your lips, fervent and loaded with longing.

With an urgency born from need, you surrendered yourself to him, your touch igniting a fire along his torso as your hands freely roamed, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his with reckless abandon. Your lips found the curve of his neck, the warmth of your breath a tempting promise. There was a strange thrill to your bite, and Aemond swore your teeth felt unusually sharp, as you nibbled delicately at his skin.

Yet even in the throes of ecstasy, an insatiable hunger gnawed at him, a need for greater possession. He withdrew slightly, capturing your gaze with his own smoldering gaze. His hand gripped the delicate expanse of your throat, sturdy yet tender, while his other found purchase on your stomach, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “You are mine,” he growled, the primal command taking on a life of its own as he increased the fervor of his thrusts. “Say it.”

The intensity of his possession ignited a fire within you; you instinctively pressed against his hand, urging him to hold you more tightly, to claim you wholly. “Yours,” you breathed, “all yours.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, the phrase rolling off his tongue like a hot brand onto your skin. Your body responded eagerly to his words, an electric shiver rippling through you as you arched your back, another desperate whimper escaping your lips.

It was not long before the dam broke, your body convulsing around him, the tension unfurling like the petals of a flower awakened by the sun. Your breath hitched in a final, breathless moan, and in that moment of exquisite surrender, you tightened your grip around him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. And with a primal roar of ecstasy, he followed you into that dark, consuming void, painting your insides with his seed.

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, your smile glimmered like the stars beyond the castle walls. Reaching out, you traced your fingers along his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss that spoke of unbridled passion and afterglow—a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as you two joined once more.

[mahalachives]

Part 4: The Fic That Broke the Spymaster

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

The shadows should have known better.

He should have known better.

But there it was.

Your phone. Glamour-spelled to work in Prythian thanks to Helion, who declared that “access to filth is a fundamental right”, was in his hands. The screen was glowing softly in the darkness of the library.

Midnight. Silence. A crackling fire.

And one very concerned Shadowsinger, sitting cross-legged with an open mind and so many regrets.

He only meant to scroll.

Just a little.

Just to understand why you'd said things like “Azriel, you’re basically a one-winged angst machine with a six-pack and a tragic backstory, fanfic gold.”

So he clicked one.

One. Single. Fic.

Title: “Darkness Between Us” Tags: Azriel x Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Smut with Feelings, Shadow Play, Wingspan Mentioned Thrice, Emotional Catharsis via Orgasm, 7k words of Eye Contact

He frowned. “Seems… dramatic.”

He started reading.

Five Minutes In

“She gasped as his shadows pinned her wrists to the mattress, cool and alive, like tendrils of pleasure-touched silk-”

Azriel blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…Silk?” he muttered.

One of his actual shadows coiled around his arm, scandalized.

“I don’t do that,” he whispered to it.

It wiggled suspiciously.

Ten Minutes In

“His siphons pulsed in time with her heartbeat, glowing with the force of his restrained desire. He leaned down, voice a velvet growl, ‘Tell me what you want, sweetheart.’”

Azriel made a noise. A sound. Like a dying kettle.

He slammed the phone down, breathing hard.

Looked around the empty room.

Picked the phone back up.

“Cauldron forgive me,” he murmured, and kept reading.

Fifteen Minutes In

“She moaned his name like a prayer, fingers in his hair, dragging him closer as his shadows bound them together like destiny itself. ‘You’re mine, Azriel,’ she cried, ‘and I’m yours.’”

He sat back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered to no one.

“…Am I okay?”

Twenty Minutes In

Azriel slammed the phone face-down on the floor.

Then face-up.

Then face-down again.

He stood. Paced. Sat again.

Tugged at his hair.

Growled softly to himself. “I don’t say things like that. I don’t say ‘Give me all of you, little flame.’ Who wrote this- who talks like this?!”

He scrolled to the bottom of the fic.

Author: ShadowLover420

“Cauldron boil me alive.”

He tapped the comments.

“Azriel can shadowplay me into next week 😩🔥” “THE WINGSPAN?? MA’AM??”

“I blacked out at ‘my light in the darkness’ and woke up engaged.”

He made the mistake of clicking the tag ‘Wingspan Porn’.

Thirty Minutes In

He was lying flat on the library floor, phone balanced on his face, whispering like a man in the throes of war flashbacks.

“They had a chart,” he muttered. “Of relative wing sizes. With math.”

Cassian appeared in the doorway, blinking blearily. “Bro… are you reading fic again?”

Azriel didn’t move. “There was oil. And poetry. In the same scene.”

Cassian wandered over, peered down at the screen. “Ohhh, is this the one where you pin her to the wall with shadows and confess your love while kissing her spine?”

Azriel let out a strangled noise. “You knew?!”

Cassian snorted. “Please. I left a comment. ‘Cassian_69.’ Got 200 likes.”

Azriel stared at him. “You’re the reason this has a sequel.”

Cassian beamed. “You're welcome.”

Five Minutes Later

You entered the library to find Azriel on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, shadows buzzing like disturbed bees. Cassian was wheezing with laughter.

“You wrote this,” Azriel said darkly. “Didn’t you.”

You appeared in the doorway, yawned, stretched. “Wrote what?”

He raised the phone. “‘Whispers in the Shadows’?!”

You blinked at the screen. “Oh, that’s one of my better ones.”

Azriel's soul left his body.

“You wrote yourself kissing me against a window while my shadows tied your ankles to the curtain rod.”

You nodded. “Good imagery, right?”

“There was an entire paragraph about my ‘quietly dominant aura.’”

You grinned. “I stand by it.”

“The shadows formed a BED.”

“They’re creative!”

“And the moonlight was described as ‘jealous’ of your orgasms!”

You clapped your hands. “That was a poetic moment, thank you for noticing-”

Azriel walked out of the room. Slowly. Silently. Dramatically.

Cassian snorted. “He’s going to brood about this for weeks.”

You shrugged, already pulling up your next WIP.

He’d be fine.

Eventually.

Probably.

Two Hours Later

You found a note under your pillow.

It read: “Your metaphors are ridiculous. —Azriel”

P.S. The shadow play wasn’t inaccurate.

You screamed.

Somewhere in the House, Azriel smirked.

To Be Continued.

[mintyys-blog]

LOVESICK | sinister mark x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: extremely toxic relationships, abuse, implied cannibalism, character death, stockholm syndrome, smut, mentioned kidnapping, blood.

MINORS DNI

this fanfic contains themes of abuse that may not be suitable for all readers, if this applies to you— please don’t read.

The living room was quiet, too quiet. The kind that sank into her bones like cold water. She stood at the doorway, barefoot, trembling as she watched him. Mark stood at the center of the room, facing a swirling green portal that crackled with unstable energy. Angstrom Levy stood nearby, adjusting something on a device with calculated precision, saying nothing—just waiting.

“No,” she whispered, stepping forward. “Mark, please… don’t go.”

He didn’t turn around.

“I said don’t go!” Her voice broke, and she rushed toward him, grabbing at his arm. “You can’t leave me here—don’t you get it? I’ll lose my mind if you go through that thing!”

That made him pause.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then slowly turned his head to meet her desperate gaze. “You’re so clingy,” he muttered, almost annoyed.

She barely had time to gasp before a flick of his wrist sent her flying back—her body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. Her head hit the floor. The room spun. She could taste blood.

“Mark—” she choked out, dazed. “Please…”

He didn’t look back again. Just turned away from her crumpled form without a shred of guilt.

And then he stepped through the portal.

Gone.

The green light shimmered for a moment, then faded, leaving the house in silence again.

She lay there, tears slipping down her cheeks, whispering his name into the emptiness.

“Mark…”

There was no answer. Just the echo of her own voice—and the distant sound of something breaking inside her.

The days bled together like ink in water.

The house was too quiet without him.

Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind rattling the windows, every shadow stretching across the walls at dusk made her sit up—just for a moment—hoping. But he never came. The door never opened. His boots never hit the floor. No voice. No scolding. No cruel smirk. No Mark.

At first, she held onto routine like it might keep her sane. She made dinner at six—always enough for two. Set the table, even placed his favorite cup beside his plate. She used to fear him walking in and being displeased. Now she feared that silence. That stillness.

She never left the house. Not once.

She didn’t even know how. Mark had always taken her places, kept her tethered to his side like some precious possession—or a pet. He drove. He paid. He spoke. She followed. Now she stood by the front door for minutes at a time, her hand on the knob, heart racing, unable to step outside.

The world didn’t feel real without him in it.

She stopped opening the curtains. What was the point? She didn’t want the light. It only made the dust in the air visible, like the house itself was decaying with her.

Sometimes she lay on the couch, curled up in the hoodie he left behind, breathing in the faded scent of him—blood, ash, something inhuman beneath it all. She wept into it until her throat burned. Sometimes she’d whisper to it, imagining he was still there, arms crossed, watching her fall apart like some cruel god.

She replayed their last moment over and over again. The way he flicked her away like she was nothing. The way he didn’t even look back.

But he was everything.

He fed her. He clothed her. He told her when to eat, when to sleep, when to speak. She didn’t know who she was without him—what she was.

And that terrified her.

It had been months. No sign. No message. Just the ache in her chest that never left.

She sat on the floor of the kitchen one night, her untouched dinner growing cold beside her. The lights were off. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge and the clock ticking above the stove.

Her fingers traced the tile, absently. She’d cleaned it earlier, hoping maybe he’d come back and comment on it. Maybe even mock her for doing a bad job. She would’ve welcomed that.

“Mark…” she whispered into the darkness, voice hoarse. “Please come home…”

The silence answered back.

She curled in on herself, hands gripping his hoodie, rocking slightly.

“I need you,” she murmured. “I’m nothing without you.”

And in the quiet, her mind began to break in little pieces—pieces shaped like him

She stopped keeping track of the days. Time, without him, became this sluggish, aching thing—always moving but never changing. Sleep offered no escape. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Standing over her. Touching her face with blood-stained hands. Smirking like he always did when she cried.

And every time she woke up, he was gone all over again.

She stopped eating for a while. Then started again. For him. She told herself he’d be angry if he came back and saw her like this—thin, pale, eyes hollow and ringed with purple. He liked her pretty, and alive, and obedient.

So she forced food down, gagging on every bite, whispering his name between mouthfuls.

She didn’t speak aloud often. The silence in the house felt too sacred, too full of his absence to shatter. But sometimes, when it got bad—when the walls felt like they were closing in and the air was too thick to breathe—she’d crawl into their bed, lay on his side, and whisper stories to the pillow.

About her day. About how she cleaned the bathroom. About how she washed his clothes even though they didn’t smell like him anymore. About how she still loved him, even though he hurt her, even though he left her.

Especially because he hurt her. Because that meant he still touched her. Still saw her.

He never let her forget she belonged to him. And she missed that more than anything. The way he reminded her of her place with every order, every punishment, every cold laugh when she cried.

Without him, she had no place. She didn’t exist.

The turning point came one evening, when she was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup she’d made the way he liked it—spicy, thick, with chunks of meat and barely any vegetables.

She’d set the table. Folded the napkin the way he always corrected her to. Lit a candle, because he once told her she looked nice in that kind of light.

And as she turned to set the pot down, the air behind her ripped.

A green light flooded the kitchen, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

She dropped the ladle. Her breath caught. Slowly, like she was afraid it would vanish if she moved too fast, she turned around.

The portal shimmered at the center of the room—alive, pulsing, waiting.

“Mark?” her voice cracked.

No one stepped through.

She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the container of soup, still hot, clutched it to her chest with shaking hands, and stepped through.

The air changed instantly. It was hot. Dry. The kind of heat that stole breath and burned skin. The ground crunched beneath her shoes. Sand. A desert. Barren and endless.

She blinked, shielding her eyes from the harsh light.

“Mark?” she called, voice trembling.

Silence. “Mark, are you here?!”

She wandered, searching. Every rock, every shadow, every gust of wind made her heart stutter. Her hands shook around the container. She would find him. She had to. He had to be here.

Then she saw them.

Bodies. No—skeletons. Six of them. Some barely clothed. Some with blue and yellow suits torn across sun-bleached ribs.

“Mark…” she whispered, knees buckling. She dropped the food and ran, heart pounding. “Oh god, please no—Mark!”

She collapsed beside the corpses, grabbing at a skull, turning it over—looking for his face.

It wasn’t him. None of them were him. But they were all him. Versions of him. From other dimensions. Her Mark wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t leave her like that—not forever.

Then— “Y/N?”

She froze. Spun around.

“Mark!”

He looked like death. His hair was long, wild. His eyes sunken, cheeks hollow. His suit was torn, caked in dried blood and dirt. His hands… his hands were red, dripping with blood.

She didn’t care.

“I—I came for you,” she said breathlessly. “I brought you dinner—I thought—maybe you missed my cooking—”

He tackled her to the ground, pinning her beneath him. His weight was heavy, his breathing ragged.

“Are you… real?” he rasped, staring down at her with feverish eyes.

“Yes, Mark. Yes, I’m real!” Her hands cupped his face, tears spilling freely now. “I’m here. I came to bring you home. I’ve missed you—so much.”

His fingers closed around her wrists tightly, possessively, like he expected her to vanish into dust.

Then—slowly—a smirk twisted across his lips. “You brought me dinner?” She nodded, breath hitching.

He pushed off her without a word, found the container where it had fallen, and tore it open. He devoured it with feral hunger, crouched in the sand like an animal. She sat up, watching him, unsure if she should touch him again.

When he was finished, he licked his lips, turned toward her slowly, and tilted his head. “You really came all this way for me?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I… I was getting lonely without you.”

He was on her again in seconds—hands rough, mouth hungry. “I missed you too,” he growled against her throat.

When he bit her, she cried out, but didn’t pull away. She never wanted to be apart again.

His mouth moved feverishly—over her neck, her jaw, her lips—biting, claiming, taking. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, dragging her closer into the dust beneath them.

“Mark,” she gasped again, hands buried in his tangled hair, desperate to anchor herself as he devoured her like she was air and he hadn’t breathed in months.

When his teeth sank into her neck again, harder this time, she cried out. Blood welled up, warm against her skin, and he moaned into her flesh. His tongue followed, licking the trail, savoring it like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

“It was torture without you,” he growled, his voice dark and shaking. “You have no idea what they did to me—what I had to do to get back.”

She trembled beneath him, her breath ragged. “I waited,” she whispered. “I waited every single day, Mark.”

He kissed her again—brutal and unrelenting. Not soft. Not tender. But his. His kiss tasted like blood and desperation. Like madness.

“I love you, Mark,” she said again, clinging to him.

He didn’t answer. Just shoved his hand up her shirt, calloused fingers dragging over skin that hadn’t been touched in months. He was hungry for her. For the warmth. For the proof that she was real and here and his.

“You kept my bed warm?” he murmured against her chest. “Or were you crying yourself to sleep?”

She flushed, eyes brimming. “I couldn’t sleep. Not without you.”

He smiled—something vicious and smug and entirely Mark. “Good,” he whispered, biting down just above her heart. “You’re mine. Even when I’m gone.”

She arched into him, moaning, aching in the worst and best ways. “I’ll never leave you again,” he promised, not because it was romantic, but because it was a threat. “You’ll never be alone again, baby.”

And with the blood drying on her neck and the weight of him pressing her into the sand, she knew he meant it. She didn’t care that he was dangerous. She just wanted to be his again. And she was. Completely.

His hands were everywhere—ruthless, possessive, memorizing every inch of her like she might vanish again if he didn’t carve her into his skin. She gasped when his teeth found her collarbone, leaving a mark—his mark—then another, and another.

“I should’ve chained you to the bed before I left,” he growled, voice low, hot against her ear. “You’d be safer. Easier to find.”

“I didn’t leave,” she whimpered, her back arching beneath him. “I waited. I never even opened the front door.”

His breath hitched. That seemed to break something in him. He kissed her—hard, fast, almost frantic. “You really didn’t?”

She nodded quickly. “I didn’t know how to be without you.”

Mark growled again, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes burning. “God, you’re perfect,” he muttered. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hips pressed into hers, grinding slow and possessive as his hands yanked her shirt up over her chest. “Tell me how much you missed me,” he said, dragging his teeth over the swell of her breast.

“Every second,” she breathed. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“You are crazy,” he whispered, smiling against her skin. “That’s why I love you.”

She gasped when he bit down again, harder this time, just above her heart. His hands slid between her thighs, spreading her open, and she sobbed his name.

“Mark—please…”

“Say it again.”

“Please—”

“No,” he said, licking the blood off her chest. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” she moaned, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. “I love you, Mark.”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re never getting away from me again.” She smiled, a love sick expression on her face, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The air was thick with heat and blood and dust, but she didn’t feel any of it. Not really. Not the ache in her neck where he bit her, not the sting of his nails dragging across her thighs, not even the rough ground scraping her back as he moved over her like a man possessed.

All she felt was him.

She was dizzy with it. With him. The weight of him pressing her down, the sound of his ragged breathing in her ear, the way his body trembled like he was barely holding himself together. He wasn’t gentle. He never was. But she didn’t want gentle. She wanted Mark. All of him. The cruelty. The violence. The madness.

Especially the madness.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said against her lips, hips rolling into her with brutal intent. “Every night. Tearing you apart. Hearing you scream for me.”

“Do it,” she begged, without shame. “I want it. I want you.”

He snarled—actually snarled—and bit down on her lower lip until it bled. She didn’t flinch. She smiled, licking the copper taste from her mouth like it was wine. Her eyes were wide and glassy with tears, pupils blown with adoration and madness both.

He wasn’t her savior. He never had been. But he was her world.

She didn’t even look at the corpses anymore.

She had, once. At first. Thought they were him—that she’d lost him. But now… now she knew. Those other Marks—those other versions of the man she loved—they weren’t him. Not her Mark.

He had killed them.

He’d ripped them apart with his bare hands, left their bones to rot beneath the sun.

And it made her love him even more.

Because he fought through everything to come back to her. He’d faced other versions of himself—stronger, maybe kinder, maybe better—and he destroyed them all. For her.

She didn’t question it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

He was her monster. Her obsession. Her reason for breathing. And if his hands were stained red with blood, if his teeth were sharp and his heart twisted—then that just meant he matched the thing inside her.

“I would’ve died without you,” she whispered, clinging to him as his body trembled on top of her. “I was already dying. Every day you were gone, I was disappearing.”

“You don’t leave me again,” he growled, thrusting deeper, pressing his forehead against hers. “If you do—I’ll find you. I’ll tear the world apart again. Do you understand?”

“I want you to,” she moaned, her nails dragging down his back. “I want to be yours. Forever.” He kissed her like it was a curse. Like claiming her again meant breaking her all over. And she let him. She welcomed it. Craved it

He didn’t ask. He never had.

His hands gripped the fabric of her shirt, and with a sharp, brutal tug, it tore down the middle. The sound of fabric ripping echoed against the hollow silence of the desert. Her breath hitched—but not from fear. From longing.

He stared at her chest like a starving man, his wild eyes tracking every inch of skin like he didn’t know where to start. His hands shook, not from hesitation, but from restraint—like he didn’t trust himself not to destroy her if he touched her too hard.

And still—she made no protest.

She didn’t cower. Didn’t flinch. Her eyes were wide, glassy with devotion, with need. Her lips were parted in a soft gasp, chest rising and falling quickly under his gaze.

She loved him. Even like this. Especially like this. Feral. Unhinged. Covered in blood that wasn’t his. Bones scattered behind them like discarded trophies.

He was chaos wrapped in muscle and madness, and she loved him so deeply it ached. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t kind. That he never said he loved her back. That his affection came in bruises and threats and rough hands around her throat.

That was his love.

And she would take it all.

His hands grabbed at her pants next, ripping them from her body with the same violence, the same desperation. She was bare beneath him now, exposed to the sun and the wind and his gaze. And still—no fear. Just trembling devotion.

“You didn’t forget me,” he muttered, voice low and breathless. “You stayed mine.”

“I was always yours,” she whispered, reaching for him, pulling him down. “Even when you left. Even when I thought I’d go insane.”

He kissed her again—harsh, messy, hungry. His teeth dragged across her lips, his tongue pressing inside like he needed to taste her soul. His body pressed down, pinning her into the dirt, as if trying to fuse them together.

Soon, his clothes—already ragged and stained with blood, dirt, and god knows what else—were peeled from his body with impatient hands. Hers and his. It didn’t matter. They tore at the fabric together, frantic, feverish, as if the distance between them hadn’t just been months but lifetimes.

His shirt was yanked over his head and tossed aside like it meant nothing—because it didn’t. Nothing mattered except this. Her. Him. The space between them that was finally, finally closing.

His pants were next, shoved down and kicked away, his boots thrown somewhere into the sand. All of it discarded, forgotten. Unimportant.

And then he was bare—all lean muscle, scarred skin, and power barely leashed. His body looked like it had been through war. Because it had. There were bruises along his ribs, long gashes half-healed, old scars from battles she would never hear about. His knuckles were split, blood crusted beneath his fingernails.

But to her, he was beautiful.

Her lips parted in awe, her fingers lifting to ghost along the scars on his abdomen.

“You’re hurt…” she murmured.

He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him fully, his eyes dark and wild. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m worth saving.”

She blinked, caught off guard, but her heart only swelled. “You are. You’re worth everything to me.”

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. And then he climbed over her again, pressing their bodies together, skin to skin, no more barriers, no more space. His body was warm—too warm—and trembling from the sheer force of what he was holding back.

He didn’t hold back anymore. His thrusts were brutal, but her wet pussy welcomed him. She moaned his name, her nails running down his back. Sweat dripping down their bodies from the heat. But that didn’t stop them. He pushed himself as deep as he could, even throwing her legs on his shoulders.

Her pussy continued to milk his cock, but he didn’t care for her pleasure right now— and she wasn’t complaining. His rough hands grabbing her hips, her breasts, squeezing hard enough to cause bruises. Still, she was happy. This was exactly what she wanted— what she was waiting for.

…he was all hers again.

Every touch, every kiss, was a promise. A reminder that even in the chaos, in the darkness that had once separated them, they were always meant to find each other again. Her body moved with his, responding to him instinctively, desperate to bridge the gap that had been too long in the making.

The world around them had vanished. The desert, the wind, the scattered bones—all of it was a distant memory, lost in the haze of their connection. It was just them now. Her fingers dug into his skin, feeling the sharpness of the muscles beneath, the way he trembled slightly as he held her so tightly, as if afraid she’d slip through his fingers again.

Her name escaped his lips in a broken gasp, and it felt like a vow. Every stroke, every movement, every breath they shared was laced with it: I will never leave you again.

Her heart raced, and she pulled him deeper, kissed him harder, feeling his body against hers in ways she had once longed for but had almost given up on. The pain of the past months, the loneliness, the aching emptiness—all of it vanished, erased by the simple fact that he was here.

And she was here with him.

She could feel his raw need, the desperation that pulsed through him, the way his body jerked with each push, each pull, as though he was making up for lost time. There was nothing graceful about it. It was frantic. Wild. A beautiful chaos.

And she loved it.

“I missed you so much,” she breathed against his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back, memorizing the way he felt under her hands. “I didn’t know how to breathe without you.”

His breath caught at the words, his lips skimming her collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Don’t leave me again,” he growled. “Promise me you won’t. No matter what.”

“I’ll never leave you,” she swore, tightening her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. “You’re all I need. You’re everything.”

His hands were everywhere, as if touching her was the only way he could make sure she was real. His grip on her hips was bruising, and still, she didn’t care. It was him. It was Mark. The man who had broken her, who had made her feel like a shell of herself, but who had also made her feel more alive than anyone else ever could. His cock bullied against her cervix, and she gasped.

He was her broken piece. Her obsession. Her everything.

Her heart slammed in her chest as she kissed him again, each moment with him a fresh burn that she never wanted to put out. The heat, the fire, the ache—they all collided until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

And then, as they both tumbled over the edge, a ragged breath escaped her lips, a broken moan of his name, and she realized she was completely, utterly lost in him.

And she didn’t care. Because in his arms, in this moment, she was finally found.

His husky groans were drawn out, raw and low, like the sound of a man unraveling. Every time she clenched around him, his breath hitched, and his grip on her hips tightened—possessive, almost bruising. He cursed under his breath, the words slipping out between moans, rough and uncontrolled.

“Fuck—Y/N—god, you feel…” His head dropped to her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin as he tried to breathe, tried to think, but she kept pulling him under with every movement, every desperate sound from her lips.

She arched against him, her nails digging into his back as she moved with him, matched him, needed him.

He groaned again, long and deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. “You’re gonna drive me insane,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “I’ve gone to hell and back and this—this is what I was dying for.”

She whimpered, “Then don’t stop. Don’t leave me again.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, sweat dripping down his temple, his jaw clenched tight as he pushed in deeper, slower, harder, watching her fall apart beneath him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he rasped, eyes locked on hers. “You’re mine. Forever. Even if I have to chain you to my fucking side.”

And the way she moaned at that—the way she clung to him like she’d fall apart without him—made his mind go blank. His rhythm faltered, desperation taking over. He was lost in her. Lost in the way she looked up at him with those tear-filled eyes, like he was both her damnation and her salvation.

And in a way… he was.

Their bodies moved in a feverish rhythm, sweat-slicked and tangled together in a dance that felt both sacred and savage. Every thrust was a promise—violent and tender, desperate and possessive. Her cries were muffled against his throat, and his growls rumbled deep in his chest, shaking through both of them like thunder.

She clung to him like he was air—like she’d suffocate without his touch. And maybe she would. Maybe she already had, in those long months without him, with only the memory of his hands and his voice to keep her warm at night.

He was all she knew.

He was all she wanted to know.

Mark gritted his teeth as she clenched around him again, eyes fluttering shut. His whole body shuddered—he was losing control, losing sense of everything that wasn’t her. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her throat, her thigh as he lifted it to sink in deeper. He didn’t want to be gentle. He wanted to remind her who she belonged to.

“You were made for this,” he growled against her lips. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she gasped, tears streaking her cheeks, her voice ragged from crying and moaning and begging for more. “All yours—Mark, I’m yours.”

He slammed into her harder, a snarl ripping from his throat. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she whimpered, lips trembling. “Only yours. Always.” That broke him.

He buried himself in her with a groan that sounded like agony and bliss all at once. His arms wrapped tight around her, crushing her to his chest as if he could pull her inside himself and keep her there—safe, hidden, his.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he muttered into her neck, his breath ragged and hot. “You don’t breathe without me.”

She nodded frantically, sobbing with pleasure. “I don’t want to—I only want you—please, Mark, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Even as the world around them burned dry and lifeless, she bloomed under him like something reborn. And he—feral, bloodstained, half-mad—worshipped her the only way he knew how: With teeth. With hands. With every broken, burning part of himself that had clawed through dimensions just to feel her like this again. And she took it all. She welcomed the monster. Because she loved him.

Mark’s breathing was still ragged as he held her close, his arms trembling—not from weakness, but from the overwhelming need to keep her with him. He buried his face in her neck one last time, kissing the bruises he’d left with a strange gentleness that didn’t match the wild way he’d claimed her.

And then, without a word, he stood.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders. His skin was still warm, damp with sweat and streaked with grit, but she didn’t care. She curled against him like she belonged there—and she did.

She lifted her head slowly, eyes scanning the horizon. The heat shimmered in the distance, making the world feel warped and unreal. But there—just ahead—a flicker of green light, distorted and hazy like a dream, hovered in the air.

“There,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, pointing toward the still-open portal. “That’s home.”

Mark’s bloodshot eyes followed her gesture. His jaw clenched.

The word home hit something in him.

He started walking, each step firm, purposeful. The wind whipped around them, carrying the scent of dust, bones, and death—but she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The past didn’t matter now. The skeletons of the other Marks, the blood on his hands—it was nothing compared to the fact that he was holding her now.

He was coming home.

With her.

She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—familiar, wild, comforting in the most twisted way. She kissed the underside of his jaw gently, her heart thudding hard in her chest.

The closer they got to the portal, the more she worried it would disappear before they reached it. But it didn’t.

It waited—still, glowing, pulsing softly—like it knew she would find him. Like it had been waiting for them both.

Mark paused just before stepping through. His grip on her tightened slightly, and for a second, he looked back—just once—at the barren, blood-soaked desert that had become his hunting ground. His prison. His purge.

Then he looked down at her. And stepped forward. They vanished into the green light, swallowed by it—together.

[panbotter]

Hey so in reference to my previous ask, can you do one were the reader is having trouble controlling their powers (you can decide those) and either Kurt or Erik comfort them after a bad day and end up confessing to the reader. You can ad smut if you want but if not that's totally fine too☺️.

Your Existence is Grand

Erik Lehnsherr x gn!reader

Erik notices you having a rough day with your powers and decides to shower you with praise.

(This is my first fanfic literally ever so feedback appreciated, but also... Sorry for any mistakes!!!!)

Trigger warnings: cursing, suggestive themes (I don't know what else to write here, pls let me know if there's anything else I should add!)

The air around me begins buzzing and crackling, becoming charged with electricity and I sigh, deeply frustrated before I reach for the metal doorknob in front of me and receive a shock so strong that all the muscles in my arm cramp up painfully. I curse under my breath, forcing my arm to bend and stretch the tense muscles as I walk into the lounge, getting a glimpse of the others outside. Some might say I’d been gifted with a particularly powerful mutation, that it made me strong and intimidating. That I am admired for it, as if it’s a blessing to be grateful for.

But in this god-forsaken world, all I could see was a curse that plagued my body. I never bothered to understand the science behind it, as much as others might have tried to explain it to me. Something about the electricity in my body behaving abnormally, affecting the air around me and in turn, other electronics or conductors of electricity, turning me into a walking hazard around power lines, or thunderstorms. Let's not even mention the sheer amount of electrical fires I’ve caused. Sure, it sounds cool. But the reality is basically hell.

One of the ‘best’ parts about my mutation is that it is terribly unstable, especially when you’re constantly surrounded by electricity no matter where you go. Everyone else who charges up some static then touches a piece of metal receives a little sting from a silly little shock. It might be a little funny or perhaps surprising! Maybe it happens when you touch fingers with someone else and you shock each other, what a cute moment!

Try getting fucking electrocuted every single time.

Nowhere near as cute, nor as fun.

Some days are worse than others and the more restless I become, the worse it is for me in the end. But unfortunately, I can’t lay in bed immobile for an entire day to lower the voltage my body is producing, resulting in my current conundrum. Avoiding the rest of the X-Men in order to avoid any potential accidents, especially with Jubilee. Fireworks and a highly-charged mutant body surrounded by a bunch of high-tech only spells out bad news. Luckily, it seems like most of them were outside on the basketball court. That’s what I thought, at least.

“I take it you’re having a bad voltage day?” the voice of none other than Magneto startles me out of my thinking. It’s been more than a few months of him living here with us, but his presence is still unexpected. I had a hard time training the knee-jerk defensive reaction out of my body for the first few days, my body becoming charged up so quickly that I wouldn’t even have the chance to blink before I shot a bolt of electricity at him.

He was quick to show that a little spark didn’t do much to him, given that he was essentially a walking magnetic field.

I turn to him, his large form standing at the entrance to the lounge, “What makes you say that?” I turn back to watch as Scott and Logan start another argument, their voices muffled by the glass.

“The air keeps crackling and I have a hard time believing there’s a storm inside the building” he approaches until he pauses at my side. I chuckle a little, giving a wince once I feel my sore muscles constrict. He turns to watch me.

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe Storm has had enough of those two at each other’s throats” I try to joke but my voice falters, as my heart begins to race again and the sound of the air buzzing around me becomes overwhelming. Tremors begin rippling across my muscles, a mixture of them cramping and relaxing too fast for me to keep up with. Losing the strength in my legs, I stretch a hand out toward the glass in front of me to hold myself up but I miss the glass by a couple inches. Erik’s hands are quick to grab onto my arms before pulling me into his chest, supporting my weight as the crackling noise fills my ears and I let out a pained shout. My body releases a strong burst of electricity, most of it absorbed by Erik’s magnetic field, whilst the rest causes the power in the building to go out. I pant loudly, trying to catch my breath, feeling like my heart might’ve stopped in the middle of that.

The lights flicker around us before the power in the school hums back to life. Erik’s hands are still around me, I realize before beginning to step away, but his hold on me tightens. He pulls me back against his chest and I try to fight back the heat that’s slowly creeping up to my face. This is a bit embarrassing. I’ll admit it, I had grown to like Erik in the time he’d been with us, not to mention I had quite a few run-ins with him before I ever joined the X-Men. He always seemed so… Powerful, he always felt safe to be around. As radical as the Professor may claim he is, he always seemed… Right. You could hear the passion in his voice when he spoke of mutantkind and it made you want to side with him, to be loyal and to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

He had a powerful presence, and as I am now discovering, a powerful touch. One of the very few people who could come near me without fear of being electrocuted. My muscles had begun to twitch in the aftermath of the shock. These are the unfortunate moments where I wish I could be rid of my mutation. I could barely hold myself up and here I was in Erik’s arms.

“You should be resting” his voice was stern, but there was a hint of concern in there. I raise my gaze to meet his, feeling a bit of shame.

“I can’t just lay in bed all day, the world is still turning, there’s things to do…” I muttered.

“Precisely, the world is still turning and it will still continue to turn if you are at rest. You, on the other hand, are not a planet and you need to care for yourself”

I stare into his eyes, feeling them pierce through my soul. He always seemed to be right about everything… I chuckle under my breath as I regain some strength in my legs, straightening back up.

“I’m sure you must be tired of having to run after all of us like a babysitter” I joke as his arms come to rest on my shoulders once I’m stable on my feet.

A glint crosses his eyes, “I do wonder how Charles managed, and then I remember he’s a telepath, so it must’ve been quite easy for him” he replies with a smirk gracing his face that makes me laugh a little.

“He still struggled, you shouldn’t compare yourself to the Professor”

He begins to lead me toward the couch behind us, helping me take a seat before joining me. I still feel a hot streak of shame across my stomach, having him help me. Burdening him.

“Sorry, by the way… You’re right, I should be a little more considerate of others” I mutter.

Erik turns to look at me as I avoid making eye contact, “I don’t believe those were my words…” his hand reaches out toward my chin, gently turning my head to face him, “I only ask of you to rest and care for yourself, forget what the others may think”

I blinked up at him, “The Professor always wanted me to push past my limits, so that I can perhaps get stronger… Control my powers better”

“In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have to restrict your abilities, you could rule this planet with a wave of your hand, what you have is something to be proud of, not ashamed” he places his hand against my cheek and I find myself leaning against his warm touch, “Your mutation is a blessing, not a curse”

I scoff, “Sure doesn’t feel that way, I can’t even live among humans without shutting down an entire city’s power”

“Your powers shouldn’t be hidden, controlled, or restricted for the sake of humanity” he says the word with disdain, “but those are my beliefs, your existence is grand mein liebling”

My heart thumps against my chest loudly at his words. It feels… Intimate. How could he speak such high praise toward me?

“I see you hurt and I watch as you restrain yourself around others, as your mutation basically eats your body alive and it pains me…” his eyes gaze across my face, pausing at my lips before trailing back up to my eyes, “It pains me that you live in a world where you feel you cannot rest, where you feel you must hide the power within you”

“Erik…” I whisper, almost afraid to shatter the moment between us, “What are you… What are you saying…?” I peer into his eyes, seeing something brewing behind his gaze. Could it be possible that he’s… No, there’s no way.

“What do you believe I’m saying?” he whispers softly, leaning in toward me. I jump as a few sparks fly out from where he has his hand on my cheek. I can’t help my eyes dropping to his lips before rising back up to his eyes.

I feel the tension rise and in a desperate attempt to avoid it, I joke, “If I was delusional, I might think you’re trying to confess to me right now” I laugh a little to dispel the tension. His gaze was still just as intense so I failed, but I tried my best.

A smile graced his features, “Yes… Perhaps if you were delusional, you might see that I am actually confessing my feelings for you right now” he says it so casually I almost think he’s playing along with my joke, but as my eyes widen, so does his smile.

“Are you…?” my voice wavers a little. I feel my heart drop, realizing he’s probably joking with me. I turn away from his hand, lightly pushing his chest to put distance between us.

“Is this some sort of joke? Come on, Erik… You know that’s… It’s unrealistic” I mutter, a man like him would never love someone like me, that’s not how it works… Maybe in the movies, or in a fairytale perhaps.

“Mein liebling, perhaps I haven’t been clear enough with you” he wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close, closer than before, “do you prefer a visual demonstration instead? I can give you that, you only need to ask” he smiles before slowly leaning in, giving me enough time to back out if I wished, but I find myself leaning in, eager to feel his lips against mine.

As soon as our lips locked together, sealed at last, a burst of electric sparks flew out from our lips and I giggled into the kiss. I mean, how ironic is that? I felt real, literal sparks and fireworks from the kiss and it made my lips tingly. Erik smiles into the kiss before deepening it, his hand rising up toward my hair while the other trailed down my back and I found myself desperate to be closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, clumsily climbing over to sit on his lap. We part right as I begin losing my breath and he trails a burning, tingly trail of kisses down my jaw before he stops by my ear.

With a whisper that blew across the nape of my neck, “I see more than just greatness in you, so much more…” The words are charged with intention, passion, and sincerity. I shudder as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I bite back a moan as he continues kissing down my neck. I take a sharp breath in as he begins sucking on a tender spot before I suddenly realize what we’re doing…

Where we’re doing it.

I turn slightly to peek at the windows, making sure the others are still thoroughly distracted with playing before I feel Erik bite my skin and a moan breaks out, “Wait! Erik… We’re… In the lounge…”

He lifts his head, and the dark look in his blue eyes makes me clench my legs in anticipation, “We’ll just have to be fast… And quiet… Can you do that?” He taunts me with a question I don’t even get the chance to answer before he lays me down on the couch, climbing over me, “I’m just helping you relax, that’s not a sin, is it?” He looks down at me with a hungry gaze and I feel my cheeks burn.

“I guess not”

“Show me what else you can do with these sparks of yours”

[solrabi]

Lucid Submission - chapter 2

(feudal lord!sukuna x reader)

synopsis:

The fearsome demon king, Sukuna Ryomen, is reborn as an immortal human man as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm.

To lift his curse and return to his original form, Sukuna must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities.

However, it requires him to have a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

fanfic masterlist

Your skin chaffed against the rope wounded tightly around it, wrists aching as the rounded ends of your ulnas rubbed against one another. You had already almost been married against your will in the past, and your mind was set on never having that happen to you again.

As much as you despised the winter season, the sound of crunching snow always soothed you, reminding you of the days you’d run around with your grandmother chasing after you. But now, all it did was sound ominous, like you were walking—well, more like being dragged to your death by two brawny men (albeit much thinner compared to the mastodon of a man who claimed you as his bride.) The crackles of fresh ice thinned out as the four of you approached the town. Snow-covered gabled roofs coming into view.

A beam of hope glimmered in your chest. You could scream for help once you’d reach closer to the inner core of the town. Even if you knew no one would want to help a mere street thief, let alone one that looked as dirty and noxious as you–a girl could hope. Maybe the sight of the two brutes firmly gripping onto your elbows and walking fast enough for you to basically hover over the ground would soften the townsfolk's hearts. It was hard living life as a woman.

But to your surprise, the crazed man and his bodyguards took a detour—a deserted street save for two or three children sweeping away snow on the damp ground. “I am a mere thief, you crazed fool. You will not gain anything by marrying me,” you said out loud into the silence. 

The children didn’t look in your direction but simply ran back inside their respective homes. Take me with you, you wanted to say. The pink-haired man suddenly stopped. You could sense his turbulent mood even by the back of his head. You knew it was impossible, but it felt like his thick neck was sweating out of sheer annoyance. 

He turned around, and his bodyguards stopped walking, leaving you to finally rest your feet. He didn’t seem angry. His devil-like red eyes had a determined look in them. The kind you’d have when you knew you wouldn’t go to sleep hungry. 

“I don’t know what uncivilized world you came from, but you must address me respectfully.” His voice boomed in the empty street. Like a king, the man commanded attention with eye contact and intimidation alone. It was like his gaze had cemented you to the cobblestoned street. But you had to stay strong, keeping your spine stiff and guarded if you were going to survive this situation. 

Maybe he married random women and then feasted on their blood and organs to grow stronger. The outline of his swelling muscles underneath his hakama was not helping your judgment. He looked like the kind of man who relished blood's salty and iron-like taste.

“How can I address you if I do not even know your name?” you snapped, uncaring if the monster that nabbed you was capable of breaking your body into halves–like one of the twigs his heavy foot stepped on while walking. You could tell his patience was running thin when he frowned. “Besides, I cannot marry you without receiving a proper proposal. I may not have much, but I do have pride. It’s the one thing the poor can afford,” you continued. 

The tattooed man walks closer to where you’re standing, and for a split second, you curse yourself for your quick tongue. He leans down to be eye-level with you, and you notice how he looks at you with a deep sense of recognition–like he had been looking for you all his life. “My name is Sukuna Ryomen. You may address me as ‘my Lord’ or, preferably after we get married–husband,” he pressed.

“And I am not asking to marry you. It is an order.”

The dull ache of losing your autonomy settles into the pit of your stomach again. “You are neither the nation’s emperor nor do I believe in any gods to treat you like one. I am not obligated to listen to you,” you argue with a bitter hilt in your voice. You needed to repulse him. Fast. 

“If I tell you about myself, you’ll be sure to believe in them.” He then smirked and turned his back to you, walking into the empty street again. His men dragged you onwards on cue. 

He narrated his entire story to you. How he was once some sort of a demon king in the Divine Realm. He talked about his former glory as if he was still living through those days–a different kind of energy in his voice and dare you say, a demonic aura possessing him with every stalk. You could only see the back of his head from your position, but you knew he had an evil sparkle in his eyes.

It all sounded ridiculous, like some kind of fable narrated to children to prevent them from being troublesome. You couldn’t help but giggle at first. The idea of some random rich man being a demon in his past life didn’t sound all too implausible, but him taking it seriously enough to nab you was just absurd. 

Your supposedly magical eyes were nothing special to you. They’ve looked the same since the day you were born–boring. Except for the occasional eye bags you’d adorn them with after crying for hours about your deceased grandmother–the only person to love you more than herself. 

Your grandmother always said how you had a lot of misfortune in your eyes. You never knew what that meant until today–when you were being forcibly married to a random stranger. One that looked like a demon at that–even acted like one with his uncomfortably loud laughter and terrifying hunter-like gaze. 

Your giggles soon turned into a hysterical fit of laughter. You pretended to wipe a tear using your tied wrists. “So you’re telling me I have some marble you want.” 

Sukuna stops in his tracks, and so do his men. He doesn’t turn back this time. “Yes.”

“My Lord,” you sarcastically snickered. “I do not have anything to my name, and I was too poor to play with marbles as a child. You are bold to assume that I am carrying one around for the likes of a crazy man.”

You could feel his bodyguards tense up next to you. Their holds tightened, feeling more protective than guarded. “Yuuji, Megumi, you both may leave. I would like to chat alone with my fiancée,” he said as his eyes were still trained on your nervous figure. The guards give you a sympathetic look before taking (what you assume is) a detour. 

Strangely enough, you don’t have it in you to run away. Something deep in your gut told you that nothing good was going to happen if you tried to escape now. Your hands were trapped because of the rope, and Sukuna was built like a soldier and had long legs. You were sure that you were not going to make it far if you ran. The sword sheathed at his side did not help you hide your fear. 

He grabbed your arm and yanked you towards him. The movement was rapid and it jerked you into his chest, clouding you with his scent. He smelled exactly how one would expect a nobleman to smell like–clean and herby. And a delicious manly musk that you chose to ignore. Terrifyingly arousing. 

He bent down to pick you up and carried you with barely any effort. To any bystander, it would seem like a couple was having a romantic moment with hushed conversations and nervous stares. “Wha–I can walk! Let me down, demonic beast!” 

“You have embarrassed me enough around my subordinates. I believe I will need to discipline you.” 

“You are no one to discipline me!”

“Insolent woman, I am your fiancé,” he reprimanded you as his arms tightened around your knees.

“I am being married to you against my will!” His eyes flit to your rising and falling chest as you heave, noticing that he was tiring you out. “Keep yelling. No one wants to save a dirty thief.” He ignored your indignant complaints all the way to his estate. 

His abode was nothing you had imagined it to be. Although magnificent and large, it lacked a team of scurrying housekeepers. Most estates had so many servants that many had to sleep on top of each other in their little quarters. However, Sukuna Ryomen’s estate was quiet. Uncomfortably so. About four people entered the courtyard when the two of you arrived–including his bodyguards. 

Seeing their faces flooded the odd senses of comfort and familiarity in your chest. You let out a deep breath of relief, not realizing that you had been keeping your breathing constricted the entire time Sukuna was carrying you. It seemed like they were glad to see you, too. Yuuji had a relieved smile while Megumi sighed with his eyes closed. 

“Uraume, get everything ready for the ceremony. Yuuji and Megumi, please set up her things in my quarters. Nobara, you will bathe and dress her up for the ceremony.” 

Before Sukuna could place you on your feet, the white-haired servant and two guards moved as swiftly as the wind–getting to business. A girl, no older than eighteen, groaned as she took your hand and dragged you further into the corridors of the estate, barely giving you time to protest. 

You were about to push off the young girl until you both entered a room. It was a private onsen overlooking the river. Nobara’s bored face reminded you to keep your gawking at a minimum. But you couldn’t help yourself anyway, jaw going slack in shock. Knowing a person was rich differed from seeing them casually display their wealth, especially in the form of such amenities.

But you had to stay focused–you needed to escape. You turned around to see that Nobara was too distracted while getting the bath ready for you, so you took your chance and ran across the room toward the sliding door. This part of the estate was closer to the forest. Maybe you could still make a run for it if you could manage to climb the walls in time. 

But you knew your plan was a failure when you felt a small hand yank your arm backwards, and effortlessly grab the other one in the same grasp. Your breath hitched when you noticed Nobara had pulled out a dagger from who knows where and pointed it toward your neck. 

“I am sorry to do this, but I’ve been told not to let Lord Sukuna’s pearl go. No matter what it takes,” she says as she takes the knife closer to your skin. 

“Now, you must stay compliant if you want me to be your ally. And believe me, you’ll need someone to answer your questions about that man.” You could only meekly nod at her ferocity. Running away in a place like this meant having a plan—something you could only do if you had time to look around.

“I will attend to you from now on. Like Uraume, the white-haired one, does to Lord Sukuna” she said monotonously while harshly scrubbing down your arm, months of stubborn grease and dirt rolling off your sore skin. You couldn’t remember the last time you were able to clean your skin like this. 

After being reluctantly scrubbed by Nobara, you were enrobed with the finest clothes and had a light rouge applied to your cheeks after you kicked away the rest of the makeup. You couldn’t rule out the possibility of your plain face driving the wealthy madman away. He probably assumed you were prettier without all the dirt and muck on your face.

You planted your heels on the ground when you were pushed into the formal tea room by a very bored Nobara—one last protest. But still, this didn’t stop Sukuna from ordering Megumi to carry you over his shoulder and plop you right in front of your cup. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at your unequivocally determined fiancé staring daggers at you. 

Fear coiled around you like a thorned vine, suffocating and prickling your skin with every curve. You knew that you were done for as soon as your lips touched the mouth of the teacup. You stared down at the steaming translucent green liquid and gulped. You had never drunk water this clean after living alone for so long. It was unnerving to know that even your sand-like tongue curled at the thought of drinking it under such circumstances. 

Unlike you, Sukuna readily downed his drink, not even taking a moment for the liquid to cool down. He chuffed as he slammed the small porcelain crockery on the table. “What are you waiting for? Drink!” he barked. You were stationary—a stone pillar among the swaying trees. You could sense his impatience as he got up and walked around the table to where you were sitting on your heels. 

He chuckled at the gooseflesh behind your neck and sat beside you. “Drink,” he ordered once again. You turned away, choosing to look at the closed sliding doors to your left. You memorized every wrinkle, crease, and fold on the paper sheets—anything to avoid the looming presence of the behemoth next to you. 

“That’s it–” 

Before you could protest, Sukuna’s thick arms wrapped around you and lifted you onto his lap. You squeaked as his single arm tightly wound around your body, pinning your arms to your sides. He then grabbed the cup and placed it in front of your mouth. “I could be more brutal, but I’ll be nice to you since you cleaned up for me.” 

You whip your neck to face him in horror. “I did not choose–”

You were interrupted by him pouring the drink down your mouth. 

The liquid trickled down your throat like acid. You were bound for good and against your wishes. You could imagine the tea sitting in your stomach, perforating its lining. Your eyes bore into Sukuna’s red ones, and your chest tightened at the sight of his pupils expanding. Every inch of this man’s skin made you want to burn yours. His hands travel up from where they were holding you at your waist to your neck, grasping it from both sides and angling your ear to his mouth. 

The searing heat of his bare skin against yours was making you work up a sweat in the middle of winter.

“Thank you for freeing me, my pearl.” Your spine straightened at the warm puffs of breath that hit your lobe with every word.

taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @sukubusss @gradmacoco @cheriiepies @brunnetteiwik @poopooindamouf @miakxn

[just1cefor4ll]

—Our summer with the exchange student

Tyler Hernández x exchange student!reader

A/n. hey heyyy the long awaited sbg fanfic :3 this was pretty fun to write so i MIGHT accept requests but im still thinking about that. anyways, for now enjoy!

“Y/N L/N, please come to the office now.”

The voice crackled over the school intercom, earning you a few curious glances from classmates as you stood up. You had no idea why you were being called, but you tried to ignore the nervous twist in your stomach as you made your way down the hall.

When you stepped inside, the principal was waiting with a stack of papers. “You’ve been selected for the summer exchange program,” they said, sliding the packet toward you. “You’ll be staying in Alto, Georgia, with a host family for a few months.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“It’s a great opportunity. You’ll get to improve your English, experience a different culture.. I’d think about it if I were you.”

Your fingers brushed over the papers, the weight of the decision settling in. A summer in the U.S.? You weren’t sure if it was terrifying or exciting. Maybe both.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n usa here i come >:D RAHHH 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

liked by itssaraaa, zeyynep20, alexr0cks and 27 others

2 commented

zeyynep20 STAY SAFEEE WERE SO HAPPY FOR U GIRL!!!

truly.y/n replied UGH ILL MISS YOU GUYS SM :(((

The heat in Georgia was overwhelming, thick and heavy like it wanted to press you into the ground. You adjusted your grip on your suitcase, scanning the small airport until you spotted a handwritten sign with your name on it. The people holding it—your host family, the Banners—waved as you approached.

Emma Banner, the mother, was the first to speak. “Y/N, right?” She pulled you into a quick hug before you had time to react. “It’s so nice to meet you. You must be exhausted.”

Mike, the father, clapped you on the back. “Long flight, huh? Hope you’re ready for a real Southern summer.”

And then there was Ashlyn. She stood slightly behind them, hands in her pockets, her expression neutral. “Hey,” she said simply.

“Hi,” you answered, unsure what else to say.

The car ride to their house was filled with easy conversation. Emma asked if you were hungry, Mike joked about how you might regret coming once you felt the humidity, and Ashlyn, while quieter, occasionally added to the conversation. It wasn’t as awkward as you’d feared. They were making an effort to make you feel welcome, and you appreciated that.

When you finally arrived at their house, Ashlyn led you to your room—well, your shared room. That was something you’d have to get used to.

“It’s not much,” she said, sitting on her bed while you placed your suitcase down. “But you’ll get used to it.”

You glanced around. The walls were covered in faded band posters, books were stacked on the nightstand, and there was a messiness to the space that felt lived-in. It wasn’t home, but it wasn’t bad.

Ashlyn watched as you sat on your bed. “You ever been to the States before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded like she expected that answer. “It’s probably not what you’re used to.”

“Definitely not.”

She smirked slightly. “Well, at least you won’t be bored.”

A few days later, Ashlyn took you to the school bus graveyard, which, as you quickly learned, wasn’t just a graveyard for buses—it was where everyone in their friend group hung out.

The group was already there when you arrived. “Guys this is Y/N, she’ll be staying for the summer just like I told you so don’t be annoying.” She introduced you and went inside a bus, grabbing some spray cans to most likely paint the buses with.

Aiden was the first to greet you, easygoing and friendly. Taylor smiled warmly, Ben gave a small nod, Logan seemed a bit shy. And then there was Tyler.

He scoffed as you looked his way, giving you an unwelcoming look.

"Don’t mind him," Taylor said with a soft chuckle, elbowing her brother. "He's just like that."

Tyler rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, glaring at you for a moment longer before muttering in Spanish. "¿Por qué tengo que saludarla si ni siquiera quiero estar aquí?" (Why do I have to greet her if I don’t even want to be here?)

Taylor raised an eyebrow and shot her brother a look. "Ty, no seas grosero. Deja de ser tan pesado." (Ty, don’t be rude. Stop being so difficult.)

Tyler huffed, glancing away, clearly unimpressed. "No soy grosero, solo no me apetece hablar con alguien que no conozco." (I’m not being rude, I just don’t feel like talking to someone I don’t know.)

Taylor sighed, a little exasperated. "¿De verdad? Estamos todos aquí juntos. No es tan difícil." (Really? We're all here together. It’s not that hard.)

"Bueno, ojalá el verano fuera más corto," Tyler muttered, rolling his eyes again. (Well, I wish summer was shorter.)

Aiden chuckled softly, clearly amused by the sibling banter, while Ben gave a friendly wave in your direction. Logan was still quiet, giving you a small smile.

Tyler let out a dramatic sigh. After a brief silence, he finally looked at you again and reluctantly said in English, "Fine, I’ll behave. For now." He shot an almost defiant look at Taylor, as if giving in to her persistence.

That first night, you mostly just observed. The group moved so naturally together, like they had their own rhythm. They talked over each other, argued about stupid things, and laughed in a way that made you a little jealous. You weren’t sure if you fit into that yet. But you wanted to.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n settling in pretty well so far! love my host sister <33 tagged: ashlynbann3rr

liked by ashlynbann3r, tayy.hernandez, reekidaiden, b.clark and 19 others

4 commented

ashlynban3r happy to have u here

reekidaiden WHAT ABOUT USSSSSS

truly.y/n replied i love you guys too!!

tayy.hernandez OOOO BODY TEAAA

As the summer passed, you started settling in. Mornings were slow, spent at the Banners’ house or helping with small community events you were demanded to do as part of your program during the exchange. Evenings were for the group, gathering at the bus graveyard or sneaking into the lake for late-night swims.

The summer air was thick and warm as you sat with the group on the hood of an old bus, the metal still holding some of the day’s heat. The night was filled with the usual chatter, but at some point, the conversation turned to you.

“So,” Taylor started, shifting to face you. “What’s home like for you?” You hesitated, rolling a loose rock between your fingers. “It’s.. very different.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Tyler scoffed. “Be more specific.”

Taylor elbowed him. “Shut up and let her talk.”

You thought for a moment. “I’d say it’s a lot quieter. Americans are.. a bit loud—not you specifically, but the people I met during community service and all that. It startled me a bit at first. And everything here looks almost the same—the neighborhoods, I mean. Back in my town, they all looked different from each other. It was more unique, I guess?” you rambled.

Aiden nodded. “Sounds neat.”

You shrugged. “People also act differently. Like, here, strangers say hi to each other all the time. Back home, that’d be weird.”

“That’s so wild to me,” Taylor said. “You just ignore people?”

“I wouldn’t say ignore,” you corrected. “It’s just.. people keep to themselves more. You don’t stop and make small talk with a random person on the street.”

Logan, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “So, do you miss it?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But it’s nice here, too.”

Tyler, who had been unusually quiet, glanced at you. “You ever think about staying?”

You looked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“If you had the chance,” he said, kicking at the dirt, “would you stay here?”

The group fell silent, waiting for your answer.

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I think.. no matter where you are, there’s always something you’ll miss about the other place.”

Tyler stared at you for a second, then looked away. “Yeah. I get that.”

The conversation shifted after that, but something about the way he looked at you stayed in your mind.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n just give me the citizenship atp LMAOO

liked by reekidaiden, tayy.hernandez, loganfields97, zeyynep20 and 31 others

3 commented

zeyynep20 oh no shes already changing citizenships (its over guys we’ve lost her)

reekidaiden replied yuh shes ours now LLLL

zeyynep20 replied [cusses him out in your language]

The next week, the group ended up at the lake, as they often did on hot afternoons. Someone had the idea to race to the other side, which ended with half the group exhausted and floating on their backs.

You swam to shore, wringing the water from your clothes when you heard Tyler behind you.

“Not bad,” he said, plopping down onto the grass. “You almost beat me.”

“I did beat you,” you corrected, smirking.

He scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

You sat down next to him, both of you still catching your breath. The others were still in the water, their laughter distant.

Tyler pulled at a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “So.. what’s up with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He turned his head to face you. “You hated me at first. I’d be lying if you didn’t annoy me but I feel like you’re slowly warming up to me.”

“Yeah you were pretty annoying.”

He faked being hurt, playfully hitting you in the shoulder. “You hurt me princesa.” You chuckled, bringing your legs closer to your body as the summer heat slowly faded into a cold, dark night.

There was a beat of silence. Then, quieter, he asked, “But you don’t hate me anymore? Do you?”

You swallowed, your heart picking up speed. “No. I don’t.”

His gaze flickered down to your lips for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again. You barely had time to think before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

His lips were warm, slightly chapped from the sun, and the kiss was hesitant at first—like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. But you didn’t.

When you finally parted, he let out a small breath. “Okay,” he muttered, almost like he was processing what just happened.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

From the lake, someone shouted, “Are you two making out over there?”

Tyler groaned. “God, I hate them.”

You just laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. “So, what does this make us? Pretty sure sworn enemies don’t kiss.” You tease, earning a chuckle out of him. “Don’t know, whatever you want us to be.” You thought about it, but then the image of you leaving at the end of summer pressed into your mind. “Hm..”

ashlynbann3r

ashlynbann3r ���Lake Rabun

liked by truly.y/n, emmabanner79, t.hernandez, tayy.hernandez and 17 others

2 commented

emmabanner79 happy you kids are having fun :)

truly.y/n replied ❤️❤️

t.hernandez

t.hernandez maybe I don’t want summer to be shorter anymore

liked by tayy.hernandez, b.clark, loganfields97, truly.y/n and 47 others

3 commented

tayy.hernandez te lo dijeee ;))

reekidaiden tyler and y/n sitting in a tree HEHEHE

t.hernandez replied fuck you aiden

The weeks slipped by faster than you wanted them to. The group had become your second home, the nights spent at the bus graveyard or the lake turning into some of your favorite memories.

But time didn’t slow down, no matter how much you wished it would.

Two weeks before summer ended the group brought you to a diner.. a very american one at that to be fair. They said they had the day planned for you and you couldn’t ask any questions, and so you didn’t.

As Aiden shoved some random food he ordered your way, you tasted it with a raised brow wondering why everyone was staring at you with such funny looks but then the spice kicked in. “Damn that’s—“ You coughed a bit and everyone started laughing, filling the atmosphere with positive energy which warmed your heart— literally.

Tyler smirked. “I told you it wasn’t for the weak, hermosa,” he teased, leaning back in his seat and throwing his arm over your shoulders.

You waved your hand, trying to play it cool despite the heat in your mouth. "It's fine," you said, though your face probably gave you away.

Taylor, sitting beside you, laughed. "No worries, you’ll get used to it. Aiden thinks spicy food is a challenge." Aiden grinned. "It is a challenge. But it’s also delicious." He pointed at Tyler. "You should try it, Ty."

Tyler shook his head, sipping his soda. “No thanks. I don’t want to die over something so dumb.”

The whole group laughed, and even Tyler couldn't help but smile as he watched you handle the spice. It was a fun, relaxed atmosphere, and you felt more and more at ease with the group.

After dinner, they all piled into the cars and headed for the bowling alley. You weren’t great at bowling, but everyone was in high spirits, joking around and making ridiculous poses. Tyler, usually serious, couldn’t resist joining in. He lined up his shot carefully, only for the ball to go straight into the gutter.

“That was pathetic!” Taylor teased, elbowing him.

Tyler grumbled, “I was doing it on purpose.”

“Yeah, sure,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sibling banter— the night going on and even Tyler loosened up, joking along with everyone.

You all headed back to the graveyard once the night came, everyone whispering about something they didn’t let you in on.

When you arrived, they lead you to the buses, some excitedly running ahead while Tyler and Ashlyn stayed behind with you. “Since you became such a special addition to the group during these past few months.,” Ashlyn said, putting a hand on your back.

“We wanted to do something special before you leave,” Aiden added. “A little memory to take with you.”

You walked behind a bus and there it was.

The buses were covered in soft lights, blankets and tents ready around cozy campfire which illuminated the scene even better. Snacks littered the ground with a polaroid camera ready to be used for creating memories you wanted to keep in a physical form.

Tyler walked over, giving you a shy smile. “I know I wasn’t the nicest when we first met, but I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been the same summer without you, princesa.”

Taylor, ever the tease, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that a compliment?” she joked, making everyone laugh.

You felt a lump form in your throat. You’d grown so close to everyone, and leaving was harder than you’d expected.

“I’m going to miss you all,” you said softly.

Aiden grinned. “You better. We’ll come visit. Or at least, we’ll make you wish we did.”

Ben, who had been quiet, nodded with a smile. “Yeah, don’t forget about us.”

Tyler stood off to the side, looking at the fire. “It’s been a good summer, amor. Don’t forget us.” He said, walking over and hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

The fire crackled, and the stars above twinkled as you all sat together, talking and laughing well into the night. It was the perfect way to say goodbye, surrounded by friends who had become family.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n ugh i’ll miss these guys ;(

liked by t.hernandez, ashlynbann3r, loganfields97, b.clark, tayy.hernandez and 42 others

2 commented

tayy.hernandez STOPP WE’LL MISS YOU TOO :((((

reekidaiden bro thinks she’s getting rid of us that easy LOLLL (we’ll miss you)

tayy.hernandez

tayy.hernandez can’t believe summer went by so fast 💔

liked by truly.y/n, t.hernandez, ashlynbann3r and 23 others

At the airport, the group stood together, unusually quiet.

Ashlyn, never one for long goodbyes, was the first to speak. “This place is gonna be weird without you.”

Taylor nodded. “You better text us.”

Aiden clapped you on the back. “Or come back next summer.”

You laughed softly, but it was forced.

When you turned to Tyler, he was staring at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

Finally, he looked up. “So that’s it?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I guess so.”

His jaw tensed. “You gonna forget about us?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

A long pause. Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “Good.” He pulled you into a hug, soft sobs escaping his lips as tears stained your— his hoodie that he gave you. He picked you up and spun you around, earning a small yelp from you once he set you down.

You wanted to say something else, but the announcement for your flight echoed through the terminal.

Everyone gave you one last hug and the parting gifts they had brought along. And then? You left.

You turned back for one last glance and saw them waving—tears already streaming down Taylor’s cheeks, with a few barely noticeable ones in Ashlyn’s eyes. “Shit…” you mumbled before abandoning your suitcase and sprinting back toward them. You pulled Ashlyn and Taylor into a tight hug, the others quickly joining in.

“What am I gonna do without you?” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Shut up. It’s not like we’re saying goodbye forever,” Ashlyn said, pulling away just enough to look at you. “We’ll come visit, I swear.”

“Now go! You’ll miss your flight,” Logan added, patting your back before nudging you toward the gate.

And so you did—without looking back this time.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n thank u sm for this amazing opportunity.. i’ll see u soon guys ❤️‍🩹

liked by zeyynep20, t.hernandez reekidaiden, ashlynbann3r, emmabanner79 and 39 others

7 commented

ashlynbann3r already miss you sis

emmabanner79 we were happy to have you sweetheart, our doors are open for whenever you decide to visit again ❤️

t.hernandez love you princesa, i’ll miss you so so much <3

reekidaiden replied simp (miss you y/n!!)

tayy.hernandez IM CRYING WE MISS YOU SO MUCHHH :(( </3

loganfields97 come back soon y/n :( we miss you!

b.clark have a safe trip, we miss you a lot

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Hii, I often read your stories and I really like them. I was wondering if you could do a shy and very feminine female reader doing it for the first time with an experienced G!P Momo please

Listen to Unnie

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!Momo x Member!Bttm!Reader

Genre: Smut

Requested

More: Masterlist

A/n: This is one of two fanfics I'm posting today. I won't be taking any more requests until I finish the ones I already have in my drafts, which are currently collecting dust. You can still make requests, but please keep in mind that they probably won't be written and posted for a while.

Also, can you believe it’s been a whole year since my first fic? I just wanted to give a huge thank you to all of you for supporting me and my writing. It means the world to me!

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

The practice room was filled with the faint scent of sweat and the lingering aroma of freshly applied makeup, the air thick with the anticipation of their upcoming comeback. Y/n, dressed in a baby pink hoodie and matching shorts, nervously fidgeted with her fingers. She looked up at Momo, who was casually leaning against the wall with one hand in her pocket and the other playing with the hem of her black tank top.

Momo's eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in the flustered state of the youngest member. She sauntered over to the couch and plopped down."Come on, Y/n, let's go over that part of the choreography again," she said with a grin, Y/n's cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.

Y/n got back into position, her heart racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that Momo had something more than practice on her mind, but she brushed it off as nerves. She started to run through the routine, her movements tentative and unsure. Momo watched intently, her gaze flickering between Y/n's face and her ass, which was bouncing slightly with each step. As the beat dropped, Y/n froze. She had messed up the sequence again, and she could feel Momo's eyes burning into her.

Momo stepped closer, her body heat enveloping Y/n. "You're too stiff," she murmured, her breath hot against Y/n's ear. "You need to relax and feel the music." Before Y/n could react, Momo's hand was on her hip, guiding her through the steps, their bodies moving in sync. The friction between them grew, the air crackling with an undeniable tension that neither of them could ignore.

The older idol leaned in, her soft pink lips brushing against Y/n's, surprising the youngest member. Y/n's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she melted into the kiss, her inexperience shimmering like a new star in the vast sky of Momo's expertise. Momo's hand traveled up to the back of Y/n's neck, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together, exploring each other with a gentle yet insistent curiosity.

Breaking the kiss, Momo's eyes searched Y/n's, looking for any signs of discomfort. Finding none, she smiled, her teeth slightly grazing the younger girl's bottom lip. "You're so sweet," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr.

Y/n's heart thudded in her chest as she felt Momo's hand slip under her hoodie, her fingers tracing the soft skin of her stomach before moving to untie the drawstring of her shorts. With surprising deftness, Momo pulled them down, leaving Y/n's cute little panties as the only barrier between her and the cool air of the practice room. Y/n gasped as Momo's hand cupped her, feeling her warmth and the dampness that had pooled there.

Momo's eyes never left hers as she leaned in to nip at her bottom lip, a playful smirk on her face. "You're so wet, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "Does the thought of me making you feel good turn you on?"

Y/n nodded, her voice a barely audible whisper. She was lost in the moment, unsure of how they had gone from rehearsing to this, but she didn't want it to stop. She could feel the heat of Momo's body, her breath, her touch. It was intoxicating.

Momo's hand slipped into the waistband of Y/n's panties, her long, slender fingers sliding down to stroke the wetness that had gathered between her folds. Y/n's breath hitched, and she felt her knees wobble slightly. Momo chuckled, the sound low and warm, before her thumb found its way to Y/n's clit. She began to rub it in slow, deliberate circles, her eyes never leaving the younger girl's face as she watched for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.

Momo led Y/n over to the couch, their bodies still entwined. She sat down, gently pushing Y/n's knees apart and settling herself between them. With a smoldering gaze, she leaned in to kiss her again, their tongues tangling together as she continued to tease her clit. Y/n's breaths grew ragged, and she could feel herself getting closer to the edge.

"Momo, I've never… done this before," Y/n stuttered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.

Momo paused, her hand hovering over Y/n's trembling thigh. "It's okay, Jagiya," she assured her, her voice velvety and soothing. "I'll take care of you. Just listen to Unnie." She gently eased the fabric of Y/n's panties aside, revealing the soft pinkness beneath. Y/n's eyes fluttered shut as Momo's mouth descended upon her, kissing and licking a trail down her stomach.

Momo's tongue flicked over Y/n's clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Y/n gasped, her hands reflexively reaching for Momo's hair. She was unsure of what to do, but the feeling was so overwhelmingly good that she didn't care. Momo's mouth closed over her, suckling gently at first before increasing the pressure. Y/n's hips bucked, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding instinctively to the older girl's ministrations.

Momo looked up, her eyes dark with desire, and whispered, "You're doing so well, just keep letting go." She inserted a single finger into Y/n's tight pussy, the wetness allowing for easy entry. The youngest member's eyes widened, but she didn't protest. Instead, she began to rock her hips in time with Momo's movements, the sensation of being filled both thrilling and terrifying.

Momo's eyes locked onto Y/n's, her gaze intense and unwavering. "Tell me if it feels good," she encouraged, her voice thick with want.

Y/n nodded, her eyes glazed over with pleasure as Momo's tongue swirled around her clit. Each flick and suck sent waves of sensation crashing through her, and she couldn't hold back the soft, feminine whimpers that escaped her lips. The feeling was so new, so overwhelmingly good that she didn't know how much more she could take.

Momo's eyes grew darker with every sound Y/n made, her own arousal evident as she worked her finger in and out of the younger girl's tight pussy. She curled it slightly, finding that special spot inside her, and Y/n's body responded with a shudder. "There it is," Momo murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. She knew she had found Y/n's G-spot.

Y/n's breathing grew more erratic as Momo's finger danced inside her, the pleasure building into a crescendo. Her body tensed, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm wash over her. She was about to ask Momo to stop, but the words got caught in her throat as Momo added a second finger, stretching her even further.

"M-Momo," she managed to stutter out, trying to push her head away, but her legs only tightened around Momo's neck, drawing her closer.

Momo chuckled against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another shockwave through her body. "You don't have to hold back, baby," she encouraged, her voice muffled by the fabric of Y/n's panties. "I want to hear you."

With a final, desperate attempt to maintain her dignity, Y/n buried her face in the cushions of the couch, muffling her cries. But it was no use; the pleasure was too much. Her body spasmed, and she squirted into Momo's eager mouth, soaking her. Momo groaned in pleasure, the taste of Y/n's arousal driving her wild. She didn't stop, licking and sucking until the youngest member's legs were trembling and she was whimpering for mercy.

Pulling away, Momo's eyes were alight with passion as she surveyed her handiwork. Y/n's pussy was red and swollen, glistening with a mix of sweat and desire. The young idol looked up at her, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. Momo smirked, standing up to reveal the tent in her own shorts. "Looks like you liked it," she said, her voice playful.

Y/n couldn't help but nod, her eyes never leaving Momo's face. "What's next?" she asked, her voice shaky with anticipation.

Momo leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips as she assessed the situation. "Well, we can't have you lying there like that and not do anything about it," she said, her eyes darkening with desire. She reached down and adjusted the bulge in her shorts, making it clear what was next.

Y/n felt a thrill of excitement and fear at the same time. She had never seen Momo like this before, so confident and commanding. It was a stark contrast to the sweet, supportive unnie she knew from their group activities, but it was incredibly alluring. She watched as Momo unbuttoned her shorts, her eyes never leaving Y/n's.

Momo's cock was revealed, and Y/n's eyes widened at the sight of it. It was a beautiful shade of pink, glistening with lubricant and standing tall. The older member stepped closer, her hand caressing the shaft gently. "Ready for the main act?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Y/n nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had never seen anything like it before, but she trusted Momo implicitly. The Japanese idol positioned herself over Y/n, her cock pointing at the juncture of her thighs. "Just relax," Momo murmured, her hand sliding up to cradle Y/n's face. "I'll go slow."

With that, she began to press her cock against Y/n's opening, the tip sliding through her folds and coating it in her arousal. Y/n gasped, the sensation foreign yet exhilarating. She felt the head of Momo's cock nudge at her entrance, and she tensed up instinctively. "It's okay," Momo whispered, her thumb tracing soothing circles on Y/n's cheek. "You're so tight, baby."

Momo pushed in gently, inch by inch, her cock stretching Y/n's tightness. Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. It hurt, but it was a pain that seemed to meld with the pleasure, creating a cocktail of sensations that was intoxicating. "Relax," Momo murmured, her free hand resting on Y/n's hip, her fingers digging into the soft flesh as she began to rock her hips.

Slowly, so slowly, the pain gave way to a delicious fullness. Y/n's body started to adjust, her muscles wrapping around Momo's cock like a warm, wet embrace. She felt a sense of awe, of being filled in a way she had never been before. Momo's movements grew more deliberate, her eyes never leaving Y/n's face as she watched for any signs of distress or discomfort. But all she saw was the youngest member's trust and willingness to experience something new.

The room was a symphony of soft gasps and muffled moans as Momo began to pick up the pace, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. Y/n's leg remained draped over Momo's shoulder, granting her deeper access, while her other hand held onto the armrest of the couch tightly, knuckles white with the effort of staying still. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through her body, and she couldn't help but whimper with every penetration.

Momo leaned down to capture Y/n's lips again, her own breathing ragged. Their kisses grew more urgent as the pace of their lovemaking increased. Y/n's hands roamed up Momo's back, feeling the slickness of sweat and the firmness of muscle beneath her fingertips. The older member's cock filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way possible, and she found herself matching Momo's movements, her hips rising to meet each powerful thrust.

Momo's hand traveled back down to Y/n's clit, her thumb resuming the relentless circles that had brought her to the brink before. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned into their kiss, the sensation of being touched there while filled so completely overwhelming. She felt a second orgasm building, stronger than the first, and she clung to Momo, her nails digging into her back as she whispered, "D-on't ssstop."

Momo's rhythm grew erratic as she felt Y/n's pussy clench around her cock, the younger girl's body shaking with the force of her climax. She groaned, the vibrations sending a shiver down her spine as she continued to pump into her, eager to reach her own peak. "You're so good," she murmured, her voice strained with passion. "So, so good."

Their kisses grew sloppier, their breaths mingling in a desperate dance. Y/n's eyes searched Momo's, a silent question hanging between them. Momo read the unspoken words, the need for reassurance, and whispered, "It's okay, Jagiya. I've got you."

With that, she pushed into Y/n one final time, burying her cock as deep as it would go. Y/n felt the warmth of Momo's release flood her, the sensation sending her own body over the edge once more. She screamed into the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, as waves of pleasure washed over her. Momo's thrusts grew shallower, her breathing ragged as she rode out her orgasm, her fingers still working Y/n's clit with an expert touch.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared climax. The room was silent except for the sound of their labored breaths and the distant thump of music from the neighboring practice room. Momo pulled out slowly, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she did so. She leaned down to press a soft kiss to Y/n's forehead, her hand still resting between her legs, feeling the last of her spasms subside.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her that was different from the passion that had just consumed her. She was surprised to find that she felt safe, protected even. She looked up at Momo, her eyes filled with a mix of awe and love. "That was…" she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the intensity of the experience.

Momo chuckled, a warm sound that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. She leaned in to kiss her again, this time more tenderly. "It's just the beginning, baby," she whispered against her lips. "But for now, let's clean up and get you dressed."

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Read Higuruma x Little Mermaid Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Rough sex. Slight size difference kink. Death of side characters.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You awake the next morning to the sound of a fire crackling. For a moment, you wonder how your father managed to tend the fire without your help, then you remember you’re not at home.

Rising up from the rug on the floor, you first notice Toji’s coat falling from your shoulders. Then you notice that you’re naked beneath it. Oh. So that really happened. It wasn’t just another of your dreams. 

You find your dress a few feet away and begin pulling it over your head and tying the laces at the front. A sound comes from behind you, and you turn to see Toji in the kitchen area, standing over the small stove. There’s a kettle being heated. 

“Thought I’d make us some coffee,” he says.

You nod numbly, still processing the night before as you look around. The cabin looks different in the light of day spilling in through the two main windows. What seemed warm and cozy last night looks gray and dull today. 

Looking out a window, you see that the storm is over. There’s no snow, no wind, only the silence that follows a blizzard as the woods are buried under a blanket of heavy white. Trudging through that snow will be difficult, but you feel certain you and Toji can do it. 

You join him at the small table, taking a warm cup and letting it heat your hands for a moment before taking a sip. 

Toji takes a drink of his own, then sits his cup on the table. “We need to talk.”

You look up in alarm. His tone is serious enough to make you worry. Is this going to be the part where he ultimately rejects you? Tells you last night was fun but it can never happen again? 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and say, “Okay. What do we need to talk about?”

The next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expected. 

“What’s your connection to the queen?”

You blink. “The queen? I’ve never met her.”

He leans slightly over the table, toward you. “Are you sure? Think really hard. Maybe you met her when you were a kid.”

You find yourself drawing back a little from the table, unsure of where he’s going with these questions. “If I ever met her, I don’t remember it,” you say. “Why would you think I have a connection to the queen?”

“Because she hired me to kill you.”

You freeze. What did he just say? Surely you heard him wrong. “Huh?”

His eyes are focused on yours, trapping you in his steely gaze. “The queen hired me to kill you. She told me to make it messy, so it seems personal.”

Your heart begins racing, a spike of fear shooting through you as the warm mug in your hand begins to tremble. You sit it down on the table, nearly spilling it, then look toward the door of the cabin. Could you make it out? 

“Relax,” he tells you. “If I was gonna go through with it, you never would’ve woken up this morning.”

Your eyes return to his face. In a small, shaky voice, you ask, “Why didn’t you?”

His serious expression relaxes a little. “I just decided I like you better alive than dead.”

Hearing him say that calms your nerves a bit. It’s true that it would have been incredibly easy to kill you while you slept, so if Toji was going to murder you, he would have done it then. 

“But why would she want me dead?” you ask. 

Toji leans back against his chair. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. At first I thought it was because you’re prettier than her, but-“

“I am?”

He almost smiles at you. “According to her weird magic mirror anyway.”

Now you’re even more confused. “She has a magic mirror?”

“Yeah. Every day she asks it to show the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. A couple days ago it showed you.”

You feel yourself blushing. Are you that beautiful? You’ve never seen yourself that way, and you don’t recall getting any extra attention in the village. You wonder if Toji agrees with the mirror, but you’re too shy to ask. 

Apparently he can take a hint. 

“I don’t know about the whole kingdom, but you’re definitely a lot more beautiful than the queen,” he says. 

The comment makes your heart skip a beat, but you don’t have time to focus on that. You look up as Toji continues what he was going to say. 

“It’s not just the mirror,” he tells you. “She called you a threat to her rule, then referred to you as a loose end. There’s some connection there.”

Your mind is racing. You’ve never met the queen, unless it was before you were old enough to remember. But why would you have ever met her? “I should ask my father,” you say. “He might know something.”

Toji shakes his head. “It’s a bad idea for you to go back to the village. The queen will have people watching.”

“But I can’t just hide here! My father is ill. He can’t make it on his own. Please, take me back to the village just for a little while, so I can check on him and ask someone to look after him while I’m gone.”

Toji looks at you, at your determined, worried expression, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll take you back, but you can’t stay long. If you wanna live, you’re gonna have to hide out for a while.”

You stand up from the table and move over to hug Toji, who doesn’t hug you back but doesn’t pull away. “Thank you.”

After pulling on your cloak, gloves, boots, and scarf, you join Toji outside the cabin, who is looking out over the forest. “I don’t think anyone followed us here,” he says. “The weather was probably too bad.”

You nod, taking his word for it. The snow is much thicker than the night before, all traces of your footprints long gone. Trudging through this to get back to the village won’t be easy, but you have to do it. You have to check on your father, and ask if he knows about some connection to the queen. 

The trek back is a quiet one. Toji doesn’t talk much, and you feel a bit awkward. Last night you felt so close to him, but today he seems so distant. Did he lure you to the cabin to kill you? If so, what made him change his mind? Was it your love confession? Or the sex? So many questions haunt your mind as you move through the woods. 

When you reach the village, it looks mundane compared to the wild revelations you’ve had this morning. Most villagers are inside, probably huddling around their fireplaces. A few of the men are working to make walking paths through the thick blanket of snow, a couple are hauling firewood into their homes, and a group of children are playing by tossing snowballs at each other. 

It’s all so very normal, you feel perfectly at ease as you open the door to your house and shake the snow from your cloak. You pull off your gloves as you walk through the living area, noting that the fire is going strong. The neighbor must have added more wood last night before leaving. You hear Toji step inside behind you and close the door, but he doesn’t follow you as you make your way to your father’s room. 

Until you scream. 

Because your father is lying in his bed, a sword standing straight up, impaled through his stomach and pinning him to the straw mattress. Blood has soaked the covers and now drips from the bed, making a small pool on the floor. 

Toji rushes into the room, then immediately pulls you into his arms. “Don’t look,” he says, one strong hand rubbing your back. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away and says, “Let me go see what happened.”

You nod, keeping your face turned away as he goes over to examine the scene. Tears are flooding your eyes, no matter how much you wipe them away with your hands. “Who could do this?!” you cry. “He was just a sick old man! He never hurt a soul!”

You hear Toji’s voice from across the room. “This is a standard issue sword for royal guards. The queen must have ordered-“

His voice cuts off, and before you can question it, you hear his footsteps approaching quickly. Then all at once he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firm on your shoulders. 

“Listen very carefully,” he says, looking at you intently. “Your father is still breathing. He looks like he wants to see you. But he is dying. There’s nothing we can do to stop that.”

Your eyes shift over to the grisly scent once again. You nod weakly to Toji, but you can’t stop the hope blooming in your heart. He’s not dead yet! Maybe… maybe you can do something to help him! 

Carefully, with Toji by your side, you step over to the bed. Your father is staring up at you, and his eyes tear up. “My darling…” he whispers, reaching one trembling hand toward your face. 

You grab his hand and hold it tightly, kneeling down to hear him better. “I’m here, father!”

“I have to tell you… who you are…”

“It’s okay! Don’t strain yourself, please!”

His eyes focus in on you, and he seems to gain a bit of strength in his determination to speak to you. “You were born… to the former king and queen… my closest friends…”

You freeze. “What?”

“Your mother died in childbirth… that was true. Your father… wanted a mother for you… so he married the current queen. He died… only two months later.”

Tears are overflowing from your eyes. “You’re my father!”

He smiles, but squeezes your hand and goes on. “The new queen ordered your death… but I begged her… to spare you. She agreed, if I would take you to a remote village… and never tell anyone the truth. You were barely taking your first steps… so I resigned as royal advisor… and raised you as my own.”

Your father pauses and coughs, blood speckling the collar of his shirt. “She broke the agreement,” he says desperately, his grip on your hand tightening. “She fears you will claim… your rightful place as queen! She will come for you!”

Suddenly he lifts his free hand and points toward the dresser on the other side of the bed. “There… in the bottom drawer!”

You press your lips to his forehead. “I understand! I heard you! I’ll be careful and I won’t let the queen kill me!”

A look of relief passes over his pained face. “I was… so proud… to be your father.”

You smile through your tears. “I and I have felt so fortunate to be your daughter!”

A second later, his grip goes slack, his hand sliding from yours and dropping at his side. His eyes are closed now, and you know they will never open again. 

You let out a sob, collapsing across his bed, just above the sword, not caring that blood is staining your dress. 

Minutes pass with no sound in the room but your cries, until you hear Toji’s voice again. You almost forgot he was here. 

“I’m sorry, but we have to go. If you want to keep your promise and not get killed, I need to get you back to the cabin.”

You rise up and look at your father’s face, then toward the dresser. “Wait,” you say, wiping your face again, “he said something about the bottom drawer.”

Toji steps over and yanks the drawer out, his hands rifling through the contents. He holds up an envelope with your name on it, scrawled in your father’s handwriting. “This must be it. You can open it later, but we need to go. The queen no doubt has someone watching your house, and once they report that you’re here, she’ll send a whole company of soldiers.”

“What? Why so many?!”

“Because by now she knows I didn’t do the job, and I’m with you,” Toji says. “She knows she’ll need a fuck ton of soldiers to deal with me.”

You wonder about that, about how Toji knows the queen so well. He was just a Huntsman, right? But you don’t have time for questions now. You rush to your room and shove some clothing into a bag, then meet Toji at the front door. You glance back a toward your father’s room. “What about his burial?”

Toji is opening the door and ushering you toward it. “A neighbor will find him and take care of it. He’d much rather you get away safely than make sure he gets a proper burial. Trust me.”

You wonder if that’s his opinion as a father, but remain silent as you step outside. Just as you do, you hear a strange sound, like something moving quickly through the air. You turn to your right, where you see a thin blade stabbing straight toward you. 

Toji sees the attacker before she even turns. He reaches forward and catches the blade between his thumb and fingers, then wrenches it free of the soldier’s grasp. Before the soldier can even react, Toji has slammed an elbow into his face, shattering his nose and knocking him to the ground. 

The soldier clasps one hand over his bloody face, staring up at Toji with wide eyes. 

Toji holds the blade up, quickly examining it. “Wonder why you’re using your side dagger and not your sword,” he says, meeting the soldier’s indignant gaze. “You’re the one who killed the old man, aren’t you?”

The soldier removes his hand and yells in a broken voice, “I did what my queen asked of me! Unlike you, you traitorous dog!”

Toji’s eyes slide over to his lovely neighbor, curious what sort of reaction she has to this conversation. Will she be horrified? Sad? No. When Toji sees her face, there’s only rage there. Hell, if she had a weapon she’d probably kill this guy herself. 

That’s surprising.

But they don’t have time to indulge her. Toji flips the dagger around to point the blade downward, then rams it into the soldier’s throat. Blood bubbles up from the man’s mouth, his body jerking as he dies. 

Toji grabs her hand and pulls her along with him, taking her back into the woods where they can disappear. The queen probably has at least one more agent in the area to keep watch, but there’s no way they’re half as familiar with these woods as Toji is. 

An hour later, the two of them are back in the cabin. It should be safe for now. Only local hunters know about the cabin, and it’s located deep in the woods. 

Toji isn’t sure what to say to the crying young woman who quickly went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He’s never been great at consoling people. When his wife died, he didn’t want anyone to speak to him. Even hearing someone breathe nearby made him angry. But he moved on, eventually. He never stopped thinking of his wife, never stopped missing her, but it got easier as the years went by.

Over the next few days, Toji doesn’t see much of his “housemate”. She comes out of the bedroom occasionally to eat the food Toji hunts and cooks or to use the bathroom. She doesn’t talk much, except to thank Toji for his help and say she has a lot to think about. 

For his part, Toji is uncertain how he feels about her, how much time and energy he wants to put into protecting her. She’s the true heir to the throne, and he’d love nothing more than to see the queen lose her crown, but this heir is so sweet, so naive, he doubts she’ll decide to pursue it. 

And if she doesn’t… well, he likes her but he’s not going to risk his life for someone content to hide for the rest of her life. 

After five days have passed, she emerges from the bedroom and stands in front of Toji in the kitchen, the envelope he found in the drawer clutched in her hand. 

“It’s a letter from my father,” she says, “explaining what he told me in more detail. He thought the queen had the king - I mean my birth father - killed, but could never find proof.”

Toji sighs. “Sounds like something the queen would do.”

She holds out a silver necklace. “He also left me this. I think it’s supposed to be important.”

Toji takes the necklace and looks closely at the pendant. He recognizes it instantly. It’s in the shape of a cross that ends in an anchor, with golden vines wrapped around it. “This is the royal family’s crest,” he tells her. “Every kid born to the royal family is given one of these. It’s basically proof you’re the heir.””

He hands the necklace back to her and she stares at it numbly. All of this must seem surreal to her. A week ago she was just a normal young woman living in a small village. Today she’s the rightful queen of the land. 

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Toji, can you please help me?”

Here it comes. She’s going to ask him to protect her, to help her hide or perhaps escape to a neighboring kingdom. She’s such a pure, sweet woman, but he’ll turn her down. 

“Help you do what?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Kill the queen.”

Toji blinks. Did he hear her right? 

She goes on, unbothered by his confusion. “She killed both my fathers, and wants to kill me. I can’t forgive that, and I can’t just walk away. I don’t even know if I want to be a ruler, but I know I can’t tolerate her sitting on the throne.”

Toji can’t stop a grin from spreading over his face. “Tell you what, if you pay off my gambling debts once you get access to the royal treasury, I’ll kill anyone you want.”

She steps closer, putting one hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. You’ve saved me twice now. I knew I was right when I said you’re a good man.”

There’s a spark of something kinetic between them, and Toji thinks she’s much more attractive now than she was a few days ago. The fiery resolve in her eyes is intoxicating. But he laughs as he says, “A good man who just agreed to kill someone for money.”

“Someone who deserves it,” she says back, her body inching closer to his. 

Toji’s arms wrap around her, pulling her up against him. “I like this new side of you,” he says.

She looks away almost shyly, but seems to relax in his arms. “I don’t think it’s new. Something just had to drag this side of me out.”

He leans down and kisses her, lightly grinding his hips into her. “I can drag something out of you alright, but only if I can ram it back in.”

Her eyes flick up to his face again. In a small voice, she says, “You can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you.”

Toji suddenly pushes you against the nearest wall, your back scraping the wood of the cabin. His hands are tearing your dress open and jerking it down off your shoulders. His movements are hurried, as if he can’t wait to get you undressed. It’s so very different from the way he touched you before. There’s an urgency this time. 

Maybe last time he was just indulging a love struck young woman. Now it seems like his passion has truly been ignited. 

You pull at his shirt, eager to see that perfectly sculpted body again. He obliges you, ripping the fabric open so fast that the buttons are sent scattering across the floor. Your hands glide over his chest, feeling the muscles there, feeling his heartbeat. 

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, letting it pool at your feet, then down go your panties. You step out of the pile of clothes and kick them out of the way, then wrap your arms around Toji’s neck as he pick you up. Your legs move around his waist as he settles you in the right position against him. 

When his throbbing cock plunges into your drenched pussy, you cry out, then bury your face in his shoulder. He fucks you against the wall, your body sandwiched tightly between it and Toji’s firm body. With each thrust, your back hits the wood again. You know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but right now you don’t care. 

You just want to forget. In these moments of mindless pleasure, you want to forget your father dying before your eyes, your burdensome lineage, the fact that your life has been turned upside down. You only want to feel Toji inside you, filling the emptiness you’ve felt the past few days. 

His hands are on your thighs, his fingers leaving imprints in your skin, his mouth finding yours and devouring your lips. His thrusts become harder, rougher, leaving you whimpering his name and begging for more. You want him to claim your body, make it his, reduce you to a crying mess so that you won’t have to think about anything else. 

His skin is so hot against yours, his muscled abdomen rubbing exactly the right spots to send you over the edge. When you cum, he’s kissing you, eyes open and staring at your face, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully. He doesn’t stop fucking you, his hips continuing to buck into you as you go limp against his chest. 

Before he cums, Toji pulls out of you, splashing the wall with his seed before easing you back onto your feet. You fall into blissful oblivion as he places your exhausted body on the couch. 

It’s late in the morning the next day when Toji tells you he’s leaving the cabin for a few hours. “I know a few former guards who hate the queen as much as we do,” he says. “They might be willing to help us.”

You nod as you pour yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Any help at all would be very welcome. Even if it’s just someone to distract the guards while you and Toji sneak into the castle. 

Toji gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head before stepping out, and you settle into the couch to read a book you grabbed from home. The first couple of hours pass uneventfully, the only sounds in the cabin being the crackling of the fire and the pages of your book being turned.

But in the afternoon, there comes a knock at the cabin door. You freeze, wondering who it might be. Toji wouldn’t knock. Is it a hunter from the village? Or, the more frightening possibility, a royal guard or soldier who spotted Toji in town and knows you’re alone? 

You quietly get up from the couch and creep over to the door, hoping to hear some clue that could help you determine who is on the other side. There’s a knocking again, and it strikes you that it’s not a very hard knock. Then you hear a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” 

It sounds like an old woman. It’s a weak, frail voice. Still, you can’t be too careful in this situation, so you don’t answer. 

“Please, if anyone’s here, could you help me?” the voice pleads. “My legs gave out. I just need somewhere warm to sit and rest for a bit before walking back home. I saw the smoke from the chimney.”

You move to the nearest window and peek out, toward the door. You don’t see anyone. No soldiers, no hunters. You don’t have a direct line of sight to the woman, but if there was anyone with her, you’d probably see them. 

After a few more moments, you hear soft footsteps crunching snow, and a small old lady steps into view as she limps away from the door. She looks so pitiful, so weak, you find yourself running to the door and opening it. 

The woman turns around and looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, bless you, dear!”

You hurry over and take a basket from her hand, noting it’s unusual heft, as you help her inside. 

“What are you doing out in the woods alone?” you ask her as she eases herself onto the couch with a groan. 

“I was crossing through from town back to the village,” she says. 

You fix her a cup of warm tea and sit down beside her. “That’s an awfully heavy basket you’ve got.”

She laughs and pulls the basket into her lap. “I’m a fruit seller,” she says, opening the basket and revealing several red, shiny apples. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, that’s alright!” you tell her.

She pulls one apple out and reaches it to you. “Consider it a gift for letting me warm up in your cabin.”

You hesitantly take the apple and sit it on a small table beside the couch. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

The old woman smiles kindly. For the next half hour, she sits and chats with you, telling you about her husband who died two years ago and her no good son who refuses to help her sell fruit. Then, she slowly gets to her feet and bids you farewell. 

After watching her disappear into the forest, you close the door to the cabin and return to the couch, picking up the apple as you go. 

Toji is in town, waiting to meet up with a former guard he was friendly with, when a hunter he recognizes from the village approaches him. 

“Hey, Toji. Are you still using that old hunting cabin in the woods?” he asks. 

Toji’s eyes automatically narrow. “Not recently,” he lies. “Why?”

“There was an old fruit seller asking if anyone lived out in the woods. I told her about the cabin but stressed that no one’s usually there. I think she went anyway.”

“A fruit seller?” Toji asks, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

The Hunter nods. “An old woman. She had a basket full of apples.”

Toji frowns. “Apples in the dead of winter?”

The man shrugs. “I guess she had a late harvest.”

Toji leaves. He wastes no time with small talk or goodbyes. He simply runs as fast as he can back to the woods, because he remembers something the queen told him years ago. Something he’d dismissed as delusional fantasy at the time. 

She said that if she utters a specific incantation in front of the magic mirror, it can change her appearance to look like anyone she wants. 

If that was true, then the old woman could have been…

He stops thinking, only focusing on running. He tears through the woods at inhuman speed, and in record time he arrives at the cabin. He throws the door open and runs inside. 

There he finds her, his young lover, sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, a half eaten apple lying a few inches from her outstretched hand. 

[elikajinnie]

Hiii I love your fanfics!!😭🩷

Can u write something on sunoo like horror au or thriller au?

Fallen Angel - K.S

THANK YOUUUU!!<333 Omg i have so many horror au drafts right now. It`s really giving me motivation.

P: Devil!Sunoo X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood/Injury, Rituals & Cult-like Activity, Obsessive Love, Body Worship, Murder, Corruption, Falling In Love, Stalking?

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent walk through the forest turns into a chilling nightmare, and your soul becomes the ultimate prize for the devil himself. With a captivating presence and an insatiable desire for you, he reveals that your fate is now intertwined with his. And he will keep you by his side.

a/n: I am a sucker for paranormal movies :p the start is inspired by Jennifer`s body :) HAPPY HELL WEEK!! (iykyk)

"The Devil is real and he's not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite."

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

You come downstairs after slipping into more comfortable clothes, ready for a walk. The house is quiet, your steps light on the wooden floor as you head toward the door. Living on the outskirts of town has its perks, and your favorite one is the forest. It's a place of solace, a space where you can let your thoughts wander freely as you walk beneath the trees.

You pull on your shoes, grab your jacket from the hook by the door, and fish your phone out of your pocket. A playlist hums to life in your ears, setting the mood. With your keys in hand, you lock the door behind you, the soft click signaling the start of your escape into the wild.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, the small stones and twigs snapping with every step. There’s something rhythmic in the way the sound mixes with the music, creating its own sort of tune. You follow the familiar path, the forest looming ahead, inviting you in. As the trees grow taller around you, the ground changes, becoming softer, more forgiving underfoot. The scent of pine and earth fills the air, fresh and damp. Sunlight filters through in thin beams, casting long, golden shadows on the forest floor.

Your breathing syncs with the rhythm of your steps, steady and calm. The music playing in your ears becomes a backdrop to the symphony of nature—birds chirping somewhere above, the distant rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush. You can feel the world quieting around you, like the forest itself is protecting you from the noise and chaos of everyday life.

The deeper you go, the more peaceful it becomes. The path you walk is familiar, worn by countless footsteps over the years, but every time it feels new, like the forest shifts and breathes with the seasons. You pause for a moment, standing still, letting the quiet wash over you. There’s a comfort in this silence, a stillness that fills you.

But as you take a breath, something in the air changes. It’s subtle at first—like the shift in a breeze before a storm. The trees, once inviting, now seem to lean in closer. The shadows deepen, stretching out in unfamiliar shapes. The music in your ears feels distant now, as if it’s being drowned out by the weight of the silence.

Your steps slow, and the crackle of a twig behind you makes you stop altogether. You turn, scanning the trees, expecting to see nothing but the familiar outline of trunks and branches. But for a moment, just a brief flicker, you think you see movement—something or someone slipping between the trees, too fast to catch.

The forest, once a place of peace, now feels different.

Your heart quickens, instinctively telling you something is wrong. The peaceful stillness of the forest now feels like a trap. Slowly, you turn around, careful not to make any sudden movements, your instincts screaming at you to leave. The music in your ears lowers into the background, drowned out by the rushing pulse of your own heartbeat. You try to stay calm, taking slow steps back in the direction of home, eyes scanning the forest around you.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. Every shadow seems to shift, every tree leaning just a little too close. The forest, once familiar, now feels foreign, hostile even. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your steps quicken. You need to get out of here.

Just as you pick up the pace, something moves at the corner of your vision. You freeze. Slowly, you glance around, and that’s when you see them—figures, barely visible at first, blending into the dark shadows of the trees. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, they move with eerie silence. One, then two, then more of them, appearing from the forest as if they’ve always been there, watching.

Panic surges through you. You turn fully now, ready to run, but it’s too late. The forest around you is no longer empty. They’ve surrounded you, their dark forms closing in like a tightening net. Your breath catches in your throat as you search for a way out, but there’s none.

Before you can even react, something hard strikes the side of your head. Pain explodes in your skull, and the world around you spins wildly. The ground seems to rush up to meet you as your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. The last thing you feel is the cold, unforgiving earth beneath you as consciousness slips away, pulling you into a deep, heavy darkness.

When you finally come to, your head throbs with pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re propped up against a large, moss-covered stone, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Panic sets in as you realize you’re bound—your wrists and ankles tied tightly with coarse rope, the roughness biting into your skin. There’s a gag in your mouth, muffling your shallow breaths. Your heart races as you struggle to move, but the ropes hold firm.

Looking around, your eyes adjust to the flickering light of candles surrounding you, casting eerie shadows on the trees. There are seven figures, cloaked in black, standing silently around you. They are still, their faces hidden under the hoods.

You hear it then—the low, rhythmic sound of chanting. The voice is monotone, steady, like it’s reciting something ancient and powerful. You don’t understand the words, but you guess it’s Latin. You begin to struggle, trying to loosen the ropes, heart pounding as your fingers strain against the bindings. But the more you move, the tighter they seem to become. Panic rises in your chest.

Suddenly, one of the figures steps forward, and in their hand, you see a dagger glint in the candlelight. Your stomach twists in fear. You freeze, eyes wide, unable to tear your gaze away as they approach you. The chanting continues, unwavering.

Without warning, the figure kneels beside you. The dagger’s cold blade presses against your cheek, and then—pain. You flinch as the sharp steel slices into your skin, a thin line of blood trickling down your face. A muffled whimper escapes your throat. The figure collects the blood, careful and deliberate, smearing it onto an ancient, crumbling scroll that looks like it’s been carried through time itself.

Terror takes over as you watch, helpless, as the figure lights the scroll with a simple flick of a lighter. The flames catch quickly, consuming the scroll in moments. As the last of it turns to ash, the chanting stops.

A deafening silence follows.

No birds. No wind. The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, as if the world itself is waiting for something terrible to happen.

Then, all at once, the candles surrounding you flicker out, plunging you into darkness. But just as quickly, they flare back to life—only this time, the flames are blood red, casting an ominous, fiery glow over the ritual circle. The figures stand unmoving, their faces still hidden, but you can feel the shift in the air. Something has changed.

Something is coming.

The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as if the very forest is suffocating under some unseen weight. Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence. It’s sultry yet booming, rich with mockery and power. It doesn’t come from any one direction—it comes from everywhere at once, as though the trees themselves are speaking.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purrs, dripping with amusement. “How desperate you all must be, fumbling with your little rituals and chants. Meddling with powers far beyond your reach.” It chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest, making the ground beneath you tremble. “Did you really think you could summon me so easily? That I would come at the beck and call of your pathetic incantations?”

The cloaked figures stiffen at the voice’s words, shifting nervously in their places. They remain silent, but you can feel their fear in the way they hesitate, as if they didn’t anticipate this response. The voice continues, teasing and condescending. “You should’ve known better. But here you are, scrambling in the darkness, begging for something you cannot possibly understand.”

Just then, one of the figures dares to speak. Their voice is trembling, but steady enough to say, “But we brought you a sacrifice.”

The forest falls deathly still. The voice, which had been mocking moments before, quiets suddenly. The shift in its tone is palpable, as though whoever or whatever it is has just taken a keen interest in something—or rather, in someone. You feel a chill creep up your spine.

There’s a long pause, and then the voice speaks again, but this time it’s softer, quieter, as though it's enthralled. “A sacrifice…?” The amusement fades, replaced by something else—curiosity. Desire. “And what a beautiful offering you’ve brought me…”

Your blood runs cold as the voice seems to focus entirely on you now, its words lingering in the air. You can feel its attention like a weight pressing down on you, though there is no form, no figure to see—just the voice, enveloping you in the darkness.

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves,” it murmurs, almost appreciatively. “Such beauty… such fragility. A rare find indeed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tell if this attention is a blessing or a curse. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but the ropes still hold you tight, and the darkness closes in.

The figures, emboldened by the voice’s attention, begin to speak. One by one, they make their demands, their voices eager and trembling with greed.

“We ask for money,” one says, stepping forward.

“Power,” another adds, almost hungrily.

“We offer our loyalty in return for wealth, for control. We will serve you without question,” one of them declares, their voice dripping with desperation.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, the voice returns, and this time it’s filled with cold, biting laughter. “Money? Power?” it repeats, the words laced with disdain. “How pitiful. Is that what you’ve gathered here for? How small your desires are. You dare summon me, meddle in forces far beyond your comprehension, and for what? Gold? Influence?”

The voice’s laughter grows, mocking them all, cutting through the air like a knife. “You offer loyalty as if it means something to me, as if you’re anything more than fleeting, mortal specks. You want power? You want riches? You have no idea what true power is, nor the price it demands.”

The figures hesitate, doubt creeping into their postures as the voice continues to belittle their wishes. And then, just as your heart beats faster with terror, you feel a breath against your ear—soft, like a gentle wind. A whisper, barely audible, brushes against your skin.

“Close your eyes.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head, expecting to see someone beside you, but there’s no one. Just the oppressive darkness and the flickering red flames of the candles. Your pulse quickens, but something deep inside you urges you to trust the voice. Against the rising panic in your chest, you clench your eyes shut tightly, your body trembling as the atmosphere around you shifts.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest is shattered by the sound of screams. Blood-curdling, desperate cries fill the air, piercing through the night as the figures around you shout and wail in terror. You hear the snap of branches, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the crackling of something far more sinister. But you don’t dare open your eyes. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, every muscle locked in place as chaos erupts around you.

The screams continue, a cacophony of horror, but you keep your eyes shut, holding onto the whisper’s command. Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as you try to control the overwhelming panic that’s rising inside you. Time stretches, seconds feeling like hours.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest goes quiet. The screams fade into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence. Your heart races in the deafening stillness, and though you can no longer hear the carnage, you can feel its lingering presence.

You breathe in and out, fast and shallow, terrified to open your eyes, terrified of what you might see. The forest is so quiet now, as if it’s holding its breath once more. You start to wonder if it’s truly over, if the nightmare has passed.

Then, the whisper returns, soft and chilling, right by your ear. “Sleep…”

Before you can even react, your mind becomes heavy, your body limp. It feels like a spell, something irresistible pulling you into darkness. Your eyes, still shut, flutter briefly before you fall into an all-consuming sleep, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

You drift through the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had, your body weightless, like it’s floating down a calm, serene river. The usual tension in your muscles is gone, replaced by a deep, soothing calm. It’s as if you’re cradled by warmth, gently rocked by invisible hands. There’s no sense of time, only pure restfulness, the kind that reaches into your soul and makes you feel whole.

In the distance, you hear a voice—soft, affectionate, and full of admiration. It whispers sweetly, its tone rich and tender, complimenting everything about you. It praises the softness of your hair, the elegance of your face, the beauty of your body, and even your very presence, as though every part of you is perfect. The words wash over you like a lullaby, pulling you deeper into that blissful rest.

When you finally wake up, you’re in your bed. The familiar comfort of your own room surrounds you, but something doesn’t feel right. You blink groggily, sitting up, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Confused, you glance around, and your heart races as you remember the events —the forest, the figures, the voice. Instinctively, your hand goes to your cheek, expecting to feel the sting of the cut, but there’s nothing. Your skin is smooth, untouched. There’s no sign of what happened.

You throw off the covers and hurry to the mirror, your pulse quickening. You search your reflection, half-expecting to see some trace of the terror from the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your hair is the same, your face unmarked. It’s like nothing happened at all, and yet… you know it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The memory is too vivid, too real. The voice, the blood, the chanting—all of it remains sharp in your mind.

You turn away from the mirror, trying to make sense of it, when something catches your eye. Your breath hitches in your throat. On your bedside table, there’s a candle—lit and burning softly. Next to it, a single rose, its petals dark and velvety, resting elegantly beside the flame.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you approach it. Slowly, you pick up the rose, your fingers brushing against its delicate petals. The candle flickers slightly, casting a warm glow across the room. You stare at it, the confusion settling deep in your chest.

“Oh…” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The soft voice from your dream, the one that praised you, seems to echo in your ear again, gentle and intimate. Startled, you whip around, expecting to see someone behind you, but there’s no one. Just the empty room.

“Weird…” you mutter under your breath, glancing around once more. Still, there’s no explanation, no figure emerging from the shadows. You place the rose back down on the table and blow out the candle, watching the smoke spiral up into the air before it disappears. The room feels normal again, but the unease remains.

You climb back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite everything, the warmth of sleep begins to pull at you again, as if beckoning you back into its embrace. And though the forest may be far behind, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is still watching.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

In the days that follow, you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. It’s always there, just out of sight—a presence hovering behind you, lingering at the edge of your senses. Every time you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just empty air. But the feeling never fades. It clings to you like a shadow, haunting your every move.

You become more cautious, always looking around, watching for signs of movement, but there’s no panic, no alarm. It’s almost as if your body has accepted the presence, even as your mind refuses to make sense of it. You should feel fear, but instead, there’s a strange calm, an eerie quiet that lingers no matter how close the feeling gets.

The day after the incident, you return to the forest, hoping for some kind of clue, some proof that it wasn’t a dream. But the forest is peaceful, untouched. There’s no sign of the ritual, no remnants of the candles, no trace of the figures. It’s as though the whole thing never happened, swallowed up by the woods themselves. The silence feels wrong, and as you walk the same path, the memory of that night burns vividly in your mind, but there’s nothing here to confirm it.

You try to move on, but even your friends start noticing the change in you. Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin glance at you with worried eyes, asking if everything’s okay. You brush them off, telling them it’s just stress, maybe some restless nights. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. There’s no rest anymore, only the constant feeling that you’re being watched, even when no one is around.

And then there’s the candle and rose. Every night, without fail, when you go to bed, they’re there. The candle always lit, casting a soft glow across your room. The rose—perfect, fresh, never wilting—sits beside it. It weirds you out, gnawing at your sanity, especially when you know you lock the windows and draw the curtains every night. There’s no way someone could be getting in. After the third night, you even called the police, desperate for answers. But they found nothing—no signs of forced entry, no signs of any entry at all. The officer told you everything seemed normal, but nothing about this felt normal to you.

The hopelessness sinks in. There’s no explanation, no rational way to understand what’s happening. And it doesn’t help that at night, when the world is quiet, you can hear it again—that soft voice. It’s always there, whispering just at the edge of your consciousness. Close, yet distant. Its words are impossible to grasp, like a lullaby just out of reach, tugging at your mind as you drift into sleep, feeling the weight of something you can’t explain pressing down on you.

You want to scream, to fight it, but there’s no fear. Only that strange, unsettling calm, like a storm waiting to break. And you can’t tell if you’re more terrified of what’s happening—or of how much you’ve come to expect it.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One day, in the midst of your growing paranoia and frustration, you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your computer when a strange ad catches your attention: a website for a fortune teller. The colorful banner flickers, promising answers to those who seek them, and normally you’d scoff at something like this. But with everything going on, you find yourself clicking the link. Desperation tugs at your thoughts. Maybe she could explain what’s happening, or at least help make sense of the strange calm that now follows you like a shadow.

The next day, you go. The fortune teller’s shop is tucked away in a quiet part of town, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Inside, the scent of incense hangs thick in the air, and the room is dimly lit by candles that flicker with every movement. She sits across from you, an older woman with knowing eyes that seem to see right through you.

As you settle into the chair, she doesn’t need much prompting. After a brief introduction, she tells you that she feels something around you, something that clings to you. “There’s a presence,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “Usually, a presence like this would be malevolent, something dark and dangerous… but right now, it’s calm. It feels content, almost protective.”

Her words send a chill down your spine. You’ve never bought into this kind of thing before, but something inside you tells you to listen. You can’t deny the truth in her words. That presence, the one you’ve felt trailing you day and night—it’s always there, but never threatening.

She pulls out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, her fingers nimble as she lays them out on the table. One card catches your eye immediately—the Devil. When she spots it, her breath catches. “The Devil,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “It represents temptation, control, and obsession. But it’s also a card of power, of something… primal. Something that binds itself to you, and once it has, it rarely lets go.”

You sit there, frozen, as she explains the meaning of the card. It’s about being tethered to something you can’t escape from, something that might seduce you with its calm but still holds an underlying danger. You barely hear her as she continues, your thoughts racing.

When you finally leave the fortune teller’s shop, you step out into the street, dazed and conflicted. The cold air bites at your skin, but your mind feels numb. You stand there for a long time, thinking over everything she said, the Devil card burned into your thoughts. The idea that this presence, this voice, is somehow tied to you—content now, but still something to be wary of—it sends your head spinning.

Eventually, you walk to the bus stop, lost in your thoughts. When the bus arrives, you get on, finding an empty seat by the window. As you sit, staring out into the city, you can’t shake the strange feeling again—that presence lingering close, too close. You glance out the window, and for a moment, you swear you see something sitting beside you in the reflection. A shadow, just out of the corner of your eye.

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to look—but there’s nothing. No one. Just the empty seat beside you, like always. You squint, trying to shake the feeling, and look back at the window. The reflection shows nothing.

You huff in frustration, shaking off the moment, and pull out your phone, trying to distract yourself. But as the bus rolls forward, you can’t help but feel that presence still, hovering just beyond your senses, patient and ever-present.

You step off the bus at the stop you wanted, your mind still racing from the strange encounter on the ride. The air is cool as you walk, your footsteps almost mindless, leading you down familiar streets until you reach the church. Its tall steeple rises against the sky, and you pause for a moment, staring at it. A sigh escapes your lips as you shrug, figuring there’s no harm in trying. Maybe this place, of all places, could offer you some sort of clarity—or peace.

Pushing open the heavy doors, you step into the threshold. The moment you cross over, something shifts. The constant feeling of being watched, that heavy, unshakeable presence, vanishes. It should bring you relief, but instead, a hollow emptiness fills the space where that presence once lingered. You stop in your tracks, feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

Every cell in your body screams at you to turn back, to leave the church and return to where you felt… safer. But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down as you make your way past the countless rows of benches, your eyes fixed on the altar.

“Hello,” you call out, your voice echoing through the empty space, bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Hello, my child,” a voice responds. You turn to see a priest walking towards you, his face kind, his eyes full of concern. “How may I help you?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how to even begin explaining what you’ve been feeling, but something about the priest’s calm demeanor makes it easier. You tell him everything—about the ritual and the feeling of being watched that never left you. He listens carefully, nodding as you speak, never interrupting. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, his expression grave but understanding.

“I think you may benefit from a cleansing,” he suggests gently. “It could help you find peace.”

You’re not sure what peace would even feel like anymore, but you nod anyway, agreeing to the cleansing. He leads you to a small side chapel, where he begins to recite verses, his voice steady and reassuring as he works through the ritual. You stand still, feeling the weight of his words settle around you, like a protective barrier forming between you and whatever it is that’s been haunting you.

When he finishes, you feel lighter—but not in the way you expected. You thank him quietly, offering a small smile before heading back toward the exit. But as you reach the door, you stop, standing just before the threshold. There’s an odd feeling gnawing at you, something that makes you hesitate before stepping outside. You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Finally, you step out. You wait for the familiar sensation to return—the feeling of being watched, the strange calm that’s followed you for days. But nothing happens. The air is still. The presence is gone.

You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening, and for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of relief. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Maybe you’ve finally managed to shake whatever it was that had been clinging to you. You walk down the church steps and start making your way home, your steps lighter, as if the weight of the last few days has lifted.

But as the quiet of the evening settles around you, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, just to be sure.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

That night, when you finally make your way to bed, something feels off the moment you step into your room. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and when you glance at your bedside table, the absence hits you immediately. There’s no candle softly flickering, no rose resting beside it. For days, those strange, inexplicable objects had become part of your nighttime routine, and now, without them, your room feels… empty.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bare space, unsure how to feel. Part of you should be relieved, right? The presence is gone, the priest’s cleansing worked, and now, everything is back to normal. But as you sit on the edge of the bed, you can’t shake the odd sense of unease gnawing at you. That eerie calm you’d come to expect—no matter how unsettling—had become familiar. And now that it’s gone, it feels like something important has been ripped away.

You lie down, pulling the covers up, trying to convince yourself that this is what you wanted. Peace. Quiet. But as the night wears on, you toss and turn, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time you close your eyes, you expect to hear that soft, whispering voice, or to catch the faint scent of roses in the air. But there’s nothing. Just the cold, stark quiet.

Hours pass, and despite the exhaustion, you can’t seem to find any comfort. The night drags on, restless and heavy, and when you do manage to drift off, it’s into a light, uneasy slumber. The dreams that come are disjointed, dark, and full of shadows that shift and twist just beyond your reach.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

As the days turn into a blur of mundane routines, you find yourself increasingly aware of an emptiness that settles in your chest. It starts subtly, creeping in like the morning fog, but soon it becomes a heavy weight you can’t ignore. You catch yourself glancing around your room, searching for something, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s missing.

You dismiss it at first. Tell yourself it’s just a phase, a product of the unsettling experience you had in the forest and the church. But deep down, you know what it is.

Each night, when you lay in bed, the absence gnaws at you, louder than your rational thoughts. You try to convince yourself that you don’t need any strange tokens, that their disappearance signifies freedom. But the truth is, you miss the ritual, the soothing presence they offered, even if it was unsettling. They were reminders that you weren’t entirely alone, even if the presence felt like a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind.

You begin to notice it more and more during the day. At work, when the sunlight streams through the window, illuminating everything around you, your thoughts drift to that flickering candlelight. You find yourself distracted, unable to concentrate, imagining the scent of roses filling your room, their petals vibrant and alive. In moments of quiet, when you should feel at peace, your mind wanders back to the eerie calm that came with those objects.

You even catch yourself thinking about the fortune teller’s words, the way she spoke of the Devil card and its implications. Was it truly gone? Or was it simply biding its time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence again? The uncertainty hangs over you like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive.

Every night, as you prepare for bed, you look at that empty space on your bedside table, and a familiar ache settles in. You want to deny it, want to convince yourself that you’re better off without the strange gifts. But as you drift into an uneasy sleep, the truth lingers just beneath the surface—you miss what once was, even if it was chaotic and frightening.

And the more you deny it, the stronger that longing becomes, until it feels like a part of you is reaching out, desperate to reclaim the connection you once had.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One night, as the hours dragged on, you found yourself tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Eventually, you groaned in frustration and opened your eyes, confronting the reality that sleep was eluding you. With a resigned sigh, you sat up, pulling the covers off your body. You felt restless, as if your own skin was too tight.

Navigating through the dark, you made your way to the kitchen, each step a little more deliberate than the last. The house was silent, the only sound the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor. You reached the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, opening it with a quick twist before taking a few long gulps. The cool water felt refreshing, but as you set the bottle down, a familiar shiver raced up your spine.

You froze, instinctively turning slowly around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “Hello?” you called out, your voice a soft echo in the stillness. But there was no response, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Turning back around, you tried to shake off the chill that lingered, but then something shifted in the air. It wasn’t stifling, but it felt heavy, pressing down on you like a weight. A sudden awareness prickled at the back of your neck, and you froze again, feeling a breath whisper past your ear.

It was warm and sweet, mixed with an intoxicating scent of roses and something burning, like incense.

“Hello, little angel,” a sultry voice whispered, sending chills through your body. “Miss me?”

You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and there it was—a black shadow, dark and formless, hovering just inches from your face. Two crimson eyes glinted in the darkness, locking onto yours with an intensity that paralyzed you. You wanted to scream, to run, but your tongue felt heavy and your limbs refused to move. All you could do was stare in terror, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed closer.

In that moment, you understood with horrifying clarity: you weren’t alone anymore.

You could only watch as the shadow moved to stand directly in front of you, your gaze locked onto its form, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The presence was back, and you felt a strange mix of fear and longing bubbling within you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that voice, that intimate whisper, until it echoed in the stillness of your kitchen once more.

“Excuse my sudden disappearance,” the shadow spoke, its tone smooth and rich, wrapping around you like silk. “The cleansing you underwent caused me to step back. I could only return to you when your soul desired me again.”

Your heart raced as his words registered, the surreal nature of the moment crashing down around you. You found your voice again after the shock wore off, forcing the question out of your throat. “What… are you?”

The shadow paused, then gave a graceful nod as if remembering something important. “Excuse my manners,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with dark elegance. And then, right before your eyes, the inky figure began to shift. The darkness gave way to a striking form, his transformation almost too breathtaking to believe.

He stood there now, a tall, beautiful man, whose very presence stole the breath from your lungs. His skin with pale, flawless that seemed to glow in the dim light. His black attire was tailored perfectly, hugging his body and adding to the aura of power he exuded. But it was his eyes that drew you in —those deep, red orbs that gleamed with a playful yet dangerous light, and his blond hair fell effortlessly around his soft features. But it was more than just his face that left you spellbound—two long, black horns curved proudly from his head, and behind him, a sleek, horned tail swished lazily through the air. In his hand, he casually twirled a pitchfork, as if it were an extension of himself.

“I am the Devil,” he said with a charming smile, his gaze locked onto yours, “but you may call me Sunoo.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you—fear, intrigue, and an unsettling familiarity. The realization of what he was settled deep within you, mingling with the longing you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the warnings that echoed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, to the chaos and the darkness he represented.

The kitchen felt smaller now, the shadows thicker as he took a step closer. “And I have come back for you,” he said, his voice low and enticing, making your heart race faster. His red eyes locked onto yours, and with each word he spoke, the weight of his gaze felt as though it was peeling back your very soul.

“I watched you,” he began, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I craved you. You ignited a hunger within me that I had thought long extinguished. A mortal like you,” he said, his tone reverent, “looked like an angel in my eyes. Your innocence, your strength, your beauty—each facet drew me closer, wrapping around my heart like a vine.”

As he reached out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, a caress that sent a shiver of warmth through your body. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep inside you that resonated with every heartbeat. “But then,” he continued, the softness of his voice darkening, “I saw you on that forest floor, hurt and scared for your life. It filled me with fury, a rage that pulsed through my veins. How dare they threaten you?”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued, “I sought you out. I stood by you, watching over you as you went about your days, waiting for the moment when you would long for me as I longed for you. I protected you from the darkness that surrounded you, even as I stood in the shadows. I knew this night would come—the time when you would feel my presence and accept me as your own.”

Your heart raced, his words weaving a web of desire and belonging that tightened around your chest. “Your soul now belongs to me,” he whispered, and as the words left his lips, you felt his hand press against your chest, right over your heart. The moment his palm made contact, your heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm drumming beneath his touch, as if responding to him alone.

You were so close to him now, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. His gaze never wavered, locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin flush. Without warning, he moved swiftly, twisting you in a fluid motion until your back was pressed firmly against the counter. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat that coursed through your body.

Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he hoisted you up and set you on the counter. The sensation of his touch lingered, your body humming with warmth as his gaze roamed over you, a possessive fire burning in his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you, his gaze roaming from your head to your toes, as if memorizing every detail. “You complete me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I have waited countless millennia for my Queen. And here you are, the one I have searched for. When you were sacrificed to me, I knew your soul would be mine forever.”

As he spoke, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, like molten gold coursing through your veins. His presence enveloped you, making you feel alive in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Every inch of you is a work of art, crafted for my eyes alone.” Then, without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was passionate, a collision of heat and longing that left you breathless.

Suddenly, you felt whole, as if the missing pieces of your soul had been returned to you. A wave of warmth washed over you, burning deliciously from the inside out. You melted into him, feeling safe and cherished as he held you close. His kiss deepened, a dance of desire that left you wanting more, while his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his longing.

You lost yourself in him, wrapped in the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. Every kiss, every gentle caress, felt like a promise—an assurance that you were meant to be together, that you had finally found the place where you belonged. In his embrace, you felt invincible, as if nothing in the world could ever harm you again.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, he dove back in, capturing your lips with a fervor that left you reeling. “My angel,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with longing, “you don’t understand how much I need you. You are everything to me.” Each word tumbled from his lips like a sacred incantation, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his world.

You gasped as he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a hungry urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The warmth of his body pressed against you, and you felt as though you were melting into him, losing all sense of time and space. He was insatiable, a force of nature, and you struggled to keep up with the intensity of his desire.

“I will keep you for myself,” he vowed, his voice so soft that it sent a thrill of excitement through you. “No one will take you from me. I will protect you for all eternity.”

With every kiss, he expressed a need that felt primal, as if he were staking his claim on your soul. You gasped again, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of emotion that engulfed you both. He pressed against you, the world outside fading into a blur as his presence consumed you. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own, each thump a testament to the bond that was forming between you.

“Please,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his red gaze filled with a fierce intensity. “Let me show you what it means to be loved by the Devil. Let me drown you in my devotion.”

As he pulled back slightly, his red eyes shimmering with intensity, he asked, “Will you come with me? Will you rule beside me as my Queen?” The weight of his question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race at the thought of a life intertwined with his—a life where you would stand by his side, embracing the darkness and light together.

Looking into those mesmerizing, molten eyes, a wave of certainty washed over you. You found yourself nodding, breathless as the words tumbled from your lips. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, a radiant joy that illuminated his features. The sight sent a rush of warmth through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. The heat between you surged, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a magnificent room bathed in rich, lavish reds. The walls pulsed with a warm glow, and golden accents shimmered in the ambient light, highlighting the opulence that surrounded you. You were nestled on a grand bed, the silken sheets beneath you soft and cool, cradling you like clouds.

Turning your head, you saw him standing a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto you, radiating affection and adoration. His presence was comforting, that it made your chest swell with joy. You belonged here—with him.

As if reading your thoughts, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, holding you with a protective warmth that made you feel safe. A wide grin spread across his face, and you noticed how his eyes almost disappeared when he smiled, his soft cheeks lifting in a way that made him look so much more human, so endearing.

It almost made you want to reach out and squish his cheeks—this unexpected softness he showed you. His red eyes glimmered with love, as if you were the center of his universe. “My Queen,” he said, his voice filled with pride and affection.

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of the bond that now intertwined your souls. “My King,” you whispered in return.

His grin widened as he hugged you even closer, his hold warm and reassuring. The titles felt right, as if they’d always been meant for the two of you.

[whatislovevavy]

Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts

Reiner! Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Honeybee)

Summary: Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he's so glad he gets to share it with you.

Warnings: Tyler being down bad for his wife, afab!reader, fluff, swearing, smut (18+), oral (m+f), facesitting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

WC: 4.6k (I'm so sorry, but not sorry enough to make it shorter)

AN: Hey girlies :) Apologies for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy and it feels like I have to wait for what feels like some kind of astronomical event for me to be able to write. Tyler Owens is essentially Jake Seresin so yeah I'm writing for him now lol. Reining has always been one of my favorite equestrian sports to watch. Granted, I've never done it nor competed so apologies to any reiners out there if there's inaccuracies with how competitions go lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

None of the pictures featured are mine and were taken off of Pinterest. All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

The competition had been fierce and each ounce of caffeine in your veins from your strenuous, early morning drive from Arkansas to Oklahoma had done nothing to quell your nerves. 

You could feel the sweat emulate from your palms as you watched each rider and horse pair complete their routine with near flawlessness, confidence, professionalism, and near perfect scores on maneuvers. 

Tyler would need to give it his all to bring home the NRHA world championship title for this season. 

You watched with bated breath as the pair before Tyler’s exited through the in-gate, applause and cheers ricocheting off the concrete and aluminum walls of the stadium. The announcer’s voice crackling and echoing through the speakers as the pairs score was displayed on the JumboTron that hung ominously above the center of the arena, threatening to crush Tyler's lifelong dream if a perfect score wasn't achieved. You fiddled with the competition program in your hand, waiting for the announcer to give the go ahead for Tyler Owens and Coppertone Boy, or as he was affectionately called at home, Copper, to enter the arena. 

“Come on, honeybee, I think you're more nervous than I am.” The fingers of your hand stop gingerly massaging into the muscle between Copper’s alert ears, eyes meeting Tyler’s unnervingly calm ones. You sighed, bringing your hand down to softly stroke the stallion’s velvet muzzle, looking back out at the arena that would be vacant for only a few moments more. “It's just the anticipation is all.”

He swallowed, dipping his heels down further against his stirrups, his weight settling on the back of the palomino American Quarter Horse. His thumb running along the smooth leather reins in his moderately calloused hands, his posture straightening. Tipping his hat on his head, eyes drifting from your almost perfect facade of calm collection to the no longer virginal arena footing. 

He gingerly scratched at Copper’s strong, gilded withers and neck concealed by the silken, alabaster strands of his freshly detangled mane, easing any anxiety the 10 year old stallion may have had. 

“Copper will take care of me out there, and I'm coming back, Sweets” his lip quirked into a gentle smirk, letting your anxiety ease a bit. 

Copper gently nudged you with his head, trying to get one last scratch in before entering. Or maybe to try to reassure you. “I know, I-,” you took a breath, licking your lips,” just really want this for you, and we're so close. I can taste it.” 

His eyes glazed a bit, a special kind of warmth spreading in his chest. You had helped him hitch the trailer to pick up Copper from the auction a few townships over back in his early twenties. You were the one who was with him every step of the way, through every high and frustrating low of training him and getting him ready for every competition. You were the one to stay up all night with him when Copper coliced during a muggy spring night a few years back. You were the one who encouraged him to try reining after his bull riding rodeo career came to a halt. You were the one to hide out with him on his family's ranch in Arkansas during the summer thunderstorms in the hayloft as kids and lovesick teenagers. And you were the first person he got to kiss out in the back field after the haying season was done, laying under the cover of Cassiopeia and The Big Dipper with homemade strawberry moonshine. It made the wedding band on a chain around his neck all the more meaningful. The microphone crackled as the announcer cleared his throat, announcing for Tyler to enter the arena. 

“Come on, baby, I need my good luck kiss before I go out there.” His urgent, but sweet, tone made you chuckle.  Stepping on your tippy toes, you met his lips that only seemed to get softer the more you kissed him. As your lips left his, you gave the stallion that gleamed like a new penny under the stadium lights a last, quick rub at his withers and a whispered “take care of him for me.” The stallion nudged his pink and gray muzzle into your side, letting out a puff of breath, seeming to listen and affirm your wish. 

You turned back to the man you had loved since you were a sophmore in highschool. “You'll get something a lot more when you come back.” You said softly with a flirtatious tone, trying to lighten the nerves that seemed to electrify your fingertips. Your eyes told an unspoken “whether you win, or lose.” His eyebrows rise before a smirk settles on his lips. “Looking forward to it darlin,” he winks before turning his attention to the packed arena. He gives the stallion a gentle squeeze of his sides with his calves to get him into a working walk, head low, and relaxed as his metal shoe-clad hooves rhythmically ricocheted off the pavement leading up to the arena as applause and whistles from the crowd marked his entrance like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. You watched him leave your side with bated breath. 

You always envied how he was able to feed off of the crowd instead of cowering under it, even when he was getting tossed around as a professional bull rider in the local rodeo circuit. It was a trait that Tyler and Copper had in common that made them a perfect pair.

You watched each calculated movement he whispered to Copper through his hands, legs, and seat. Each movement done in perfect harmony, from flying lead changes to each heart racing spin and rollback. You practically knew the routine like the back of your hand, softly mouthing the required movements right as Tyler and Copper conducted them with  complete poise and confidence. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit back and forth from the golden stallion enrapturing the attention of the crowd and the judges scribbling down notes that had the potential to cut like a blade. Tyler had a calm, at-ease aura around him; his hands still with just the right amount of contact on the reins, loose hips and strong legs that wrapped around the barrel of the strong, powerful, and graceful horse below him. Copper’s ears kept at ease, each one flitting back to listen to each whispered task Tyler gave him. His mane and tail swayed beautifully with the rest of his muscular, golden dappled frame; steel horseshoes gleaming under the large overhead lights. You felt your anxiety rise as Tyler only had one maneuver left to accomplish- a sliding stop from a full gallop, the most exhilarating maneuver in reining.

Your breath felt like lead in your lungs as you watched each stride Copper took to complete his routine. With an impressive stall of his hind quarters, Copper planted himself against the arena footing to come to a full stop, his hind legs slightly folding under him as Tyler kept his body steady. The arena went quiet for only a second as Copper found his footing, remaining in a halt. As soon as the judges gave Tyler the go ahead to leave the arena, you jumped up in glee, applauding and whistling, just like the entirety of the arena   as Tyler gave Copper a loose rein, giving his strong neck deligent pats of encouragement and rubbing his withers as he made his way out of the arena at a working walk pace. After all, he had earned it. 

But would it be enough to win?

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as Tyler met your gaze with a heart stopping grin, his handsome dimples on display, timothy grass green eyes shining for you as his chest rose and fell from his exertion, and the sweat evident under his Stetson at his hairline. 

As soon as he cleared the in-gate, he was out of the saddle and embracing you, lips on yours as you giggled against him as he picked you up and spun you around, your fingers splayed over his stubbly cheeks. Copper stood patiently as his reins hit the cement floor. Your fingers resting at the back of his neck, feeling his sweat, natural scent, and the smell of leather and horses caress your senses. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, voice thick with tears bubbling beneath your eyes as your hands encased his gently stubbled cheeks, his grin matching your own, voice thick, “Honey, whatever happens, I’m-,” his eyes becoming glassy, “I’m just so glad I’ve been able to do this with you. I love you so goddamn much.” He brought your lips back to his in a sweet, love filled kiss that made your stomach flutter.  The crackle of the microphone breaks you both away from your kiss, his embrace still on your hips. Tyler cranes his neck to look up at the JumboTron. 

Your eyes widening, putting your hands over your mouth and looking up at Tyler’s shock-parted lips as the arena broke into cheers. Tyler swings you around by your hips before bringing you to his lips again. 

A perfect score. 

—

As soon as Tyler rode out on Copper with you by his side during the award ceremony, and your picture was taken with his NRHA Championship trophy and Copper got his red, blue, and yellow tri-colored ribbon, you both were ready to load up Copper and drive all the way back to Arkansas. 

Photographers, interviewers, and cameras followed your little group out of the arena. Tyler and Copper both walked with pride in a way that showed a healthy balance of confidence and natural charisma. Copper not once flinched as cameras flashed as Tyler had him periodically stop for interviewers to ask questions, reins loose in his hand. Copper seemed to almost pose for the camera with his ears forward and moving with momentum whenever the cameras flashed; aware that he had done a good job and was being appreciated. You, on the other hand, preferred to be on the other side of Copper’s strong withers, away from the cameras, gently running your hand along his glistening coat; it took you and Tyler countless hours for it to gleam like gold. 

“Who would you say is someone who has always supported you on the road to winning this NRHA world championship title?”

You felt like you were hiding behind the near two ton animal, peeking over his strong neck to watch Tyler with his tipped up Stetson and near alabaster dress shirt. He turned from the interviewer to you with an easy grin on his face, gently reaching behind him to take your hand from underneath Copper’s neck, bringing you around his large head and into Tyler’s chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks like wildfire as you gave the interviewer a shy toothy smile. 

“I’ve had the undeserved pleasure to have by my side, during this entire journey, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known; my wife.” You felt your throat tighten and tears start to bubble up in your eyes at his gesture, all while trying to subtly hide away into his shoulder as the interviewer seemed to soak up the sweet moment between the new NRHA world champion and his wife. 

“You’ll have to forgive her, my honeybee’s a bit shy.” he chuckled, the interviewer following suit before asking her final questions with you by his side. 

As the last of the interviewers left to talk to the other competitors, you and Tyler led Copper back to the trailer to get him bedded in the trailer for the long way home.

You tried to keep your thoughts pure as you walked through the trucks and trailers with Copper in tow, passing competitors that turned into friends; like Bradley Bradshaw and his oil black quarter horse gelding, Turn and Burn, and Natasha Trace and her sorrel chestnut mare, Rising Phoenix. Both of which had gotten in the top 5 tonight out of 38. 

But Tyler looked too good right now. Too good. And his display of affection in front of the interviewer made your insides warm and jumble inside you. 

His hair peeking out from under his stetson, the color subdued from sweat; his taut jeans around his slim waist; his obnoxiously large belt buckle that glimmered in the overhead lot lights; his flushed, sweat soaked skin; bright, fern green eyes, and the defined line of his jaw to his handsome dimples. 

It didn’t help that you got distracted watching him tend to Copper as you put the tack in the trailer, biting your lip as you watched the thin material of his shirt cling to his back muscles. 

“Honeybee, you alright over there?” You almost needed to shake your head out of your trance, before trying to quickly put the tack away in the closet of the trailer, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on your lewd thoughts. 

As soon as you turned around from putting the tack away, Tyler was at the entryway. Both hands on the edge of the storage space prevented any chance of escape, sluttily leaning his weight on the frame like the scantily-clad men in those romance books Tyler always teased you for reading. He didn’t have anything to complain about though; he reaped the reward of it everytime. 

Your eyes met his mischief filled ones. “You got something on your mind, Honey?” 

You diverted your gaze from his eyes to his Stetson. He noticed, promptly removing it and placing it over his denim-clad pelvis with a teasing smile as he saw your eyes follow his movement. He always loved the dust of pink on your cheeks when he flirted with you. He took a step into the trailer, feeling his intoxicating scent invade your senses. 

You took a step forward, letting your eyes obscenely run over from his sweat-slicked back hair, to the slight crook in his nose, to his plush lips. Leaning into his ear, “I’ll tell you once Copper is in the trailer. Fed and watered.” Tyler almost shivered at the barely decent tone you used. You both were in a public space for Christ’s sake. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You bit your lip, a chuckle vibrating in your chest at his pace towards the patient stallion grazing from his well deserved hay bag as soon the words left your lips.

—

After ensuring all of your belongings were packed away, you went to check on Tyler and Copper. As you turned the corner, Tyler was just finishing up putting the latches on the trailer. “How’s our big guy doing?” You asked, leaning against the side of the trailer. 

He turned to you, “fed, watered, and out like a light. Copper’s going to sleep well on the ride home. Gave him a few extra flakes of hay to keep him occupied.”

“Now,” he took a step closer to you, a smirk painted across his lips, “I wanna hear what was on your mind earlier, pretty girl,” he purred. 

You took a step closer to him with a flirtatious smile blooming on your face, reaching out for his belt loops on his jeans. 

— 

“Honeybee,” he whimpered, heading hitting back against his truck as you sunk to the dusty ground beneath your knees, scrambling to unbuckle his obnoxiously large belt buckle, and unzipping his denim jeans with a harsh tug. He hissed, “careful, sweets, don't want to damage the goods,” you chuckled before bringing his jeans down to his knees. His breath freezing in his throat as you ran your palms against his defined Adonis belt and abs, scratching at the hair of his happy trail as your smooth palm found its home - wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock in his briefs. Tyler's eyes clenched shut, a hiss leaking from his kiss-swollen lips as you began to pump him in a corkscrew motion. God, he looked so good like this. Letting you take care of him and make him crumble beneath the palms of your hands. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” His hips stuttered as you gave his oh so sensitive, engorged tip delicate kitten licks before taking him into your mouth, sucking softly. Eyes drifting shut as you savored the subtle musk of your husband and the salty taste of the precum leaking out of his cock. You hummed around his dick as his fingers weaved into your hair, keeping his cock encased in your hot mouth. 

Jesus, the glorious sight in your mind- Tyler’s head and Stetson tipped back, lips agape, cheeks flushed pink with sweat and arousal, dress shirt unbuttoned, strong abdominal and pectoral muscles exposed from years of ranch work, hips jutting out as his jeans and briefs tethered his ankles as you worked his fat cock. 

A sound akin to a mewl left his lips as you bobbed your head along his length, working his cock with your saliva soaked hand. 

“Oh fu- baby, that feels so fucking good.” His graveled voice made you clench your thighs, his eyes opening to see you pumping his cock as you playfully sucked on his balls. Saliva dribbling down your lips to the dirt below, leaving your mark on the event grounds. Your sinful acts hidden in the shadows of your truck and trailer. 

This was definitely the best way to celebrate a world championship win, he thought through a hazy conscience as he failed to find a steady tempo of breath. 

You could feel the tightness of his balls and the steady throbbing of the vein running underneath his thick cock. His fingers tightening in your hair. 

“God-Fuck-” His trail of words were cut off with a deep groan he tried to muffle the best he could.

 His hand kept your mouth around his cock as he shot his load down your welcoming throat, letting you swallow every hot drop he had to give. His body slumping against the truck, catching his breath as you rose up off the dirt, tenderly tucking him back into his jeans, bringing your lips to his. 

After a few moments, Tyler deepened the kiss,  reaching for the backseat door. He broke away from your lips, littering your neck and collarbones with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips would get swollen soon from how hard you were biting them to conceal your mewls. His hands palmed and toyed with your cotton-clad breasts, feeling his calloused fingers slide under your t-shirt to fondle at your steadily peaking nipples. “Baby, we might need to do this half-clothed,” you murmured against his lips. He let his lips leave yours, realizing where you guys were: on the outskirts of the arena grounds. 

“Well, Honeybee, we’ll just have to do it with your pants down then, pretty girl.” He smiled sinfully. His gravelly tone always made you clench your thighs in need, and feel excited and jittery inside; like a new-born foal learning to run. 

He stripped off his dress shirt, leaving him with chest and abs exposed in the shadow of the truck. Before you had the chance to admire his half-bare body, he was unzipping your jeans and pulling them down along with your panties in one fell swoop. He guided your legs out of them before placing his beloved Stetson on your head. The sight of you bare below the waist and his white stetson had his cock twitching again. 

He hopped on the seat, laying down on the leather upholstery. “Come on, honey girl, get up here. I want a taste.” He purred, eyes raking from your face down to the little honey stash between your thighs with a Cheshire-like grin. 

You chuckled, excitement thrumming through your belly like a current of electricity. His hands guided your hips over his twitching dick, over his thick pecs, and right above where he wanted you. Your breath catches in your throat as Tyler brings your hips down with his broad hands, clutching at your soft waist as he starts lapping at your drenched core.  

“Fuck, Ty-” you clutched at his tufts of hair that peaked through your fingers, like the daisies in the hayfields. He toyed with your clit, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. He gently sucked on your clit to pull each sweet moan and gasp from your lips. His thick fingers forming troughs along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, keeping your weeping pussy pinned above his eager mouth. 

“Please.”

He grunted as your hips rocked against him, his grip tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. Your head tipping back as your thoughts failed to construe into something tangible besides broken moans and words. It’s amazing how Tyler’s Stetson has stayed on during your impromptu ride. 

God, the sight he had from below your thighs; black t-shirt riding up to just below your bra, your hands clutching at his hair and your covered breasts, beautiful parted lips, reddened cheeks and his staple atop your head.

You looked divine like this. Hell, you were divine for wanting to marry him in the first place. 

He gave your clit a delicate kiss, just enough to make you whine a little. Littering kisses along your inner thighs, feeling the tender flesh quake above him as you protested him giving attention to places that weren’t where you needed him to be. He licked his lips savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and gently teased two fingers at your entrance making you gasp and whimper at the intrusion.

“Baby, you look so good from down here, so fucking good.”

His graveled voice was marked by a unique breathlessness that times like these brought him. Your hands pushed your t-shirt up and your bra down to toy with your exposed breasts and perky nipples as the Oklahoma evening air pebbled them. Your hazy gaze looking downward at your lover’s tousled hair, flushed cheeks and lust-blown pupils with a characteristic devilish grin on his arousal soaked lips.

“Fuck, baby”

He smiled as he guided his fingers into your welcoming heat, your pretty moans music to his ears. 

His fingers finding the perfect tempo against that little spot inside you that made your toes curl against the upholstery of the car. His free hand holding an iron grip on your hip, keeping you steady.

If you hadn’t felt like you were going to cum before, you were now.  

Tyler could feel your velvet walls constrict around his welcomed digits. A soft yelp leaves your lips as he finds your clit again; toying and sucking at the delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He sucked harder the more you pulled at his hair.

“Tyler, I’m so close, please make me cum baby-please.”

The wanton, sultry tone your voice got in this state made him ache in his jeans and move his fingers that much more eagerly. 

You felt the familiar build up of pleasure in your tummy and the sparks of pleasure traveling from your toes. Tyler watched as you fell apart over him with a wracked moan of his name as his fingers continued to rub that special spot inside you, and as he continued to toy with your poor, abused clit.

He slowed his movements to a halt, letting his fingers leave to hold your hips steady, bringing his lips to languidly kiss and lathe at your cum soaked folds, drawing out any last sparks of pleasure and the sweet, little noises you always made for him. 

Your thighs shook with the aftermath of your orgasm, your body still ringing with small sparks of pleasure and sensitivity, your whimpers pouring out. 

He lathed his last set of kisses to your pussy before sliding your hips down to rest over his throbbing dick, hidden behind a layer of denim. 

Tyler brought both hands to encase your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss full of teeth and tongue, your mouth going to the prominent vein on the side of his neck, lathing and marking the flesh as your own, spurred on by the deep groans of the man underneath you. He growled, feeling you bite into the skin there. It would surprise him if you didn’t draw blood. 

“I want to ride your thick cock, baby.” you simpered.

“Fuck, you make me so hard, Honeybee.” He growled, feeling you unzip his jeans, pulling out his aching cock and lining him up at your entrance. Gently teasing the tip, running it along your folds, letting it soak up your arousal. You smirked as you listened to the borderline moans that reverberated from his chest. He felt his eyes almost roll back at the feeling of your walls welcoming him in; back home. You watched with lust hazed eyes as his face was consumed with tension; his eyes clenched shut, brow lines rippling the tanned skin of his forehead, his tense jaw and kiss swollen lips. 

He guided your hips, savoring the feeling of you. His hips bucking up into your awaiting pussy as he got more and more invigorated for his release. 

“Fuck, Honey-fuck!” He growled as he felt your walls squeeze him for all he was worth. 

“God, you’re always so good for me, such a good fucking girl” he said as he held your hips tighter, fucking up into you at a faster pace than before. Gasps and moans falling from your lips as he pummeled that sweet, heavenly spot inside you that had you seeing a kaleidoscope of sensations behind your eyes, and your fingers clawing at his pecs and shoulders for stability. Tyler could feel the coil in his stomach tightening as his release was barreling towards him like a train going into a station. His abs tightening, pace unrelenting as he chased his high. He could feel you were close with this new set pace, your lips parted as sweet sounds echoed from your lips. He held on until he felt your walls snap close on him like a vice, your thighs shaking as your high washed over him with a broken moan and tremor. His hips rose, fucking into you one last time before releasing his hot load into your pretty pussy with a deep growl. 

—

He gingerly pulled up your panties, keeping his cum trapped between your folds. He snapped the button of your jeans closed as he languidly made out with you. He changed into a t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right, keeping his jeans on. You both silently changed into your new set of clothes with content, lovesick smiles on your face. You gave him a kiss as he passed you his sweatshirt to wear during the ride home. 

You both settled into the front seat of the truck. By now, most people had gone home, the bright stars above watching over you. He placed his Stetson on the backseat, smirking as he watched you reach out for the cowboy hat, placing it on your head with a cute smile that made him smirk and shake his head. 

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, Honeybee.”

“I love you too, Ty.”

You give his thick thigh a squeeze, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He pulled black from the kiss, putting the truck into drive. As soon as his hand is free, he takes your hand in his, making your cheeks warm at the gesture, kissing the back of it as he pulls out of the dirt road onto the interstate towards Arkansas.

Let me know what you guys think :) Be sure to leave a comment and reblog :) My inbox is always open to requests and any thoughts you have <3

@marvel-hotchner @nemesis729 @a-lil-bit-nuts @justagirllivinginaghibliworld @mizzzpink @themusingofagothicsoul @sebsxphia @potato-girl99981   @a-beaverhausen @withahappyrefrain @hangmans-wingman   @callmemana @joalslibrary @peachiicherries @whiskeyswriting @entertainmentgirl80

@jkbindigo11 @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @teacupsandtopgun

@chaoticassidy @superskittles @cherrycola27 @cheekymcgrath @h-ngm-ns @emma8895eb @djs8891 @novastories @urmom-999 @taytaylala12 @zombicupcake3 @catsficrecs @abaker74 @kmc1989 @hangmanshoney @caidi-paris @i-wanna-be-your-muse @shara-ne @memeorydotcom @memoriesat30 @shanimallina87 @whoeverineedtobe @gigisimsonmars @slippinginto-theairwaves