#glasses are a great disguise

[rukia-writes]

Oh 👀 I didn't know that about Aizen 👀

Yes! If you want to disguise yourself glasses usually do the trick ✨

It’s also funny because Aizen wore glasses like Clark Kent, then Aizen loses the glasses and gets Superman’s singular strand. ✨🤍 so if you want to hide 😶‍🌫️ glasses! 👓

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

not me typing a whole rant about some catholics being insufferably smug about their "better looking churches" while ignoring the history behind the barebone austerity of protestant churches and then deleting it all because my seething anger isn't christ-like either

*gnaws on wood* God help me love your children even when they are absolute prigs

[metaphysicae]

ouch

[lordcryosrealmoftrash]

The thing that makes Yor Forger an amazingly written female character isn't that she has strengths and weaknesses. It's that her strengths and weaknesses are complex, varied, and just so human. Like I feel like people think that to write a "girl boss empowerment" character, she needs to be great at everything or that she needs to be one thing or the other. Like she has to either be strong and smart or gentle and motherly.

Meanwhile, there's Yor. She actively struggles to assist her first grader with homework and can't cook, yet she is incredibly knowledgeable about biology because of her side gig and can make one heck of a stew. She can perform inhuman feats of strength and parkour her way across a city, yet she's a total lightweight and loses almost all her coordination when drunk. Speaking of being lightweight, despite that, she is immune to many poisons. She can't handle more than a glass and a half of chardonnay, but pufferfish poison feels like nothing more than advil to her. She struggles to socialize and sees herself as a poor candidate to be a mother, yet she is the only member of her family actually getting close to Twilight's target because of her kindness. Also, while Twilight/Loid can look and act like a picture-perfect father, it's Yor that actually knows how to raise a child and how to talk to children. Without her, Loid would be screwed.

Yor, despite being a paid killer, is the humanity of her family. Anya is a child who, even with the ability to read minds, knows so little of the world, Loid is a spy who prides himself on his ability to disguise himself among civilians but hasn't actually known what it's like to be one since he was a child, and Bond is a dog, a future seeing dog, but still a dog. Yor for all her social awkwardness is what truly sells the Forger family. With any other woman, the Forgers wouldn't work because there would always be a strange sense of uncanny valley around them. Too perfect father, a child who knows everything but understands nothing. It's only Yor that makes it all click. A slightly ditzy yet weirdly ominous maternal figure.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: child support

John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.

Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?

So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.

He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.

"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.

"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"

"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.

"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.

Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.

John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."

"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.

"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."

The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.

"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.

It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.

Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.

"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"

Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.

"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.

Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.

[cthulhus-curse]

Swan Song

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,325

Warnings: Queen!Wanda Maximoff, Princess!Reader, Stepcest, Blood Kink, Bondage, Breeding, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Face-Sitting, Forced Orgasm, Jealousy, Knife Play, Manipulation, Mommy Kink, Possessive Behavior, Praise, Pussy Spankings, Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Magic Use | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Your queen doesn’t like seeing her pet whoring herself out to anyone, much less to a peasant girl. In order to remind you of your place, Wanda gives you a night you won't easily forget.

Being a princess was much more than sitting around on a throne waiting for the hours to go by as the king and queen ruled over the empire. It was tedious work. Having various dress fittings, keeping up with bumbling fools who visited from other kingdoms with the hopes of having their sons betrothed to you, and overall dealing with a royal life which was as dull as the rocks you splashed on the river along with your friend.

At times you wished to have Kate’s life. Ever since you were a child you had known each other. She was the daughter of the stable boy who was eager to follow in his footsteps and claim her loyalty to your family. Kate had been there when your mother passed, listening each day to your teenaged ramblings about the suspiciousness of her death. She was poisoned, you were sure, but unbeknownst to you the witch who would soon claim the empty spot as your second caretaker had done so as a means to set her plan in motion. While the woman aimed to rule over the kingdom in the shadows behind her recently wedded husband, your father, you were far too busy prancing around even when adulthood arrived acting out as the wild princess who spit on the royal name just to be free.

Well, at least that was until Wanda had taken matters into her own hands. She wouldn’t let an insolent, brat of a princess tarnish the family name which was not even hers to begin with. That was the first time she had dare take you, take your chastity, as a means to keep you tamed and dumbed down — to control your wild mannerisms and teach you to be a well-behaved toy for your owner to use as she pleased.

Even then you found time to sneak around and visit your friend at the stables. She was the only one who didn’t see you as anything other than Y/N. Not a princess, not a willing fucktoy to be corrupted. Just you. She lived in peace working at the stables only needing to worry about tending for horses which were tame as hay.

At times you couldn’t help but spend hours talking with Kate or even setting off to the village via horse and with a disguise. Your stepmother did not allow for such misdemeanors. You were a princess, not a peasant, and yet you felt at peace among the commoners.

On a rather particular day you drifted off from the market to the forest, gnawing on a recently acquired apple as your horse had already downed his own. You were far too distracted by the orchestral chirping of the birds and the wind whooshing through the leaves of the enormous trees to realize it was time to leave. Only when the sun set low enough to disallow you to even make out your own hands from the darkness did you become filled with fear and rush back to the castle. Although your father was away, the queen would not be pleased in his place.

Rushing into the castle drew various eyes of the staff. You were known to be hectic and fortuitous, but each of them felt great fear as they knew you headed to the belly of the beast. You counted your luck for having decided to wear a simple attire for horse-riding, tight pants and a loose blouse along with your boots rather than a pristine dress suited for a princess. It’s not like you could get into town without going unnoticed with the latter.

Breathlessly reaching the dining hall where you knew the queen was to have her dinner at a sharp hour, you eyed your surroundings. The dimly lit room was adorned by a woman who brought a glass of wine to her lips which showed a perfect line. She didn’t dare spare you even a glance, eyeing her food with animosity while holding her knife with deep ardor. A pair of guards were at each of her sides. Even with only the light of the candles making her presence clear and ominous, Wanda was beautiful.

“My queen, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” you greeted as the ends of your mouth reached your ears. Eyes dripped with wonder as the older woman waltzed across the dining hall, her head held up high as her hands went to clasp together in front of her. “How was your day? I see father has yet to come back from his trip, I’m sorry to say. Perhaps the two of us can-”

“I don’t think it’ll be necessary for you to speak again while I’m here,” was all Wanda said as she took another bite of her food. “Guards, please leave myself and the princess alone. There are rather sensitive matters we must discuss.” You knew that tone which invited trouble.

Each guard that surrounded the dining room nodded before moving away. Everyone knew not to question anything she said, even your father. The dominance she had over the entirety of the castle, the kingdom at that, was truly remarkable. At the spoken words, you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together before taking a seat adjacent to the queen’s who sat at the head of the table.

Once only the two of you were in the room, with Wanda sitting by your side, the woman hummed. Your fear was ever-increasing, holding you frozen in place as you did not allow yourself to take even a sip of your water.

“I was told you were seen with the stable girl today,” Wanda muttered, her voice filled with antipathy. “That the two of you were getting…close.”

“My queen, I-”

“Did I give you permission to speak?” She asked with bewildered eyes. When you looked down and shook your head, Wanda’s lips remained thin before she carried on. “You dumb little slut. I give you everything and you throw it away for a stupid, lowly peasant? You disgust me,” she spat with green eyes soon glowing red. Shaking her head at your apparent fright, Wanda sighed. “I suppose I must teach you once again who you belong to.”

Nothing happened between you and Kate — you were merely friends, that’s all. Wanda knew that. Still, the idea of her green jealousy slipping through the cracks made your mouth water. For her to once again show you who owned your body and soul filled you with giddiness.

Wanda remained silent for a moment. She grabbed her own cup of wine before shaking her head with disbelief. If you wanted to misbehave and prance around a lowly peasant without her permission, you would be treated as such. Her fingers danced over the blood red drink, the tips glowing in a mad hue.

“Drink this,” she ordered, offering you the cup which you were only recently old enough to down.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t tell you to question it. I will not repeat myself again, pet. Drink. This. Now.” There was a darkness deeper within her eyes that you couldn’t put a finger on. It reminded you of the first time she made you bleed underneath her palms for daring to get too close to one of the suitors your father wished for you to wed. Wanda did not approve of her slutty mutt being touched by anyone other than her. The faint scars underneath your breasts, stomach, and inner thighs proved so much. “There you go.” She shoved the drink to you again.

“Wanda I-”

“Hush, detka. You know that’s not my name,” the offered softly. “Be a good girl for me and drink it. Don’t you want to make me happy, sweetheart? Do as I say and maybe I won’t hurt that stupid Bishop girl.”

That was enough for you to give in. You knew better than to challenge Wanda on that front. She could and would take the life of another if it kept those she ruled over in line whether she had to send one of her guards or take matters into her own hands.

You took a swing of the wine, humming at how good it felt running down your throat. It was a toe-curling burning sensation which overtook you. All your senses were heightened for a moment, the area between your legs desperately throbbing as the smell of Wanda’s vanilla-scented perfume filled your nostrils which you became drunk with. As soon as you went high, you came right down, leaving you a brainless little mess who could barely put together a handful of words.

“Mommy,” you tried again, “I don’t feel so good.”

“I know, sweetheart, but don’t you like the yummy juice mommy got for you. It’s making your head all nice and fussy just for me. You don’t have to worry about anything from now on. Just let mommy take care of it all.” She leaned in and breathed deeply. “And once I’m done with you, you’ll wish you never so much as met that stupid stable bitch. I can’t wait to see you bleed for me,” Wanda mumbled as she ran fingers down from your jaw to your exposed chest, ripping the buttons from your blouse, “My princess.”

The honorific had much deeper connotations than anyone could know. She was your queen to the naked eye, but behind closed doors, Wanda put it upon herself to completely dominate you. She wanted you to beg, to squirm each time she so much as dragged one of her fingernails down your frail, bruised and abused body she loved to hurt. And yet she was tender once in a blue moon. Your mommy knew best, she knew you, and of course she wouldn’t let anyone take that, take you, away from her.

“Close your eyes, malyshka. Don’t fight it,” Wanda guided you as she cupped your face with both hands. “Don’t worry. You won’t even remember a thing.”

Striking bloodshot eyes were the last thing you saw before everything went black. With a body sagged and your face falling against the table, Wanda simply stood by watching with a devilish smile on her face. It would be the last time you dared willingly defy your queen.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“It’s time to wake up, sleeping beauty. Mommy’s waiting for you.”

The sweet caramel voice that made an orchestra in your ears was the first thing you hear when you awoke. Your eyelids felt heavy which made it difficult for you to take sight of your surroundings. All you knew is that a sudden dry taste occupied your mouth and when you tried to move, your limbs remained in place.

“There’s my pretty princess. I underestimated the strength of that funny drink. Next time I’ll be sure to get it to wake you up sooner,” Wanda laughed as she hovered above you. When flicking your hazy, barely-open, drugged eyes upon her, you noticed the state of nakedness she was in, one which mirrored your own. A hand went to your cheek before tenderly slapping it to bring you to a better state of consciousness. “Seeing you like this has made mommy feel so warm down there, sweetheart. Would you be a dear and take care of it? Your cute little tongue always makes my pussy feel so…fucking…good.”

She didn’t need to wait for an answer. Ever since her guards had dragged you to her chambers, dropping you over the bed before being sent off, Wanda’s cunt throbbed with need. She desperately needed to use you. Binding your wrists to the headboard with her magic had been easy, but cutting off your clothes with a trusty blade, a handle which had a vial of your blood ingrained to it, made it difficult for her to control herself. For a moment she allowed herself to slip a pair of fingers inside your cunt just to feel how wet you were. The silence in you, only small whimpers thrown at her from your unconscious body, made her snarl. She wanted to hear you scream, to hear every single little sound you let out as she rained hellfire upon you.

Wanda crawled her way up your body, dropping a variety of kisses upon your lips before setting a last one on your mouth. “Be a good girl and make mommy cum with your mouth. Only then will you get a reward,” she whispered by your ear, nipping down on your earlobe before moving forth.

Her thighs were at each of your sides as your eyes were met by the sight of Wanda’s cunt. She was more than drenched, juices practically oozing from between her legs down her skin, all slick and glistening under the moonlight.

Wanda eased herself down on your lap. At the first taste of her, one which you knew so well, you groaned. Still drugged, you could barely do anything but be driven by animalistic instincts. Your tongue lazily stuck out before sliding up her slit. You were humming, eyes content while licking her luscious pussy clean.

“There’s a good fucking slut. You’re always amazing at making mommy feel good,” Wanda let out a deep breath as she rode your face. Her hips rhythmically moved so that she was grinding over your mouth, her folds being spread before your tongue found her clit. She always moans and arches her back when you swirl your way around her erect bud. “Keep going, little whore. Fuck me with your mouth. Go ahead and give me exactly what I fucking want.”

Wanda tugged at your hair while remaining in position. She moved desperately, her peak coming in a matter of seconds. It was intensified by the way your tongue teased her tight entrance, but when she squeezed her thighs around your face enough to prevent you from breathing, you knew to give up any mischief and instead give your queen what she desired.

When Wanda came, she was a loud, dripping mess. She sat over your face with a body which shook tremendously, instantly being filled with the loving embrace of relief. “That was so good, princess. So fucking good,” she praised while grazing her pussy over your face a few times for added affect. “You did so well for mommy. Now I do think it’s time for you to feel good, huh?” She raised her eyebrows, but you were far too much of a mess to know what she alluded to. “Come on, honey. I can practically smell how badly you want me to fuck you. I just need to do one thing first.”

The witch moved off your body with her hunger only partially sated. It took a few moments for her legs to stop shaking. When they did, she flicked her wrist so that a pair of straps were tightly wrapped around her waist, holding a rather large and thick dildo which was filled with the special treat she loved giving you. Standing between your legs, she grabbed her knife.

“What are you going to do?” You groggily questioned as alarms went off in your head. Still, the warmth overtaking your body as the dull side of the blade was inched up your skin made it give you an embarrassing flush over your features. “Mommy?”

“Darling, you know that your queen needs an heir, right? That’s exactly what my pretty princess is going to give me. You and I both know I won’t stop until I get what I want.” She tilted her head and stared at you with softness. “Now sit tight, honey. This will hurt so, so much.”

The blade of the knife was driven down your stiff, breathless body — you were far too afraid to let out a peep knowing the repercussions would be unfavorable. Although the first scratch was merely superficial and not strong enough to ever draw a drop of blood, the following were shallower and stronger.

Wanda drove her blade from your chest down to your belly, leaving beautiful red marks along the way. Each second that passed made the previously white cuts turn scarlet before drops of blood began falling from them. Only did she get artistic when reaching your thighs were the initials “WM” were carved on the area where they met your waist.

“It hurts so much!” You cried and yet such pain shot a jolt down between your legs. You were sticky and drenched with your own juices, your pussy practically pleading for Wanda to slide her fingers inside. “Mommy make it stop, please. I promise I’ll be a good girl from now on. Please!”

“What is it, puppy? This is exactly what you asked for.” It wasn’t, but neither of you minded pretending. Once she was done filling your skin with cuts, Wanda dropped the knife on the bed. “You can hold out a little longer for mommy. It’s not that bad. Stop exaggerating, baby girl.”

“Sorry, your highness,” you mumbled sadly.

The redhead merely raised her eyebrows before leaning down. It was time for her own tongue to stick out and glide its way along your skin. It was soft under her touch, blood trickling into her mouth. She tasted every last drop, humming at the metallic and familiar taste of it. Wanda was drunk with the gorey state of your body, cleaning every bit, only truly making it sloppier, with her mouth.

“You taste delicious, Y/N,” Wanda said as she sat back and licked her blood-stained lips. She allowed one of her fingers to inch closer to your pussy, teasing you before cupping it entirely. “What a wet little bitch you are for mommy. This is all for me, right?”

“Yes, mommy. All yours,” you were quick to respond, chest heaving up and down as your eyes flickered over your bloody body. There was something awfully terrifying and macabre about it which aroused you to no end. “Can I cum now, please? I was good for you, mommy. Please let me have my reward.”

“Of course, my little angel. You can have mommy’s special treat too while you’re at it.”

Wanda did not hesitate to align her thick cock at your entrance. She spread your legs apart whether you liked it or not. Slowly easing the dildo, she stretched out your tight, wet velvety walls that would forever welcome her, and her only – she would make sure of it.

You tried holding back a moan only to let it out loudly. Wanda did not stop whatsoever, instead inching herself deeper without letting you get used to the large toy inside you. She tilted her head to get a better look at you. Your body was writhing beneath her, clearly enjoying the feeling of having her shoved herself in your pussy until the tip of her strap-on rammed against your belly. When a small bulge appeared on your tummy, Wanda, filled with amusement, used both hands to press against it which only heightened your lust.

“You’re so big, mommy.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s bigger than anything your pretty pussy has ever taken,” Wanda agreed as she thrust her hips forth. Although she couldn’t feel the warm, tightness around her cock, she watched intently as she slid herself in and out of your cunt. “Do you remember the first time you took mommy’s cock? It was right after you came back from that trip with your father. You practically threw yourself at me that night. It had been weeks since I last saw my beautiful princess. I just knew you needed something more than my fingers then.” She grabbed your hips tightly, nails digging into your skin, while forcing her toy inside you over and over again. “Your pussy was so tight. It was only a few months after I took your chastity, huh? You were begging for me to stop but it made your cute cunt feel so good. Mommy had so much fun, she couldn’t even get herself to stop.”

“Then I came all over your cock, mommy. I remember,” you replied with a satisfied smirk over your features. You didn’t know if it was the drug or your arousal, maybe both, that left you sobbing for more at the idea of Wanda forcing herself inside you whether you liked it or not. “Mommy I don’t want your pups. Not right now, please.”

“I know honey, I know, but you have to. I really need you to do this for me. You can either say yes to me now and I promise not to make it hurt, or you can say no and I’ll make you either way.”

“But mommy-”

“No buts, missy. You take the gift mommy gives you and say thank you. I didn’t train you to be such an ungrateful little whore,” she growled before beginning to pound her thick cock inside you. “You’re my property, Y/N. Mine. Mine. mine!”

Wanda was not soft by any means. She kept pumping herself in your needy pussy, groaning as she listened clearly to the sloshing sounds of your insides being fucked along with your lustful noises. Her eyes went back and forth between looking at the bulge on your belly and your face which was contorted, all scrunched up, with deep pleasure stricken. As you came undone, the knot on your lower stomach finally loosening, your lover kept going without any sign of stopping.

She squirted her white seed inside you without warning. Her cock was squeezed by her hand, only the tip inside you as cum began filling you up. You felt hot all over, crying out of pleasure while taking every single drop that she gave you. With her eyes over your own, Wanda’s dark, macabre being which hid deep within the façade of the righteous queen began showing.

“Look at you, a useless cumrag that’s just supposed to be used for my own pleasure. I bet no one’s going to want to touch this slutty pussy now that your mommy has used and ruined it,” Wanda laughed maniacally as she pumped her cock in you a few more times before beginning to pull out. “Did you cum, baby?”

“Yes, mommy,” you whimpered. Tears dripped down your flushed features as Wanda cock left your cunt. As disappointed as you were to no longer be filled to the brim, it was quickly substituted by fingers which shoved themselves as deep as they could. “Wha- Wanda! I can’t take it anymore, please. I’m too tired. Let me close my eyes for a second and then we can try again. Please, mommy.”

“Shhh quiet down, little one. I promise it’ll feel good,” Wanda cooed as she thrust her two digits quickly. She fucked the cum back into your pussy, her fingers all white as they plunged themselves far enough to touch your sweet spot. “Come on, baby, cum.”

“I can’t take more.” It was a lie and you knew it, but you also realized that while your arousal was at its high once again, you would only grow even more exhausted than carrying heavy eyelids around.

Wanda huffed before pulling her fingers out swiftly. She didn’t allow you to speak, only instead slapping her hand over your pussy. The smacks seemed never-ending, your lover hitting you with much more strength by the second. It went on until you were begging for her to stop, but she only kept being rougher before plunging her finger inside your cunt all over again and fucking you with might.

“Cum now, Y/N.” It wasn’t a request, but an order.

“Mommy, I can’t! It’s too much, I can’t do it.”

“Oh you stupid little whore. I have to do everything myself,” she grumbled angrily. Flicking the wrist of her free hand, Wanda eyed you with mischief. She kept pumping her digits deep inside you, curling them up at your depths until it all became too much. You couldn’t take more and yet your queen urged you to cum. No, she forced you.

A scream broke out through the entirety of the castle as Wanda’s magic made it so that you couldn't hold yourself back any longer. You came for the second time, tears stinging as they traveled down your messy face. Your entire body crashed and burned with your partner taking possession over what was hers.

“Now was that so hard, baby?” She asked with unamused raised eyebrows. “I have to say that I’m impressed. You did really well, darling. Mommy is so proud of her cute little puppy.”

“Thanks,” you muttered back, eyes droopy and fucked up, but you still faced the woman who you loved so much. Relief came in as your hands dropped to your sides, Wanda finally having released your wrists from the magical bindings. You were the only one who knew of her secret, which was being a witch. Never would you dare spill your heart out to potentially get her laced in danger. “Hold me?”

“After being such a good pet, you deserve it,” Wanda hummed. She positioned herself behind you, hugging your body close to her own with a pleased smile. “You are always such a perfect princess. I know it hurt so bad,” she commented when ghosting her fingertips over your dried up cuts, “but I needed to teach you a lesson. You are to tell mommy whenever you want to leave the castle. You can’t go running away like that in secret. I never want my little one to be hurt. You’re far too dumb to take care of yourself, Y/N, so let me.”

“You promise to always love me?” you asked with a hint of hope.

Wanda smiled tenderly at that, moving slightly and accidentally sliding her strap-on against you. The mewl that you let out made her cunt throb with need once again. Squeezing your maimed body, she spoke again. “I promise, sweetheart. Mommy will always be there to love and care for you. No one gets to hurt my little princess.” She paused. “Well, except for me.”

[un-lawliet]

WHAT IF teen!Gojo and teen!reader are best friends teetering on the edge of lovers but they get into a petty little argument and start ignoring each other right???? so reader goes on a date with someone else to be petty and Gojo internally freaks out. So, him and his friends get in disguises as Gojo tries to sabotage the date without being noticed but instead he accidentally helps the other guy look great and impressive every time💀

Geto, shoko, and Nanami don’t help Satoru. They just watch and laugh😭 good fluffy ending though pls

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST !!!!! i loved this idea so so much- i kinda tweaked the request slightly but i hope this is ok <3 i love you and thank you for your patience !

“Normal”

- in which you’re on a date with someone that isn’t Gojo.

“Does this count as stalking?”

It absolutely did count as stalking.

Gojo, Shoko, Nanami and Geto were currently huddled in a dimly lit booth hunkering down as to not be seen by you…or your pompous looking date sat opposite you.

“It’s not stalking.” Gojo splutters, glaring at Geto through the top of his sunglasses, “It’s just..just-”

“You tracking Y/N down and making us watch her on a date.” Shoko muses, rolling a cigarette between her fingers, reaching for her lighter.

“Exactly!”

Nanami groans, his head falling backwards, hair falling over the curve of his eyebrows, hiding his face slightly.

Shaking his head, a small grin dances across Geto’s calm face, watching as Gojo pouts and glares at your table, eyes completely trained on your face.

“‘S’not even that good looking, she just has a thing for guys that flatter her.” He grumbles under his breath, flicking the fancy wall he leaned on.

“Think most girls enjoy feelin’ pretty Gojo.” Shoko replies, hand still feeling around in her pocket, “Oh fuck sakes, I’ve lost my lighter…Hey- Geto, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare one on ya?”

Geto nodded, tossing her a purple lighter from across the table, smiling gently as she thanked him.

“You shouldn’t smoke inside.” Nanami mutters, now staring down at the menu in-front of him, finger tracing along the prices in thought, seeming to pause on the brownie section.

“No one can see, we’re fine.” She sighs, taking a drag and blowing it towards Gojo, grinning as he dramatically clutches his chest, gasping for air.

“What’s the point of us even being here Gojo.” Nanami huffs, side eyeing the bakery stand parallel to their table.

“Because, I need to show her that this..this loser is nothing compared to me!”

“I don’t know Satoru.” Geto muses, taking a sip of his camomile, “Y/N seems pretty into him.”

“Suguru!” Gojo gasps in horror, betrayal dripping from his voice and on to the curve of his disgusted face.

Shoko wiggles her eyebrows teasingly, inhaling before continuing. “He has a point Gojo, I mean look, you ever see her smile like that?”

Gojo whips his head around to stare at you, and Shoko covers her mouth to hide a poorly restrained giggle, sharing a glance with Geto.

“I make her smile like that- She smiles like that with me!!” He whines, and Nanami rolls his eyes.

A waitress smashes a glass from behind the café’s counter, you jump slightly in your seat and turn to look over at the sound, you don’t notice the group of strange looking teenagers ducking down at your movement, concealing themselves poorly in their seats.

Your date laughs at you, you blush and turn back to him bashfully, excusing yourself for being so on edge.

Gojo glares.

“So what’s the plan then Gojo.” Nanami drawls, resting his face on his palm.

“Yes! The plan!” Gojo splutters, looking away from your pretty, pretty face to look at the three of them.

He hesitates and Shoko groans.

“You do have a plan don’t you?”

“Of course I do!..So, the plan..the plan um, well-”

“He has no plan.” Geto interrupts.

“Jesus Christ Gojo.”

“Does that mean I can leave?”

“Shut up!” Gojo exclaims, “I’m thinking give me a second would ya?”

“Nanami if your leaving I’m coming with you.”

“Wanna go now Shoko?”

“Guys!”

Gojo slumps forward in his chair, his face resting on the table as he whines.

Geto rests a hand on his back and chuckles, shaking his head at the two other sorcerers.

“It’s ok Satoru, we can all figure something out ‘kay?”

“Yea?” Gojo replies, his voice muffled by the table.

“Yea.”

Instantly, Gojo springs up, his eyes as wide as his smile.

“Ok let’s brainstorm.” Geto suggest, his voice like honey as he removes his hand from Gojo’s back and reaches back to his tea.

“What if we spill tea over him!” Gojo gasped, pointing towards the cup in Geto’s hand, a sharp look crossing his face.

“Stupid. Y/N would see us.” Shoko grumbles.

“No- See Shoko, the point of a brain storming session means we make suggestions and listen without judgement.” Gojo argues, crossing his arms.

“Yea but your idea was stupid.” Nanami concludes, watching as Shoko nods.

“You suggest something then Nanamin!”

“I’m suggesting nothing, this whole idea is foolish.”

“OoOoh “Foolish” is it?”

“I’m leaving.”

Nanami stands up reaching for his bag, scowling at Gojo.

“Hey, hey Nanami c’mon ignore him he’s just..” Geto pauses with a quick regard to Gojo, “He’s just Satoru.”

“An idiot.” Shoko chimes.

“Yes, an idiot.”

Nanami sighs as he sits down, placing his brown bag back at his feet reluctantly ignoring Gojo’s grin.

“…What if we trip up the waitress as she’s bringing them their food.” Shoko suggests, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

“That could work!”

“No, Satoru, that just causes trouble to the waiting staff.”

“And?”

Geto rolls his eyes, “We don’t need to cause anyone any trouble just because you’re too afraid to just ask Y/N out.”

“I am not afraid!” Gojo moans, putting his face in his hands.

“Uh huh, that’s why you fell out with her when she told you about the date.” Shoko laughs, wiping off ash from her arm.

“What was I supposed to do?” Gojo queries, frowning.

“Talk to her?” Nanami deadpans, “Like a normal person.”

“Our Gojo isn’t normal though.” Shoko winks, nudging an unamused Nanami.

“Focus guys.” Geto says, clapping his hands twice to draw attention.

Your sweet laugh echoes through the cafe, and Gojo pouts, shoulders slumping.

You were supposed to be sitting opposite him laughing.

It was supposed to be his food with which you shared.

And yet one petty argument about some random guy you had met in returning from your last mission asking you out, had ruined everything.

The shared glances between you and Gojo, how you leaned on his shoulder when you slept in classes, the way he would always keep an eye on your cursed energy when joining you in battle.

All those little moments had dissolved in the bitter moments after you informed him of your date, a small smile dancing in your eyes.

“He said I was pretty Toru’” You had said, your eyes wide, and Gojo wanted to cover the love sick gleam glistening in your eyes with his hand.

“I always think your pretty.” He mumbled, watching you cock your head in confusion.

“What was that?” You questioned, leaning towards him slightly, trying to recall his quiet words.

“Nothin’.” His curt response didn’t phase you as you moved backwards, a charming skip in your step.

“Think he sounds stupid.” Gojo was never good at expressing his true feelings, and in that moment, Gojo’s sheer panic over you leaving him overpowered his aloofness.

“You think someone thinking I’m pretty is stupid?” Your shoulders fell, and you turn to him, a small lour crossing your face.

“What? No? That’s not what I-”

“It what’s you said though Toru’” You sighed, and Gojo cursed at himself for the glimmer of insecurity that appeared to vex you in that moment.

“It’s just- Well he’s just stupid.”

“So you are calling him stupid for telling me I’m pretty.”

“No! He’s stupid! Not his words!”

“That’s the same thing Gojo!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

And now Gojo’s watching as Geto summons one of his smallest and weakest curses to push your stupid dates chair over, sunglasses off and held in his fist.

“Oh so we’re actually going with this plan? I wasn’t imagining it?” Shoko muses, stealing a forkful of Nanami’s brownie.

“Nobody else had any better ideas.” Gojo silenced, waving a hand in her direction, practically clamouring on top of Geto to watch.

“Satoru watch it, I can’t see where my curse is going with you on me.” Geto scolds, brushing the white haired man off.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Nanami’s disinterest oozes out from his voice, nudging his plate over to Shoko who smiles brightly at his offer.

Geto flexes his hand, ensuring that the curse went unnoticed by you, it ducked under a table and weaved between chair legs.

“Make sure Y/N doesn’t see it!” Gojo panics, his hand covering his mouth.

Geto pauses, and looks over his shoulder towards Gojo, eyebrow raised.

“…Sit down Satoru.”

And Gojo immediately drops, hands on his legs.

The curse bobbles over to under your dates chair, and Geto smiles, before releasing his hold.

.

.

.

The sound of your dates chair toppling over boomed through the cafe, and with a swift flick of his finger, the curse dissapears, and all four of the sorcerer’s immediately drop their heads.

“Oh my God? Are you ok?!” Your concerned voice follows, and you stand up instantly, rushing towards your date, who grins at you from the floor.

“Oops, must have slipped.” He smiles, accepting your hand in helping in up, wiping the memory of his fall off of his jeans. “At least I have a pretty lady to help me in my moment of weakness.”

You giggle, and push his shoulder, “Oh shush you tease.” Bending over to pick up his chair.

“Oh no don’t worry I got it.” Your date winks, helping you lift the chair.

“How??!?!” Gojo groans, watching you swoon, “What is happening?”

“Man.. She must really like him eh?” Shoko offers, sharing a cheeky smile with Geto.

“Maybe it’s hopeless.” Nanami chimes in, “Do you want to finish this?” He asks Shoko, gesturing to the half eaten brownie.

“Actually?”

“Yea go on, you seem to be enjoying it.”

“Maybe.” Geto cuts in, “Maybe we should just leave them be? Let it fizzle out naturally?”

“What if there is no naturally Suguru.” Gojo mopes, kicking the leg of the table.

“Gojo it’s obvious she likes you, and it’s obvious you’re both smitten.” Shoko says, her voice muffled and she finishes Nanami’s brownie.

“..You think?”

“Everyone thinks.” Nanami replies, “Haibara thought you two were dating when we first joined the school.”

“How is Haibara by the way?” Geto questioned, “Why didn’t he join us?”

“Not sure, he said something about needing more sleep before his first solo mission.”

“Isn’t that next week?” Shoko adds.

“He likes his sleep.”

“Come on guys! Focus!!” Gojo exclaims. “I’m in a dire situation here!!”

“A dire situation that could be solved with a conversation, Gojo.” Nanami rolls his eyes.

“Try the curse again Suguru.”

“Satoru it didn’t work once, it probably won’t work a second time.”

“Ugh.” Gojo slumps back, a sigh escaping his lips. “If you’re all so sure Y/N likes me, then why is she with that loser right now?”

“She probably got tired waiting for you to make a move Gojo.” Shoko replies.

“Yea the “will they, won’t they” becomes tiresome after a while.” Geto agrees, pushing his empty cup towards the middle of the table.

“Ah!” Shoko says pointing over at you.

“They’re leaving Gojo.” Nanami affirms, joining Shoko in pointing.

“What?!?” Gojo gapes, “No!”

Geto laughs, shoving Gojo to his feet, watching you leave the cafe. “Go get her Satoru.”

“But how?” Gojo moans.

“Just go!” They all exclaim, and Gojo pauses for a split second before he’s bounding towards the door.

By the time he’s outside, you’re waving goodbye to your date, promising to call him as he walks the other way.

You look happy he thinks, and suddenly feels very out of place.

Gojo’s begins to turn to go back into the cafe, admitting defeat, when he hears your voice behind him.

“Gojo?” You gasp, disbelief permeating from your voice. And Gojo freezes, turning around awkwardly to face you.

“Hi.” Gojo replied, scuffing his shoes against the ground as he approaches you, hands in his pockets attempting to appear cool.

You look at him, your mouth slightly agape as you fiddle with the sleeve of your jumper, processing his appearance.

“You followed me to my date?” You ask accusingly, glancing around.

“He didn’t offer to take you home?” Gojo chooses to ignore you, refusing to acknowledge the implication of your words.

“I told him I could go back by myself.”

“Some guy.”

“Satoru.” You pause, lifting a hand to stop him, “Why are you here?”

A car drives past the pair of you, it’s headlights cast shadows across his perfect face and your hold yourself back from staring.

He stalls, looking at you for a moment. “C’mere, I’ll walk you home.”

“Satoru.”

You’re tired of his deflections, for once you just want to talk.

You both stare at each-other, silence decorating the air between you.

And Gojo shakes his head, stepping backwards and looking away.

“You look good.” He mutters.

“Good?”

“Pretty alright? You look pretty, he was right.”

“My date?”

Gojo’s sunglasses fall down the bridge of his nose slightly as he leans down to look at you.

“Who else?” He muses.

You don’t understand, your heart fluttering pathetically in your chest as you prove further.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You ask, your voice light, scarce of hope.

“Because.” Gojo hesitates, hating how unsure he sounds in this moment. “Because you are.”

You step towards him, it’s a slow movement and Gojo watches you almost cautiously.

“It took me going on a date with someone else for you to finally say something?” You tease, your hands shaking despite the confidence in your words.

“Would have said something without him, y’know?”

“..Really?” Your eyes widen, a tiny grin crossing your face.

Gojo nods, and you take another step and hug him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest.

And Gojo’s smile almost hurts his cheeks as he wraps his arms around your figure, pulling you in closer.

“You’re an idiot.” You mumble, looking up at him.

“But you like me.” He replies, cockily grinning down at you, blue eyes sparkling.

“Yea, I do.” You whisper, clinging to him, moving your head backdown to face his chest, face burning with your confession.

A small kiss is placed on the top of your head and you hold back a giddy laugh, pulling away from his embrace completely.

“So…Does that mean you’ll let me take you out?” Gojo questions, taking your hand and pulling you gently along to walk with him.

“Hmm I don’t know..Are you asking?” Your head leans on his arm, grabbing his arm as you walk.

“I would take you somewhere much better than that shitty cafe.”

And you’re laughing, “You love that cafe Toru.”

And he laughs with you, a long arm circling around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

And Geto, Shoko and Nanami watch from the window of the cafe, shaking their heads.

“Idiots.” Shoko says.

“Completely.” Nanami agrees.

Masterlist <3

Feel free to leave a request !

A/N : HELLLLLOOOO PEOPLE !! ABBY’S BACK !!! thank you for the request sweets this is literally one of my favourite concepts ever I cannot cope!!!! I love teenage Gojo so much :( BUT ALSO Shoko <333333 — i hope everyone is happy and healthy, i finished this at 2am and i have school tmrw pls kill me rn i hope a car hits me when i walk in, genuinley this no longer a joke.

LOVE YOU

[darkdemeter]

・issue #--・ 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

⚤ Dark Pirate!Bucky Barnes x Siren!Female Reader Pirate Bucky — semi dark Bucky — submissive/soft captive reader — possessive Bucky — SMUT 18+, Minors DNI! — P in V sex — memory loss/wiping via magic (reader affected) — light use of physical and sexual acts to avoid conflict — indirect breeding kink? — pet names — brief consumption of alcohol — I think that's it? ✎ 4.1k He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. Yet overboard and on the tide you sail across, in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul… a song so familiar yet unknown. Forgotten. Bucky reminds you yet again that there is no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  There lays a song forgotten in your heart and soul, distantly faint as the receding tide to the shore. With each spare moment of peace you were given to dwell beneath the lapping waters, you spend a portion of it in search of that song. And what time remains within the falling sand’s glass, you bask in the blue and faded black abyss. 

  Tonight is no different. You could not remember the forgotten song that lulls you tenderly, pulling through skin and scale, calling you somewhere far, much too far, away from the balancing hull above. 

  You could not abandon your captain. Betray the trust between you both. After all, it was he who found you washed atop the rocky crevices of the island, who rescued you from a fate of drying out in the sun’s merciless heat. Who took care of you when there was nothing left of the life you once knew. 

  To break that earnt trust, to betray him, you can’t think of anything far more heartbreaking than that. 

“Time’s up, my Siren,” the voice of your captain beckons you. He calls you to the surface. 

  A sigh ripples through the water and your head tilts up towards the surface, the darkened slits in your milky white eyes shrink away from the moonlight penetrating through the waves. The long limb of your tail sweeps back and forth, thrusting you upwards, skin and scales shimmering brighter as you near the barrier between water and air. The breach pulls a lungful gasp of the night's chillingly crisp air, the only warmth coming from The Avenger. 

  Hair drench-pressed and thinned forms a curtain over your features as you peer up at the looming figure pridefully arching over the ship’s wooden rail. The slivered slits of your eyes grow wider as they focus on him, with a lantern beside him, glass scorched and worn by smoke, it illuminates the upper portion of his body. His white shirt ruggedly wrinkled and loosened to showcase a muscled chest, skin tanned by the sun’s heated kiss, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black ink painted legendary stories over his body in memorabilia. Stories forged into his flesh for all to study and cower in fear.

  He summons you with a kink of his finger and you obey his silent command with an all too eager nod. Around you, the water spirals into a column and rises up, pushing you higher to reach the wooden railing. Aboard the ship, the crew is merry in their celebrations. Another successful day of conquest and battle on the high seas, another amassed sum of gold and valuables to add to hull and reputation. 

  Of course spirits would be high and cheerful tonight. And of course, what was a conquest without the captain’s prize at the end of it all?

  Gathering yourself over the rail and onto the deck, the glistening shine of your tail morphs into two shapely legs, the milky hues of your eyes and other remnants of your true body hide in their human disguise. Your eyes find the hourglass on his opposite side, the sand all gathered in the bottom glass pit. Your captain holds something out for you and you graciously accept his gift, pulling the thin veil of your robe over your naked body. 

  His ocean blue eyes scan you up and down, the left corner of his plush, chapped lips turns upwards. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He purrs his question and it brings a cold chill to run up and down your spine, your lungs freeze with what little breath they had at that moment. 

  He turns his body properly to face you, burly shoulders and thick muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His eyes fold slightly into a sharpened stare of interrogation. 

  “I–I don’t…” You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t understand, Captain. I search for nothing that is not you.”

  “Aye?” 

  Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and unique - mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep. 

  Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its link. 

  However, your mesmerised pupils flicker up in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance. 

  Your vision focuses behind him then, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.

  When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own. 

  Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.

  He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf. 

  His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea. 

  The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back. 

  “Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion. 

  “But I—” Still he penetrates you with that cold stare. It prods at you with radiant intensity, it matches the ominous scarlet glow that now burns brighter now as it moves down the upper deck’s stairs. Your eyes dart between the woman who controls the rolling waves of red magic and the ferocity of your captain’s hardpressed gaze. 

  Your head bounces quickly. “Yes...” 

  A few words of compliance are cut off by a gasp. As you attempt to follow his order and return to his cabin, he halts you within his metallic grasp and pulls you back in, curled lips mere inches from your own, in the clutches of his brazen hold, he commands your attention. Your hands are forced to rest over his chest. 

  He drawls with a warning growl, “Yes?”

  “Yes, Captain Barnes.”

  Bucky nods his head once and lets you go, his eyes flicker between the cabin door and you, silently instructing you to hurry along. Your bare feet barely make a sound over the wooden deck in your traversal towards the cabin, where you would await your captain to claim his prize. Treasure that he greedily gets to have all to himself. The conquest he takes glee in ravishing himself full of. 

  Once you’re tucked inside, exactly where he wants you, Bucky scratches at his stubbled jaw, his recent shave already beginning to grow in again. Wanda approaches his side, the fabric of her magic ceasing at her fingertips like embers passing over into lowly ashes. 

  “That was a close one,” Bucky growls, his tongue that savours your taste runs over his teeth. She hisses with a hushed tone, “With each outing she is given to delve into the sea, my magic weakens, Captain.”

  His eyes roll to glare at the woman beside him. She sighs with a bow of her head, eyes downcast as to not provoke him into thinking her words a challenge. 

  “All I mean to say is that you must reinforce her rules. She’s beginning to suspect far too much, and with each piece of recollection, my power is sapped by her own. Enforce her rules once more.”

  Bucky’s shoulders shrug upwards with an all too arrogant huff, haughty in his conviction. He idly tilts his flesh hand, admiring the piece of you he has wrapped up in his iron grasp. 

  “She will do well to keep in mind her place. She’s intimidated.”

  “She’s conflicted, Captain.” Her words bring about a scowl to Bucky’s face, lips coiled into a snarl and nose wrinkling, eyes thinning. “And it will be a matter of time before she is free of you, and you will be known as the captain who lost his siren.”

  The bridge of this knowledge leaves Bucky in a state of strife. An aspect to his notorious reputation was garnered by your captivity. The White Wolf known by all as the fearsome pirate captain who tamed a siren; held you in the oyster of his clutches. If he did lose you, then his reputation would be suffering a heavy loss. As if to sense his change of demeanour, her hands raise up with her glowing, magic tipped fingers. His nostrils flare and the harsh prestige that made him a force not to be trifled with, he commands,  “Do it.”

  Bucky struts off with a roll of thunder beneath his leather worn boots, swiping up a half drunk bottle of rum and swallows an animalistic gulp, joining in on the festivities of his crew. Wanda observes her captain for a moment before diverting her attention towards the cabin. Her hands fold over one another, and with her palms outstretched, the scarlet hue dances through the air in a thin, cloudy blanket, searching and finding the miniscule gap beneath the wooden door. 

  He pummels into you until your back pushes far into the mattress, eliciting sharp whines and sultry moans from your parted lips, breath caught in a pattern of shallow pants. He chases after his second high as he drives his cock deep into you, the sound of skin slapping skin perverts the cabin’s air and already you begin to feel your core tremble in its own pursuit for its fourth orgasm. With each powerful snap of his hips, his throat chokes out a grunt in his exertions, the girth of his cock sinks deep into the channel of your hot, velvety cunt. 

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls lowly with a hiss, “so fuckin’ tight! You feel so good, you’re— taking me so well.” 

  With an exceptionally powerful rut of his hips and he has you on the precipice of screaming, thighs quivering in their hold around his waist, heels digging into the dip of his large, muscular back. Any coherent thoughts and words die on the vine of your vocal cords, only able to procure sounds of pleasure, to chant his name over and over again. 

  “Captain Barnes!” you mewl with fervour. Bucky’s chest vibrates with a husky chuckle. “That’s right, scream my name, let the crew hear you, Love. Let them hear how drunk you are for my cock.” 

  His one palm is laced with sweat, thick and roughened fingers squeeze yours in a passionate display of his dark possessiveness over you. Your captain could be very jealous when another’s eyes lingered on you for even a second too long, many others had suffered the brunt of his fury - weapons ablaze - and you in the end suffered the brunt of his envy with his cock pounding into you for the next several hours. 

  To remind you to whom it was you belong to. 

  His lips suckle one of the erected peaks of your breasts, moaning as his tongue leaves a wet trail around it before passing over to the second to repeat the treatment. Your head turns to the side sharply when the head of his cock splits you open even further than you could previously imagine, hitting a hidden crevice that leaves you without breath. 

  He gauges your reaction, the colour of your eyes blurring, phasing between the natural milky white canvases and the hue of your disguise, your canines and incisors now elongated, all because of the pleasure that pools at the junction where your bodies meet. But for a moment, you catch the glimmer of gold still wrapped around his hand, glimmering metal gnawing and rubbing across his skin, you’re torn between your euphoria and clouded curiosity. 

  “Say it again,” he grunts with a hard thrust that makes his muscles ripple insanely beneath his skin.

  “C’mon, say it for your captain, Love.” 

  Your lips and tongue drag across the flesh of his wrist, the pulse of his racing heart beats through, you can almost taste the rhythm. His sweat tastes strong with his musk, a strong flavour of the salty sea, sandy beaches and gunpowder. 

  You moan softly, almost in a whisper, “Captain… C-Captain Barnes.”

  The effect you have on him is indescribable to him. Never has he been able to put it into words, all he can do is feel it; carnally. The repetitive pounding into that deeper and sweeter spot has your back arching up, the smooth layer of your sweat covered body rubs against his, able to feel each defining muscle, he uses his metal hand to grip hold of one of your thighs, angling you so that you’re spread further apart for him. Your eyes begin to fall heavy and roll back into your skull in your drunken haze, the shimmer of scarlet presently blooms from time to time in them.  

  “That’s right. You belong to me, little Siren. It’s my cock that has you dripping wet.” His thrusts become faster, losing the precise edge he had before, his climax inevitably as close as your own. Your nails embed crescent moons into the skin of his one hand while the other bites into his shoulder. 

  “I’m the only man— fuck! The only man who gets to have you like this. Shit… shit. ’M going to fill you up.” 

  “Please, please… Cap—”

  “Aye, I’m going to fill you up, have you nice ‘nd full until my cum is leaking out of your little cunt, Siren. Fuck… you want that, don’t you? I know you do.” 

  You gasp with each attempt to breathe, each push and pull of his cock strikes you like a match to light the powder keg, the explosion of your climaxes comes as a white hot flash in your vision, momentarily blinding you. Your hot walls squeeze around his large endowment, forcing him to thrust back and forth even harder, grunting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. 

  His seed is flushed into the channel of your pussy in thick, seething spurts that paint your walls that milk him for every precious drop. 

  What he gives makes your lower abdomen weigh a little heavier, a little bit fuller than you were before. His hips grow slower with each dissipating explosion from his tip. His large chest expands hugely with every intake of air to his lungs before deflating as a pleased groan. 

  In his reverie of contentment, having had his fill of his prize - for now - he withdraws his softening cock from your pussy, a moistened pop echoes in the emptiness of your thoughts. Bucky rolls off of you to lay at your side, atop the furs and silken drapes of the bed. Before you can make a move he uses his metal arm to drag you in closer, tucking you into his side, the coldness of his fingers skimming the delicate texture of your arm. 

  The soothing rock of the ship is enough to lull you to sleep, the lids of your eyes inching closer and closer together. 

  “Still deny that you found nothing?” 

  His question only brings your brows to knit together. You shake your head and huddle closer into his side, basking in the comforting warmth of his body. Why on earth would he ask you such a silly question? As if there was anything of importance that outranked him, by being at his side. 

  The answer you give is instant in its resolve, “I don’t understand, Captain. I needn’t find anything out there… I have you.” 

  Your answer, though unable to see it from your position, pleases him and his lips curl into a toothy smirk, long sweeps of his dark brown hair tousled about in his post sex state. You lay your head against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, eyes closing to seek rest and refuge in the arms of your beloved captain. The man that grants you safety, that promises you nights of passion followed by the comfort of his body next to yours. All he asks in return is your loyalty. Your devotion.

  For you to be his siren. 

  Behind the blurry curtain of sleep layered over your eyes, you awaken and by your estimation, only for around an hour or maybe a little more. The morn still hasn’t risen over the ocean’s horizon, the moonlight shimmering and shining over the waves. The candlelight that bathed the cabin with a sensual atmosphere had now burnt out. 

  Breaths of deepened sleep sound next to you, the chiselled sculpt of his chest you’d used as a pillow takes steady form, as he sleeps. It makes you wonder as to what he dreams about, sometimes a scowl is etched into his attractive visage and he becomes restless, leaving you to somehow comfort him. And other times, mostly after he’s spent drawing orgasm after orgasm from the two of you, he finds respite. 

  You take the time to thoroughly yet delicately rub your eyes, robbing the tiredness of its hold to take you once more. With a tilt of your head, hair coming over your shoulder to graze the top of your breasts, his other hand lay out over the bed, residing just over the edge. 

  The mysterious object that somehow you know is linked with you, but as to how or why, or its significance to you in any case, is still laced around his calloused palm. Despite its odd gleam of familiarity, you believe this is the first time you’ve seen it before, however, the tiny voice in the back of your mind says otherwise. Then you must have seen something like it before somewhere. 

  Something deep in the recess of your heart, you have to know. Is this somehow linked to the estranged longing to a home you can’t remember? Does this necklace bind you to the lost melody of times erased from your memory?

  You take caution in moving carefully, inching your way to lean over the sleeping form of your captain, skin brushing skin, you slowly rotate your hips and hoist a thigh over his waist. Heated crimson flushes into your cheeks as you analyse your newfound position, but also from the way his body stirs lightly, still enraptured by sleep yet his body adjusting to your core lining over his naval. 

  Thawed from your frozen idle of panic, you take a moment to calm the racing of your heart that hammers vigorously against your chest, your nimble fingers reach out towards his flesh hand that clings protectively to the mysterious necklace. 

  This almost feels… too easy. You swallow a silent gulp, fingers grazing against his palm when his body shifts, bumping up into yours, you pull your reach back so fast, your hand slaps against his ribs, doing your best to cover up your true intentions. His stills beneath you once more and your shoulders fall lax with a sigh of relief. 

  Again you dare another attempt to grab the necklace, this time you don’t risk breathing, holding it for what seems like forever until your lungs begin to swell with an ache that makes them feel like bubbles about to burst. 

  You work the chain until it's loosened and finally allow your held breath to escape you, the strain to remain silent proving far more difficult than you would have liked. The weight of your body shifts backwards, now sitting up, you allow your eyes to take in every detail of the object in your hands. The gold chain is light, ghostly as it graces your hands, your fingers lace and loop it around amidst the process of your conjuring thoughts. 

  Like a puppeteer pulling the strings you raise the necklace up by its precious thread. The pearl encaged by its makeshift net swings from side to side, as though even when you are completely still, it has a soul of its own accord. 

  Everything you knew about pearls is forfeit, the identity of this one brings the bevel between your brows to form in thoughtful wonder. Therein lies the piece of some puzzle, the missing notes to the melody to which you only recall the faint rhythm of the song. 

  It has to mean something of greater importance. But if it did, then why is your captain so adamant to dismiss your curious nature to find the answers?

  As if the pearl itself is the key, you hear within your heart and soul the song. Voices sing a tone that is calming to your senses, a sweet and endearing lullaby meant for you to hear whenever you find yourself in the loneliest of places, in the darkest reaches of the ocean, the connection will bring you somewhere you call home. 

  But your home is The Avenger. Aboard the ship with Captain Barnes. The man known as Bucky to his closest inner circle. So why do the voices mingling with the tide call you away from all that? With each passing second you become ensnared by the spell of the pearl, the voices of whom you somehow find solace in become louder, the softened chorus of their song echoes a hundred times over in your head. 

  Before you even give pause to reason, your own voice becomes paired with the orchestra of sirens. You have no words, and maybe you never did, all you did need is the pearl to help guide you in remembering the melody. The uncertainty of your humming eases, the unforeseen instructors aiding you, your voice is soft within its deep reverie when it all comes to an abrupt pause, a gasp severing the tune. 

  He has you by the wrist, fingers bruisingly tight and giving you no choice to pull away from him, as he often did whenever he saw you retreat from him without his say so. 

  Bucky’s eyes bear into yours, penetrating the barrier of the necklace, he stares you down the way a wolf does the lonely prey in its path. His eyes match the brooding darkness of a storm at sea, a breed of villainy that threatens those who dare to try him. 

  “Captain…” Your throat bobs with a nervous swallow.  “I– I wasn’t—” 

  Out of pure instinct to not tempt his fury, your hold on the necklace ceases and it gathers in the roughened pad of his palm, large thumb that has caressed your sensitive nub plenty of times now works against the spherical shape of the pearl, brows heavy in their judgement to assess your punishment. His movement is sudden upon the brink of your awareness, a sharp gasp that cuts into the tender muscle of your chest as he plants you flat on your back, hands both of flesh and metal pin your wrists on either side of you until the bruising ache becomes far too unbearable. But you do nothing to voice the level of your pain. He would not hear of it. His newly erected shaft ghosts over your entrance, the beginnings of your slick painting his already drooling tip.  “I’m beginning to think you like breaking my rules, Siren.”

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Yes. Yes... YAAAAS! IM DOING IT! I'm frickin' writing a pirate Bucky! Mmmm! Fuckin' love pirate stuff, I'm just living for Bucky being a hot pirate commanding a vessel on the high seas.

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic

[milkteabinniechan]

♡His Brother's Bride - Felix

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: old money! Felix x fem! reader

summary: You're to be married to a respectable, eligible bachelor to bring your two families businesses together. But what happens when you fall for the brother instead?

warnings: none really! Lots of fluff, some angst.

a/n: this is a shorter one I'm sorry! I'm still getting back into the swing of things. But I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope it shows :)

There was a lull in the conversation. A moment of silence. And that was all it took for Felix to move in closer. Closer than a friend would stand. Close like a lover, his hands came up and around your sides. His fingers traced the intricate pearls that lined the corset of your wedding dress. You held your breath while his hands continued their journey up your spine. Each passing second he was bringing you in closer and closer.

“Don't marry him.”

Your eyes trailed across his tailor made suit, soaking in every detail of the expensive tuxedo your husband-to-be had picked out for his best man. A matching suit with his brother. Why did it have to be his brother? Your father owned one of the largest wineries in the state. The only other one that even compared belonged to Felix's family. It will be good for business. Your father declared very matter-of-fact one evening at the dinner table. You would marry the eldest son of the rival company and the two wineries would merge into one giant, money-making machine of capitalism and greed. You knew the boy your father spoke of. An eligible bachelor that was handsome and worldly. But you wanted to know more. So you hatched a plan to learn as much as you could about your new fiance. When your family and his would come together to meet and agree on the fine print, you would disguise yourself as someone unassuming and blend into the crowd. 

The dinner party was a shitty mask for what was really happening. Two rich old men were about to get a hell of a lot richer. You made your way across the room and spotted a well dressed man standing alone. He had long, blonde hair and freckles splayed across his cheeks and nose. He smiled politely at a man walking by and your heart jumped for a moment.

“How's the food?” You asked, sidling up next to him.

The man paused and turned to face you. That warm smile returned but more sincere this time. “Eh. Rich people have no taste, ya know?” He scoffed and pointed over to the dinner table adorned with food that looked delicious but you knew from experience that that was far from the truth.

You held in a loud laugh that came out as a snort. “So this isn't your first dinner party then.” You teased, nudging his arm slightly and trying to ignore the obvious muscle underneath the expensive suit.

The two of you talked for the better part of an hour. You gave him a fake name and told him you were some distant cousin from across the water. He didn't pry, accepting your lie as fact almost immediately. He told you his name as well. The sound of it seemed to ring in your ears like the bells of a church. Then he told you his brother was getting married. An arranged marriage. He was getting fitted for a tuxedo just next week. You swallowed hard at the sound of arranged marriage. The words echoed coldly.

“What's he like- your brother?” You moved in close, your head cocked to the side casually.

Felix stepped back for a minute and looked across the room at where his brother was standing. His mouth quickly curled up into a warm, affectionate smile. “He's great. He's going to take great care of his new bride.” You sighed heavily. Your hand falling back onto the table while you let your shoulders relax. “Good.” You said curtly.

Felix tilts his head in confusion. His lips part for a moment as if he wants to ask you more but instead he stops and hands you a glass of wine from the table beside you. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing against yours as you take it. A spark of electricity seems to pass between you at the touch, and he lingers for a moment before pulling back. You hold the wine tight in your hand hoping that the feeling of the cold glass will ground you and keep you from floating away. For a moment, neither of you say a word. But your eyes are screaming into his while a string quartet fills the silence between you. Felix moves on instinct, his body closing the gap as your lips inch closer to one another. You part your lips and crane your neck, all sense of social etiquette left somewhere on the other side of the world. Then an ear-splitting sound pierces through the euphoria as your father calls for you to join him. Felix's eyes shoot open as he connects the dots with who you really are. “You're the one my brother is marrying?” His voice is full of pain and betrayal. You want to apologize and tell him you can explain but your father shouts again and you follow him into his study, leaving Felix standing alone again. The smudge of your lipstick still lingering on the edge of the wine glass.

“Today is the big day! Are you excited?” Your mother buzzed around you while two women pinned your hair back tight. “Just thrilled.” You groaned back. Your mother rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass of champagne. You waited until everyone had left you alone to finish getting ready before you made your way outside onto the grass. You struggled to lift your dress and run at the same time, tripping and tumbling slightly as you moved. You just need air. You needed to breathe. To take stock of what was about to happen. What was about to happen?

“Are we running away?” A deep voice hummed from behind you. You twirled around to see Felix standing there with a playful smirk. “Just say the word and I'll start the car.” He had his hands in his pockets but he lifted his chin up towards the cars parked nearby. You smile softly. A sad, desperate laugh escapes your throat. “Sounds good. We'll be runaways together.” You whisper back, your face hanging low. Felix gently lifts your chin, bringing your face to his. “As long as we're together.”

A moment of silence. A second alone. You could feel the heat coming from Felix's body as he leaned in. Your eyes glance at his lips and then to his eyes. His hand dragging from your chin down to the back of your neck. “Before you say ‘I do’, I want to kiss you first.” Your eyes flutter closed, and he parts his lips slightly. He leans in the rest of the way, pressing his mouth to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulls back after a moment, his breath hitching as he looks at you, his eyes filled with love and affection. You pull him in again without warning, kissing him deeper. A marking kiss telling him that he was the first. That your lips belonged to him.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat

[brynn-lear]

The Abduction of King (Y/n) [Yandere Mydei x Reader]

A/n: Here I go, an asexual trying to learn how to write smut, so bear with me as I start this journey. Also, note that this story presumably happens after the entire Amphoreus Quests, so I’m running under assumptions on how the story ends. I enjoyed writing this reader. It’s always refreshing to write nice people turned feral.

Unreliable Synopsis: The new Stellaron Hunter, King (Y/n), is always welcome to visit the Express. Life has a way of changing a person… And Mydei couldn't accept his beloved’s new “whatever will be, will be” attitude.

CW/Tags: female reader (“King” is your title), slight hurt/comfort, yandere!mydei, toxic relationship, heavily implied one-sided sunday/reader, mild violence, and dubcon elements 

To smell and taste pomegranate juice— such were your aspirations before living the life you have now. 

You are simultaneously at the lowest and highest point of your life.

Being falsely accused of "matricide" was an unpredictable way to achieve that wish, yet you are nonetheless grateful for the hand you dealt with. You'd dare say it's a blessing in disguise. Despite your retainer’s blatant “betrayal”, you were thankful he had ground your knees against gravel and harsh pebbles. If anything, he wrote you a lovely story.

(Y/n) was exposed to have “murdered” her mother, the King, in the Charmony Festival.

Former King (Y/n) originally fled her mysterious unknown planet.

Former King (Y/n) joined the Stellaron Hunters soon after.

Exciting, is it not? Crimes you hadn't committed weighed intolerably upon you. Your planet, Amphoreus, wouldn't dare open its mouth for a choir. No tears shall be collected in jars should you perish, instead, your funeral will be basked with laughter. Daidalos is not a forgiving nation. The Daidalosan Cathedrals would sooner strike a beloved saint’s statue down than a chord from your songs. 

You still vividly recall Kafka’s opaque stare through her tinted glasses. The playful yet empathetic smirk on her face served to entice you to her. She needn't use a whisper. Fate just had its way with you.

The Nameless get to shelter a wounded bird, while the Hunters take on a new apprentice.

As poetic as that sounds, your resolve isn't cruel and unfeeling. If it were, you doubt the Express would take kindly to your serene shenanigans.

You giggled. Truth be told, you were aware as to why March left in a hurry. 

You may hold yourself with sheer elegance and an astute gaze befitting of the crown, but behind it lies a mischievous streak that remains undetected. What can you say? Perhaps this sneakiness is an act of love. You do miss their company.

Several months ago, the Nameless went on a dangerous mission to Amphoreus. 

The unknown planet the galaxy you hailed from that the rest of the galaxy does not know?

That was Amphoreus.

 The very same planet you escaped from was the place Dan Heng and Stelle landed blindly.

Aside from Elio, only a single soul knows this one other dangerous fact: you cannot taste or smell anything— and fall victim to catatonic moods more capriciously than others. Your ailment does not terrify you more than Kafka’s lack of fear (ironically), Yingxing’s mara— and especially not more than Firefly’s syndrome. Just a scratch to your patchwork of problems. You had support. Your people once wholeheartedly gave you your flowers for the good you've done. And it pains you immensely how you cannot express genuine gratitude for it.

You may have been a great King, but Kephale never favored you. Unfortunately, you cannot resign to THEIR uneven-handedness much longer.

You are not a Chrysos Heir.

You are just an Amphoreus Tragedy.

It's no small wonder that you offered your life to Elio, hoping he'd one day pull out a feast that would satisfy your tastebuds. That day won't happen any time soon. Not that you mind.

Cause you'll get to see Stelle, Dan Heng, March, and Sunday suffer while drinking your horrendous drinks— if you're lucky, Himeko’s as well.

Ah, your seemingly earnest and just demeanor is truly a gift that keeps on giving. Your “friends” are gone. You stand on new ground, one that allows you to take the smallest things to heart.

Your mother’s “murder” is when you started noticing what matters in life.

Now, you enjoy the silence.

Listen deeply. The child in you that wasn’t allowed to. Let it heal.  

It’s what Kafka ordered you to do, and it was the best command a King could ever receive.

“Going somewhere?” 

You stopped walking and looked up from your phone. A familiar young boy standing by the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, despite barring the exit.

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

Given his clairvoyant abilities, you figured that to be true.

“My apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Elio,” you frowned. “I'm afraid I have grown more accustomed to your feline form.”

“No need for apologies.”

He handed you a machete.

Machetes are your weapon of choice, and quite frankly, no other steel fits like a glove. The lances of Daidalos do not compare to the satisfying momentum brandishing a machete elicits. Unpolished. Unkingly. Unsightly.

Personally? 

… You thought they were cute.

They remind you of someone.

They say never bring a weapon to a fistfight, but that little prince never minded.

You cleared your throat but stopped yourself when Elio raised his hand, disinterested in how you would inevitably pay him back in credits or an equivalent.

"I-I am most grateful, yet I must inquire— what purpose does this serve?" You inclined your head slightly, your gaze steady. "Is there an urgent expedition that demands my attention?"

“If there was an emergency, there would have been a contingency plan beforehand.” The boy giggled, fixing his bow tie with a smug smile. “But no, I just urge you to take this on your way to the Express. Just in case a small miracle triggers. Which, I doubt.”

Hmm, there must be a threat later then. Shame. 

Elio cautioned you. “You might also regret wearing that.”

“Wearing what?”

“Red.”

You assessed your appearance. At first, you thought nothing wrong about your flinty rings and maroon pantsuit. “Does it not look good on me?”

“One might say it’s too good on you,” Elio muttered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.”

“Understood.” You bowed.

“Lastly, King (Y/n)?” Elio shook his head. 

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do not bow for me,” he exhaled, mildly exasperated by your antics. “You are one of us. You are a Stellaron Hunter, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, my Lo—”

“None of that either!”

“Yes… Elio.”

“Better,” the young boy opened the exit.

Then, he opened his eyes. It's those piercing blue shades that make you both uncomfortably seen and relievedly accepted.  

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations.” Elio’s grin widened. “Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

No pomegranates? Become a Stellaron Hunter? What an odd choice of words— and aren't you already a hunter?

Does it even matter?

You can’t taste anything.

You laughed. Elio loves your laugh for it was always a whole, hearty, and joyous sound. A laugh befitting a king. 

“Much like my favorite bard, I do not understand a word out of you. However, do not worry—” You stepped out the door. 

“I am looking forward to it!”

“I'm ashamed I can't show you a better sight when you've been enthused to visit. What a pity. I cannot stand to present to you such weaklings.”

“Weaklings, you say.” You muttered. “Little prince, their rib cages are stretched open with limbs bleeding out. This torture you call training outmatches the way we Daidalosans treat prisoners.”

You picked up the tortured gladiator’s weapon.

It was a machete.

“Was it necessary to torture them…?”

“Δασκάλα μου (My teacher), they have insulted you and Daidalos. I cannot allow such slander to the former.”

You saw the intense sincerity in his eyes and turned away.

No matter how many times you have rejected his heart, he continues to court you in ways that disturb many.

“You care too much about me. I hope you would spare such care for your gladiators instead.”

“And you care too little about yourself. This is precisely why your nation fears our military might, King (Y/n). Make no mistake, everyone suffers in their imagination more often than in reality.” He scoffed. “Even these soldiers.”

█████ laughed. To him, this is one of many days where no one remembered the fallen except for spectators such as yourself. █████ watched as your eyes batted over the strewn rubble where your grandfather’s soldiers once fought for the realm’s peace. He saw conflict in those (e/c) eyes. A dead silent remorse for faces you have never truly seen.

Even so, you smiled sadly. 

That smile was out of place in Prince █████'s Spoliarium.

“███, that may be your opinion, but our mind IS our reality. It may seem overdramatic and unreasonable to you, but the pain is not any less real.”

“We seriously need to master how to make coffee before (Y/n) gets here….”

“Don't worry so much, Dan Heng, we at least persuaded Himeko to visit Herta so that's one big bomb deactivated!”

“... should you be adding that much Halovian sugar? I believe that unhealthy proportions are against many culinary rules.”

“Rules? What rules, Sunday? Nah. These are guidelines.” 

“What— Stelle, NO!!!”

You snorted a sound that does not sound elegant in the slightest. Both Dan Heng and March 7th apprehended their callous friend. Sunday’s wings perked up upon hearing you, and a smile formed on his face before he even knew it. Meanwhile, the three only took notice of you when they successfully extracted the sugar from her hands.

You placed a hand on your mouth, hiding any impolite laughter.

“I've just arrived, and it sounds like an interesting conversation. Shame, I should've arrived moments prior.”

“(Y/n)! Nonsense, you came at a perfect time.” Sunday sauntered joyfully, standing up to usher you toward Shush’s counter. “There's a seat beside me, please come here.”

“Look at him, already making the moves,” March whispered to Stelle, snickering.

Stelle, a master of the stoic expression, only nodded. “Let him cook.”

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, ignoring the two.

“King (Y-”

“Just (Y/n), please.” You pouted. “You are all an equal to me.”

“... (Y/n).” Dan Heng scratched his neck. “About the brewing session…”

Your questions were lost in Dan Heng’s recitals of Himeko leaving for Herta’s Space Station, Stelle’s failed attempts at brewing her cup (it somehow turns into alcohol-like beverages), and the crew’s insistence that the next batch should follow online recipes. This made you laugh more than you thought you would. So, you decided to drop the idea altogether, to everyone’s relief.

“Instead, we can talk about our last journey instead, how about it?” Stelle offered.

Your smile stiffened.

“Ah, yes, I believe that was in…”

“Amphoreus!” March grinned. “The pictures Dan Heng and Stelle took were so nice. Here, let me get it—”

“There is no need for that.”

You spoke a little too quickly.

More perceptive than you thought, the crew noticed your sudden change.

“(Y/n)?” Sunday spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I know why.” Stelle pushed away from the table, upsetting her chair before theatrically balancing herself back. She then went on carelessly:

“It’s because she’s from Amphoreus.”

March’s eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

You looked away, sighing. “Shush, do you have a bottle of Retsina wine?”

“Wait, w-where did you get this information, Stelle?” Dan Heng shook her slightly. “I don’t recall hearing that—”

“She’s the former King of Daidalos, which is far away from Okhema. Honestly, I just saw it around stone tablets. Daidalos is a long-fallen land of artisans. People thought she died by execution because no one believed she did reach beyond the sky. They also say she’s the mentor and childhood crush of crown prince M—”

“You know a lot and you never thought to tell us about ANY this?!” March gawked. “What the heck Stelle!?!”

“I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“Yes, yes it is!!!”

While the three argued over details, Sunday took the bottle from Shush and poured you a glass. There’s a look of understanding in his eyes, and he won’t ask unless you want him to. You gave him a small smile, acknowledging his empathy.

“You look rather pale, have those Hunters done something to you?” Sunday inquired, his unease blatant. “Is it your mission? Have they been asking the impossible?”

“What? No. My workload is infinitely a lot less weighty than the crown.” You grinned, teasing. “It's all light work.”

He figured he had nothing else of value to add. Still, his eyes were skewed. Sunday won't be dropping the issue any time soon.

“Then why do you look kinda miserable?” Stelle asked.

“Steeeeelle! C’mon, watch your mouth. How do you always sound so offensive?” March whined.

You placed a hand on your head. “Hmm, I shall not lie, nightmares have been mostly a root cause for my unsightly and dim appearance as of late. Pathetic, I am aware—”

“Nightmares?” Dan Heng shifted his body forward, closer to you. “Like what?”

“I dream of an old… friend a lot more frequently.” You paused. Should you be saying this? “And more often than not, I'm being… chased… by him.”

Both Stelle and March looked at Dan Heng. He bit his bottom lip, thinking. 

“... Where is your new mission?”

“Elio has given me no command,” You sighed deeply. “He declared that the plans are already set in motion, and it falls upon me to rise to the occasion, whatever challenge it may be that calls upon me.”

“Oof. Good luck.” Stelle said, but the air of those words seems a little more knowing.

March chuckled nervously. “Yikes…”

Sunday had no comment. Instead, he also poured himself a drink.

“I'd be wary if I were you.” Dan Heng’s gaze was astutely focused on yours. “I've been through something similar. Nightmares, that is.”

"Is that so?" You murmured, swirling the coffee in your cup with an air of detached curiosity. "And what transpired thereafter?"

“...”

March 7th laughed, uneasy.

“Well, uh, it kinda came true?” March’s eyebrow furrowed, wearing a strained smile. “It's good though, Blade didn't actually kill him so…?”

“March.”

“I'm sorry, it was just too silent, I couldn't stand it!”

“... What were the dreams like? Can you elaborate?”

You paused at Sunday’s questions.

█████ towered over your chained form, clenching an open letter in his strong hands. His knuckles were white from the sheer anger he held them.

“Entertaining a love letter, are we?”

He sneered.

“How dare you consider suitors other than myself?”

█████ knelt down and harshly grabbed your chin.

“Shall I pluck his feathers out for you?”

“Cold.” 

You muttered. “Lacks warmth.”

Sunday has never been this tempted to get into someone’s mind.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chin. 

“Anything else? Like vivid smells or tastes?”

You laughed. “Are those things important?”

“Sorta?” March quipped.

“Is that so…” You wouldn’t know. Both senses eluded you.

…

…

Suddenly, you had willed your words into existence.

“!!!”

Someone uninvited has entered the Express.

An immediate tension gripped everyone’s lungs, and each heart in the vicinity quickened. A subtle shift, imperceptible yet undeniable, stirred them all. A silent warning. Eyes darted nervously, glances exchanged with no words. The Nameless knew that something was about to emerge. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon their shoulders, and though none dared speak it aloud, they could feel it— whatever was coming was drawing near.

The lights flickered and died out.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

Enshrouded by a ghost who trailed behind, you grabbed Sunday and jumped away. The sound of metal rang. None of you could see the other. Pompom’s screams, asking for what was happening, droned on inside the other car. 

You must’ve barely dodged that attack. Swiftly, you brandished your machete. Instincts that infiltrated each inch of your veins screamed that the intruder you faced was a familiar soul. Your body warmth congealed a hand’s breadth below the blade’s sharp rim. It’s been a while since you felt this threatened.

This excited.

You sported a boyish grin. Been a long long while since you had felt true risk— a real divergence from your tolerable comfort zone.

“Come and face me in the light, coward.”

The figure drew their already built frame taller to stiffen their pride.  You spun to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that tore through the air. Your instincts were sharp.

With a final joining of force and momentum, you swung your machete with half of your strength.

It met the shadow’s fists, causing an ear-bleeding stalemate of metal against metal.

Seconds passed, and it was clear that an impasse had been reached.

You both pulled away— and the figure ignited a fire within his palms.

As if your eyes were spiked with visions of red and yellow— you squinted at the strange man. His bare skin and intense eyes are enough to make the common man buckle his knees and tremble. 

But you know that face.

It's the one soul who knows your secrets.

You paled.

“... Dei?”

That face, though aged, belonged to the young boy you taught patiently. The same stubborn boy who wanted peace for his people even though the chances were slim. The only person who would vouch for your innocence. The kid who you secretly envied for his cursed immortality— for his status as a Chrysos Heir.

The little prince who wanted you beside HIS throne.

It was Dei himself. 

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos— the land of Daidalos’ “worst enemy”.

“Dei” grinned. He languidly raised his head, his gaze towering above you. A shadow clouded his face and settled in his eye.

You, who had reduced his name to one syllable on the day you met, was the first woman he had come to admire ardently.

Riotous pomegranate wines that hedonistically spill in white table cloths that adjoin themselves like countries on a map— saintly garbs donned by faces achieving a carnal state of euphoria— those were the images that describe Daidalos to the crown prince. Holy, but unrighteous. 

Yet, when the sky brightly illuminated your face at the outdoor picnic you extended the invite to, the Prince was royally smitten. Humbly, you were dressed only in a simple sundress. No accessories or cloaks to elevate yourself. In the seeded topsoils of the plains, you were the most natural beauty to behold.

Mydeimos had grown obsessed with the consistent air of absentminded integrity you carry as King. It was not an aura he had the privilege of carrying. But he will live that life vicariously through you.

“Δασκάλα μου. (My teacher.) Kαρδιά μου. (My heart.)” The prince scoffed an airy smirk. Not a word can describe his smug satisfaction. “Found you, at long last.”

Chrome, gold, and pomegranate red.

Those had always been his colors.

And that included the color of…

“You adorn yourself in every color but red, is there a reason why?”

“Red is more of your color, little prince.” You humored him. “And a King wearing red is an omen for war. The same is said for our flag.”

“I see.”

… blood and war. A color entirely suited for his calling.

You froze without breathing, struck dumb.

How did he leave Amphoreus?!

You greeted with a frown.

“... Hello, little prince.”

You can’t believe this.

Leaving took you centuries to perfect!

How did he do it?!

Mydei instantly detected within you an erosion of self-assurance.

Just talking to him felt no different from downing some of Kafka’s fancy wines. While you consider yourself above petty theft, this situation compels you to understand her deeply. You, too, would pocket Dreamjolt Hostelry’s alcohol to an amount you felt was just after talking to this prince.

He recklessly held your blade. The Chrysos Heir thrust your weapon’s handle against your palm whilst his own bled profusely.

It had always been difficult to challenge an opponent with no self-preservation.

“Has joining these intergalactic bandits stripped you of every bit of decorum, King (Y/n)?” He shook his head. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, the prince yanked the machete away, allowing it to pelt to the floor with a harsh thud. 

The prince leaned down to kiss your hand, but the sudden pause shocked both you and him.

“Where is it?” He spoke gravely with murderous rage.

You pursed your lips. “Where is what, Prince Mydeimos?”

“Your ring.” Mydei spoke. “The Daidalos King’s ring.”

A laugh escapes your lips. One without any semblance of humor.

“It is a ring that adorns only the hand of a King, does it not? Yet I, alas, no longer bear such a title. You may put those facts together to form your conclusion.” You answered, nose turned up snobbishly. 

He glared.

The prince threw what was assumed to be a warp device that formed a distortion that connected the Express to Amphorous. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to make eye contact with Stelle. 

You only had a second to think.

“CALL KAFKA!!!—”

“(Y/n)!!!”

But before they could reach and save you, you and the intruder disappeared.

Just as there was no consensus if the Nameless should involve themselves in this matter or not, no trailblazer had the same opinion of following suit aligned with their beliefs. Sunday desperately tried to have everyone on his side, whereas the wiser of the crowd had more sway with their stable voices. The three only had to watch and wait for Kafka to arrive. 

Until then, the express was silent.

Crown Prince Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, may not be the sharpest of men— but he lived a proud life.

“That Prince again, how many more of our King’s time shall he exhaust?!”

“I do not know myself, Aitherios, but he certainly does not mean well.”

“And we are to let that man linger in our castle?”

“I suppose so.”

“But Luminia!—”

He had never hid his true self. There, Mydei would stand, taking no more notice of them than they are of him. Though usually unrestrained, he would hold himself back for those who spat venom were your people. People you had loved and cherished for centuries longer than you’ve known him. 

And he is no one but a person you’d go to picnic with on a sunny day.

Despite his raging mind, he kept his mouth shut about your unpleasant servants. He’d bear the pain of every word. He’d even accept lashes and whips if it meant he could sit beside you in your favorite picnic spot another day.

He stays rooted in a field where he does not belong.

That was how much Mydei loves you.

"Alas, it is a sorrow that your visit is swift. Had it been under better circumstances, I would have bid you stay and witness an Epic with me thereafter." You sighed, placing the teacup under your lips. "The young lad, who once struggled to wield a greatsword, now holds the power to lay waste to my very castle at his will. How swiftly the years slip away..."

Mydei’s gaze softened. 

On his frequent idle days, he systematically fit visiting Daidalos in his schedule. This is all in hopes that someday, you’d see him beyond what nostalgia portrays.

Why can’t you see that he obsesses over you the way a man would to his woman?

Frustrating how YOUR visits became less warm and less frequent. Was it custom only that bound the two of you? That cannot be so. You refer to him beyond his station, as he does to you as well. 

Surely, you feel the same beating as he does?

There is no other possibility, is there?

The only thing that stands between you two and the altar must be the crowns you both will and have been carrying. If your people only loved him—- if both your people only cared for one another instead of a constant rivalry for Nikador’s gaze.

"It must be so. As it stands, the folk of Daidalos and Kremnos are far from sharing the civil discourse you and I enjoy." Mydei gently set his cup upon the blanket spread across the verdant earth. "In the quietest recesses of my heart, I wish for a day when my people might share a picnic with yours."

“Do you wish me to crayon a series of plans?” You teased.

“Do not mock me, King (Y/n).”

“The offer for a treaty stands.” You shrugged, your face turned solemn. “That is unless the brutal culture of Kremnos has a better idea of peace?” 

Mydei chuckled.

“How about an abduction?”

“H-Hah—”

His lips claim yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It's as if a dam has broken, all of his pent-up desire and longing pouring out at once. His calloused hands tighten around its grip, holding you close as he deepens the kiss— his tongue tastes you with the desperation he's not articulate enough to voice. You'll just have to take him as he is. Rogue and animalistic.

You punched his chest. As expected, he didn't falter. Instead, his gaze was tender and his breathing was more… pleased.

“Y-You look ravishing in red.” He smirked. "And to think that bird thought he could please you the way I do."

A husky, ragged moan sneaked out of his lips as he seemingly devoured and shared his heat with yours in unison. No escape. This was far from comfortable. Your back was pinned on the cold Spoliarium walls. You gasped as you felt the subtle and slow motion of his hips grind against your smaller frame. Mydei tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss.

The worst part? Both your eyes were open, for two reasons on the opposite side of the same spectrum.

He wants to watch his cornered prey, and you're his frozen fawn.

A few years ago, you had shown him mercy in hopes he’d do the same. His eyes were a murderer’s eyes, his hands were a murderer’s arms. But he is without sin. Mydei did not choose to have a murderer’s eyes and hands. And you had refused that he will be treated as such.

You should have.

Just when you felt your eyes fluttering shut at the immediate danger of passing out— the prince graciously pulled away. You saw a sliver of saliva disconnect between both your lips. Almost insane how this had your legs threatening to lay on the floor. The fact that you can barely stand from his intensity boosted a pride greater than a long spar in him. 

Then, the prince hoisted your thighs up and forced them to wrap around him. Your back hasn't had a single moment wherein it hasn't had contact with the wall. Your body hasn't had a single moment wherein you haven't had contact with his warm skin. Your gaze was pathetically unfocused.

“N-Not…” You couldn't help but jest, like old times. “H-How I expected to have my first kiss.”

You felt your spine shiver but had the strength to not make that undirected fear known. Nothing feels right about that place. His Spoliarium was too cold, too dusty, yet his hands were too hot like a forever sun in his palm.

Slowly, he cupped your cheek. Even that loving gesture was rough and intrusive.

Mydei scarcely had a definition for what romance is.

“The fault is your own for expecting gentleness from me.” Mydei brought his lips to your ear. You shivered as he leaned down and nibbled your neck.

Divine. 

You tasted divine. If only you could taste him too, then maybe you'd be more enthused for a “rougher” expression of intimacy. If he could take you now—

You shrank back, terrified. Mydei has been difficult to read on occasion, but tonight his thoughts are blatant and disturbing. You hope your instinct was wrong.

“T-Truth be told, I expect no intimacy from you. I-Is this a—” you panted, weakly gripping his muscular arm. No matter how much willpower you had, you couldn't stand upright. “—form of punishment? I-I wasn't aware Aglaea has e-employed you to guarantee my c-capture.”

“I came of my own volition.” Unbeknownst to you, Mydei’s glare was chilling. “How dare you assume I'd betray you.”

“How dare I, indeed…” You winced. “Why did you come here—”

Unfortunately, the prince was quick to forestall further questions. You helped from the sudden jolt of both pain and pleasure as he bit your neck harshly while he slowly rubbed his hips against you. Mydei was leaving too many marks in his wake. The heat was becoming unbearable.

You gripped a fistful of his hair, hoping to yank him off. “M-Mydei— in Kephale’s name, I command you to—”

“You wanted this.”

He pulled away, and you cursed yourself for feeling almost needy as he created a reasonable distance between you two.

“King— no, MY (Y/n).” Mydei took strands of your hair, kissing it innocently but his eyes were anything but. “I have desired you for too long as well.”

His hand slid under your shirt. You jolted as he squeezed your waist. 

There are times his replies slip so easily that it makes you question their sincerity. This was not one of them.

“I presume with that visage that you’re regularly, at the very least, 3 hours of obliterating sleep.” He pulled your shirt up. “May I know the names of the men who’d find themselves in my Spoliarium soon?”

You almost mentioned Elio in defense of the Hunters, but kept your mouth shut.

“Curse you, Mydeimos.”

He clicked his tongue, snaking his fingers around your neck.

“What dishonorable struggle. I never thought you would have cold feet.” Mydei lightly tightened his grip on your throat. “I offered an abduction, and you agreed.”

“W-What? What abduction?”

Cold feet?

"Reflect further. You possess wisdom far greater than mine."

Your eyebrows furrowed, remembering the conversation. “I only replied because I thought it was said in jest!”

“I am not a man who would jest about entering such a solemn union.” He growled. "You know well that I speak with the full gravity of truth in every word I say."

You paused.

…

Cold feet. Abduction…

Wait…

“Abductions, are they a ritual of sorts…?”

Mydei closed his eyes, huffing in mild amusement.

“...You did not understand that custom, did you?”

“N-No…”

He leaned his face closer, his breath touching your skin.

“Marriage.” His gaze softened. “It is a marriage custom in Kremnos. You have verbally agreed to marry me. And I shall reap what promise is owed to me.”

You felt your energy drain away. A sickening chill.  

Most of your life— it was spent on becoming a perfect ruler. You were chalk honed and clawed with lessons upon lessons upon lessons of strength and wit. Your family did not care if you were even made of a fragile core. But chalk is brittle. Chalk cannot withstand any more of this madness. This lack of human regard. This inhumane treatment. 

You do not love Dei.

You can never bring yourself to love the prince you thought of as a little brother.

“B-But I… I do not…”

“You do not love me. I have heard that lie from you several times.” He kissed your hand. “You have stabbed and buried me several times, yet I will continue to crawl back in your arms.”

Mydei chuckled.

“And tomorrow, we shall have our wedding despite it all.”

He saw how the despair dawned on you. You were shaking. Your breath was shallow and uneven, and he noticed the twitch in your hands, far too unlikely the steadiness of the former warrior King of Daidalos.

No one truly listens to the King.

You are more puppet than king, and everyone revered you for it. You only do what is required of you. What was needed of you. What was desired of you. 

No one truly hears what you wish for yourself. No one cared enough to know you were hungry for the true sensations of what tastes and smells truly are. No one asked you questions as to why you were obsessed with observing nature in the first place. Each person just approaches your throne in hopes they’ll take what they want. No one listens, except for…

This was the part he had anticipated— the fear, the panic, the realization that you were trapped. But instead, you did something... unexpected.

“... Hah… Haha!”

And then, slowly, something twisted inside. The edges of your lips curled upward— at first, just a flicker. You clutched at her chest as though trying to hold yourself together. Your laugh broke free, starting in a soft, broken sound that grew louder, more manic until it was a full-throated, deranged cackle.

Marriage? 

Right.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed. This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations. Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

Elio promised you a feast.

Who are you to say no?

You gave him a mugshot smile only a criminal with an enormous bounty would wear.

You were no longer King (Y/n) of Daidalos.

“Is that so?” You grinned wider.

You were (Y/n), the prodigal Stellaron Hunter.

If he haunted your dreams for so long,

you’ll just have to haunt him back.

You harshly grabbed him by his necklace, your breath fanning his face. A giggle escaped your lips at his shocked expression. You swerved and pushed him until your positions switched. With one hand, you clawed both his cheeks, staring at him with an empty glare while the other hand slowly uncloaked him...

"If that is the challenge you present, then I bid you bring forth your utmost strength, dear Husband."

Taglist: @naraven, @macaronilovingracoon, @notthefib987, @chryseis-lxve

Actor!au behind the scenes for this fic: Blooper 1, Interview with Sunday,

[unstable-samurai]

Breathing This Calm Night - smut

Yunjin x Male Reader

ONE-SHOT

Tags: fluff, oral sex, one-shot, tightjob, penetration, k-idol, famous girl, secret relationship

A/n: This is my first request. Thanks @dav1233555 for the plot suggestion 🫡

The two of you were anxiously dragging yourself towards the end of the day. Slowly the hours passed, seeming to last longer than they should, while a hurried and hard routine was followed, with no time to even exchange a few messages.

But you were finally free, at least for now, from the mess that is a magazine of international relevance.

I'm arriving

You read the message and smiled at the phone screen. It wasn't crowded at the restaurant you chose to have dinner at. You reflected for a moment, and thought there was a bit of madness in what you two were doing, but it was indisputable that it was genuine and pure.

Truth be told, this whole thing was real. And thinking that this could be a bit crazy (in other people's eyes, to be more precise) only made your panoramic view of society more bitter.

After all, what was so great about being a foreigner and dating a K-idol? Well, you weren't the guy who was going to change the view of an entire society, so worrying about it was useless.

At least there was some security that this relationship would not be leaked to the media. Well, you were in fact part of the fucking media. There was support from the magazine you worked for (not that you were the owner or anything), and at least no one on your team would poke your eye out. Some other editors you trust already knew about your relationship. It was one of the countless advantages of being in a high position in the company and having a strong influence on what happened inside. I mean, someone from the magazine could try to fuck with you, snakes exist everywhere, doing this in an attempt to self-promote or even abandon ship, handing over the leak of your relationship to another magazine or tabloid (in the headline the motherfuckers would find a way to use the word "affair", just because your previous relationship ended a month before you met Yunjin). But you would discover the funny guy so easily that there wouldn't even be any fun in solving the mystery. All it took was a single call to your father, simply the greatest editor-in-chief who worked at the magazine's headquarters. Already retired, but still exercising great decision-making power thanks to his long years of contributions to the magazine. Your old man was seen almost as a royal advisor or a wise monk where directors, managers and editors from various sectors of the magazine went to ask for advice and help. You were relatively shielded from leaks.

You noticed her approaching. Well disguised, with glasses, hair tied back and comfortable clothes. She looked like just another ordinary girl. You couldn't help but notice the NY Knicks sweatshirt you had given her as a gift, it was both of your favorite team.

She greeted you with a discreet hug. You still hadn't gotten used to the fact that you couldn't give a peck in public que in South Korea. In your perception, it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Hi, baby! How are you?" she asked you as she sat down at the table.

"Better now, honey. What about you?"

"The same!"

"Was the day as hard as always?" you asked.

"Yeah, definitely!" she replied. Yunjin seemed eager for this question. She continued: “In the morning I had rap class. By the way, I think I'm getting better. Oh, and in the afternoon I recorded my lines, like, over and over again. The music producer has a very specific vision of what he wants for this track. He apologized and admitted that it might take some time to achieve the desired result.”

"Well, I trust your talent. Remember that you and your group are dealing with a delicate concept. I have seen up close the production of albums that address intimate themes, it is always a challenge, but also a true work and certainly a amazing gift for the fans. You girls are going to do great."

Yunjin laughed, a little shyly.

"It feels like I'm talking to a music critic instead of my boyfriend."

"Well, you're actually talking to a music critic. Oh, by the way, I remembered that I won't be writing the article about Le Sserafim's new album like I said before."

Her expression was one of surprise. Yunjin asked:

"Is it because of me?”

"Yes." you answered honestly. “Well, look, love, I'm prioritizing our relationship and thinking about the future. If this is for real, eventually the press will hear about us together, and a review from me about my girlfriend's music group obviously it would make my opinion seem partial and biased. It's just to avoid future problems."

"Okay" She looked upset. "But I'll still want to know your opinion when you hear the album."

"I'm really looking forward to hearing it." You smiled, making her feel better. "I left the review about the new album for a good friend of mine to write. I really respect her opinion."

"Well, i think we're in good hands. But let's stop talking about work for a bit!"

The waiter seemed to have heard Yunjin's speech as he appeared to save them right after she finished saying that. Yunjin had great taste in food, that's why she always chose the order for the two of you, you weren't the "culinary trailblazer" type; a few months in South Korea and you only knew five typical dishes (always returning to the arms of the big fast-food chains).

"Oh, I almost forgot to give you this!" You handed her a gift. "It had been on my lap for so long that I had forgotten I had brought it with me."

"Oh, baby! You didn't have to do that!"

She started to unwrap it.

"Hope you like."

You waited for her reaction. Yunjin smiled and made a cute little noise when she saw that it was a book (although she already knew from the shape of the gift wrap).

"You know I love reading! Thank you so much."

"It's The Alchemist. I know you love fantasy and this silly self-help thing. This book is a mix of both."

You saw her eyes light up.

"You're perfect. I love how well you know me. And self-help isn't silly, it's very good for evolving as a human being." she scolded you.

You shrugged.

"It's not the kind of thing I'd like to put on my bookshelf. But to each their own.”

She laughed.

"I'm still going to make you read one of these."

"Well, I've already read The Alchemist. If for me it's average, for you it will be a masterpiece."

★

It was around 10pm when the two of you finally arrived at your apartment. Dinner was very good, especially dessert (that bingsu thing was really delicious), and by that night there was no more energy for more fun, it was preferable to have a good night's sleep so that the next day you could do something together. Even so, Yunjin hummed excitedly in the car on the way home. You appreciated all that joy.

You took off your shoes while Yunjin took off her NY Knicks sweatshirt, leaving only a tight tank top on her body. You noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra by the way her breasts showed through the fabric of her tank top. You slowly approached her and grabbed her from behind, kissing her repeatedly. Yunjin wrapped her hands around your neck as she giggled at the series of kisses.

“Will you be my teddy bear tonight?” she asked sweetly. “I need your affection so much, baby.”

“Whatever you need, sweetie.” You said as you kissed her on the neck.

Things were heating up. Your hands slid down Yunjin's soft belly, heavy sighs escaped her mouth unconsciously.

“Look, we still need to shower.” she said.

"No problem." you answered.

“You're putting me in the mood. I'm warning you that if you keep touching me like this, you're going to have to go all the way to finish what you started.”

“And since when has this been a problem for me?” you asked as you led her to the couch.

You took off your shirt and belt from your pants. Yunjin took off her jeans, leaving only her tank top and adorable pink panties. Your hand slid down Yunjin's left thigh while you kissed her right thigh. That was more than enough to give her goosebumps. She had her legs wide open, waiting, almost begging, for you to touch that place. Instead of doing it right away, you decided to play with her a little, kissing and biting her inner thigh while using one of your hands to lightly massage her pussy through her panties. Your lips slid to Yunjin's crotch, where you licked the entire area, she reveled in the act, trying hard not to close her legs with the spasms she was having. It didn't take long for a wet stain to darken the pink of the panties. When you finally removed Yunjin's panties, you saw how wet she was. So horny that she couldn't wait for you, fingering her pussy slowly, opening it with her fingers so you could see how drooling she was; a successful action of provoking you. Then you realized how hard your cock was, pulsing in your pants, painfully tight, which made you hornier.

Without wasting any more time, you dived between Yunjin's legs, eager to taste her (that flavor that was becoming increasingly familiar and addictive… Part of your life. Yeah, we could put it that way), your tongue delighting in the taste and the cozy warmth of the inside of her pussy, while Yunjin moaned softly, digging her nails into the sofa cushions.

“I love it when you suck me like that, baby. You make me feel so good!” she moaned.

At one point she asked to stop because her lust was unbearable and that way he would have an orgasm in a short time.

“I want to feel your cock inside me now.” she said. You had just taken off your underwear when she added, “Wait, what if we fuck in the bathroom. Let’s save time, what do you think?”

Your response was to lift her off the couch and take her to the bathroom. You turned on the light with your elbow and, before you could think of anything, she said:

“Fuck me like this! Your cock goes deep into my pussy when you fuck me in the air.”

You kissed her intensely while you tried to fit your dick into her pussy. The feeling of your cock sliding inside Yunjin was wonderful. Upon realizing that your cock was well placed inside her, you grabbed Yunjin's thighs tightly and began to thrust into her energetically while she held onto you, moaning compulsively.

And Yunjin was right, your dick went deep in that position. You could feel her deep inside, the entire length of your cock was being used, and she loved it. When she announced her orgasm, you wanted to make sure it was intense and pleasurable, the way it made her roll her eyes, so you lifted her a little higher, grabbing her ass, while Yunjin wrapped her legs inside your arms, making her practically hang from you and her pussy is completely inside your dick.

“Oh God, Baby! I’m cumming!”

She trembled holding onto you, while you practically rubbed her pussy on your dick, always rotating it close to your body. It was just a shame that you couldn't enjoy her eyes rolling back at the moment of orgasm, you simply loved seeing her go crazy with pleasure, but there was also a certain contentment in just knowing that it happened.

You sat Yunjin down on the sink and there you started fucking her again, looking deeply into her eyes. At one point she looked at you with so much passion, so much desire that there was a sudden growing desire to fill her pussy with your load of cum.

“Hang me, love.” she asked affectionately.

Her hand wrapped around just over half of her neck, serving as support to fuck her even harder. Sweat running down both bodies, your gaze was lost between the mirror's reflection, her eyes, her tits and her expressions of pleasure. With the sensations highlighted, you realized how much you loved Yunjin and how much this feeling contributed to eminent pleasure during sex.

Holy shit! You were almost there.

You thought about how much you wanted to go deep into this, literally to the end, but you were without a condom and suddenly stopping the act to go get a condom at the end of the championship was a bit... discouraging.

But you have an idea.

“Stand up, sweetie” you said. “Let’s try something new.”

Yunjin got out of the sink, looking at you excitedly.

“Get in the shower stall with me.” you asked, opening the door.

"What do you want to do?"

“It’s nothing out of this world, but it occurred to me that you’ve never given me a tightjob, I think it’s time we tried it.”

She had some assumptions about what this position was, but you helped her anyway. Yunjin was a rather tall girl, so there were no problems for your dick to fit between her thighs, the result was perfect, nothing uncomfortable. You thought about turning on the shower to lube up a little, but her pussy was so wet and the continuous sweat running down between her thighs was already more than great. You grabbed Yunjin's waist tightly and she crossed her legs a little, squeezing your dick.

You began to thrust into her, your cock sliding back and forth as you dragged Yunjin's labia. So you discovered in the best way that this was very pleasurable for both of you. The internal heat started inside you again and gradually you lost yourself in that exciting sensation. As you approached the final explosion, you bestially grabbed Yunjin in every way possible, sliding your sweat-damp hands down her belly, squeezing her breasts and slapping her ass. You lost yourself in the voluptuousness that was Yunjin's body and- Fuck! She loved it. She loved being your instrument of pleasure, knowing that the person she loved so much reached maddening peaks of passion, desire and lust for her. A juice of feelings for an insatiable thirst.

“Oh baby! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-”

Without any warning, Yunjin began to move her hips in a rhythm that immediately took you to the precipice of pleasure. The soft, hot, wet, suffocating skin of her thighs dancing over your cock. This was too much for you. When you came, you hugged Yunjin tightly, holding her as if your life depended on it, giving in to inconstant and uncontrollable moans close to her ear. The frantic thrusts lost their rhythm, going deeper and slower through Yunjin's thighs. She held your arms affectionately, waiting for your breathing to become less labored before kissing you.

"I love you." You said to her.

The phrase was so loaded with something that covered your feelings at that moment, and you wished she was the woman of your life and would never leave your side.

"I love you too!" said Yunjin when she found a way out of your tongue. “Baby, you don’t know how much.”

“This took longer than expected. Let’s take our shower.”

“Yep! Let's go."

You turned on the shower. The hot running water was invigorating, even more so being next to Yunjin, you didn't know that sharing certain intimacies was so special until you finally did it with her. you soaped Yunjin's entire body, she helped you wash your back and you shampooed her hair, gently massaging her scalp; it was cute how it relaxed her, she seemed so surrendered to you in that moment, and just a few months ago you were sitting across from her and the other Le Sserafim girls, asking incisive questions about the creative process of their latest album. That's where it all started, after all. And who could say where it would end?

“Hey, baby, let me shampoo your hair now.” Yunjin said with a cutie smile.

Nobody, you thought. Nobody could say.

A/n: sorry for any grammatical errors 😅

[novaursa]

A Dragon's Claim

- Summary: Daemon returns from his exile during the celebrations of Rhaenyra’s and Leanor’s wedding, with only one thing in mind: to claim you.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and is bonded with Grey Ghost. These events happen before and lead to The Blood of the Dragon. The list of all my works in chronological order is on my blog, pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content in this one)

- Word count: 4 538

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The air in the great hall is thick with tension and mirth as lords and ladies gather beneath the towering pillars of the Red Keep. The glow of a thousand candles casts a golden hue over the faces of the realm’s most powerful, yet the flickering light cannot reach the shadows where whispers thrive.

You sit at the high table, a smile frozen on your lips as you watch Rhaenyra and Laenor share a dance, their steps polished but strained. Your elder sister’s gown is woven with gold and red thread, a stark contrast to Laenor’s pale silks. The match is political, a necessity, and everyone knows it. But the feast continues on, with music and wine flowing freely to disguise the uneasy undercurrents.

Your father, King Viserys, is content for now, raising his cup with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You know how deeply he misses your mother, and how hard he’s tried to keep the family together since her death. Beside him, Queen Alicent's gaze flickers between you and your siblings, always watchful, as if measuring the distance between you all.

Yet the evening shifts suddenly when a presence enters the hall, one that sends a murmur rippling through the gathered guests. Heads turn, voices hush. You feel the change in the air before you even see him.

Daemon.

Your Uncle strides in as if the years and the disgrace of his exile mean nothing. His long silver hair is swept back, and his black leather doublet clings to him like shadow. The greenish glow of dragon glass at his throat only sharpens the edges of his smile. He's dressed in dark finery, as if mourning—and you recall, with a bitter twist in your gut, that Lady Rhea Royce has just died. A hunting accident, they say. But few believe it was an accident at all.

Your breath catches as his violet eyes sweep across the hall before landing on you. There's a dangerous glint there, something raw and unsettling, something that reminds you why you’ve kept him at arm’s length all these years. You feel it like a caress, lingering too long, too close.

He moves with purpose, winding through the throng of courtiers until he’s at your side. Your fingers tighten around your goblet as he dips into an elegant bow, just deep enough to mock propriety. The room buzzes with speculation, but Daemon pays it no mind. His attention is wholly on you.

"Little Niece," he purrs, voice smooth as silk, yet laced with something darker. "It’s been too long."

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing as you regard him. "Not long enough," you reply, keeping your tone cool, distant.

He laughs—a low, rich sound that curls in your stomach, unsettling in its familiarity. "Such sharp words. You wound me, Y/N."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead taking a sip from your cup. "What do you want, Uncle? Surely you did not come all this way just to attend a wedding."

"Why would I not?" He shifts closer, the scent of leather, smoke, and something distinctly Daemon filling the air around you. "After all, it’s a family affair. And I’ve missed our little talks."

You can feel the heat of his gaze, the way it lingers on your face before dipping lower, as if taking you in inch by inch. It’s almost predatory. You’ve seen how other women melt under that stare, but it’s never had that effect on you. If anything, it’s only ever put you on edge.

"Missed?" you echo with a scoff. "You were banished, or did you forget?"

Daemon’s smile doesn’t falter, but it sharpens. "Exile is a state of mind, Niece. It changes nothing of who I am—or what I want."

Your jaw tightens. He’s always been this way—playing at power, testing limits. When you were younger, you found it thrilling, the way he flirted with danger, the way he seemed to live without consequence. But now, all you see is a man who’s always hungered for more than what is his.

"And what is it that you want now, Daemon?" you ask, holding his gaze. You don’t flinch, even when his smile widens.

His voice drops, low and intimate, a whisper meant for your ears alone. "The same thing I’ve always wanted. You."

The words are a knife, sharp and precise. They cut through the haze of laughter and music that surrounds you. You know what he’s asking, what he’s offering—and you also know you’d be a fool to accept.

You set down your goblet with deliberate care, your expression hardening. "You’re wasting your time. Whatever game you’re playing, find another piece for it."

His amusement doesn’t fade, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, more frustrated. For a moment, the mask slips, and you see the hunger beneath, the yearning he’s kept at bay since you last rejected him.

"You think you’re above this, above me," he murmurs, his voice laced with challenge. "But we’re more alike than you care to admit, Y/N. Fire runs in our veins, and it will burn until we claim what’s ours."

You feel a shiver crawl up your spine, but you refuse to let it show. "Perhaps," you say coolly, standing from your seat and stepping back, putting distance between you. "But that fire will not consume me. Not for you. Not ever."

His gaze follows you as you move away, back into the crowd where the music drowns out the tension of your exchange. You feel his eyes on you, a burning brand that lingers even when you force yourself to focus on the dancing couples and the revelry. But Daemon Targaryen is not so easily dismissed.

You know this won’t be the last time he tries. He’s always been relentless in his pursuits. But you’ve held him off before—and you’ll do it again, no matter how many times he attempts to draw you into his web.

Yet in the depths of your mind, a small voice wonders how long you can keep resisting before the fire spreads.

The hall is alive with music and movement, swirling skirts and polished boots creating a dance of color and grace. You find yourself swept into the rhythm, partnered with Lord Tyland Lannister—a golden lion of the Westerlands, resplendent in his crimson and gold. He’s handsome enough, with a confident smile and courteous manners, but he lacks the edge of danger that seems to follow Targaryens like a shadow. 

Still, you laugh politely as he makes some jest about the boisterous nature of the court. Tyland is careful, measured in his charm, his hand respectfully placed at your waist as you twirl together across the floor. Yet your mind is only half on the conversation, aware that a pair of intense violet eyes is tracking your every move.

Daemon watches from where he leans against a pillar, his posture deceptively relaxed. He appears disinterested to those who don’t know him well, one hand holding a goblet of wine, the other idly tapping against his leg. But beneath that mask of ease is a tightly coiled tension, a hungry beast waiting for the right moment to strike. His gaze is riveted to you, sharp and possessive, a wolf studying its prey from afar.

Beside him, King Viserys attempts to draw his brother into conversation, oblivious to Daemon’s distraction. 

“It’s good to see you back, brother,” Viserys begins, his tone amiable as he turns to face Daemon. “We’ve missed you here. It’s been far too long since the family was whole.”

Daemon barely acknowledges the words, his focus entirely elsewhere. His eyes flick over the way you laugh at something Tyland says, the way your lips curve in amusement. A flicker of annoyance passes through him, a subtle tightening of his jaw. He’s always despised the Lannisters—their arrogance, their ambition, their sense of entitlement. And seeing you in Tyland’s arms only fuels the simmering irritation.

Viserys, oblivious to his brother’s dark thoughts, continues, raising his goblet to Daemon. “Rhaenyra is happy tonight, isn’t she? It’s a good match for her, one that will strengthen the realm. Laenor is—”

“A distraction,” Daemon mutters, cutting him off, his tone sharp enough to draw Viserys’ attention.

Viserys frowns, looking at him more closely. “What’s on your mind, Daemon? You’ve barely said a word since you arrived. If it’s about Rhea—”

Daemon lets out a dry chuckle, finally turning his gaze to Viserys, but it’s laced with disdain. “Rhea is long dead, brother. Her bones are cold and buried. Let us not pretend we mourn her now.”

Viserys shifts uncomfortably, clearly unsure of how to respond. “Still, it’s no easy thing to lose a wife, even one you didn’t—”

Daemon cuts him off again, this time with a flick of his hand. “Enough, Viserys. I didn’t come here to talk about the past.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Viserys asks, voice softening as he tries to reach out to his brother. “We can put things right between us. There’s no need for more distance. We’re family—”

Daemon’s gaze snaps back to you, watching as you spin gracefully in Tyland’s arms, your dress swirling around you like flames licking at the air. His lips curve into a faint, humorless smile. “Family…” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue. “Yes, it’s always about family.”

He doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes track your every movement. Viserys follows his line of sight, finally understanding where Daemon’s attention lies. He clears his throat, his expression hardening. “Y/N is not for you, Daemon. She’s my daughter, and I’ll not have her tangled in whatever schemes you’re plotting.”

Daemon’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “Schemes? You wound me, brother. I only have your daughter’s best interests at heart.”

“Do you?” Viserys’ voice takes on a warning edge. “You’ve already caused enough trouble tonight with your sudden appearance. If you truly care for her, you’ll leave her be.”

But Daemon doesn’t answer. His thoughts are locked elsewhere, watching how you move with such effortless grace, the way your eyes spark with life as you dance, seemingly carefree. He knows you’re aware of his presence, can sense it in the way you avoid looking in his direction, how you keep Tyland between you and the shadows where Daemon lurks. It’s a clever tactic—one that both frustrates and excites him.

“She’s stubborn,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as his eyes narrow. “But that’s what makes the chase worthwhile.”

Viserys stiffens, his grip tightening around his cup. “I’m warning you, Daemon. You’ll not drag her into your games. If you truly have any regard for her, you’ll stop this.”

Daemon turns to face his brother fully now, his expression unreadable, but his tone is laced with cold mockery. “And what if she doesn’t want your protection, Viserys? What if she wants something… else?”

“That’s enough.” The king’s voice is steel now, but it wavers slightly, betraying the deep undercurrent of worry. “I won’t allow it. You’ll stay away from her.”

Daemon holds his brother’s gaze for a long, tense moment before he breaks into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, brother. I live to serve.”

But as Viserys takes his words at face value and turns away, relief evident in his posture, Daemon’s eyes drift back to you. A storm brews within them, filled with unresolved hunger and an unyielding determination. He watches as you end the dance with a gracious curtsy, Lord Tyland offering a courtly bow in return, and his fingers curl tighter around his goblet.

You may think you’ve pushed him away, that you’ve built walls high enough to keep him out. But Daemon Targaryen has never been one to accept defeat—not when there’s something he desires as fiercely as he desires you.

No, the game is far from over. If anything, it’s only just begun. And as you catch his gaze from across the hall, your eyes locking for the briefest of moments before you look away, you feel it too—the inevitability of the fire that threatens to consume you both.

For now, you dance with Lannisters and play your part as the dutiful daughter. But Daemon’s patience, like all things about him, is dangerous. And sooner or later, he knows, you’ll find yourself face-to-face with the truth neither of you can deny—no matter how much you might try to resist it.

The music softens, allowing the hum of conversation to fill the hall. You’re surrounded by a cluster of courtiers, each eager to share a word or a compliment with the princess of the realm. They shower you with flowery flattery, and you respond with practiced grace, a polite smile that never quite reaches your eyes. 

You’re keenly aware of Daemon lurking at the edge of your periphery, a shadow just waiting to slip into the light. He’s watching, waiting for an opening—and when your father becomes occupied by the arrival of Lord Beesbury, Daemon seizes his chance.

The courtiers around you stiffen as Daemon approaches, the atmosphere shifting subtly as they sense the tension that follows him. He cuts through the crowd with the grace of a dragon circling its prey, a dark smile curling on his lips as he stops just beside you. The air crackles with his presence, drawing every eye in the circle toward him.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, his voice warm honey over cold steel. “I hope you’re not allowing these dullards to bore you.” There’s an undercurrent of possessiveness in the way he says your name, a familiar, disconcerting tone that sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep your expression composed, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing any discomfort. The eyes of the court are upon you, watching for any reaction, any hint of scandal. You cannot afford to make a scene—not tonight, not at Rhaenyra’s wedding. So you take a slow breath and incline your head, allowing him to join the conversation if only to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

“Uncle,” you greet him, your tone carefully neutral. “I find the company quite agreeable, actually.”

A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as he takes a step closer, deliberately brushing the edge of your skirts with his boot. “Do you? Well, perhaps it’s simply my own poor luck that I’ve yet to find anyone in this hall nearly as fascinating as you.”

The compliment is a blade, sharp and glittering with intent. The courtiers exchange nervous glances, unsure of where to place themselves in this verbal dance between the two of you. They sense the tension, the unspoken challenge in Daemon’s words, but they dare not intervene. Instead, they hang back, listening closely while pretending otherwise.

You give a tight smile, deflecting his advance with ease. “How fortunate for you, then, to have found me amidst so many ‘dullards,’ as you so kindly put it.”

He laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends gooseflesh prickling across your skin. “Indeed. But then, I’ve always known where to find the rarest of treasures.”

His eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his gaze heavy with suggestion. You feel the noose of his presence tightening around you, making it harder to keep up the pretense of polite conversation. Every word he speaks is laced with a deeper meaning, a challenge you’re unwilling to meet, yet can’t entirely ignore.

One of the courtiers, a nervous young man from House Florent, clears his throat and tries to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Princess Y/N, Lord Daemon, I heard the finest fabrics for tonight’s event were imported directly from Qarth. Perhaps you’d care to share your thoughts on—”

Daemon silences him with a glance, his attention never fully leaving you. “I think the princess and I have far more interesting matters to discuss, don’t we, Niece?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for the others to hear the edge in it. “Or perhaps you’d prefer we step outside, where we might speak more privately?”

You stiffen slightly at his audacity, feeling your control slipping under the intensity of his advance. But you refuse to let him see how he rattles you. “That won’t be necessary,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “We’re perfectly fine where we are.”

Daemon’s smile widens, but it’s not the charming smile of a courtier. It’s something darker, edged with hunger and frustration. He’s testing your boundaries, trying to see how far he can push before you break. And you know that refusing him outright, especially in public, might only embolden him further.

He takes another step closer, his arm brushing against yours as he speaks in a tone meant for your ears alone. “You’ve always been so careful, Y/N. So proper, so well-behaved. But there’s fire in you—I’ve seen it. You can pretend all you like, but you can’t deny what’s in our blood, what we’re meant for.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest. “You mistake me, Daemon. Whatever you think we share, you’re wrong. I am not like you.”

“Not yet, perhaps,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving as his breath ghosts across your ear. “But you will be, in time. The fire consumes us all eventually. Why fight what you can’t escape?”

Before you can answer, one of the other courtiers—a lady from House Frey—interjects with a forced laugh, clearly sensing the rising tension. “Lord Daemon, you speak of fire as though it’s something to be embraced. But surely even dragons know better than to be burned alive.”

Daemon doesn’t bother responding to her, his gaze still locked on you. “Perhaps some of us would rather burn than live half-alive.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air, a challenge wrapped in seduction. You can feel the eyes of everyone around you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. Every nerve in your body screams at you to walk away, to extricate yourself from this perilous game he’s playing, but the chains of decorum hold you in place.

“Not everyone fears the flame,” you reply, your voice a delicate balance between defiance and diplomacy. “But not everyone is foolish enough to be consumed by it either.”

For a moment, Daemon’s expression softens, a flicker of admiration passing through his eyes. He’s always liked your spirit, the way you push back when others would cower. It’s one of the reasons he’s so drawn to you—you’re a challenge, not easily won. But that only makes him more determined.

He steps back slightly, giving you room to breathe, though his presence still lingers like smoke in the air. “We shall see, Niece,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “We shall see.”

The conversation shifts awkwardly back to safer topics as the courtiers nervously chatter to fill the silence, but the damage is done. The undercurrents of tension remain, swirling just beneath the surface, unseen by most but keenly felt by you.

You make your excuses and step away from the circle, moving toward the safety of the crowd. But you can feel Daemon’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement, a predator biding its time.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the revelry, the laughter, the music. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight was only the beginning. Daemon has set his sights on you once more, and though you’ve pushed him away before, you know this time he’s more determined than ever.

The fire is closing in, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it at bay.

The days in King’s Landing have grown longer, shadows stretching thin as the sun’s heat begins to wane with autumn’s approach. It has been weeks since the feast, since Daemon first rekindled his pursuit of you, and those weeks have been filled with nothing but frustration. You’ve become as elusive as a wisp of smoke, always slipping from his grasp just when he thinks he’s closed the distance.

He’s been searching for you throughout the Red Keep, stalking through the corridors like a restless lion. Servants avert their eyes when he passes, knowing better than to cross him when his temper is barely leashed. He checks the gardens where you sometimes take afternoon strolls, the library where you immerse yourself in history, even the secluded balcony where you once sat to watch the sun dip beneath the horizon. But you’re nowhere to be found.

His patience, already thin, frays with each passing moment. Where are you?

Eventually, he strides into the inner courtyard, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose. He spots Rhaenyra, her golden hair spilling like liquid sunlight as she leans casually against a column. She’s watching a pair of knights spar in the yard, but when she catches sight of Daemon, she lifts a brow in amusement.

“Uncle,” she greets, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “You seem troubled. Should I be concerned for my safety?”

Daemon barely slows his approach, his eyes narrowed and searching. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, enjoying the tension radiating from him. She has always seen through him, understood the games he plays. But right now, her amusement only fuels his growing irritation.

“She?” she asks, feigning ignorance. “You’ll have to be more specific, Uncle. There are quite a few women within the Keep.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snaps, his voice a low growl. “You know who I mean. Where is Y/N?”

Rhaenyra’s amusement falters slightly as she studies him more closely. She sees the fire in his eyes, the barely contained storm that brews beneath his calm exterior. She knows Daemon well enough to recognize when he’s truly agitated.

“And why would you assume I’d know her whereabouts?” she asks, though her tone is more measured now, less teasing. “She doesn’t confide everything in me.”

Daemon steps closer, his frustration bleeding into impatience. “She’s your sister. You know where she’s gone. Stop wasting time and tell me.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickers with something unreadable before she sighs, realizing he won’t relent. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” She shakes her head as if in disbelief, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but only because it’ll keep you from stalking around the Keep like a shadowed ghost.”

She pauses, savoring the way Daemon’s impatience makes him lean in closer. “She’s gone to ride Grey Ghost.”

Daemon’s reaction is instant. The blood drains from his face as his eyes sharpen, and without another word, he turns on his heel, already planning his next move. The mention of the dragon’s name—Grey Ghost, the elusive and wild creature—ignites something dangerous within him.

Rhaenyra watches with a slight frown, sensing his sudden intensity. “Daemon—wait. She knows what she’s doing; she’s always had a bond with that dragon—”

But he’s not listening. His mind is racing, the image of you alone on the back of such a wild, unpredictable creature flashing before his eyes. Grey Ghost is no docile mount like Syrax or Caraxes. The dragon is known for being elusive, rarely seen and even more rarely approached. For you to go after such a beast alone—Daemon feels a surge of possessive protectiveness he can’t tamp down.

He strides swiftly toward the stables, barking orders at the stablehands to ready his horse. The urgency in his tone leaves no room for argument. “Saddle it quickly!” he snaps, every muscle tense with the need to move, to reach the Dragonpit before it’s too late.

In the back of his mind, he knows he’s not only worried about your safety. This chase, this pursuit, has become something more to him—an obsession, a need to prove that you can’t slip away from him, not when he’s decided you’re his. And riding Grey Ghost? That’s an act of defiance, a clear signal that you’re not afraid to dance on the edge of danger.

He mounts his horse in one smooth motion and urges the animal into a gallop. The wind rushes past him as he rides through the streets of King’s Landing, his mind singularly focused on getting to the Dragonpit. He doesn’t care who watches or what whispers will follow in the wake of his urgency. Let them talk; let them wonder. All that matters is reaching you.

By the time he arrives at the Dragonpit, he’s barely winded, though his blood roars in his veins like wildfire. The keepers bow hastily as he storms past them, heading straight for the chamber where Caraxes, his own dragon, resides. The Blood Wyrm growls low as Daemon approaches, sensing the tension in his rider.

Daemon doesn’t waste a moment, clambering onto Caraxes’ back with practiced ease. The bond between dragon and rider is instinctual, and with a sharp command, Caraxes unfurls his wings and takes to the skies with a powerful beat. They soar upward, climbing higher into the heavens as Daemon scans the horizon, searching for the faint silhouette of a dragon in flight.

He knows the general area where Grey Ghost roams—often among the mist-shrouded cliffs near the coast, far from the reach of men. If you’ve truly gone there alone, then you’ve either misjudged your own courage or you’re challenging him in your own quiet, stubborn way.

Either way, he intends to catch you.

The thrill of the chase pulses through him, his heart racing as Caraxes cuts through the clouds, flying faster and faster toward where he hopes to find you. There’s a primal satisfaction in the pursuit, the idea of tracking you down, claiming what he believes should be his. He imagines what you’ll say when he catches you, what you’ll do—if you’ll continue to resist, or if you’ll finally realize there’s no escaping the inevitable.

As they fly over the rugged cliffs, he finally spots a shadow moving below—grey scales glinting in the fading light. There you are, astride Grey Ghost, your figure small but unmistakable. The sight sends a surge of possessive relief through him. You’re safe, unharmed, but you’ve ventured too far for his liking.

He urges Caraxes lower, drawing closer until the two dragons are flying side by side, their wings slicing through the air in tandem. The sound of Caraxes’ approach makes you turn, your eyes widening as you realize who’s followed you. Even from a distance, Daemon can see the defiance in your gaze, the way you straighten your back and tighten your grip on the reins.

You’re not pleased to see him. But that’s too bad.

Daemon grins, his eyes flashing with determination as he closes the distance, ready to confront you, to remind you that running—or flying—won’t keep him at bay. He’s always known where to find you, and now that he’s caught up, he has no intention of letting you slip away again.

The chase may be thrilling, but Daemon Targaryen has never been content to chase forever. At some point, even the most elusive prey must be caught. And when he finally corners you in the sky, he’ll make sure you know exactly what it means to be his.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to meet your creature, tag your friends to spread their influence, and look under the cut to see what meeting your creature is like!

The dragon: You see him first, like a shadow moving faster than your eye was meant to see, something golden and radiant flying above you. Though it takes hours you slowly track him down, across streets and highways, and into the darkest of the woods. Then you finally see his radiant body, golden scales covering his entire form, with heads like massive snakes, with eyes like sapphires. Massive wings like a falcon's spread as you see him resting alone and he takes notice of you. You know that he could destroy you so very easily if he wanted to, but he doesn't, he just looks at you. And you reach your hands out to touch his head, and he lets you as he bows down. You can feel something change within you, there is fire in your veins, and it doesn't seem to burn at all.

The dark queen: You see them, sitting in the same cafe as you, admiring the city street as they drink from a cop of an unknown liquid. Their human form is tall, yet almost starved looking, beautiful in the way that the night sky if beautiful. They come up to you, and ask why you're hear, ask about the state of humanity, ask if you like the world the way it was, ask what you would change if you only had the power to. They seem so alien, yet they smile. After a few moments they hand you a small cup of their blood for you to drink, and for some reason you know how serious such a thing is, yet how intimate and almost wholesome it now seems. You take a sip, and feel your humanity fade away, feel that there's no going back. You can see for a moment their true form, their mouth filled with fangs and opened wide, and their eyes black and crying blood, yet it doesn't scare you at all.

The Faerie: You wander, past where you should have wandered, past where humans, where mortals, are meant to be. You see the trees around you have creepily human faces upon their trunks. And then you hear xir voice echoing in the night, laughing, knowing that it's too late for you, that you are at xir mercy. Then you see xem, changing form, first a man in regency era dress shining in the moonlight, then a cloaked ghost with endless rows of teeth, then a beast with the combined parts of countless animals. But xe notices something about you, something different, something that lacks the arrogance many other humans have. Xe shows you xir true form, a massive creature similar to a mantis or a dragonfly, with a shining forest green exoskeleton and wings like stain glass. Xe knows that there's no permitting you to be human after coming close to xem, but you are quite interesting, and there are some very interesting things xe can turn you into.

Bodyless entity: You've seen them, on the sidewalk, on the train, standing outside of your apartment. They're almost normal, almost, but they all share the same quirks, all share the same manner of speaking, young or old, of any sex, of any race, they all have the trains of one mind, one person. And they're beginning to notice you back. Eventually they confront you, explaining themselves. You think that they might try to consume you too, but they explain that beings like them have to keep their number of bodies relatively small for their own safety, if they consumed too many humans the rest of humanity would destroy them. And they talk to you and tell you of the place in the shadows their mind came from, the worlds beyond physical space, both of darkness and of enlightenment. And they look at you, as if you remind them of someone long ago. They give you a card if you wish to contact them again and remind you that they can touch your mind in ways beyond mere possession.

Mushroom network: You've been tracking it for days. It's bigger, and then bigger, and then bigger than you ever expected. It covers the ground below you, sleeping yet awake, unknowing yet knowing. It emerges in its living temples, popping up above the ground. Eventually come to its place, a place where the trees are made grey by its consumption, where the animals lay as stoney dead corpses, and red tendrils and white mushrooms cover the earth. You can feel it reaching up to you, weather you want it to or not, and experimenting on you, seeing exactly how your genome tastes. And you can feel its tendrils penetrating your skin, and the uncanny euphoria that comes with it, as you become part of a much larger network.

Alien: You walk into their temple, when the night is dark, and the white pillars around you seem almost otherworldly in the artificial light, the space quiet and empty unlike the city around it. And you see them, silvery, almost angelic, their form entirely inhuman yet unquestionably physical. You bow to them, and they look at you, mournful perhaps. You know what they are, know what they truly are. And you think they know that you know. They talk to you, softly, gently, as if to hide the threat that they pose to you. They tell you how they ended up here, their banishment, how they fell from the stars, from the planet and plane that they originally came from. They wanted to do good in this world, but the wished to rule just as much. They don't seem like they're truly a monster, and they seem to respect that you've been able to get this close to them. And they give you a choice, you can discard your humanity, become like them, let them strip away your flesh and become machine. Or you can die. They have no qualms about removing a threat to their power. You know what choice you'll make.

Angel: First you hear them, in a lonely subway satiation, where only you and them stand. They sing, an old song, in a long-forgotten tongue, a mourning song, quiet and weeping. When you get a good look at them, they look forlorn, their body doll like, delicate and jointed, with the slightest hints at cracks in their skin, their golden eyes the only part of that pretty face that's able to move, their massive wings the only part of their body that looks alive at all. Most people would be scared but you come closer, you put out a hand to them, and pet their hair, and tell them it's ok. They reach out to hug you and you let them, their body is cold, but you help make them warm. As you hold them their song grows kinder yet kinder, and you can feel some power from within them begin to enter your body.

Eldrich horror: You can feel it sometimes. In your dreams. Never in flesh do you see it, but you see it. Someone weeping below the sea, someone yearning. They're waiting for you. They want to be free. Want to be free as every creature wants to be free. They're in pain. But you talk to them. It's all you can do. They take on many different forms, sometimes humanoid, sometimes alien, sometimes metaphorical. They've seen your life too, your pain, your sorrows. They know that you can't free them, but perhaps they can do something to help you, perhaps turn you into something that can have the freedom deprived from you.

Demon: You see her sometimes, walking through the most crowded parts of the city you live in. She wears all black, all over her body, a hood over her head, a gas mask over her face, leather and cloth and rubber covering her. You never see her skin, if she has skin for you to see. She looks like she could kill you. She looks like she doesn't want to. And one day, you wave to her, and shyly she disappears. The next day she appears to you again, but this time standing still. You're surprised to see despite her ghostly nature she's shorter than you. She tells you in a mechanical voice that she's supposed to hurt people, supposed to find people to kill for her masters. She was built as a weapon, built as a victimizer for humanity. She doesn't want to hurt, but she doesn't have a choice. You try to calm her down, to talk to her for a while about other things. When she's ready to leave you mention she can stay with you if she ever needs to. The next night you find her in your bed.

Guardian: It writhes above you, a massive creature, similar to a scorpion combined with a centipede. Its face is strangely human though. It tells you that you can stay in the complex as long as you want, but if you try to steal anything it will have to punish you. You stay, you don't try to steal anything, you just read books. Books upon books in its endless halls, an infinite maze of knowledge. Eventually it comes to you, it tells you you've been there longer than any human has been in a long time. It asks if you're ok. You tell it that you don't really want to go back to the place that you came from right now. It asks you if you'd like to join it, even just for a little while, even if you can still go back to earth if you need to. You nod your head as the creature quietly looks at you, neither of you fully being able to read the others' emotion.

Spirit of lust: You see them standing there, wild eyed and half human, not caring if they're too obviously magical for your world. They're both human and animal, both male and female, both angel and devil. They just are. Everyone else admires them, their beautiful muscular form, perfectly sculpted, with griffon's wings and stag's antlers, and cat's eyes and a dragon's tail. But you step forward, talk to them, let them touch you, let their changing from wrap around you as they raise you high above the dance for. They kiss your head, and slowly that kiss becomes a scar, and that scar a melody. When you touch them back you realize you're not of this world anymore, you're something transcendent, something like what they are.

The emptiness: You've been walking through this place for so long. It's just a white void. You know that you can leave but you don't. White, nothingness, it's all you see for so long. Why do you want to be here? What are you trying to find here? You don't care anymore. You lie down, and the whiteness consumes you, and you become part of it, and you feel what it is to be with the void...

[vampstarkey]

FRIENDS FUCK TOO

Masterlist

♱𝅼 Warnings: unprotected sex, of four, spanish woman, reader has big breasts, ass slapping, oral, pussy spitting & hair pulling.

♱𝅼 Note: I don't know why but this theme seemed good to me.

Your life on the island took an unexpected turn when you met Rafe Cameron. Contrary to what your friends said, he didn’t seem like the typical jerk everyone painted him to be. With you, he was different. He always found an excuse to take you to places you’d never been and made a point of including you in the side of his life that was completely foreign to yours.

Rafe wasn’t the impulsive psychopath your friends kept warning you about. As much as you lived in opposite worlds—you a Pogue, and he a Kook — a strange friendship formed between you. But deep down, you knew there was something more. He didn’t see you as just a friend. It was evident in the lingering glances, the excuses to get closer, the teasing disguised as playful banter.

One night, during another one of Rafe’s improvised adventures, he dragged you to a bar. It was typical of him: a little chaos, a little fun, just the two of you. He knew you weren’t much of a drinker, but he seemed to enjoy watching you in that environment he mastered so well. You felt a little out of your element but, at the same time, enjoyed the sensation of escaping the monotony. Being with Rafe was like walking a tightrope: dangerous but addictive.

– Take it easy there, or the alcohol’s gonna hit you fast – he said, leaning casually against the counter as he watched you down a bottle of beer.

You let out a low laugh, placing the bottle on the counter with a light tap.

– Relax, Cameron. I can take care of myself; I’m a big girl – you replied, trying to sound confident, even as you felt the warmth rising to your cheeks.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that showed he didn’t believe you for a second.

– Really? Because the last time you said that, I had to carry you home practically in my arms, sweetheart.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. He knew exactly how to disarm you.

– Exaggerating. I only tripped once – you shot back, pouting and narrowing your eyes at him.

Rafe laughed, the sound deep and carefree. He leaned in a little closer, narrowing the space between you.

– You tripped three times, to be exact. You’re a klutz – Rafe said, laughing again.

You huffed but ended up laughing too. The beer in your hand felt lighter, and you felt looser than you had in any recent moment but, of course, still sober enough. His gaze was intense, and you realized you were starting to stare back for too long.

– So, what’s the plan for tonight? – you asked, trying to break the tension.

Rafe shrugged, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave away something more.

– We could do a lot of things, princess. We've been here long enough. Want to go back to my place?

And there you were again, flirting with the danger he represented, not knowing where it would all lead and, maybe, not caring. You thought for a few seconds before breaking the silence with your response.

– To do what at your place? – you countered his question with another as you rested your chin on your hand.

– Oh, I don’t know, maybe just finish the night there. Only if you want, though. It’s getting late. I can drop you off at your house after, if you’d prefer – Rafe said, finishing the drink in his glass before turning his attention back to you.

– Fine by me, we can go. There’s nothing else to do anyway – you agreed.

– Great choice, princess – he said, stepping away from the counter and pulling you out of the bar.

Rafe drove in silence, something unusual for him, but the atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, there was something about the way he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, illuminated briefly by the road lights, that made your skin tingle. He didn’t need to say anything for the tension to hang heavy in the air.

The Cameron house was just as grand as you remembered from the other times you’d been there, but tonight it felt emptier. No signs of Rose or Ward, only the sound of your breathing as he unlocked the door and stepped aside to let you in.

— Make yourself comfortable. You know the place. — He said, closing the door behind you and tossing his keys onto the hall table.

You walked into the living room, your fingers lightly grazing the surface of one of the leather armchairs. The familiarity of the space should’ve been comforting, but the way Rafe followed you, always just a few steps behind, made your heart race.

— Want a drink? — He asked, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. The mischievous smile that always seemed to accompany him was still there, but there was something different in his eyes now—something that made your entire body feel warm.

— I think I’ve had enough for tonight. — You replied, crossing your arms lightly.

He let out a low chuckle, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps, as if testing your limits. When he stopped in front of you, it was impossible to ignore the heat radiating off him or the way his dark eyes seemed to take in every detail of you.

— Good. I want you sober for this. No excuses tomorrow. — He said, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he tilted his head slightly, leaning in closer.

You felt your breath hitch and tried to keep your composure, but it was difficult with him so close, with everything about him screaming danger and attraction all at once.

— Excuses for what, Rafe? — You challenged, tilting your chin up and locking your gaze with his.

The smile he gave you was almost predatory, his fingers lifting a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers.

— This. — He murmured, leaning in, his face just inches from yours.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Your breathing was uneven, but you didn’t pull back, and he noticed. He always noticed. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, and when his hand finally reached up to touch your face, you felt your skin burn under his touch.

— You’re more dangerous than I thought. — He said softly, his lips curling into a smile full of intentions.

— Me? — You raised an eyebrow, feeling a mix of nervousness and adrenaline. — I think you’ve got the roles mixed up here.

He laughed, but this time it was lower, rougher, and you knew you were playing with fire.

— You know what? — He asked as he stared at your lips.

— What? — You answered as you stared back at him, you were totally following the mood he was putting you two in.

— Friends fuck too. — Rafe said this without a hint of shame on his face as if he had been dying to say that for ages.

A surprised expression soon took over your face, but you liked the idea, it caught you off guard and you didn't know if it was a joke or if he was serious, Rafe loved to play with your face sometimes.

— You're joking. Stop being an idiot. — You gave him a light push on the shoulder.

— I'm not joking, doesn't this seem real enough to you? — He quickly pulled you closer, you could now feel his warm breath against your face.

Your body didn't move a single step, you stayed right there while he grabbed you.

— Well, this seems too real to me. —You answered, but a little hesitantly. — Wouldn't that ruin our friendship?

—Of course not, it would only strengthen our friendship even more, but in a very good way. — Rafe slid his hands down the curve of your neck, caressing it.

Rafe finally attacked your lips without hesitation. Your bodies were completely glued together and the atmosphere was getting hotter and hotter. His mouth was soft, you could feel how good he was doing that, you just wanted to be able to let him do whatever he wanted. In your mind you didn't know if it was because of the drink that was taking effect or not, but deep down you felt like he just wanted to take out all that accumulated lust for your hot friend.

There you were, lying with your legs open for Rafe on top of his bed while he sucked you. Your fingers were touching his head, pressing his face into your pussy. His tongue licked the entire length of your wetness, making you moan softly.

— What a delicious pussy, — Rafe said as he sucked you all over. His hands held your thighs as he spread your legs even further to smear you all over with his skillful tongue.

Your back arched, your legs immediately went to either side of his shoulders. You were rubbing yourself against Rafe’s face and he was loving the sight in front of him.

— You’re so good at this, shit. — Your voice came out slurred, all you could focus on was how well he was sucking you.

He spat on your pussy, rubbing his face right there, his tongue playing with your entrance, he was torturing you.

— I want to fuck you every day. — His nose brushed against your clit as he sank his tongue and face deeper into your pussy. — You're going to let me eat you whenever I want, huh?

— Yes, Rafe... I'm all yours. — You kept rubbing yourself against his face, you were almost cumming.

He stuck his tongue inside your greedy hole, moving his tongue inside. You were so wet, it was the first time a guy had managed to make you like this in months.

— Moan for me, let me hear you calling for me.

Rafe stuck two fingers inside you while he sucked and licked your clit with skill, he seemed like a professional at it, he licked you so well. His fingers began to move quickly in your wet slit, Rafe seemed almost drunk with your sweet taste.

— Rafe, oh, fuck. Suck me like that, yea. — You whimpered.

Rafe's fingers rubbed your clit with more pressure, making your body spasm automatically. Meanwhile, his tongue was still working on you. His face was getting all wet because of you.

— Like that, is it? — He thrust his face eagerly into your pussy, moving his tongue up and down without hesitation.

— Yes, just like that. — You held the pillowcase tightly as your eyes rolled back.

He quickly stopped sucking you and removed his two fingers from inside you.

— Damn, why did you stop?

— The game can't end so soon, darling. — He moved his body up, getting on top of you. — Get on all fours for me, I want to fuck you while looking at that ass.

Your body shivered at his words and you quickly obeyed, placing yourself in the position he asked. Your face was buried in the pillow and your ass was raised towards him, giving him a view of your entire open pussy.

— Hot little slut, you have no idea what you do to me, girl. — Rafe slapped your ass and positioned himself behind you, ready to fuck you.

Rafe thrust his cock inside you, making you let out a loud moan. He was so big and thick that your pussy was crying.

— Oh Rafe..

— Yes, say my name, moan like the good little bitch you are. — He began to move, thrusting hard and without a shred of mercy. He was dying to skin your pussy.

With his free hands, Rafe grabbed a handful of your hair and wrapped it in his hands, pulling it as he thrust his cock deep inside. You could feel your pussy being torn apart by his size and thickness.

— Yea, fuck my pussy. — You rolled your eyes, no one had ever fucked you as well as this man.

— Dirty bitch, I'm going to fuck you all over. — He pulled your hair harder, your moans were like music to his ears. You could feel the impact of his balls hitting your ass as he thrust faster and deeper inside you.

Your pussy began to contract against his hardness. You could feel his cock so deep touching your womb that you began to writhe on the bed.

— Oh Baby Girl, so thirsty for cock. Look how easily he enters you. — He slapped your ass hard, eliciting a scream that was soon muffled by the pillow that covered your face as you were fucked mercilessly.

The man pressed your head against the mattress, leaving you immobile, you were burning with desire. Your full breasts were squeezed as he pressed your body down, thrusting into you from behind. You were both so excited that you felt like you were going to cum fast.

— Keep it up. — Your moans were getting more and more desperate.

Rafe quickly brought your hands up to your head with you still on your back and continued his movements. He grunted as he felt you throb several times in a row.

— Look at you, I should have done this before. — His aggressive waist came back and forth quickly.

Unable to hold it any longer, you came, you came hard on his cock. He laughed victoriously as you came limply, he had been expecting this, you had been horny for ages, you needed that.

— You came so fast, baby, but I still need you.

Rafe turned you around in a sudden movement, making you face him again. He didn’t need to say anything else, you volunteered by getting on your knees on the bed.

— Hold those tits, I’m going to fuck them. — He ordered.

You held your breasts pressed together. Rafe quickly moved his cock to the middle of your full breasts, fitting himself there. You moved your big tits up and down on him as you looked at him.

— Do you like it like this? — You bit your lip as you let him rub his cock against your full breasts.

Rafe nodded in agreement as he felt his cock being wrapped around your big breasts.

— Your tits are so fucking hot, I can’t wait to get them all wet with cum. — He fucked your tits faster, a hoarse moan left his lips as he rubbed himself against you.

Rafe was insane, he just wanted to cum inside you. As he rubbed himself against your breasts, his hand helped by masturbating your thickness.

— Keep that little mouth wide open for me. — Rafe slapped your face lightly.

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, already waiting for what was to come. Rafe felt like he was going to explode, so he soon reached orgasm, wetting your tits and his mouth, leaving you all dirty. You swallowed what fell on your lips while Rafe cleaned every drop of cum that fell on your breasts, taking it to your mouth and making you swallow even more.

— That’s my girl, swallowed it all. — You fell onto the bed exhausted, your body was softer than usual. Rafe soon lay down next to you, seeing the state you were in.

— You finished me off. — You said without much strength or courage.

— Is my baby needy? Well, I guess I’ll have to take care of you then. — He covered you with the sheet, leaving you comfortably on the bed and left a kiss on your forehead.

— When you have enough strength to get up, I’ll take you to the bathroom so we can take a shower. You’ll sleep with me tonight. — Rafe gave a half smile as he looked at you, stroking your hair.

— I’ll get used to it like this. — You joked.

— Don’t worry, this is just the beginning, princess.

[papergirllife]

Lee Taeyong (M)

‘I beg you don't embarrass me, motherfucker.’ But there's always exceptions when it comes to love right?

Taeyong x Bartender! Reader

Wordcount: 6.7k

Warnings: in this fic Taeyong has impulsive tendencies and physical aggression (not towards reader), light b*ndage, or*l play, slight or*l fixation, grinding, penetrati*on, Taeyong is very much down bad in this fic so lots of fluff.

The party is so boring, no one’s dancing even though they’re dressed to the nines in this extravagant hotel ballroom that could rival any celebrity’s expensive wedding, but instead all they’re doing is talking business, but the worst of them, are gossiping, and of course, to your downtrodden luck, you’re the gossip of the night.

“He’s going to be bored of her soon, I just know it, just look at her, so different from his ex and usual type.”

You’re not the type to be affected by being shit talked, however, you do have your worries, and frankly, heartbreak is one thing, but your ego? That’s another, you think to yourself as you sip on your glass of scotch. You sigh as you recall how you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve thought through this more thoroughly, you think to yourself after seeing people go in and out of the supply closet, which is obviously a disguise for the illegal casino beneath the pub you’re working at, though, some people do really come for just drinks, but most of them are customers of both businesses under this roof and since you’ve been here for a week plus now, you recognise some of the regulars by now, but a man you don’t recognise is suddenly taking a seat right in front of you, usually customers prefer to go to your colleagues who have been here far longer and know what customers want, only helping out more on weekends where more people come in for a drink.

You rise from your stool, yes, one great thing about working here means workers don’t have to meaninglessly stand the whole night.

“You’re new here?” the man asks, and if you were being honest, he’s probably the prettiest man you’ve seen, but you screw a neutral expression on your face, one should never let their guard down around a man of all things.

“Yup, what can I get you to drink?” you ask as you take in his appearance, dripping in designer, a pretty loose blouse that accentuates his sharp facial features, earrings hanging off his earlobes, the designs feminine compared to what most men wear.

“Scotch on the rocks, please,” he says while he leans back to make himself comfortable, his arms crossed, usually clients would be looking around for someone to take home by now, the usual ‘pub guard’ scanning, you like to call it, but for the ones that want a drink before going down to gamble, they usually have this impatient look in their eyes, not that it affects you, your skin is as thick as a cheese wheel.

However, this man just sits and observes you. Is he part of the mafia and is scared that someone’s going to poison him at any moment? Or is he a cop and is trying to make you cave to tell him about the illegal casino downstairs? You’re just going to act like you had no idea, you’re not working in the casino itself, they can’t charge you on any terms as long as your boss has an alcohol licence, which is what they promised you when you interviewed, if they’re lying you’re gonna have to kick someone’s ass.

When you pass him his drink, he just sits back and takes a sip, his obnoxiously large eyes still looking at you, they’re pretty eyes, but you’ve never kept someone’s attention for this long, though, in most cases, you could walk away, like those creepy men on the subway, you’re not sure if this guy’s a creepy guy, he hasn’t tried grabbing your hand yet, if he did then you’re viable to call security, but he’s just watching you.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks, a hand mindlessly swirling the glass in his hand.

“Needed money, Seoul isn’t getting cheaper by the day,” you say, a general answer.

“How old are you?” he asks, prodding, why is he still prodding?

“In my early twenties, above the legal age to serve you drinks, what about you?” it’s time for you to prod, engage with customers a bit, your manager always tells you, be a little friendlier.

“28. You look older than early twenties, not that it’s a bad thing, of course,” he says, and with the way he says it, you know he doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, not that you mind, you swore off men long ago, people always tell you there’s better fish in the sea, but all you manage to fish are trash.

“Thanks, I did my makeup to look older,” you reply as out of the corner of your eye you catch a group of men walking in the pub.

“Why?” he asks, oh men, they’re so innocent to the things women go through everyday.

“So people would take me seriously,” you answer honestly before you excuse yourself to make drinks for the customers, you don’t want your manager to think you’re slacking off within a month.

However, after only finishing their second order, your colleague says she’d take over from you, thinking the customers are her regulars, you move away without questioning.

So you go back to talking to the man, this time round, he finally reveals his name to be Taeyong, he even orders a second drink of your choice.

“A negroni?” he asks with the expression of a kicked puppy, smacking his lips distastefully before he requests for a glass of water.

“Wanted to try it out myself one of these days, but I was unsure, guess I’m quite certain I won’t ever try it now I guess,” you say with a shrug and a chuckle at how comical his expressions are, a little bit of betrayal and a tinge of shock, which makes him look more human in your eyes.

A new customer makes his way to the bar in the meantime, but Taeyong’s brows scrunch up when he sees you’re about to step away to serve the customer.

“Let other people handle him, you just stay here with me,” he suggests.

“Taeyong, as nice it is talking to you, I’d like to remind you that this is a strictly professional relationship, please respect the boundaries between a bartender and a customer-

“Missy, who do you think you are talking to him like that, do you know who he is-

“It’s fine Ms Choi, she’s right, I’m merely a regular, I need to respect her boundaries,” Taeyong says, cutting off your manager.

Your manager looks flabbergasted before she composes herself, bowing to Taeyong before she drags you away from the bar to the small staff area on the side.

“I'm warning you since you're new here, Mr Lee is a VIP, don't do anything stupid, he's not the type to pull dumb shit, so you have nothing to worry about. Alright, that's all, get back to work,” she says before dismissing you.

“If you're worried about getting less tips then you don't have to worry, I'll tip you accordingly for the time spent talking to me,” Taeyong says when you get back to your spot.

“It's not that, I’m getting paid anyways, tips are just an extra, I'm still getting paid a base salary talking to you and not doing anything, so a win is a win, I guess,” you brush off, it's not that busy today anyways.

“No, I'm a responsible customer, how about you make me another drink? One that you fancy?” Taeyong suggests.

Hence for the whole night, you indulge in the lengthy conversation the two of you share, and with every night he comes in, you find comfort in this growing friendship, the only hiccup being that he tips you too much money and he won't take no for an answer.

Months go by and the lines between you and Taeyong start to blur, but you're still quite hesitant, you haven't committed in a relationship since a long time ago and if you're honest, you don't know much about Taeyong other than the fact that he's a businessman, but of what sort of business? You don't have the foggiest idea.

Tonight is a Friday night, which means the bar is busier than usual. Surprisingly enough, Taeyong hasn't dropped in tonight, he doesn't come in every night, but he'd never miss Friday nights.

“Hey, can we get two martinis,” a customer asks, distracting you from your wandering thoughts, and you quickly get to work, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar silhouette heading towards the direction of the fake storage room where the underground casino entrance is located, but the customers asked for something on top of their drinks and you were distracted once again.

After a few more customers, Jiun, a bottle girl and your fellow colleague, rushes to your area of the counter in distress.

“Table 5 wants 6 Coronas in a bucket but I think I just got my period, is it okay if you bring it to them?” she asks, and how can you say no to a woman who's in need of help?

“Sure thing, do you need a pad?” you ask, just in case, you're sure you have some in your locker if she doesn't.

“No, I have one on me, but thank you so much,” she says before scurrying off to the direction of the bathroom.

After putting together the order, you quickly make your way to the table with the customers’ drinks, placing down the bucket on the table.

“You new here, pretty girl? Never seen you around before?” one of the men at the table asks.

“Nope, just helping out my coworker,” you replied as you began to make your way back to the counter.

“What a shame, a pretty face like yours should be admired more, why grind behind a boring counter?” another asks, this one's nearer to you, standing up from his seat to get closer to you.

“Sorry, I have to get back to my job now,” you say, trying to excuse yourself, but the man grabs your arm, telling you to not rush and sit down and have a bottle.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you and then you feel someone pulling you by the strap of your money pouch.

“She said no, unhand her,” you'd recognise that voice anywhere, and looking to your side, you see Taeyong next to you, his usually round boba eyes now appearing in a sharp warning stare.

“Fuck off, dude, we were here first, shouldn't we have first dibs on her-

Before you could react to being demeaned in such a way, Taeyong's fist connects with his ugly face, and to your horror, both of them start fighting.

You quickly try pulling them apart but Taeyong pushes himself and the man out of your way, telling you to get security, you didn't want to leave his side, but thankfully, security were already making their way to your direction, blocked by a few drunken customers, his friend, takes the chance to jump in on the fight, and who are you to stand there and do nothing? Taeyong might be handling one guy on his own just fine, but you can't watch him get beaten to a pulp in your name, and you did the most logical thing you could think of by kicking the guy's head with your thick heeled boots and to your astonishment, he seems a bit disorientated by the ordeal, security finally made their way to Taeyong to pull the guy off him and escort him out the pub.

“Are you okay?” you ask Taeyong, but when you inspect his condition a bit closer, you cringe at his busted lip and bruised cheek.

However, before you could suggest accompanying him to the hospital, police arrive at the scene and next thing you know, you’re being escorted to the police station for questioning along with the asshole and Taeyong.

They finished up with you quick, they were a bit sceptical about Taeyong merely defending you, but you played it up a little by lying about how scared you were and maybe you chalked up a little bit on how his hands felt like they were everywhere on you, but it's the least you can do for Taeyong, and it's not like there were cameras anywhere.

“How long is he going to be questioned, officer?” you ask the policeman who had questioned you.

“Probably not long, seeing that his lawyer is here,” he points to the entrance, where a tall man in a suit walks in and follows the lead of an officer into the room Taeyong is being questioned in.

Knowing that he has a lawyer with him, you sigh a breath of relief and sit down on a nearby bench, the coolness of the plastic material digging into your skin, you regret wearing your beloved black velvet shorts now.

Fortunately, true to his words, Taeyong came out soon after, heading to a nearby desk to finish up some paperwork with his lawyer, so you get to your feet and head over to him.

“Brawling in your own pub is a new low, Lee, just let your boys handle shit like this next time,” the officer says.

“Wait, what do you mean your own pub?” the question flies out of your lips and Taeyong looks up, stunned, not knowing that you were still here.

“Leave the questions for later, just finish signing the papers and head out,” the officer orders, with a roll of your eyes, you stand right there, waiting for Taeyong to explain himself, his lawyer trying his best not to laugh.

“So? Care to explain yourself why you've been lying to me this whole time? Regular my ass,” you mutter the last part to yourself as you walk out the police station, cursing when you realise you don't have your coat with you, it's bearable now that it's creeping into June, but you've always preferred being warm.

“I'm going to get going, my cab's here,” his lawyer says, grasping this small window to leave before he gets caught up in a lover's quarrel, passing Taeyong something, to which you identify as car keys.

“Thank you, Johnny,” he says before turning to you with a sigh, his lips sit in a thin line, looking a bit lost at the sight of you, your usual smile wiped from your face as your pretty eyes stare daggers into his face, arms folded, and that's when he notices the goosebumps littering your arm.

“I didn't tell you that I was the boss because I wanted to get to know you without the label and pressure of me being your boss,” Taeyong explains as he shrugs off his coat to hang it on your shoulders before he directs you to a luxury SUV parked nearby.

“You could've told me sooner, asshole. And, why did you pull that shit tonight? You could've gotten yourself beaten to a pulp if I didn't literally step in and step on his head,” you lament, expressing your dissatisfaction with your entire body to the point of swinging your beloved Coach bag that you told Taeyong you were saving up weeks for, and Taeyong thinks you're so cute when you're angry, but he does have to make an effort to dodge the angry swing of your bag as he helps you climb up the passenger seat of his car.

“I know, and thank you for saving my ass but I need to shut the door and get going now, princess,” Taeyong says and does so before you could protest his usage of endearments when you're mad at him.

“How about we get some food before I drive you back to your place?” he suggest when he starts the car, seeing that you're now giving him the silent treatment, face turned to the side to look out to not see him, but the word ‘fine’ uttered from your lips has Taeyong breathing a sigh of relief as he confidently drives into a familiar street where he knows a convenience store is located.

After getting and heating up noodles and onigiris to share, the two of you take a seat in the empty store.

“Don't do embarrassing shit like this on my behalf ever again,” you warn before digging into your cup noodles, the spicy warm soup bringing instant comfort and familiarity after such a hectic night.

“It doesn't matter if it's on your behalf, that fucker deserved it,” Taeyong reasoned as he peels off the plastic wrapping of his onigiri, taking a huge bite of the delicious rice ball he was craving.

“Just don't do anything stupid anymore, if I couldn't handle myself I could've called security, you doing something stupid embarrasses me too, you know, I don't want to end up in the police station with you ever again, my friends are going to think I'm dating a crook,” you say offhandedly, but Taeyong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in your words.

“Wait, what do you mean dating?” he asks with the biggest smile on his face, onigiri placed on the side, suddenly he's not hungry anymore.

“Don't tell me you're not taking responsibility, I'm literally wearing your jacket and risked jail time for your ass,” you say so casually that Taeyong feels like he's having a fever dream, not even his best fantasies would he ever depict himself being labelled as your significant other.

“No, never, I'm definitely taking full responsibility, and I promise, no more doing stupid shit to embarrass you, I swear,” Taeyong pledges, his hand coming up to salute you, the goofy gesture finally getting the first laugh out of you for the night.

“Though, to prevent me from doing stupid shit, I have a proposition, you have a marketing degree right? I know you said you're against working for big corps cause you hate how they practically steal money off of people's needs, but I do have a few establishments, restaurants of a few cuisines, that need a proper marketer to oversee and promote, so if you're not opposed to letting go your bartending job…” and before Taeyong could finish, you were quick to say yes.

Boy, do the days go by so fast after that, your new job is mostly online, you have two coworkers, a graphic designer –Mark Lee and a social media manager, or better known as the restaurants’ staffs’ biggest fear, Lee Haechan. A small department compared to the two finance departments, one for clean money and one for dirty money, but if anyone asks, you'd say you didn’t have a clue.

Starting out a new job wasn't easy, nor was it too difficult, being a ‘quite fresh’ graduate meant you still recall plenty of the knowledge you've studied in college, but the huge funds you had was of great assistance, which brings you to this party hosted by his friend.

Taeyong said he wanted to bring Yuta, his omakase chef who had just earned his first three Michelin stars under his new restaurant, thanks to your hard work in marketing to attract new rich customers and food critics.

However, people on the top of the food chain always had a reputation of being absolute dickheads.

“She’s literally younger than him, his ex was older by five years at least, and she was one of us, I did some digging, this girl isn’t even from one of the SKY universities,” one of them comments, and it’s true, you’re not that smart and you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but what has you freezing in your spot is what comes out of their mouths next.

“I heard he got into a fight at his own bar for her and ended up getting detained for a bit, she’s just going to have him end up locked up if he stays with her, people like her bring nothing but bad omens.”

“Don’t tell me you’re letting their words get to you,” Yuta says, popping out of nowhere beside you.

“Even the strongest trees waver under the pressure of the winds, Yuta,” you say before finishing your glass.

Yuta and you have grown close after you had worked closely to promote the restaurant, and he values your opinion of which presentation you prefer, which is rare for chefs, especially the ones you've worked with with many years of experience and a reputation.

“Yeah, but who gives a fuck about some shitty pretentious university, that shit don’t matter as long as you land a job, plus, their faces are so botched, you look way better, Taeyong would never pick these shitty pick mes over you,” Yuta comments way too loudly for your comfort, but thankfully the girls were loudly squealing at the fact that their friend is finally here, welcoming her, unbeknownst of Yuta’s lethal words.

“Pick who over my sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, a hand coming to rest around your waist.

“I said you wouldn't, but someone’s doubting after hearing a few snarky remarks,” Yuta says, which has you freezing in your spot, Taeyong’s always been very protective and defensive about you, you don’t want to witness him fucking someone up tonight at such a prestigious party.

“Yeah, trust me, man to man, he’s definitely just fucking her on the down low, he’d never go for someone lower class, she’s most probably just a cheap fuck,” you look over Yuta’s shoulder to see a man standing next to one of the girls who were talking shit about you, two people were blocking their sight of your little group, so they hadn’t seen Taeyong coming back.

And to your horror, Taeyong leaves your side, walking up to the little clique.

“Oh god, he’s going to embarrass me,” you say with a groan before you quickly follow Taeyong as fast as you can in your Louboutins.

With a swing and the cracking of bones, you see the guy hunched over immediately, cursing as he holds his bloodied nose in his hand, when you finally got to the scene, the music had been cut, the place drowning in shocked silence no thanks to your heels, sue you, but you didn’t expect to need to run tonight, it was just two feet but these heels are so unwalkable.

“Don’t let me catch you assholes talking about my girlfriend ever again, you don’t want to know what I can do beyond breaking your nose,” Taeyong threatens as the guy quickly cowers on his spot on the floor.

“I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you,” someone says as they walk towards the scene, his name is Woozi, Taeyong had told you about the host of this party being a close friend of his who he had helped out when he had just taken over his father’s empire, you had no idea how much that meant to Woozi, but seeing them interacting now, you understand that if you mess with one of them, the other one immediately retaliates, “you wouldn’t want to go against him or me,” he says, elaborating no further, you hadn’t ask Taeyong what Woozi’s empire entails, but you think the less you know, the better.

“No, no, please, I was stupid, I’m sorry, miss,” he apologises to you before quickly escaping the scene, the girls leaving as well, tails tucked between their legs as they scramble, it’s quite an amusing scene.

“Thank you for standing up for me, Woozi, it’s nice to finally meet the host of this amazing party,” you say before sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“The honour’s all mine,” Woozi says as he takes your hand, “and nice to finally meet you, it’s nice to finally put a face to the person hyung’s been gushing about nonstop,” Woozi teases, which then earns him a light playful slap from Taeyong.

“Gushing is perfectly fine, I just wish he’d stop embarrassing himself and me on my behalf,” you say with an annoyed sigh as you turn to stare daggers into your boyfriend.

“Oh come on, I couldn’t just stand them and let them belittle you, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t do anything?” Taeyong retorts with a sheepish expression, he knows you don’t like it when he goes out of his way for you to this point, but he couldn’t help it, he loves you so dearly.

“You’re just proving them right by reacting, Yong, we talked about this,” you say, exasperated as you toss your arms up in defeat, you don’t know how to get this through his head at all.

“Proving what? Baby,” Taeyong calls out as you take off to the exit too, you have decided that tonight has been too much for you, you're tired of all this glitz and glamour with this thick layer of utter bullshit with their grade school playground gimmicks.

“Help me keep an eye on Yuta, I need to talk to her,” Taeyong quickly says to Woozi before he picks up the pace to follow you, ending up out at the lobby of the hotel, you were talking to the valet, and he distantly hears you asking for the keys.

“Baby, come on, don’t be mad, I’m sorry, I was stupidly acting on impulse, you know how defensive I get when it comes to you,” Taeyong reasons, but you keep quiet, trying to compose your thoughts, your car that you share with Taeyong pulls up, and immediately Taeyong tries taking the keys from the valet.

“You drank,” you say before pushing his hand away to retrieve your key, you did too, but Taeyong’s alcohol tolerance is much lower than yours, god knows he shouldn’t be driving.

Taeyong’s heart warms when he registers the chastise from you, you still care about him, you still love him, and so with a love stricken smile on his face and a slight bounce in his step, he's a giggly drunk so this happens all the time, though when he gets in the car, he worries once more when he sees how you chose to not play any music nor talk whilst driving.

When the two of you finally reached home, you immediately retreated into your shared bedroom, not sparing Taeyong a glance, not even when he offered to remove your heels for you.

Taeyong sighs to himself as he follows you upstairs, you had locked yourself in the bathroom as of now, probably cleaning your face free off makeup, he knows how you much you hate the texture of it on your skin despite loving to doll up, and he can’t blame you, even bb cream feels a tad bit too thick for Taeyong when you had applied it on him for fun.

Taeyong quickly changes into his house clothes and leaves the bedroom, just in case you need more space, he never wants to intrude when you want some alone time, even if he craves your affection, you’ll come around soon, you always do, Taeyong reassures himself.

When Taeyong was about to turn on the telly to kill some time, he hears you walking down the stairs, turning back to look over the sofa, Taeyong’s jaw drops at the sight of you.

Adorned in a beautiful lingerie set with a delicate crystal chain hanging around your upper left thigh, your face without a smidge of product, but he thinks you look best like this, but what finally has his cock twitching was what you had in your hold, a familiar pair of handcuffs.

“Sweetheart…” Taeyong mutters as thoughts of endless possibilities of how the night would play out runs through his head, but you silence him with the tip of your finger placed on his lips.

“Just let me do my thing, sit back and enjoy,” you say before you drop to your knees, your sultry eyes watching Taeyong’s every expression, and the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing has you cracking a smile as you lock his hand into the handcuffs.

Taeyong feels like he’s being hypnotised when your eyes stay on his whilst sliding his pants and boxers down, he almost didn’t feel his cock twitching from the cold air, but before he could even register the cold in its entirety, you take him into your mouth, the sudden action has Taeyong cursing, he would’ve bucked into your mouth if it wasn’t for your hands holding his hips down, he breathes a slightly frustrated sigh from the restriction, but like the little minx you are, you quickly hollow your cheeks after sinking in deeper, the tip of his length hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Taeyong curses as he grows tense at your ministrations, he swears he almost came right then and there when he felt the constriction of your throat, his fingers turn white from grasping against the cuffs to anchor himself.

You take in the sight of him struggling to not cum and take pity on him, your mouth leaving his cock with a pop with a sly smile on your lips before your hands grasp him tightly, making sure he doesn’t cum too soon, the pressure sending a jolt down Taeyong’s spine, his usual round boba eyes now hooded but he scrunches them shut on impulse when you push back the foreskin, exposing the sensitive tip, giving it quick kitten licks before you suck on it like a lollipop, your tongue placed underneath his tip and you suck hard, and that’s when Taeyong goes over the edge, his body seizing up, you quickly take him down your throat, smiling around the edges of his cock when you feel the familiar warmth running down your throat, you keep him in your mouth until he stops, pulling off of him with a slight giggle when you see his chest heaving, limp against the couch, all from your undoing, and what a power trip that gives you, a rich and powerful man succumbing to your actions.

“How are you holding up, baby? Need a break?” you ask as you straddle him, tossing over your leg to situate yourself perfectly between his thighs, the lace material coming into contact with his cock, twitching back to life when it feels the slight warmth and moisture of your heat.

“More, please,” Taeyong utters as he tries his best to move his hips, and so you indulge him, rotating your hips until he hardens underneath you again.

You hear the clinks of his cuffs when you stand up, ceasing all physical contact, giggling when you hear him beg for you to come back, but he goes mute when he sees you shift the crotch of your lingerie to the side, climbing back into his embrace.

“You’re gonna ride me all dressed up prettily, sweetheart?” Taeyong asks, head tilted to the side as he takes in the sight of you, eyes locked onto his as you stare down at him, and he can’t help himself, lowering his head to litter kisses on your arm as he inhales your scent, call him a madman, but your scent might as well be as addictive as nicotine itself, the way he can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taeyong then shifts his head to the valley of your breasts, mouthing at your cleavage, pulling down the flimsy coverage by its thin straps to gain access to your bare chest, goosebumps rise on your skin when he finally takes a nipple into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on it like his life depends on it, like he really wants to eat you up, the action has you chasing for more pleasure, grinding your clit on the tip of his length before you can't take it anymore, reaching down with shaking hands to position him to your core, moaning his name as you finally slide down, slowly taking him inside you inch by inch, Taeyong's succumbed to the sweet feeling of your warm walls, giving up on worshipping your boobs, instead he's gripping onto your hips hard as he focuses on being engulfed in your heat, he's kind of slobbering on your right boob, but you find it arousing, the way he's so lost in pleasure, his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he mutters a string of sweet nothings as you make your way down to the hilt.

An almost delirious smile makes its way onto Taeyong’s face when you squeeze around him, head dipped low as he curses from your actions, you tilt his chin up with your fingertips, ego inflating at the sight of how wrecked he is and you barely even started.

“It’s been so long and you’re still reacting this way,” you noted as you caressed the side of his face.

“For you? Forever,” Taeyong says with full honesty, eyes overflowing with lust as he confesses, looking so vulnerable, underneath you like you’re his god, and in a way, you might just be, if Taeyong had it his way, he’d build a palace just for you and dedicate his life to you.

“I know,” you say with a row of your hips, cursing in unison with your lover when you feel him penetrate the deepest parts of your heat, that sensitive spot that has your toes curling.

Spurred on by Taeyong’s ever vocal devotion towards you, you raise your hips before slamming down once again, and the moan of your name escaping his lips has you doing it again and again, the quick drag of his length against your flesh has the whole house filled with the sound of sex resonating within its walls, you’re grateful Taeyong’s unit is the penthouse, because Taeyong’s always been so vocal in bed, his voice pitched much higher than it usually is, and as much as you revel in the feeling of people admiring your man, you don’t want anyone else hearing how beautiful he sounds when he’s laid bare underneath you.

With how fast you’re going, you’re sure there’s indentations of the sofa’s legs on the expensive wooden flooring, but fuck it, you’re so close, but you’re to blame for that, clenching on him every time you sink down, just so you could see the way he tries the very hardest not to cum way too early, not that you’d mind, it happened many times before, and you still find it so hot.

Deciding to not prolong the torture any longer, you reach down to rub quick circles on your clit as you grind the tip of his cock to that one spot deep inside, that perfect 12 o'clock angle that has your legs turning jelly, with a hiss of Taeyong’s name and a spasm of your walls from the shocks of pleasure coursing through your entire body, you finally reach your peak, your body sagging in sweet relief, your sensitive nipples feel so good against his skin, but after having a quick moment to yourself, you quickly slide off of him with a loud squelch that got a giggle out of you even in this heated state, getting down on your knees and take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and suck, lips stretched, with his dick lodge at the back of your throat when you see his legs buckle and soon after, splashes of his warm release drip down your throat once again, when the flow ceases, you pull off of him with a deafening pop.

“Good boy,” you say after getting up brushing his cheek softly with those tender eyes that make Taeyong weak in the knees, only he gets to see this tender side of you, and it drives him mad sometimes, that it’s only reserve for him, of everyone you could choose to dote on, you chose him, and he hopes you’ll keep choosing him till the end of time.

With a quick click, he feels the cuffs being loosened and tossed away, instantly his arms are around your figure, pulling you into a deep kiss, the taste of himself on your lips spurs him on, but he wills himself to get his shit together, he knows you must be tired from doing all the work tonight, and there’s something that needs to be addressed soon, and so he pulls away from your lips, his hand placed on your right cheek, thumb brushing against the curvature of your cheek bone.

“Do you feel better now? Are you still angry at me or do I need to do more than letting you ravage my body like that?” Taeyong jokes with a laugh, but he immediately sobers up when he sees you sigh and climb off his sturdy legs.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that,” you say as you cringe as you recall how you acted out earlier today, you know no one’s perfect, but when you slip up, it reminds you too much of your own mother, throwing a tantrum and running away, and you swear you’d never be like her, but at the end of the day, you’re a work of progress, and fortunately, Taeyong understands.

“Do you want to tell me what triggered you?” Taeyong asks, his tone gentle, he never directs his aggression at you, no matter the situation, he loves you too much to ever even think of doing that.

“They said some things, and they’re not entirely wrong-” but you’re being cut off by an irritated sigh, Taeyong hates it when you demean yourself this way. “Before you get mad, hear me out, they said how I’d always get you in trouble, and when you think about it, they’re not wrong, I literally landed you in jail the first night we got together, Yong, and the shit they said about me not being from one of the prestigious universities, they’re not wrong about that, it’s just facts, I’m just not part of this elite social ladder, that isn’t the point. The point is that I feel like I’m tarnishing your reputation and in relation, your businesses,” you finish off with another sigh, you haven’t been sighing this much these days, so this feels oddly familiar in the worst ways possible, Taeyong’s been making your life more comfortable every single day, but you on the other hand, are contributing to his troubles.

“Don’t let them get to your head, you’re literally bringing in so much profit for me, sweetheart, next time I’ll throw a party just to show everyone how our numbers are doing, it’ll blow them away, also, you’re doing all that without a goddamn degree from those snobbish colleges. Lastly, you don’t get me in trouble, it’s just part and parcel of protecting the person I love, something they’d never understand with how shallow they are, don’t let people with an EQ of 0 determine how you live, and I know what you want to say,” Taeyong says when he sees you open your mouth to protest, “I’ll try my best to not get in trouble and keep my temper in check, but I do hope you understand that if it isn’t me, I’m just gonna have someone else do the dirty job of beating them up,” Taeyong says, compromising, that’s how his father and mother did it, he always believes that’s the key to a long lasting marriage, which is something he’d want with you in the near future.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, but he sees the ghost of a smile on your face as you lean down to rest your head on his broad shoulder, littering kisses from his neck to the end of his shoulder, Taeyong lets himself bask in your affection for a bit, knowing that you thrive off giving physical affection, but he's a clean freak at the end of the day, getting the both of you clean is still a priority.

“Come, let’s have a bath, my love,” Taeyong suggests as he carries you the direction of your bedroom, and you let him, soaking up the feeling of being loved, maybe Taeyong’s right, nothing matters when you have a love as cosmic as the one you share with Taeyong.

[snapnov4]

marry me | gojo satoru

synopsis: a bad idea disguised as a practical joke turns into something way deeper than you intended it to be.

wc: 1.1k

cw: just good ol fluff!

a/n: happy late birthday to my baby daddy and man of my dreams gojo satoru. i have to marry this man. i have to i have to i have to. anyways. enjoy reading this cute little fic i wrote, meaning i thought abt gojo proposing as a joke and vomited this out. enjoy!

it starts, like all things involving gojo satoru, with a bad idea disguised as a practical joke.

you're sitting across from him, in a restaurant that’s not too fancy, more of a family-type deal. he's forgone his blindfold in favor of his square-framed glasses, but his uniform is still on. he insisted on treating you to dinner after you exorcized an unregistered special grade on your own. however, with gojo, things can't always be so easy; he always adds his patented gojo twist to things, and this time the twist is this terrible joke.

“come on, it'll be funny!” he whines, from across the table.

“you want to propose to me in this restaurant for free food? when you make well over six figures a year? and have full access to thousands of years of old clan money?” you ask, incredulously, reaching to take a sip of your drink, suddenly wishing you had gone with a stronger option.

“yes, exactly. what's not clicking?”

“uhmmm, all of it?”

“look it'll be funny. you could even say no, then you can run out and i get free food as pity points,” he smiles at you, and you find it hard to keep saying no. “i mean, they'll probably all call you heartless and tell me i deserve better but that's fine.”

“okay and if i say yes, what about a ring? or the fact that we're not even together? how is anyone going to believe you?” you ask, thinking you've backed him into a corner, until he just sighs softly, keeping an easy smile, and reaches into his pocket. he pulls out a black velvet box, and shakes it a bit by his head.

“you think i hadn't planned for that?” he asks, smirking in your direction, trying to hold back laughter at your aghast expression, you drag a palm over your face, finally conceding.

“okay. fine! fine! just…try not to embarrass me. please?”

“no promises! also the waitress is coming this way, so get ready. tears are optional but preferred.”

you roll your eyes at his statement, your gaze following him closely when he stands up and walks over to your side of the table. you look around desperately hoping that no one will actually have their attention drawn to you but the thing about gojo is wherever he goes he commands attention. consequently, when he stands at a whopping 6’7 everyone’s already looking, and when he drops down on one knee in front of you, holding that little velvet box in front of you, you catch people’s smartphones shooting up immediately, great. and you're sure the vision of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer, taking off his sunglasses and holding up a ring box to you would haunt you forever. you think right under reverse cursed technique in his list of talents, they should add acting, because the look in his eyes almost feels real.

the way your name falls so delicately from his lips, before he clears his throat, feigning nervousness. the way he struggles at first to look you in the eyes, the ring sparkling in the dim lighting. he starts:

“you are truly the most beautiful woman i've ever met, inside and out. to know you and love you is a pleasure too great for words, and i want to continue living in it every day. will you marry me?” you roll your eyes, but the smile across your face is genuine, maybe he was right, maybe this is funny. so you have no issue, saying yes, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around, delicately sliding the ring onto your finger. the two of you giggle all the way back to jujutsu tech, containers of your free leftovers in hand.

and so it becomes a tradition.

satoru continues to propose to you every time the two of you get the chance to have dinner together, and despite all your better judgment, you laugh and say yes every time.

and what started as a joke, turned tradition, starts to morph into something else.

satoru notices it on a summer day. you're out with the students, supervising them as they spar. the sun’s been beating down for days, he's standing beside you his eyes trained on your hands. your left ring finger has a tan line, it's from that ring. you're not wearing it, you returned it to him last night, forgetting to give it back after dinner and then desperately trying to get your schedules to align for at least five minutes, but he'd been out of town for a week and when he finally got back late last night to find you working on paperwork in your office, he didn't know why it felt like his heart sank when you slid the ring off and put it in his hand.

now, the box feels heavy in his pocket (when did he start carrying it all the time?) and he looks at you with so much adoration that had his blindfold not been on, he'd look like a love-struck puppy to any passerby. you'd been wearing the ring so much it's left a mark on you, it's obvious you'd been wearing it, the tan line a stark reminder that it was there; and something about it makes satoru wish he could make the next proposal permanent. you turn your head to him, smiling softly.

“the first years are something else this year, gojo, did you see yuuji and maki spar? they're going places,”

and he's not sure why but before he can stop himself he's blurting out:

“let me take you on a date.”

you sputter and falter, turning fully to look at him, “are you being serious?”

he nods, that goofy smile of his making you weak to his every whim, it's the same one he gave you that night at that dinner table; the same one that made you start this tradition.

so he takes you out, and then that becomes a tradition. still every day, he thinks of the way that ring looked on you whenever he slid it on your finger, and how he felt rejected every time you gave it back. he'd clear his schedule if he knew he could have dinner with you, just to see the smile you couldn't stop whenever he got down on one knee.

satoru doesn't propose anymore. he figures the next time he does it, he should be serious about it since you're his girl now. on a tuesday night, you're sitting with him on the couch, your legs are thrown over his lap and he looks at you, focused so intently on a book you've been dying to finish, the bookmark always staying near the end as you get called into emergency exorcisms, and he knows. he fishes that ring out of his pocket, the same one he gave you in that restaurant almost two years ago, and there's no fanfare, no cameras, no theatrics. he just opens the box, looks at you, and says,

“hey baby, let's get married.”

and just like the first time, you smile and say yes.