#his relationship with iris is touching

[kryptonbabe]

Crying Wally West... you and me both pal

From Flash #63-65 (1992) by Mark Waid & Greg LaRocque

[ridher]

rafe cameron defending his shy & non-confrontational girl

one the the biggest perks in a relationship with rafe is how different he is from you, opposites attract or something like that.

his charismatic and confident nature makes it easy for him to interact — and more importantly, get what he wants. something you, however, tended to struggle with. it's not a negative quality, just the way you grew up and part of your personality rafe loves so much.

he caught on right away and it was what drew him towards you. being able to provide for his girl and be the man she relied on was truly all he could wish for — especially in situations like these.

today, you and your boyfriend went out to the country club, a common pastime for the two of you. he would hit a few holes and you'd watch all prettily from the golf cart, sipping on a drink that'd get you tipsy and clingy — just happy to be there.

that is, until another cart pulls up, the sound startling you before you're able to turn and look over at the disruption.

it's a group of asshole kook boys — something you used to assume about rafe, so you remain nonjudgmental. the rowdy group of three is focused on you since your boyfriend is a few meters away, zoned in on his sport.

"yo! could you go any fuckin' slower?" the driver shouts, hanging out the side of the open vehicle. his words leave you stunned, mouth agape and face heating up from the accusation you weren't sure how to handle.

instinctively, your head snaps back towards rafe who's already making his way back over with his club held dangerously tight in his grip — knuckles white and all.

"i'm sorry, i said something, didn't i?" the boy speaks back up, trying to get your attention through the subtle insult.

it works, because you look back over at the group, silent and overwhelmed by conflict. something that wouldn't seem like a big deal to others — namely your boyfriend who's already handling it with nothing more than a tense jaw in reaction — feels equivalent to the end of the world.

like always, rafe fixes it for you and they speed away with a wave of the middle finger — directed towards who is unclear.

he snaps you out of it with the touch of his hand on your chin, refocusing your eyes to connect with his. bracing the other on the roof of the golf cart, his body leans over yours and speaks up all low and soft just for you.

"that was all 'cause of me. nobody's mad at you, aight?" and he knows just what to say. if your eyes could be filled with hearts, they would be — instead, dilated pupils fill the color of your iris almost completely and you're nodding at his reassurance, mind hazy.

he smirks lazily, ego inflated at the feeling of being your savior and the confirmation that he is that person for you.

pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to your forehead, he taps firmly at your hip as a signal to scoot over so he can slide into the driver's seat and take control. all is well again when he feels your head fall to his shoulder during the bumpy ride across the course.

his large hand snakes around your waist and his thumb nudges the hem of your shirt when it starts circling absentmindedly.

the outing is cut short for reasons neither of you need to communicate, even more so when rafe hurries the two of you back to tanneyhill where he all but manhandles you up the stairs and into the familiar space of his bedroom — giggles and affectionate kisses following all the way.

[dixons-sunshine]

Early Mornings | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dating Joel Miller came with a lot of things, both good and not so good. However, to your initial surprise, it came with a tiny bit of clinginess, especially in the morning, and Joel decided that this particular morning, he wouldn’t let you leave his bed.

Genre: Fluff

Era: Pre/no outbreak.

Warnings: No use of y/n, sleepy Joel, no actual warnings.

Word count: 811

A/N: So...guess who watched The Last Of Us...and fell in love with yet another apocalypse man...Me lol. I fully blame (thank) @dixonsdarkelf for this. She’s the one who said I would enjoy it, and she was right. Also, massive thanks to @daryltwdixon for being my Joel source and giving this the okay to post (aka seeing that I didn’t completely mess up his character) and to @/dixonsdarkelf for being my personal hype woman when I expressed being nervous as hell to post this. Anyways, TL;DR: I hope y’all like this!

When you first met Joel Miller, there was no denying that he wasn’t the friendliest of people. He wasn’t rude by any means, just not the most open with people he didn’t trust or care for. He kept to himself, kept his answers short and to the point, and didn’t go out of his way to please others. However, there was something about him that had you intrigued, that lured you in, and by sticking it out, by getting to know him slowly but surely, that stoic facade chipped away piece by piece. Soon, one thing led to another, and the two of you went on a date…and another, and another, until you both finally made it official.

You became Joel Miller’s girl.

When the two of you put a label on your relationship, it was as if a switch flipped in Joel’s mind. You got to see parts of him that most others didn’t, got to experience the soft side of him, see him be vulnerable and open with you, and it was beautiful. You felt honoured that he trusted you enough to share that piece of him with you.

What you had not expected, however, was how clingy he could be on occasion, especially in the morning.

“Joel,” you started with a soft laugh, attempting to pry yourself from his arms for the tenth time in a span of five minutes, but Joel’s grip only tightened in response. “Joel, I gotta get up.”

“No.” His voice was gruff and laced with sleep, with a sense of determined defiance there as well.

His response only made you laugh again. “Babe, I’m serious. I gotta get up. I can’t be late for work.”

“Call in sick or somethin’,” he grumbled tiredly, his arms tightening around your waist and pulling you even closer, if that was humanly possible. “Ain’t lettin’ you go. It’s too early.”

Carefully manoeuvering yourself to turn around and face him, you silently admired the beauty of the man you got to call yours. His face, usually sporting a slight frown, was soft and relaxed. His mouth was slightly parted, his eyes still shut, with his hair a mess and covering his forehead. He was supposed to go get it cut later that same day.

Slowly bringing your hand up to cup his cheek, you rubbed soft, soothing circles against his skin, his stubble pricking against your hand. You smiled when he subconsciously nuzzled into your touch. “Just call in sick. That simple, huh?”

“That simple,” he echoed. He opened an eye to peer at you, his dark, chocolate-like iris trailing over your features. A small, barely noticeable smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Want me to do it for you?”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Aren’t you supposed to go to work today, too?”

Joel nodded. “Yeah, but I can be persuaded to call in sick if you do the same.”

“Is that so?” you asked rhetorically, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Mhm.” Without any warning, Joel pulled you into his chest, smiling at the sound of your sweet, angelic laughter. “We’re sick today. Practically on our death beds.”

Despite the logical part of your brain telling you that you needed to be firm, to get out of bed and haul your ass into the shower, you found yourself melting into his embrace. You lay your head down to rest on his chest, wrapping an arm around his bare torso.

“Five more minutes,” you offered as a compromise, shutting your eyes and humming in content when Joel’s nails gently raked over your back.

“Yeah, sure,” he chuckled, closing his eyes as well. He knew damn well that those ‘five minutes’ wouldn’t just be five minutes. And when you reached over to grab your phone ten minutes later, entering your boss’ number, he chuckled victoriously. “So we’re on our death beds today?” he inquired, his voice oozing playful cockiness.

You rolled your eyes in faux annoyance, but your smile gave you away and showed that you were, indeed, anything but annoyed. “We’re on our death beds today.”

“Damn straight.” He barely gave you any time at all before he was embracing you again, hearing the faint ringing being from your phone, which was pressed against your ear. He placed sweet, tender kisses against the skin below your ear, smiling at the sound of your giggles.

“Joel,” you drawled warningly, stiffling your giggles and sitting upright when your boss answered. “Good morning, sir.”

“I win,” he whispered playfully, chuckling when you rolled your eyes at him again.

“I hate you,” you mouthed to him, shaking your head and quietly scoff-laughing to yourself.

“Love you too, Darlin’,” he mouthed back with a quiet chuckle, making himself comfortable against his pillows, simply enjoying your presence as he waited for you to finish your phonecall and settle down once again.

[emilys-bangs]

born knowing you | e.p

Tags: shy!reader, established relationship (married cause who wouldn’t wanna marry her), temporary amnesia, hospitals, reader has an appendectomy but no details are mentioned, absolute boatload of fluff, disgusting amount of petnames used, no use of yn

Summary: After your surgery, the effects of the anesthesia linger: you can’t remember your wife—or being married to her. Luckily for the both of you, she’s persistent.

Word count: 1.4k

The moment you peel your threaded lashes apart, fluorescent light assaults your eyes. Immediately they shutter closed. You take a few seconds to adjust to the blissful dark before opening them again, a small, displeased sound getting stuck in your throat. 

It catches the attention of a woman sitting on a chair next to your bed. She looks up from a book in her lap, a smile crossing her face as she closes it and slips it onto the table next to her. Your brain is fuzzy, but with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the uncomfortable scratch of the gown you’re wearing, it’s not hard to deduce that you’re in a hospital.

“Hi gorgeous,” she says softly. Reaching out, she takes your hand. “How are you feeling?”

You frown confusedly. Looking between her and your joint hands, your perplexion mounts; you know her, you must. Your skin doesn’t crawl at her touch. But you try to come up with a name, a memory, and your brain comes up with nothing.

The woman squeezes your hand and leans out of her chair, across the handle of your bed—she’s suddenly so close you could count the freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes spike your sluggish pulse into something frantic.

God, she’s so familiar. You know that stare. Your skin warms at its intensity, a low buzz in your bones that could no doubt be accredited to the deep, unfathomable brown of her iris. 

Nobody has eyes like that.

The woman’s brows pinch at your silence. A wrinkle forms between her manicured brows; she chews on her bottom lip, squeezes your hand again—nervous this time.

“Honey?”

“I…I know you,” you mumble uncertainly. It sounds like a question. 

The wrinkle clears. An exhale parts the woman’s heart-shaped lips, her relief wafting over your chin.

“You do. I’m Em, baby. Emily. Don’t you remember?” She asks gently, cradling your cheek with her free hand. You think you could’ve answered if not for the devastating tilt of her spidery lashes. “The anesthesia did a number on you, huh? The doctor said it might happen.” Her thumb traces the length of your jaw.

She’s so close. You swallow and discover that your throat is dry. Emily, she said. Strange how it warms you up on the inside. Flitting your eyes away, you relieve yourself of her crushing gaze.

“Can I have water?” You rasp.

Emily procures a bottle. Cold creeps into your skin as she adjusts your bed, helping you sit up, and uncaps the water. Your arms are leaden by your sides. Heat surges in your cheeks as you let her help you drink, a distinct weight on your face you think might be from her eyes. You can hardly feel the cool spill of the water down your throat.

Clumsily, you push the bottle away when you’re done. Water spills down your chin; it travels down the column of your neck, soaks your hospital gown. Embarrassment flares hot, especially when Emily’s hand is there on your chin, drying the water with her fingers. You stare at her, this time unable to look away even when her eyes meet yours.

She smiles, dimples popping in her cheeks. “Everything alright in there? They didn’t mess you up too bad, did they?” Her voice is lightly teasing. It’s lovely, silky smooth and drenched with the warmth of adoration. That can’t all be for you, can it? “I should’ve flashed my badge, let them know it was precious cargo they’d be dealing with.” She muses, brows pinched as if she were serious.

God, who is this woman?

You swallow your thrumming heart. “What happened?”

“You had an appendectomy.” Emily says. “Laparoscopic. It took about an hour—we should be out of here once they check your vitals.” 

Out of here, to where? She won’t be taking you to her home, will she? You saw a wedding ring on her finger when she tucked her hair—wavy, dark as an oil spill—behind her ear. The glint of metal makes your stomach tighten strangely.

“Hey, you never answered,” Emily’s leaning against the handle of your bed, “how are you feeling?” A smooth, smoky scent floods your lungs.

“Alright.” Breathless. Her ring is dazzling in the dull light. “Itchy. But nothing hurts. You’re married.” You say, vaguely aware of the way your voice slurs.

Emily smiles softly. 

“We are.”

What?

You shake your head haltingly. “I’m not—I’m not married.”

“You are, sweetheart.” Again, she cups your face. “To me. What, am I that easily forgettable?” She whispers. The smile doesn’t play on her lips now; it shimmers in her eyes. “You’re breaking my heart, love.” Her voice is so achingly tender, soft as the cushioned heel of her palm.

Your heart is going to beat out of your chest. 

Breathless, you wet your lips with a quick dart of your tongue. “You…you wanted to marry me?”

Emily looks almost offended.

“Of course I did.”

You still can’t fathom it. “Why?” You mumble. “Why me?”

“Who else if not you?” She thumbs along your jaw.

You’re dizzy. And almost entirely sure she can feel your frantic pulse under the lazy drag of her finger. At your disbelief, Emily hums.

“Here,” her hand is reaching for your left, “see? I put that there, two October’s ago.” She kisses your wedding band—how hadn’t you felt it?—her lips velvet smooth against your skin. “You were so stunning I nearly forgot my vows.” The warm vibrations of her voice sink into your hand, reverberate through your bones.

It’s a good thing you’re in a hospital; you think she might be doing you irreparable damage. Lungs tight, you try to think past the effortless way she threads her fingers through yours.

“Do you always flirt like that?”

Emily’s smile melts your brain. “When you let me.”  She shifts a little closer—impossibly—and her eyes sweep downward, a lick of heat burning your lips. Then they’re back up to meet yours, wide open and a little desperate. “Can I kiss you, baby? God, you wouldn’t believe how much I missed you in there.”

Your heart palpitates.

“We’ve done it before?” You manage, more than a little choked at the thought.

“A million times.” Emily promises.

It’s your turn to look at her mouth. Soft pink, heart shaped, and entirely too inviting. When she does something with a flash of her teeth, you’re a goner.

“Okay.”

She lights up. “Yeah? Sure?”

“Please.”

The breath you exhale when she cups your cheek is downright embarrassing. But it almost doesn’t matter; this close, you can see that her pupils are wide, blown out. The lack of iris doesn’t make her gaze any less intense. If you hadn’t been sitting, legs firmly on the mattress, you’d have slid to the floor with weakened knees.

Emily’s lips are exactly as soft as they look. She tastes like coffee, sweetened by something you inexplicably identify as Splenda, and when her fingers sift through your hair something tugs in your chest. It’s instantly proven—no, this isn’t your first kiss. Maybe it has been a million times, or maybe somewhat less, but it’s not the first. Though it’s chaste and quick, your mouth knows what to do. Even when Emily leans back, eyes glittering, your mouth takes over without your permission.

“Love you,” you blurt.

Emily grins so wide you’re breathless. “I love you too. What, did I kiss some memories into that pretty brain of yours?” She thumbs at the edge of your tingling lip.

“You could try to. If you wanna.” What are you even saying anymore? She’s robbed you of thought, of breath. You’re happy to be completely at her mercy.

“Honey, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Emily says solemnly. She kisses the corner of your mouth, the mellow lilt of her voice dissolving right in your tongue. “In fact, it’s my duty as your wife, I’m pretty sure.”

“My wife,” you say dumbly.

“Oh, you like that.” Her grin is incandescent. “God, I’d marry you all over again if I could.”

“I’d just like to remember the first time,” you say quietly.

“You will.” Another kiss, to the other corner of your mouth. Feather light and quicker than you’d like. Your mouth curves into a sulk—a pout.

“Soon?”

“Before you even know it.” Emily—your wife (the reality is starting to set in)—promises. And her promise holds up; it’s when she’s taken you home, and you’re in a baggy pair of sweatpants, flushing and fidgeting as it comes back to you. Believe me now? she teases into your ear, her laugh soft when you reach out to swat at her.

You can’t believe you ever doubted.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[endursent]

WHAT IF astral express sunday would be too nervous to hold readers hand or hugging them bc his brain goes 💥 until he gets used to it and softens up to reader waa 🎉🎉

HES SO SILLY i want him to explode

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , fluff , character exploration, mild suggestiveness in one section , gn!reader 】

【 note; see sunday mention. NEURON ACTIVATED. i have neglected sunday writing for too long, it's time to sunday post more. 】

【 word count; 1.818 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

Even after properly defining your relationship as “definitely happening”, Sunday still struggles to adjust to it—not because he doesn’t know what to do specifically, but because he fails to follow through with a lot of it. 

  As soon as he meets your eyes and feels the warmth of your skin at the same time, his brain halts in place like a deer caught in headlights—something about the affection and love in your gaze causes him to freeze, to hesitate and draw back. 

  He wants to enjoy that warmth, he wants to touch your cheek and gaze into your eyes for hours on end, examining every detail of your iris until he has it mapped better than the back of his own hand… but his heart tightens and his arms tingle when he tries. 

  He’s afraid, scared to overstep thresholds whose doors have long since opened wide for his presence. Afraid to take a wrong turn in the endless hallways of his thoughts and what-ifs.

  You don’t push him, you give him time to consider his movement and actions and proceed in the ways he feels comfortable—but you don’t let him pull back too far either. You grasp his hand as it pulls too close to his chest and he swallows when you bring it to yours, you press his palm against your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat—quickened, excited, yet nervous as well. Sometimes, you’re also nervous. It’s okay to hesitate. 

  Mere moments like brushing his fingers against yours on accident are enough for his head-wings to shoot up into the air. You had simply been reaching for a pistachio in a bowl on a table where you sat with Sunday next to you, and he had coincidentally reached out as well. “A-ah, my apologies,” he pulls his hand back, wings lowering again as one moves halfway up his cheek in a meagre attempt to disguise the dusty red of his cheeks. 

  A small smile tugs on your lips and you take an additional nut to give to him. “It’s okay, here.” He holds his palm open for you to place the pistachio in, but instead of doing so, you peel the shell away with a click and hold it towards his lips. “Open up.”

  Five or so muscles in his face twitch as he leans back, surprised by your sudden approach and the very intimate gesture of trying to feed him—his eyes flicker to the left where Himeko is positively destroying March 7th in a card game, they’re not paying any attention to the two of you at all. 

  Sunday’s lips press together and for a moment you wonder if you might have pushed him a little too far, the red hue of his cheeks deepening as he avoids your eyes… and opens his mouth, just a little—barely enough to fit the small pistachio there.

  Your fingers touch his lips as you manage to set the pistachio on the tip of his tongue hiding only a little behind the bottom row of his teeth, and Sunday thinks he might explode. The way his upper lip lifted a little and a small drop of drool slid under his tongue—thankfully out of sight but definitely not out of mind—when your finger pushed under it to set the nut in his mouth…

  He swallows the pistachio quickly and nervously without chewing it and it almost stops in his throat before he could even realise what he was doing. Sunday might have just perished from embarrassment before the lack of oxygen would kill him were the pistachio to stop in his throat.

  Sunday hasn’t stepped off the Express in a while, he does so rather often, all things considered—usually choosing to at least peek out at the worlds you explore. After all, how can he find himself if he doesn’t look? 

  But he has never experienced a planet like this… you could convince him this is some intergalactically funded horror exhibition if you tried. Long stretches of trees and branches reach into the skies, casting dark shadows on the dull grass that covers the ground as far as one can see. The skies are dark when you hop off the train and practically drag Sunday along.

  He walks close to you, unsure if to reassure himself of your presence among the shadows, or to be ready to give his assistance were you to catch your foot on a root and crash on the ground—you’re walking so fast he can't help but think it’s just a matter of time.

  You feel something touch your thumb and look down, only to see Sunday’s gloved hand retreat. He’s looking ahead and pretending there is nothing strange happening. “Are you scared?” you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

  A small frown tugs at his lips, so faint you could barely see it. “Of course not, but I am concerned about us getting lost—do you know where we’re going?” 

  “Kind of,” you sway your hand a little, seeing if you can fish at where he has retracted his to. “Pom-Pom mentioned there a huge city not far from where we dropped down, this world has some real good puddings if I read right.”

  Sunday merely hums in response, following you along. You did finally find the city—high buildings made of darkened wood, but with bright lanterns and strings of lights hanging between buildings to illuminate the streets in a comfortable orange. All the ambiance needs is rain (and for you two be inside a nice café) and it’s perfect.

  The streets, however, are a labyrinth. 

  You get lost only seven minutes after reaching the city, and no matter how you squinted at your phone, you couldn’t wrap your head around the map—and it doesn’t help that despite the darkness, it’s midday, and thus the streets and crowded near shoulder-to-shoulder. This place must be popular despite the gloomy atmosphere. 

  Having almost lost sight of you wandering around trying to get your bearings in the crowd, Sunday gathers his courage and stomps down his thoughts—and takes your hand. 

  You stop where you’re going and turn to look at him. “Hm? Is something wrong?”

  He still avoids your eyes, but his grip is firm. “You’re… still going in the wrong direction.”

  “I am?” you look back down to your phone and tilt it sideways. “Ah! Like this, I get it now… I think.”

  Sunday sighs, stepping closer to you as a person shoulder past your positions—and suddenly the two of you are standing far closer than planned, nearly pressed against the wall of a building that leads to the corner of the street. He can’t stop thinking about your hand against his gloved one, and he also can’t help but notice that your fingers feel cold.

  As you try to figure out the best path towards the mythical pudding, holding your phone out for Sunday to see as well, his fingers and palm engulf yours and try to move some of his heat to you. His thumb rubs over your palm as you speak and the lack of proper reaction from you, yet still laying your hand out to him, helps him find the gesture more natural and comfortable… something he wouldn’t mind indulging in more often. 

  Sunday is a very passive person when it comes to affections, he’s rarely the one to reach out first and needs a bit of a push to even come up with romantic gestures. He considers the time you spend together and the understanding between you to be much more precious and indicative of his affections.

  However, he gets an idea one time from something he saw when scrolling his phone… to leave notes around. Sunday wasn’t sure of it at first—and a little embarrassed that someone else might find them before you do—but gradually began to find it as an easy way to show his attention. 

  Sometimes, the notes have a small message on them (mostly reminding you to sleep more) but other times, there’s no message at all. He came to use it as a ‘I thought of you’ message, where he leaves a blank, small post-it on something. 

  One time you forgot to buy new toothpaste on the Express’ most recent stop and dreaded having to borrow from someone again—until you opened the drawer to fetch your toothbrush and saw a full tube with a small blue post-it on it… now you need to go over to his room and rub his cheeks and thank him for remembering your complaints about always forgetting to buy a new one. 

  Sunday is a surprisingly good caretaker, you caught some sort of cold or flu on a recent trip off the express and have been miserable in bed for days. Up and down, hot and cold, snot-filled and gross on all ends. But he sits down by your bedside and takes your temperature, lays the back of his hand against your heated skin and does all he can to help. 

  One aspect he struggled with was when you got whiny one evening and reached out for a hug…

  While you might mistake his hesitation for disgust, as you are snot-nosed, puffy eyed and half crying from misery—it’s far from what was on his mind. But Sunday feels his chest tighten at the sight of you so miserable, temporary as it is, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse your embrace. 

  He leans down and lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your clammy forehead rubbing into his shirt as he stiffly pats your head and tries to soothe you. “It’s alright… your fever is going down, you’ll be okay soon, just remember to drink the water on the nightstand, okay?” he mumbles by your ear, and the more you nod and thank him for taking care of you, the more his muscles ease and he shifts a bit to lay down with you, allowing you to burrow into the crook of his neck and find comfort in his presence. 

  Sunday rests his chin over your head and rubs your back. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

  You nod into his shoulder and he closes his mouth to hum familiar tunes, the beginning of a familiar song as the vibrations in his chest rumble against you. His voice is soothing, and his singing is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

  As you drift to well-needed sleep, Sunday stays with you until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep… and then for a while more, just long enough that he can’t imagine tearing himself away from you—or risking waking you up by rising from the bed. Perhaps it’s alright if he stays the night here, after all, he needs to make sure you hydrate through the night.

[moineauz]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐏 ?!

synopsis: when you think you've learned just about everything about your husband, fate tells you otherwise.

side comments: the highlight of the 2.6 livestream was dr. ratio rapping. facts. also i absolutely believe that when dr. ratio was a teen he was fixated on learning how to rap.

extra: gn reader, established relationship, fluff

YOU HAVE BEEN DR. RATIO'S SPOUSE FOR ABOUT 3 YEARS. Thus, you have learned perhaps every bit of his stern and eccentric mannerism: how he abides by his routine, the books he reads, how he dresses, and how the finite curve of his ever-astute eyes seem to gaze at you with unwavering tenderness.

Yet, learning that your husband could rap was knowledge that completely escaped you.

"Oh come on!" you plead, attempting to sound grave as you grin brightly, "Pass the tablet! You looked so cute as a teenager! So scrawny and-"

"Oh, that is quite enough," chides Veritas, still in his casual clothing, the tablet now securely gripped in his hand, "Plus, how could you have possibly found my tablet— "

He pauses, his expression now humorously annoyed, "It was that damn gambler isn't it?"

You've met Aventurine several times before. Often sharing coffee and the occasional banter.

However, last's visit turned out to be incredibly fruitful.

"I can't believe it..." your husband sighs, massaging his temples, "So when I was out getting papers, Aventurine gave you my tablet? From and in my own office?"

You smile apologetically, though, your suppressed giggle escapes you.

"Unbelievable."

"Well," you begin slowly, rising from the couch, arms crossed as you saunter towards your husband. A mischievous glint nestled within your iris. "I think your unique skill makes you all the more charming."

He scoffs, shaking his head before facing you. His countenance was clearly unamused. "Is that so? How exactly can you draw upon such a wild conclusion?"

"Because..." you drawl, searching for an answer, "I just do!"

Veritas scoffs again, this time, his large hands find their way around your waist, and you uncross your arms; unravelling.

Underneath his visage of quick-drawn remarks, deep measured inflection, and the unparalleled intelligence locked within the auburn hue of his eyes, is a delicate lover. A man with unconfessed dreams with the inner desires of a boy: to be seen and validated.

Veritas leans into your touch. Further burying himself into the crook of your neck, inhaling all of you in slow, measured breaths.

From afar, the scene is comical. Dr. Ratio is a man who is similarly known for his stature: the broad length of his shoulders, the defined angle of his jaw, and his considerable height. He loomed over you in public places, your head only meeting his sculpted shoulders.

Veritas was a Greek statue eager to be cracked by the delicate touch of your hands.

"The fixations of my youth..." he begins, his voice muffled, "Are rather embarrassing."

You pull him closer.

"Not at all," you whisper, "You have nothing to be embarrassed about when around me."

The two of you stand interlocked, your husband's large figure melting away in light of you.

"I suppose we can look through videos together."

You break into a grin, and Veritas scoffs. This time, with lingering amusement.

"By the way," you whisper, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips, "Can you rap for me?"

Veritas sighs, breaking away from your embrace as he tilts your chin, "The things I do for you."

masterlist.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

bragger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k (lyrics included)

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer is the best thing to ever happen to you, and you make it known to everyone just how lucky you are to have him.

Square Filled: bragger by kelsea ballerina for @criminalmindsbingo (formerly @spencerreidbingo)

Author’s Note: this is based on the song "bragger" by Kelsea Ballerini

x

He's got the look, he's got the touch He's got the arms that make me clutch And he's not one to make a scene But he deserves the spotlight

You set the curling iron down once you finish with your hair, and you spray your entire head with hairspray to make sure the curls don’t straighten out during the night. You walk back into your childhood bedroom and see Spencer standing in front of the floor-length mirror straightening his tie. Club attire doesn’t require a tie, but Spencer will always wear one if the choice is up to him.

“Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t really your scene.”

It’s true. You two are visiting your parents for the week, and all your friends invited you to go to the club as a way to unwind before the dinner with your parents. Spencer despises clubs but he’s going to this one for you.

“It’s no problem, really. I want to meet your friends. It’s about time I do, don’t you think?” The only reason he hasn’t is because you moved halfway across the country for him. You left everything behind to be with him, so he wasn’t able to see your friends and family early on in the relationship. “How do I look?”

He turns to face you and your mouth goes dry. He looks damn delicious, and you make it a point to tell him every single day. His big brain and loving personality aren’t the only reasons why you married him. What he doesn’t show other people is that he has muscles. Lean but strong muscles. He doesn’t show them off like Derek does, but you get to feel them every single night you take him to bed.

You walk over to your husband and run your hands over the front of his shirt, feeling his muscles flex under your touch. You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you in by your waist.

“Looking good, Dr. Reid.”

He leans down and rubs his nose against yours. “Feeling good, Mrs. Reid.”

With a grin, you lean up and kiss him.

He ain't from 'round this side of town But he fits into every crowd And he knows how to do my body and my heart right I know a lady should always be modest but I'm just being honest

You and Spencer walk into the club that’s beaming with life. Your group of friends isn’t hard to miss. Your best friend, Cheryl, loves wearing anything sparkly, so she lights up every room she walks into. Your other friend, Trina, is super loud so you’ll always be able to hear her. Cheryl sees you and squeals in excitement. She runs over to you and practically jumps into your arms.

“You made it!! You’re here!”

“I’m here! God, I’ve missed you!” You hug all your other friends, giving each of them a bit of love. “I’ve missed all of you guys!”

“You must be Spencer.”

“You must be Cheryl. Y/N’s told me all about you.”

“Same,” she grins.

“Spencer, this is Trina, Kacey, Iris, and Ophelia. Girls, this is my husband, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer doesn’t shake their hands but Cheryl does pull him into a tight hug. Your friends and family never came to your wedding because you two had eloped in a courthouse, but you agreed to have a vow renewal in a few years that everyone would be invited to. Spencer isn’t used to being around all these people but he fits in like he does.

One of your favorite club songs comes on, and you drag your husband to the dancefloor. He twirls you before pulling you into his arms with your back to his chest. You grin and turn to face him, swaying your hips to the beat.

“You’re fitting in nicely here.”

“You make me feel confident and comfortable. You make it easy.”

Spencer runs his hands down your body and turns you so that your back is to his front. You reach back and slide your hand into his hair, moving your hips against his to the music. It’s the fact that he hates this scene but he’s here dancing with you because he loves you.

I've got his nights, I've got his name There ain't no shame in this girl's game If he was yours, you'd do the same Without apologizing

“Remember, my dad loves golf and fishing while my mom loves romance novels and true crime. So, that’s good if you just want to talk about your job.”

“Okay,” Spencer nods.

You two walk up the front porch steps to your family’s home. They were excited to hear you and Spencer were coming to town, so they organized a dinner with immediate family. You don’t knock when you get to the door and instead push it open. The house is warm, chatter comes from the kitchen and living room, and you smile from the memories attached to this house.

“Hi! We’re here!” you call out.

“My baby is home!” your mom grins. She pulls you in for a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” Your dad comes and hugs you a bit tighter than your mom did. You love his crushing hugs. “Daddy, Mom, meet Spencer. He doesn’t like to shake hands.”

“That’s okay. I like hugs.”

Your mom brings him into a hug and he smiles at how welcoming she’s being. Your dad is next but he gives Spencer a fist bump instead of a shake.

“You’re just in time. Francine just finished cooking.”

Francine is your eldest sister so is a professional chef. When she heard you and Spencer were coming, she brought out the big guns. The family gathers at the table and immediately starts digging into the food.

“So, Spencer, what do you do?” your grandmother asks.

“I work in the FBI. I’m a profiler.”

Your mom’s eyes light up. “You must see a lot of gory shit.”

“Sometimes,” Spencer chuckles.

“How’s it feel to date someone in the FBI?” your grandmother asks.

You hold your left hand off and show off the sparkly diamond ring. “Married, Nana. He’s my husband.” You look at him and smile lovingly. “Don’t let him tell you any differently. I’m the lucky on here.” You look at your nana. “He’s honestly one of the best people to be around, and I thank God every day that he’s mine.”

Spencer blushes because of your words but you will keep telling him how lucky you are to be his. He’s entirely yours and you’ll flaunt him every which way you can.

If he were a wine, he'd be the shelf at the top (Top) If he were a house, he'd be the end of the block (Block) Walked up to my heart and went, "Knock, knock, knock" So I've got to show him off

“Thanks for coming with me to see my family.” You and Spencer got back last night so today is spent being lazy in bed. “My mom loved you.”

“It’s no problem. I liked them. I can’t wait to see them at the vow renewal when we have one.” Spencer rolls over in bed and pulls you closer to him, peppering small kisses on your neck. “You know what we should do?”

“What’s that?” you smile.

“We don’t have to be at work for another week. We should go house hunting. I think it’s time to move on from this apartment, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” You turn in his arms and slide your hands up his bare chest. “I have a few listings saved, but I haven’t found the perfect one yet.”

“We don’t need perfect.”

“Yes, we do. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, so we need the best house. I won’t stop until I find it.”

“Until we find it,” he smiles and kisses you.

I don't wanna be a bragger But my man's a heart attacker Like McConaughey and Jagger Hotter than a Saturday night I can't help that I flaunt him (All the time) I understand why you would wanna (I don't mind) And you keep up all the chatter 'bout my happy ever after 'Cause all that really matters is he's mine

After a few months of looking at houses, you think you’ve found the one. It sits on five acres of land about thirty minutes from work, and it’s a three-story farmhouse. It’s perfect for having animals and a big family. You and Spencer are newly married but you’ve always wanted a big family, and you know he’s excited to start working on kids.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asks, a nervous smile on her face.

She’s been with you for this entire journey, and you know she hates it when you keep turning down houses. You look at Spencer and already know his answer just by the look in his eyes.

“We’ll take it.”

“Oh, goody!” she grins happily.

“This is the perfect home to start a family in. I can’t wait to start, especially with this one.” You wrap your arms around his waist. “I mean, look at him. He’d make great babies.”

Again, Spencer blushes and the realtor smiles happily.

“I’ll be right back with the paperwork.”

“You know, you don’t have to show me off to everyone,” Spencer says when she’s gone.

“You’re my husband. Of course, I do. I have to show them just how lucky I am.” You lean up and kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you grin against his lips.

x

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[kenobers]

scorn to change my state | jason todd x fem!reader valentine's special ♡

but first free palestine !! jason and sionis!reader exchange valentines and make it clear that they really really really like each other. featuring sonnet 29 by william shakespeare. tw: insecure reader, slightly less insecure reader. lots of kissing. abuse of italics a/n: this is my over the top boquet of valentines flowers for all of you, forgive the corniness. for more sionis!reader, see the links below. magic hands | is this love | tremble & shake

Jason is fairly certain there’s a small amount of dynamite lodged in his chest, ticking along with his heartbeat.

He’s beginning to worry that this was a stupid Valentine’s present. But what else was he supposed to get a woman who didn’t need anything? He wasn’t well versed enough in jewelry to not fuck it up and neither of you had time for some kind of excursion. A fancy date seemed like too much of a given, like that couldn't be the present.

Maybe it wasn’t even the right move to get you something. You're...prickly. He’s prickly. Outward affection is a rarity in this relationship. Physical affection makes him jump. Praise makes you defensive. Neither of you are good at receiving gifts - you hadn’t even exchanged Christmas presents. You’ve been lowering your emotional walls brick by stubborn brick, so maybe such a direct gift would be too much. Maybe making a point to celebrate a holiday all about love would be too much for you.

But then you’d thrown him through a loop the other morning when you let out a sweet sigh and declared that you “just love Valentine’s Day.”

Then this had quite literally fallen from the shelf and into his hands with a mighty thump in Gotham Used Books. The worn cover was the same shade of red as his helmet. The rose pattern looped around the title in a similar fashion to the floral stitching on your favorite top; the one you always wore on formal dates. And when he flipped the book open, the medieval sketch in the forward could easily be you.

You had mentioned that you wanted to read more this year. And the cashier with the English degree had assured him that this was a safe pick. It's sweet, the kind of thing a good boyfriend buys. The content is romantic, but it’s not over-the-top-teddy-bear-diamond-ring-romantic. Most importantly, he thought you would like it. 

He just wants you to like it. 

Now he's not so sure.

Of course you’re wearing the damn flower shirt. His eyes keep drifting to the swirl of gold, blue, pink and red flora that thread your chest; particularly the blush petals that sit right over your nipples. Your perfume turns the room into a garden, clean like iris, dark like cherries and warm like chocolate. Even simply sitting crossed legged in your bed, you’re regal.

You shove a small white box wrapped with expensive ribbon in his hands. He’s never seen such a look of pride on your face until he pulls the ribbon and opens the lid to find another box, this time in black leather with a gold trim.

“A box within a box? How did you know!”

“C-orny,” you blow a raspberry at him. “It’s in the box, dummy.”

“Will wonders never cease,” he teases back, flipping open the clasp. You scoot forward in anticipation. Your excitement can’t mask the anxiety in your eyes. Takes a breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever lays inside. You’re not the kind of woman to waste her time. Whatever’s in the box, he’s deserving of. At least, he is in your eyes - but that counts for a lot.  

Nestled in plush cream satin is a round silver rendition of di Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on a thin curb chain.

“You have the same glower,” you simper with a full set of teeth.

Jason scoffs in amusement. You really aren’t wrong, he thinks to himself as he traces over the meticulous detail, trying to be as feather light as his heavy touch can be. He’s just not sure if that’s a good thing. 

“Flip it over,” you urge him, your voice shrinking ever so slightly. He does so, holding the coin sized pendant to his eye to read the engraving.

For My Hero.

Jason’s chest swells with something that must be joy. A amygdaloid chorus of ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ drowns out every other noise in his brain. For a moment, a red filter colors his vision and he’s certain the only explanation can be that his pupils have morphed into comically large cartoon hearts.

But when he looks back at you, you’re about to combust. Your eyelids have receded into your eyebrows, which in return have receded half way up your forehead. You’re keeping your rosy fingernails from fidgeting by digging them into your heated cheeks. The corner of your lip is twitching and he can tell that you’re resisting the urge to chew on it. The smudge of lipstick on your front teeth tells him you’ve already given in at least once.

“Geez, dude, take a breath,” he snorts.

“If you don’t like it, we can always return it and exchange it for something else,” you squawk nervously. “Or we can find a different chain if you want it longer or-or a different style or, y’know, like whatever…”

Jason grins a dopy, lopsided grin. It’s such a rare treat to see you so goosey. He knows he should probably feel bad about much he’s savoring the nervous look on your gorgeous face. However, his usually so ceaseless voice of guilt cannot be heard as the ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ chorus begins to belt.

“It’s beautiful, baby,” he says, lifting it out of the box and clasping it around his neck. He can feel the weight of it on his sternum; not too heavy, just enough to remind him it’s there. He glances over at your full length mirror and admires the way the metal gleams from across the room, proudly shining against his charcoal t-shirt. His face contorts into the same glower as the design, turning back when it makes you giggle sweetly.

“So, you like it?”

He leans forward and kisses you softly, running the pendant through his fingers.

“I’m never taking it off,” he swears on your lips. He means it too. 

You laugh again and when you pull away, Jason catches the heavenly scent of your skin. The rustle of newspaper on literature yanks him back down to earth.

“My turn?” You ask, the trademark coy smile returning to your lips. You tap the poorly wrapped package in his lap. The chorus in his head reverts back to the tick of the bomb strapped to his arteries, drumming in time with your fingers.

Fuck, he got you such a bad fucking gift.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, sure,” he says, the words rolling out of his mouth before he can grasp them.

You snatch the package with a bounce and your mattress creaks like a disappointed groan.

“The comic section? How’d you know!” You tease, poking the tip of your tongue between your teeth.

“Just open it, princess,” he chuckles, despite how badly he does not want you to open it. He threads the ribbon from the necklace box between his fingers, painfully aware of how fine the velvety material is as he watches you tear back the coffee stained Garfield and Charlie Brown he used as wrapping paper.

Your eyes narrow in what he hopes is concentration, following the flowers and vines to the title. “Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets and Poems,” you read aloud in a tone too flat for his liking.

“I know it’s not…You said you wanted to get more into reading, so I just…thought…It’s…” he trails off dumbly, rubbing the back of his overheated neck. “Poet..try?”

You don’t seem to be paying his bumbling much mind, however. You flip open the front cover and recite, “To my Sonnet Twenty-Nine. With all my love and respect, J.T.”

Oh God, he forgot he'd written that.

Jason thinks he maybe makes another attempt at speaking that comes out as little more than a sad gust of air. You waste no time rifling through the book until you find the poem in question. Every swish of a turning page clangs like the beat of a death march.

He sucks in a breath when you land on the right page. You read the poem in dead silence, your lips moving soundlessly in tandem with your eyes flying along the words.

‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I enjoy most contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at the break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That I scorn to change my state with kings.’

He recites in his head. He’d read it over and over and over again up until he wrapped it up this morning. It was as if Shakespeare had reached into the storm of Jason’s brain and pulled out the eye of the hurricane. How many times has he sulked over all the ways his life could be different and resented those who represented the things he could no longer have- only to look beside him and remember he had something they didn’t. You.

Despite everything he’s seen, Jason is a skeptic. He’s not a non-believer, in fact, he’s pretty sure he believes in God. But he’s apprehensive about the forces of the universe. If they’re out there, they aren’t looking out for anybody…except for when Aphrodite or Jesus or Shakespeare created you.

Ol’ Will must’ve had a vision of you; the lark with the sharp mouth and the soft lips. He must’ve foreseen you sitting in your floral shirt with the petals over your nipples and the blue jeans that hug your ass, the ones that make you feel good about yourself. He must’ve dreamt about the way you make a saggy dollar bin paperback look like it cost a million dollars. It's the only way the poem makes sense.

Ever since Jason started seeing you, the whites of his eyes shine brighter and gold flecks have begun to twinkle in his hazel irises. His skin is clearer, his hair is softer, his posture straighter. Even the tension in the crease of his scowl has been alleviated. His laughter has become more frequent, much to the amusement of his friends. His fashion has become more deliberate. Maybe he's dressing for your approval, but it's made him feel more confident, attractive even. He doesn’t feel so in pain all the time. 

And his scars…those ugly faults that become medals of honor when blessed by your holy caress. God only knows how you manage to soothe the discolored purple of his bruises into a dark cherry. And he had never noticed how the pale pink of his autopsy scar complimented his cool undertones under you had given him a wine-fueled verbal dissertation on why he looked so good in red.

You reach the end of the poem and Jason’s chest constricts with dreadful anticipation for you to say something. However, your gaze goes back to the start. Of course it is, of course you’re reading this stupid sonnet with care and attention. For someone who throws caution to the wind with her own words, you’re painstakingly analytical about everyone else’s. Jason adores that about you until it’s him pinned under your microscope.

He's predicted the next movement of masked criminals based on the quiver of a nerve without breaking a sweat. For whatever reason, his skills mean nothing when it comes to you. He tries to analyze your face, but it’s so furrowed in concentration. Your eyes are flitting back and forth between verses, breaking everything down.

Fuck, he’s an idiot. You have an allergy to compliments and he’s just given you a damn book oversaturated with them. You must be uncomfortable, you look uncomfortable. This is too intense for you. It's too much all at once. It's suffocating. Embarrassing. Needy.

Why can't he just be normal? He's scared you off. This is why he can't be in relationships. He can't not fuck it up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“It's like the most basic one after the one about a summer's day," he mumbles. At this point he's kneading a sore in the nape of his neck. "I know, it's-"

"It's beautiful," you correct whatever he was about to say. You finally raise your head and your eyes are misty. He straightens his spine as he realizes he’s made you cry. "It's really beautiful, Jaybird. It's..."

You draw your arms into your side. You're getting shy on him.

"What is it?"

But he's not much braver.

"Is this...Why did you pick this one?"

“I…What do you mean?” he asks dumbly.

You shift, looking down at the sonnet, “It’s just that you said in the inscription, ‘to my Sonnet 29.’ What’s special about this one?”

HIs cheeks burn something fierce. He has no good answer. Well, he does, but you’re going to think it’s stupid, "It just...it, y'know, it stuck out to me."

You peer back at him with that laser sharp precision, “Why?” 

“Why?” he repeats, leaning forward like he hadn’t heard you correctly. You nod, cocking an eyebrow like you’re suspicious of his intentions. He trips over his tongue as he tries to come up with some nonchalant answer, “it’s just…it’s, like, really iconic, y’know-”

“Do you like me?” you ask suddenly. There’s an insecure waver in your voice. 

Jason blinks. 

“Do I like you?” It’s a stupid question. He’s shocked you even have to ask. No shit he likes you. He adores you. He loves you. “Of course, I like you. You’re my Valentine, of course, I like you.” 

“I’m…yours?”

His heart races. It’s been so long since he actually did this.

“Would you like to be?”

You immediately open your mouth, but your answer hesitates on your honeyed lips.

Cruel cold doom spreads through Jason’s chest, icing over all the joy he just felt. You’re going to tell him no. You’re going to tell him no and he’s going to have to live with that.

But instead you say, “Are you being serious?”

You’re scared. He’s scared you. He doesn’t dare speak, doesn’t risk a tone. He nods slowly, holding your gaze.

“Because I do want to be yours. I want you. I-I…I really like you,” you continue with a slight shake. “But I just have to make sure that you’re one hundred percent sure that you want me. Like really want me. Like in this poem.”

You’ve never been this vulnerable without the influence of substances. He has to take a moment to admire your bravery. When it first became clear that this relationship warranted more than sex, you would’ve rather died than be this open. If you’re being this honest with him, then he owes it to you to do the same. 

After all, he’s already let you this far into his life. He’s already told you he’s the Red Hood. He’s already shown you every inch of his body. He’s already given a book of sonnets. 

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have given you that poem. Fuck, baby, I wouldn’t even be here with you right now,” he swears. He gently takes the book from you and wraps his hands around yours. His palms cover the backs of your hands completely, calluses on lotioned knuckles. Just touching you made him softer. If only you could see yourself the way he sees you. 

When you drop your eyes to your lap, he keeps going, “Look, I know I’m not Shakespeare and I’m not…great at being romantic. But I don’t get close to people very often. I definitely don’t get this close to anyone ever. I don’t even do hook-ups, but from that first night in that bar, I knew there was something special about you. I…” 

“But why? I mean,” you shift uncomfortably. “I’m mean. I’m not even nice to you when all you do is tell me I’m beautiful and give me fucking sonnets. So why-” your voice catches in your throat and you blink rapidly, as if to hold back tears. “I just…I’m not worth more than the sex, Jay.” 

For a fleeting moment, Jason congratulates himself on picking the right Valentine’s present. You really do get each other. However, the horror that you aren’t feeling the same relief keeps him from preening. 

“No, no, no, baby,” he shakes his head vigorously. “You-” he lets go of your hands. “Are-” he grips your hips. “The light-” he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Of my life.” 

You sniffle as you roll your eyes, “Don’t be cheesy.” 

Jason snorts, hugging you close to his chest, “I’ll be as cheesy as I want.” 

He kisses your cheek and when it makes you smile, he kisses your nose, then all the way down both sides of your jawline. He catches either corner of your lips before leaning you back to shower your neck, basking in the way your throat vibrates with laughter. 

“‘Cause,” he continues, cupping the back of your head. “It’s Valentine’s and the most beautiful girl in the world is crying ‘cause she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. Or how she’s made an amateur romantic out of scraggly old miser.” 

He grazes his teeth along the crook of your neck, groaning as his crooked nose brushes against where you sprayed your perfume this morning. “I think about you every second of the day. I count down the minutes until I get to see you again. There are days where the thought of coming home to you keeps me going through the worst kind of bullshit. Because when I’m with you, life is worth living - just like the sonnet said. You make everything worth it because you are worth everything.” 

You let out a tiny gasp when Jason rolls you onto your back. His biceps flex as he hoists himself on top of you and bends his elbows to trail his reddening lips down the v plunge of your shirt. The medallion sits heavy on your bra line. You can feel its coolness seep through your shirt, if only because it’s such a stark difference from his body heat.

“Haply I think on thee, and then my state,” he recites between the kisses he’s leaving on your collarbone. “Like to the lark at the break of day arising.”

You give him a full belly laugh and it’s the most lovely sound he’s ever heard. Now he lets himself preen, rubbing his cheek along the green stitches dotting your neckline. 

“I like who I am when I’m with you,” he hums along your sternum. He can’t believe how easy these words are coming to him. “I like having something to feel happy about all the time. I like you.”

“Even when I’m mean to you?” You whisper cautiously.

He repositions himself to rest his forehead against yours, “You’re not mean.” 

“Yes, I am-” you protest, but Jason’s having none of it. 

“No, you’re not. You’re a little snarky, but it’s sexy as hell,” he says. “But yes, I like you even when you’re snarky. Especially when you’re snarky.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. He lavishes your favored lip, setting a comfortable rhythm. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his body flush against yours. Manicured nails comb through the base of his hair, the way only you know he likes it. A large hand cups your cheek, a thick thumb stroking your cheekbone because only he knows how it makes you purr. 

“Like to the lark at the break of day arising,” he croons when he comes up for air, pink mouth newly adorned with gloss. “From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate.”

“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,” you pick up, taking a moment to admire the silver pendant hanging in your face before tangling your fingers in the chain and tugging your man back to you. 

You sink into each other with ease. Your touch exchanges a thousand sonnets without speaking a single word. Maybe he didn’t buy the book for the flowers or the drawing or your desire to read. Maybe he bought it because the universe saw a chance for him to tell you the things he can’t quite say himself.

“That I scorn to change my state with kings.” 

[smileysuh]

seeing double

🌙staring. Johnny & John x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “As much as I’d love to fuck two of you, I know you’ve always been interested in a threesome with two guys, and we both know I’m too protective to let anyone else touch you. I found this cloning spell and I figured, if there’s one man I can share you with, it’s myself.” 

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, oral, blow jobs, pussy eating, praise, dirty talk, degradation, y/n calls Johnny daddy twice, John calls y/n whore/slut/bitch once each cuz he's an ass, demonic double John is a bit of a dick, anal fingering, deep throating, spit-roasting/Eiffel tower, double penetration (pussy/mouth), triple penetration (pussy/mouth/finger in ass), spanking, choking, biting, punishment, blindfold/sensory deprivation, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, John cums on her face, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.9k

🍭 aus. Warlock Johnny, established relationship, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. ya'll thought one Johnny was enough for us, but I give you double John- threesome of the year

“Do you trust me?” Johnny asks, pulling away from a breathtaking kiss to lock his gaze with your own. His hands are gentle on your hips, but something in his smile makes you uneasy.

“It depends,” you admit. “I thought I trusted you last month when you decided summoning a demon was a good idea but that didn’t turn out very well, did it, Johnny?”

“What do you mean?” he laughs. “That was a great idea! He gave me a new spell book!”

“Yeah, a book of black magic! Please tell me you haven’t been messing around with that again-”

“Fine, I haven’t been messing around with it,” Johnny pulls you deeper into his room, “I’ve been reading it.” 

“Johnny-”

“Trust me on this one, I found a spell and I think you’ll really like it!”

You can’t believe you’re humoring your boyfriend on this, but with a sigh, you take a seat on his bed. “Fine, what is it?” 

“It’s a cloning spell,” Johnny grins, picking up the Demonic Grimoire.

“A cloning spell?” you repeat, eyes widening. “Are you trying to suggest a threesome or something? You know, if you want another girl to join, it’s easier to just go find one rather than conjure up a double-”

“Not another girl,” Johnny cuts you off. “As much as I’d love to fuck two of you, I know you’ve always been interested in a threesome with two guys, and we both know I’m too protective to let anyone else touch you. I found this cloning spell and I figured, if there’s one man I can share you with, it’s myself.” 

You simply stare at him for a moment, trying to register his words. “You mean… you want to…”

“Conjure up a clone of myself, and rail you with him, yeah.” Johnny’s grin widens. “Besides, that demon did warn me that most of the shit in this Grimoire is made for sin, and what’s more sinful than this? Lust, gluttony, pride, greed, sloth, hell, even envy is probably going to pop up. Maybe you’ll feel a little wrath too, if you act bratty. We can do all seven of the deadly sins in one go!”

You find yourself laughing. “You sound way too excited about committing cardinal sins, Johnny.”

“Well, I am half demon, remember.”

Sometimes you do forget that your sweet boyfriend is partly demonic. But his stint with the pentagram last month had reminded you just how close to Hell he really is, even behind his large smile and the ‘I love you’s’ that he showers onto you daily.

Many warlocks have a demon mark. Some have horns, or a tail- some sort of clear sign that they’re not of this world. But your Johnny? The only mark he has connecting him to the land below is heterochromia, one eye with a black iris, the other brown. In low lighting, it’s almost easy to miss the slight difference in color, and your boyfriend blends seamlessly into the human world with something as mundane as a pair of sunglasses. Others of his kind aren’t nearly as lucky. 

It’s been over twenty years since all manner of ‘night beings’ revealed themselves to your world. Vampires, witches, warlocks, werewolves, demons, angels- the list goes on. And while humanity has gotten used to these ‘others,’ they’re not fully accepted yet either. You have family members who would have a heart attack if they knew what you got up to with Johnny every week.

“Come on, baby,” Johnny sets his Grimoire down in favor of grabbing your hand. “I’ll only do it if you want to give it a try.” 

“Is it easy to cancel the spell?” you ask. “Last time you conjured that cat with batwings we couldn’t get rid of it for a week-”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t love Mister Whisker-Bat by the end of the week though, you were just as sad to see him go as I was,” Johnny insists. “But yeah, canceling the spell is easy. I’ll be using one of my hairs for the spell, to get rid of the double, all we have to do is light the small alter - and hair - on fire.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Is that a yes?” Johnny’s eyes widen. “You’ll have a threesome with me and me?”

You laugh at his choice of words. “You can conjure him and we can see what he’s like, how’s that sound?”

“Trust me, baby, you’ll love him.” Johnny flashes you a wink, his brown eye disappearing momentarily so all you see is the black one. It’s a quirk of his, whenever he winks, it’s always the demon eye on full display. 

“How are you so sure about this?” you ask, standing from the bed and wrapping your arms around the back of Johnny’s neck, looking up at him with a smile. His confidence is one of the things you love most about him, even if it does get him into trouble.

“I just am, it’s a feeling I have.” He shrugs, hands finding your hips. 

It’s impossible to be this close to your boyfriend and not kiss him, so that’s what you do, pressing your mouth against his. It’s gentle at first, but as with everything when it comes to your warlock boyfriend, it quickly turns heated.

Johnny’s tongue swipes across your lip, begging for entry. You invite him into your mouth, stifling a moan at the feeling as his hands hold you closer, tugging you flush to his chest.

You have no idea what tonight will be like, but you do trust Johnny. He’d never let you get hurt, and you doubt his clone will either.

Your fingers slip up to thread through his hair. He’s had it dyed a blondish grey for as long as you’ve known him, and you’re living for the way it sets off his skin tone. You’d half expected the strands to be crunchy when you’d first kissed him months ago, but his hair is as smooth as silk- Johnny has some sort of potion hair mask that he uses to keep himself shiny and soft. 

You tug gently on his hair and Johnny groans against your mouth, digging his digits against your hips. He’d said he needs hair for this spell to work, and you narrow in on two strands, biting his lip at the same time you give a rough yank.

“Ow!” Johnny yelps, pulling away from you. He looks down at you with wide eyes.

“You said you needed hair for the spell,” you grin, holding out the strands. “Here, I was just trying to help.”

He gives you a look that says he doesn’t quite believe you, and it only makes your smile widen. 

“Okay,” Johnny sighs. “Let’s do this.”

You watch him approach the small alter he’s made on his desk. There’s a large, circular mirrored tray as the base. Covering the reflective surface is a number of dried herbs and other warlock items, a bottle of something dark red, what looks like salt or ash- there’s also a few runes decorating the space, and bits of parchment covered in incantations. 

Johnny sets his hair in the center, then pulls a lighter out of his jean pocket. He lifts a black candle, igniting it. As the flame licks the wick, Johnny begins to speak in some form of demonic language, picking up the Grimiore with his free hand. 

You practically hold your breath, watching him as he tilts the candle at an angle, allowing the hot wax to drip down onto his hair, sticking it to the mirror. When he seems satisfied with the amount of black wax, he sets the candle down next to the hairs. 

His voice has taken on a deeper edge as he continues reading the spell, and you can practically see the power begin to radiate off your warlock boyfriend, like grey waves resounding out from his flesh, echoing through the room. 

Your hair stands on edge, a slight heat overtaking you, and you smell the familiar scent of brimstone. It’s a smell you’ve become accustomed to since Johnny apprehended the Grimoire in his hands, and it’s always given you an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You like to think of Johnny as your soft boyfriend, but he’s a warlock, and the demonic side of him is never more evident than on nights like these.

You’re not sure what to expect as Johnny’s spell work comes to an end. Bat-cat had appeared in a puff of smoke, but as you look around, there’s no dark cloud, no evident conjuration-

“Huh,” Johnny cocks his head to the side. “That should have worked-”

The lights flicker out, the room going dark aside from the one black candle burning on the altar.

Then, just as suddenly, the lights turn back on, and your gaze shifts to the switch by the door. Your breath catches as you take in the man standing there, one hand lazily touching the switch. Johnny’s double has appeared, and he’s the one who just turned the lights back on.

“Hi, losers.”

While the new Johnny clone is wearing the same white shirt and black jeans combo your boyfriend has on, this Johnny has dark hair. You’ve always loved your boyfriend’s coloured strands, but there’s something so regal about the dark brown- it sets off the sharp angles of his face, and leaves you breathless.

“Who are you calling losers?” Johnny retorts, closing the Grimiore and turning to face the double at the door.

“I’m calling you two losers,” the clone grins. “You’re a loser for wanting a threesome with yourself, and she’s a loser for agreeing to it.”

“You’re a bit of a dick, aren’t you?” your boyfriend laughs.

“Not any more than you. I’m your double, anything I say or do is something you would say or do, well, it would be if you let your demonic side out more often. You’re so good at keeping that part of you under lock and key, but not tonight. Here I am.” The double pushes off from the wall, approaching your boyfriend. “Don’t be mad if you don’t like what you see.” 

“I’m not mad about what I see,” Johnny says thoughtfully, “I’m just wondering why your hair is so dark. Thought you were supposed to be a clone.”

“My hair is like your demon side, you can try to cover it up, make it lighter, but this spell always knows your true self. Besides, baby thinks I look good with this hair colour,” the clone’s gaze shifts to you, and he flashes you that classic Johnny grin, “isn’t that right, baby?”

“I-” your words get choked in your throat, and you swallow thickly, looking between your boyfriend and his darker double. “Johnny-”

“Another charade to appear nicer,” the clone clicks his tongue. “Your blonde, soft-looking boyfriend might go by the name Johnny. But tonight, you’ll call me John.”

“You’re not the one calling the shots tonight,” your boyfriend interjects, “but… having two different names for us isn’t a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” John smirks, “you came up with it yourself.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

The two handsome men exchange a knowing glance, and your insides twist with anticipation. 

They’re gonna fuck you up and you just know it.

“So, since I’m not the one calling the shots,” John sighs, gaze shifting to you again, “how about you tell me how this is going to go? I’d hate to step on any… toes.”

He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you up. You’re used to Johnny’s black iris, but John’s dark hair makes it stand out even more. It’s noticeably demonic, and it makes your heart race in your chest. You feel like a prey being sized up by a predator, and something about it has your panties getting wet.

“You know what?” your soft lover cocks his head to the side. “Baby, how about you tell us what you want to do? You’re the one who’s about to be railed, you should get to choose how it happens, don’t you think?”

“I like how you say that as if you’ll actually fully listen to her,” John scoffs. 

“What do you mean? I always give baby a say in things.”

“Yeah. Sure. Except you nudge her in the direction you want to go. We both know it’s only going to take a little stroking, a little making her gag on our cocks, and she’ll be putty in our fucking hands. Baby just wants to please, isn’t that right, pretty girl?” John’s grin widens when all you can do is stare at him.

There might be a response for his lewd observation, but you’re already feeling nice, submissive and dumb. There are no thoughts in your head except ‘holy fuck.’

This dark John is really hot, especially when contrasted by your light boyfriend. 

You’re literally in awe, lips parted ever so slightly, your body tingling with anticipation.

“You know what?” Johnny sighs. “You’re right. We both know baby loves when we’re in control, so lets just… be in control.”

“Now you’re talking,” John grins. “I’ve got a suggestion.”

“Let's hear it.”

“What if we blind fold her? Make her guess who’s touching. Punishment for wrong answers.”

“Punishment?” you ask, voice coming out much shakier than you’d meant for it to.

“Nothing you won’t like,” John assures you. “Now be a good girl and grab the blindfold from the bedside table for us.”

Your eyes shift to Johnny, and he gives you a small nod. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn and do as you’re asked, holding out the silky eye covering a moment later. 

“Now put it on,” John instructs. “And this time, don’t look at him for permission. Just do it.”

You do as you’re told, hands shaky as you cover your sight with a strip of darkness. As soon as your vision is blocked, you feel more sensitive. You feel even more like prey. Most of all, you feel vulnerable.

There’s a half-demon warlock and a dark clone with demonic intentions staring at you like they want to eat you up. To top it all off, you’ve now just blocked off one of the most important senses.

The bed dips next to you, and you jump slightly from the motion. 

A large hand smooths across the back of your neck, angling you to face the side, and then lips are pressing against your own. 

This mouth is familiar, and you lean into the kiss, letting out a sigh of relief. You reach out, grabbing at the man’s knee to steady yourself, wanting to get lost in the person’s lips-

But then they’re pulling back. “Guess who?” they ask, voice soft. 

“Johnny?”

A small chuckle, and you realize immediately that you’ve already failed the first test.

“How easy it is to trick you, baby.” He lets out a deep sigh, pulling away completely, standing from the bed. “Time for your first punishment. I think three smacks should suffice. Get on all fours, and say thank you for each one.”

Your skin tingles, heart beating wildly in your chest. You do as you’re told. 

Getting into a doggy position, you bend down slightly, arching your back. You’re on edge, listening intently for movement. Soft footfalls let you know someone is approaching, and then two hands grab your asscheeks through your pants, squeezing roughly.

“First three through the jeans, but once we’re done with you, I’m taking these off.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and you let out a small moan of affirmation.

Your panties are sticking to your core already, and the first hit makes you cry out, pussy clenching around nothing. It had been a heavy-handed smack, harder than Johnny has ever hit you before- but there’s something almost delicious about it.

Your toes curl, and you suck in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Good girl,” someone praises you.

Another smack has you moaning even louder, grabbing at the bed sheets and bunching them up in your hands. “Fuck, thank you!”

The third hit has you practically trembling. You can already feel a bruise forming- but the pain is perfection, in a masochistic kind of way.

“Thank you!”

“Time to guess who delivered your punishment, baby.” 

You feel like a dumb little slut. You’re already slipping into sub-space, delirious and horny. If you had it your way, maybe you wouldn’t even want to speak full sentences anymore. Your mind is swimming, and nothing feels coherent. 

“I-” you lick your lips. The smacks had been hard. “John?”

“Wrong again, pretty girl. Your soft boyfriend is the one who just punished you, but I guess he’s not so soft anymore. In fact… I’d say he’s quite hard. We both are.” 

“Fuck-” you groan, imagining your boyfriend’s cock all stiff in his pants- then you remember that the visual should be doubled, and you can feel your mouth beginning to water.

“Second punishment, suck us off. We’ll see if you really know your boyfriend’s cock or not.”

A hand grabs at you, helping you off the bed and onto your knees on the floor. “Johnny?” you ask.

“Wow, you finally got one right.” The laugh that fills the room is distinctly clone like. 

“Do I get a reward, John?” 

“The reward is you get to suck cock, and since you just got two in a row, you’ll get to suck both of us.”

It’s almost comical how reward and punishment are the same thing, but you’re in too deep to question it. 

Now is not the time to be bratty, and you know it.

There’s a small shuffle in front of you, and then someone instructs you to “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as you’re told, and a second later, a cock is tapped against your wet muscle. You fight the urge to try to suck on it, allowing the man to coat themselves in your saliva. You even begin to drool, and you feel a drip make its way down your chin.

 “Suck.”

You immediately lean forward, swallowing the bulbous head into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, and you sink down as far as you can. Johnny has a big cock, you’ve never been able to take it all, but that never stops you from trying.

Your hands brace against someone’s thighs, and you begin to bob your head. The man above you lets out a groan, fingers threading through your hair, guiding you to bob faster, taking more and more into your mouth.

“Guess who,” the man you’re sucking on breathes.

You pull off his cock, feeling a line of spit still connecting you to the best dick you’ve ever had. “Johnny.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulls you onto him again, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. Your fingers dig into his thighs. You push your reflex away, doing your best to please your boyfriend.

“Fuck it,” comes a rough voice, “my turn.”

A second hand grabs your hear, tugging you away from your boyfriend’s cock- only for the same cock to be pushed past your lips. 

It’s sinful how exact the clone is. He has the same large vein running along the underside of his length, the same mushroom tip, the same slight curve, the same taste-

But his motions are different. He’s more aggressive, forcing you all the way onto him like you’d willingly taken Johnny just moments ago. The sudden feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat with no prep - no sucking to start - has you gagging hard, your eyes beginning to water.

Grabbing onto his thighs to steady yourself, you do your best to relax, to focus on the sounds beginning to leave John’s lips, but as he fucks your face, it’s hard not to feel every inch of him. 

“Don’t be so rough,” Johnny tuts.

“Don’t be a backseat vouyer,” John retorts. 

“She’s being good for you, why are you being so mean?”

“This is part punishment, remember?” You listen to the clone click his tongue, and then he’s tearing your blindfold off. “Besides, I like how she looks when she cries.”

This is so sick and twisted.

If John is saying this, it means that somewhere, buried inside your soft boyfriend, he also likes seeing your eyes well with tears. 

You struggle to open your eyes, looking up at John. He’s staring down at you, and he releases a deep groan when he notices you watching him. “You love this, don’t you, baby? You love being used like our little fuck toy. Love taking this big cock deep in your fucking throat-”

You hate that he’s right.

Your panties must be soaked by now.

“Fuck-” Johnny whispers, and you wonder how it looks for him to watch himself fuck your face like this. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough.”

“It’s enough,” your boyfriend states, firmer this time. 

“Someone finally grew a backbone,” John laughs, pulling his cock from your mouth. You gasp at the loss, a line of spit still connecting you to the rock-hard length in front of your face. Tears trail down your cheeks, and you’re breathing heavily. You dig your fingers into John’s thighs, marveling in the moment of reprieve. 

“Are you alright, baby?” Johnny asks. When you turn to look at him, concern is evident all over his face.

You nod, and it takes a moment for you to find your voice. “Yes, daddy.”

“Fuck, I forgot she calls us that sometimes.”

“She calls me daddy sometimes,” Johnny corrects, “and only when she’s in subspace- you really did a number on her.” 

“We did a number on her. You started it with the spankings, remember?” 

Johnny ignores his clone, reaching down to help you to your feet. He leads you to sit on the bed, getting onto his knees so he can be eye level with you. “He wasn’t too rough on you, was he?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“You’re still good for this?”

You nod, reaching forward to grab at the front of his white tshirt. Johnny lets you pull him in for a kiss, his large hands smoothing along your thighs.

Your tongue dips out to stroke his own and your boyfriend groans, squeezing you through your jeans. “Pants off,” he says, dragging his lips from yours so he can begin to tear your clothes from your body.

It’s shocking how quickly he gets you down to your underwear, and then he pushes you onto the bed. He pries your thighs open, and you feel two sets of dark eyes on your core.

“Already soaked. I knew you liked being our good little cock slut.” 

“I guess I should give you a taste first, seeing as the only cock that’s going inside this pussy tonight is mine,” your boyfriend sighs, pressing one kiss to your knee before standing up to make space for his clone.

“Yeah, our cock.”

“My cock,” Johnny says, firmly this time. “You only get her mouth.”

“What’s the point of a demonic threesome if she’s not going to be properly double stuffed?” John asks, sinking down onto the floor between your spread thighs. 

“One in the pussy, one in the mouth is double stuffed.”

“We both know I want her ass,” John rolls his eyes.

“I’ve never even been in her ass, don’t get greedy.” Johnny clicks his tongue.

Their bantering is doing something to you. The way they discuss this so confidently as if you’re not even in the room- you’re getting a view of Johnny’s inner thoughts, the battles he has with his demonic self-

He’s never talked to you about anal. But then again, his cock is so big it had taken you a while to even be able to receive it fully in your pussy, let alone somewhere else. 

“If you’re good tonight, I’ll consider conjuring you again,” Johnny says finally.

You swallow thickly, gaze shifting to your soft boyfriend who’s really taken the reigns over his demonic double. John chuckles between your legs, shaking his head slightly before pressing his lips to your inner thigh.

“Did you hear that, baby?” John asks. “Sounded like a challenge to make you cum.” 

“Then I guess…” your voice is much to hoarse and shuddery for your liking, “I guess you better not disappoint.” 

The clone between your legs scoffs loudly. “As if disappointing you was ever an option.”

You open your mouth to respond, only for John to press his face against your panty-covered core. His tongue flicks through the soaked fabric, teasing by your clit and making your legs twitch. Your hands fly to grab at his dark hair, and a whimper slips out of you.

He’s being a tease, and from the way he’s looking up at you, smirking while kissing your pussy through your panties, John clearly knows what he’s doing. You shift under his mouth, laying back against the bed and pushing your core closer to him, tightening your grip in his hair.

“Please-”

“Begging already?” Johnny asks, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Thought you’d hold out a little longer.”

“Can’t,” you mewl, arching your back as John pulls your panties to the side, blowing cool air along your throbbing cunt. “I need-” You lick your lips, gaze dropping to Johnny’s hard cock.

“You want something to suck on, don’t you, baby?” Johnny grins, reaching out to stroke your face as his clone’s tongue dives into your core.

“Yes,” you nod, accepting your boyfriend’s thumb past your lips. You moan around the digit, thighs clenching as John sucks lewdly on your clit, flicking at it with his tongue while you stroke Johnny’s finger with your own.

“I guess I can let you suck me off for a bit, get you ready to take him in your throat-” Johnny muses. “But I want you on all fours, I wanna fuck your face, and I can’t do it at this angle.”

The man between your thighs pulls away suddenly, and his large hands easily flip you over, getting you ready for your boyfriend. It must be nice for him to have such a willing participant in the bedroom- you’re pretty sure Johnny could make any command, and John would follow through with getting it set up for him.

They have a one-track mind, and you’d bet your life that John is just as excited to get you on all fours as Johnny is.

Two large hands grip your ass, spreading your cheeks while Johnny shuffles to his knees and presents his cock to you. As you accept Johnny past your lips, a tongue presses into your wet hole again, and your toes curl at the stimulus. 

“Just like that, baby,” Johnny coos, pushing your hair out of your face. “You suck on me, while he sucks on you.” 

John growls against your clit, squeezing your ass roughly and shaking his head back and forth, earning a squeal that’s muffled by Johnny’s cock, which begins to glide in and out of your mouth.

“It’s funny- I can almost taste you,” Johnny muses. “I wonder if he can feel you on his cock like I can-”

The double pulls his lips from your pussy, and you can feel him momentarily panting, trying to catch his breath from the enthusiastic way he’s been eating you out. “I can feel it,” John confirms. “She’s always so good at sucking us off, even if she can’t fit much of us in that little mouth of hers.”

“She’s gotten better at blow jobs,” Johnny defends you, sinking further past your lips. “When she started, she could hardly take three inches, now look at her.”

His cock hits the back of your throat and you fight through your gag reflex. Your eyes are watering, so you shut them, focusing on being a good girl for your boyfriends.

Boyfriends. Plural. 

You suppose - in this sex-induced haze - you’re already thinking of John as a lover. Any man eating you out as chaotically and thoroughly as he should be considered one, right?

When John’s mouth returns to your pussy and his thumb begins to circle your asshole, you definitely think of him as a boyfriend. Only your boyfriend is allowed to toy with you like this.

“Are you serious?” Johnny’s voice distracts you, the thrusts of his face fucking slowing down. “We just discussed no anal-”

“It’s just a finger,” the clone retorts. “She’ll love it. She’s already practically dripping- reacting all nice and pretty just from the thought, isn’t that right, baby?”

A gentle smack on your ass prompts you to pull off of Johnny’s cock, bracing yourself against one of his thighs while you catch your breath. You find yourself nodding, moaning like a whore in heat. “Please- I can take a finger, I can try-”

“We knew jealousy was a part of this, envy- one of the seven cardinal sins,” teeth graze your butt cheek. “I’m jealous of you getting her mouth and pussy, I’m sure you can suffer through watching me finger fuck this tight ass for the first time. We both know you’ll be the first to actually fuck it sooner or later- why can’t you let me have this one win? Come on Johnny, she’ll love it. You conjured me to make her feel good, didn’t you?” 

“Fuck, you’re too convincing,” Johnny sighs, stroking your face. “Beg him for it, baby. I need to know you actually want this.”

“I want it so bad,” you whimper, a rush of emotion flooding through you. “Please, I wanna be full- I wanna feel it-” A strangled gasp escapes your lips when John spits on your ass, rubbing the fluid around your tight hole before pressing the tip of his finger inside of you. “Oh my god-”

Johnny threads his fingers through your hair, tugging so you’re forced to look up at him. “The moment you cum, we’re switching positions and I’m fucking you, got it, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you moan.

“Now open up.”

You do as you’re told, and Johnny slips his cock back into your mouth, picking up where he’d left off.

Generally, when you’re blowing Johnny, it’s hard to focus on anything else. But today, it’s hard to focus on anything other than John, whose finger fills your ass perfectly while his tongue circles your clit like magic.

You can feel a pleasure bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and each rough thrust from Johnny has your body tensing, the orgasmic coil wrapping tighter and tighter-

Despite the cock in your mouth, lewd sounds are escaping you. A gurgling noise that you know you should be ashamed of- but you can’t bring yourself to care, mind occupied on the high that’s approaching much too quickly.

It’s clear that John wants you to cum. He wants to tear your pleasure out of you faster than you can even think-

His thumb massages your inner walls, stretching your tight hole open and making your toes curl.

“That’s it baby,” Johnny praises you, his grip tight in your hair while he fucks your face. “Taking us both so well.”

You can feel a tear of overstimulation roll down your cheek. This is almost too much for you to handle, and you haven’t even cum yet.

One particularly rough thrust has your throat constricting around Johnny, and it’s the last bit of stimulus you need to come completely undone for your Johns. Your abdomen tenses, and just like that, the chord snaps. It snaps hard. 

You tear your mouth off of Johnny’s cock, practically screaming as your orgasm rips through you like wildfire. Your whole body is alight with pleasure, clit throbbing, pussy contracting around nothing, your ass sucking up John’s finger to betray the deep need that’s grown within you-

All you can do is moan like a desperate whore, clinging to Johnny’s thigh while John helps you ride out your orgasm. The double is unrelenting, as if he wants to work you for every last drop you can give him- his tongue switching between slurping at your clit and diving past your folds, stroking your walls as they shudder.

“Good girl,” Johnny groans, petting your head with one hand while the other wraps around his cock, stroking himself through your high. He’s patient with you, allowing you to experience every shiver and moan, until your walls stop contracting, and John pulls away from your pussy with a wet smack of his lips. “Time for the main event.”

His words make you feel drenched all over again. John pulls his thumb from your ass only to smack it roughly, giving you a squeeze for good measure. “Be sweet for us,” the double warns, as if you’ve ever been anything but their perfect princess. 

In just a few moments, Johnny and John have switched. Your light-haired boyfriend sets up behind you while the dark double settles by your face. His cock is red, leaking precum, and you realize you’ve hardly done much to touch him tonight- seeing as he just made you cum, you waste no time wrapping your lips around the mushroom tip, stroking your tongue along the ridge  you find there.

“Fuck,” John groans, threading his fingers through your hair to anchor you like your boyfriend had just minutes ago. “Who’s our good little cock whore?”

“She is,” Johnny answers for you, sinking his cock deep into your pussy. “Fuck, our perfect little cock whore.”

He’s never called you this before- but it sounds so natural coming from him and his clone. Is this yet another one of your boyfriend’s fantasies? First anal, and now you being a good little cock whore? 

Johnny is generally a man who sticks to praise, and while he’s still doing that- there’s this darker underlayer beginning to be more evident. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought. This threesome with your boyfriend’s dark self is illuminating for not only your twisted sexual desires, but Johnny’s as well. 

You can’t help the way you react to the term ‘cock whore,’ your pussy clenching tight around the large cock splitting you open. You begin to drool on John too, relaxing your throat as he begins to fuck your face. He might be a dark double, but John’s being shockingly soft with the amount you can take. He’s not thrusting fully- not making you gag and cry- he’s using you like a man who knows and respects your limits.

At least Johnny’s respect for you transcends form.

“You know what?��� Johnny says. “I watched how hard she came with your thumb in her ass, I think you’re right about filling her up properly.”

“Bet she’ll go fucking feral for three holes filled,” the clone agrees darkly, making you moan around his cock. “See? Listen to her. She sounds like a bitch in heat. Fill her up, Johnny. She’ll fucking love it.” 

These men are downright insatiable- you kind of love it.

Just like his double had, Johnny spits onto your hole, and a moment later, his thumb is pressing past the tight ring of muscles. Your boyfriend’s thrusts falter slightly, his focus lingering on the way you swallow up his digit, fluttering around both foreign intrusions. 

“If we’d have known you’d like butt stuff this much, we would have started training you ages ago, baby,” John muses. 

“We’ve still got time.”

“I won’t get to fuck her ass tonight. What time do I have?”

“Next time.”

“So I passed the test? There’s gonna be a next time?”

“Based on how our baby is reacting, I’d say there’s definitely going to be a next time,” Johnny laughs. 

“Good. I might be a clone from hell, but I think never getting the chance to truly fuck this little kitten of ours would be the true torture.” 

The warlock fucking you while pressing his thumb deeper into your ass scoffs loudly. “And we can’t have that, can we?” 

“No.” John tightens his grip in your hair, fucking you harder. “We can’t… also, I have something to admit.”

“Oh?” Johnny releases a chuckle, thumb stilling inside of you. “Now this I have to hear.” 

“You’re under the impression I’ll be conjured until you light your hair and alter on fire, but unfortunately, at the moment, I’m bound to the candle as well. You missed the fine print in the Grimoire. When the candle reaches its end, I’ll disappear too.” 

In your periphery, you’re aware of both men turning to look toward the alter, and your boyfriend releases a small curse word. “I guess we better make this quick.”

“And you should buy a bigger candle next time, that six incher you used tonight is a fucking joke and we both know it.” 

“My bad,” Johnny begins railing into you as hard as he had so far, pressing his thumb deep inside of you. “Guess I’m not the best at reading the fine print.”

“It’s okay, something tells me baby can only take so much more of this. She’s drooling all over my cock, her throat all nice and open, so ready to be fucked-” John groans loudly. 

“We’ve really fucked her stupid, haven’t we, Big Guy?”

Your skin tingles- there’s an inkling of something deeper in Johnny’s tone… is he… is he flirting with himself?

The man above you moans louder. “Of course we did. Have you ever seen anyone with a better cock than this? And for her to get two of us? She’s the luckiest fucking girl in the whole world- I want her to thank us when we cum. Want her to know how fucking blessed she is by this.”

It’s an interesting paradox- to be blessed by a demonic threesome. 

“Are you gonna cum on her face?”

“Fuck, if you let me. She’ll look so pretty all painted in cum.”

“She can’t say thank you if you keep her mouth full,” Johnny notes, digging his fingers against your hips while railing you as hard as ever. Each smack of his hips against your ass has his cock fully buried in your wet core, the tip of his length pressing against your cervix and making your toes curl with insatiable need. 

“No, I guess she can’t.” John stuffs himself fully in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You’ve never felt impaled like this- taking two of the largest dicks you’ve ever had- 

Your nose brushes by the dark clone’s pubic hair, and something about it makes you feel even more sinful, your throat constricting while lewd gagging noises fill the room. John holds you on his cock, letting out a deep groan at the feeling of your muscles tightening around him-

“That’s it baby, just a little more-”  

“Fuck, she’s squeezing so fucking tight-” Johnny moans from behind you.

“I can feel it,” John breathes.

“When you cum, I’ll have to cum-”

“She’s close too-”

“Fuck.” Johnny pulls his thumb out of your ass suddenly, wrapping his hand around your front so two fingers can circle your clit. At the same time, John takes his cock from your mouth, releasing a loud moan-

You cum in unison with the dark double, and from the loud grunt at your rear, you’re pretty sure Johnny’s just reached his peak as well.

You’re breathing heavily, mind completely delirious. Your throat feels raw as you swallow thickly- “Thank you, fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you-” you begin to blabber as John cums hard on your face, his large hand jerking himself off while ropes paint your skin.

“Good girl, good fucking girl-” Johnny groans behind you, fucking you through your highs while his fingers continue on your clit, drawing out your orgasm while your pussy milks him for every drop of cum he has. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” you can’t stop saying it, even while tears and cum begin to drip down your cheeks, your body completely overwhelmed by the two men who know you like the back of their hand.

Above you, John releases one last shuddery breath. He strokes your hair, whispering the word “Perfect-” and then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he disappears.

You collapse forward onto the bed, pussy still throbbing around Johnny, who slowly comes to a stop behind you.

Then he’s collapsing as well, laying his warm body against your back and pressing you against the mattress. His lips are hot along your bare shoulders and he seeks out your neck, teasing past your ear.

“You did so good for us,” he praises you. “Such a perfect baby.”

“Johnny-” you whimper, as deep in subspace as you’ve ever been in your whole life.

“I know, baby, I know. You don’t have to talk.” You hear him swallow thickly, and with one last kiss to your throat, he pulls away. “I’m gonna get you in a bath. Gonna wash all this cum off of you and cuddle you to sleep, sound good?”

“Please-” you moan, pussy clenching around him again.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling his cock out of your tight, dripping hole. “We really did a number on you.”

But in all honesty, you really wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! dream threesome tbh

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “What happened to your manners, baby?” John’s grip increases again, making your head dizzy. “You were sweeter to me last time. Only sweet girls get fucked in the ass. So are you going to be sweet for me? Or am I going to have to punish you into submission?” 

cw/ tw. Threesome, unprotected sex, anal, blow job, oral, praise, dirty talk, degradation, y/n calls Johnny daddy a few times,  demonic double John is a bit of a dick, anal fingering, double penetration (pussy/ass), big dick Johnny, pussy/ass stretching, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.7k I teaser wc. 270

🌙 staring. Johnny & John x afab!Reader

bonus

“Surprise, surprise. I didn’t think you two would conjure me again so soon.” 

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to find John standing by the door. It’s been less than a month since you’ve seen him last, and like that first time, he’s dressed as the mirror image of your boyfriend. However, it’s not a white shirt and blue jeans, this time, your boyfriend had gone for full black attire, and it matches the dark hair of his demonic double in a way that has you practically throbbing already.

“What can we say?” Johnny grins. “We liked having an extra set of hands.”

“As if our hands are the best thing about us,” John rolls his eyes, pushing off from the wall. He approaches you like a predator, and you’d missed the swagger in his step, it’s a unique stride that has your heart picking up pace in your chest. “There’s no lying to me, not when I know everything you know, Johnny. I’m here tonight because our perfect little baby is finally ready for the main attraction. She wants to be double stuffed. Fully.” 

“I guess there’s no point in fucking around,” Johnny laughs, “even if we do have more time than last I conjured you.”

Your gaze shifts to the massive candle burning on the altar. You and Johnny had gone to six different spell shops to find the largest one possible- it’s almost as big as Johnny’s dick when he’s hard, and girthy too. You’ve got all the time in the world tonight- even so, you don’t want to waste a second.

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[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.3)

W/C: 3.1k #SFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, mentions of death, yuuji has entered the chat, gojo has entered the chat, idky this got sad tho lol

A/N: This bit made me very sad please suffer thank you!!! Also the main story will be wrapping soon (I think next part will be the last part?) and then after that, it'll probably be drabbles! There might be a 'sequel' that touches on the culling games tho because b r u h they've got some down time during that arc so hfhfhfhfhghghf imagine what I could do--

tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

A strict no-contact order had been placed on Yuuji, and, subsequently, Sukuna. Neither were to come into contact with you while you recovered, and neither were to be alone with you considering the control-slip incident. 

Still, the curse had been rampant in the young man’s mind, constantly pacing back and forth just behind his consciousness, waiting patiently as a predator should for Yuuji's guard to go down. Granted, even if Yuuji was caught by surprise, it'd still be near impossible to overtake the peppy twenty year-old. Sukuna didn't have an explanation, but it was what it was. 

He would have gladly seized control now, when you'd somehow managed to slip away from your recovery prison and get comfortable in Itadori Yuuji's bed. Sukuna would have slaughtered everyone at the academy for a second to touch you again, to breathe you in.

But the brat finally realized something was off, and woke to find your head tucked under his chin, his arms slung across your waist. Your breath fanned across his collarbone, tickling the sorcerer's touch-starved skin and feeding the fire burning in his cheeks–Sukuna, though, didn’t seem pleased his host was the one touching you. Yuuji counted that as a victory. 

Suck it, dickhead.

Hm? A stranger’s voice rippled instead of the king's. 

Yuuji jolted, his blood growing cold for a second before recognizing that voice–it came from that tidal wave of memories. But it didn't tick him off the way Sukuna's did. It was…nice.

Uh…you can hear me? Yuuji wondered. He tried to envision his voice as loud and clear as possible to help it reach you. 

Your brows twitched in your daze. Yes, I can hear you. There's no need to shout. 

Oh. Sorry. Uh, how'd you get in here? 

The door. 

Oh. Cool. Yuuji shifted a little. I'm not really supposed to, y'know, make contact with you or–

But you're warm. Your nails lightly dragged across his back, leaving trails of tingly pinpricks dancing across his skin. Yuuji swallowed a moan. God, why did the littlest touches feel so nice? 

Y-Yeah? My grandpa used to say I ran hot. Like a furnace or somethin’. 

I agree. You burn like firewood. And you smell warm. Like cedar and honey. You stretched languidly, and the younger stayed put, not strong enough to pull away from your praise and touch. Your teasing fingers raked through his hair daintily, and this time Yuuji did moan. Just the slightest bit before he snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip. 

You leave me wondering how you taste. 

“What?” Yuuji squawked. Your eyes lazily opened a crack, seemingly put off by the sudden break in room silence. It gave the sorcerer an opportunity to admire the golden glints of divinity hidden in the hue of your iris. 

But he found fear in that moment, too. Yuuji knew what most didn't–the curse sealed inside of him thought you to be his equal. You were the only beast Sukuna would bow before, the only one whose attention he craved and sought in his reign. 

You were, in a way, a king yourself.

Do you think I'll eat you, Yuuji? 

“I–uh–you–well–” Yuuji fumbled exceptionally, choking on flustered words. “I just--Sukuna ate people, right? So, uh. Maybe you did too?” 

You looked him over for a moment. Your gaze traced the cute curve of the younger's nose, the petite fangs worrying at his bottom lip, the caramel swirl of his eyes. He looked so much like Sukuna. It made you wonder. 

I've eaten humans, yes, You agreed, nonchalant. Do you want me to eat you?

“Eat me?” Yuuji deadpanned, unsure if he should feel just bothered or hot and bothered. “I, well–”

No. Sukuna’s voice cut like ice through Yuuji’s mind. For a second, it scared him. It reminded Yuuji of what exactly Sukuna was. What he’d do. 

So what would you do?

“Hey,” Yuuji started, suddenly calm, serious. “Why’re you on Sukuna’s side? You don’t seem like a bad person.”

You took a deep second to think before sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. Your tails curled weakly around your clothless frame, swallowing up any spot a young man’s curious gaze might wander in the secrecy of night. Maybe you’d been in this situation before. 

“‘Good.’ ‘Bad.’ We all have different definitions.” Your voice rattled and scraped out your tired throat, yet you didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “I do what pleases me: garden, sew, eat. Sometimes, I may cause harm in the process. I care sometimes, and I don’t others. Does it make me evil to choose what I care about?” 

Yuuji’s head started to ache. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up with your fancy, archaic way of speaking, but he was sure as hell gonna try. 

The younger sat up, too, and ruffled up his hair. “I mean. Don’t you wanna try to, y’know, not hurt people? Not cause harm, ‘n stuff?”

“Is fire wicked? Or does it simply exist?” You posed. “In the control of man, it is sacred. It cooks food, illuminates the dark, cloaks you with warmth. Yet it burns down trees. Swallows homes. Devours crops. Kills.” 

You looked at Yuuji, rose-wrapped eyes resentful of something the sorcerer could not know. “Man regards fire as a blessing when controlled, yet it is a curse when it runs free with nature–existence, the black and white of the world, is in the eye of the beholder.” 

Yuuji didn’t like how much that made sense to him. Objectively, Sukuna was bad. He killed. He murdered for fun. He ate people–

Yet your words, your pretty way of speaking and philosophies gave Yuuji pause. It didn’t click, despite igniting grim sparks in the cogs hidden far behind his eyes. He already made his mind up about good and evil, yes and no, white and black, and yet–

You poked him in the forehead, between his eyes, and Yuuji blinked. 

“It’s merely food for thought, Yuuji.” Why did you know his name again? “Don’t burden yourself with making decisions or anything of the sort. I suppose my answer was long-winded in regards to your question.” 

“Yeah, kinda,” he laughed, rubbing his cheek. “But, uh…it helped, I guess.” Yuuji pulled your hand down from poking him. “You don’t think Sukuna’s bad,” he concluded.

“I think he was a force of nature.” Your head tilted. Your eyes softened. “A monster to some, a god to others.” 

“‘N to you?”

Your eyes caught the morning light, iris reflecting with waking embers. 

“He was everything.”

Gojo thought you were pretty in the same way Getou was pretty; you were handsome with fine features, you radiated with odd power, and you spoke with unmatched poise and purpose it almost made the man’s ego swoon. 

But you looked tired as Getou had, too. Skin void of blushing warmth, eyes distant and hazy, dark circles pulling your gaze away from him. He didn't like it. It made him remember that cold hand ripping his heart to pieces. 

“Look who’s awake!” Gojo cheered as he sauntered toward you, hands in his pockets and a smile adorning his face. “Hungry? I could getcha some–”

“You were listening, were you not?” You wondered, running your bony fingers through matted fur systematically. Your split nails picked and clawed through tangles and knots thoroughly, as though it’d make a difference in your beat-up appearance. 

Gojo tilted his head before settling down in the seat beside your bed. “Hm? Me? Listening? To–”

“Yuuji and I.”

“Ah! You mean the night you snuck out to do some naughty, naughty things with my student?” 

You deadpanned fiercely, looking at him the way someone else used to. “Ha. Hm. Surely you jest.”

Gojo waggled his brows as much as he could, hoping they’d peek out over the top of his blindfold. “Hah, you think I don’t know what my sweet, precious Yuuji does behind closed doors? I know everything! I’m–”

“You misunderstand,” you cut him off, looking more and more concerned with each passing second. “You are a teacher? Why? How? This does not seem ethical.”

Gojo died. Rather, his pride did. Which was essentially his lifeforce. 

“What are you–okay, I’m just gonna chalk it up to you being cranky after getting woken up, alright? I’ll give you a pass. Just once!” Gojo nodded as a benevolent creature should. “You should thank me.”

“I’d rather not.” You sighed and returned to your grooming. “If you wish to interrogate me, I require food first. Tofu, specifically”

Gojo laughed. “Man, you are one high-maintenance god. Alright, you want normie tofu, or agedashi tofu?” 

You blinked and looked at him, curious. 

“Agedashi tofu?”

You really liked agedashi tofu. You liked the little sauce it came with, you liked the other random shit Gojo bought to try and win over your compliance–well, honestly, he also just wanted an excuse to shower someone with the food and snacks he liked. It’d been a long time since he’d had the privilege to. 

“So,” Gojo said as he popped the marble into the ramune bottle for you and handed it over, “About you and Sukuna.” 

“Mhm?” Your eyes glittered in fascination as you took the drink and examined it from all angles, carefully tilting it here and there to watch the blue bubbles rise to the top as the glass ball rolled and spun in its tiny prison. 

Gojo almost lost his train of thought watching you, but he reigned it in quickly.

“Seems like you were close.” Were was important. You'd referred to the menace in past tense when speaking with Yuuji–clearly, you didn't realize the curse resided within the young sorcerer. Best to keep it that way.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment.

“I suppose. Why?” 

“I'm just nosy!” 

“I know that already. But there exists intelligence behind your annoying behaviour.” Your gaze slid to him, staring through the veil of fabric and straight into his eyes. “You're a monster like he was, aren't you?” 

“Hah?! Rude!” Gojo whined, but regained composure just as fast. “Seems your intuition is pretty good, huh?”

“It's simply an understanding of nature.” 

“Is that what pulled you to him? His nature?” 

“No. I was given to him. As a gift. By a clan of sorcerers.”

“Huh. A gift.”

“Yes. The harvest festival required as much. He was revered as a godly creature. Something to be feared.” 

“And so were you,” Gojo guessed, and you frowned and looked away, instead picking through the treats and snacks brought to you. 

“The people saw us very differently.”

Sukuna didn't walk through the city below often–not until you decided you liked it down there. 

Finding out that you walked through those streets alone sent a trill of something unpleasant up Sukuna's spine; knowing you were alone, vulnerable and under the eyes of so many that so often cursed Sukuna and wished him dead made him…uneasy, maybe. You could handle yourself. Sukuna simply couldn't handle the disrespect.

But things weren’t as he assumed.

You walked through town, and the people revered you as they would Amaterasu incarnate. Most didn't address you, but all saw and accepted your presence with grace and kindness, nodding or flickering small smiles as you passed by with the king trailing behind. 

Sukuna could understand; you'd become something astoundingly breathtaking. Lush, full tails dipped and swayed as you walked with the poised elegance of royalty, the feeling only enhanced by the careful, intricate way you presented yourself in your attire. Sukuna knew you felt beautiful. You were beautiful. 

“It's (Name!)” A child cried, and Sukuna fought the urge to punt the little shit into the restaurant across the road when the tiny human grabbed at your clothes. 

But you smiled. You actually smiled when you patted the girl on the head and said your sweet hellos before ushering her along after her mother. The corners of your eyes crinkled for once, showing that, yes, you'd aged and felt joy and become so perfect because of it. And when you cooed sweet farewells to passing little ones, your fangs flickered against the colour of your lips, just for a second. 

Your gilded gaze caught his carmine stare, and you tilted your head. 

“Sukuna.” You held your hand out to him, and he took it. He had no choice. He was only human, and you were God. Walking through a city of mortals.

He let you lead on, wandering to the shops where you bought thread and fabric for your stupid little projects with money he didn't even know you had. You could have just taken everything you wanted, especially with the king stood right by your side, but you eased the shopkeeper's nerves with kind words and ample pay. 

Sukuna all but picked you up and launched you both back home the second you were done meandering. He had a job to do; he had to fully commit to siring a runt.

Now, Gojo didn't need to know all that, but it didn't stop your mind from wandering to that night; it was the first time he looked at you like that. It was the first time he decided against lording his power over you, instead holding you close and taking things slow. You missed it. You yearned for the night he stopped seeing you as a toy and saw you as you. The night he finally learned your name.

“They viewed me as something divine,” you continued, digging out of the warmth of memories. “Perhaps because I walked alongside someone like him.” 

“Well, only gods can walk through a volcano and come out unscathed, no?” Gojo smiled a bit as you looked away, embarrassed. 

“That's a poor analogy.”

“Eh?”

“How would one walk through a volcano? None would even think to get close enough to do so.”

“W-Wait–”

“You would be underground, would you not? With limbs melted, oneself ablaze? And one would not walk but wade through lava.” 

“It's just a metaphor!” Gojo wailed. 

“A poor one.” And you continued to pick through snacks, unbothered that you'd just destroyed the strongest man alive as you munched on cheese-flavoured rice puffs.

Gojo laughed, though. “I can see why he liked you. Supports the theory he's not the one who put you in the coffin.” 

“It wasn't him,” you snapped. Your ears flattened against your skull as you shrunk in on yourself. “At least…not directly.” 

Oh? Gojo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers together.

“Then who was it? What happened?” 

“I don't fully understand it myself,” you confessed. Your voice was a whisper, cold and lonely like a far North winter. 

“Maybe I can help.” 

You looked to him and back down again. 

“There was a man. A sorcerer. I don't know his name–I never cared to learn it. He was odd.” You tore up little bits of hi-chew wrappers as you spoke. “He asked me if I would sacrifice myself for Sukuna.” 

“And?” Gojo prodded. 

“I would not,” you said. “Sukuna would never need my sacrifice, he'd never need my aid. He was the strongest.” A light frown tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That creature thought otherwise. He mentioned something about additional wombs, but I don't know what that means.” 

Fuck. Gojo nodded politely. “Gotcha, gotcha. What'd this guy look like? You remember?” 

“Unremarkable, save for the odd sutures across his forehead.” 

“Oh? Interesting. Alright, last question, my cute little kitsune–”

“(Name),” you cut in. “Address me as (Name).”

Gojo sparkled. “Waaah, I think our relationship just leveled up to A-tier! One more level and I can romance–”

“Please do not make me hurt you.” 

The white witch whined and deflated against his chair. “Boooring.”

You huffed and flicked your ear. “Ask your question, goblin.” 

Gojo took a breath before he spoke. 

“Are you with child right now?” 

The world changed suddenly. Seal papers coating the walls drowned in bones and flowers as the pungent sweetness of orchids and decay curled around Gojo. Around you, a cage began to rise, jutting out from the earth and encircling you like thousands of rigid arms holding you in an embrace. And your eyes–they shone with abhorrent divinity, outshining even the nine, pristine tails breathing with blackened fire. 

But there was screaming. Two voices intertwined. Little and distant, warped and outraged at–at something. Maybe Gojo? Maybe his accusations, his questions? 

Just when the sorcerer was about to act, your clasped a hand over your stomach, and you whispered with the thrum of a thousand voices:

“Be still.” 

It all moved slowly, then. The phenomenon–the apparent domain expansion–reversed, sinking back into the floors and walls with the soft sound of chittering and cooing taking the place of wicked screeches. You, too, cooed back to the twin voices, placating them with maternal ease. 

Your divinity faded with the last shreds of the illusion. Now, your colours faded further, painting you in desaturated tones of exhaustion and worry. Gojo hated that palette. It'd been used too many times on too many he doted on. God was stupid like that, creating such sad, worrisome colours.

The sorcerer took a deep breath in the silence of the room. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He was never good at this kind of thing. His other half was much better at this. 

But he had to try. The look on your face told him he had to try. 

What would he have done?

Gojo’s hand reached out as he leaned forward, and he caught your scarred, bony hand in his own. You didn’t pull away, you didn't fight him, you instead curled your fingers around his and held your breath while your gaze became unseeing, your heart ceased beating just as your breathing had. For a moment, you died.

“I'm sorry,” Gojo whispered. And you nodded. Somehow, he knew it meant, ‘me too.’ 

It was then, touching you, that he could feel the negative energy thrumming beneath a shell of divinity. Two different un-lives coiled inside of you, filled with bitter hate for man and undying love for their mother. For you. It wasn't unlike the bond shared between Yuuta and Rika, but this was not as simple. 

“Your ilk did not approve of Sukuna siring children,” you murmured. Your grip on his hand turned poisonous. “If you try to take them from me–”

“What'll you do?” He asked, knowing they'd never be born. 

“--I will turn everything to ash. Set fire to the skies. Just as I have once already.”

“Good.” Gojo smiled. “You'd be a good mother.” 

“I hope I one day can be.”

The masked menaced nodded again as he idly soothed his thumb across your knuckles. “Never say never, yenno? We'll figure something out for you. If you can do something to help the school–”

“I can give gifts. Once I have the energy.” You didn't sound like you did. Gojo wasn't sure if you ever would.

“Yeah? Like what?” He asked anyway. 

You looked at him, weak and defeated, yet still clinging to life. 

“My divine favour.”

[imagine-horizons]

pairing: law x f!reader ( i think this is gender neutral? no pronoun identifiers, or distinct physical features but i put f! just incase) warning: suggestive themes, but mostly fluff - minors dni description: no established relationship (situationship?) but both of you (specifically law) were a little more handsy with a few drinks

-----------

The celebrations after Doflamingo's defeat lasted through the night on the Yonta Maria. But Law had managed to slip back to the Sunny for some much needed quiet.

And he took you with him.

The alcohol was helping numb the pain from the injuries he sustained in his fight against Doflamingo. But it was also breaking down his resolve around you. Your large bright eyes found him through the unruly crowd with the unspoken words of wanting to leave.

The next thing you knew, he was standing behind you. You felt his warm breath in your ear, and a strong arm wrap around your waist. The huskiness of his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear when he whispered the words:

"Room."

"Shambles."

The next thing you knew, the loud noise of the crowd dropped significantly and a gentle breeze kissed against your cheek.

Law had transported the both of you to the second deck of the Sunny, in the small garden with Nami's mikan trees. You felt him release his hold on you, and suddenly it was much colder without his presence.

He walked over to one of the railings, and sank down onto the ground, letting out a slight grunt of discomfort as he leaned back.

"Damn him, Doflamingo," he grumbled. Your eyes flickered onto his chest and noticed that part of his bandages were bleeding through.

"Should I get Chopper?" You asked gently and he let out a humorless chuckle.

"That raccoon isn't the only doctor on the ship - go get the first aid kit from his office." When you got back, Law was already getting his bandages off but it was a bit of a struggle. "I can't do it by myself," he sighed. "You'll have to help me."

You nodded and with his careful instructions, you managed to redo his bandages.

However, there was a strange tingling sensation that ran through your body as you helped him. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol, or if it was the contact your fingers made against his warm skin.

Or maybe it was his piercing gaze that followed your every move, and took in every expression on your face as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

You felt your cheeks warm as he would guide your hand with his own to where the bandages needed to be secured.

For Law, he took in everything that was you as you knelt beside him.

The softness of your skin when you touched him - maybe a fraction longer than necessary as each brush lingered long enough for him to notice.

The way you bit your lower lip in concentration, and the way that a strand of your hair fell forward when you leaned across him to grab another set of bandages in the kit.

It was automatic when he gently tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just slightly against your jaw.

You were close enough to kiss.

He was close enough that you could see the gold tint of his iris disappear, and his pupils dilate to utter darkness as he studied you.

You weren't aware that you had been holding you breath when you had finished bandaging him up.

"Hopefully this lasts," you said with a nervous laugh. Law didn't say anything, but your words seemed to hold a different meaning in his alcohol-driven mind. As you started to pull away, he grabbed your wrist.

You knew your body had betrayed you - he was the surgeon of death, and he had definitely felt the skip of your pulse, and the hitch of your breath.

"Stay," he murmured. "Just a little longer." Somehow, your body acted obediently to his request and you settled yourself next to him. Your shoulder was touching his, and your knees were tucked close against your bodies.

Both of you sat in silence, and could feel rocking of the ship lull both of you into a sleepier state. The distance sounds of the Yonta Maria partiers seemed to fade as all you could hear was the Heart Pirates' captain steady breathing, and the pounding in your ears.

At some point, Law had let go of your wrist and his hand rested on your thigh, drawing slow lazy circles against your soft skin. His touch never strayed too high, but it was enough to send electrical shocks through you body.

Law could feel your body against his - the rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth that seeped into his side, giving a therapeutic comfort to his injuries.

He was sure he was going to regret it, but through the lingering pain and numbing effect of the alcohol, he felt a little bolder. After tonight, he wasn't sure if he would be able to stop thinking about how soft and warm you felt under his hand.

You could feel his breath against your skin as he leaned closer to you, his lips brushing against your cheek, tracing your jaw to the highest point.

He was right at your ear, and once again - it was that deep voice that was going to end you right there and now.

"If you want me to stop, then say so."

You shook your head, and the action led to his lips press against your ear, kissing it. You stifled a soft whimper at the intimate contact, and he let out a soft chuckle.

"Relax. Just sleep." He pulled away, and using his other hand, he pulled your head against his shoulder. He knew no one was returning to the Sunny when there was so much food and booze on the other ship.

Under his warm touch, you felt yourself close your eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep. You slowly wrapped both your arms around his, using it like a body pillow.

When tomorrow comes, you both knew you would have to address what happened tonight.

But for now - both of you chose to let the alcohol take over a bit, and indulge in each other's attention.

End.

[okwonyo]

（ 标题 ） GOODLOOKING AND BEYOND.

PREC𝒾S ⠀⟡​⠀​you take your time to admire the view.

( 엔하이픈 제이크 ) ୨୧ f .. r 700 fluff established relationship ── kissing skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝒾l

no view ever witnessed was and will ever be more beautiful that the one in front of your eyes.

you firmly believe it. the niagara waterfalls or the aurora borealis have nothing on the beautiful view before your eyes.

your heart beat faster as your gaze drags from the edge of your boyfriend’s nose, sliding on his bridge, coming back and forth— enough times that you would be able to redraw it from memory if you were asked to.

if you were to tell the truth, you would say that you are able to recognize his side profile even if you lost your sight.

you are not able to count how many times you stared at jake like that. in that exact position you are in: laying in bed, you settled yourself on your side for a more comfortable view, his arm under your head as his back rests on the mattress, his eyes closed.

his chest rises and falls gently as he acts like he is asleep— silently fighting the urge to not blush. his breath is quietly heard, escaping from his nostrils, beautifully wrapped around his nose.

you blink a few times. you wonder how anyone can have that pretty of a side profile. and ponder about how anyone could be so normal about looking like this every day.

you scoot closer to him. just so your mouth brushes against his skin. your hand holds the cheek of his that is not facing you, turning his face to yours.

his nose touches yours, bump into it even. his soft breath lands on your lips as he opens his mouth slightly— waiting, wanting.

you kiss. it’s not necessarily long or passionate. but it’s warm, soft and just good. like the feeling of freshly made bread melting on your tongue. simple and enough to make all your muscles relax. enough to make him smile against your mouth, ruining his fake sleeping act.

you eye flutter open, “i love your nose,” you whisper, for the ninth this week.

jake delicately get out of your grip. he removes his arm under your head to rest his weight on a single elbow.

you have seen the look on his face too many times to not know what is coming next. you can feel the blood rush creeping on his face as well as the knot made of so many words he wants to say at the same time.

a smile forms on his face as well as a pink hue does on his cheek, as well as the knot undoes itself in a soft, “i love you.”

as well as your voice melts into his, a murmured, “i love you too.”

then here comes his iris dilating in a slow motion, like cherry blossoms falling on the spring’s ground. the look of love.

all it takes is a smile from you for him to come hide his nose in the crook if your neck. right where it belongs. right where you can feel the shyness emanating from his body.

even after all those years, his knees get weak at the sight of your smile. he would have fell to the on them if he wasn’t in bed with you right now.

your fingers find his hair without you even realizing. you position yourself on the back and jake follows through, practically laying on top of you.

after a while, you speak up. “i miss you,”

he doesn’t need an explanation to understand what you mean, “i miss you too,” he immediately mumbles back against your skin. “but i love your scent.”

you hum. then immediately argue, “but i want to see your face.”

and he complies. setting himself back in front of you, with a small pout still. this time, you both face each other. not saying anything, just staring at one another without any intention to do anything else.

he is really beautiful. you have to fight yourself to not say it out loud— not necessarily wanting to make him shy again or receive a kiss. you just want to stare at him, he seems to want to do the same.

both of your giggles resonate in the quiet room.

𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open !

(..◜ᴗ◝..) this was rather short, but this idea have been eating my brain for a while. i hope your week is going well so far, thank you for reading this— luck is on your side 💌

[alwayssassydreamer]

Iris

Song Prompt Challenge

And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's meant to be broken

A/N: sorry it's a bit short

Warnings: none, just fluff

Characters: Beckman x GnReader

Your relationship with Benn Beckman had always been a complicated dance of witty banter, teasing remarks, and stolen glances. From the moment you met him, his sharp mind and confidence had both intrigued and infuriated you. He had a knack for getting under your skin with his infuriating charm, often leaving you flustered and annoyed. Beckman, for his part, seemed to enjoy the challenge of breaking through your defenses, always finding new ways to make you blush or laugh

The soft hum of the ocean surrounded you as you leaned on the railing of the ship, the moonlight casting a silver glow across the deck. The crew had long since gone to sleep, leaving you with nothing but the stars and your restless thoughts.

You hadn’t expected Beckman to appear, but then again, when did he ever do the expected?

“You’ll catch a chill,” his deep voice murmured from behind you.

You turned to find him walking toward you, a blanket draped over his arm and a familiar cigarette between his lips.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied softly as he stopped beside you, draping the blanket over your shoulders with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Neither could I,” he said, flicking the cigarette overboard before leaning against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours. It wasn’t unusual for Beckman to linger near you, but something about tonight felt… different.

His usual teasing smirk was absent, replaced by a quiet intensity that set your heart racing.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way his gaze pinned you in place.

“You,” he said simply, his lips quirking in a small, almost shy smile.

Your breath hitched, and you tried to brush it off with a laugh. “Don’t you have better things to think about?”

“Not really,” he said, turning to face you fully. His hand reached out, hesitant for once, and brushed against yours. “And I’d give up forever to touch you.”

You froze, the words sinking in as your eyes met his. His usual calm confidence was there, but so was something else—something raw and unguarded that you’d never seen before.

“Beck…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping closer.

"‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the closest to Heaven that I’ll ever be.”

You didn’t know when your heart started pounding so hard, but you were certain he could hear it. The man who always had an answer for everything, always seemed so untouchable, was standing before you like an open book—offering you his heart with no guarantees.

“And I don’t want the world to see me,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a touch so soft it made your knees weak. “’Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.”

You stared at him, stunned, as he continued. “When everything’s made to be broken… you make me want to believe in something more.”

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. Benn Beckman, the man who could leave anyone speechless with just a look, had stolen your breath entirely.

Without thinking, you reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss.

He reacted immediately, wrapping his arms around you and holding you like you might slip away. His lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every second of this moment.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless and overwhelmed.

“I hope you know there’s no turning back now,” he murmured, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Good,” you whispered, smiling despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. “I don’t want to.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before resting his against yours, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you,” he said, his voice teasing but full of warmth. “Forever, if you’ll let me.”

[ranikyani]

The Richmond Archives 🏛️ III [S-Z#]

A collection of fics centered around Terry Richmond as a main character, exploring different stories, relationships, and adventures.

💌: Make sure you read warnings before engaging + Take care of yourself while reading, mwah💋

🏡: Return to Daddy's Library or…

💬 Readers Remember: Supporting our writers goes beyond just liking a post! Yes, likes are cool but comments/reblogs and kudos can be incredibly meaningful and make a huge difference! Many talented writers feel discouraged by the lack of engagement and recent foolishness, so let's uplift them by showing appreciation for their work. Don't make our favs beg for a crumb of attention!

✍🏾 Writers, this is a work in progress... but if anything needs to be changed or removed immediately pls lmk.

Status: Completed 🏁 - Ongoing📝 - Hiatus ⏸️

Length: Drabble✨ - OneShot 🎯 - Series 📚 - MiniSeries ⏳ - Universe 🌎

Note: Summary will be provided for stories without one included. If anything should be changed pls lmk. I haven't read 1/2 these fics yet… will continue to update summaries/emojis as I make progress.

S

Said I Wouldn't 🏁⏳

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Santa's Little Tease 🎯

Summary: When Janae catches Terry admiring his holiday handiwork, she decides it’s time for a reward he’ll never forget.

Author: @planetblaque

Savage 🎯

Summary: Valentine’s Day was the one day a year where Terry gave you what you yearned for. To be in control. You tease Terry all day, getting him worked up with the knowledge that he couldn’t touch you yet. That he wasn’t allowed to touch your body until you said so. Not until he surrendered to you. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Save Me 🎯

Summary: After years of no contact, Terry shows up on your doorstep in need of help.

Author: @planetblaque

Secret Admirer 🎯

Summary: Terry has been obsessed with the reader for 3 years and he finally makes his introduction.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Semper Fidelis ⏸️📚

Summary: Dre something something

Author: @ranikyani

Sexual Healing 🎯

Summary: Reader is depressed and Terry fucks her out of it.

Author: @writingsbytee

The Show Goes On 📝📚

Summary: Stone (Aaron Pierre) x Tirian Brenae

Author: @zillasvilla

Sins of the Flesh 🏁⏳

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC [Riley]

Author: @brattyfics

Slangin' Tail 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @motheroffeline

Slow Dance 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

Slow Kissing ✨

Summary: What would slow kissing be like with Terry?

Author: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

A Small Exchange ✨

Summary: In which Terry hopes for the best

Author: @slippinninque

Snug! ✨

Summary: In which Terry wasn't ready

Author: @slippinninque

Something Seasonal 📝📚

Summary: Not every princess lived in a castle. Terry learns this when he meets what he considers a celestial being in the dirtiest of places. Too enamored, he forgets about all his spoken promises to another.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Southern Triad ⏳

Summary: Summer in the South called for people from every region of the States to come down and reunite with their loved ones. It called for family reunions during the day and enjoying fried sweets and rides at the fair during the night. Iris McKay returns to her hometown with her boyfriend, Terry, and surprisingly her old fling, Bakari, returns as well after years overseas. Iris learns that Bakari and Terry have a history of their own; them being friends during their military days. This reconciliation between these three proposes an idea that Iris has always fantasized about and believes that it’ll soon come to fruition.

Author: @hotgrlcece

Spinning the Block 📝📚

Summary: What happens when the man you once arrested returns to your troubled town seeking you out for closure after the death of his cousin? That's where Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims finds herself after her past tumultuous run-in with Terry Richmond catches up to her.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Stale 🎯

Summary: in which terry, despite never being one for birthdays, realizes maybe a push was all he needed?

Author: @wonderlustwrites

Stay A While 🌎 (bigger than a ongoing series, this is a ENTIRE universe and I LIVE for finishing all the parts when I get the time)

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Author: @kumkaniudaku

The Story of Us ⏳

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

The Strangers 🏁⏳

Summary: Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

Author: @dxddykenn

Study Buddy 🎯

Summary: Studying with Terry

Author: @skvrpion

Surprise 🎯

Summary: You and Terry have been broken up for 3 months. You’re injured in an accident and the hospital calls Terry to notify him and… surprise

Author: @writingsbytee

Swampbound 📝📚

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after her father’s death. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she shelters it for the night, only to learn the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He enlists her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in unexpected ways.

Author: @brattyfics

Sweet Confections 🎯

Summary: In which Terry finds his woman in every confection.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Sweet Dreams 🎯

Summary: Terry has night terrors, luckily he's found you and his love for you keeps him grounded

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Sweet Escape 📝📚

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. With freakish threats escalating, you turn to your stoic bodyguard, Terry, in hopes that you’ll finally feel safe and like you belong.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

T

Take You There ⏸️📚

Summary: Terry gets inspired in so many ways by a tattoo artist. 

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Taken Care Of 🎯

Summary: in which Terry wants to watch you and his homeboy.

Author: @theblacklewinsky

A Taste of Fire 🎯

Summary: Mica had a curious request of her husband. He denied her numerous times and with Terry, she learned to take what she wanted.

Author: @keyaho

A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues 📝📚

Summary: Celeste thought the tattoo on Terry Richmond's arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did she know it meant more than that. That's why she has to track him down and kill him… before the baby in her belly can turn into his kind.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Testing Testing ✨

Summary: In which Terry plays a very stupid game.

Author: @slippinninque

Three's A Crowd Two. 🎯

Summary: You were sent to a cozy cabin Christmas retreat in the secluded Rocky Mountains picked by two of your wealthy bosses Terry and Kelvin, for a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of your corporate lives.

Author: @notapradagurl7

Tick 🎯

Summary: It's Terry birthday! While he is out with his homeboys, you decide to send him a video you made, but what happens when the reaction you get is something you never expected?

Author: @dabratzchronicles

Ties That Bind 🏁⏳

Summary: You and Terry Richmond, the mysterious billionaire with a magnetic presence and a dark edge, are bound by an arranged marriage that neither of you anticipated.

Author: @notapradagurl7

To Lose You ✨

Summary: Breaking up with Terry

Author: @dpennedit

Touch Me Like You Care 🎯

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Try Not To Mess Up The Seats 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @2neaky

'Twas the Night 🎯

Summary: Treating yourself to a winter writing getaway, you are startled when the homeowner forgot to mention the 6’3 handyman that came by to fix things around the house. You find an unlikely friendship with the man, opening up about your romance novel. But when you confess that you need some inspiration, Terry is all too happy to be of service. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

U

Unexpected Visitor 🎯

Summary: Reader is a housewife who is home alone and receives a visitor that’s not who he seems.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Untitled ✨

Summary:...

Author: @alldthoughtsinmyhead

Untitled dad!Terry blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled date blurb ✨

Summary: Joya learns more about Professor Richmond

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled pregnant!reader blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Up Late ✨

Summary: toxic baby daddy!Terry

Author: @ripeandsoft

V

Veiled Intentions 📝📚

Summary: black male x black female

Author: @tvchi

Venus ⏳

Summary: After a long, draining week, Terry and Cleopatra spoil each other for Valentine's Day the only way they know how; love languages and love making.

Author: @venusincleo

W

Want You 🎯

Summary: Terry x female reader, you unlock psychopathic behavior within Terry

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Warm In December 🎯

Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Author: @mermaidchansons

Where You Going? 🎯

Summary: Toxic Husband!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Author: @theereinawrites

Wild 🎯

Summary: You went on a small camping trip with Terry, who graciously helped to introduce you to hiking. After a critter destroys your tent, you stupidly volunteer to share his. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Wolf By Night 🎯

Summary: Halloween Smut Fest

Author: @nayaxwrites

Worst Behavior ✨

Summary:...

Author: @dxddykenn

X

Y

Yes Day 🎯

Summary: She was supposed to sl*t him out, but Terry said no, not happening and just took the reigns.😔

Author: @simplyzeeka

You Don't Know My Name 🎯

Summary: Terry comes into your diner every. single. day. He don't even know what he's doing to you. Or does he?

Author: Me @ranikyani

You Knew What You Were Doin' 🎯

Summary: all you wanted to do is show Terry your new pajama set (maybe), but things take a different turn

Author: @overthedeadsea

You Scared? 🎯

Summary:

Author: @miyuhpapayuh

Z

# - Emojis

11:11 ⏳

Summary: Biker!Terry Richmond x Charlie

Author: @nayaesworld

30 Whole Days 🎯

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

Author: @mymindisneverhere

💓🌦️🏃🏽🏃🏾‍♀️🌦️💓 - ✨

Summary: Fluff!!! Kissing in the rain!! Rainy day vibes, no real plot

Author: @slippinninque

[justwritedreams]

Sin | Jongin

Idol!Jongin x Reader

Word count: 2.344

Genre: fluff, slight angst, smut.

Author: maari 

Warnings: MDNI!! THIS IS A +18 STORY Explict words and filthy studio sex, oral (fem receiving), sex without condom (don't do this at home), heartbroken Sehun 😞.

Note: WELL i'm proud of this one and I won't even going to deny it lol My stories with Kai are usually short so I don't fall in love with him BYE

Request: I have something we’re he’s at the studio with his s/o and they make out and end up having sex and one of the boys walks in on the (who are you pick had a crush on y/n) and gets mad because he told Kai he liked her and they argue but y/n tells x that she’s only interested in Kai

⫷ Exo Masterlist

Y/N was trying to control her smile as her body moved on its own to the beat that sounded through the studio's speakers.

"What do you think?" Jongin asked, after the preview he played for her ended.

She looked at him, smiling proudly.

“It’s different from what you’ve done before, but it’s your vibe.”

Jongin sighed, relieved. He closed the file on the computer and turned completely to face her.

“I wanted to try new things for this album.”

“You did it, I'm sure everyone will love it as much as I love it.” she winked at him, seeing him smirk.

"Thanks for being here." he got up from the chair and sat next to her on the couch, his shoulder lightly touching hers. "Means a lot."

Y/N tried to hide her huge smile while feeling the butterflies in her stomach, that's why, unable to think of what to say, she just put her hair behind her ear, looking away a little shyly.

“Well, it’s not like I can deny you anything.” she confessed, wetting her lips with her own tongue and looking back at him.

Jongin kept his eyes fixed on her, raising an eyebrow.

"Anything?" he asked, interested and she narrowed her eyes without understanding what was going on in his head. “So if I tell you that it wasn’t for nothing that I asked you to come here.”

Jongin then brought his body even closer, cornering Y/N between the couch and his strong chest. All she did was take a deep breath, unable to take her eyes off Jongin's dark iris.

He looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world and hadn't even truly touched her.

That was enough to make her tremble all over.

“I would tell you that I already imagined it.” she replied quietly, without any strength.

Not when the heat of his body covered hers so deliciously.

Y/N saw Jongin smile widely before projecting his torso forward and bringing his face to hers so that their lips met in a slow sensual dance, just like the rhythm of the preview he had played earlier.

One of his hands went to her cheek while Y/N's trembling hands went to his chest, even though it was covered by the sweater he was wearing, she felt his heart beating quickly in her palm.

The kiss that was enough to take all of Y/N's breath away was broken by Jongin as he pressed their foreheads together. When she felt his penetrating gaze on her, she opened her eyes to find complicity there. Something that made her legs feel wobbly, as always did when she was with him.

They hadn’t yet described what type of relationship they had, they were together in secret. Nobody knew they were making out in empty hallways or in each other's houses.

It was a mutual agreement, after all, what no one knew, no one ruined, but that didn't mean that the feeling wouldn't grow because Y/N was sure that with each touch Jongin made, she fell in love even faster and deeper.

She knew that trying to stop this from happening was impossible since Jongin was addictive. It was like that the first day they met and it was still like that every time they kissed.

He began another kiss, this time faster, as their tongues met again and their hands were no longer so shy, they roamed each other's bodies.

Y/N imagined it would just be another make out session they would have, her fire seemed to complete Jongin's and they couldn't keep their hands off each other, but it wasn't like that tonight.

Involved by the preview played earlier, the atmosphere in the studio became much more sensual after the kisses, which no longer seemed to be enough.

Her neck was already marked and wet from his devoted kisses on her skin when he started to lift her blouse, making her body and also her pussy combust.

Mainly because he was between her legs when he started to take off the piece of clothing, which she promptly helped him do, considering that she wouldn't be crazy enough to stop his caresses.

His big, warm hands found her breasts and she sighed loudly, feeling her belly squirm inwardly as her panties were soaked.

Jongin had that power over her, his kisses were enough to make her go out of orbit. And he knew it, so much so that his nimble fingers promptly took off the bra she was wearing and his mouth found her breasts, giving the same attention to the hot flesh that his lips and tongue gave to Y/N's mouth.

For her, controlling the moans was an impossible task that she knew she had no control over, that's why she let the studio be filled with her sounds of pure pleasure as her hips tried to rub against Jongin's.

But he was too far away and his intentions were different at that moment, Y/N felt her whole body shiver when he lightly bit the skin of her navel and his fingers found the button of her pants.

She helped him, a little clumsily, to take off her pants and he knelt on the floor, staring at the white panties she was wearing with pure thirst, his fixed eyes made her pussy tremble, yearning for what was to come.

Her panties suffered the same fate as her clothes and her eyes rolled and closed when his finger found her throbbing clit.

Her hips rolled against his hand of their own accord and he approved, starting to move at a pace so slow that it bordered on torture.

Y/N's mouth was already dry and open, her moans were more constant and when she opened her eyes again she saw Jongin bringing his face closer to her pussy.

She trembled from head to toe before feeling his lips against her hot, wet flesh, he placed a soft kiss before extending his tongue out and closing his eyes to eat her like a starved caveman.

Y/N's hand went to his hair, squeezing the strands between her fingers as she felt his wet tongue mix against her own juice that dripped from her pussy, she moaned his name over and over as it was the only thing that her brain could remember at that moment.

His tongue was precise, he knew exactly what to do and how to make her reach orgasm, he alternated between her clitoris and her hot entrance, and he murmured in approval as he felt her inner muscles contract every time he fucked her with the tongue.

But Y/N closed her legs against his face when Jongin kept his tongue on her clit while his fingers worked quickly at her entrance, going back and forth in such a delicious movement that it didn't take long for her to cum for the first time that night.

She tried to take deep breaths as she spasmed and he drank all the juice she had released.

When their hungry eyes met, Jongin's clothes were quickly removed so that Y/N's slender hands could find his hard cock, she stroked it slowly and managed to elicit a few low moans from him. She wanted to make him as ready and thirsty as she was, and she was prepared to do it with her mouth before he stopped her.

"I need you now." He pleaded and she smiled mischievously.

Jongin sat on the couch and Y/N positioned herself on his lap, he directed his dick to her entrance and the moment their eyes met again, he made her sit hard.

Y/N moaned loudly and closed her eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders as Jongin squeezed her waist with a force that would probably leave marks.

She felt his dick pulsating inside her and without being able to control her desire, she began to move.

He moved at the same pace, feeling her hot inside and tight enough for him to bite his own lip.

He helped her keep the rhythm but it didn't seem enough, it had to be faster, so he helped her move up and down on his dick and the sounds began to echo around the studio in perfect synchronization as her nails dug into his skin.

Moans, the sound of their skin slapping together, everything was so erotic and so right that it made Y/N feel dizzy.

“You take my cock so well.”

"Fuck."

Throwing her head back, she hugged him around the neck and he held her more tighter around the waist, getting up from the sofa so he could lean her against the wall. Y/N hugged his waist with her legs and their position made him enter deeper into her pussy, this time not only moans came out but also screams of pleasure.

Jongin thrust hard and deep, he went fast and Y/N felt her new orgasm form in her womb as her skin shivered and her toes trembled with excitement.

"Look at me. I want to face you while you cum on my cock.“ He placed a hand on her chin and made her look him in the eyes, without having the strength to look away.

He then took his hand off her face and brought it to her clitoris, where he made circular movements, making her scream even more and feel her whole body shake as the orgasm came strong.

“Babe…” she whispered, weak and breathless.

Seeing her so intoxicated as her cum dripped out, Jongin continued his thrusts until his body shook and his own orgasm came with force.

He moaned softly and buried his face in the back of her neck as they tried to catch their lost breath.

“If I had known this was the kind of thing you wanted to do with me in the studio, I would have come sooner.” she said, laughing and caressing the back of Jongin's head.

He laughed and placed a kiss on her skin before helping her get off his lap, Y/N felt her legs weak and leaned on his shoulder.

“I should have brought you sooner.” He responded and led her back to the couch.

Y/N lay down, tired and saw Jongin take her panties and helped her put them on, making her smile slightly at the gesture.

He put on his own underwear and Y/N was wearing her bra when suddenly the door was opened without delicacy.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.”

Y/N widened her eyes and covered her body with her arms when Sehun entered the studio furious and red.

Jongin remained standing, looking at his friend seriously.

“This is how you repay me after I shared a secret with you.” Sehun said, angry as he stood in front of Jongin.

"It wasn’t on purpose." he explained, the tone of his voice not so calm.

Sehun laughed, bitterly.

“Of course not, but it didn’t stop you from fucking Y/N right here.” he pointed towards the studio as she felt her face burn. “Right after I told you I liked her.”

Y/N felt her jaw drop and looked at the youngest without knowing what to think.

Did Sehun like her? Since when?

“And what did you want me to do, huh? Stop seeing her?” Jongin questioned, irritated. “You also know that I’m in love with her.”

She felt the corners of her mouth lift into a surprised smile.

She always imagined that but she never heard Jongin say it out loud, so hearing those words was a very nice surprise, knowing that he reciprocated her feelings.

“But I didn’t sleep with her right after.” Sehun accused, hurt and Y/N felt her heart sink.

One of the reasons why she wanted to admit what she felt for Jongin right away was precisely so that everyone would know what was going on between them, without any more secrets.

But she never imagined that Sehun also liked her and that he would be in the studio at the exact moment when she and Jongin couldn't control the need to be together in the most carnal and intimate way possible.

“Sehun.” she called him, getting up from the couch.

And he looked at her, completely hurt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “If I had known, I would have explained to you earlier that I have been interested in Jongin for a long time.” He nodded silently. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

An unbearable silence fell in the studio, until Sehun sighed.

“You’re right, but that doesn’t change the fact that my friend betrayed me.”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out and Sehun walked away in long strides, leaving both of them with nothing to say behind.

She passed her hand over her face and looked at Jongin, he shook his head as he looked at the door.

“I think I better leave.” she announced quietly and turned to pick up her clothes.

However, he stopped her, holding her arm.

"Come to my home."

She took a deep breath before looking at him.

“Jongin, but Sehun-”

“I won’t walk away from you because of him.” he spoke firmly. "I can't anymore."

She smiled slightly.

"What do you mean?"

He smiled, moving closer to tuck her hair behind her ear and caress her cheek.

“That if being in love with you is a sin, then I will sin again.”

She bit her lower lip.

“No more sex in the studio?”

He laughed, hugging her around the waist and touching their foreheads.

“I can't promise that.” He kissed the tip of her nose, making her close her eyes. “Not after the sounds you made in here.” he kissed her cheek, purposely in the corner of her mouth. “The scenes are engraved in my head and will hardly ever fade out.”

“Then I guess we will sin together.”

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ IRON MOON ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x reader

summary: bitter arguments lead to bitter ends.

warning(s): 18+ smut, lannister!reader, established relationship (although there is quite a bit of tension), angst, fingering (just a smidge), breast play (if you squint), sexual intercourse ?? ( unclothed grinding)

a/n: it's been several months since i've written so enjoy this piece cause I don't know if i can deliver this hard again, i fear. thank you @targaryen-dynasty for beta-reading this for me.

There’s a sharp sting in the socket where Aemond Targaryen’s left eye should be. A pain so brutal, that in his haste to sit upright, his spine cracks in response to the movement — head heavy and pounding with lingering exhaustion. 

Tossing his amber furs aside, Aemond blinks rapidly, the dull throb in his lobe pulsing in discomfort, as he adjusts his vision, despite still being disoriented by slumber so deep, he had found himself almost fully rested. Almost. 

From what he could see in the sliver of starlight illuminating his bed-chamber, he quickly glanced around the vast space. His usual chair — once tucked under a large, stone table where his books sat piled atop one another — had been moved directly in front of the fireplace, where burning embers lifted in thick, dark ropes of smoke, evidence of his betrayal and the constant reminder of his wrongdoings wafted in the air, blackening his lungs, forever tainting his soot-covered soul. He could see it in the ash threatening to snuff out the flames warming his snowy skin; could feel the bones in his spider-like fingers grow numb with anticipation. 

Or was it fear? He could differentiate the two no longer. 

Gooseflesh raises upon his arms, although a chill in the air is nowhere to be found. His ears are the first to register — a sigh from his right, muffled as if he were underwater. His head stings once more, and he hisses through his teeth. The torment behind the gaping wound is needle-sharp, like the blade he was maimed with. It was the very reason for his misery, a pang of unease constantly gnawing in the depths of his belly, raising bile in his throat. 

His desperation to please had gotten him nowhere but backward, his fingertips lightly ghost over the gaping wound in his skull is a significant reminder of that much.

“Did you find rest?”

Aemond’s hand drops to his exposed side, legs swinging over the bed to hover over the cool stone flooring, head hung low, heart racing erratically at your seemingly missed presence.

“What are you doing here?” Jaw taunt, his fingers slowly crawl over crumpled bedding before grasping it tightly, a harsh swallow following not a second after. A twitch made its way up his spine, starting at his lower back before crawling, grasping at his bones for leverage, lungs releasing an unintended sigh to linger in the air. 

Marriage was neither kind to you nor Aemond – unwanted, heavily weighing on shoulders that could only lift so much. He sought to be rid of you — to have you running for the hills of your home of Casterly Rock with your skirts lifted in haste, head hung down in shame, intimidated by his coldness and calculated gaze, one iris burning with the flames of Old Valyria.

He had never wished to take a wife, even less a Lannister whose false promises meant naught to him on the rare occasions he’d find comfort in your arms when desperation clawed at him. Vulnerability didn’t suit him. The One-Eyed Prince came to that conclusion the first night he lay in his separate chambers after clambering out of yours, face beet-red in humiliation that burned brighter than dragonfire. 

Touch is what he craved. It gnaws at his insides, filling his veins with longing he could no longer deprive himself of, the urge to let his tongue twist and flick against his teeth and let words sail in the wetness of his mouth. 

Seeking out whores for comfort what was he turned to; peeling off his clothing and leaving every inch of his skin as bare as the day he was born, curling into himself as if he were still a babe attached to the teat. Pleasure was never in the foreground of his mind, even when Sylvi’s shaky fingers threaded through his silver tresses, whispering words of reassurance in his ears. 

In a way, it was freeing – having someone touch him that way, dote on him as if he were fragile,  thin lips parting to vent to her in a jumble of words. The simple utterance of his platitudes would never reach beyond the cracking stone of the brothel he frequented, and would not spread like the rot eating away at him. 

He made sure of it. When leaving Sylvi he always did. 

Aemond had been ridiculed, whispered about amongst the Keep in conversation between ladies of the court, fathers making an example out of him to set their rebellious sons straight. An observer he was, extending his ears to anything that might be of importance to weeding out traitors of the crown, of his brother who was less than deserving to sit the Iron Throne, a seat that he would’ve been granted had he been the first son.

The Gods continue to strike their fury down on him.

“I’ve come to reassure my mind that you’re still in good health, my prince. Since you like to linger in the shadows.” 

Your presence looms over his head like a cloud, carrying the finest rainfalls to drop onto him the second your footsteps echo in his ears, the blood in his veins hum, fingers tingling with a certain numbness that fills his beating heart with a sense of dread.

“Welcoming yourself into my chambers gives you enough answers?” 

Even with the expanse of his back on display for your eyes, he did not have to crane his neck to know that you bore a smirk as you spoke once more.

“You may not realize, but when you’re in a state of unconsciousness you tell all.” With a clammy palm, you grasp the iron handle of a flagon, full to the brim with untouched wine that had been placed there earlier in the day by a maid, no doubt. “I seem to find you more pleasant that way.”

Nostrils flaring, Aemond inhaled the scent of parchment paper and ink that he had left out to dry as he took in your words. Although there was no ill intention behind the desperate urge to fill the short silence, he considered it so. “You’ve come to ridicule me?” 

“Is that what you think?” Your tone is accusatory, and rightfully so. You’ve been naught but kind to him, even with the tension between the both of you thickening every day the sun sank below the horizon.

Lifting a cup, you pour enough wine to teeter over the edge, wasting no time before closing your pillowy lips around the rim. “‘Tis merely an observation,” you add.

“Mhm.” 

“You think poorly of me.” 

“No.” 

“Then why do you speak to me as if I were poison in the flesh? We are married.” 

Your fingers tighten around the neck of your chalice, shaking with such vigor the liquid sloshes, falling next to your bare feet before splattering on your toes.

Aemond turns his neck slowly, lips pressed together, torso adjusting to his newfound angle so he can look at you in the flicker of surrounding paraffin wax candles, violet eye narrowing. “You seem to be adjusting fine despite our… challenges with one another.”

Licking the flesh of your bottom lip, spit-soaked and tasting of Dornish wine, a laugh escapes your throat, dry and devoid of humor. “And whose fault might that be, hm?”

Aemond lightly gasps as you ease your body in between his nude thighs, free hand taking hold of his jaw. The pads of your fingers sink into the skin of his cheeks as you raise his head so he can look you in the eyes, which gleamed with mischief. 

“I give you the privacy you so desperately seek. Now, I must ask something.” 

Fire burns in his belly, tightening the knot that wishes to unravel itself as you gaze at him over the shining steel of your cup, sipping its contents eagerly. You were by no means subtle with your emotions. 

Aemond quickly learned that the minute he laid his head on your lap, skin-to-skin on his furs after consummating your marriage without prying eyes. You had treated him with such care then, caressing his skin, weaving his hair through your fingers. It felt as if care had sprouted in his lungs, constricting his throat, and leaving him speechless.

Contentment had presented itself as a lion, a woman who was the first to make his heart soar and his head swim.

He was less than deserving. It was decided.

By title and law, you were his wife, a lifelong partner with whom he was to share all his worries and complications — no matter how severe. Yet, he could not find it within himself to tell you what he speaks to the woman he seeks out.

He swallows thickly. 

Biting the inside of your cheek offers some sort of solace as you kneel in front of him, knees stinging, aching, and wine spilling once more. The sleeve of your sun-yellow nightgown is wet, permeating the air with a stench so sweet and bitter that it causes your nose hairs to burn as your lungs expand for air when you set it down.

His cheeks turn cold with the removal of your hand, yet he can not find the strength to unclench his jaw, chest heaving in expectance. 

“I have done naught but be good to you as best I could. Must you make this difficult?”

Your hands search for his, bringing them to your mouth before laying a kiss upon them – a gesture that causes his cock to twitch briefly, the brush of your lips awakening the beast of desire within him.

“My duty to you is not forgotten, wife.” 

Aemond states this as if it were practiced, monotonous and cold despite his hands still cradled in yours. You squeeze, averting your gaze from the sharpness of his features to his silky hair, a long stream of silver glistering in the night.

“Do not speak of duty to me, husband.” You spit, teeth clenching. “You are bound to me, promised.” 

There it is again. That dull throb behind the sapphire in his socket causes him such nausea that he closes his sole eye. “I know of my vows to you.”

He says your name with a sigh, almost like it pains him even to utter it. 

Your stomach clenches, although your face remains stoic. You had tried with him.

Had kissed his wet lips and shared his breaths, had held him in a tender embrace on the night of your wedding, supple fingers ghosting over collarbones, bellies full of wine.

You should have known.

It was too good to be true. He could not overlook his internal turmoil, nor quench his thirst for misery. His self-pitying is too strong, you think. 

In truth, you had foolishly thought you both had come to an understanding – some sort of reassurance to one another in terms of trying. 

He had given you his word. 

“I do not think you do. I have stood in your corner far longer than I should have, only for you to toss it back in my face. Is this what you make of our union? A jest, an act of sheer folly?” You release your grip, clapping your hands together as his eye burns through the thin material covering your figure.

Is that what you think? 

He would have been a fool to let the thought cross his mind. Your time apart has proven that to him; admitting his love for you to be solid, unwavering even amid a war he had senselessly acted in – no – continues to. 

Aemond’s lip twitches, a sneer forming moments later as he stands abruptly. You jump back in sudden surprise, bottom landing on the floor, hands splayed out to cushion yourself, yet it makes your shoulders ache with pain. 

“You do not know me.”

His hushed spoken words are true, almost like he had to fight something in his scrambled mind to get them out. Blinking rapidly, you crane your neck upward to look at his tall frame, towering, yet broken, spine bending slightly. “I have tried to be near you– “

“Then allow yourself to be! The Gods only know how many nights I grow restless.” You seethe, rising, hands pressing down the front of your gown to dust off dirty palms. Your nose hairs burn. 

Fire. Warmth. It fills your senses as quickly as his disrespect. 

Exhaling loudly, you await with gooseflesh littering the expanse of your arms, reaching underneath the hem of your dress, pebbling sensitive nipples.

Through the darkness, the small gleam of unshed tears presses behind your eyes, threatening to leak on warm cheeks and crumble the exterior you had worked so hard as a Lannister to create. 

Have you disgusted him so much? 

“I- I cannot be as close as I desire. No matter how hard you want me to. I yearn to touch you,” He moves forward, the muscles in his arms flexing as he takes your head in his hands, lips but a hair's breadth away from yours. 

It is cool, seeping through your pores, lulling you into a state of ease you cannot recall feeling elsewhere. This is the first time he’s laid his hands upon the smoothness of your skin in weeks, lacking in the roughness he had shown you previously.

There’s a need that coils itself in the swell of your belly, spreading to the rest of your body as your blood rushes to your ears, heart pounding erratically.  Leaning into his touch, you swallow harshly, jaw clenching. 

There was a war. Both in your body and out there beyond the walls of the Keep, yet you could only focus on one.

“Then why do you not?”

“I am not someone you wish to have.” His thumbs circle under your cheekbones, featherlight. “A weakness in me stalls my efforts at happiness with you.” Nor did he want to disappoint. 

That aspect would always etch itself in the crevices of his soul. The desire to please, to be acknowledged as the man he’s tried tirelessly to mold himself into had become him. What he once was does not matter. 

It can’t.

“You cannot decide that for me, Aemond. I refuse to live out the rest of my days with you dragging bitterness and longing by its tongue. Do you not see how devoted I am to you despite the blood that has coated your hands.” You angle your face to press a kiss to what skin on his right hand your lips can reach. “I want only what you can offer me, no matter how horrible.”

Aemond’s self-restraint snaps as easily as his temper when he finds himself devouring your mouth, a man starved. Need courses through him, sends a shiver up his spine so violently that you can’t help but gasp in the heat of his mouth, as he drags you toward the bed.

When you pull away, your nose skims against his scar, and his hands slide down your arms, finding purchase on the dips of your waist, gripping the fabric stuck to your skin. “Let me have you.”

It’s a demand that sends his tongue delving into the dip below your jaw, above the pulse point in your neck as he suckles, nipping an array of red blooms down to your chest.

The One-Eyed Prince had never been presented with such an easy task as this, and never was he so eager to fulfill one’s desire whilst he licked stripes between what expanse of the valley of your breasts he could reach, a sense of pride surging through him as you moan lightly, threading your hands through his hair, gripping it at the root. 

“Never have I laid my lips upon flesh so soft,” he murmurs, as you sit above him.

You could believe his words tonight, under the light of a flame — something he seems to be made of as he peels your nightgown off swiftly, letting it sit at your waist. Your bare cunt throbs as his cock lightly brushes over your folds, slick with arousal and the urge to be filled with him completely. When you lift yourself from his face, you drag a finger down his jaw, watching the way his chest rises in anticipation before your hand curls around his throat, squeezing his windpipe.

His staggered groan is hearty, straight from his throat as he throws his head back, eye screwed shut, and legs stiff beneath you with the added gyration of your hips. Being at your mercy excites him; stimulates him beyond belief when you start panting and Gods, he will never tire of hearing it. 

“Such a good boy” 

The sight of him is one you’d ingrained in the foreground of your mind until the second your lungs could no longer take in breath. You truly had never seen anyone more hauntingly beautiful than Aemond. 

The tip of his cock leaks at your praise, lubricating the rest of him, mixing with your fluids, slick with need, ready for you all the same. 

You’re trying to find relief as his whimpers send jolts of shivers running up your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, hooded eyes admiring him pinned beneath you with interest. The muscle of his tongue glides over teeth, shiny and saturated, calloused fingers indenting your skin from his grasp. Pain has never been so pleasant to you as it is in this moment, sweet friction creating a sensation so invigorating that you clench around nothing, gasping, begging.

“Please…” Is all you manage to pant before you climax, a pathetic mewl sounding from your throat as you get off by slicking yourself over his hardness.

He hasn’t even sheathed himself within you, yet you’ve come undone – an action that elicits a rumbling groan, physically flipping you over, head gently hitting one of the expansive pillows. Rough fabric irritates the pads of fingers, running over embroidery before they’re firmly clutched, scrunching under your hold. 

Your god hovers between your legs, forcing them apart, his nails now digging into the fat of your thighs, gathering your shared exhilaration before two digits curl into you, immediately trapped between your walls when you clench at the intrusion.

“My wife.” He whispers, cool breath fanning your face.

And it isn’t until he lays his violet eye upon you – although your lips satiate his hunger – the flames of your touch singing his flesh, you realize that he did not love you.