#if you say she’s like everyone else then *let her be like everyone else*

[cloudtransprncy]

Purr

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP

White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.

[yieldtotemptation]

CRAZY ft. Chaewon

chaewon x male reader smut

9k words

Oh, it’s fucked up; the power dynamics are all over the place.

You were her manager, and now you’re technically her boss, and it’s all led to this weird feedback loop where Chaewon swears she doesn’t like being told what to do and you swear that you believe women should be treated with respect.

Never mind that it all goes out the window when you’ve drawn the curtains shut and you’re bending her over your desk and tugging out the butt plug you kindly requested she walk around with all day.

And so:

“If you think I’m some around-the-clock booty call that will show up whenever you get a boner, then—”

“Chaewon,” you interrupt.

Stare at the girl.

Catching her in the midst of removing her earrings, bracelets, really any loose items that could end up between the couch cushions or underneath a stack of files, only to be discovered by some poor cleaner in the early hours of the morning.

Perched up on your desk, heaven-sent and already stark-naked. Looking far too pretty for her own good, and just plain, flat-out, in-your-face fuckable.

Oh.

She’s already got your blood rushing.

“Really?”

Chaewon bites her lip. Holds it for a beat. Lets it go and sighs. Unable to help herself. “You’re such a little shit.”

You laugh right in her face. “Little is an interesting choice of words.”

"And you're so lucky I think you're cute."

A step forward, to put her in reach. To skate a hand up her thigh, rubbing out the tension coiled up in her muscles. Ending up on the curve of the most generous ass your palms have ever been graced with. Giving a gentle squeeze, massaging into the bare, vanilla expanse, hoping you’re already on the path to forgiveness.

It goes without saying, the two of you have run this same routine many times before.

(Yeah. You’ve fucked Chaewon a lot.)

“I can’t believe you just made me walk in front of the entire floor to get to your office. Everyone was staring.” Chaewon makes this loud, keening noise, pretty much guaranteeing that everyone’s listening now as well. “After that shit you pulled at the Christmas party.”

You lean close, kisses into her neck, apologies over her pulse. “Everyone was too drunk to notice what we were doing.”

Her eyes narrow. “You made me cum in the middle of the dancefloor.”

“And you’re welcome.” You’re laughing harder, right as she starts to do her whole Chaewon thing.

Saying one (usually insulting) thing with her mouth but screaming something else entirely with her body.

In this case, it’s in this subtle adjustment of her hips. A tilt, a lean, an angle so precise, giving you exclusive access to put your hands on where she’s most sensitive—which is pretty much everywhere. And really, you can’t be held at fault for whatever consequences follow because she makes it so easy.

It’s hard to imagine anyone else getting as crazy over the slightest touch. A shiver at the brush of your fingertips, trembling when your grip tightens, gets a little bit rough.

And when you fall into a rhythm, when it’s just the two of you and you’re curling your digits in her cunt and kissing all the right spots on her skin, and you’re making her feel like you’re everywhere all at once, it’s like she’s made of pure energy. Like she’s going to combust.

It does insane things for your ego.

It’s also so, unfathomably hot.

“God, I can’t believe I have to deal with such an ass—" But Chaewon never gets to finish that thought, because your fingers are getting lower, inching closer to that spot that grants you mercy every time; that makes her voice crack and her eyes lose all focus and has her forget any reason she has to ever be mad at you.

The moans that you tease out of her, each taking the shape of your name; the familiar, longing whimpers she makes when you do what no one else does and deny her.

It’s the same dangerous game every time.

Take her some place a little too public, with just enough risk to make her wet and ready and absolutely needy at the thought of getting caught. Get a hand in that bob of blonde, or black, or red; run your tongue over the hollow of her throat, or up the fine curve of her thigh, or trail down the ridges of her abs, just making her delirious.

And yeah, sure, most of the time it seems like you’re the one doing the leading, but look closer, past the pleas and the pouts and who’s on her knees at the feet of who; and realise that it’s mostly just you trying to keep up with her appetite.

“You don’t have to keep up the act,” you’re saying, “But you might want to try and keep your voice down.”

Chaewon’s rolling her eyes, petulant. She’s got the whole bratty thing nailed to a tee. “Your fault.”

Oh, she’s a vision, that’s for sure. God definitely took his time when making her, with all her grace and poise and her ludicrously bouncy tits and unreasonably slutty little waist. All just begging to be fucked askew. To put a smudge on her perfection. Be it the flushed cheeks, the glossed eyes, the already-on-its-way to being properly fucked-up hair—

The cocky smile and the gall to say, “You’re usually kissing me by now.”

You hardly have any complaints when she wraps your tie around her fist, yanks you forward, providing an unnecessary guide for your mouth to hers.

Like always, it’s messy.

There’s rarely any intention there; just kiss the smoking hot girl that’s right in front of you, let her breathe you in and flood your mouth with her tongue while your hands do their best to draw along her figure and map out each of her perfect lines and immaculate curves.

Seeking out where she’s hottest.  

There’s a cry muffled against your lips when your fingers get particularly adventurous, but it’s pure searing heat, all of it. All of her. Bottled up in the tiniest of packages, a Pandora’s box of sin, just waiting for you to come and let it out.

Chaewon’s knees spread wider, feet hooking around your back, making you strain against the wetness building between her thighs.

She gets in real close, letting her tongue slide along your jaw, your neck and finally your ear where she’s slurring the same variations of previous filthy and barely-lucid requests, “Get these clothes off before I tear them off.”

Your tie doesn’t stand a chance. Neither do any of the buttons on your shirt, your belt-buckle, your pants which land at your ankles and are kicked off to join an ever-growing pile on your couch.

“I need to feel you, like, right fucking now—”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “What happened to not being an around-the-clock booty call?”

“Just, shut up already.”

“Magic word first.”

“Please.”

But the problem, as always, is where the hell to start.

Chaewon, from head-to-toe, is a literal divine being—a goddess, personified.

A Greek epic made flesh, come down from the top of a mountain to fuck around with the mortals, leave them as dried husks to craft myths in her wake.

That’s what you’re dealing with here.

Perhaps it’s your destiny too. To climb that mountain, to conquer that peak. To mark, bruise, claim. Run your fingers over her; her tiny waist, her smooth, sweat-stained skin, her heart-wrenchingly soft ass.

All heat and need, right in the palm of your hand, begging for you to leave your own brand of worship and bring her down into the dirt with the rest of the living.

And despite the repetitions, the countless dark corners and quiet rooms that are forever stained with your cum and permeating with her scent; it still feels like a novelty every time.

So, it only makes sense to start with a personal favourite.

Her breasts.

“Always with my tits,” Chaewon snarks, but it’s more a statement of acceptance than any kind of protest.

She’s already leaning back onto your desk, her eyes closing as your fingers rise up her sides, and she’s sighing, nipples tightening at just the thought of your touch.

Begging for more pressure, for a pinch, a tug. Or just your teeth.

“It’s a classic for a reason,” you muse, and you dive right in, mouth around one of her hardened tips, glueing your tongue to the nub.

See, Chaewon’s tits are as unfairly incredible as the rest of her. Perfect wonders of gravity and genetics that fill up your hands and spill past your fingers; that bounce and jiggle and sway so nicely when you fuck her just right.

And when you taste, give a hard, gratuitous suck on one—there’s a choked-out cry, a stab of her nails into your shoulders, a kick of her heel into your back.

Really, not one for subtleties, your Chaewon.

Always quick to tell you exactly what she needs in every single moment; if not with her words then with the way she squirms and gasps and bites down on her lower lip until it’s a darker shade of red than the lipstick she walked in with.

And even then, each pleading request, each beg sloppily kissed into your shoulder, or your chest, or up and down your cock, amounts to the same thing: use me, use me now, use me good. Like a toy, a submissive little fuckdoll that’s just waiting to be picked up and played with until the batteries die.

That’s your Chaewon:

Preciously soft where it matters, razor sharp where it counts. Built to take it rough, but tragically doomed to be so fucking sensitive.

You flick your tongue; once, twice, over and over. Harder, rougher, grazing your molars against skin, and she’s curving into you, pushing her chest closer. Grinding herself into your waist, hips bucking. Searching for more friction. More heat.

Just the noises she makes. She’s generous with her moans, her breaths all chopped up and hitching with every tug of your teeth. It’s the worst cliché but yeah, her body is literally a fine instrument, musical; play the right notes and she’ll scream you a melody.

You idly wonder if she was like this before you met her.

The loving sigh of your name is all the answer you need.

Hands twist in your hair now, she’s getting impatient; anything to get you to give her what she craves. But you switch. From one perfect swell to another, giving it the same treatment, the same shameless licks and laps.

“More,” Chaewon tries, and then amends to a whimpering, “Please?”

Jesus Christ.

You take a finger, drag it along the valley of her wonderful chest, teasing down her stomach until it reaches the scorching heat between her legs.

Finding her wet, puffy. Feeling her pulse. Wanting to be made whole.

A groan bursting from her throat before she can even stop it—“Oh, fuck!”

“Chaewon,” you huff out, reproachingly, but it’s barely heard over the slick sounds of her cunt giving way. It’s heady, a rush you feel straight in your veins, just the idea that you could tear her apart with a single finger.

But that doesn’t mean you should just stop with one.

A second finger, your middle, eases in. It’s so downright pornographic, the way she opens up for you. How her pussy squeezes around you, how it soaks your digits, how it clenches and sears heat onto your skin. And how when you press in the pad of your thumb firmly against the swollen bud of her clit, just that achingly light touch of pressure, it sends her spiralling.

“Gah, you’re so fucking mean,” Chaewon rips through another moan, a filthy curse, and it’s really uncalled for. Because this is what she comes to you for.

Drops everything she’s doing, ditches anyone she’s with. She’d cross an entire ocean just to have you torture her with your lips, or your tongue. To have your fingers bringing her to her knees, or your cock just fucking her brainless.

Really, to her, every part of you is a little death, a stairway to an afterlife where it’s just the pure sensation of bliss and your cock, making her feel complete.

“And you’re terrible at keeping quiet,” you accuse, but you’re not doing anything to help her. Just making it all that much worse, ruining her so sweetly with a curl or a twist or a merciless press down. “No idea what I’m going to do with you. Naughty, naughty, naughty.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to punish me,” is Chaewon’s accusation, reaching the same conclusions you have. Reading your mind before you can even get a word out—grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer, hips rising up to meet the hand that will be her undoing. “How am I the naughty one when you’re the one that just loves to ruin me. Make me cum in front of everyone every chance you get. Fuck, if they couldn’t see it running down my thighs they definitely saw it on my face.”

And her eyes are shutting now, and she’s flashing back, feeling it all over again. The strobing lights, the unnecessarily loud bass. The throng of bodies pushed too close together and there’s Chaewon, in the tightest, shortest, sluttiest dress twirling around and fucking you with just the twerk of her ass from across the room.

Your own personal siren, luring you to your doom.

Or hers.

So, yeah, maybe you’re the villain for meeting her in the middle, grinding your body against hers, whispering plans of taking her to a closet, or a bathroom, or the fucking balcony and ruining that tragically flimsy strip of fabric and making her cum so hard she’ll never look at the sky the same way again.

And maybe you could still have some deniability if any one of those ideas came to fruition instead of what happened next. Because you just couldn’t stop yourself when she was already filling your mouth with her tongue, your hands with her tits, her ass, and it was all too easy to dip your fingers lower and under her dress and—

Do exactly the same thing you’re doing now.

“There were cameras there too,” Chaewon realises, “God, I can’t believe how stupid you make me.”

“I can’t be held responsible for any of your actions after fucking you senseless, sweetheart,” you chuckle against her neck, and lower to her shoulder.

“You absolutely can, this is all because of you,” she whines, and it’s petulant and bratty, and so goddamn cute. It’s unreal. “You just can’t help yourself. Can’t help trying to fuck me up every chance you get.”

“You let me.”

“Because you make it so fucking good,” and there’s the admission, the natural end point every time this same argument arises.

“Oh you poor, poor girl,” you murmur into the sweetness of her skin, sucking in the edges of her collarbone, leaving marks you know you’ll come back to, if not now then tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. “Too gorgeous for your own good. Just too pretty, too tempting. All mine.”

It’s obvious what you’re doing, feeding into Chaewon’s praise kink. She’s openly admitted it, she likes being told she looks good, loves the reward of your attention. Not just what you say, but the way you say it. The whisper into her skin when you tell her how hard she makes you. The grunt into her ear when you remind her that no one takes you as nice as she does. And the rough groan when you call her a whore, a beautiful, terrible little slut that’s going to rob you of all the cum you have.

But most of all, she loves the honest, direct command when you tell her that she’s yours.

And it’s so, so potent.

You don’t miss the smirk against your cheek, the kisses she’s started peppering across your forehead. Don’t miss how she’s drenching your fingers, filling up your palm with her juices, so delighted to have your hand fucking the hell out of her cunt and faster, filling her, filling the room with these desperate needy sounds.

She’s panting, whining into your ears these sweet little nothings that make you feel like you could fuck a hole straight through the nearest wall. And you can’t help it, you’re leaning into it, plunging your fingers in and out of her like you’re trying to set a new personal best. Quickest time to make Chaewon scream. To shatter her right there in the middle of your office, and get some unfortunate intern to clean up the mess she leaves behind.

Her lips clumsily dragging along your earlobe tells you all you need to know, “You’re going to make me cum again, you fuck, I hate how easy it is for you to—”

You slide a third finger in, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch.

A choking groan when you start to hit that spot that makes her tighten around you. That makes her legs shake, her knees bang against your hips and she just keeps getting wetter and wetter.

The beg in her body. Pleading, needing to be pushed over that edge. And so, you do.

You see it coming before she does, spot the scrunch in her face, the flinch across her features, that perfect, hot little mouth widening and needing to be captured in a kiss because she’s always so fucking loud when she cums.

Muted, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” and then, “why are you so good at this?”, and she’s rocking against your hand, pussy desperately swallowing your fingers, the filthy slaps of skin and skin and the squelching that echoes off the glass walls.

At last, the release.

Everything built up in the anticipation, in her no doubt rush to be back in front of you, to end up wrecking another piece of furniture or a room, and not give a flying fuck because there’s nothing else that matters but the high of her orgasm.

Only, it’s just the first one. And it’s not enough.

God, there really are fewer things in life you love more than making her cum.

So, it only makes sense to do it again.

Unfortunately, she’s faded away for a bit.

It’s your job to bring her back.

A kiss on her forehead to remind her to come up for air, to let the world come rushing back into the room. But Chaewon’s not quite there yet.

She pants, pats your wrist, drawls, “Please, just, give me a second. Just a little bit. Too intense.”

Unfortunately, you’ve already made up your mind.

You push off her, giving her the shortest of seconds to catch her breath, claw her way back to some semblance of sanity before you start to make your way down her body.

She deserves it, all of it. Kisses on every inch of hot, sweaty skin.

Revel in the aftershocks that make her tremble. Make her sigh when your lips drag down her chest, return a tongue to her nipple, feel it shiver on your tastebuds. Get lower and lower, let her legs give way, making your destination clear.

It’s impossible to miss all these tiny little reactions, these quivers and shakes. The gasps at the sticky trail your fingers are leaving behind.

She’s a mess already, all because of you, and you can’t get enough of the power in that.

Right until you’re on your knees.

“I think I like the look of this,” Chaewon lets out a breezy laugh, so pleased to rest her legs over your shoulders.

You tilt your head, raise an eyebrow. And then get right in, drag a tongue from bottom to top.

Chaewon’s thighs clatter on either side of your head.

And now you return her laugh, “You seriously think you’re in charge right now?”

Her hands flail, and it’s so cute the way she tries to reach down, shuffle her cunt back onto your lips. Get her fingers in the back of your head, tugging at the strands. “Just,” she sighs, and sighs louder when you don’t immediately give in, “Let a girl fantasise, would you?”

“Only because you asked nicely.”

“Good,” and she pulls you back in, blessing you with the most pleasant of whines when she so kindly requests, “Now, pretty please, would you just fuck me with your mouth for, like, a second, okay?”

“Nice to see you still have your manners,” you say, already sucking a bruise into her skin. “We just might make a lady out of you yet.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Chaewon’s words barely leave her mouth before they trail off, lost somewhere between a laugh that turns into a moan that cuts right off into a gasp when your tongue slides through her slit.

You taste her. Really, taking your time. Savouring her flavour.

And she’s got so much for you, making a mess of your chin already, and you make a mental note to add your carpet to the long list of surfaces she’s left forever unsalvageable.

It’s a wonder, truly, how delicate she is, how little she can take without straight-up disintegrating. The fact that the slight press of your lips makes her breaths stall, a brief swipe of your tongue causes her thighs to tremble and when you suck just right she needs to work every muscle in her body to stop from screaming.

You’re not even trying that hard.

Just enjoying the taste of her pussy.

It’s a fragile balance; Chaewon’s cunt is a sweet science. Build her up quick, keep her just on the edge of too much. Leave her hanging, begging, just enough anguish so she doesn’t hurtle over into that oblivion she so desperately craves.

You swirl your tongue, pressing in, reintroducing yourself to each one of her nerve endings. Every fold and dip intensely familiar, like there’s the one that makes her thighs quiver and there’s the one that makes her toes curl, and oh, when you push your tongue in right here and use this exact amount of pressure—

“Holy fuck—your fucking tongue—”

Yeah, that spot might as well have your fucking name on it.

Her hands say everything she’s too choked up to get out. In your hair, pulling, clawing at your scalp, urging you to go on. Trying, so desperately hard, to fuck your face, whimpering in despair the entire time, eventually getting out, “Seriously, what the fuck. How the fuck can you just do this?”

“Just how good you taste, baby,” you speak into her cunt, even though you know she was never really expecting an answer. Just wanted some acknowledgment of the things you do to her.

But maybe she has a point—this skill you’ve built up for breaking Chaewon. Maybe it’s the way you’re so thorough, so precise. So greedy for her. Like you could never get enough. Just eat her out until your jaw gets tired, your tongue loses all strength, your body just gives out.

And even then.

You push your tongue inside, and it’s heaven, just pure heaven, to feel her clamp down around you. Her whole body thrumming against your mouth, her thighs tensing on either side of your face, her stomach tightening underneath the pressure of your palm.

You suck hard on her clit, and—

“Christ, you fucking—” she curses, failing to contribute anything else, besides a dying wail of your name.

“Shhh,” you hush into her folds, but it’s a fruitless endeavour. Chaewon has never once in her life been the quiet type.

“Oh, fuck off,” Chaewon says, breathing deeply, something of a laugh creeping out her throat. “You fucking love it. Love the idea of everyone knowing what a slut I am for you. Love having everyone see me and know immediately that you’ve had your mouth on me. That it’s your cum dripping out of my cunt.”

“Guilty,” you say, intending it to come out as an apology. But really, it’s just boasting at this point.

It’s all a test to you, a game. See how loud you can get Chaewon to be. How easy you can overcome her self-control, what little shreds of dignity she has intact. Try to put a thick, white stain on her flawless public image.

And you always win.

Every time she cums, you win.

So, you keep going.

Push the pace just a little, push her. Tongue laving, curling around her clit. Flicking and suckling until she’s just a puddle of needy noises and boneless limbs.

You look up at her, peer over her mound, see her chest rising and falling, her cheeks flushed and eyes hazed over with this utterly devastating look of pure want—so wet and messy and perfect. Like she’s drowning in it, even though you’re the one quickly running out of oxygen between her legs.

She’s so close, just needs that extra bit of effort. That little twirl of your tongue that turns her knees to jelly. And her pussy pulses against your lips, spine lifting off the desk, head banging against the wood.

She’s aching.

Sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing spectacularly at keeping her voice down, keeping herself from making sure everyone in the fucking building knows your name.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s chanting, when your fingers get busy again, pressing in deep, curling just right. And then, “baby, baby, baby,” when you start to pump into her, really get into it, sucking down on her cunt and letting her ride out her pleasure on your chin.

It somehow gets even messier.

“Can’t,” interspersed with, “fuck”, and topped off with a row of accusations, “why do you do this—how can you—” and ended with the whines of “don’t—don’t—please don’t you dare—”

But then—you stop.

Chaewon makes her agonising protest heard. Eyes snapping to yours, absolutely murderous. Simply, “Why?”

Because you enjoying watching her squirm.

Because you love to torture her.

Because you haven’t got what you want yet.

It’s so easy for you—break the hold her legs have on you, keep her stuck to your desk with a hand on her diaphragm. You stand up, watch her whine, see how her abs flex. Helpless when you take hold of her hips and flip her tiny frame over until she’s face down on a stack of papers.

You could throw her over your shoulder and parade her around your office and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Probably thank you afterwards.

But instead you just make her wait. Hold still, pussy leaking all over your desk. Ass pointing up in the air.

Perfect, round, prepared.

Designed by some divine engineering to be caressed, squeezed, worshipped. To be spanked. You palm one cheek, seeing how the flesh bounces back with a jiggle, before letting it go with a smack. The sound rings out, sharp, stinging.

Instantly recalling memories of the last time you left it a much darker shade of pink. You’re inclined to do it again.

For now though, you just bend down. Give it a gentle kiss.

Chaewon does her best to turn back, glaring. Like she doesn’t get off on the size difference.

She can’t find the words, so you give them to her, “You know what I want.”

Blushing, flustered, frantic. “You want me to beg.”

You nod. Wait patiently. Lips to her ass again.

Her eyes close, she inhales deep. Huffs through her nose. You spy the way her back curves and goes taut. Her hands clenching into fists.

Give her time. She’s a pro at this game too. Knows exactly how to play it. Chaewon’s voice comes out clear, no longer a mess of half-formed cries, or barely-there whimpers, but something sharp and precise:

“I need you to fuck me. Now. Please, please, fuck me hard. I don’t care if we get caught. Just. My cunt, my ass—any hole you want, I can’t—I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—I really, really need your fucking cock to stretch me out. Right now. I'm begging. Just like you wanted. Let me fucking cum.”

And then, to extend the torment just a little longer, “Haven’t I made you cum enough?”

“It doesn’t count unless I cum on your cock. Unless you fill me all the way up. Use me, own this ass. Make me walk outside with your cum inside me, dripping down my thighs, leaving a trail of you everywhere I go.”

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” You grin, raising goosebumps with your words, Chaewon shuddering under the ghost of your lips. Knowing there’s nothing she wouldn’t say, nothing she wouldn’t do just to have you use her again.

She gives up. “Don’t call me that unless you’re going to treat me like one.”

Yeah, God himself couldn’t strike the grin off your face. “Well, if you’re going to ask me like that.”

“Anything to get you to finally stop teasing me, please. I don’t think I can handle it, just, just—”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Chaewon,” you say, and then you lick her, from her cunt to her ass with one long drag of your tongue.

Chaewon gasps. Cums again.

It’s just the thought of it that wrecks her. The thought of your cock pushing into that puckered hole, the thought of your fingers gripping into her hips and your thumbs pressing in bruises.

And you can see Chaewon’s shoulders bunch up, her ass tilting and pointing higher up towards you. The realisation of what’s to come setting in—you’re going to take Chaewon’s ass once again, make good on a promise you brokered when you first bought her that silver toy and pushed it into the tightest little hole she had.

You spit on her asshole. The saliva glistens against her skin.

Chaewon’s whispering, talking to you, herself. Just doing what she can to brace through it all without completely falling apart again. “Fuck, I can’t believe it. Can’t believe you’re going to do this again. That I’m going to let you.”

Your tongue returns, sloppily tracing the crevice between her cheeks, sliding up and down. It teases this moan out of her, loud and mangled and guttural, but still so melodic to your ears. Makes her cunt throb against your chin, gush even more.

Yeah, you can feel it in her thighs, flexing and pushing back, urging her ass further onto your tongue. Not that you need the encouragement. Because you’re loving it, feasting on her taste, her flavour. Her scent. Inhaling it in, all of her, all of that peach-shaped perfection.

You’re going to lose your mind.

So, you spread her open. Sure, the butt plug has done its work—done its best—loosening her up, but she’s still so maddeningly tight that you know it’s going to get dangerous, going to be such a fucking squeeze.

Your tongue dips low to scoop up all that sweet, sweet juice that’s been building up. Eagerly licking up her cum, spreading the mess across her ass cheeks, adding your own brushes to the masterpiece.

And it is, all of it, your magnum opus.

Her cheeks parting and glistening underneath the warm office lights.

Her hole clenching, and relaxing. A wink because it knows what you’re going to do to it.

You push your tongue in that tiny pucker, just for a second, and it fucks Chaewon up good.

One final lick, one final perfect groan from her lips.

“Please.”

Stand up, cock in hand, line it up with that incredible, dark little hole.

Bend over, get close, and slowly, “I’m going to pound this hot fucking ass. Ruin it. Own it.”

Chaewon’s panting, nodding with each word. It’s all she can do. Hardly in any state to protest or argue or do anything but beg for you to do the one thing that’ll make her feel whole again.

You add that extra bit of torment, “And when I cum, when I fill your ass. You’re going to thank me. Thank me for using you as my own personal cumdump. Understand?”

“Yes,” Chaewon breathes, barely, and there it is: “I’ll do anything you want, just, please—”

Oh, the fucking grind when you push your hips forward, and the endless groan it rips from Chaewon’s throat.

“Fucking hell,” you’re cursing, barely inside, but still.

You push, inch by inch, feeling that rigid ring of muscle open itself up to you. Feeling like it’ll never end, this burning, fucking hot sensation; that has her melting around you, like she was always meant to be.

And it’s your name on her tongue, cursed and chanted and praised as you get deeper and deeper, until the words just dissolve into mindless mewls and whimpers and—“Fuck—so fucking deep.”

She’s just so hot underneath you, stretched impossibly wide around your girth, holding you tight and burning you up. And when you’re finally in; when you’re buried completely in Chaewon’s ass, and your legs are shaking and her eyes are wide and starting to well up, she whispers. Hushed, reverent—

“So perfect.”

You can’t come up with anything better than that.

Nothing in this world is better than your cock impaled in her ass, her pussy gushing onto your desk, and your hands just gripping so nicely around her hips.

God, just the way she fits. Made for this. Made for you.

You press your lips to her back, like licking salt before downing a shot. A last show of kindness for her to carry with her through the coming storm, through all your grand plans and designs to properly wreck her perfect, petite body.

Chaewon knows the score, “You’re just going to do whatever you want to me now, aren’t you?”

“Exactly like you want,” you answer, and draw your hips back, torturously slow, almost slipping out entirely.

Giving Chaewon’s ass a moment’s relief, letting her have a beat to pant, to inhale hot air, to remember what it’s like to not be so completely full of you.

Her shoulders heave, her spine curves upwards, and this is what you’ve been waiting for.

Chaewon, the idol—your princess. All doe-eyes and runny make-up and fucked up little sighs. No one was ever supposed to see her like this. See her looking anything less than magazine-cover perfect, anything less than dolled up and posed in designer dresses and outfits so nicely for a music video, or an award show, or a stage.

No one should ever see the lines in her picturesque face all flushed and twisted in agony. Her perfect bob in shambles. Her eyes wide, pupils blown, in tears. Her mouth loose and open and hot. Her ass bright fucking red.

No one but you.

You snap your hips back in. As hard as you can.

And—“Fuck!”

Too sudden. Too hard, too fast. Yet not nearly enough.

One stroke after another. Slipping in and out, easier and easier as Chaewon bends to your tempo, the pace you’re setting. Slow, steady, firm strokes that add on top of each other, and Chaewon keeps getting louder and louder until it’s now not just a problem, it’s going to be a fucking scandal.

The celebrity, fucked like some common whore by an executive on a power-trip. So easy for anyone to overhear, anyone to realise what’s going on behind the glass walls and the dark curtains.

Fuck, you’re not even sure if you remembered to even lock the door.

But the thought alone, someone walking in, witnessing the terrible and beautiful and fucking obscene way you’re claiming her—it’s the purest high. Making her take it. Treating her like a possession. Like she loves to be. Seeing her body shake, her face scrunch, her eyes sobbing at just the effort to keep silent.

It’s no use.

She’s so loud.

So, so loud.

Chaewon pushes herself off the desk, posts two hands flat to brace herself. Lifting herself up to give a better angle, to get you in deeper, letting you just chase that sweet, sweet sound of your cock slapping into her ass.

It’s fantasy, filth, every repressed wet-dream come to life. This pain that twists into pleasure and rocks her body, pounding her into your desk. Knocking over your monitor, sending your keyboard clattering to the floor. Chaewon’s nails fuck up the wood, leaving white scrapes on the varnish.

“I hate how—how good you feel. Fuck, I hate it—hate how much I need it—fuck.”

You grunt, slam your hips into her, make your cock disappear into her. “Stop lying.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s just you and me here, Chae,” even though you’re not entirely sure that’s the case, “Be honest with yourself for once.”

“Fuck—fine!” Chaewon’s on the verge of collapse, still cum-drunk, brain all cock-addled and filled with incoherent thoughts that are all distinctly related to how good your cock feels when it’s stretching her ass to its limits. “I love it, okay? I love being used. Love how much of a whore you make me. Love being treated just like this.“

"That’s all you had to say.”

You move.

Pull back, roll your hips, dragging your cock out of her tightness. Then pushing forward, plunging right back in, making her feel every inch. Forcing a whine out of her throat.

Steady, patient fucking.

The kind she loves to hate.

“Wait—please—why are you going so slow, it’s—”

Another slow draw, another hard fuck.

“Edging me like this is so fucking rude, I can’t believe you’d—”

Cutting her off with another deep thrust. Dragging. Deliberate. Faster.

“Such an asshole, doing this to me, can’t believe I’m letting you—”

Harder still. Building. Picking up speed.

“Fuck me harder. Faster. Please, I promise—I promise—”

Each stroke, each thrust, each grind, making her beg with every breath. But leaving her too helpless to do anything about it.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you. Like I already have been. Like I always am for you. Aren’t I always such a good girl for you?“

And it’s starting to have an effect on you too, all this holding back, this enduring; this burning sensation inside you is reaching critical mass and it only makes sense to get it the fuck out of your system and into Chaewon’s ass while she just slurs—

"Please, fuck me, please, I don’t know how much more of this I can take—”

But she still takes it, anything you throw at her. Until you’re fucking her ass so hard that everything coming out of her mouth just becomes white noise. One long, garbled plea, a never-ending moan that sounds something like:

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me. This cock is gonna make me cum so much. Fucking me so good, it’s—”

You’re relentless.

Turning up the heat, giving it to her exactly how she’s begged. Fast. Hammering into her ass, harder, meaner.

Long, harsh thrusts that break her in two every time.

And you’re really putting her lungs to work, testing their capacity. Making her go high-pitched until she’s jumping octaves and showing no signs of coming back down.

Getting out of control, and it’s after one harsh curse directed right at your cock that your hand shoots for her mouth; slapping your palm over her lips and making her choke down the sound.

But the moans don’t stop, just vibrate against your skin, like you’ve given her license to let herself go. Immediately making all the prior obscene declarations of slutdom and whoring seem tame in comparison.

And it’s borderline impressive, the creativity with which she spurns all manners of filth and profanity, everything screamed into your hand, barely muffled. Not stopping, not slowing down at all, until her teeth are sinking into your palm with only her spit to soothe the pain.

It’s only fair that you have words for her too.

“Can’t even control yourself, Chae. Such a nasty cockslut. So fucking tight,” you growl, and it’s getting harder to hold on by the minute, your own vision starting to swim. “Unbelievable. So tight. So pretty. Just taking my cock like this. My little whore. Tell me, who’s going to want you after this?”

It’s your words that make Chaewon preen. Makes her ass spasm around your cock, her pussy melt. And she’s fighting, fighting for air, fighting to stay together, fighting to stay on her feet.

But she’s slipping.

“Mine.” You reach out, wrap your hand around her chest. It’s her tits, swinging underneath her, bouncing with every solid thrust, every rough push into her ass. It’s fucked that it’s taken you this long to get your hands back on them, dig into the lovely flesh, pinch and tug and fuck her up even more.

Holding her tiny frame against you, in your arms, an anchor for your worst desires.

Feeling how small she is. Feeling everything about her. The softness of her breasts, the insane tension in her stomach, the warmth of her thighs. Feeling the wetness of her cunt, the intense heat of her ass. You thought she was fragile once. Now you know better.

Now you know how ridiculous it is that not only does someone like her exist, but that she’s also so willing to let you fuck her like this.

Willing to let you split her apart with every stroke and even then she’s just so, so desperate for more. Like it’s the best feeling, the only feeling she’ll ever need again.

“God,” because it hurts, “Yes,” because it still feels so fucking good, and, “Keep going, please, fuck, keep going,” even though you don’t need any urging at all.

She’s drooling down your wrist, tears are streaking out the corners of her eyes—she’s broken, overwhelmed, overstimulated. Loving it entirely and there’s no way she’ll be able to get out of here in one piece.

Someone—everyone will know. It’ll play out exactly like she said it would, like you knew it would when you called her over.

Your office will never be the same.

“Can you hear that?” You taunt in her ear, all low and gravelly.

Chaewon’s eyes fly open, gaze hazy. Confused. There’s nothing but the sound of your hips slapping against her cheeks, your cock fucking filthy noises out of her ass.

You’re so happy to explain it to her. “Can’t hear anything, right? Nothing outside these walls. Do you wanna know why?”

A tiny little sigh escapes her when you peel your fingers off her lips, satisfied that she just might be able to hold back her screams for a minute. Drag your hand down, lower, glide it over her skin, pick up the sweat along the way, and end up at her cunt. A finger pressing down onto her clit. Rolling it.

“It’s because they’re listening.”

The cry that’s torn from her throat, louder, she’s going to wear out her vocal cords at this rate, ruin that angelic singing voice, but fuck it’s the most satisfying sound.  

You lean into it, toy with her tits, trace your finger around her cunt. Slide your tongue along her throat and kiss into that sweet spot under her ear.

“They’re all wondering why you’re screaming so much. Why you’re so desperate to keep it down. What’s got you so fucking crazy?”

Chaewon’s eyes are wild, she’s torn, but she’s so fucked out of coherence that her mouth and her tongue have lost all ability to do anything but plead, agree, repeat your name.

“Actually, they probably already know. Now they just want to hear what you sound like when you really cum hard. What it’s like to be used. To be fucked by me.”

Your fingers are dipping lower, pushing into her cunt, instantly drenching them in her wetness. And she’s biting down on her cheek so hard, adding onto the litany of bruises and marks you’ve already left on her. It’s all getting to be too much—for you, for her—her whole body tightening around you, cunt spasming around your digits, ass choking your cock and—

“Tell them, Chaewon. Let them hear. Tell them what it’s like to have my cock in your ass.”

Chaewon tries her best. “It feels so—”

“Louder.”

Barely can string a proper sentence together, can’t find the oxygen for it, “Feels so good.”

You’re not helping at all, not giving her a chance of a respite. Fucking the wind out of her, leaving her completely out of breath, a complete catastrophe of need and want and tiny, desperate sounds. But you insist, again, “Louder.”

“I—I—I can’t—I can’t—”

Her wrists give way, she falls into the desk. You’re quick to grab a fistful of hair, snatch it in your fingers before she can collapse face-first into the wood. Wrenching her head back, holding her up so you can keep pounding into her. “Try harder.”

“Please,” she cries, but it’s only making your strokes harsher, more punishing. Everything she needs. Setting every part of her on fire. The pace, the pressure, the force. Leaving her so flushed, and she knows you’re not going to stop until you get what you want, so—"Your gorgeous fucking cock is tearing me in two.”

“More.”

“It’s so fucking good, opening my ass—stretching me out—fucking me until I can’t even think straight. I don’t—I don’t know—I don’t think I can take it—Jesus fucking Christ—it’s too much.”

“You’re so good for me, Chaewon, you’re being such a good girl,” you tell her, cooing into her neck. Convincing her of your own brand of love, whispering praises that she just soaks in, basking in every word—“No one could take me like this. No other ass could ever compare. You’re just too good. I could fuck you like this forever. I don’t care who sees. Who watches. I want everyone to know how perfect your ass is for me.”

“Yes,” Chaewon breathes, like she’s testing out what little remains of her voice. Makes a decision. Thows it all away, uses every last bit of strength to shout out, “Fuck it—everyone should know how much I love your cock in me. Fuck—how much I crave it—”

And it’s starting to hit you out of nowhere—this mind-numbing sensation that’s rattling through your bones. Fire in your veins, fireworks setting off down your spine. And you’re sliding into her ass, again and again, can’t stop, just going, every second bringing you closer to the end, and Chaewon deserves nothing more than a hand tightening around her throat and a hard fucking slap on her cheeks so—

“Everyone should know how hard you’re making me fucking cum!”

Her ass suffocates your cock.

Takes you forward with her, forcing you to fall into her and squash her against the desk. Pulling you in the deepest you’ve been yet, just completely impaled into her thoroughly-fucked ass, until you’re spilling into the depths of her.

“God, fuck, I can feel it—”

And Chaewon’s shaking beneath you too. Trapped under your weight; her body would be shivering, cumming until she’s tumbled off the furniture and onto the carpet, but there’s nowhere to go with you keeping her in place. Using her ass to milk out every last drop from your cock, making her feel it right in her guts, shooting inside her and filling her tight hole right to the brim.

Fuck.

It’s all coming out of her too.

Down her thighs, mixing with the wetness gushing out of her cunt, sliding down her legs. It’s all sweat, cum, juices, these running rivulets that rush all the way down to her feet, pooling on the floor.

No time to think about the mess your making, no time to think about what happens after. Just trying to survive it. The intense visual of Chaewon cumming helplessly, endlessly beneath you. The dozens of tiny shifts in her body; the crane of her neck, the tightening of her jaw, the tight little squeezes of her ass around your cock, and the curl in her swollen lips—

That smile.

It’s everything: absolute debauchery, pornographic, and it makes you want to rip your heart right out of your chest and give it to her.

You hold her through it, kiss her down off that ledge, whisper quiet things from a tender place deep inside you that you had no idea still existed.

And yeah, maybe it’s a little concerning how sweet Chaewon gets right as you’ve broken her. Kissing into your wrist, nuzzling into your forearm with her nose. A whisper, barely heard as she goes weak beneath you, submitting completely when she sighs against your skin, “You really fuck me up good, you know?”

She keeps herself wrapped around you, no immediate ideas of ever leaving, ever existing in a world where your cock isn’t completely seated in her ass, where your cum isn’t painting the walls of her insides. Just so wrecked by all of it. By all of you.

So you keep kissing into her back, soothe her down. Kiss up her spine, kiss that spot between her shoulder blades, kiss her more, kiss her everywhere, until your mouth is a mess and her skin is a canvas of your lips.

Keep your hands busy, too busy. At her sides, and lower still, massaging into the tender bruises across her ass cheeks, as if you weren’t the one that put them there in the first place. But now it’s your job to fix them. To nurse them away. Make it right again.

Chaewon makes this slow, languid movement, a shift underneath you that has your softening cock slip out of her, has her rolling onto her back. Looks up at you; this beautiful, drowsy haze pulled over her teary eyes, and it all should be so played out by now, should be something your used to, but really, Chaewon’s truly stunning.

Gorgeous, all the time, but when she’s like this—used, ruined, destroyed, in a pool of her own cum—she’s on a different plane of existence.

She smirks, because she can read your mind, and sighs, “I’m going to miss this when you get fired.”

You’re cracking up, wiping the sweat across your brow with the back of your hand. “And what have I done for that to happen?”

“Um, try, railing the talent in the middle of the company office, maybe?”

“I think you did a pretty good job at keeping it down.”

Chaewon enunciates slowly. Like she's talking to a child. “I literally screamed at the top of my lungs that you were making me cum. The security guard on the ground floor heard it.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, but you’re already lifting her leg before you can think better of it. Lips meeting her ankle, her calf, once again well on your way to making Chaewon’s pretty little head let go of every thought that isn’t what you’re doing to her at this very moment. “Probably.”

And it’s when you get to her knee, and lower, further down, where she’s let herself get so wet and shiny and messy, and now that she’s quivering again, there’s no going back.

Your teeth graze along the inside of her thigh, your lips drag achingly slow, stopping short of where she needs you to be. “But no one on this floor did.”

Chaewon blinks. Stares at you, adorably annoyed. Happily frustrated that you’re back to torturing her.

“Told everyone to go home after you arrived. So, we’re in the clear. No one here but us.”

A myriad of emotions flash across Chaewon’s painfully pretty features. Relief, amusement, disbelief. Awe.

But also—disappointment.

Because here’s the real rub, the truth of the matter. The thing she’d only admit to in some darkened room; or scream into your hand, or a pillow, or, in this case, a stack of overdue paperwork.

Chaewon lives for this shit, as much as you do.

The thrill, the rush of almost getting caught, the addiction to having an audience.

Yeah, it’d probably make her cum buckets if someone was to witness the exact moment you actually break her.

And you can already see the gears turning in her head, thinking of the next time you’ll push her past her boundaries, raise the stakes, maybe forget to evacuate a floor before nailing her to the closest hard surface.

Find out just how much of a good girl she really is for you.

But for now she just smiles up at you. Lets the thought churn inside her. Simmering, then boiling, and then getting exponentially hotter, wetter; moans tumbling out of her lips until all that’s left is for her to accept that—

“Oh, you’re the worst.”

You quite readily accept your punishment for your crimes on her body; the individual counts against her cunt and her lips and her ass. Serve out your term between her legs, starting it off with a lick that passes the entirety of her pussy.

Bringing the two of you right back to the beginning, where her hands are threading into your hair and you’re putting your mouth to good use and making her go from hushed to panting to whining, and again she’s close to shattering into a million tiny pieces because fuck.

She really, really does make it so easy.

Easy to keep going, even when you're mentally and physically spent; even when she's lost all fight in her, can't even summon the strength to beg a little more, to plead for you to make it hurt better.

Easy to fuck—to make love to her.

To fall for her.

You don’t think you could ever stop, you don’t think she’d ever let you. No, even when the moment shifts, and you’re switching up gears, and you have her spread out over the comfort of your couch instead of your rigid office desk, she still is, and will always be, yours to play with.

And it's Chaewon’s eyes going soft, her arms wrapping around your neck, and she’s holding you tight, holding you like a lifeline.

Her voice is simply gone, no more declarations, but she’s already said all she needs to. Let you in on this quiet need inside her. This gentle craving. For something like this.

For someone like you.

You kiss her.

It’s different.

Take your time—you’re too drained to rush.

Just sink back into Chaewon, fall into her light kisses against your cheek, whispers of what you swear sound like three dangerous words, but you’re too tired to make them out.

Just embrace her, embrace the girl that could have anything, be anything she wants to be, but for some reason has chosen to be yours. Let your fingers run over her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, and lower.

Lose yourself in her, in this unholy silence that’s gradually being cut into by her gasps and her moans, and—

You pause.

Shush Chaewon.

Hear the low hum of a vacuum right outside your door.

“Ah. Shit. Cleaners.”

A scant thought crosses your mind.

"You think they heard?"

Chaewon smiles. Shrugs.

Somehow finds one last sliver of energy to adjust herself beneath you.

"Maybe," she's whispering. Reaching out to touch you. Rolling her hips. Making you throb. "Probably."

And now she's grinning, and you can feel it in your chest. That thrill that never really went away, the chase you can't quite escape from.

It's against your better judgment, but you're already surfacing these ideas, the things you could do to her; how creative you could really get in your office—just hoisting her up on her feet and pressing her against the walls and fucking her into the glass until she's leaving an imprint.

Chaewon reads it on your face.

Knows that all she has to do is ask:

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

[writerpeach]

Sticky Sweet

IVE Wonyoung x m!reader

21k words

Part 9 of IVED Vanilla Latte

“You’re coming with us.” That is precisely how they phrase it. No 'please,' no 'if you want to,' not an ounce of consideration. "I don't even like clubs—" "And?" Yujin interrupts, lifting a finger up to press against your lips to silence you. "This is non-negotiable." "What if I had other plans tonight?" "When have you ever had something planned that didn't involve either of us?" Wonyoung asks as she finishes applying mascara on her other eye. The two stare you down, arms crossed and unwilling to take no for an answer.

"Exactly," Yujin says as she disappears into the walk-in closet, returning a few moments later with two very different dresses. "Be ready in an hour."

That’s how you find yourself here.

You can hardly hear yourself think over the deafening music, blaring so loud you can feel it through the floorboards of the club these two finagled you into.

But you couldn't miss the chance for these two girls to show off, heels and tight dresses and heavy makeup, expensive jewelry dangling from their ears. Impossible for them not to be the center of attention the moment they step through the door, avoiding this massive line stretching down the sidewalk simply by flashing a smile to the bouncer, being let right through. 

You're pretty sure these two could get out of almost anything with the right facial expression. Just a raise of an eyebrow and a flutter of those luscious lashes, and their wish is everyone's command.

Once the three of you find a booth in the private VIP section, Yujin waves over a server, ordering two bottles of their most expensive champagne without even batting an eye at the price. "Can't believe daddy actually came along," Wonyoung shouts across the table. "Like, actually went to a club with us."

"Like he could ever resist us. All it takes to convince him is a slutty dress like this," Yujin says as she gives this little grin, that confident stare she's mastered over time. "And maybe the promise of fucking me in the bathroom if he's lucky. Right, daddy?"

The two of them giggle, already working on their first glass of champagne while scooting in close. It's a cozy enough booth, enough space that you're all able to slide in on one side, bare thighs brushing against yours and leaving no gaps between any of you. 

On your right, Yujin in this elegant white dress that matches the pearls hanging from her neck, the hem flirting past her hips. And to your left, Wonyoung in this tight, form-fitting black dress with sparkling gems that hug her curves, her long legs crossed so you can see every inch of them. 

"Daddy could never say no to getting his dick wet," Wonyoung says as she tilts her head back, gulping the last of her first glass and sets it down. Yujin laughs at that, almost spitting out her drink.

She’s not wrong. 

“It's too fucking loud in here," you complain, desperate to change the topic as you look around the VIP lounge. 

"Daddy's getting old,” you hear, and it’s Wonyoung, of course, who says that while pouring another glass. And you know she's mocking you, that look of faux innocence that earns a giggle from Yujin beside you. “Or maybe you're just used to listening to my screams and not anything else."

Yujin nearly drops her glass at Wonyoung's brazen remark and doubles over with laughter.

It’s only after the first bottle is almost depleted, that you switch to a couple rounds of shots, with Yujin pouring one down your throat as Wonyoung makes quick work of a margarita, before you even think about getting on the dance floor. 

That’s the excuse you’ll give for these two to grind up on you without hesitation in this packed sea of bodies, hands groping every bit of you they can, cupping your crotch while you return the favor and grab their tight asses, kissing both girls without giving the least amount of care for onlookers.

And you're definitely the luckiest person in here right now.

Almost better when you're not part of the main action, having your two favorite girls get all handsy while you watch. Seeing Wonyoung take the lead is always a delight, fingers running through those silky strands of Yujin's long, jet-black hair, holding her firmly in place as she dives in for a sloppy kiss, pushing her tongue in deep for more than a few moments. 

You’re not left staring for long. Wonyoung isn’t afraid to pull you back in with a tight yank of your collar as she slips her tongue into your mouth without hesitation, the alcohol on her breath lingering.

Yujin's next to follow, biting your ear and whispering all the dirty things she wants you to do tonight, getting her tongue in the mix with Wonyoung, eager to swap saliva back and forth with either of you. 

But Wonyoung isn't content to let her give all the attention, snaking behind you to suck on the exposed skin of your neck with those full, pouty lips that devour you. Her hands wander along your body, sneaking under your shirt, traveling wherever she pleases. 

Yujin is equally relentless, licking and nibbling at your skin until she turns around to grind her hips, pushing that delicious ass on the bulge trapped by your pants. As if you needed a reminder of how turned on you are, your dick hardening with each move they make.

"Daddy's getting a little worked up, isn't he?" Wonyoung murmurs into your ear, leaning forward while the two get a handful of your crotch, and she's not wrong. Two sets of nimble fingers squeeze and stroke along the outline in your pants, so needy, so wanting, and it's almost embarrassing how quickly you've gotten hard, with little chance of hiding it in public. 

"Need another fucking drink," you growl, knowing the last thing you need is them riling you up this much in a crowded space, not that you're going to stay on the dance floor much longer. Making a beeline toward the nearest bar, the two don't stop with all the attention, clinging to your side as you toss back a double shot, hoping the burn will distract you. 

It won’t.

"There's a bathroom upstairs," Wonyoung says so quickly she almost swallows every word, clearly as needy as you are when she yanks on your wrist. "Come on. Both of you. Now."

In a blink, she's dragging both you and Yujin away, which only makes the alcohol hit harder as the anticipation builds. She shoves you both inside, shutting the door behind as quickly as possible, the lock clicking in place to let the magic begin. 

But you’re happy to let them start without you, as Wonyoung wastes no time shoving Yujin against the sink for another drunken, heated kiss, purses thrown aside on the counter. The thud of Yujin's back hits the sink hard enough for her to groan, as the younger girl grabs her by the waist to draw her body tight, narrowing the distance while she shoves her tongue between those soft, willing lips.

Watching them devour each other is almost as intoxicating as the alcohol, and you're content to stand back and enjoy the show, listening to Yujin's throaty moans and needy sighs as the two lock lips, tongues exploring with impatience. 

The two go at it, Yujin with that tight, low cut dress riding up and showing off a sliver of her perfect ass, her black lace thong doing nothing to hide. Wonyoung right beside her, squeezes every bit of ass she can get her hands on, both of them moaning into their kiss and almost completely oblivious to you, the youngest still having the lead this time.

That’s until Wonyoung beckons to get involved with a finger, calling you closer. "Don't just stand there and watch like an idiot, daddy. If you're gonna stare, at least touch, too."

Not an easy invitation to refuse as you step closer to join this scene that’s all tongue, lips and saliva. Your fingers trail up along Wonyoung's bare skin, and you can't help but kiss the curve of her shoulder, working a hand along her hip until you find one of her smooth inner thighs underneath that short dress. 

Nothing in the world can distract Wonyoung at a time like this, grabbing your hand and shoving it right against the crotch of her panties with little thought, her body grinding on your fingers. The panties soak through in what feels like seconds as she groans into Yujin's lips from how you start to toy with her cunt, just grazing against it with each stroke, the wet fabric coating your fingertips with ease. 

"Poor daddy must be so hard," Yujin coos, getting close enough for her perfume to linger as her hands wrap around the back of your head. Like she doesn’t know that already when giving your hair a gentle tug,and crashes her lips into yours, tongue forcing its way in.

And while she claims your lips, Wonyoung helps ease the stress on your dick, creating friction from outside of your pants.

Now you’ve got Yujin’s taste in your mouth, and this needy girl on her knees as she takes care of unfastening everything holding your cock hostage in these tight pants. Her long fingers pull at your belt buckle, quickly shoving your pants down to the bathroom floor, until your clothed cock meets her hungry gaze. With a lick of her lips, she runs her hand along every inch, a grin appearing as she gives a firm squeeze through the fabric that causes a muffled groan. 

"Mm, must need this cock sucked so bad," Wonyoung says, digging fingertips into your boxers long enough to tear them off with a forceful tug. And the moment your cock is freed, she gives the attention you so badly crave, a tight grip around the base while her lips plant the first of many wet kisses.

“Good thing you're already on your knees then, slut," Yujin adds, chuckling before Wonyoung steals another taste, tongue flicking against your leaking slit as she pumps slow and steady. “Sucking off daddy is what our little brat is best at, isn’t it?” 

You couldn’t agree more. There’s hardly any music to distract you through the bathroom walls, bass reduced to a dull thump that makes it easier to drown in every little sound filling the room. Yujin bites on your bottom lip, bringing you into another wet, sloppy kiss, the taste of liquor so prominent on her tongue. And during that kiss, you groan into her mouth when Wonyoung wraps her full lips around your cock, slurping it down with little difficulty. 

“This is why we keep her around,” Yujin giggles while she wraps her arms around you, tracing her tongue up your neck. Wonyoung responds by sliding her lips farther down along the length of your dick, still stroking, leaving you unable to do much else but groan as you're engulfed in that hot, velvety mouth.

"Mmmph," and that’s all you can really hear as she swallows you down, warm mouth so sloppy, cheeks hollowed, head bobbing like there was never any other option but to take your entire length. 

Yujin’s right there, a distraction as much as encouragement, whispering whatever filthy things she can think of, whatever it takes to keep you rock hard while Wonyoung works her magic. It’s hypnotic, the way Wonyoung bobs her head, getting so deep with ease, the wet heat of her throat as she takes these deep, hungry strokes that echo as her lips move to the base of your cock, a combined effort all doing their best to unravel you. 

“Fuck, princess—“ 

And that’s all you can really do as she bobs her head so desperately between your legs, almost seeking approval. 

“Must feel so good, daddy. Our greedy little cocksucker loves it,” Yujin says, smirking as she dives back into another liplock, all lips and tongue and the occasional nibble of your neck. “Spit on that fucking cock, princess. Show us what a messy little whore you’ll always be.” 

It's almost a miracle Yujin even gets out the entire sentence with how much Wonyoung is moaning on your cock.

Whatever thoughts Wonyoung had prior vanish on the spot—unable to resist those kinds of commands. Not a lick of hesitation as she spits on your slick shaft, rubbing it in while you two watch, and she does it again and again, so damn eager to get her warm saliva dripping all over you.

You're more than thankful for the extra attention, because now Wonyoung takes the chance to pin your hips against the bathroom counter, getting nice and deep with the entirety of your dick shoved into her mouth. 

“God—that bratty fucking mouth feels so good,” you manage when Yujin lets you come up for air, lips licking up your neck once more. 

“Only thing she’s good for, right, daddy? A warm, wet hole for daddy to breed and that mouth getting us off. That’s what you’re best at, princess.” 

And it sounds so demeaning out of Yujin’s mouth, but Wonyoung couldn’t agree more, pressing her nose into your abdomen every time she bottoms out, a hand fondling your balls as she does so like she needs to prove a point. 

"Look at her go, daddy,” Yujin says right in your ear, taking a moment to enjoy the show. “Our little deepthroat queen, hungry as ever. On her knees, in a public bathroom. Right at home, isn’t she? Just needs to choke on it."

Wonyoung hums an affirmative moan, as if to agree, saliva hung down her chin while she pulls back slowly, a loud pop when you exit her mouth. And then she’s pumping so frantically, kissing your wet cock, tongue lashing up and down the length. 

"Nobody gives a blowjob like me, huh, daddy? Nice and sloppy, making a mess all over this big cock—“

Yujin only laughs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, princess.”

“But it’s true, daddy tells me that all the time,” Wonyoung says with so much pride in her voice, but Yujin’s too busy playing with your earlobe between her lips to even care. 

She’s not wrong of course, but you can’t admit it—at least not out loud. Wonyoung’s ego is inflated enough. 

But she does have the oral expertise covered, able to drain a load from your balls down her throat in seconds, if needed. And of course, Yujin is also deadly with that mouth, regardless of who’s the lucky recipient. Equal or surpassing Wonyoung on any given day, a master at everything else. Able to get either of you off in a matter of moments, usually first thing in the morning when there’s not much time before class. A quick bounce on your cock or sliding you between those deliciously thick thighs, and you’re gone—ready to start the day with a hot shower and a smile on your face. 

Wonyoung is back on your cock in an instant, so pretty on her knees, lips sealed tight, and moving faster than you can comprehend. She’s the definition of messy, eyes wide, slobbering on every inch, head bobbing, lost in her own world and loving every sound that you make. Not shy in her movements one bit, those lips move down to the base, just dying to please as the entirety of your cock stays shoved into her throat. 

Spit drips off her chin in this greedy attempt to swallow every bit of you, gorgeous doe eyes staring up as she hungrily chokes you down. There’s a pause every now and again to drag her tongue along the tip, flicking so rapidly while your cock throbs desperately in her grip. 

Your head falls back in pleasure, Yujin taking the opportunity to angle your face and shove her tongue in your mouth.

"Can't believe she used to be bad at this," she notes before your mouth is claimed in yet another sloppy kiss. "Now she sucks dick like a fucking porn star."

Wonyoung steals another glance as she pulls her lips away slowly, diving right back for several more strokes that confirm every word from Yujin’s lips. Her enthusiasm can't be matched, her fingers a little too eager, so much saliva dripping off her lips.

"I'm still better at taking it in the ass though," Yujin giggles as she nibbles along your neck and pecks along your cheek.

With each stroke and lick of Wonyoung's warm, slobbering mouth, you find yourself giving in to those obscene moans, unable to contain yourself, a relentless pace to push you closer to your limit. "That bratty fucking mouth really can't get enough, hm, princess?"

There’s no response, not that you need one when those full, luscious lips are heaven—wet and tight, so willing to please, choking down every inch so easily. And that tongue knows how to drive you wild, playing against the underside of your cock, flicking around to hit every last bit of sensitivity. 

No one can deny the results either, leaving a mess of saliva behind, your cock glistening—a blowjob a porn star would be jealous of is about as good as it gets. 

"Pretty thing is making such a mess," Yujin adds. "Got her sloppy fucking mouth drooling all over. Look at her, so hungry, choking on it, sucking down daddy's fat cock like she needs it to breathe."

“Brat makes me feel so good with this sloppy fucking mouth,” you groan, and can hardly speak the words out loud as they try to form, Wonyoung not giving the slightest sign of stopping as she delivers those unforgiving slurps. 

"Won't it feel even better if you fuck her pretty face, daddy?" Yujin's voice is dripping with this wickedness, the lust getting the better of her when she keeps her lips right at your ear, hot breath right up against. "Make her really choke on it, get that throat wrecked, see how far you can really cram it down there, yeah?"

Wonyoung pops you from her mouth with a wet gasp, ready to catch her breath for just a second as she goes back in without a word. 

“That what you want, princess? For me to use that bratty little mouth and make you a real fucking mess?” It's a rhetorical question, given how eagerly Wonyoung nods. The answer is already known, without a single word of refusal on her end.

Anything else is unacceptable. 

"Fucking whore likes that idea," Yujin adds while she hops onto the counter and spreads her legs. "Give her what she wants, daddy—shove your thick fucking cock down her throat. Ruin her, she’s begging for it. Aren’t you?” 

Wonyoung doesn't have a moment to reply. You give no warning whatsoever, too gone on shoving yourself back in that warm mouth, grabbing that silky black hair with both hands, fingers threaded tightly, holding her still as your hips take over. 

You thrust. 

Wonyoung chokes and sputters, spitting all over the base of your cock while Yujin laughs and kicks her feet in excitement, watching intently as the brat struggles.

"She can handle it, don't let up. Make her fucking gag. Wanna see that makeup all messy, fuck her throat like you do her cunt.”

That’s really all the instruction you need. Pumping your hips gets you so deep from the start, and Wonyoung doesn't have much choice but to accept every inch, that tight little throat being tested on how good it can take you. Turns out, like a fucking champ—not that anyone in the room expected anything less. 

So you don’t let up. Because why would you when Wonyoung can take whatever you give and more, inhaling every last inch stuffed down her throat, gagging so beautifully while her gaze never falters. 

And that look—her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and teary, and she's swallowing your entire length, surrendering to your every desire, your hips driven by lust. 

Yujin couldn't be happier to see her this way, the girl who prides herself on being perfect, now looking so debauched, cheeks stained with tears, several strings of spit dripping off her chin, mascara running so beautifully. 

“Jesus, fuck,” you groan, and it’s you who needs a break from these forceful thrusts, not Wonyoung, letting the image burn into your mind—this perfect canvas being ruined. “Your throat feels so goddamn good, princess.” 

“Of course it does, idiot,” Wonyoung manages to say through all the tears, wanting you back down her throat before you can even blink again. But you’re quick to guide her back, grabbing her head and repeating this all, hips snapping forward, your cock shoving as deep as it’ll go into her mouth. 

She’s completely at your mercy and wouldn’t have it any other way. “Arms behind your back, princess. Let daddy do the work, let him fuck that throat the way I know you love," Yujin demands as your cock makes its way back between those swollen, soft lips, hitting the back of her throat over and over. 

Tear-struck, mascara-run face and all, Wonyoung reaches back obediently and hugs her arms behind her, looking up, waiting to do nothing but take this.

“Pretty fucking toy,” you say, you can vocalize while you're fucking her throat like her watery eyes desperately beg for, every thrust picking up a little bit more speed, as her face becomes a perfect combination of saliva, tears and ruined mascara that looks so gorgeous staining that porcelain complexion. 

"Looks so fucking good, seeing this brat used like this," Yujin chimes in, eyes never looking away from Wonyoung, on her knees, taking every rough, wet slap of your hips that slam against her hungry lips. 

Your words fade into grunts and groans, as your hips thrust on repeat into her face, not slowing down for anything—

And Wonyoung has no qualms about her position, able to take the brunt of these unapologetic slams right down her throat while you palm her head and she gags so shamelessly, balls smacking her chin with each slap, tears falling free. 

“Such a good girl,” Yujin says, with this little smirk, wide and proud, Wonyoung with her mouth stuffed so full to argue otherwise. "Your pretty little toy. Keep going, fuck that face, daddy. She must be so fucking wet from all this."

She’s not the only one, either. 

There’s a familiar, slick noise that almost breaks your focus, and you know exactly what it is—Yujin, who's not shy about sitting on that counter and shoving her hand beneath her dress. She groans, quite loudly, pushing aside the lace of her thong so her fingers can pump in and out of her greedy pussy, eyes not leaving the debauchery happening below her. 

And as bad as you want to take a peek at just how wet Yujin has gotten for the show, you keep your eyes on Wonyoung—forcing her head down the base of your shaft, nose shoved against your stomach, hair tussled with no plans to release the tight grip that's driving you insane. She can't do much but stare up when her lips stay perfectly sealed, up against your balls. 

Muffled gargles escape from her mouth stuffed so full as you continue this relentless motion and spit drooling out like a faucet while you keep her firmly locked into place. 

“God, princess—these lips, this tight fucking throat, feels too fucking good," you groan, throbbing deep in her mouth. 

Wonyoung struggles to catch her breath as you pull away, saliva staining that little black dress of hers, more strings still attached to her mouth and chin. "Hey—wasn't finished with that cock yet," she protests, reluctant to leave her pillowy lips from your length. 

“But daddy must be ready to burst, can tell from those fucking groans," Yujin says, her own breath a little labored from touching herself. "So you get that cum right in your stomach and we can worry about your next load of jizz later."

For Wonyoung, the disappointment fades in an instant at the prospect of getting her stomach pumped full. She licks her lips and wipes the drool from her face before kissing a trail down your shaft, lips lowering, until they latch right onto your sensitive sack, wet tongue running over every bit. 

"This should help empty these heavy fucking balls," Wonyoung murmurs between those loud suckling sounds, humming so contently. Her lips suck and slurp with hunger, lost in the taste, looking up innocently with her smudged makeup and hair a complete mess, hot breath lingering on every bit.

"F-fuck, that fucking mouth, keep going—" You almost lose the ability to speak when her hand grips you firmly, mouth so ravenous on your balls. All of the warm, wet slobber that's been collecting on your shaft makes this so easy, her hand gliding up and down the length while you groan louder.

The strokes only get faster, these sinful slurps much louder, so lewd, so filthy, while your fist takes over, balls ready to be emptied while the pressure builds with every passing second. 

“Daddy’s gonna blow his fucking load,” Yujin says with so much excitement, watching this all unfold. But all you can focus on is Wonyoung, the heat of her mouth, swallowing each of your balls in sequence while your cock aches with these furious strokes. 

"Don't fucking stop, I'm so damn close," you moan out, feeling it all building to a point of no return. So close—right there, her mouth playing on each side of your heavy balls, knowing exactly what will send you over the edge.

"Open that bratty mouth," Yujin commands from the side, rubbing her clit all the while. Wonyoung responds exactly as ordered, leaning back, her tongue hanging out and ready for you to dump your load into her greedy mouth. And that's exactly where you aim, cock right between those pouty lips, resting the head along her warm, waiting tongue as the last couple few strokes finish the job. 

You unload right in her open mouth, and she moans at the first shot that lands on her outstretched tongue, the next thick spurts reaching into the back of her throat. A series of groans follows, as you pump out all you have to give into her mouth, some hitting her lips, the rest pooling onto her tongue. 

It’s euphoric, the intense spurts that leave your cock, and Wonyoung keeps her tongue out obediently, every hot, creamy spurt landing where it belongs, waiting until you've fired the very last of it. 

"Swallow it all, princess," Yujin orders, as if she ever needs to encourage anything of the sort. But that's exactly what Wonyoung does, making this sweet little moan when her head tilts back, and you watch your cum go straight down her throat, tongue swiping across to clean any trace. "That’s our good fucking girl." 

Wonyoung glares daggers right at Yujin for those words, knowing exactly how she feels about them. "Sh-shut up, I'm not—"

"Good? Yeah, we know. Princess gets her face destroyed in a bathroom and daddy's fucking cum right down her throat. Little slut is anything but good."

And that's the praise that Wonyoung prefers, what she craves, tongue out to show you the emptiness, swallowed all down before she gets her lips right back on your cock to make sure she’s got the last of it, every bit. When you can’t take anymore of this insane suction, you push her head off your oversensitive shaft with a groan, trying to catch your breath, hoping there’s no going back for more. 

"You're a fucking mess," is all you say and both Wonyoung and Yujin chuckle, so amused at that obvious observation. 

"Because I was choking on your dumb fucking cock. Not my fault daddy likes to be so rough," she says so proudly, trying to pin her insatiable desires on you. Even through all the ruined mascara, smeared lipstick and smudged eyeliner, there's still this innocence that drips from her lips when they smile.

"Pretty sure that's exactly your fault, princess," Yujin says as she helps Wonyoung to her feet, grabbing a tissue to help clean up her face a bit. Not that there's much she can do to fix such a disheveled appearance in a short time. 

"Ugh, whatever, let's get out of here. This place was nice enough and all, but I wanna get railed somewhere we're less likely to get interrupted," Wonyoung says, as she takes a quick glimpse in the mirror, admiring the work you've done. "Maybe somewhere with a little less fucking noise."

"And you called me the old one," you reply, earning the standard eye roll and huff from Wonyoung. 

"Because you are old, dummy. This music is fucking horrendous, and my feet hurt," she complains, struggling to stand upright as she leans over the counter. 

"God, you really are such a brat. Next, you're gonna want me to carry you out of here." 

"Well—if you're offering, daddy."

"I'm not."

Yujin is all giggles again, leaning over to kiss your lips. It's a tender, soft kiss, a nice juxtaposition to everything that's gone on in this room. 

"I choke on your cock, swallow every drop, and I can't even get carried outside? What's the fucking point then?" Wonyoung whines, a pout forming that does its best to change your mind. 

"Could you be more spoiled?" Yujin asks, stealing your words as if Wonyoung is the only brat in the room.

"Whatever," Wonyoung growls, reaching for her purse and storming out of the bathroom with an exaggerated stomp of her feet. "Daddy better give me a foot massage when we get back then."

You take a moment to look at Yujin as she jumps down from the counter and does a quick glance in the mirror, fixing her hair. Pants zipped back up, you have a final look around to survey the damage done before following these two out the door. "Let's go, daddy. I think our princess might explode if she has to wait much longer."

With another sigh, you make your exit, no concern for anyone who sees the three of you coming out at the same time, heading back out the club as fast as possible.

"Fucking hate clubs," Wonyoung mutters the moment the cold breeze hits, adjusting the neckline on her dress as the taxi pulls up. 

"Get in then, you fucking brat, before you freeze to death."

All you can do is laugh with Yujin as the door shuts and your bodies squish into the backseat. 

✦ ✦

The three of you are more than a little tipsy by the time you finally get back, making it back to your penthouse apartment where the quiet is so very welcome. Once inside, the one very obvious thing you all notice when the three of you step in is how goddamn dark the entire place is. 

The blinds are closed, lights all off, not a hint of moonlight coming in. You glance around in confusion as all three of you come to the same realization—Wonyoung flicking a nearby light switch and having no luck. And again—nothing.

"Power's out." 

Yujin states the obvious, the more sober one at the moment. Wonyoung immediately sighs deeply, like it's the biggest inconvenience of her life as she rummages through her purse in search of her phone. 

"Yeah, no shit. I see that." 

Using her phone as a flashlight, Wonyoung walks further into the entrance and discards her high heels like trash at the doorway, as Yujin drops off her bag and tosses her coat off. 

"I'll check the break—"

"Don't you touch a damn thing," Wonyoung interrupts, grabbing at your shirt and practically yanking you off balance. "Not until you give me my foot massage. My feet are fucking killing me."

Somehow, you've been roped into this, and you barely have time to take off your coat before she's pulling you onto this huge sectional sofa where you take a seat. In the meantime, Yujin is over by the fireplace, getting it set up, lighting up the whole living space in no time. Now Wonyoung takes a seat on the sofa and throws her legs on your lap in a blink, like she's some kind of royalty expecting service, pointing at her bare feet in desperate need of attention.

"You know, you don't always have to wear heels all the time," you say as Yujin laughs from afar, setting up the last touches on the fireplace as she sits on the opposite side of Wonyoung. And that look you get in return—sends a bigger chill than the lack of heat in the apartment. 

"Daddy, why would I not wear them? These long, sexy legs without heels? A fucking waste,’” Wonyoung says, knowing she'll get what she wants regardless, wiggling her toes so you get the message loud and clear. 

She lifts the heel of one foot, raising it higher so there’s no ignoring it. You sigh as you get your hands on her, giving in and pressing your thumbs deep into her sole, massaging slow circles into the soft, sore skin. Just when you begin, her head drops back, letting out a satisfied, exhausted little moan like she's just run a marathon in those stilettos. 

"Comfortable, princess?" Yujin asks sarcastically from the other end, legs crossed as she watches in amusement.

"Very," she answers. "That's amazing, god. Daddy always takes care of his princess, doesn't he?" 

Utterly ridiculous. For better or worse, that answer is always yes, because you’re weak—and that’s putting it lightly, how she has a way of convincing you to do anything she asks. Whatever it is. The princess always gets what she wants.

"This isn't a spa, you know. You're not getting a full treatment," you warn, but it does little to discourage as Wonyoung just smiles, closing her eyes while your thumbs dig in, kneading every tired inch of her arches. 

"Shh, let me relax. Less talking, more rubbing my feet. That's all you need to be doing," Wonyoung says as you pick up the pressure, this spoiled brat looking so happy getting her feet pampered.

As ridiculous as it is, there's something comforting in taking care of Wonyoung. You love watching how her eyes flutter shut as she lets out this satisfied groan, savoring every touch. Her delicate feet are so soft, and so well kept, her nails painted with a fresh coat of polish, a deep red matching the color on her lips. Honestly, there are worse things you could be doing. 

"Don't act like you don't love spoiling me. So does Yujinnie. Both of you just love to take care of me like this."

"Speak for yourself, brat," Yujin fires back, but can't even do so without a smile on her face that tells otherwise. 

All you can do is give her a weak glare in response and go back to giving her that touch she craves. You spend extra attention on the bottom of her foot before switching sides, firmly massaging every part of her heel, her high arches, then digging your thumbs into the ball to work out all the tension. 

At this point, the room has more than warmed up, a roaring fire that feels so nice and cozy as the crackle fills the room. Your focus stays on Wonyoung—who looks oh so good in this light, stretched out on the sofa, legs in your lap and melting at your touch. 

"Princess shuts up so quickly when she's pampered and relaxed,” you say, trailing the pads of your thumb along the curve of each foot, taking in how soft, pale, and perfectly pedicured her feet are.

“Why do you think she acts like such a brat? Because we both give in and spoil her," Yujin muses, with this smirk that you can barely catch while you continue with this massage. "Especially you." 

You'd be a little hurt if it wasn't so goddamn true. Even right now, as the three of you sit on the huge sofa, Wonyoung has you under her complete control. She has the real upper hand in this relationship, despite what it might look like from the outside. Yujin might not cater to her the same way, but the truth is she's as bad as you are—but you'll never pry that out of her. 

But not even that can break the trance she's fallen under from this foot massage, these content sighs while her head remains against the pillow, almost drifting off. The noises alone are better to gauge her reaction, these cute little hums while you dig into a particularly sore spot, making your way to those long toes, tugging them gently, twisting back and forth.

"Does daddy like my painted toes? I did them just for you," Wonyoung murmurs out of the blue, just now glancing up, eyes narrowed and relaxed. You don't say a word and admire the color, how the dark polish contrasts with her milky skin. Those toes curl from the stimulation, a clear sign you're hitting all the right spots. "Answer me, daddy. Don’t you love them? Love kissing my feet and worshiping them?

"Brat," you mutter under your breath, knowing she'll never drop it. "Do you want me to stop rubbing your feet? Because it sounds like it."

She ignores your threat completely, pressing a foot directly in front of your face with her toes spreading, wiggling around to give you this taunting challenge. "You could never stop, I know. Too addicted to my pretty feet. Now kiss them. They need it, after all the walking around tonight. Kisses. Lots of them."

God, she's really pushing it. Yujin is stifling a laugh at your expense from all this and doesn't even do a single thing to assist, about ready to burst with laughter while Wonyoung's commanding instructions. But you can't deny any of it, in no position to go back on all the devotion you've shown. 

"Well, I'm gonna go check on the power," Yujin finally says, escaping while she can, taking her cue to leave the two of you alone.

And so here you remain alone with this stubborn little brat, getting her wish when you plant a few, chaste kisses on her freshly pedicured feet. And her expression changes immediately, a clear satisfaction written across her face. She makes it so hard to resist the temptation to pamper, guiding her other foot to your mouth to press your lips against that delicate arch, planting kisses on the sole of her foot.

"Much better," she comments, stretching her legs out and using you as her personal footstool. "My cute little masseur, kissing my pretty feet."

You know she's loving it, not even able to hide any moans for a second, content that she doesn't even have to dictate your actions anymore, just lying back and letting you worship her like a goddess. Her toes wiggle and spread apart as you kiss each one, taking a moment to give each equal attention,

"Keep going, daddy, they still feel so sore. Need more kisses to make them all better."

99% sure that isn't the case. In fact, she doesn't look in need of anything else but attention, with her hair falling perfectly, messy strands framing her doll-like face. Wonyoung gives you a smug little smile while her feet angle upward, perfectly positioned for you to plant wet, slow pecks right on her soles, and you're not about to admit she has you so wrapped around her finger, despite evidence to the contrary.

This would be ridiculous to anyone looking in, but the reality is you can hardly tell who is more spoiled here. And so here you sit with Wonyoung's long legs dangling, sitting lazily in your lap. Your lips on her soles, moving up her feet, languid and careful, kisses pressed on each inch.

"Perfect," Wonyoung exhales, those soft sighs gradually picking up as you pay close attention to her delicate arches, still massaging all the while with your hands. You can't exactly resist those gorgeous feet, and the kisses never cease, showing no indication of pulling away from your wandering mouth.

That is, until you hear the hum of electricity around you, the whole living space of this apartment coming back to life. Although there's no Yujin in sight when it happens, and no lights in the living room—which you're pretty sure are both related. 

No complaints here, as you don't mind keeping Wonyoung in the dark and lit up by just the fireplace, turning this into something much more romantic.

With a final few presses of your lips, Wonyoung wonders why you're slowing down on the attention to her feet, already shifting to reposition herself upright in a bit of a pout. You don't say anything, just guiding her foot back to your lips with your focus elsewhere, on a massive rug sitting in front of the fireplace that somehow, has never been put to good use.

"Up," you command, and Wonyoung follows your line of sight, curious but not protesting with the attention you've already lavished on her. She stands to her bare feet with a tiny wobble from the lingering alcohol.

"Dress, off."

"Not even a please?"

You sigh. "Dress off, pretty please," you try again, earning a rather calm tilt of her head. Wonyoung complies in seconds and works on the zipper, lowering the straps down her shoulders. And in no time flat the whole thing is draped at her feet, standing there in just her bra and panties, this pretty set that's pink and silky with cute little bows. "The rest too, now."

Every word that slips off your tongue you expect her to resist in some way, but she doesn't even flinch, unhooking her bra next. Her breasts fall free, the perfect size for her slender frame—just right, perky and delicious, nipples pink and utterly appetizing. 

Then her thumbs loop into the hem of her underwear, and that comes off, all at once. With a lift of her long, slender legs she's tossing them off, standing naked and practically glowing in the light of the fireplace.

"Is there a reason I'm naked and daddy isn't?" 

Your eyes soak her in, and the question hardly registers. Wonyoung, to her credit, has not one shy bone in her body. Her expensive little outfit that sits in a pile on the hardwood floor, nothing left covering that porcelain skin, standing so proud, so bare, so confident. 

Fuck, what a sight—luscious legs that go on for miles, tight stomach that's as toned as can be, curves to die for, a little more meat on her thighs and ass than usual, her wide hips perfectly accentuated. You never tire of staring. Not one single fucking inch goes unnoticed, especially where you draw attention to most, her clean-shaven, tight little pussy that makes your mouth water.

"I'll get to it. Just get on that rug first," you insist, sending her eyes on an inspection of this fancy rug that's been neglected. White and round and enormous, her toes sink in when she steps onto its surface, soft to the touch. It's so cozy on her bare feet, and the fire keeps her naked skin warm. 

"On my knees?" she asks with a glance back, a step further in the middle of this fluffy rug.

"No, not this time. On your back. Get nice and comfortable, princess." 

That's all you say as she lowers herself to the rug, getting on her back and laying against the plush material, sinking into this comfortable surface that feels amazing against her naked body. Her thighs spread wide almost on instinct, so invitingly open for you, arms resting on her elbows. 

You take the time to follow in suit, slowly undressing as you watch her get herself set. Her eyes narrow as she waits patiently, watching closely the more bare skin reveals with every bit of clothing tossed aside, a pile of clothes not unlike hers. Until you're fully naked yourself, staring once more at the outline of her naked body illuminated in the light that the fireplace gives. So goddamn beautiful. How could someone not spoil her when she's such a work of art?

Yujin was right—you do spoil her too much, but who gives a shit? Not you, not ever.

Your feet touch the edge of the soft, white fabric as your body lingers between her spread thighs. Now you're the one getting on your knees before settling on your stomach, right between her long, beautiful legs as you kiss along the soft flesh, gradually working higher, up the inside of her creamy thighs.

"So pretty, princess," you mutter under your breath, soft kisses at her smooth thighs that make her quiver a bit. "So, so pretty. Love your body, these long fucking legs... and this pretty little cunt. Love everything about you." 

You don't know whether it's the alcohol, or how good Wonyoung looks naked, covered in darkness with only the fireplace for illumination, but you just want to lavish her in praise as you mark up her thighs. Each one is met with a kiss, a slow press of your lips to that creamy skin, while you get so close to where you need to be. 

"Mm, daddy. All this is yours, you know," she says, breathing a little heavy. And you kiss up her beautiful skin as your mouth inches even nearer, hearing a faint gasp, knowing what's about to happen. You can't help but oblige, can't seem to control yourself when she's so slick and wet already. 

Wonyoung is beyond stunning, flat on her back on that rug that cost a small fortune, every inch of her skin exposed to your hungry gaze. The view itself is enough for you to savor, watching her chest rise and fall, her long legs parted like an invitation. That's all the teasing you can handle. 

So without a word, you lower yourself between her spread thighs, hearing the anticipation in her shaky breaths, her head leaning back when she senses how close you are, closing her eyes.

And she cries out so desperately once you make contact with your tongue flat, dragging slowly between the delicate, wet folds of her delicious little cunt. Addictive is the only way to describe this sweet, familiar taste as you shove your tongue deep inside her, so dripping and delicious, glistening from the arousal that you gather from each lick. 

"Oh god—"

Wonyoung can't hold a moan for even a moment. She tastes so fucking good, all this nectar dripping from the source as your mouth laps it all up, these noises that escape her mouth with each flick of your tongue, just begging to be devoured.

You don't even hesitate to give her everything she needs, latching your lips onto that sensitive clit and suckling with all your strength, mouth working hungrily as her fingers tangle into your hair.

"D-daddy—don't stop," Wonyoung moans, gasping, both her hands around the back of your skull, pressing you into that velvety flesh to keep your face buried. It isn't that hard to follow directions and stay where she wants, and you fucking love the way she pulls at your scalp, trying to grind into your mouth.

You feed that addiction, and with every frantic flick of your tongue into the slippery, hot depths of her pussy, you keep this feast going. These slurps and whimpers fight for supremacy, leaving her so overwhelmed. Fuck—her scent, that taste, and these desperate whimpers drive you insane, the perfect combination. The moans continue while you eat her out like you're starved, absolutely consumed with pleasuring her.

There’s nothing better than this. 

"Sh-shit, just like that, you're so f-fucking good, daddy," Wonyoung breathes out, melting on the rug as the grip in your hair only gets tighter, relentless. Her thighs hold you in place, firmly clamping onto the sides of your head to ensure you're not going anywhere anytime soon. Not that you would ever—not when this taste is on your tongue, so intoxicating, her juices an endless stream in your mouth.

"You taste so goddamn good—so wet, fuck," you murmur into her wet cunt, lips all coated as your tongue parts her soaked folds with rapid swipes, taking another series of harsh slurps, lapping it all up. "Can't get enough of you, princess."

This is where you make the most of spoiling Wonyoung, not that she hasn't been getting enough of that tonight. But eating her out like this—diving in, slurping away, there's just nothing like hearing the way she falls apart, squirming beneath your hungry mouth.

"Please, m-more," she whines, eyes screwed shut while your tongue shows no mercy on her drooling little cunt. You shoot a glance up every now and then from between her legs to drink in her reactions, nothing more beautiful than the bliss etched on her face, mouth hanging open, thighs squeezing so tight around your head. 

“Fuck, princess—” Barely able to breathe anything but her scent—it's exactly where you need to be, head between her legs, her taste lingering, devouring this pretty girl like nothing else matters.

"D-don't fucking stop," Wonyoung gasps, which isn't ever a plan when she tastes this good, her grip on your hair borderline painful as she tries to ride your face, struggling to form words. "Don't stop, god—please, daddy, please don't—"

That's the best encouragement you can get. Your lips get so greedy, so messy in the process, dragging from the sensitive bud of her clit all the way back down, sinking deep into her deliciously wet pussy with no restraint, lapping up and swallowing every drop.

"Oh g-god, daddy!"

She cries out so loudly you can feel it echoing through the large apartment, arching her back while she writhes against the surface of the rug, rocking her hips into your tongue. All it takes is a couple more ravenous licks until those thighs tense, refusing to let go, toes curling right at the moment of release. 

That's when Wonyoung moans the loudest, hands clutching at your head to hold you right there while she makes a mess all over your mouth, hips bucking, body trembling with a sudden surge as you work through every violent spasm. God, she looks gorgeous while you help her through this bliss, with lips sealed around her clit, suckling just the right way. She holds you in place, grinding on your tongue, riding it out while your tongue gathers it all up, all this arousal that won't go to waste.

"Shit, I'm—fuck, oh god," she continues to moan, breaths so erratic, and you don't stop lapping at this mess until she can't take any more stimulation. You look up, still slurping away on her clit, her entire body still twitching while her grip in your hair loosens, and only then do you ease up—giving as many more licks as possible, getting your fill until she forces your head away. 

"F-fuck, daddy's so good, made me cum so hard," she says after a breath, shaking through the last of this pleasure. And you're not done with her, cleaning up her soaked thighs, licks and kisses along every bit of flushed skin when your mouth finally stops devouring her dripping little cunt. "Felt so fucking good, love making a mess on your face like this..."

The feeling is more than mutual, and that's exactly what you've done, left her breathless, in a heap of exhaustion, her juices sliding down your chin, smeared everywhere. "Nothing better than having your tasty little cunt all over my lips." 

"D-daddy's too addicted, god," she gasps again, just as your tongue swipes back against her overstimulated clit, causing her entire body to jolt. "So s-sensitive, fuck, so—"

Another flick and she's a trembling mess again, and you have to fight the urge to bury your tongue right back in. You could do this for hours if given the chance. But the throbbing ache in your cock distracts—getting impatient while you rise, using every ounce of willpower to keep your mouth away.

"Looks like daddy needs to be taken care of too," Wonyoung says, observing how hard your cock has grown as you lift your body upright, knees right on this luxurious rug. "Come here, let's fix that—get your cock nice and wet."

That's the kind of offer you just can't pass up. Not when you have this girl's messy, delicious cunt eager for you to slide into. You get right into position, stroking your cock from base to tip while you stare right at her perfect little pussy, all parted and exposed, ready to be filled up. 

Neither of you can fight the shared desperation as you run your swollen cockhead along the wet flesh of her pussy, not pushing into her tightness quite yet, just taking it slow, tracing it along those slick lips. Wonyoung lets out a whimper that’s anything but subtle from this tease, and you don't know how much longer you can take, either. Because you know once you do push in—that familiar warmth around your cock, those tight, wet walls sucking you in, you'll never be able to leave without pumping a load deep. 

"Fucking fill me up, I want it," Wonyoung pleads, taking the decision off your hands. And god, that's all you need to hear as you shove yourself right inside that tight little cunt, parting her drenched folds to bury every inch at once, bottoming out with ease. "Oh g-god yes, make me cum again, fuck."

Wonyoung is every bit as tight, just as perfect and wet as the first time, and you can't even handle pulling back out, needing a moment just to savor this sensation before moving a single inch. "Feels so good, your tight little cunt—"

You cut yourself off with a groan, pulling out so agonizingly slow, but almost on instinct you give a deep, rough thrust, burying deep into this heat that's so incredibly addictive. One, and then a few more, both of you taking the time to enjoy the way your cock stretches her open, the wetness, how easy you glide through, the perfect warmth of her cunt begging for more.

"This feels too good, princess," you breathe out, almost not sure you can take the way she tightens around you, how all the wetness drenches your cock. And really, you're the one being spoiled now, pulling out and slamming back in with these full thrusts, savoring every inch of this girl you're addicted to—

It’s unfathomable how good her pussy feels, those moans, her slick walls clinging to your length. "Wet little cunt squeezing me like that. Can't just wait to milk the fucking life out of my cock, can you?"

A moan answers before she gets a chance to, and you really pick up the momentum, hips a little rougher, a little faster, your body unable to resist the temptation, letting lust overtake everything else. There's no holding back when you're buried so deep into her pussy, tossing a leg over your shoulder while you grip her thigh for leverage, getting that much deeper.

"Never can wait for daddy to finish inside my tight pussy," Wonyoung groans, such a perfect mess lying flat on her back, her breasts hypnotically bouncing every time your bodies collide. All this heat you're buried in, the wet sensations of her cunt taking you so eagerly, it makes it impossible to show any sort of restraint. "I love it when you're inside me, so big and stretching me out—more, daddy, need your cum. Don't stop." 

With a leg perched high on your shoulder, that's an easy request to fulfill, the tightness you plunge through demanding nothing else. Just fucking your cock into her, staring at her flawless face that contorts in pleasure, her pink pussy lips swallowing you whole. An addiction to your own demise and you know it. "God—so tight. Your perfect cunt always drives me fucking wild,"

"I know it does, daddy. You can't help yourself, can't help shoving this fat cock deep, filling me up with every inch of you, breeding me over and over. Fill me, fuck—"

Your eyes drift to hers, a stare that's so overwhelming, and she knows she has you right where she wants you—your hips might be the one pumping into this soaked warmth, but Wonyoung is clearly the one taking you apart with her little moans.

So fucking pretty, when she takes you like this, so easy to bury your shaft in her cunt, lost in all that velvety tightness. The moans pick up as you slam into her, driving yourself back in again and again as each thrust pulls more cries from her parted lips, little gasps and whimpers pouring out, chants for you to not stop. 

"Need daddy so deep in me, need that cock right up my guts," she says in such a demanding tone, eyes needy and wide, and there’s no possible denial when your cock is drowning in her juices. "You love pounding my pussy—being balls deep in me, isn't that what you need? What daddy needs to pump me full of that hot cum?" 

And there isn't anything you can say to deny that claim. 

The last bit of self control you possess is drained from hearing that—all it takes is a quick adjustment, lifting her other leg into a similar position, until they're both hoisted in the air, feet dangling, granting you unmatched depth. This angle works wonders on the both of you, giving you unfettered access to her cunt, spreading your legs to really slam deeper than before. 

Your thrusts start slow, taking a moment to gather yourself, knees firmly planted on this soft rug, Wonyoung’s perfect legs balancing in the air. Then you take these rapid snaps of your hips, groaning with every inch you piston in her dripping little hole, taking in the sight of her completely bare body. 

"Oh my god, that's—love you stuffing me so deep, faster, daddy!" Wonyoung gets out with more desperate, incoherent cries of approval that guide your hips as she gets all folded up and takes you, every thrust jolting her petite body. 

You don’t hesitate and do just that, sliding almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force pushes Wonyoung further into the rug, legs almost to her chest, with each slam of your cock causing this lewd, slick noise when you fuck your cock into these slippery depths. 

"Please don't stop," she practically sobs as the next series of deep thrusts go on and on, rough and urgent, nothing gentle about the way your cock plunges straight in. “S-so deep—fuck, feels too good. Don't ever stop fucking me, wreck my pussy, please, unload everything into my womb.” 

Your response is only to drill her harder, impossibly deep, that wet heat just pulling you in and not letting go. Her greedy pussy beckons you to bury yourself to the hilt with each slap of flesh, while your heavy balls bounce against her bare ass.

"My god, princess, your fucking cunt—“ It's damn near impossible to slow your pace now, not with how your cock impales Wonyoung’s tight pussy as she just takes every vicious stroke, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

All you can manage is another groan before trailing off, hips pistoning so frantically, and before you know it—she's already cumming on your cock, feet shaking in the air as the second orgasm rocks her body. And it's followed by another, the sensations too intense to bear, so overwhelmed by your relentless thrusts, toes curling while you keep drilling into her clenching little hole.

By this point, your bodies are covered in sweat, and not because of the warmth of the fireplace. 

Your hips spiral out of control, and you try so fucking hard not to let this end yet, but there's no holding out. Not when you look down and take in this view, seeing Wonyoung taking your cock like her pussy was made for you, tears rolling down her cheeks from how she can't stop gushing all over you, one orgasm melting into the next. 

Those long legs of hers are shaking so hard as you pound her cunt without restraint, the poor rug soaked from the mess she’s making—and you know it's going to be even worse once your release joins hers.

"D-daddy—" 

You can hardly make out her voice all broken as she tries to form words to no avail, sounding more and more fucked out by the second. 

"F-fuck, gonna cum," you bite out between deep, unstoppable groans, eyes glued to her beautiful face as you ram deep into such overwhelming wetness. God, it's never felt this good, this tight, making you lose it as you drive all the way back inside with an even harsher clench surrounding your cock, a promise not to let your cock go anywhere, no chance at escaping until your balls empty. 

"Fill me up, fucking make me a mess—want it deep in my cunt, don't stop until you’ve bred me." Her words trigger this primal urge in you to give in, the lewd squelches between the two of you increasing, no stopping the inevitable.

You can’t take anymore—one last set of thrusts, a final plunge, and you bury yourself as deep as you'll go. The tight grip of her greedy cunt is what makes you unload, a hefty load emptying out from your balls. Matching the intensity in her eyes, you pump massive, hot spurts inside Wonyoung that join her arousal in a thick mess that oozes around your length, nothing left in you but to fuck it deeper inside. 

Every shot empties right where she wants it, all your seed delivered in such a deluge as her clenching walls milk it all out of you, craving it, desperate for it. So much of it floods her to the brim that her cunt swallows up. Once you finally empty that last spurt and relax into your thrusts, you can't even begin to think about doing anything but staying buried deep inside. 

"Shit, all of that is—"

“Inside me. Mm, daddy pumped me so fucking full of his cum," she finishes, panting heavily, so worn out and yet the smile on her face tells you she's nowhere near satisfied. When you lower her legs down gently, they immediately wrap around your waist, holding you hostage inside that heat, keeping your creamy load safe in her cunt.

"And it's all yours," you say, but that's all you have the energy for as you collapse forward, burying your face into her neck. Wonyoung isn't going to let you go anytime soon—those legs are not letting go even after you're totally spent, cock still throbbing inside the grip of her cunt. 

That's more than fine with you, too exhausted, too breathless. There's no complaints here. Wonyoung kisses whatever sweaty skin she can find, soft and gentle pecks as she basks in your mess, dripping everywhere and getting this rug more than a little ruined. Something you won't be sorry about tomorrow.

The fireplace is burning still, but it's nothing compared to the heat still emanating between the two of you. Her hands cradle your head and rake through the mess of hair as you remain a tangle of limbs and fluids.

"Did that feel good, daddy? Feels so hot and sticky—my pussy full of you..." she mumbles into your ear, kissing up your cheek while you stay sheathed within her warmth, not daring to slip out.

You don't have the energy to say anything coherent, not that she ever needs an actual answer.

✦ ✦

And now you’ve both made your way back on the couch after resting up a bit and a much needed shower, lights on but dimmed, fireplace flickering in front of you. Yujin is here as well, back in her pajamas and a makeup-free face, indulging in the view of the clear, starlit night sky that looks so gorgeous through the apartment’s massive double-pane windows. Wonyoung is nestled in your lap, only in her bathrobe, holding a cup of fruit that she snacks on while a bottle of wine gets passed around. 

"So, daddy," Yujin starts, sitting so close that her hand rests on your thigh, fingers squeezing as she steals kisses and giggles. "Did we have fun tonight?"

You grab the bottle from Wonyoung and chug some before turning your attention to Yujin, needing a moment to stare at that pretty face before answering. "More fun once we got home."

"Better once we left that dumb club and daddy folded me in half and made me cum like, six fucking times." 

"Only six? Daddy should have tried a little harder," Yujin teases, taking a long sip from the bottle, looking so good when she does. 

"As if it takes much effort for her."

Wonyoung groans, grabbing the bottle back and finishing what's left. “Not my fault it takes nothing to have me creaming all over his fucking cock."

Yujin chokes out a laugh at how Wonyoung is turning this around and accusing you. “Who's the one begging for this dick nonstop? And who's the one who always makes us late for class because your legs can't stay shut for five minutes?"

"Whatever," Wonyoung pouts, only proving you're right. "Can't help if I wanna be dripping your cum down my thighs for these dumb lectures. It's the only way to not be bored out of my fucking mind."

As per usual, Yujin can't stop laughing at this whole exchange, content to just sit and watch. "Just admit you're both insatiable and leave it at that."

Wonyoung just glares like she's being falsely accused, kissing you before she can form her argument. She doesn't even have to when she can just crash her lips against yours, stealing every moment to slip her tongue in and taste the lingering sweetness of wine on your breath. "Says the slut who can't leave the bed in the morning without swallowing daddy's thick load."

There's no counter to that but a grin on Yujin, not the slightest bit ashamed for all the times you wake up to her skilled mouth between your legs before you're fully awake. "Caught me. Guess all three of us are hopeless."

"Two cumsluts and daddy who can't stop emptying his load in us every chance he gets. Guess we're just stuck with each other," Wonyoung says thoughtfully as she starts peppering soft kisses along your jaw, and Yujin runs her fingers through your hair, as if there's ever been any question. 

"Couldn't ask for anything better." 

✦ ✦

The morning hits like a truck. Even the littlest bit of sun peeking through the curtains is too fucking bright, with every movement you make forcing another groan out as you grab the sheets to avoid getting up. But when you roll over, you realize Wonyoung isn't here, nor is Yujin, the bed far too empty and cold for your liking. 

So there’s really no choice but to find strength somewhere and peel yourself out of the sheets.

Every step down the stairs gets heavier, no less drowsy as your feet finally land in the kitchen and spot Wonyoung who isn't faring any better, Yujin still nowhere to be seen. She barely grumbles out a little acknowledgment when you approach, slumped over the kitchen island, resting her head in her hands. The coffee pot is already halfway gone, away from its original spot, and thankfully, a bottle of aspirin sits alongside an empty mug.

You reach for the pills, popping a couple and chugging a glass of water while Wonyoung just stares at her steaming coffee cup, blank and mindless, struggling to function. Taking a seat next to her, you lean in for a quick kiss to her cheek, brushing dark hair out of her face. A glance over finds her looking worse for wear—wearing the same clothes she went to bed in, a little white tank top and black boyshorts with a pair of Yujin's fuzzy purple socks you gave her on her last birthday. 

"H-hey," you murmur, and pour a cup of coffee with what's still left. A grumpy nod is the only reply you’re getting as you stare into that cup like a trance. 

"Never drinking that fucking much again," Wonyoung groans under her breath. And you can't help but chuckle, because that's the most absurd thing you've heard since the two of you met. Yet, you're surprised to even see her in this state, given Wonyoung and hangovers typically don't co-exist.

"Heard that before," you say, barely having the energy to sit upright as you rub your temple.

"I mean it this time. Feels like a train ran over me," she sighs, still staring ahead without even taking a sip. "That club was a fucking stupid idea."

She sounds so out of it, that it's almost adorable. So very not Wonyoung. Hair all over the place, makeup all but gone, eyes puffy and dark. It's certainly strange seeing her like this, lacking her usual spark.

"Where's Yujin?"

Wonyoung looks up briefly to answer, but even that is a little laborious. "Getting us breakfast from that café around the corner and whatever else will get me out of feeling like death. Because apparently she's perfect and doesn't get hangovers anymore."

That makes sense, but also comes as a bit of a surprise. Wonyoung, so perfectly put together and reserved at times, with Yujin more on the outgoing, spontaneous side. Rare are the moments where roles are reversed like this. 

And while you share Wonyoung's pain, there's some solace in knowing Yujin is doing far better. 

"... you've just been sitting here until she gets back?"

There's as much annoyance mixed in as there is fatigue when she makes her best attempt to shoot a glare, not quite nailing the usual impact. "Daddy—it's either sit here with coffee or spend the next two hours fucking throwing up."

It’s almost comical how there’s a little brat left in her even in this state. All you do is nod in sympathy and caress her messy, tousled hair, stroking idly.

A few moments of comfortable silence pass, until the door interrupts. At once, her face changes. The mere sound of keys fiddling is enough to grab her attention, looking at the door, and that glare fades away.

Sure enough, Yujin emerges, dressed far better than either of you can pull off in jeans and a sweater that does wonders for that gorgeous frame, a hint of makeup and perfectly styled hair, looking so refreshed. For a moment, you're even a little envious, at how not one hint of a hangover shines through those eyes. 

"My poor babies. Looks like you could use this," Yujin teases with a grin on her face, putting down brown paper bags on the kitchen island, clearly enjoying every bit of this a little too much. She pulls out a container and sets down a massive stack of pancakes, followed by two bottles of orange juice, a bowl of fruit, scrambled eggs, and everything under the sun to pick and choose from. "Yujinnie is going to take good care of you two."

When she finishes unpacking everything, already you feel back to life just by how good everything smells.

"About fucking time," Wonyoung replies rather bluntly, grabbing both a bottle of juice and aspirin, unsure which to be more grateful for at the moment. You, however, have never been happier, stabbing a piece of the pancake and shoving it in your mouth as quickly as possible, a heavy dose of sugar and carbs the cure to fix everything.

"Daddy's favorite. Eat up," Yujin adds, kissing your forehead before she leans next to Wonyoung to do the same. Despite the grumpiness, there's a faint hint of a smile that appears on her lips. Just the faintest. It's hard for that sparkle to not appear when there's whipped cream, fresh strawberry slices, and syrup layered on each delectable morsel that she shoves in her mouth.

"Th-thanks, Yujinnie—" Wonyoung barely manages, a rare expression of gratitude given her current state, voice muffled by the ravenous bites that she consumes in such quick succession. 

Yujin sinks into the spot right next to you, and waits for your next bite so she can feed it to you, cutting a piece and then putting the fork back in your mouth. Again and again, while Wonyoung devours hers on the opposite end. You don't necessarily need her to baby you, but it's sweet nonetheless. And clearly, she enjoys feeding you like this, giggling before dipping more pancake into a puddle of syrup, a generous amount for the next bite.

Bite after bite, you feel less like you've been run over and more your old self. Yujin continues, almost on autopilot as she feeds you a continuous supply of pancakes and bacon that gets washed down with plenty of juice, a quick kiss or threading fingers through your hair in between. And Wonyoung, she’s recovering nicely as she uses her fork to shovel some banana slices into her mouth after dipping them into a healthy dollop of whipped cream. 

"Feeling a little better?" And before you can answer, Yujin steals a bite the next time the fork stops, sporting a grin as it disappears past her lips.

"Getting there, thanks. Fuck, really needed this," you mutter back, not quite coherent yet, but words getting easier to forn the more food you get into your system.

"You should rest up," Yujin says, keeping her attention on you, and you’ve never been more thankful to be on the receiving end of her loving care. “Want me to go start a nice, hot shower for the two of you?" 

On any other day, that offer might be too good to pass up, an extended, lazy shower together with Wonyoung. But today? You'll be lucky to manage anything other than collapsing face-first on the first comfortable surface you find. 

Wonyoung seems to share the unspoken desire to do absolutely nothing for the time being, and can only shake her head, refusing in total. "Too much effort," she grumbles, brushing hair out of her face and adjusting the tight white tank top clinging to her skin. 

Yujin just laughs. "You two are so cute when you're this helpless."

You don't even have the energy to respond. 

And when the pancakes are all gone, your head still pounds, but less like a jackhammer and more of a dull ache you can almost tolerate. There's only one thing on your mind as soon as you stand and head for the couch, Wonyoung following shortly after. Meanwhile, Yujin disappears for a moment, returning with a pile of throw blankets, extra pillows, bottles of water and more aspirin she sets on the coffee table.

"Okay, yell if you need anything else," she says, and with a final kiss to each of your cheeks, she’s already disappearing on her way upstairs. "Love you both."

Barely able to answer, you mumble out an incoherent sound and find your way to a comfy spot on the couch, sinking into the cushions. Wonyoung joins, easily collapsed under this warm blanket with her body pressed against you without a word and her head resting on your chest. All snuggled up, it doesn't take long for your eyelids to start closing.

Sometime later, you start to stir, eyes opening just slightly as you realize a few hours must have passed. By the sight of the floor lamp dimmed, the lights in the living room and kitchen off, all signs point toward nighttime, sunlight no longer flowing through the large glass windows in the living room.

There's a weight holding you down that makes it impossible to move, and you know there’s only one culprit—it's Wonyoung, still knocked out, in no hurry to get up either. And that wouldn't be a problem. If not for all that coffee and juice from earlier. 

"Princess—gotta get up for a bit," you mumble, nudging Wonyoung in hopes it'll do the trick. 

"N-no," she groans in protest, so utterly immobile. "Sleep. Don't move. Daddy's too comfy."

"I'll be right back. Need the bathroom, won't take long."

But that doesn't do a thing. Wonyoung refuses to budge, cuddling even tighter to trap you. "Stay. You're warm. Five more minutes." Not like you have an option, with this girl clinging to you, showing zero interest in letting you free.

But five more minutes could easily turn into more—so when those are up, there's not a choice. "Fucking brat, let me out. I'll be quick, promise." You force yourself away regardless of protests, a bigger struggle than necessary. 

"You better—can't sleep well without you."

Not even a minute passes before you return, and she's already stolen every inch of the blanket, all wrapped up, legs outstretched with her fuzzy socks peeking out. You crawl back under the blanket, returning to where Wonyoung demands your warmth the most, and she instantly clings to you again, one arm draped lazily over your chest. This time, for sure, she's not letting you escape anytime soon. 

"Missed you, daddy."

"Wasn't even gone that long."

"But it felt like forever," Wonyoung mumbles, using your body as a pillow. “Now daddy can't leave, ever." 

And she goes back to sleep like nothing ever happened, snuggled into your chest with a leg thrown over you. You pat her head, and now all that’s left is to sleep until you hardly even remember what having a hangover even is. 

✦ ✦

"Oh, hello, handsome.” 

That sultry, playful tone can only be one person, Yujin right by your side once you’ve awoken again. "Thought you were gonna sleep an entire week." 

There's a kiss planted on your cheek when she steps in view, and that's what sends your eyes fluttering awake—right along with her hand running a comforting path along your face. "Almost did."

Yujin smiles before you push yourself upright, eyes landing on Wonyoung's mountain of blankets, with no sign of her inside. She ruffles your hair as you try to regain your senses, already knowing what you’re about to ask. “She’s in the shower. Taking a long time though… even for her.” 

You don’t think much of it, given that Wonyoung taking long showers is about as common as the sun going down. But there’s this look on Yujin’s face like she knows something you don't. 

A mischievous smile is how that ends, with Yujin placing an arm behind you on the couch. "How was your nap? Feel better after a bit of rest?"

"Way fucking better," you sigh, finally relaxing fully upright in the couch. 

While you wait for Wonyoung's return, you grab a bottle of water sitting on the coffee table—tossing back a couple painkillers to help with any lingering discomfort. And almost on cue, you hear footsteps echoing down the stairs, growing louder. 

Standing at the top of the steps is Wonyoung in a black silk robe, the material thin but not enough to hide what's underneath, stockings hugging her slim legs as the tie of her robe sits loose.

 Her face is all dolled up, perfectly styled hair framing her flawless features, with a sheer red lipstick and dark eyeshadow to finish it off. She still looks stunning—a confident smile on her pretty face as her eyes land right on you. 

"Finally awake, I see. Took long enough," Wonyoung says with the slightest hint of annoyance, as if she wasn’t begging you not to leave before. 

Yujin is laughing right next to you as Wonyoung saunters over. "Don't act like you two hungover idiots didn't both sleep the entire day."

Wonyoung barely acknowledges Yujin, striding toward you in these black stiletto heels, like a graceful model taking every step to perfection. There's a mystery hidden under the robe, and you can't wait for it to be revealed. "Daddy kept me waiting, so I came up with a little something..."

You raise an eyebrow. "You could have woken me—"

"You think I didn't try, dummy? Thought you were dead for a while," Wonyoung says and grabs your wrist to yank you up. Before you get another word out, she's peeling you off the couch and guiding you upstairs towards whatever bedroom is her target.

A shut door and a deep kiss on your lips later, and you’re being backed up towards the bed. A playful shove comes next, then you’re scooting back on the mattress, eager to learn what's under that silk. And so begins the slow process, where she unties the belt of her robe, tantalizingly slow as she draws out each second.

The black satin falls right off her perfect body and crumples in a pile at her feet. You're left with quite the image to take in—Wonyoung looking like absolute sin in this set of black lingerie that covers so little, lace and garters and sheer stockings, the whole package, those stilettos emphasizing everything. 

The finishing touch, the image captured in the tall mirror on the door, Wonyoung’s tight little ass that fills out her lacy black underwear, your attention traveling up from head to toe, absolute perfection filling the reflection. 

"Surprise, daddy," Wonyoung says, hands resting on her hips while you marvel at her sexy little ensemble—a finger tilting your head up to her face for a kiss, right on your shocked lips.

There's no way you're not staring. 

“Fucking hell, princess.” 

Not that you even know where to stare, because there's lace everywhere—pushing up her tits, hugging her slender waist so tight, clinging to every delicious morsel of her petite figure. Those stockings alone are pure filth that you indulge yourself in, drinking in how they accentuate those endless legs, leaving you foaming at the mouth to kiss every inch of them. 

The thing about Wonyoung's brazen displays of confidence is that they're well earned. She knows what her body does, knows how good it all looks—especially when covered in lace and the sexiest fucking stockings you've seen. This tight body can make anyone drop to their knees.

"Daddy's fucking drooling," she says, amused and basking in this view of you helpless and stunned. And what can you really say—what can you really do but just stare shamelessly? 

"Because my princess looks fucking gorgeous. So goddamn beautiful, god, you're just—“ 

“I’m everything. I’m yours, and you’re mine.” 

That doesn't even feel like enough praise, but Wonyoung lights up regardless, clearly enjoying the attention as you caress one leg, fingers running over the soft, sheer fabric of her stockings. It’s hard to resist the temptation to rip them all off with your teeth. 

"I would look so good in this on my knees, sucking daddy's fat cock. Looking up while I choke on it—you can picture it, can't you?"

Without a doubt, the thought of Wonyoung's perfect, pouty lips sliding over your cock in this lingerie gets your dick throbbing hard. It's almost pathetic, how much it stirs at the smallest of things, and she barely needs to tease when you're already salivating at the idea.

"Daddy needs to bend me over the bed and rip this thong right off, doesn’t he? Shove his huge cock in me, fuck me raw, rough and hard till I cum all over it—"

And god, does she know exactly what to say. The filthy imagery fills your head as you lick your lips, a hand brushing up her thigh, slowly to that tiny strip of lace covering her gorgeous pussy. "Princess—"

"Or maybe daddy is still too tired to do all that," Wonyoung interjects before you can think, chuckling as her voice turns more wicked. "Maybe you need me to jump on that hard cock, ride it like a good little whore. Use it the way I want. Until I make you pump another load inside this perfect pussy. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You can’t possibly be expected to form an answer when she looks like this, all wrapped up and not a thing left to the imagination. A gentle squeeze to her stocking-clad thigh is about the only thing you can do that constitutes a response. 

With the aching arousal surging between your legs as your imagination runs wild, she doesn't miss a moment to place your hands directly on her ass, letting you get a plentiful handful of the flesh in your palms.

"I want you to strip. Right now. Leave the boxers,” Wonyoung commands as she watches the lust grow stronger, not even having to look down to see you've got a massive erection that’s her job to relieve. Now it’s your turn to do as you're told, giving a brief nod while taking your shirt off, then the rest as quickly as you can while she watches every moment.

"On the bed, daddy. On your back." 

Naturally, that comes without argument or resistance. Not like there's much you can really offer, thrown for a complete loop the moment Wonyoung slipped off her robe. Just as soon as you've relaxed back against the pillows, Wonyoung climbs onto the bed, crawling towards your position, close enough so the tent in your boxers is mere inches away from her beautiful face, admiring as she nears. 

"Look at that perfect fucking cock. Looks so big in those boxers," she murmurs, palming it as she speaks, every single word getting to your throbbing shaft. "Should I put these pretty lips on your hard, aching dick? Make it nice and wet before I straddle it and show exactly what a good cocksleeve is?"

Your mouth opens, but you manage little more than a small groan in acknowledgment. It's more than difficult to think straight when she looks at you like that, with these sultry, seductive eyes that just aren't fair, stroking ever so lightly over the front of your underwear.

“Feel good, daddy? I know you want to fuck me. God, I want that so bad too—but I have a few extra things planned.” 

When you see that smirk on her face as she grips your cock, you know she hasn’t planned this alone. You don’t even know where her accomplice is right now, knowing how Yujin loves to watch as much as participate. The fact is, you'll let Wonyoung take all the credit, because you know she’s more than capable of this. 

She’s got you all riled up, on her own, with a slow squeeze around the head of your cock that’s unbearable. 

You want those beautiful, plump lips wrapped around your cock, more than anything. The image can’t leave your mind—Wonyoung between your thighs, making a mess. You’re distracted. Barely noticing as she leans over to the nightstand to slide open a drawer. 

And then she pulls out a set of pink padded leather cuffs, dangling from her fingers. "Here's the real surprise. Yujinnie was kind enough to let me use her toys... and I know daddy wants to get his greedy hands all over me. So that's why we're using these. Now, arms up.” 

You can't say this is what you were expecting, but you're not exactly protesting either.

Another attempt to form words fails, and you need a moment to hesitate—something Wonyoung doesn’t care for. She crawls over your body, kneeling over your chest as you make your eventual decision. 

“Daddy, I said arms up—“

Wonyoung repeats the demand with a surprising amount of calm and patience. And this time, you don’t think it over any more than necessary, wrists held up above your head. In a heartbeat, the soft leather straps clasp around both wrists, keeping them secured to the headboard. You'd be lying if you claimed this was totally foreign territory—but you're used to seeing Yujin with a smile on her lips putting the cuffs on you, not Wonyoung, who's become far bolder in the bedroom since.

So once you feel the leather securing your wrists to the back of the bed, Wonyoung runs her hands along them, testing them a few times just for good measure, unable to hide her satisfaction in watching you struggle. 

"There we go," she purrs. “Daddy looks so good in these…” 

She's already moving down between your legs, eager to get you naked as her fingers slide under the waistband of your underwear. a slight pause while she eyes the massive tent she's caused, thumb massaging idly. 

And with a forceful tug, your underwear is only a brief memory as Wonyoung tosses the garment aside. Her nails trace up your naked thighs, her cold hands lingering right below where you ache the most.

"What should I do first, hm? Suck your dick? Play with these heavy fucking balls? Or maybe just tease daddy’s big fucking cock through my panties—you think that'll drive you crazy?”

So many options, you're not sure how to even process anything beyond the blinding arousal as she stares with those devilish eyes at your throbbing, desperate cock leaking between her fingers.

"Maybe daddy doesn't get a choice. Maybe I just fuck you the way I want," she says, fingers squeezing your shaft, precum oozing out with no end in sight. "Keep you tied up and ride the fuck out of this huge fucking cock. Or if you're lucky—maybe I let you in my ass, since you like it so much."

That's the thing that makes you squirm with need—

Having her tight little ass sinking down on your cock, balls deep, clenching around you and milking you dry—that's a thought that refuses to budge. But while you're imagining all that, Wonyoung focuses on bringing these thoughts to life and slaps your cock hard, not afraid of the reaction as it throbs even stronger. "Daddy gets my pussy first. So I guess you’ll just have to earn my tight asshole."

You're only left staring with eyes wide open as she peels off her barely-there panties, sliding them down so agonizingly slow, revealing every delicious detail hidden underneath. And for your own benefit, her heels stay on as she spreads those long, long legs to give the full view, pussy pink and glistening wet, and oh so inviting.

"Princess—"

"No talking, daddy. That mouth is only for licking my pussy or sucking my tits. Nothing else, okay?"

There's no time to react as Wonyoung lifts the black thong to your mouth, forcing you to take in her scent while her soaked panties drag against your lips. "Can't wait to have this throbbing cock filling my tight little pussy. Doesn't that sound perfect?"

All you can offer are a couple muffled nods while she stuffs those lacy panties into your mouth. The thought alone is intoxicating, especially with how you can taste her arousal on them. She knows you're at her mercy, taking the time to slide up your body, grinding her bare cunt against you on the way down, stockings rubbing against your bare skin. 

But this isn't Wonyoung's usual play—you know she doesn't have the restraint for much else, which only works to your advantage. She’s not Yujin. She isn’t going to drag this out. The urgency in her movements tells you that she wants you buried deep inside her as much as you do, but that doesn't mean she can't savor some moments along the way.

"Daddy needs this, doesn't he? This beautiful cock buried in my pussy—squeezing you so fucking tight, like it was made just for me," Wonyoung tells you like she's teasing herself, a few rapid pumps while her hand leans it against her toned stomach, showing how deep you’ll reach inside.

You struggle for a response, not that you can say much with these soaked panties stuffed in your mouth. Wonyoung lets out this devious little smile as she grinds her slick pussy along your shaft, the warmth so abundant that it has you thrusting upwards on instinct. 

"Aw, daddy can't answer, can he? Want to fuck this tight fucking pussy? Want me to sink down, nice and deep, balls fucking deep—that's all you can think about, right?"

Again, a desperate nod is the best answer you can provide in your stupor, a cloud of desire slowly creeping over your ability to think straight. 

"Daddy doesn't even need to say—I already know you're so fucking desperate for this," she says, lifting up and rubbing that wet little cunt against the sensitive tip that throbs under the littlest touch. 

Desperate doesn't even begin to cover it, pent up from the littlest stimulation Wonyoung grants. And you couldn't even beg with these panties in your mouth even if you wanted to.

"Mmm, looks so big in my little hands—and all of it is going to stretch my pretty little pussy. Because that's what daddy's needy cock is best for, right?" This time, you can't even get out a nod, eyes glued to how she rubs you between her sopping folds, this final tease when she drags you through all that arousal. 

Then, a few lazy strokes. No friction, no satisfying stimulation to alleviate this overwhelming craving. It's infuriating.

"Wonder how deep it will reach. How deep your fat fucking cock will reach inside—splitting me wide open. Until daddy can't resist and spills his cum into this warm hole."

God, it’s exactly what you’re desperate for, those tight lips parting to fit your aching cock. Wonyoung raises her hips and guides your swollen cockhead, not patient enough to let the teasing linger. Her weight drops, and then you’re inside her—every inch she can take, so deep as you both crave.

You don't even fight back a muffled groan while her hips take over, rolling to savor the stretch, the deliciousness of being filled, a perfect straddle with a leg on either side to take you to the hilt. 

"Oh—so fucking full. I can't, f-fuck, daddy feels so fucking amazing, god—this huge fucking cock stuffed inside me where it belongs."

One slow lift of her hips follows another, the sinful wet sounds filling the room with how deliciously slick her pussy is. She envelops your length with ease, the tight grip her cunt holds making your whole body shudder, making your wrists jerk against the restraints, utterly helpless.

That puts a smile on her face. There's no end to this warmth or the slippery glide that swallows you up with no need for adjustment, alternating between harsh drops of her hips and the rolling that sinks every inch of your cock, squeezing you like she knows you need.

“God—how deep is your cock reaching, daddy?" Wonyoung asks through uneven, staggered breaths, head hanging over your own, braced and riding you at this angle where you reach the best place possible. 

Her head snaps back in pleasure, red lips parting as each calculated movement hits just right. And you can't look anywhere else as her entire body slams down on repeat, nothing that could bring herself to stop. 

"Love when this fucking cock fills my wet little pussy—“ A simple groan escapes when she slides up halfway, pausing for impact before dropping down hard again. "When this cock splits me open and makes me cum my fucking brains out. When your heavy fucking balls spill everything in me—god, I love being a slut for daddy to breed, a perfect little cum dump for those huge fucking loads."

"Princess—" you try to say through the fabric, though it comes out every bit muffled, the sound inaudible through these endless bounces.

"What is it, daddy? You wanna breed me already? Is this tight fucking pussy too much to handle?” she asks and gyrates her hips, clenching tight on the way down. Her palms rest on your bare chest, nails digging in while she impales herself on your length with these harsh bounces. 

Another tug on instinct that jerks the headboard back, as if you have any hopes of pulling free, left to watch as she does whatever she wants. With your mouth crammed with lace, there's no fighting these sounds, no chance of anything you say becoming audible. All the same, Wonyoung understands every little muffled noise, finding the perfect angle, every fucking drop that keeps your cock drowning in this slippery warmth.

"Almost there, daddy. You're doing so well—such a good fucking stretch, making my pussy so wet," she breathes out with her head tossed back, ass bouncing on your lap. Whenever your length goes impossibly deep, Wonyoung groans with each rise, these delicious noises that you can’t get enough of. "R-right there, that's the spot."

She bounces that petite frame with reckless abandon, hair a total mess falling around her, hips moving as fast as they can. The bed frame rattles, creaking from how hard those thighs slam down, letting out an audible slap of flesh on every impact, juices glistening from your cock as you stay stuffed in her tight cunt.

Again, you try in vain to utter the words. It's a hard enough task through this balled-up fabric in your mouth, and yet she senses the effort. But that doesn't mean she acknowledges it, far too lost in the sensations as those strokes come with intent—hands pressing down, palms splayed on your chest to guide each slam into her cunt.

"You're gonna make me cum, fuck—so deep in me, daddy. Oh my god, feels so fucking good,” Wonyoung cries out, slick gliding her effortlessly down every inch, using her cunt in the most selfish way possible as the edge looms. 

And that's enough to have you straining harder against the leather cuffs. She's close, the look of desperate, endless bliss etched onto her features when she gets her hips on autopilot, losing all sense of control. 

"Oh fuck, g-gonna fucking cum!” Then she’s right there, the fabric of her stockings rubbing against you when your bodies collide with such frantic desperation. Wonyoung bounces and bounces, refusing to let up, fucking you so goddamn good to chase own release.

Her orgasm hits, and it hits hard—fucking herself through a blinding rush of bliss. It's wet, messy, and god, her pussy just keeps spasming around you, that high going and going while her body shakes, thighs quivering so violently. 

She doesn't ease up on you either, riding like she’ll never get enough, eyelids heavy and head tossed back as she tries to keep going—too delirious to get another word out. Her warm little hole clamps like a vice on your entire length, overwhelming you with all these intoxicating sensations. Such a vibrant image, the sight of Wonyoung struggling to not fall apart while she rides your cock, mind filled with nothing but endless ecstasy.

"F-fuck," is all that comes out from Wonyoung when she brings her hips to a sudden halt and falls forward, removing her panties from your mouth and pulling you into a deep kiss. It's every bit intense and heated, your lips so easily captured, her tongue shoved in your mouth like it belongs there. "S-so good, so, fucking good—daddy made me cum so fucking hard."

Wonyoung is breathless, sweat beading all over, the glow on her skin and satisfaction in her features when her gaze meets yours once again.

"Now daddy must be dying to cum," she finally says through all these pants and gasps while her forehead rests against yours, that impossible to break eye-contact trapping you as your hard cock throbs so deep inside the snug, velvety grip of her cunt.

"You have no idea, wanna fill you, cum deep inside—" 

"Poor daddy. Your balls must be getting so heavy," Wonyoung laughs, giving an overwhelming roll of her hips, as if you weren't aching enough. She cups your face and leans in close, looking at the pink leather wrapped around your wrists. "Daddy must need those off—do you deserve to get your hands all over me when your cock fills my ass?"

"Yes, fuck yes—wanna be buried in your ass, wanna feel how tight you are,” you reply almost instantly, because like hell would you choose otherwise. Wonyoung simply smiles at the desperation on display, taking her time as she carefully undoes the handcuffs and sets you free, one at a time, tossing them aside. 

“Is that where daddy wants to cum? Deep inside my tight little asshole? Sounds so good—fill my ass with all your sticky fucking seed, wanna feel it flood right out of me. Don’t keep me waiting then.” 

As much as you love this tight cunt, the urge for something more has been clawing away. And now that you've been given free rein to do what you please, there's only one place your cock needs.

So just like that, Wonyoung climbs off, all that wetness dripping everywhere when your swollen cock springs free from her heavenly cunt.

She crawls over to the far end of the mattress, knowing what has to come next as she unhooks her bra, tossing that off and out of the way, leaving nothing on her but delicious heels and stockings. You see every curve from behind, watching closely while she gets on all fours, ass looking like absolute perfection, leaving you to salivate once Wonyoung gathers some pillows to hover over.

"Pound me—fucking pound my ass hard. Daddy doesn't need to go easy. I want that dick in my ass, wanna feel all of you stuff me fucking full," she breathes out. 

And even while she says that, you need a moment to stroke your cock and stare, marveling at those creamy cheeks that are about to be your new home. But like the brat said—don't keep her waiting. 

Shuffling over to the bedside table, you barely need to search, finding the small bottle practically empty. Enough left to slide your cock in, and that’s all that matters. And then you’re in position right behind Wonyoung, her sinful little body all there for you to take—

The cap opens, and your hand grips her supple ass, squeezing for a good moment before slicking your length with the cool liquid. Wonyoung, of course, shows impatience when you slide a slippery finger past that tight ring of muscle—a second one quick to join after, both working into her knuckle deep and sinking them in further. 

It's a routine you could do blindfolded. In your sleep, so well rehearsed at this point. The rim of her puckered hole accepts you with such ease, a slight moan slipping when you're halfway, quick to escalate the impatience you both share.

"Hurry up, get your big fucking dick in me, god—"

That's the plan. 

But that's difficult when your fingers have a mind of their own, pumping in and out to enjoy the tightness, how good her ass looks taking them deep. After all, it’s only fair to return the favor and tease her. Not like your cock isn’t aching to get inside either—so a momentary detour is plenty justifiable. Especially with these pathetic whimpers while you finger her asshole.

Her ass just feels too good to let up, a thumb running along her tight little rim, playing and toying until you reach the breaking point.

And then you take your cock, slapping it against those cheeks to get any kind of relief you can get—a few more teasing smacks before you line up. She's ready for it, pleading to be filled when you press your swollen cockhead right along her slicked-up back entrance, ready to sink into heaven and lose yourself. 

But there’s just one more thing missing—

Looking back, you spot the discarded handcuffs, abandoned on the edge of the bed and practically calling out to you. You don’t think twice about making use of them, picking them up in haste. 

And Wonyoung doesn't even see this coming. Her eyes widen with anticipation as you seize her wrists one by one, pulling them behind her back and securing them in place, the click from the final clasp far too satisfying. 

"Fucking brat thinks she's the only one allowed to surprise people," you say, giving her plump ass a sudden spank as a startled gasp fills the room. She tries to look back from over her shoulder, struggling with the way her arms are bound.

"Daddy, p-please, need your cock—“ 

"Shut up, little fucking slut." Another sharp hit on each side of her ass makes the flesh redden with bright handprints, each more aggressive than the previous. These perfectly round cheeks on total display the best canvas as your palm does as it pleases. 

There’s no protesting on her end despite this ambush, and she knows exactly what she’s started, riling you up like this, driving you to such actions—desperate to be put in her place. 

You can't say you've seen a better sight. Wonyoung's back arched with those slender arms held together behind, no choice but to keep that round ass in the air, ripe for the taking. That's the part you focus on most of all, these pale cheeks reddening with your strikes, squeezing them apart, her hungry little hole awaiting your thick cock. "Now the princess gets to be all helpless, doesn't she?" 

Not that she doesn't enjoy the restraint, she revels in it. Hell, she's the reason these handcuffs are even here in the first place. Because they look so good on her when she's begging to be fucked.

"Fucking brat actually likes being handcuffed and punished, huh? Being all helpless and vulnerable when she's taking this cock." She has no counter to that, no means to reply—and her entire demeanor shifts, voice coming through with this timid, flustered tone.

"Daddy, p-please, shove your cock inside, fuck me, pound my asshole—"

“I said shut up, slut. Do I have to gag you with your own fucking panties, princess? Or maybe something else, I'm sure Yujin has something useful around." 

Another harsh slap, hitting the exact same place. The red hue only grows darker while you give another, even harder, followed by a half-dozen more, each one stinging more than the last. 

"N-no, need daddy to hear me when that cock stretches my ass, p-please…"

She melts into submission without any real effort, losing any hope of resistance with the dozen or so smacks on that tight little ass that make her body jolt with each one. “Gonna open you up so wide, ruin daddy’s pretty little fuckdoll, make sure you can’t sit straight for a fucking week.” 

And that’s your cue to end this teasing. 

When the whimpering gets desperate, and the torture has lasted for too long. Pressing the swollen tip to her puckered entrance, Wonyoung groans when you inch in slowly, until her ass swallows you up. 

"God, princess," is all that you choke out as she slowly takes every inch without issue, letting out a sigh with you buried to the hilt. Every breath is ragged, shallow, and unsteady when you start thrusting, everything so warm and tight around your throbbing length. 

But the tightness, god—there's no greater sensation than this hot little asshole welcoming you, all of you. Each stroke becomes an impulse, sliding slowly and deep as you pull out halfway, just to enjoy the way she sucks you back in. 

"Mm, fuck, daddy—s-so good, so full," is all Wonyoung can manage, face into the pillows with her hands behind her back, turned enough so you can still make out her features—and all the pleasure etched there as you pump. "God, more, need you pounding me hard. Didn't I tell you to not take it fucking easy?" 

That's what earns her another hard slap on her ass, one with plenty of force behind it at that sudden defiance that loves to creep up. A reminder that even when her wrists are bound together, she takes what she wants. And once you slide out and right back in, a smack comes down so hard she clenches tight around your shaft, anticipating the pain that follows while you stay buried to the hilt, balls pressed up against her ass. 

Because even as you reward her with more punishing smacks to those creamy, pale cheeks already tarnished with fresh handprints—you know the one thing she hates most is denial.

So that's what you'll do, stay lodged all the way up inside, not moving a single inch. And from the look on her face, Wonyoung catches on, expression fading into something disappointed when she tries to push her hips back. 

"Don’t even think about it, princess," you warn, holding her hips firmly in place. "Not moving an inch until you learn to behave."

"Daddy wouldn't. Know you need to fill up my tight little asshole until I’m gaping and leaking with cum."

Her entire demeanor changes on a dime with those words, looking back like she's the one in control, despite her situation. 

"Wouldn't I? Don't test me. I can easily walk out that door and leave you like this for as long as I fucking want. Find Yujin instead and fill her cunt with the load that's meant for your ass."

"You wouldn't dare—"

"Wanna try me and find out? I'll go track her down, throw her legs over my shoulders and pound that beautiful pussy while all you can do is listen. It'll be her hair I'm pulling, not yours. Her pretty toes in my mouth. Her gorgeous face I'll be painting with my cum—not your slutty fucking holes.” 

"D-daddy, p-please!" she says, voice trembling at the threat. "Need you to stay in my ass, use me like a good little whore—"

"Oh, so now you're good? Only when it's convenient to you, is that it, brat?"

"N-no, just don't leave—don't go fuck Yujin instead. Need you to stay in me and finish."

Like you could ever do anything but that. That ass is absolutely fucking irresistible, the strength required to deny its grasp—it's impossible. 

Besides, you've had your fill of games. Not one more second to waste, your cock needs that tight fucking ass. So once again, you pull those hips back with you and slam into her ass with even more force, shoving every last inch to bury deep. And then you do it again and again, the resounding slap filling the room, hearing her helpless little moans after every thrust. 

"There you go—daddy's in my ass so fucking deep. Knew you couldn't go without your favorite cum dump," she murmurs through another strained moan, and that only makes your thrusts come harder, these unforgiving slams that are anything but gentle. 

If this is how she wants it, then it's a gift you can deliver. Because you're not going to have it any other way either, wanting to make good on your promise to make sure she can’t walk straight and then some. 

"Gonna fucking open you up so much, god, can't take how good this asshole feels, princess—"

Each thrust that buries deep feels so impossibly tight, suffocating your cock when you get balls deep, only staying for enough time to bottom out so you can pound back in once you slide out. 

It drives you fucking mad how tight and warm this hole you’re plunging yourself into, pulling her entire petite frame back whenever you withdraw. Another animalistic groan follows your hard pumps, burying yourself and stretching out her asshole as she's reduced to a moaning mess below you, head buried in a pillow and taking everything you give.

"F-fuck, love daddy's huge fucking cock," Wonyoung groans, taking the rough strokes you dish out with pride. “Love when you get so rough, when you lose control fucking my ass. I can't even do anything but take it like a good little slut." 

She gets it, god, she does. She knows exactly what all these moments do to you, get your body moving like you’re possessed. The way her reddened cheeks bounce when they meet your hips, and the mere sight of these fucking stockings on her never-ending legs makes it even better. 

You’re drunk on the bliss her body brings, and the feeling is mutual. Wonyoung is so eager to take everything you can give, gasping and pleading for even more, as if her ass isn’t the best thing you’ve buried your cock in. And you need more as much as she does, lifting yourself into a squat and leaning forward over her ass, pounding away with reckless abandon in this new angle that gets you even deeper. 

"F-fuck! Love this little asshole getting slammed, daddy’s fucking me so hard—mm, fuck, just like that. Fucking use me, use your greedy little slut, please—“ 

As if you’re even capable of anything else but pounding away at her ass while she drips all over the sheets. All you can even think about is getting deep between those cheeks while your heavy balls smack against her wet cunt, and you’re not sure you’re ever going to be able to leave even after you’ve left a hot, creamy load inside her. 

“Gonna cum so fucking hard in your ass when I’m done with you, slut. Fill it with my load and fuck it deep,” you growl, accentuating your words with a harsh slap to her cheeks, not letting her forget about the painful pleasure she’s addicted to. 

"Don't s-stop," she pleads, crying out when a palm collides again on her ass, craving that harsh sting more than anything. But that’s all she gets for now, putting your all into your hammering thrusts that slam her into the mattress. 

Wonyoung is taking it all like a champ, unable to even touch herself with these bound wrists, forced to endure whatever you give. All she gets to do is take what she deserves and more with every hard, unforgiving stroke that fills her. You need this—god, she fucking needs this just the same, each slam into her greedy little asshole getting more ferocious than the last, bordering on uncontrollable when her ass devours everything.

Not that she'd have you any other way.

"Just like that, nngh—oh god, fuck my ass, fill me up,” she begs, downright delirious from having this cock shoved up her ass, as you fuck into her little hole without any concern, pistoning deep in her tight depths. “Need you to ruin this ass—fill my gaping fucking asshole with cum, please—daddy, use me however you fucking want."

Those words really do you in. Almost as much as the tightness of her ass does. You’re completely lost in these mirrored desires, in the thrusts that spiral beyond control, so rough in her warm little hole that demands more, refuses to relent from such an unforgiving grip. 

You can’t even think about holding back anything now as you grab her handcuffed wrists and use them for leverage. And somehow, that gets you even more merciless—watching how those manicured nails form a fist, desperate to clench onto  anything as you drill her from behind, your eyes glued to where your shaft disappears. 

“You’re mine, princess, you hear that? All fucking mine, every little inch of your tight body.” 

"All yours," she manages out through the mind-numbing thrusts. "Always was, daddy. Just don't stop fucking me like this—"

Wonyoung can't help the desperate sounds that escape. She’s whining and whimpering, drool spilling onto the sheets when you get so deep, when her petite frame nearly gives out, almost unable to keep pace with her own demands. She really does struggle against her own self-control, and you're pretty sure if these handcuffs weren't on, there's not a doubt about the sheets she'd ruin with a hand between her thighs. 

You're fucking her into absolute incoherence, moaning between each harsh thrust and knowing there's no goddamn way to last. As you keep a wrist in your grasp, you reach down to give another hard spank across that pristine, pale flesh, not letting those bright red handprints ever fade. Because she deserves it, she's fucking earned every last one. Every single yelp that follows, the sting all over her sensitive skin that makes her clench tighter—the raw, crimson blush on those cheeks intent on making sure she’ll feel it for days. 

She lives for these spanks, the way your palm marks her, this soreness that feeds her arousal. The only way it could get better would be if Yujin were here—with a paddle in her hands, delivering as many as she can count.

It's that sensation of your hand connecting on each tender cheek, your cock impaling her ass while she remains so helpless, the stuttered little sounds when she takes it. All these things lead right up to the point you can't hold back a moment longer. With your hands back on her hips, the spanks cease in favor of giving your all, to ram in as deep and as hard as this little body can take.

"D-daddy's gonna cum so hard In this tight little hole, isn't he?" Wonyoung asks, more of a plea than a question, every word a little more slurred and broken. 

"Gonna pump you full, brat, fuck—" You feel it building, a steady pressure that has no chance of being contained. One more slap on that sore ass echoes through the room when your fingers dig into her sweaty flesh, and then you're holding her still, slamming your throbbing cock into her ass until the very last moment. 

Then you unload everything inside her. 

You let out a breathy groan as you pump it all deep inside her warm little asshole—one after another, each leaving you satisfied and breathless. Cum spills out in sticky, hot violent spurts as Wonyoung just moans with each shot her ass wrings out, working to empty your heavy balls inside this incredible tightness. 

She claims it all, her tight ass draining everything so desperately, every second a constant squeeze to milk you completely dry. 

It's filthy and sticky and, god, it's everything you need. What you both do. It never seems to stop, each heavy spurt bringing a new violent jerk of your hips that pounds it deep as those reddened cheeks swallow up the final remnants of your release. 

"Mmh, fuck—so full of daddy's cum, deep in my fucking ass. Daddy really destroyed my tight asshole and pumped me full, just how I needed.”  

Wonyoung still slurs her speech while not even thinking about letting you go. Not just yet. You'll stay here, buried in her ass knowing not to even try pulling away. Because those tender cheeks look so amazing stuffed full—nothing compared to what you’ll see the moments after you pull out.

"Good girl." 

That's all you mutter before leaning forward to press your weight down further on Wonyoung, increasing the angle enough so her body is flattened into the soft pillows below. There isn't an inch to move in this new position, your cock so snug all the way inside, still impaling her petite body to keep that creamy white load where it belongs. 

"N-no, not good—can't say that now," she murmurs, every word breathless with this fucked out expression etched on her face, biting her bottom lip and pressing her ass back the slightest. "Daddy's little fucking cumslut, you mean. Don't know the first thing about being good."

And what can you do but laugh while you pepper her flushed skin in kisses, some traveling down her shoulder, ending at the crook of her neck. 

For now, you stay in that position, catching your breath as she finally lets go, her hot little asshole gripping so harshly like it never wants you to leave when you slide out. There's a beautiful trail of sticky white of left behind, leaking right between her cheeks that you spread apart once you finally withdraw your length.

There's no greater sight, the creamy white dripping from that stretched out little hole, seeping between her pale thighs and onto the sheets, while your cock rests against her ass.

"Fuck, you really did wreck my asshole, daddy," Wonyoung almost laughs out in disbelief. 

"Not my fault you love it like that, princess." 

"Of course I do, dummy. Whatever makes daddy cum the hardest," she adds, panting between words to catch her breath, looking so goddamn gorgeous even through the brattiness that will always lurk. The only thing better is those red handprints all over her pale ass, left there as a reminder of what she’s earned. 

You give a firm squeeze of her ass one last time, a slight gasp leaving her when you force a bit more cum right out through her stretched hole, pushing the sticky mess right back in with a thumb that makes Wonyoung clench back around. “You always make me pump you so damn full, brat. Can't control myself around you."

"Wouldn't want you to," Wonyoung mumbles, leaving that thought unfinished as you savor these last moments, how good she looks face down, ass up like this, covered in sweat and cum dripping everywhere, even down her stockings and on the sheets below.

After you've finished enjoying the view, you glance down at her wrists and realize there's still the handcuffs on, wondering whether you should even bother taking them off.

"Daddy…" she whines, reminding you to make a decision when the silence lingers. 

"Yes, princess?" 

"I'm still handcuffed."

Quite the obvious fact—but you play oblivious. "You are. They look good on you, though."

You're not entirely sure you want to free Wonyoung. The pink leather looks gorgeous wrapped around those dainty wrists, her head against the pillows while she remains helpless, bent over with your cum dripping out. There's an appeal to watching her struggle—if only a bit. 

"Daddy! I can't kiss you like this," she complains, and you guess that’s a good enough reason as any to reach over and undo them. 

So you sigh, hoping to not regret it when you shuffle behind Wonyoung to uncuff her. With the restraints off, you kiss her wrists one at a time—rubbing your thumbs over the skin. She's back on her knees in no time at all, facing you on the bed so she can throw her arms around your shoulders, ready to pepper your face with soft kisses.

"Daddy wanted to leave me like that?" Wonyoung asks, this subtle shift into a sweeter tone when she kisses the corner of your lips.

"Thought about it." 

The handcuffs aren't a stranger to being around Wonyoung’s wrists, nor is the color pink—all too fitting on her.

Regardless, she keeps that pout, so unfairly cute when she wears it, a bit too irresistible. 

And so you let those pillowy lips meet yours again. One long kiss leads into another, and there's little effort to fight the hunger in each one as they press deeper. "Don't act like you don't love me fucking you when you're utterly helpless, princess." 

"Never said I didn't," she says, cupping your face in both hands without doing anything else. So you reciprocate, this slow kiss taking over, neither of you eager to end the exchange. That's the effect her lips have on you, so dangerous, more trouble than they're worth, in the best way possible.

"Brat. Should have really gagged you earlier. When my cock was fucking you senseless."

"You won't. Daddy loves making me scream when he ruins me," Wonyoung murmurs against your lips. “Handcuffs or not." 

That's news to nobody. 

✦ ✦

It's not the first time, and definitely won’t be the last that Jang Wonyoung wants more—

Not even an hour later and she's bent over the kitchen counter, right next to the leftover pizza from that one place Yujin loves that stays open after midnight. 

There isn't a single moment of rest for you with your cock back to splitting her ass open as you thrust rough and fast, wanting nothing more than to fill it all over again. Her fingers grab tight on the edge of the counter, your fist in her hair while your hips piston like a fucking train. 

The kitchen counter is more of Yujin's territory, wearing a cute apron without anything beneath while she's making breakfast for you, that sinful, round ass staring you right in the face. 

But Wonyoung insists this is the spot—the moment the two of you wander out of the shower. You're not picky when it comes to railing her into next week, finding the nearest surface, her perfect ass practically demanding your tongue before anything else. 

You're more than happy to indulge, burying your face in between those cheeks and devouring her asshole, craving all her delicious little moans as you find yourself back where you belong. A handful of hair, your cock lodged nice and deep In a mixture of saliva and lube, and those juicy ass cheeks being slapped. That's all you need.

Wonyoung, as expected, gets demanding fast, and it doesn't take long to move things back towards the living room.

To the couch, and a little detour where she ends up in a familiar position, legs stretched out, head over the armrest, hanging right over the edge—all for easier access to that warm little mouth. Then she's upside-down, laying back comfortably to the point where all she can do is wrap her pillowy lips around your cock, taking you so deep down that tight throat and gagging around it. A repeat of earlier last night. 

And before you know it, Wonyoung has you thrusting those hips while buried inside that tight ass yet again, her long legs spread so wide on the living room couch, bare feet up in the air and pointed toward the ceiling while you pound away. 

Fucking her face, her ass, wherever, whenever, Wonyoung seems incapable of quenching her insatiable needs tonight, demanding you use her petite body like she knows no limit. You're not about to tell her no, her warm little asshole sucking you back in at every given chance.

The couch, to nobody's surprise, becomes a wet fucking mess when you're buried so deep in Wonyoung's ass, staring at such a pretty face while she rubs her swollen clit, squirting all over you and the couch cushions in a loud, violent rush. 

After she's cum twice more, things move over to the armchair right next to the sofa—another piece of expensive furniture you're ready to defile. With Wonyoung clinging tight as your cock gets back inside that needy asshole, it's easy to sit her right on your lap, bare back against your chest and pound her like your life fucking depends on it. It's the perfect position to get so close, so intimate, staring at each other while your cock hammers away.

"Can you two keep it down over there?" Yujin asks, not even able to finish the sentence without laughing. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

You know that's a goddamn lie. Yujin steps in from the kitchen, not dressed for bed whatsoever, walking over to your side as you don't slow a thing. With a bowl of cereal and a spoon, she plops down onto the floor when she notices the couch is out of commission. 

"What did you two do to the couch?"

"S-shut up and eat your cereal," Wonyoung manages in between whimpers as her asshole gets wrecked right in front of Yujin's calm demeanor. And she's using the two of you as her own entertainment, the spoon dipping into her bowl, watching like it's all a movie on screen. 

Yujin laughs again. "Didn't answer the question."

“F-fuck you,” Wonyoung fires back, voice hoarse from all the screams and moans. 

Your eyes lock with Yujin's gaze that watches, eating up every second of this visual treat as your hard cock reams into Wonyoung, and you can barely contain how close you are to pumping her full. But Yujin just smirks, giving a quick, amused glance while she's crunching down. "Maybe later. You're a little preoccupied, princess."

Wonyoung doesn't respond right away, slapping her cunt when you slam into her so fucking hard. "If you wanted daddy to yourself, then you should've asked. “A-ahh, f-fuck—this big, thick cock stretching my asshole so much—"

"Don't worry," Yujin says, after an overly dramatic crunch. "I'll empty daddy's balls in the morning. Looks like you two are gonna be busy for a while."

Yeah, you could say that. At this rate, the sun will be up soon and Wonyoung is in one of those moods, you can tell. Every surface is in danger—and the same could be said about your poor cock that won't be given even the slightest hint of mercy.

“God—still haven't stopped, you're fucking addicted to being in my ass," says Wonyoung, locking an arm right behind your neck, whimpering and whining as your shaft pistons away.

"Me? You're the one wanting round whatever since we got out of that shower, you insatiable fucking brat. Taking my cock nonstop was your idea."

"This cock fucks me too well not to," she gasps out, before letting another filthy moan follow through.

Yujin keeps laughing through all of this. At this point, she's used to the sound of your cock splitting Wonyoung’s asshole with a merciless series of thrusts, happy to keep playing spectator. "Both of you are so fucking ridiculous. Two horny roommates obsessed with fucking each other’s brains out."

"Nnngh, fuck—and you're not? If you didn't have that stupid spoon in your mouth it would be on my fucking clit. Y-yes, ah—god, shit, shit, just like that, destroy me, daddy."

But she isn't wrong. That damn smirk is painted on the entire time, and Yujin knows how bad she can't wait to have a turn once Wonyoung finally gets satisfied enough.

Which might be a while.

For now, you can only wrap your hands under Wonyoung's thighs, spreading them even wider to pound up harder from below. Who even knows what ungodly hour it is, how much lube has been used, or how many more rounds you have in you. 

Your cock in Wonyoung, that cereal, and Yujin. A perfect trifecta, and a perfect ending to a perfect night.

[checkeredflagggs]

Secret Sweethearts

Pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc!reader

summary: las vegas was a lot more exciting then people think

a/n: my first pierre piece! This was requested so I hope you guys like it!!

a/n2: I love Kika but she had to go 😭😭

a/n3: Vegas is the race that keeps on giving

Masterlist | Taglist

Bluesky

user1: no no no you’re on to something

user2: thank god someone else noticed this! I thought for sure after he and Kika split he’d have a couple more months of wild parties…

↳user3: same! Instead he had like a month of pr problems then it went all silent…

↳user2: I don’t know what I miss most — Kika’s Pierre or Party Pierre…

↳user3: hmmm I’m gonna go party pierre cause he lost his T-shirt consistently

↳user2: good point good point

user4: is this a safe place? Can I say something?

↳user5: nope!

↳user6: do it anyway!

↳user4: ummm fuck you both??

↳user6: what did I do!?

user7: user4 was your thought the fact that the after party of George’s race win and Max’s WDC win in Vegas was the last of Pierre’s wild days?

↳user4: it absolutely was

↳user8: ok grandmas. Let’s get you back to your beds

↳user9: no no no let them cook

user10: ok but let’s say user4 and user7 are right?? Bets on the reason why?

↳user11: I’m guessing that he got his socials taken away — can’t have too bad of an image…

↳user12: I mean it’s Vegas…I’m guessing he got married

↳user13: A VEGAS WEDDING?

↳user14: not who I thought would have a Vegas wedding…

↳user13: right?? I always had money on Lando or Charles…

↳user14: same!

↳user11: ok but we don’t know that’s the reason why he changed!

↳user13: let’s be real this makes more sense…

↳user12: it does! If he had his socials taken away for pr, we probably would have seen him on other drivers posts but it’s been a near complete blackout since Vegas!

Private Messages, the Gasly’s and their mothers

Private Messages, y/n and Pascale

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 193,102 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc

y/n_leclerc: Christmas time! Featuring the best ugly Christmas sweaters you’ve ever seen! Mine won — both the worst sweater and the itchiest!

view all comments

user15: ugly sweater or not, you’re still the prettiest!

user16: oh to be y/n leclerc…

maxverstappen1: so how many of those presents are yours?

↳y/n_leclerc: I don’t know what you mean…

↳charles_leclerc: I don’t like your tone…

↳arthur_leclerc: nearly all of them…

↳charles_leclerc: arthur!

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺

↳arthur_leclerc: as it should be! liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc, pierregasly

pierregasly: Joyeux Noel!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci Pierre!

carlossainz55: Feliz Navidad!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci!

oscarpiastri: Merry Christmas

↳y/n_leclerc: thank you nephew!

↳oscarpiastri: I am 3 years older than you…

↳y/n_leclerc: and yet…

Private Messages, Pascale and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by user, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, and 824,294 others

y/n_leclerc: just some quiet days spent with you, my love 🩷

view all comments

charles_leclerc: What is this?

charles_leclerc: Who is this?

charles_leclerc: What is happening?

charles_leclerc: Answer your phone y/n!

↳user17: oh you know it’s a serious thing when he comments multiple times AND uses correct punctuation and capitalization…

user18: is this y/n leclerc…soft launching…a boyfriend??

↳charles_leclerc: Non!

↳arthur_leclerc: she hasn’t introduced him to us yet so he doesn’t exist and isn’t dating our baby sister!

↳user18: that is absolutely not how it works btw

↳charles_leclerc: yes it is

↳charles_leclerc: Also y/n_leclerc answer your phone!

user19: ok I know what everyone is gonna think but if I may…

↳user20: no. I refuse to believe you again!

↳charles_leclerc: What?

↳user20: don’t listen to her she’s a conspiracy theorist

↳user19: who has frequently been right!

↳charles_leclerc: What do you know?

↳user19: know? Nothing actually liked by y/n_leclerc

arthur_leclerc: Belle petit sœur, qui est cet homme et pourquoi vous impose-t-il les mains? Beautiful little sister, who is that man and why is he laying hands on you?

↳y/n_leclerc: ☺️☺️

↳arthur_leclerc: THATS NOT GONNA WORK THIS TIME!! WHO IS HE??

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺🥺 why are you yelling at me?

↳charles_leclerc: Arthur stop yelling at y/n! And y/n, ma belle petit sœur, please answer me — who is that man?

pierregasly: little Leclerc has a man now?

↳charles_leclerc: No!

↳y/n_leclerc: yes 🥰🥰

↳pierregasly: he treat you well?

↳charles_leclerc: He doesn’t exist!

↳y/n_leclerc: Pierre, he does…

↳charles_leclerc: …Not! Exist!

user21: I did not have baby Leclerc giving her brothers heart attacks on my bingo card for this year?

↳user22: right? I thought it was going to be the car…

↳user21: oh big same

oscarpiastri: congratulations y/n!

↳charles_leclerc: NON!

↳y/n_leclerc: thanks nephew

↳charles_leclerc: Answer you’re phone please y/n!

user23: ok but does the pink heart mean anything?

↳user24: it absolutely has too… she’s a Ferrari girl to her core, it’s been red her entire life. To switch now?

Bluesky

user25: I’d say you’re crazy and to tell me more!

↳user26: well we know that the Las Vegas GP after party was Pierre’s last public party

↳user27: he has been suspiciously quiet lately

↳user26: right?

user28: wait was y/n in Vegas? I didn’t think she traveled too much for the races?

↳user29: she was! Charles mentioned it during one of the interviews — she just turned 21 and wanted to celebrate in Vegas

↳user30: ok that’s so girlboss slay of her?

↳user29: I guess?? I’m too old to know what those words mean

user31: so we know that Pierre and y/n were in the same city (known for its drunk marriages), Pierre dnfed pretty early on in the race…

↳user32: what are we thinking? That she slipped away from Ferrari to alpine?

↳user31: I mean I would? Better to hang out with someone I know to finish watching the race…

user33: I think it was Alex or Lando? Who posted that there was going to be a big after party — to celebrate both George’s race win and Max’s WDC win

↳user34: it was Alex! And he was also the one that had photos of Pierre cuddling up with some girl

↳user35: Charles posted a picture of the view from his hotel room very early in the night — everyone kinda took it to mean he left the party early cause he was mad at the race

user36: so we have them in the same location, more than likely at the same party, almost certainly with Charles leaving early…

↳user37: in a city known for drunken decisions?

secretly/n: wow you guys are through

user38: ok but what’s the evidence after Vegas? Like divorce exists…

↳user39: vibes mostly…

↳user40: and the pink heart!

↳user38: vibes and a pink heart??

↳user39: the pink heart! She’s always used a red heart (Ferrari forever!!) but when she finally soft launches a man it’s with a pink heart?? Pink like alpine??

f1gossip

liked by user, user, secretly/n and 824,193 others

tagged: y/n_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: with the increased interest in Pierre’s newly quiet public life and the subject of y/n’s soft launch, here comes another twist! Recent pictures from Pierre’s social show the newest Gasly, Simba — while y/n’s latest story has an identical pup getting cozy with her! Could this be the confirmation we’ve all been waiting for?

view all comments

user41: awwwweeee 🥹🥹🥹 shared custody

↳user42: ok but Pierre got simba right after Vegas right?

↳user41: …oh my god you’re right!! They got a dog together!!!

↳user42: they got a dog together 🤗🤗

user43: I’m going to laugh when it’s revealed that they aren’t together…

↳user44: I’m gonna laugh when you release you’re wrong!

user49: ok but simba and the helmets is so adorable ☺️

↳user50: yes!

user51: I don’t know who I’m more jealous of…Pierre, y/n, or simba…

↳user52: it’s a big choice…

secretly/n: damn you guys are fast to put the pieces together…

pierregasly has posted a story, y/n_leclerc has posted a story

[dinner date][my valentine 🩷]

user54 replied proof of relationship!

user55 replied exactly what we’ve been waiting for!

user56 replied are you with y/n right now??

y/n_leclerc replied looking good…and the pizza looks delicious too

↳pierregasly 😆

↳pierregasly right back at you, jolie fille

↳y/n_leclerc 😘💋🩷🩷

charles_leclerc replied ohh? A new love?

↳pierregasly something like that yes…

↳charles_leclerc and you haven’t said a word *smh*

↳pierregasly not yet

user57 replied IS THAT PIERRE

user58 replied omg its happening!!

user59 replied YOURE MATCHING WITH PIERRE YES!!

charles_leclerc replied what’s happening right now? Are you at Pierre’s??

↳y/n_leclerc oh my god leave me alone!

↳y/n_leclerc I’m with my MAN

↳charles_leclerc who doesn’t exist!!

↳y/n_leclerc that’s what you think!

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

Private Messages, Pierre and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 2,183,193 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, pierregasly, jackdoohan, maxverstappen1, alex_albon, liamlawson30, yukitsunoda0511, isackhadjar

y/n_leclerc: got to go to this cool event, met some weird people, and crashed a redbull family reunion

view all comments

user60: oh god that is pretty much the redbull family isn’t it??

↳user61: so much trauma all in one photo…

pierregasly: weird people??

↳y/n_leclerc: yes! where did all your hair go???

↳user62: she’s speaking for all of us!

oscarpiastri: I see how it is…you spend a couple of hours with your aunt and she doesn’t even acknowledge you…

↳y/n_leclerc: I’m so sorry dearest nephew. How ever could you forgive me?

↳oscarpiastri: I could do with some dog cuddles?

↳y/n_leclerc: sure!

↳charles_leclerc: stop giving away leo!

↳y/n_leclerc: leo?

↳y/n_leclerc: no! I’ll not be doing that

↳user62: she forgot about her nephew Leo and was offering time with simba… liked by secretly/n

alex_albon: A redbull family photo and yet Charles is right in the middle…

↳y/n_leclerc: come on we all know he and max are attached at the hip

↳alex_albon: true true

↳maxverstappen1: what are you talking about?

↳y/n_leclerc: don’t worry about it Yapstappen liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc

user63: ok girl we see you posting the brother and the boyfriend

↳charles_leclerc: Wait what?? What are you talking about? Who???

↳y/n_leclerc: apparently no one because “he doesn’t exist”

↳charles_leclerc: good you’re learning

↳y/n_leclerc: how do I dislike a post

user64: ok but did anyone else catch the looks those 2 were sharing??

↳user65: no! They were legit gazing into each others eyes the entire night

↳user66: are we talking y/n and her man or Charles and his?

↳user65: yes

y/n_leclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 829,103 others

tagged: pierregasly

y/n_leclerc: posting my man while Charles is still busy

view all comments

user67: A HARD LAUNCH?? IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DAY??

user68: good lord what is happening right??

pierregasly: Je t'aime aussi, belle fille. I love you too, beautiful girl

↳y/n_leclerc: Vous êtes de loin la meilleure décision que j'aie jamais prise. You are by far the best decision I ever made

maxverstappen1: he’s gonna go ballistic

↳y/n_leclerc: haha yeah

↳maxverstappen1: you’re a chaotic little thing aren’t you…

↳y/n_leclerc: 🤣🤣

oscarpiastri: Hello. What is this?

↳y/n_leclerc: I believe the youths call it a hard launch?

↳user69: girl you are one of the youths

charles_leclerc: WHAT KS THIS?!?

charles_leclerc: ABSOLUTELY NOT

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2 and 790,469 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: Charles before he saw his sisters post and Charles after her saw his sister post during pre-season testing here in Bahrain

view all comments

user70: you could see the rage grow on his face…

↳user71: oh man could you…I could feel it from here and I’m not even in the same hemisphere

user72: he went through all 5 stages of grief, invented a view new ones, then settled on pure rage

user73: I’m so glad Pierre wasn’t on the track at the same time as Charles…

↳user74: right?

↳user75: I’m sure Pierre is feeling the same

Private Messages, the Leclerc Siblings

Private Messages, Pierre and Charles

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 2,824,348 others

tagged: pierregasly, y/n_gasly

f1gossip: things got heated today during the Australian press conference where Pierre defended his WIFE??

view all comments

user76: I’m so…WHAT

↳user77: speaking for all of us right now…

user78: that interviewer was out of line

↳user79: he’s so lucky that Charles wasn’t there…

↳user80: ok but did you see Max and Oscar? Cause they looked like they wanted to hunt him for sport too

user81: that type of language has no use in today’s questions

↳user82: I’m with the drivers — how fucking dare that sexist piece of shit ask Pierre those questions???

↳user83: if anyone of them had kept at the man I wouldn’t have said anything

↳user84: he had it coming

user85: ok but are we all skipping over the fact THAT PIERRE AND Y/N GOT MARRIED???

↳y/n_gasly: that’s old news I’m afraid

↳user86: Wait? What? Why? When?

↳y/n_gasly: Marriage. Because I love him. Las Vegas!

↳user86: you changed your handle!

user87: this gonna go down in the history books — where were you when you found out that y/n is now a gasly…

↳charles_leclerc: SHES A WHAT NOW??

↳user87: you didn’t know yet?

↳charles_leclerc: KNOW WHAT??

↳user87: man I hate to burst your bubble…

↳charles_leclerc: 😤🤬

Private Messages, the Leclercs and the Gaslys

f1 posted a story, y/n_gasly posted a story

[All’s well now!][My husband and I 🩷]

user88 replied awww the in-laws getting along…

user89 replied my pookies

y/n_gasly replied I better not have to fight my brother for my husband now…

↳f1 we can make no promises…

user90 replied we love to see this!

charles_leclerc replied only temporarily…

pierregasly replied I love you, Lumière de ma vie

↳y/n_gasly I love you too, mon œuf

↳pierregasly 🙄🙄

charles_leclerc replied ABSOLUTELY NOT

arthur_leclerc replied TELL HIM TO GET HIS HANDS OFF YOU

lorenzotl replied how much are they yelling at you?

↳y/n_gasly ehhh I’m mostly ignoring my phone right now 😂😂

↳y/n_gasly they’ll get over it…eventually

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @elliegray2803 @anunstablefangirl

[lilliankoo]

play you like a game, boy 🗡️ jeon jungkook.

chapter 3/8

genre: antagonist tribe leader jk x princess reader.

word count: 4.9k

previous chapter link chapter 2

synopsis: he looks like an angel but is a devil- well that's what your kingdom thinks. he is also the blessed leader of tribe "lav"; even a leaf cannot move without his permission but here he was in-front of you on his knees. while the whole tribe bows to him- he only bows to you. now, there are two paths presented to you- marry him & return his love or refuse & watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is an evil yet a tempting apple-and now its in your hands- are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt others? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

warnings: emotional manipulation, power dynamics, forced marriage, mystical elements, manipulation, secrets, made-up culture and traditions, jealousy and possessiveness, mysticism and divine Intervention. made up goddess, tribe etc. calling the leader “mother” (clears throat), i made the reader a french princess caus…im french :D aayyyyyeeee, let me know if i should anything else

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You pass through the long hallways, heading toward the chambers you now share with Jungkook. The steady hum of the villagers' voices and the overwhelming weight of the day's rituals still echo in your head, leaving your mind dizzy and disoriented. The palace feels too grand, too foreign, and every step you take only adds to the suffocating sense of being trapped in a gilded cage.

But as you walk deeper into this side of the palace, something shifts. The air seems to change. The space opens up, revealing a vast courtyard that stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of the fading evening sun. The scent of lilies—your favorite flowers—floats in the air, and you pause, blinking in surprise. Could Jungkook have known? But no, that's impossible. You dismiss the thought with a shake of your head.

A gentle breeze lifts the soft pink curtains that adorn the arched windows, making them flow like ribbons in the wind. The sight makes you smile, a small, fleeting moment of peace in an otherwise overwhelming day.

“We are here, Mother Y/N,” one of the helpers says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blink, confused. You’ve heard this word far too many times today. "Mother?" you repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. "Why is everyone calling me that? I’m not a mother."

You yank at the ribbons tied around your wrists, frustration bubbling inside you. The bracelets, delicate and intricate, unravel with a soft rattle, scattering beads across the floor. The helpers gasp, rushing to gather them, but your focus remains on the older woman who spoke to you.

She stands with quiet composure, the first person besides Jungkook who dares to meet your gaze instead of staring at the ground. Her eyes hold something; calm yet unwavering.

“There are things only Jungkook can explain to you,” she says, her voice steady.

You straighten, the defiance in you rising. "So bring him here," you challenge.

The helpers freeze, the air thick with tension. You take a few determined steps toward the older woman, now standing face-to-face with her. The distance between you feels like the space between two opposing forces and you refuse to back down.

“If there are things only Jungkook can tell me," you insist, your voice firm, "then bring him here.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. "We cannot do that," she responds calmly. "The men are celebrating. They’ll be drinking tonight. There is a reason why all the women are kept here, away from the common ground. It can get dangerous."

For a moment, you consider backing down. You’ve never wanted to trouble others you're not that cruel. But everything about this marriage, these rituals, this forced life, weighs on you. You can't ignore the way you've been shoved into this new world, without answers or choice.

“I won’t enter the chambers until Jungkook comes here,” you declare, folding your arms across your chest.

The helpers insist again, but you stand firm. As they begin to leave, you turn away, frustrated and exhausted. The door to the balcony stands before you, an open escape from the chaos inside. You walk toward it, your thoughts swirling with questions. You gaze at the now visible moon, a silent witness to the mess of your life.

You close your eyes, a prayer escaping your lips, soft and desperate.

“Do you hear me?”

A voice behind you breaks the silence, and you whirl around, heart skipping a beat. Jungkook stands there, but he’s different now. No jewels. No elaborate mantle. His hair, usually tied back with precision, flows freely around his shoulders. He’s dressed simply; a vest and pants, casual and unadorned. He looks more human, less like the grand tribe leader from the ceremony.

Your heart races, and for a moment, you forget to speak. You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself, and finally ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since you first stepped into this palace.

"Why does everyone keep calling me 'mother'?" you ask, the words slipping out in a mixture of frustration and confusion.

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, but he says nothing. He simply stands there, admiring you with a gaze that lingers, like he’s memorizing every detail. You’re taken aback by the intensity of his stare. His silence feels like a puzzle you're not sure how to solve.

You wait for him to respond, but when the seconds stretch on, you can't help but snap, the tension in you breaking. “What? Drank too much already?” you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a small, amused smile. Without warning, he steps toward you and pulls you into him, his hands settling at your waist. His touch is confident, almost possessive, as he meets your gaze with that same quiet smile.

“I know you don’t like men who drink,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I gave up drinking a year ago.”

The words hit you like a cold wave. A year ago. He’s been plotting this for longer than you thought—since before you ever met him. Now you are sure that He knows about the lilies. He knows everything. And that realization sends a chill down your spine.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook takes your hands, leading you toward the chambers with quiet determination. You’re too stunned to speak, the weight of the situation settling around you like a heavy cloak. There’s so much you don’t know, and for the first time, you wonder; what else has he planned? What else does he know?

You can feel the walls closing in, but for now, you're too scared to ask any more questions.

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The door closes softly behind you, the faint echo of it clicking into place still reverberating in the quiet chambers. The room feels warmer now, more intimate, with the fading light of dusk casting long shadows across the stone walls. Without a word, he gestures for you to sit on the bed. The silken covers shimmer in the low light, soft and inviting. You comply, though your mind still churns with the many questions Jungkook left unanswered. As you settle on the bed, he stands before you, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes your heart flutter nervously.

Without hesitation, he begins untying the delicate ribbons of the bracelets on your wrists. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they work through the knots, each movement slow, purposeful, almost reverent. The bracelets fall away, beads scattering across the floor like tiny fragments of your old life. You can’t help but notice how his touch lingers, just a moment longer than necessary, before his hands move to your shoulders.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs, his voice low and calming.

Before you can respond, he guides your arms out of the intricate layers of clothing, leaving you in the delicate chemise that clings to your form. The thin fabric feels cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room and his presence. You suddenly feel exposed, both physically and emotionally, as his eyes scan you, though there’s no judgment in them; just an unspoken understanding.

His hands move to yours, gently cupping them, "I cannot tell you much just yet,” he begins, his voice soothing but laced with something else, something you can't quite place. “You will start to understand with time. This forest is blessed by a goddess, even though I am the leader, it is she who watches over us. She gave me this role, but she works with women. It is a woman’s power that sustains everything here.”

You listen carefully, though the words don't entirely make sense. Your mind reels with the implications. He continues, unaware of the storm of thoughts brewing inside you.“I am the leader, and you are my wife,” he says, his grip tightening on your hands ever so slightly. “People call you ‘mother’ in respect and because your presence will… fix everything.”

You blink, confused, your mind struggling to make sense of what he’s saying. The idea of being a 'mother' here, in this strange place, feels completely uncomfortable to you. But there's something about the way he says it—an undeniable weight to his words—that makes you wonder if there’s more to this than you understand. Still, you’re glad he’s finally spoken, giving you a sliver of an answer, even if it only raises more questions.

“I don’t understand," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t offer further explanation. Instead, his expression softens, and he tilts his head slightly. "In time, you will."

You’re still processing everything when a wave of exhaustion hits you, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. You rub your temples, your body suddenly craving rest.

“I’m tired,” you murmur, your voice heavy with the need to retreat from the storm of emotions inside you. “Where can I take a bath?”

Jungkook’s eyes soften at your words, his expression a mixture of understanding and something deeper you can’t yet read. He gives you a small nod and stands, his movements fluid as he gestures to a nearby door.

“There,” he says simply, leading you toward a door that opens into a private bathing area. The sight that meets your eyes is breathtaking—soft light from hanging lanterns spills over a marble tub filled with steaming water. The air is infused with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus, and you feel the tension in your muscles begin to loosen just by the sight of it.

Before you step into the bath, Jungkook pauses, his gaze shifting to a large wardrobe standing against one of the walls.

“Before you rest,” he says, a slight smile tugging at his lips, “let me show you something.”

You follow him over, and he opens the doors inside, you find an array of clothes—dresses, corsets, and fine fabrics, each one more beautiful than the last. In colours of deep emeralds, soft pinks, and silvery blues. The gowns are intricate, rich with embroidery and lace, while the corsets are designed with a delicacy that suggests they were made specifically for you. It’s clear that every item here has been chosen with care, each one fitting with the taste you’ve never even shared with him.

You run your fingers over the fabrics, astonished at how perfectly they seem to suit you. It feels like he’s known your preferences before you even had a chance to voice them.

“I know this is what your women wear…I mean back at your kingdom,” Jungkook says quietly, watching you with a hint of pride, “I made sure everything here was to your liking.”

You can’t help but feel a mixture of gratitude and unease. How much does he know about me? The question lingers in the back of your mind, but you push it aside for now. This isn’t the moment for doubts.

Instead, you turn back to the bathing area. “I’ll bathe now,” you say softly.

Jungkook doesn’t respond with words, only a quiet nod as he exits the room, leaving you in the privacy of the sanctuary he’s created for you. The bathwater envelops you in warmth, soothing your tired body. The tension slowly melts away as you sink deeper into the water, your mind drifting as you close your eyes.

But just before you can fully lose yourself in the bath, the door to the room opens again. You start, but it’s only Jungkook, now standing in the doorway. He walks toward you, and this time, there’s no command in his step, only an undeniable warmth. his eyes softening as he cups your jaw with his hand, the touch gentle but firm. He holds you there, looking at you as though he’s memorizing every part of you. Then, without a word, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a slow tender kiss. His warmth lingers, a contrast to the coolness of the bathwater. You can feel his breath against your skin, steady and calm, and in that moment, you almost forget the weight of the world outside this room.

He pulls away just slightly, still holding your face in his hands, and his voice is low, almost intimate. "You have a long day tomorrow, Y/N. I’ll be here to help you settle in—make sure everything is alright. I’ll make sure you feel at ease here."

His words carry a sincerity that catches you off guard, but the quiet reassurance settles something deep inside you. He doesn’t wait for a reply before stepping back, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he turns to leave.

—--------------------------------

The soft rustling of the curtains drags you from sleep. Sunlight filters through the delicate fabric, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. You stretch, feeling the lingering weight of yesterday’s emotions, but the restfulness of the night brings a brief sense of peace.

Then, a gentle knock on the door interrupts the quiet.

“Come in,” you murmur, not entirely awake.

The door creaks open, and one of the helpers enters, a polite smile on her face as she approaches you. Her presence feels like an invitation to begin the day, though you’re not sure you're ready for it just yet.

"Good morning, mother Y/N," the helper says softly, her voice carrying a hint of reverence. "It’s time to get you ready for the day."

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as the helper begins to assist you, bringing you fresh clothing that seems to shimmer under the soft light. The gown she presents to you is stunning—something that would be seen during Marie Antoinette's time: a dress with a fitted bodice, flowing skirts, and delicate lace trim. The pale blue silk contrasts beautifully with your skin, and the fabric feels like a dream against you.

The gown is unlike anything the women in the tribe wear, and the realization fills you with quiet relief. Jungkook, despite his power, respected your wishes. He didn’t force you into tribal attire, the way most of the other women in the village wear. Instead, he gave you the freedom to wear something that resonates with your own heritage, something that speaks of who you are, not just where you are.

As the helper adjusts the delicate lace around your neckline, you notice that your hair is left loose. The lightness of the fabric and the freedom in your appearance feel like a small rebellion against the rigid rules of the tribe, though you know this could all change in time.

Once you’re fully dressed, the helper nods approvingly and gestures toward the door. “It’s time to meet with the council. Jungkook is expecting you.”

The thought of seeing Jungkook again after yesterday’s revelation fills you with a mixture of dread and curiosity. You follow the helper through the winding halls of the palace, your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. As you reach the entrance of the common ground, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

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The common ground is bustling, filled with various figures of importance. When you step in, you spot Jungkook immediately. He stands tall and composed, wearing traditional tribal clothing, but there's something different about his attire. The materials are exquisite embellished with intricate beadwork and luxurious furs, signaling that even though he embraces the tribe’s customs, his status is unmatched.

He turns when he sees you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His eyes soften as they meet yours.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets you warmly, stepping forward. “You look beautiful.” You offer him a small smile, though it’s tight around the edges, and nod in acknowledgment. There’s an underlying tension between you, but for now, you don’t speak of it.

As you walk further into the gathering, your eyes scan the room. You notice a few familiar faces, a handful of the tribe’s elders, and someone holding a stack of papers and a quill. The man looks at you and Jungkook, motioning for both of you to sit at the long table in the center of the room. There’s an air of formality to this meeting, and as you sit down, the weight of the situation presses down on your shoulders.

The man speaks first, addressing you with a calm, measured tone.

“Miss Y/N," he says, his words laced with an odd mix of politeness and condescension. "You are an outsider, I mean even though you are Jungkook's wife. You are still the daughter of a French king. Unlike us, you have strong connections with the people outside of this forest. You must want to stay in contact with them. Even though women hold superiority here, it is still the husband’s decision if he will allow you to leave the forest.”

The words hang in the air, and your stomach tightens. Your heart races, and you glance at Jungkook, but he’s looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable. The man turns his gaze to Jungkook, his next set of questions directed at him, his voice official and blunt.

“Do you allow your wife to visit her kingdom?” he asks.

Jungkook glances at you, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of something—maybe hesitation, maybe understanding—but it’s gone before you can fully grasp it.

“Yes,” Jungkook says, his voice unwavering. “But only once a month, and I will accompany her.”

You blink, surprised by his words, but something inside you stirs. He still intends to control even that, though the small concession feels like a victory. For now, anyway.

The man doesn’t hesitate. “Do you allow her to stay overnight in her kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook responds firmly, his eyes still on you, but the words feel like a physical blow.

A cold anger coils in your chest. The thought of never being able to visit your family without his watchful eye is suffocating. You never wanted this. Never asked for it.

The man pauses before asking, “Do you allow her parents to visit here?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even thought about that possibility, but now it feels like another sharp cut into your already wounded heart.

“No,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

The room grows silent, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. You can feel the anger building within you, the frustration at being trapped in a place that feels more and more like a gilded cage.

The meeting wraps up quickly after that, and without a word to Jungkook, you stand and make your way toward the door, your legs moving on their own accord. Your heart beats faster, every step toward your chambers feeling heavier than the last. The cool air outside is a welcome relief, but it doesn’t quiet the storm raging inside you.

Just as you’re about to step into the privacy of your chambers, Jungkook catches up with you, his hand gently grasping your arm.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice calm, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath the surface. “Like I said, you’ll understand with time. I still allowed you to visit, even though the forest forbids it. I’ve done more than what was required of me.”

You look at him, and for a moment, it feels like your heart might shatter. Tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them down, biting your lip as your frustration boils over.

With a short, bitter laugh, you turn away from him, your voice thick with emotion as you mutter, “Understand? I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

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You don’t go to your chambers.

Instead, you walk past the familiar halls and the rooms that have become a cage, pushing yourself deeper into the forest. The tall trees stand like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching across the ground, offering the solitude you desperately crave. you find yourself outside, near a quiet lake, the ripples of the water mirroring the turbulence inside you.

You stand there, staring at the still water, and allow yourself a moment to breathe. What now? You don’t know the answer. But you do know one thing: you won’t stay here quietly. You won’t let this place swallow you whole.

The peaceful stillness of the lake settles around you as you sit by its edge, lost in thought. The air is cool and calming, and the ripples of the water are the only sounds that fill the space.

Then, a voice breaks the silence.

"Ah, look at this angel."

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts, and instinctively turn your head toward the source of the voice. Across the lake, standing on the opposite bank, is a woman. Unlike anyone you’ve seen before, her presence is both serene and striking.

She has two earthen pots resting at her feet, their earthy tones contrasting with the pale blue of the lake. Her beauty is ethereal, almost otherworldly, and it draws you in. Her long, dark hair is partially hidden by a delicate veil that drapes around her head, but unlike the veils of the women in the tribe, this one doesn’t cover her face. Instead, it simply rests gently on her head, flowing with a soft elegance.

You can’t help but stare, captivated by her. Her green eyes—bright and vivid like the heart of the forest itself—hold your gaze, steady and unwavering.

She bends down gracefully, her movements fluid, like a dancer. You watch as she fills one of the pots with water from the lake, her hands steady and sure. The way she moves seems effortless, as though the world around her is just an extension of her being. The tension you’d felt earlier seems to ease just by watching her, and for a brief moment, you forget about the complications of your new life here. Her presence is so calming, so completely different from the chaos you’ve been swept into.

The air between you two feels thick with something unspoken, a connection you can’t quite place. As she fills the second pot, she never breaks eye contact with you, her gaze never faltering. There’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, as though she sees more than just your outward appearance.

A soft breeze moves through the trees, rustling the leaves, but still, the woman stands perfectly still, her green eyes locked with yours. You want to speak, but the words catch in your throat. There’s a strange pull in the air, a magnetism that makes your heart race in a way you didn’t expect.

The silence stretches, and you wait for her to speak, for her to break the connection. But she doesn’t. She simply looks at you, her expression unreadable yet full of something profound, as if she understands your confusion, your turmoil, perhaps even more than you do. After a long moment, she turns her gaze toward the water once more, adjusting the pots, as though nothing unusual had passed between you two. But the moment lingers in the air, settling in your chest, as if she’s left a mark on your soul.

The air is thick with the unspoken tension between you and the mysterious woman, As she adjusts the earthen pots on the ground, you finally gather enough courage to break the silence.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice steady but curious.

She lifts her gaze to meet yours, and a soft, musical laugh escapes her lips. It’s not mocking, but rather a gentle, knowing sound. “I am not from here,” she says simply, her tone calm and smooth. “I am merely here to fetch fresh water.”

You nod slowly, taking in her words, but there’s something in her manner that makes you feel there’s more to her than she’s letting on.

“Is he troubling you?” she asks, her voice low but pointed.

Your brows furrow, a twinge of confusion passing through you. “Who?” you ask, not sure if you’re hearing her correctly.

Her lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “Your man,” she replies, her gaze unwavering. She watches you carefully, as though reading the turmoil in your eyes. There’s a silent understanding between you two, though neither of you speaks it aloud. She doesn’t press further, instead turning her attention back to the pots she’s preparing to carry.

“You think you are defenseless here," she says, her voice low and cryptic. "But it’s him. He is at your mercy, not the other way around. He cannot hurt you like you can hurt him, he worships you."

Her words hang in the air, each one heavy with unspoken meaning. You try to make sense of them, but they only leave you more confused than before. There’s something about the way she says it—something in her eyes—that makes your skin prickle.

Before you can ask more questions, you hear a voice calling out your name. You freeze, and your heart skips a beat. It’s Jungkook’s voice, unmistakable and close.

You quickly glance back toward the sound, your chest tightening. When you turn around to speak to the woman once more, to ask her to elaborate, she’s gone. she vanished without a trace. There’s no rustling of leaves, no footsteps to mark her departure. She’s simply gone, as though she was never there at all.

Your breath catches in your throat as a strange feeling settles in your gut. You stand frozen, staring out over the lake, the strange woman’s words still echoing in your mind. The stillness of the water reflects the cloudy sky, but inside, your thoughts are a storm. What did she mean? What did she know? Who was she?

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, and your heart skips a beat. You turn just as you see Jungkook breaking through the bushes, his eyes searching the area for you. The look on his face is a mixture of relief and concern. Without a word, he reaches you and pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his warmth.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, thick with worry.

You nod, still lost in your thoughts, but he doesn’t release you. His hold tightens as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to read what’s hidden there. He asks again, softer this time, "Are you sure you're okay?"

For a moment, you’re still, not knowing how to respond. You had run from him earlier, angry, confused, needing space but now, standing here in his arms, it feels like the fury is draining away, leaving behind a strange emptiness. Your thoughts linger on the woman by the lake, the cryptic things she had said. The words she’d spoken, they haunt you.

You suddenly forget why you ran. You forget the frustration and the anger. All you can focus on now is the unsettling feeling she left you with. You turn your gaze back to Jungkook, his steady, concerned gaze pulling you back to the present. Without realizing it, you reach for his hand, holding it as you ask, "How many other tribes live in the forest?"

Jungkook’s expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the world feels suspended between you two. He studies your face, his own expression unreadable. Finally, he answers, his voice steady.

"One. Only one." He pauses, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "The Devti goddess only blessed the Jeons, and we are the last ones standing."

You don’t know what to say to that, but something feels off. You look away, distracted by the thought of the woman. She had said she wasn’t from here, but she didn’t seem to fit with the tribe, either. She had a familiarity about her, but it was different from the others.

“I saw someone, a woman,” you finally speak, your voice hesitant.

At the mention of the woman, Jungkook visibly tenses. His body stiffens, and his eyes narrow with suspicion. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel the change in his energy, the way his gaze sharpens.

You continue, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “She said she is not from here, she’s here to get water.”

Jungkook’s eyes darted around quickly, as though searching for something or someone. His hand immediately drops from yours as he reaches around to his back, pulling out a knife from the sheath hidden beneath his cloak. He doesn’t look at you as he holds it in his hand, but his voice comes out low, almost urgent.

"Sometimes we have neighboring tribes come through here," he says, still looking around, his attention divided. "Picking fruits, collecting water... The Lav Forest is blessed, but other tribes don’t have enough to eat or drink. It’s not safe, they’re not always friendly."

Jungkook doesn’t say more, his eyes still scanning the perimeter as he begins to move you back toward the palace. He walks with purpose, guiding you quickly, but gently, back toward the safety of the palace walls. As you move through the trees, you can’t help but feel the weight of the unknown pressing against you—what did Jungkook know that he wasn’t telling you?

The forest around you seems to grow darker, more ominous with every step. And for the first time, you feel the real weight of what it means to be a part of this forest. You don’t know what to expect next, but the feeling in the air has shifted.

You’re no longer just a “visitor” here. You’re entangled in something much bigger than you thought.

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next chapter: march 19

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taglist 💌: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 @somehowukook @jungshaking @junecat18 @ilyjhseok let me know if u would like to be added to the list.

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author’s note: thank u so much for the love on my silly fanfic, im glad so many people are enjoying it. due to the nature of the story i have to wait a little before i write smut, hope da freaks understand >_< muaaah.

[scoupsakakitty]

Cover Up | idol!S.coups x idol!Reader | angst, fluff

The golden glow of the evening sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows as Y/N sifted through the rack of clothes her stylist had sent over. The award show was just two days away, and every outfit seemed louder and bolder than the last.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of their bed, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through his messages. But his eyes kept flickering up to her. She was humming softly to herself, holding up a sleek black dress to her frame before shaking her head and moving on to the next one.

She was beautiful, no matter what she wore—but that wasn’t the problem tonight.

“Cheol,” she called over her shoulder, “are you even paying attention?”

He looked up quickly, straightening as she turned to him with a grin. “Yeah, of course.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Liar. Don’t worry, I’ll make you pay attention soon enough.”

With that, she disappeared into the closet to change. Seungcheol’s stomach twisted slightly. He knew she was going to look stunning—she always did. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been building all evening.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, his breath caught in his throat.

The dress was short, its black fabric shimmering faintly in the light. Cutouts along the sides and back revealed smooth skin, and the neckline dipped just low enough to make his heart race. Her long legs were framed perfectly by the sharp heels she wore, and she stood confidently in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps as though she hadn’t just completely robbed him of his ability to think.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning to face him.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words.

“You’re… you look good,” he said finally, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

Her eyebrows knit together. “Just good? It’s for the red carpet, Cheol. My stylist said it’s perfect for the theme. Bold, modern…” She gestured vaguely at the dress. “Eye-catching.”

“It’s definitely eye-catching,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

He stood, running a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little… much?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Much? What do you mean?”

“It’s short,” he said bluntly, gesturing toward the hem of the dress. “And tight. And the cutouts…” His gaze drifted to her sides, where the fabric revealed smooth lines of skin.

“That’s the point,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s supposed to be bold.”

“But do you really need to show this much to be bold?” he shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Her jaw tightened. “Seungcheol, this is my job. I’m an idol. People expect me to dress like this at events.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. “I know it’s your job, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. I don’t want everyone else looking at you like that.”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t like it when other people stare at you, okay? You dress neatly most of the time, and I love that about you. But this—” He gestured at the dress again, his voice rising slightly. “This feels… wrong.”

“You think my dress is inappropriate?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“For me, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s not just about how it looks—it’s about what it makes me feel. I don’t want other people seeing you like this. I want you to cover up.”

Y/N blinked, her lips parting in shock. “Cover up? Cheol, do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his words tumbling out before he could stop them, “maybe something that covers your knees. Or something with buttons up to your neck—”

“Buttons up to my neck?” she repeated, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why not?” he shot back, his frustration mounting. “I want you to look like you’re mine, not like you’re on display for everyone else.”

“That’s not how this works, Seungcheol,” she said firmly. “I’m not yours to control. I love you, but you don’t get to dictate what I wear or how I present myself.”

He fell silent, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch to the chest.

“It’s not about control,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I just… I hate the thought of other people staring at you, thinking they have the right to look at you like that. It’s not fair to you, and it drives me crazy.”

Her expression softened slightly, but her stance remained firm. “Cheol, I get that you’re protective. I do. But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“That’s not something you can control,” she said gently. “I’m an idol. People are always going to look, no matter what I wear. But none of it matters, because at the end of the day, you’re the one I come home to.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words.

“I have so many plans,” he murmured finally, his voice almost a whisper. “So many things I want to say and do to show you how much I care. But when it comes to moments like this, I just… I can’t say anything right.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out, taking his hands in hers. “You don’t have to say the right thing, Cheol. You just have to trust that I love you and that nothing—no dress, no event, no cameras—will change that.”

He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to be like this. It’s just… hard for me sometimes.”

“I know,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “But we’ll work on it, okay? Together.”

He nodded, resting his chin on her head as he pulled her into a hug. “Okay. But for the record, I still think you’d look amazing in something that covers your knees.”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Noted, Grandpa. Now, do you want to help me pick out accessories, or are you going to keep pouting?”

He chuckled softly, finally letting go of his frustration. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As she stepped back to grab her jewelry, Seungcheol watched her with a small smile. He didn’t like the dress, but he loved her—and that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

[jjlotz]

Wicked Games

PB x reader

WC: 4.5k

CW: angst (i guess), cussing, smut (at the end), alcohol consumption

men dni, mdni

description: when you fall in love with paige bueckers, you try to downplay it. you know, to protect the casual situationship you two have going on. but when you can no longer deny your feelings, things get a bit chaotic.

authors note: hey guys… so this was mostly based on wicked games up until the end! and then i got carried away 😛 anyway this is lowkey lacking detail and dialogue but its ok. enjoy 🙏

the truth is, you could never say no to paige. 

you had met her when you ran into her at a bar. you were drunk, and randomly decided to go up to her since you had recognized the basketball player from your school. she took you home that night, gave you her number. how could you resist her? she was hot, and not to mention she was uconn’s golden girl.

after that night, the two of you got to know each other better. but not well enough to be considered “talking.” she told you she wanted to keep it casual. nothing too serious, seeing as to how she was a famous wbb player and she wasn’t quite ready for a relationship. you were fine with that. after all, you didn’t want anything serious either. 

but did it stay casual when you started falling in love?

you tried to ignore it, you really did. it all started when she would let you stay the night without hooking up. you would talk, eat, hang out, and do whatever else kept you two busy. you became friends. friends with benefits. slowly but surely, you found yourself growing closer to her. emotionally and physically. she didn’t notice. she thought it was truly casual. she was fine with you being with others, because it never made her jealous. after all, she didn’t have feelings for you. she just thought you were attractive, and she could benefit from keeping you close.

close, but not close enough to make anything serious. 

currently, you were next to her, awake. she was sleeping, breathing softly as the sun reflected off of her blonde hair. she was beautiful. you watched her silently before you slid out of the bed. you left the room quietly, avoiding waking her up as you walked to the kitchen. you made a glass of water, letting the cool liquid run down your throat to fully wake yourself up. this is how you began your average morning routine. things have been going like this with paige lately. you wake up early, shower, and you most likely make her food. then when she wakes up, you greet her before slipping out of her dorm. 

after that, you spent the day withering away, thinking about why you felt so empty. 

paige doesn’t know what you’ve been going through. 

you’ve stopped seeing everyone else. now, you only see paige. she doesn’t know this. she doesn’t even know that you have any type of feelings for her. as far as she’s concerned, you’re living your best life. your friends say you’re seeing other people, going to parties, and living free. she sees your instagram posts. you in those dresses, drinking and having fun. but those posts were only half true. 

you were drinking. not to have fun, but to drown out the feelings burrowed deep inside of you. you lied to your friends, and you lied to paige. you had to end this. you had to move on and get over her. all situationships end the same, and you should have known that this “casual” thing going with paige wouldn’t have been any different. so, you decided that from now on you would have to avoid her. you didn’t text her, and to your surprise, she didn’t text you. that made you feel better. you knew that if she ever did show up, you wouldn’t be able to resist her. so being alone was exactly what you needed. it felt nice knowing you didn’t have to wait by your phone assuming a text would come in. but you still missed her, and you silently wished she would reach out.

for the next few weeks, you cried, drank, and ignored paige. neither of you talked. she hadn’t texted you, and you hadn’t messaged her either. but it wasn’t the no contact that made you hurt worse. it was the small things that happened around campus. you would see her in the hallways, catching eyes with her for a brief second before she looked away and resumed her daily routines. you figured you meant nothing to her. and that made you think you were over dramatic with the way you were feeling. 

it didn’t seem reasonable. getting drunk over a dumb crush. but it wasn’t a dumb crush. you were in love. and drinking was how you solved most of your issues before they went away.

you lived mostly the same for the next few months. you tried to work on your schoolwork to distract yourself, even though it didn’t help. you have no idea how paige is doing. you don’t know her thoughts. god, you wish you did. but you don’t. and you’re forced to deal with it. 

paige figured you had gotten tired of her, and that was why you became distant. she was upset, of course. she thought you two were close, and she thought she could trust you. but after you disappeared, she decided to give up. it wasn’t worth chasing you if you didn’t want her. paige went on anyway. she saw her other flings. yet every single time, she had this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that none of them were you. that none of them could do it like you did. she ignored it, telling herself that it was just her getting over you. telling herself the feeling was just filling the space you had left in her life. you weren’t that important. it was just a casual friendship. 

if it was so casual, why does she feel like she can’t go without you? 

she can. she knows she can. but she wants to see you again. she wants you in the palm of her hand, for her to control. she hates not feeling in control, not feeling like she knows whats going to happen before it actually occurs. because that takes away her power. it takes away her ability to predict things.  you were becoming unpredictable. disappearing and ghosting her? it was unlike you, and she hated that. she decided that she needed things to go back to normal. no, she wasn’t ready for a relationship. but she wanted to feel stable. and you used to be the most stable thing in her life besides basketball. she commonly saw you and you two would hang out. for months this went on. she needed you back, even if you were tired of her and hated her. she knew you couldn’t resist her because you never have been able to. she was going to get you back.

luckily for her, it’s a small town.

you went to a local bar. mainly because you were invited, but also because it gave you a chance to focus on something other than paige and the stress of school. you were sitting at the bar, waiting for another shot as you talked and laughed with a few friends. for once, you felt good about yourself. you weren’t thinking about paige and the stress of your school work had now lightened. you were just having some light hearted fun, away from the outside world. however, the universe seemed to hate you. just when you were letting loose, you spotted a few uconn wbb players by the entrance. your smile slowly faded after you spotted a certain blonde.

this cannot be happening.

you looked away, deciding to just ignore her. even though you could feel her burning stare crawl up your spine. you kept talking with your friends, drinking more and more as the night went on. 

it wasn’t long before you ended up drunk. 

you stumbled around the bar, ending up outside as you sat on the steps. you needed a break from the chaos. but as soon as the door opened, you realized the chaos had followed you. the blonde walked slowly towards you before lowering herself on the steps next to you. she glanced at you, before looking up at the stars. she was also clearly tipsy. not as drunk as you were, but it still gave her more motive.

“so…” you heard her speak. she was trying to start up a conversation. why? you ghosted her. why would she want to keep talking to you? obviously she didn’t get the memo. 

“what do you want, paige? you didn’t say it rudely. it sounded as if you genuinely wanted to know why she approached you. and you did.

you heard her sigh, and then she glanced at you.

“i wanted to talk to you. you know, we haven’t done much talking in the past few months.”

you feel bad for ghosting her. but it was what you had to do. you couldn’t let go of your feelings for her. they ran deep. too deep. after all, why would you get blackout drunk often trying to drown out your thoughts if it was a small crush? no. it wasn’t just a crush. you were in love with her. and you knew you had to get away before she broke your heart.

“im sorry.” was all you could make out. you weren’t going to bring it up. however, if she asked, you figured you would just be honest. if it went badly you could just pass it by as drunken words. 

paige watched the parking lot, examining the few people littered around. 

“why? i mean its fine. you can do what you want. but at least tell me why.” she seemed genuine, like she was curious to know why you had disappeared. and it was reasonable. she deserved to know.

“because paige. i had to get away from you. you said you wanted things to be casual without feelings, so im doing you a favor by not complicating things.” 

it was almost like she put her guard up at your words. why was she getting defensive? it shouldn’t matter to her. 

her body tensed and her eyes flickered with a hint of anger.

“not complicating things? you complicated things by just disappearing. we were fine, and we would’ve been fine if you didn’t leave. god you just— you don’t make any sense.” she looked at you while she spoke. as always, when she’s trying to state her case, she speaks with her hands. she’s always done that. in basketball and in her day to day life.

“paige, i have feelings for you.” you muster up the courage to say it, and your drunken state causes it to slip out a bit unexpected. you can basically hear her freeze, and of course she didn’t respond. taking in her silence, you start to pour your feelings out. it’s been too long without an explanation. being drunk and emotionally confused is not a good mix. you start to talk again before she can even open her mouth.

“you’re so confusing! you know that right? this is all your fault. you look at me like you love me, and you hold me like im the only thing that matters to you. and then you just dump it all away, pretending like it meant nothing. maybe it didn’t mean anything to you paige. but it means everything to me. its your fault i fell in love. at least be happy im distancing myself. please, don’t make this any harder for me and just leave me alone.”

paige basically gawked at you. you didn’t look at her, afraid you might break if you did. she turned away, slowly standing up and walking back inside.

wow.

no. you told her to leave, you can’t be angry.

that’s what you told yourself. and yet you were still so pissed that she left. now you know how she really feels. although its obvious she doesn’t care about you, she’s really just scared of the truth. she’s complicated, and when things get too hard for her, she runs. thats why she likes stability and casual flings. 

she didn’t care about you, is what she told herself. but if she really didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt this bad. 

paige waddled back inside, baffled. part of her was glad you told her. and then another part of her felt broken. upset. why did it hurt so bad to leave you? its too late now, you want nothing to do with her. she respects you for telling her and distancing yourself mainly to protect her wishes. she should be happy, and yet she’s not. she’s undeniably discouraged. as the night went on, she couldn’t enjoy herself. she needed a distraction, so she went to the bar to find some pretty girl to start something up with. 

this is what paige did when she didn’t know what else to do. she found another girl. after all, she could have however many she wanted. she’s paige bueckers. 

despite how many women she’s spoken to over the past few months, she can’t help but compare them to you. none of them could beat you even if they gave all they could. she didn’t understand why you were so good. she didn’t understand why you knew exactly what to say, or why you always made her feel so loved and important.

but it makes sense now. you love her. of course you’d treat her like that. what’s even worse is that she retaliated against those actions with actions very similar. but she didn’t love you, right? no. she didn’t. she was just confused. she’s tipsy, and she needs to distract herself for a little bit to calm down. then she can really figure her shit out.

surprisingly, things weren’t so bad after that night. you were still getting over it, but at least you weren’t behind on school work or getting drunk almost every day. you were stable, and you felt like you might finally be able to heal. however, emotions were still raw.

every time you pass one of her teammates in the hallway, they looked at you almost with pity. like they know things about the situation that you don’t. but they never spoke up, so you just ignored it. you were in a good place. you didn’t want anything to mess up your progress, and you believed nothing would.

that was until you saw the name light your phone screen up. 

paige.

what does she want? you had settled things. at least for the most part. you considered not answering. but that little sliver of hope inside of you made you pick up the phone. to you, it was worth it. even if she ended up hurting you, the fact that there was hope made it worth the risk. 

you were sitting on the couch in your dorm, relaxing before you pulled the phone to you ear.

“paige?”

you heard her lightly breathing on the other side of the phone. she waited a second to talk. when she finally did, her voice was shaky. it almost sounded as if she had been crying. 

“i’m sorry. can we talk? we need to talk.”

you were worried. she sounded upset. and it had to be important if she came to you about it. 

“paige? talk to me. i’m literally on the phone with you.” you waited for her to keep speaking. there was a long pause before her words started flowing out.

“look, i should have never went back inside that night. i’m sorry. I’ve felt like shit recently. i’ve been playing like shit too. we lost our last game and it’s all because of me. all because i can’t stop fucking thinking about you. i know i didn’t say anything that night so i’m going to say it now. even if it changes things, and even if you’re mad at me. i think i have some feelings for you. i honestly don’t know. i try to act normal and act like you not being with me doesn’t bother me. but it does. it bothers me so much and i hate it. i can’t see another girl without thinking about you.” 

she took a breath, and just when you were about to speak she cut you off.

“i dont know why its so serious for me, its not like i’ve felt this way before. because i haven’t. nobody makes me feel the way i do when i’m with you. and i didn’t realize how much you meant to me until you were gone. it was all good until you left.” she paused, continuing—

“tell me it isn’t too late. tell me i can be with you.”

she stops talking finally, and you can feel your eyes burning. can you trust her? what the hell is going on.

this was so random. you haven’t spoken since that night at the bar, and now she just randomly decides to call you and confess? 

“paige.. are you serious? this is so odd. you’ve always said you wanted something casual and what-not. neither of us are ready for relationships and you know it. so why?” 

you hated to face the truth, but you knew what was going to end up happening.

“baby i know we aren’t ready. but we can still try, right? things will be rocky, but we’ll be with each other. please. i love you.” the pet name and those three words at the end make your chest tighten. tears slowly fall from your eyes, and you wipe them up. you don’t sniffle, you just stay silent. was it worth a try? could you guys really figure this out? you decided you wanted to see if she meant it.

“okay.” you say quietly over the phone. you were willing to try.

“okay? okay. yeah.” she speaks almost relieved. you were glad she came to you with this, even if it wasn’t in person. 

“so what now?” you ask, not really knowing what else to say.

“im on my way to your dorm.” she said, clearly moving around. she didn’t give you a chance to reply, she just hung up. you sat up quickly. if she’s really on her way then she should be here in like five minutes. 

or less, because just a bit later you already heard knocking on your door. you swallowed a gulp in your throat, before you stood and slowly walked to the door. you opened it, and paige stood there. wide eyed and panting, she looked at you.

“paige, what are you doing here.” you tried to sound firm but the words came out as weak anyway. you couldn’t help it. something about this entire situation made you vulnerable. it made her vulnerable. and emotions were raw. she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. then, she faced you and placed her hands on your cheeks.

“please.. i need you. im tired of acting like i don’t.”

with that, she pulled your face in. the first kiss was sweet, but it definitely felt like she was holding back. it was more like a trial peck to see what she could get away with. and then she packed on the next one. it was deep and hungry, her hands sinking into your hair while you gripped at her shirt. she groaned into your mouth, giving you an opening to slide your tongue in. your cheeks flushed as she tugged softly at your hair. it was almost like you two were fighting for dominance. but when she bit your bottom lip and then swiped her tongue over the dent, you knew you were in for it. she pulled away, a string of saliva attached to your lips while the two of you caught your breath. 

“paige. it’s too soon, we should give it a little bit so we can talk and calm down.” you spoke out of breath, silently hoping she would turn you down. even though the reasonable resolution would be to stop and talk.

“fuck, i can’t. i’ve missed you too much. we can talk later.” she sounded like she knew it was wrong. like she knew you should stop, and that you should talk to each other before indulging in something further.

but you know neither of you were going to stop. it was so sudden, and you had missed each other for so long that you just felt like you needed it.

she let go of your hair, grabbing your wrist and tugging you to your room. you’re lucky your roommate is out for the night. she closes the bedroom door behind you, immediately pulling her hoodie off along with her shirt. you bit your lip, seeing her in just a black sports bra and low hanging sweats. she moved towards you again, pushing you softly down onto the bed and having you back up to the headboard. she took her sweatpants off, following you and hovering above you. in a flash, she had maneuvered you to sit on top of her. you were whipped around, trying to balance yourself. you straddled her, your hands resting on her chest. her hands gripped your thighs hard as she watched how they formed underneath her hands. she silently admired you for just a moment before beginning to strip you.

you loved the way she looked at you. 

before, it felt meaningless. like it was just a look in her eyes.

but now, it made sense. you felt appreciated, and somewhat loved. exactly the way you made her feel. 

and you were eating it up.

she pushes your shirt up, licking her lips as you pull it off and throw it along with the rest of the clothes along the floor.

“i missed you…” she spoke quietly while panting. she slightly sat up so she could be closer to you. you rested your arms on her shoulders, leaning in close.

“i missed you too.” you spoke against her lips, before pressing another slow kiss on them. she tugged at your shorts through the kiss, and you moved around a bit to help her get them off. she ripped off your underwear with them, too lazy to take it off separately. when everything was gone and thrown around the room, you were left in your bra. she broke the kiss, her hands roaming around your body.

“fuck, you’re so pretty.” her hands reached around to your back, unclipping the bra and throwing it away. her hands immediately came up to grope your tits, squeezing and massaging them. her hands were large, completely covering them. your head threw back slightly. you let out a few whimpers, and her mouth came down to attach to the hardened peaks in the middle. you let out a soft moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. you brought your head up, connecting eyes with her. her eyes were glossy, and she looked needy.

god, you could stare at her for hours. you couldn’t say just how many times you’ve imagined her like this.

her right hand sunk down to your core, circling your clit slowly. you whined, your forehead now resting on her left shoulder.

“soaked for me, huh?” you nodded quickly, pressing quick kisses against her neck. you sucked, leaving marks solely to distract yourself. her left hand squeezed your ass, and you heard her let out a soft whine due to your mouth on her neck.

you felt her fingers sliding through your slit. gasping, you grind yourself onto her hands. 

you were tired of waiting. 

after all, you haven’t seen anybody else ever since you started avoiding paige. and touching yourself was never the same. nobody could do it like her anyway. you knew nobody could fuck you the way she did.

and paige felt the same way. every girl she saw, even the ones she actually had sex with; none of them were like you. she tried to resist it, but after a while, she couldn’t take it anymore. she had to have you. even if it would change your “friendship” completely. even if it would complicate things and confuse the both of you emotionally. she was willing to try for you. 

she sunk two fingers into your cunt, and you squeezed around her. you relaxed into her touch, moaning out her name. 

it’s been so long. maybe too long.

“baby you’re tight. nobody fucked you since me?” she spoke in a low tone, smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. and she did.

you shook your head, blabbering your words out while she pumped into you.

“no… no paige. nobody does it like you.” you whined almost pathetically, biting your lip. moving your hips against her hand, you let out borderline pornographic moans when her fingers curled. she hit that spot inside of you easily, just like how she used to. 

she kept increasing her pace, and you brought your head up to rest your forehead against hers. you moaned and gasped right in front of her, making sure she heard every noise. making sure she heard the way she made you feel. 

your slick was basically dripping off of her hand at this point. and god, she loved it. every once in a while she would glance down just to watch her glistening fingers disappear between your legs over and over again. 

she began to allow the palm of her hand hit your clit, even rubbing small circles on it when she curled her fingers relentlessly. she kept going, not giving up despite the cramp that rose in her forearm. she was focused on your face twisted in pleasure, and her name that seemed to leave your mouth multiple times. 

eventually, the familiar but yet missed coil in your stomach began to form. she took her left hand and pressed on your lower stomach, causing you to let out a guttural moan. she knew when you were close. she could always tell.

“paige… fuck. gonna cum, please don’t stop” you whined and blabbered, shutting your eyes tightly while you chased your orgasm. your moans continuously got higher pitched as you neared the edge. she smirked, looking up at you as you shook against her hand.

“yeah? go on baby. wanna feel you on my fingers.” 

immediately at her words you found yourself releasing, clutching her wrist with one hand and digging marks into her shoulder with the other. you felt the pleasure rock you from your core and up your spine. you let out loud moans, her name slipping out in between as a gasp. she slowed her pace, but she didn’t stop until you were pulling yourself up off of her lap. 

her face was smug, and she was definitely proud of herself.

you plopped down next to her, your body clad with sweat and your thighs wet with your slick. she didn’t bother wiping off her fingers, instead she brought them up to her mouth and licked them right clean. 

after you slowly came down and came back to reality, all of the emotions came rushing in. 

you were confused, happy, horny, and yet still somehow upset. 

things were still fresh. she had just up and confessed her love, and here you were.

the two of you still had a lot of things to figure out. but for now, you let her clean you up and pamper you with make-up kisses.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (17 - Idiot Hope)

Chapter Summary: She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

After Lagos--Wanda wasn't yours to comfort, but that didn't mean you didn't want to try.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.4k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: We're not yet there, but we'll be--soon enough ;) I wanted a chapter dedicated to the aftermath of what Wanda did in Lagos // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“That wasn’t her fault.”

The meeting room was a powder keg.

“She made a call, Steve, and people died,” Tony said, as if Wanda wasn’t sitting just several feet away from where he stood, holding up the Sokovian Accords like it was some sort of holy relic. “It’s irrelevant whether she had a choice in the matter or none.”

You stayed silent in your swivel, watching the argument unfold like a spectator at a match you didn’t care enough to bet on. The Sokovian Accords—the debate over who got to control the Avengers—you could’ve cared less. You didn’t follow protocol anyway. You barely tolerated the existing ones. Another layer of red tape wasn’t going to change how you operated. It was just another rule to break, another system to work around.

But your disinterest didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Wanda sat at the edge of the table, so rigid you couldn’t tell if she was still breathing. She hadn’t said a word since the meeting started even as Stark was essentially throwing her under the bus. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, but the furrow in her brow told you she wasn’t just tuning out the conversation. She was absorbing every word.

Everyone knew why the Accords were front and center today. Everyone knew who this conversation was really about.

“She made the best call she could under impossible circumstances,” Steve argued. He might be the most straight-laced person you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t help but admire the passion he brought to defending others time and time again. “You think she wanted this to happen?”

“No,” Tony raised his voice, something he rarely did. “But that doesn’t absolve her—or us. We’re walking weapons, Rogers. All of us. And if we don’t have oversight—if we don’t have accountability—this is going to keep happening.”

“And you think signing a piece of paper is going to change that?” Steve challenged.

Sam chose this moment to put his two cents. “Steve’s right. We’ve made tough calls before, and we’ll make them again. That’s the job. What happened in Lagos—yeah, it’s a tragedy, but you can’t legislate every choice we make in the field. It’s not realistic.”

Rhodey shook his head. “It’s not legislating every choice, Wilson. It’s setting boundaries. We have to answer to someone, or we’ll lose what little trust we’ve got left with the world.”

“Answer to who?” Sam retorted.“A bunch of bureaucrats who’ve never set foot on a battlefield? Who don’t know what it’s like to make life-and-death decisions in seconds? They’re not going to understand what we do out there.”

“They don’t have to understand it. They just have to believe we’re not a threat. And right now, we don’t look good,” Natasha replied.

For a fleeting moment, you wished Clint’s retirement had been delayed, just long enough to hear his take on all this. Everyone had something to say, but you were so busy watching Wanda from the corner of your eye that none of them reached your ears. You kept waiting for the moment she’d crack. You didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe because you knew what it felt like to carry the weight of everyone else’s mistakes. Maybe because you wanted to be there when she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Then Vision spoke.

“I must agree with Tony,” he began. You expected him to waver, to soften it somehow because Wanda was right there. But no. He wasn’t apologetic. He wasn’t unsure. He looked at everyone like the answer was obvious, like he couldn’t understand why they were still debating.

Across the room, Wanda went impossibly still. “I need some air,” she said suddenly, pushing her chair back with a scrape that made you squirm. She didn’t wait for anyone’s permission, didn’t look at anyone as she walked out. Not even Vision.

You told yourself to stay seated. You told yourself this wasn’t your problem—that you didn’t care. And yet, before you could stop yourself, you were already out of your chair, already moving.

—

You found her outside the meeting room, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. She didn’t look at you as you approached, but you stopped a few paces away, giving her space that said I don’t want to crowd you, but I’m here if you want to talk.

“That wasn’t your fault,” you said, the words barely leaving your mouth before you wanted to snatch them back. Steve had already told her. Hell, everyone in that room had tried to tell her. And now you were just the next in line, parroting the same hollow sentiment.

She snorted, a low, bitter sound that wasn’t quite laughter but wasn’t not laughter either.

“You did what you could,” you continued. “Nobody else would’ve—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. I don’t need that.”

You lowered your head, respecting her wishes, but you didn’t walk away. There were moments when words didn’t help when nothing you could say could ease the burden she carried. This was one of those times, and you knew it. So you stayed. If words weren’t the answer, then maybe action was. 

And then an idea came to you. Perhaps…there was something you could show her. Something that might remind her of the ripple effects of her choices, the lives she’d touched without even realizing it.

“Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

She gave you a look that was equal parts skepticism and exhaustion, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I… I don’t have it in me right now,” she murmured, her voice cracking under the strain. “I’m so tired.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you said, offering her a small, hopeful smile. “I promise.”

You could feel your pulse drumming in your ears, blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. If she came with you, it would be the first time in months the two of you were alone, just you and her. And if she didn’t? If she stayed here, stewing in her guilt over Lagos, letting it eat her alive—well, you couldn’t bear that either.

After a long pause, she pushed herself off the wall and straightened, albeit reluctantly. She didn’t say another word as she followed you out of the building, trailing behind like someone preparing for disappointment but going along anyway.

The ride to the Bronx was quiet. 

Wanda stared out the window, her reflection in the glass looking just as weary as the woman beside you. You kept your mouth shut, even though a thousand questions burned in your throat. Things like how her combat training was coming along, if she’d found it useful in her last mission. You wanted to tell her about this new Eastern restaurant you’d stumbled upon, one you were sure she’d love. 

You pathetically craved small talk with Wanda, but you bit it all back, reminding yourself this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t two friends on a road trip. This was business. A teammate encouraging another. Nothing more, you told yourself, even if it felt like a lie.

When you finally pulled up in front of the small, unassuming building, she frowned.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice wary and low.

“You’ll see,” you replied, stepping out and holding the door open for her. 

She followed you slowly—cautiously—and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’s so guarded around you, and you couldn’t even be angry about it. Once, this could have been different. Once, it would’ve been easy. And you couldn’t blame her. Not after everything you did.

Once inside the building, Wanda found herself in a narrow hallway. A small reception desk was tucked off to the side, and above it, the ceiling was adorned with simple decorations—little drawings that looked like they’d been done by children. The faint scent of crayons and cleaning solution teased your noses.

“Where are we?” Wanda whispered distractedly as her eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings.

Before you could answer, a woman behind the reception desk looked up and smiled warmly when she saw you. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N,” she said. “The kids will be so happy.”

“Kids?” Wanda echoed. 

You smiled at the woman and asked, “The playroom?”

She nodded, pointing down the hall. “Just straight ahead. You know the way.”

Wanda trailed after you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest again. “I don’t know what you think this is going to do,” she said.

“Just trust me,” you replied, confident that she could really trust you on this thing. “I think you’ll understand in a minute.”

When you opened the door to the playroom, the most joyful sounds greeted you. Children of all ages were scattered all over the room—some playing with toys, others chasing each other with giggles and squeals. A few heads turned at your arrival, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“Miss Y/N!” one of the older boys called out, running up to you with an excited grin. You knelt to greet him, exchanging a few kind words before standing again and glancing back at Wanda. 

She lingered in the doorway, her posture uncertain, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged here. For a moment, despite the few years she had on you, she looked almost childlike—vulnerable, hesitant, and quietly yearning for the same thing these children sought.

“A lot of them came here after losing everything—some from Sokovia. They’re waiting for families now. Some of them already have new homes,” you told Wanda as you walked to a nearby bulletin board covered in photographs—smiling children with their adoptive families, snapshots of bright, hopeful futures. Gently, you unpinned a polaroid of a little girl with dark hair and a radiant smile, holding it carefully in your hand.

“She’s from Sokovia,” you said softly, handing the photo to Wanda. “Her family didn’t make it through the attack. But she did. Because of you.”

Wanda stared at the photo, her eyebrows drawn tight in concentration. You couldn’t quite tell what was going through her head. Her thumb skimmed the edges, but she didn’t say a word—her lips were pressed into a thin line, and you caught the slight hitch in her throat as she swallowed hard.

“She has a family now,” you continued, “she goes to school, plays soccer, and dreams about becoming a doctor someday. Her life… everything she’s doing now… none of it would’ve been possible if not for what you and Pietro did. If you hadn’t warned us, if you hadn’t made the choice to defect from…”

You let the sentence trail off, leaving the rest unsaid. Wanda’s fingers curled slightly around the photo, her eyes still locked on the little girl.

Oh, Wanda, you thought to yourself. You’re a good person stuck with impossible choices.

“Her home was destroyed,” Wanda said after a long silence. You noticed the way she said her home, not our home. Sokovia was hers too, but it was like calling it that hurt too much, so she’d pushed herself out of the equation. “We couldn’t save it.”

“No, we couldn’t,” you agreed, not sugarcoating it. “But you gave her a chance for a new home. And that matters.”

She gave you back the photo. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough,” she whispered, so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

It was never going to be enough. That was the reality of this work. The Avengers could save millions by the time it was all over, rewrite the course of history with every battle fought—and still, it wouldn’t be enough. There would always be someone you failed to reach. Blood on your hands that no amount of victory could wash away.

Because the truth was, no matter how many you saved, the ones you lost would always outlive them in your memory.

But this wasn’t the right time to tell Wanda all that. You wanted to give her hope. You wanted to give her everything.

“Maybe not for you—not yet,” you accused. “But for her? For all of them?” You gestured to the room, where a group of children were now gathered around a train set that one of the volunteers just finished putting together. “It’s more than enough.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, she exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction as though some of the weight had finally started to ease. She looked up at you, her eyes glassy but clearer than they’d been when you found her outside the meeting room.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wanda asked.

“Because I wanted you to see what I see,” you said simply. “You’re not just the sum of your mistakes, Wanda. You’re the sum of everything you’ve done—the good and the bad. And I think you need to be reminded of the good.”

You weren’t entirely sure where those words came from. Maybe you’d been holding onto them for a while, turning them over in your mind every time you watched Wanda. But as they left your mouth, you realized how much you meant them. This wasn’t just something to make her feel better—it was what you truly believed.

You swore you caught the faintest hint of pink dusting her cheeks, and your heart soared at the sight of it.

Wanda’s fingers twitched, and that familiar red aura you’d come to know shimmered to life around her hands. The idle train set shuddered, then sprang into motion as if summoned by unseen magic—Wanda’s magic. The little engine emitted a soft hum as it began to circle the track, its wheels turning smoothly. 

“Look! It’s moving!” one of the kids shouted, pointing at the train as it chugged along the tracks. The children erupted in cheers and applause, their faces glowing with surprise and delight. 

You couldn’t help but smile, and when you glanced at Wanda, she was smiling too—so naturally, so effortlessly in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. The second she caught you looking, her smile faltered, slipping away as her hands dropped to her sides, almost as if embarrassed to have been caught.

You smirked, mouthing a quiet ‘thank you’.

Wanda hesitated, then let her smile return, smaller this time but still very real.

—

The ride back to the compound was not as suffocating as it had been earlier. Wanda, still reserved, sat with her arms crossed loosely, her gaze focused out the window. Every so often, she’d comment on something as you drove by—the faded mural on the side of an old diner, the ridiculous neon sign for a pawn shop that flickered in broad daylight. Her voice was soft, almost unsure, but it was something. And after so much silence, even these small remarks were satisfying.

By the time you pulled up to the compound, dusk was setting in. You parked the car and Wanda stepped out first, stretching her legs after the long ride. You followed, grabbing your things from the backseat before stepping onto the gravel.

That’s when you saw him.

Vision stood at the entrance, hands folded neatly behind his back. A crease between his brows. His lips pressed a fraction too tight.

If he weren’t the most logical, even-keeled person in the compound—possibly in the entire world—you might’ve thought he looked jealous. Seeing his girlfriend with her former object of affection might’ve rattled him, after all.

“Wanda,” Vision said as you both approached. “May I speak with you?”

Wanda froze mid-step, her foot hovered as if she couldn’t decide whether to keep moving or stay rooted in place. She turned halfway, glancing over her shoulder at you. Like she wanted you to give her a reason to walk away or a sign to stay.

You gave her a small, sad smile and quietly excused yourself. This wasn’t your place. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for you to meddle with. Determined to get inside without further fuss, you moved past them, eyes forward, when Vision spoke.

“Y/N,” Vision said, though his eyes never left Wanda.

You stopped for a second, muttering, “Vision,” under your breath before continuing without another glance.

In the kitchen, you dumped your bag on the counter and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. The water was cold, sharp against the dryness in your throat. You leaned against the counter, staring into the empty glass like it might give you answers.

It didn’t. It never did.

—

Later that night, a knock dragged you out of your book—your third this week. You couldn’t even remember the last sentence you’d read.

Foolishly, you hoped it was Wanda. Some naïve part of you clung to the idea that after the moment you shared this afternoon, she’d come to you. Initiate something for once. You knew better, but hope’s an idiot, always has been.

That idiot hope was short-lived though when you answered and discovered who was on the other side of the door.

The last person you expected to show up.

“Y/N? May I have a word with you?” Vision asked, though it didn’t sound exactly like a request.

You leaned against the doorframe casually. “Sure.”

Vision stepped inside without waiting for your permission. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking around like he was checking for an audience. He seemed…nervous. Weird to think about Vision being nervous. He was usually so self-assured—and you envied that about him sometimes.

“I spoke with Wanda,” he started. Straight to business.

“Okay.” You didn’t bother inviting him to elaborate. You figured he would anyway.

“She mentioned you took her to an orphanage. In the Bronx.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

That made you laugh, a quick, dry sound. “Why not?”

“It seemed to have an impact on her,” Vision said.

“That was the point.”

He seemed to be in deep thought, and it was unusual seeing him this way— It wasn’t like him to take this long, to seem unsure, unable to source the answer from his extensive library.

“What were you hoping to achieve?” he finally asked.

You let out another laugh, softer this time. “Jesus, Vision. You think I had some big master plan? She needed to get out of her own head for a while. That’s it. I took her somewhere that might remind her she’s not just… everything she thinks she’s messed up.”

“She hasn’t been herself,” Vision said, as if you hadn’t noticed.

“No kidding.”

He clasped his hands tighter, the nerves bleeding into his posture now, stiffer than usual. “I want to help her,” he said. “But I don’t understand what she needs.”

“Maybe she doesn’t either,” you said, following it with a heavy sigh. You knew that one too well, the feeling of walking around like a locked door with no key.

Vision looked down, just for a second. “I fear time may not be enough.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He had Wanda. He had every right—every opportunity—to ask her how she was feeling, to figure out if she was okay, or if taking her to that Sokovian restaurant she loved might lift her spirits. Instead, he was here, asking you for advice—yet again.

“You don’t think I know that?” you said finally. “You’re not the only one who gives a damn about her.”

Vision didn’t seem at all bothered by you admitting you cared about Wanda. It took a few seconds before you realized what you’d just admitted. Out loud. To someone else. For the very first time.

You cared about Wanda.

“I know,” Vision said evenly. “And that’s why I came to you. You’ve always understood her in a way I haven’t been able to.”

That stopped you short. You looked away, jaw tightening. Understood her? He didn’t know what he was talking about. And yet… part of you wanted it to be true.

“She’s your girlfriend,” you said, feeling like you had to wrestle the words out of your mouth. “You know her better than anyone.”

That seemed to snap Vision out of whatever fantasy he’d built of you holding all the answers to his Wanda-shaped puzzle. 

“Thank you for your time,” he said. “And for what you did for Wanda today.” And with that, Vision turned and left.

You shut the door slowly, leaning your forehead against the cool surface before drawing out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It didn’t matter if Vision was wrong. You’d still care. You’d still keep showing up, doing what you could.

Because this Idiot Hope? It wasn’t stamped out after all. It was still there, clawing its way to the surface every time she looked your way, even if it was just for a second—hoping she’d look a little longer.

[wandascosmic]

typical tuesday night (10)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part ten of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 1796

tags: swearing, mostly just fun, one-sided pining as usual, sam being insane as usual, wanda and y/n best friendship, y/n may or may not making moves/internally screaming, they're very very cute

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts @sheriffhaughtearp

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

“Okay, she had done a background check on me,” Bruce says. “She had it printed out.”

“No way,” you say.

“Yeah,” Bruce nods. “And she was asking me stuff line by line while we were having dinner.”

“That’s unbelievable,” you answer as everyone laughs in agreement.

Suddenly, Wanda walks into the kitchen holding a mug of tea, smiling as she walks over to stand next to you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Oh, we’re doing worst first dates,” you answer with a smile.

“Oh my god, I win,” Wanda says, eyes widened.

“What?” you laugh.

“Okay,” Wanda starts, and you look over to her curiously. “It was a minor league hockey game, he brought his brother,” she pauses. “A when I went to the bathroom, the game ended. And they forgot about me.”

“Okay, that’s a joke,” Bruce says.

“No,” Wanda shakes her head. “They had to come back for me.”

“Wait, when was this?” you ask.

“Um..it was not that long ago,” Wanda gives a small laugh.

“Wait, no way it was Vision,” Natasha says, putting down her sandwich.

Wanda laughs awkwardly before looking over to you.

You smile, walking in front of her and starting to lead her out. “Want to go play Dwight’s mug basketball?”

Wanda nods with a relieved sigh, following you out eagerly.

You keep a happy expression on your face, because now you finally know why Wanda’s always refused to go to sports games with Vision.

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda answers the phone.

“Wanda, it’s Tony. I need you to go into my office and read some data for me please.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, picking up the book Tony’s requested her to read in his office. “You want me to read the jokes for you?”

“Yes, please,” Tony responds on speakerphone.

“Okay, um, a fisherman is walking down 5th Avenue leading an animal behind him–”

“No, no, nope!” Tony cuts Wanda off. “I already told that joke to Fury earlier at the dinner. Pick another one.”

“Okay. There’s a transcript between a Naval ship–”

“Oh, yeah! Bingo,” Tony says. “Great, thanks, Wanda!”

“Sure,” Wanda says awkwardly. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. But would you be able to put all those joke books back where you found them?”

“Sure,” Wanda agrees, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Opening up the drawer to return the books strewn across Tony’s desk, Wanda’s eye immediately catches a thick stack of paper. Picking it up, Wanda has to cover her mouth to stop from bursting out in laughter.

You’re mindlessly clicking your mouse when suddenly, a huge stack of stapled paper is thrown onto your desk.

Reading the title, your eyes widen as you look over to Wanda who leans against the table casually.

“Is this real?” you ask, near giddy.

“It’s a screenplay,” Wanda pauses. “Starring himself.” “Agent Iron Man,” you read out.

“Of the FBI,” Wanda finishes.

“How long is this?” you laugh, flipping through the pages. “Oh my god, Wanda. Good work.”

Wanda laughs.

“Oh, no way,” you say, finding the last few pages and holding them up. “Drawings.”

“What is that?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, those are drawings,” you respond easily. “In case the writing didn’t really put a picture in your head.”

Wanda snickers, biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“And there he is, in the flesh,” you say, pointing to the drawing. “Agent Iron Man. Now we know what he looks like.”

“So, do we all have our copy of Armored Adventures, by Tony Stark?” you ask the office staff gathered around the conference room table.

Everyone makes a sound of agreement.

“Great, so, let’s get started. I’m gonna be reading the action descriptions,” you say. “And Steve, I would like you to play Captain America, the first Avenger.”

“Oh, cool that’s the name of the character?” Steve asks.

Suddenly, Sam barges into the room, and angered expression on his face. “Okay, you guys should not be doing this,” he states firmly.

“Why not, Sam?” you ask. “This is a movie. This is for all of America to enjoy.”

“You took something that does not belong to you,” he responds.

“Sam.”

“You brought it in here, you made copies–”

“Sam, do you want to play the lead role of Agent Iron Man?” you ask, giving him a questioning look.

Sam pauses.

“Okay, sure.”

“Inside the FBI, Agent Iron Man sits with his feet up at the desk,” you read. “Captain America enters.”

“Tony, you have some messages,” Steve reads.

“Not now!” Sam reads emphatically.

“They’re important,” Steve says.

“Fine, what are they?” Sam asks.

A few moments pass, when suddenly, a knock on the door is heard.

“Vision,” Wanda says, making you turn around suddenly, noticing the man.

Wanda runs up, greeting him with a kiss. “Hey, um, I have to work late,” she says.

Vision gives her an incredulous look, hearing the absurd scene between Spider-Man and Agent Iron Man currently being read in the conference room. “You’re joking, right?”

Wanda shakes her head.

“Agent Iron Man takes out a nine millimeter gun and shoots the cake to bits,” you read.

Sam imitates the shooting of the cake.

“Ha ha ha, Agent Iron Man, you’re so funny,” Peter says.

“A man sitting several seats down who has clown makeup on, turns to Agent Iron Man,” you turn to Bruce. “Bruce, want to play the Joker?”

“Sure,” Bruce nods, clearing his throat. “Agent Iron Man, perhaps you would be more comfortable in my clown car?”

“Yes, perhaps I would, Joker,” Sam says. “Spider-Man, get my luggage.”

“Sorry, I forgot it,” Peter reads.

“God, Spider-Man, you’re a terrible assistant!” Sam reads. “I can’t believe I hired you, Sem.” Sam pauses. “Wait, who’s Sem?”

You turn to Wanda with an amused smile, who matches your expression.

“I don’t think the search and replace works on typos,” Wanda says to you through a burgeoning smile.

“So, Spider-Man is the terrible assistant ‘causing the downfall of the United States?” you ask, holding back your laughter.

“Also known as Sam Wilson,” Wanda chuckles.

You and Wanda look over to Sam, who before your eyes, realizes what Tony has done, making the man throw the script onto the table in anger.

“Okay, you know what, this is stupid. I’m done,” he says, abruptly sitting up from his chair and leaving the conference room.

“Sam, some of us want to keep reading,” you tell him.

Sam turns to you. “Uh, you don’t speak for everyone, Y/N,” he responds, crossing his arms, before turning to the rest of the office. “Okay, announcement. My uncle bought me some fireworks. And anyone who wants to see a real show come outside with me right now.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” you nod, starting to sit up from your chair. “We’ll all take a brief intermission.” You turn to Wanda. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Wanda says, grateful you’ve asked.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Okay, come with me.”

While you may have had plans to meet a friend tonight, which you’ve now had to cancel, spending your evening preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for you and Wanda in the office kitchen isn’t something you’re upset at whatsoever. In fact, you would say it’s pretty great, and you’re not really a complainer either.

“Hi,” Wanda says, greeting you as you make your way up the ladder to the roof of the building, holding a box of accessories for the two of you as you watch the fireworks together.

“Hey,” you laugh, setting the box down before making your way to sit in the chair next to hers. “What’s that for?” you ask, pointing to the candle she’s attempting to light.

“For the bugs,” she answers easily.

“Nice,” you nod, before turning to grab the sandwiches you’ve prepared. “That’s great, because bugs, tend to love my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Them and me both,” Wanda laughs, grabbing the plate you’ve made for her. Then, after a moment, she speaks, “I can’t remember the last time someone made me diner.”

You pause, before grabbing your sandwich from the bag as well.

“Oh, look,” Wanda points to the fireworks Sam’s beginning to light. “Wow,” you say, finally enjoying something Sam has created in the 7 years you’ve known him.

“They’re really nice,” Wanda states, before resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you spend the evening watching the sparkling lights together.

“They really are,” you say quietly.

“So, I guess I’ll see you in,” Wanda pauses to check her phone. “10 hours,” she grins.

“Mhm,” you nod, following her out the building.

“What are you gonna do with your time off?” she jokes.

“Travel,” you answer easily with a nod. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” You smile. “I’m gonna really find myself, you know?” you finish, fishing your phone out of your pocket and putting in one of your earbuds.

Wanda looks over to you curiously. “You have new music?” she asks.

You look down to your phone. “Oh, yeah! Want to listen?” You offer her the other earbud.

Wanda nods, smiling as you hand her the earbud she immediately places in her ear, the two of you standing within inches of each other as you share your song.

“Wanda,” you run up to her desk excitedly the second you walk in the next day.

“Yeah?” Wanda laughs.

“I think Tony might’ve gotten together with someone from corporate last night,” you say, making Wanda gasp. “He didn’t come back for his car.”

“Oh, my god, that makes so much sense! That’s why Tony had me read out his stupid jokes over the phone,” she says in realization.

“Well, good for him. I don’t think he’s had a first date, in like ever,” you laugh, before looking over to her. “You know, some might say we even had our first date last night,” you smile.

“Oh really?” Wanda asks. “Why might some say that?”

“Uh, ‘cause there was dinner. By candlelight,” you answer.

“Mhm,” Wanda nods.

“Dinner and a show, if you include Tony’s movie,” you continue. “There was a bit of dancing, and fireworks. So, pretty good date.” “We didn’t dance,” Wanda says, chuckling.

“You’re right,” you say, suddenly feeling very awkward as you put your hands in your pockets. “But um, it was more like, swaying.”

“Right,” Wanda says. “Pretty good first date with you.”

You perk up. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Wanda nods. “Now, I have some faxes to get out, okay?” she says, standing up from her chair, giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading to the fax machine.

You smile, watching her leave, forgetting for a moment that it truly isn’t a date if the girl goes home to her fiancé at the end of the day.

[monstersflashlight]

Monster smash (part 3)

A/N: Hi lovelies! I finally decided how this one is going to play out and who is going to be the main romantic partner (or partners) in this story. So now you can see it’s minotaur x dragon x lizard-woman x human, I’m all for a good poly relationship and I want to explore this one with y’all, hope you are on board, too. You can read part 1 here and part 2 here. Enjoy!

Minotaur x dragon x lizard-woman x fem!reader || sfw

“You are all monsters…” You let out in a whisper, all of their faces impassive as they stare down at you. You blink slowly, still trying to process.

“Yes, we are, honey. I thought you knew, you were so excited to be here I just assumed…” The lady from the grocery store, the fucking scary demon in front of you, is being so careful and cute and it’s making your head hurt. She’s so nice, but looks so scary… Your brain can’t fully comprehend what is all that about.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” the big orc says, blinking slowly at her as she hits his arm.

He lets out a high yelp and that, of all things, breaks you. You let out a manic laughter, your whole body moving with the force of it, tears rolling down your eyes as you feel like you are descending into madness.

And then the tears turn into sobbing, and you are almost convinced you are insane. Totally insane, and everyone is looking at you like you are, indeed, insane. The grocery lady offers you some tissues, and you take them, your breathing labored between sobs. You feel a hand on your back, rubbing soft circles, and when you turn to the side and see your dragon neighbor, you can’t even react accordingly. You stare at them, their big body looming over you as they pass you another tissue.

“Are you okay?” Their voice is soft but with a hint of fire under it (get it? Fire because they’re a dragon). You shake your head, but your sobs stop, only lonely tears running down your cheeks at that point.

You are sitting on the floor, with a dragon consoling you and a bunch of monsters staring you like you are the weird one. Which… maybe you are. In that particular group, you are the weird one. That realization leaves you feeling a bit better, taking a deep breath and wiping away the few tears still clinging to your eyelashes.

“I think I’m going to go,” you whisper, shaking your head and avoiding your best friend’s eyes.

“Let me walk you home,” your minotaur landlord says, his voice soft as he helps you to your feet. You let him, your body and mind too tired to fight him or anyone else. You need to sleep, to process… You might be in shock.

You walk alongside him when the dragon yells: “Wait for me! I’m leaving, too!”

They rush behind you two, a big smile on their face. You have to bite your lip to avoid chuckling. They are fucking cute in their dragon form, even cutter than their human one, and you might have a bit of a crush on them. You had it before when you only knew about their human characteristics and now… Now you think they are even more special. And you lowkey dig that.

You are definitely in shock.

They stop at the door, and you watch in fascination as they turn to their human selves. You think your mouth is open, but you can’t get it to close as you watch them change completely in front of you.

The walk home is silent, their presence making your heart a bit faster, but not in fear exactly. You feel some kind of anticipation, as if the idea of them being monsters is not as weird as you thought. You think about all the weird quirks you’ve seen before. The dragon hoard, the weird way in which your landlord always played with his septum, now replicated with the big ring you knew his minotaur form had. It all makes sense in a weird way.

All but one thing… your best friend lying to you.

They stop in front of your door, both of them staring at you as if you are going to start crying again at any second, but you don’t. Your brain feels weirdly calm as you say your goodbyes and watch them walk down the hall. The dragon sends a wink your way, and you smile at them. Your landlord only grunts on his way down the stairs, and you can’t stop yourself from checking his ass.

You walk into your apartment with your head pounding and your body feeling weird. You have to sit down and process what’s going to happen next… But you have no idea.

“The best way to deal with shit is going to sleep,” you say out loud, laughing at yourself as you get out of your silly costume and fall face first onto your mattress.

Your dreams are plagued with monsters and heat, and you wake up with a jolt. You rush through your morning routine as if the world wasn’t upside down. As if you didn’t discover the existence of monsters less than 24h. The wonders of capitalism, your life might be in shambles, but you have to get dressed and go to work either way. And that’s exactly what you have to do.

You are almost out the door when you saw the tiny piece of paper slipped under your door that reads: Meet me for tea?

You know who wrote that, she wrote those exact words a thousand times before, and you always said yes. But now… Now you aren’t sure if you want to meet her. You aren’t sure if she deserves you to meet her. She lied to you, and you are still mad about it. You talked about everything and anything, you shared your deepest, darkest secrets with her, and you thought she did the same with you… But she didn’t. And it hurts. It hurts so bad you want to scream. But instead you take the piece of paper and break it into dozens of tiny pieces.

You exit your door at the same time her door opens. She stares at you, and you stare at her. It’s so weird to see her back in her human form. She sees the mess of tiny papers on the floor and she sighs, letting out a soft: “Darling, please…”

“Don’t call me darling,” you tell her, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction.

“I can explain everything, please. Just one cup of tea. And then I’ll leave you alone,” the plea in her tone makes your insides turn, your resolution melting as her eyes flash yellow in front of you.

Ugh, you the that she’s your weakness. You didn’t have enough crushing on your best friend, but on top of that she had to be a lizard-woman… How the fuck was your life like that?

“Ugh, fine.”

You hope you don’t regret it.

[astars-things]

what the hell y/n

Jack hughes x daughter!reader

where jack finds vapes in y/ns room

reader is 16

warning very angst

Jack had always prided himself on being a good dad. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he had always tried to do right by Y/N. He worked his ass off to give her a good life, to teach her right from wrong, to make sure she knew that no matter what, she could come to him.

But now, standing in his daughter’s room, holding the evidence of her bad choices in his hands, Jack felt like a failure.

The vapes sat in his palm, neon-colored with stupid fruity flavors written across them. He gritted his teeth, his chest tight with frustration and disappointment. His little girl—the one he’d raised, protected, loved—was doing this?

His hands shook as he shoved the vapes onto the kitchen counter and waited. Y/N was out with friends, probably laughing and having the time of her life while he sat here, stewing in anger. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. How could she be so reckless? How could she be so stupid?

The front door finally opened, and Y/N walked in, humming to herself as she kicked off her shoes. Jack wasted no time.

“Y/N,” his voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

She blinked, clearly startled by his tone. “Uh, yeah?”

He pointed to the counter, jaw tight. “You want to explain what the fuck those are?”

Her eyes flicked to the vapes, and in an instant, he saw it—guilt. Panic. She tried to mask it, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. They’re not mine.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “Don’t stand there and act like this is nothing. You know better. And if you don’t, then I failed as a dad.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re overreacting.”

That made Jack snap. “Overreacting?” His voice was sharp, almost a yell. “Do you even know what this shit does to you? You’re sixteen! Your brain isn’t even fully developed, and you’re putting this crap in your body?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Everyone does it, Dad.”

Jack slammed his hand down on the counter, making her jump. “I don’t give a shit what everyone else does! You’re not everyone else—you’re my daughter!”

She swallowed, but the defiance was still there. “It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” Jack cut her off. “Who gave them to you? Did you buy them? Did someone give them to you?”

Y/N looked away.

“Answer me!”

She huffed. “I—I got them, okay? It doesn’t matter how.”

Jack let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it fucking matters. You think I’m just gonna let this slide? No car, no going out, and you’re giving me your phone until I decide you’ve earned it back.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? Dad, no—”

“You don’t get to argue with me on this,” he snapped. “You clearly can’t be trusted to make smart decisions, so I’ll make them for you.”

She let out an angry noise, turning away. “This is bullshit.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down before he said something he’d regret. His heart ached. He wasn’t just angry—he was disappointed. He’d thought she knew better. He thought she’d respect herself more than this.

The front door swung open, and Luke walked in, grinning. “Hey, Jack, you see my—” His words died when his eyes landed on the counter. His face paled. “Shit.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. Slowly, he turned to face his brother. “Your what?”

Luke swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—”

Realization crashed over Jack like a tidal wave. His stomach churned as he looked between Luke and Y/N. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

Luke’s gaze flickered to Y/N, who refused to look at him. His shoulders sagged. “Y/N…”

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “You stole them from Luke?”

Silence.

Y/N stared at the floor, but she didn’t deny it.

Jack exhaled sharply, his hands shaking. “You stole from your uncle. And you thought what? That I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t care?”

Y/N finally looked up, and for the first time, he saw it—the regret, the shame.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Jack let out a dry laugh, completely void of humor. “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Y/N.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Jack, maybe—”

“No, Luke,” Jack snapped, cutting him off. “She lied to me. She stole from you. And she doesn’t even think it’s a big deal.”

Y/N’s face crumbled. “I do! I—I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Jack sighed, his anger still burning, but exhaustion was creeping in. “Go to your room,” he muttered.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. Defeat settled over her as she nodded, disappearing upstairs.

Jack braced himself against the counter, gripping the edge like it was the only thing holding him up.

Luke sighed. “She’s a teenager, man. She’s gonna make mistakes.”

Jack let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. And it’s my job to make sure those mistakes don’t ruin her life.”

Luke was silent for a moment before nodding. “You’re a good dad, Jack.”

Jack didn’t feel like it. Not tonight.

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry three ) ── cloud pheonix ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

yeah, you feel gross. snot and tears are pouring down your face like oil, your breaths coming out heavy and painful in attempts to keep them down. you shouldn’t be this emotional really, shame pulsing like a boiling ache under the sad muscles of your chest.

“oh come on (name),” a voice outside the stall drawls, an un-gotham accent to it, too polished to match with the broken tiles on the locker room floor, “literally no-one cares what that hag has to say anyway!”

“you can’t”- go breaking down at every little thing, “go breaking down at every little thing, buddy…”

you manage a string of incomprehensible words, through a sob so ugly you want to curl into yourself and have your ribs cage you in. the cringe in her voice is obvious when she tries to coax you out, so undeniably perturbed you want to beg her to not be repulsed by you.

it’s been only a day since you shifted temporarily into your friend's run-down apartment from your equally run-down one.

you can consider it running away, being a coward, but really it was precaution. after cassandra’s surprise visit and dick and tim’s bugging, you’d decide to do the right thing and get off their minds for a bit. if you truly concerned them in any way, you could play it off as just visiting someone. you hope they forget to follow up on you.

some languid, hazy thoughts circle your head while you peel an orange for yourself, not having been able to stomach much but fruit and fruit-flavoured candy since well… ever. your reluctance to eat and loss of appetite had seemed to lessen from what it used to be, but only in small developments.

you still feel guilty for what you have, but after having lived in so much debt all your life, being guilty’s become second nature. yes, you’ll have to pay for the fruits of your luxury one day. but for now, you’re okay making peace with the bad electric fan in the living room.

today, you feel… self pitying. selfish, even. and you let yourself feel it, musing about the very people you ran- moved on from.

despite your hardened exterior, sharp scowls and reclusivity, you had been a little kid. a question that had haunted you upon their arrival in your life and still haunts you today, is why the whole family could so easily help, get involved, and better themselves together, but so easily managed to avoid you. why didn’t they try as hard with you as they did with everyone else? why was everyone so forgivable, except you? were you really so unlovable?

your mumbles for help could have been so easily heard if they bothered to listen. your fingers would have hooked to theirs if they didn’t so sharply pull their hands away. 

the small efforts you’d made for the first time were so easily dismissed. it’s not like there was much for you to go on, your concepts of affection included your hair being pulled by other children and your foster parents shoving an extra slice of bread (left uneaten either way) onto your plate. but maybe human instincts made you wish for more than was possible, allowed, for you.

it made you guilty. to want. it made you feel selfish. to be loved.

it was in a manner of awe you saw dick ruffle tim’s hair for the first time, beady-eyed and tight lipped. it took a lot of effort to stamp down the ridiculous want to be coddled and more effort to stamp down the disappointment and embarrassment you felt after staring up at dick expectantly, for him to just smile awkwardly at you and leave. 

in the manor, a year after you arrived, you’d observed with keen interest at a birthday party celebration at home. you can’t remember whose. 

streamers in the kitchen, with a lovely cake big enough for everyone, maybe takeout or alfred’s cooking too. but it was so… foreign. 

you’d asked alfred, tugging on his sleeve with hushed curiosity about what they were doing. you missed the slight flash of guilt in his expression when he realised you weren’t in the kitchen with them, instead simply stumbling onto the scene.

with a gentle pat on your shoulder, he’d told you he’d help plan out your fourteenth birthday just like theirs, indulge in whatever sweets or snacks you liked best. the prospect had made you excited, if not a little nervous, and you’d thought out balloon colours and card decorations, indulging in childish wants you hadn’t been able to indulge in before.

when the date came however, you didn’t remind alfred or anyone else, embarrassed at the idea of having to tell them it was your special day. 

not sure what you expected. them to call out to you instead of you going to them? they had so much on their mind, so much work. no need to burden them, (name). it only stung a little, as your excitement bubbled out as the day turned into evening. but it was already so late, you didn’t want to be entitled and tell alfred; risk making him guilty or rush himself into work he didn't plan for. you didn't want to hurt yourself either at whatever micro-expression he used to look surprised.

you went to bed that day with a small stone in your chest and slightly teary eyes. you didn’t cry though, over such a silly… useless little thing. big kids don’t cry, and your sister- no, your family would be disappointed at your immaturity.

you don’t think of it again, and nobody ever brings it up, no one seems to notice you haven’t had a birthday in years, no one noticed.

you’d whispered, insecure and horrifyingly shamefully, at a hand me down stuffed animal, asking the out-of-shape panda; “do you care about me? do you remember me?”

it responded, beady cloth eyes looking at you, that “no. i don’t care about you, and i don’t love you.” 

you’d fallen to sleep after dissolving into tears, pressing the plush close to your chest, hoping it could bridge the gap between your lungs that felt so large it hurt your insides.

you had to be strong, because you had long since come to the idea that no one was going to save you. 

bruce wayne, your father, didn’t save you from the guilt that clawed at you when your sister cried after work, the violent outbursts of emotionally repressed adults and children around you, or the dark crevices of your brain that seemed to get closer and larger everyday. he didn’t save you from your strength, you didn’t need him to.

you were strong enough without him, and care would’ve only made you weak and soft. you don’t need their help. 

a sick feeling stirs in your gut, the smell of the oranges becoming suddenly too strong and sweet. you think you’re going to throw up, exhausted in the speech that slurred through your head. you’re strong, and you can deal with it. on your own.

“what’s with them, huh?” a new, but familiar voice calls out, the rasp of it strangely sweet for such a place. your sobs ebb out, only because they wrack around in your lungs now as you try to shut up.

the shame eats you up alive. the last thing you need is two crows for friends trying and failing at being of any comfort, comfort you didn’t need or want.

you don’t want to waste their time.

you take a shuddering breath, wiping off the fluids on your face, angry and freaked out by your outburst. you mumble before the drawl answers for you, “nothing, nothing.”

the first voice huffs irritably, “i don’t know why you lie. if we had to make fun of you, we’d do it already (name)!”. the second is less unkind, but still a brisk demand of “if you can tell her, you can tell me too, can’t ya?”, possibly upsetting you further. your sentiments are so indebting. you don’t want to drag them down with your moping.

let them forgive you for hoping they could learn to be you.

“you got some nerve being here, grayson.”

you don’t mean for your voice to be as cold as it is, but this resurgence of anger that’s been kept at bay, and your terror at his presence makes it difficult.

dick’s face shifts from nervous to pained, staring down at you with a furrow of his brow so pitiable you want to kill him. he’s not supposed to be here. he’s not supposed to know.

he doesn't much recall what you sounded like, never having the thought oppurtunity of talking to you. but he's almost sure it's different.

“(name)...” “make it quick.” you hiss, interrupting. you can see the momentary frustration, a familiar anger bristle in his face, before it smoothes out perfectly. you’ve always thought him to be so perfect. 

“you’re not answering our calls, your apartment’s empty-" you feel your hear rate spike. they've been to your apartment? "-bruce’s been trying to contact you for days-” he gestures lightly in the air, eyes singling in on the small flinch you gave with grand grief, “-what’s going on?”

you hear your friend call out from inside the house, a loud “(nameee)? who’s at the door?”, and answering it with an equally loud bark of “don’t worry about it!”, before turning back to scowl at him.

“what’s it to you? my house, my damn rules, grayson. i can go where i fucking want to.” you know you're being childish, but don't much care.

he makes a face, one you can’t discern. that worries you deeply. it’s not like you to not understand. you don’t like accommodating change.

“kid, don’t get emotional-” “i’m not getting emotional.” “it’s just a bit concerning because-”

“-because it’s not like you.”

you have to pause, genuinely surprised. by the look dick has at your reaction, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding how appalled you are.

not like you? they don’t know the first thing about you. how the hell do they know what’s like you and what’s not?

how do they have the audacity, to saunter back into your life after being so casual about abandoning you to yourself, and lecture you about… yourself?

dick only hears a detached “what.” from his younger sibling before jumping at the chance to interrupt, salvage their exchange.

“listen, kid, why don’t we discuss this… outside?” he takes a simple tone, so conversant and friendly you feel your blood curdle, “you like coffee?”

“dick.” he snaps to look at you. you rarely ever called to anyone in the family by their first name (you barely called to them at all). a trait somewhat shared by damian. he wonders how well the two of you get along, did your aggressiveness clash or compliment each other?-

“i don’t know how you spied on me and got my address,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, dick’s reminded of bruce, “but man…”

“get out.”

dick pauses. 

what? 

did he say something wrong?

you repeat yourself, like someone trying to get through to a slow dog, an eyebrow raised; “get out. of my house.”. 

maybe being out of the manor and it’s gilded rooms has made you a bit insensitive, forgetting both the manners you’d picked up from alfred and the courtesies from your foster parents, because when he doesn’t leave the second time you tell him to, you shut the door on his face.

it’s satisfying.

he doesn’t knock again, and you don’t bother yourself with the anxiety of watching him leave from the keyhole. maybe he’s more sensible for what you took him to be, and dick lets you be. you really hopes it stays that way. 

care would make you weak and soft. you pop a de-stringed orange piece into your mouth from a bowl in the kitchen, idle and still processing what happened. your friend walks in a moment later, scratching her hair and doing the same, asking through a mouthful of pulp; “who was it?”

you answer in a similar manner, picking out a seed from your mouth; “no one important.”

oh my god. dick grayson was at your secret house. 

the orange becomes tasteless in your mouth , and you grimace.

the school bell rings, the mindless chatter of students drowning out most of it. you stand awkwardly in front of your teacher, your friends waiting at the back, looking anywhere but at you.

“if i was harsh on you earlier (name), you’ll have to forgive me,” she says, voice nearly patronising in its degree of pity, “you must understand that work ethics are incredibly important to our school. but if i may have been too strict in my way of trying to make you understand. i do feel bad.”

you can hear your friend scoff at the teacher’s sentiment, she’s the only one in this god awful establishment who gives a damn about the students’ measly feelings. it makes her so susceptible to rowdy classes and sneering students, you feel bad for her sometimes. 

you manage to mutter through your teeth, forcing your tone into understanding.

“it’s okay, miss…” it’s not, not really, “you don’t have to apologise,” you hope the guilt kills her, “i get where i went wrong.” you hate her.

when’d you become so sour?

hi... been a while crow choir...

finally getting into the main parts (due time) and i'm in a cross road between deciding whether to make batfam yandere before they realise their neglect or after

have most of the next entry planned out, so hopefull it won't take as long to update as this one.

thank you for reading!!

# taglist: @cxcilla @strwberryglass @c4xcocoa @yaoizee @secretsandwriting @sirenetheblogger @charlenexoxo1 @mirabilis-polaris @jsprien213 @tfimherewhy @yuyuzi-ling @crazycaoticsimp @m0na-lis4 @trashlanternfish360 @thehammerx4 @ninihrtss @kaitense1 @eyeless-kun @esposadomd

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Broken Glass was SO GOOD!! Could you write something like that but with Auston?😯

Did this slightly different than Broken Glass just so it wasn't a duplicate post with Auston copy-and-pasted in place of Quinn.

Still high drama, still a hospital moment, still copious amounts of hurt/comfort! But thanks for the compliment, babe! 🩷

Also, I wrote this in one sitting to try and keep things more fluid. Apologies in advance for proofing.

That being said: C|W : implied alcohol use, physical trauma, minor depictions of bodily injury, mentions of blood W|C : 2k

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"What? Oh yeah, I'm not going that far, just the next block over or so. You guys are good!"

Girl's Night plus a best friend's birthday had made for an evening full of an over-abundance of laughter, stories, and alcohol. Auston had been on the road the last week and a half but was due home in the morning. His absence had flared your depression the last few days, so you were thankful for the welcomed distraction. The night was finally coming to and end and it was time to say goodbyes and go home, however hard it was.

"Are you sure?" Stressed one of your friends, the mother hen of the group.

"Yeah, I promise. I'm not leaving Auston's car downtown over-night. I'll be fine."

She sighed, her breath like smoke against the cool Canadian air. You could tell she wasn't convinced about you walking alone at night back to the car, but there was nothing to be done about it. He had been nice enough to let you drive it while he was gone, and you were going to make sure nothing happened to it.

"Text me when you get home, please."

You had to laugh, "Yes, mom."

Waiting around until all of them piled into the cab, you waved goodbye before starting off on your own. By now, Auston's game was long over and you were eager to talk to him if even just for a few minutes -- if he'd answer his phone.

"Hey mama," he said smiling when he answered your video call. His hair was wet and his eyes expressed his exhaustion but you were happy to see him regardless, and he seemed just as pleased to have you light up his phone.

"Hi, handsome," you replied, stopped at a crosswalk. "I saw you guys got a win! I had the game on at dinner."

Auston laughed, running a hand through his hair while never breaking eye contact with you. "We did yeah, we needed it. How was tonight?"

The light changed.

"It was good. The girls just left to go home.”

Auston’s expression narrowed slightly, “Are you alright to drive home?”

“Yes,” you whined. Deep down, you knew everyone was just showing that they cared about you, but sometimes you wished they had a little more faith.

“Just making sure you’re safe, mama.”

“I know,” you sighed, feeling regret over giving him the subtle attitude. “Trust me, they all but pulled me into the cab before they left. I only had a few glasses of wine, and like I told them, I’m not leaving your car parked all night.”

“You’re more important than a car.” By now, Auston’s brows were pulled in, sharp wrinkles forming beneath them. He didn’t show you his serious expression very often, but when he did, you knew it was for a reason.

“Baby, I’m fine. I knew I had to drive home, so I was careful. I’m not even giggly!”

You had the ability to melt his stern demeanor so easily, and this moment was another of those times. Almost instantly, his brown eyes were warm again as was his tone, “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I need you safe -- always. Who else am I going to hold at night?”

His wink killed you. “Oh stop! You’re so dramatic!”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you, too,” you confessed, feeling everything return to a normal playing field. “Are you guys flying home in the morning still?”

“Yeah, we’ll head to the airport first thing in the--”

Your phone would fly out of your hand, somersaulting across the pavement. On Auston’s end, he initially thought you had simply dropped it, but after he heard your screams he immediately flew into panic mode. Three teenagers had just jumped you from behind, one hitting you on the back of the head with something heavy which had taken you knees out from under you. You’d crumple into a ball on the sidewalk, but that was right where they wanted you. There were forceful kicks to your ribs as well as punches to your face. Never had you ever felt such intense pain in your life. This was a literal nightmare.

The taste of copper in your mouth was strong; the lack of air in your lungs made you think you were going to die. You couldn’t hear Auston’s yelling through the phone for the ringing in your years. You attackers wouldn’t see it either, as the phone had fallen screen down, up against a store front.

They were laughing at you; that you couldn’t unhear.

The beating felt like forever, but in reality only lasted a couple minutes or so. They took your Gucci bag Auston had just bought you for your birthday, as well as his keys before running off, leaving you laid out against the damp concrete. With shallow breathing and heavy eyelids, you’d feel the world fade in on you. It wouldn’t be until the ambulance’s sirens and personnel got to you that you’d be painfully reminded of the night’s turn of events.

Everything was a blur.

You were in and out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. The bright, white overhead lights stung your throbbing head too much to bear. Every bump, every turn of the vehicle made you wonder if your bones were made of glass, and if all of them were shattered. Misery. All of it, every feeling.

- - -

“It’s going to be a long road. She’s going to need someone who can be around her consistently for some weeks. There’s no way she can take care of herself in this condition, and I’m sure you know that.”

You weren’t sure if you were in a medially induced coma or having some sort of out-of-body experience. You could hear the nurse speaking, and you thought you had heard Auston’s voice a time or two, but then again, maybe that had just been wishful thinking.

“I know it’s hard to see her this way, but the surgeries went well. We’re just keeping her here because she had so much trauma. The doctor will come up with a timetable on her release time over the next few days. There’s a lot of swelling we’re keeping an eye on, and we don’t want to send her home too early.”

Halfway through the conversation you found yourself counting the beeps coming from your heart monitor instead of who was talking in the room with you. You were alive, somehow, but you couldn’t remember getting here.

“We’ll be back at the top of the hour to check on her again, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

The door shut softly, but your eyes rolled to the left, beneath swollen and closed eyelids. Someone had sat down beside you.

“Baby, I love you,” you heard Auston mumble, voice pained like he was on the verge of tears. “I love you so much. So, so much.”

With whatever strength you could muster, you forced your eyes open. “Auston,” you could only whisper.

His ability to speak was gone. Just seeing you in that hospital bed had crushed him, let alone hearing your attack happen in real-time. You couldn’t ignore the tears silently rolling down his cheeks as his chin came to rest on the edge of the bed.

“I love...you.” Speaking was hard for you, the tubes down your throat for anesthesia had caused the hoarseness, making each word labored.

“Don’t speak, baby. It’s okay.” He was trying so hard not to break down, at least not in front of you. His eyes were red, either from not sleeping last night or from previous emotional episodes. Either way, he was losing the battle of being strong in front of you. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I-- I--,” he closed his eyes, trying to collect himself.

With your left hand, you moved it away from your body to touch his hand. Auston seemed reluctant to touch you, likely from fear of causing you more unnecessary pain, but you reaching out to him, he swallowed up your hand with both of his. His touch was warm, so soothing against the cold nature of hospitals. All you wanted to do was crawl into his arms and let him hide you away from the nightmares of your reality.

“I called the police as soon as I heard what was happening,” he confessed, trying to shake the sounds of your cries that were replaying in his mind at the mention of last night’s chain of events.

“Your car!?” You remembered the boys stealing your bag, and everything you had in it.

Auston did his best to shush you concerns, rising to his feet to give you a much needed kiss. Your bottom lip was split, but you needed to feel him against your lips. This accident aside, it had been over ten days since you had seen him. What unfortunate circumstances you had to reconnect on.

“Don’t worry about anything but yourself, sweetheart, please. The police are working on it. Like I said last night, you mean way more to me than any car. Those are so easily replaced-- you aren’t.”

Your eyes were both blackened, swollen, and stinging against the light of the room, yet Auston looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world, because to him, you always would be. He knew your heart, making the inside always more stunning than the out.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Okay as much as you can be,” he stumbled. “When you went quiet I thought I lost you, baby.”

You were both crying now. Fuck, if you could just have him hold you.

“I’m going to call my mom later and see if she’ll fly up and stay with you while you recover, okay? I caught a red-eye last night so I could get back to you sooner than this morning. I just knew I couldn’t sit in that hotel knowing what had happened. I used Mitch’s phone to call the police. I couldn’t bring myself to end the video call, even though you didn’t have your phone. They recovered it, though. So...there’s that,” his voice dropped off. There were a lot of memories on that phone.

“Auston?” Again, your words were whispers, but he heard you easily.

“What is it, baby?”

You had never seen him look so sad -- ever. He knelt back down, his elbows now resting on the bed as he looked at your broken body before him. As carefully as he could, he touched your face with the back of his fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

Fresh tears pours down his face at you’re quiet apology. There was the sharpest pain in his chest, but he would hide it for you. He was already ashamed that he had allowed himself to cry in front of you, with you dealing with so much already.

“Baby, no, please-- please don’t apologize. You didn’t do a single thing wrong. None of this is your fault, okay? You didn’t deserve this.”

You couldn’t help but think that if you had just gotten in that cab, you’d be in bed with Auston, back at home, instead of laying in the ICU wing in the hospital with numerous broken bones and healing wounds. If only... As you looked at him, you had a feeling he knew what you were thinking.

“You had no way of knowing, sweetheart. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes things just happen, and I hate so much that it had to be you.”

Every gasp for air burned pain across your whole chest, and Auston did what he could to calm you down, although he felt like he was running blind in the situation.

“I’ve a few days off, okay? I’m not going to leave your side. I’m not leaving you here alone. I can’t,” he paused for a moment before putting his forehead to your temple. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you. Never again.”

[thelonestarinthesky]

words left unsaid

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a/n: wrote this to celebrate 100 followers !

────୨ৎ────

Laying down on Senku's bed, you stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom, munching on a stick of pocky, thinking to yourself before rolling over to look at Senku who was busy on his laptop.

"Go on a date with me." You exclaim loud enough for him to hear.

He's well aware of your romantic feelings towards him. You didn't feel any shame hiding them from him since you always thought these feelings were something precious because they were about him.

"Pass."

You sighed heavily at this, but his response was always the same since you two were children.

"I'll definitely get you to say yes to my question someday." You say pouting slightly.

Senku only shrugged his shoulders at this, but you were unaware of the way his cheeks flush pink slightly; the tip of his ears red as he stared ahead at the screen of his laptop.

"Not in a million years." He replies.

"Even if it takes a million years, I'll wait for as long as possible." You argue back at him, "because you're worth it, Senku." Rolling around a bit to get comfortable before giving up.

Senku turns to look back at you, only to see you smiling at him softly with that same gaze that held only the softest look reserved for him.

"..." His lips part slightly, not sure what to say before he lets out a quiet 'hmph' and turns back around. "...don't get your hopes up, idiot."

────୨ৎ────

He remembers the last conversation he had with you before you left Japan with Byakuya. There was a worldwide contest, the prize being a passenger of the International Spacs Station, going alongside Lillian Weinberg.

And you had won.

You won.

You.

Won.

Won.

...

you died 3700 years ago.

Senku knew that, of course, he heard your voice in the record Byakuya had made and left behind for him in Ishigami Village.

A tear or two were shed, but he moved forward because humanity still needed to be saved.

It wasn't until they reached Treasure Island, where the original island the 7 sole survivors lived—

and died.

He stared down at the record in his hands. He didn't know what he would hear, the context behind making a second record. Why did Byakuya make a second one.

Unsure, but he built another record player. There had to be a reason, right. The sound of fireworks was heard outside, and everyone else wanted to hear, but one look at the expression on Senku's face as he stared down at the record, it was clear that maybe he wanted to listen to this alone.

Gen and Kohaku stood a bit away from where Senku was listening to the record.

"...you think it's about the girl he's never mentioned." Kohaku says quietly to Gen, who lets out a quiet hum. "The message in the record."

"From the way they spoke of her, she must have been extremely close to Senku. It's just bad fate that she won her seat on that trip."

The two stood there for a bit as Gen gathered his thoughts, "Yuzuriha and Taiju spoke about their childhood friend who was a part of the survivors who once lived on this island."

He sits down, staring at the stars. "Even I know not to bring her up to Senku. It's clear that he's still not over her despite her passing away thousands of years ago. His father, too. In a sense, he's got no family left. All alone."

They say nothing else, Kohaku hadn't thought about it like that.

She couldn't imagine being alone, her family dead years ago, truly alone.

────୨ৎ────

The record player starts, and Senku stands before it.

"....there we go, it's a miracle this still works." Byakuya's voice is heard, and then Lillian's, "i reckon the old thing wouldn't hadn't have and we would have to make another one."

"....we'll let you talk in private, okay [Name]?" She says quietly.

It goes quiet before a faint voice is heard. ".....senku."

Senku flinches slightly, his fingers twitch as he places his hand next to the record player.

"....senku.." She calls out again in a hoarse voice. "...we never got to say goodbye....just a see you later...at the airport, remember?"

A cough is heard, [Name] speaks after a few seconds, "....I wished I hugged you tighter...if i had known..."

A sickening cough leaves her lips, and Senku could only hear it happening, gripping his fist as he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his face.

".....space was everything you said it would be..." A tear rolls down his face as he now realizes that the record was meant to be [Name]'s last words.

"....I want to see you... even if it's just one last time...." her voice is getting more tired and raspy. He could hear it.

"....I can feel it...you know?"

More tears rolled down his face as he gripped the table, shoulders trembling.

"...don't," his voice cracks, "...don't say goodbye, you idiot." He doesn't care about the tears rolling down his face and onto the record player.

"...senku...." He's brought back upon hearing his name.

[Name] says in that sweet voice that gentle tone with such affection breaks his heart. To know that he wouldn't hear her call his name again or ask him out on a date that he always declined. "...as long as you're happy...my dearest wish in life will come true so....please."

"....[Name]." Senku calls out as he falls to his knees, shoulders trembling as he cries. Tears refuse to stop as he hugs the record player.

The anguish cry that leaves his throat as he holds onto the last piece he has of the girl he loved. He thought they had more time, he thought they had all the time in the world...he wanted to be the one to ask her out on date instead of her asking him.

"[Name]!"

He thought that he had enough time to confess his feelings.

".....you want to go on a date...senku?"

He breaks down even more.

The record went quiet before the sounds of footsteps are heard "[Name]? [Name]!?" Byakuya's voice is heard. "Stay with us, sweetheart." Lillian says.

Before the record ends, Senku's anguished cries only continued even more, "....she's gone, Lillian." Is heard before the room is filled with his cries.

"...yes...I should've told you yes earlier."

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[linkspooky]

THE GREATEST REDEMPTION ARC OF ALL TIME IS NOT ZUKO'S

Apparently, I like getting hate in my inbox so let's continue criticizing a series that most people consider to be an untouchable masterpiece. Here's my controversial statement for the day. Zuko's redemptoin arc is... fine. It's just fine. (Remember to send all of your anon hate to linkspooky dot tumblr dot come slash ask). It is a servicable character arc where Zuko is clearly in a different place then where he began, but when I think greatest redemption arc of all time I think Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

So now in order to make my point I'm going to compare the two seemingly unrelated franchises which both feature a bad guy who eventually joins the heroes side.

What is a Redemption Arc?

So I'm going to start off by blowing everyone's minds by saying that I hate the words "redemption arc". If only because the term is so overused, and the word 'redemption' itself is subjective and tied up in personal beliefs of what morality is that 'redemption arc' basically has no meaning. It's kind of like how people use the word 'enemies to lovers' to describe stories like Pride and Prejudgice, because like in most romance stories the two main characters start out the story disliking each other.

Redemption arc is now a buzzword, and every time a villain shows even a small amount of humanity a new discourse on whether or not they deserve a redemption arc starts up. So is the problem that there are too many redemption arcs?

No, not at all.

In fact off the top of my head I can only name a couple of redemption arcs that actually complete and don't end with the character dying, Spike, Zuko, Catra, and uhhhhh..... uhhh.... Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment.

There's not nearly enough redemption arcs and yet there's so much debate over the term 'redemption arc'. So here's my solution stop calling them redemption arcs, because using the word 'redemption' requires that the reader make a moral judgement on whether or not they have done enough to be morally redeemed.

A redemption arc is just a character arc. If you take out the word 'redemption' and just judge a redemption arc as a character arc, an arc where a character needs to change in a singificant way and be in a significantly different place than they were at the start of the story it becomes easier to discuss the quality of a redemption arc without turning it into a morality debate.

A redemption arc is just a regular character arc, where a character starts off in a much, much lower place.

You can describe most "redemption" arcs in the same way you would describe a regular character arc, in terms of a need / want arc. In most stories the main character starts out with a want, that drives them forward. In a disney movie, this takes the form of a disney princess "I want" song. The want is an external need that the main character actively pursues. My favorite disney princess Elphaba Thropp starts the story singing "The Wizard and I" about how she wants the Wizard to recognize her and see her for more than just the color of her skin, and make it so she's seen and accepted for who she is for the first time. Dorothy sings "Over the Rainbow" because she WANTS to get away from her dreary existence in Kansas and go somewhere else.

Contrasting this want is a need. This is something internal that they need to fix about thermselves in order to have a complete character arc. Oftentimes, the character is so distracted by what they want, they spend most of the plot failing to realize what they need to do in order to fix themselves. The need is a lesson, only attained upon self-reflection and self-evaluation, an honest step towards self-fulfillment. A character usually demonstrates growth by realizing what is important to them, what they need to do, instead of focusing only on what they want.

Elphaba realizes her want for acceptance is distracting her need to do right by outcasts who are just like her, which is why she chooses to become the wicked witch rather than stay by the wizard's side in Defying Gravity.

"You can have all you ever wanted." "But I don't want it. I can't want it, anymore."

Dorothy's I want song is all about how she wants to go somewhere far away, but at the end of the movie her greatest desire is to go home, and she's finally able to return to Kansas by clicking her heels after realizing how important home was to her. Glinda even says that Dorothy always had the magic inside of her to go home to begin with, she just needed to realize it, and her journey to Oz was all so she could make the internal realization of how important home was to her. Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, the Lion all go to the wizard to ask him to grant him their wish, something that they WANT, only for the Wizard to turn out to have no magic. The Wizard instead points out to all of them they already had those qualities inside themselves, he gives Scarecrow a Diploma because Scarecrow was always smart, he gives Tin Man a heart shaped watch because Tin Man was the most sensitive of all, and he gives the Lion a Medal because the Lion was always courageous never running away despite the faft he was a scaredy cat.

Anyway, the point of this tangent is I can put Zuko's arc in these simple need / want terms even though he starts the story as an antagonist, because a redemption arc is a regular character arc.

Zuko starts the story with a conflicting want and need. He wants to capture the avatar in order to restore his honor and gain his father's approval, but what he really needs to do is question what "reclaiming his honor" truly means. He needs to question the values of the country that he was born in and realize that the fire nation is wrong and what the fire nation is doing to the world is wrong. This conflict with his want, which is his desire for his father's approval, because in order to gain his father's approval Zuko has to act like a fire nation prince and contribute to the war effort.

Much more simply you could say that Zuko wants to meet his father's expectations and be a good son, but what he really needs to do is learn to be a good person by his own definition of right and wrong not his father's.

I would compare it to Elphaba's arc, Zuko would start singing "When I'm with the Wizard" and when he finally realizes that he doesn't want to exist to please his father especially when his father is hurting the world and so many people he'd bust out into "Defying Gravity."

My point being that Zuko is no different from any Disney Princess.

No, actually my point being that what Zuko is going through is just a regular character arc, it's just more complicated because he has more flaws than any of the other main characters.

But, every character starts out with a flawed understanding of the world. Every hero should have severe flaws that they need to overcome in order to learn and grow.

If anything I think the reason redemption arcs receive so much focus is that they are much more clear cut character arcs, because the characters who receive redemption arcs have glaring, obvious, flaws.

All characters should have flaws, there's no reason for a character to grow if they start out the story perfect. However, often the good guys, because they are the good guys will either be less flaw, or the plot will brush over their flaws and won't challenge them as much which is why their arcs will come off as less compelling than redemption arcs. Not because redemption arcs are automatically deeper, but because a redemption arc always starts out with a more obviously flawed chracter and the narrative HAS to address those flaws which is going to lead to a better character arc.

Redemption arcs are just regular character arcs, and I'm going to judge both Zuko and Spike's arcs as regular arcs in order to illustrate why in comparison's Zuko's is incomplete.

BTVS vs. ATLA

Buffy the Vampire Slayer seems like a strange show to compare to Avatar the Last Airbender, but they actually cover a wide range of similiar topics. They are both about the burden of being the chosen one, Aang being the Avatar who reincarnates again and again to try to lead the world to balance. Buffy is the Slayer, one girl in all the world who can hunt vampires.

Briefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a show by Joss Whedon based around the concept of what if the Cheerleader who died in the first five minutes of every horror movie wasn't a victim, but instead was the thing that monsters were afraid of.

Buffy is a normal teenage girl whose life changes when she finds out she's the slayer, a girl gifted with super strength and combat ability who is tasked with using these abilities to fight off an endless army of demons and vampires that come her way. Usually at least once a season she fights a big bad that threatens to end the world. While at the same time, Buffy tries to maintain some form of a normal life, with her mother, her friends, and her mentor who teaches her how to be a better Slayer.

Aang, is a normal teenage boy who finds out when he is twelve years old he is the reincarnation of the spiritual leader of his people, the Avatar who is tasked with maintaining the balance between the four nations. Aang runs away from this responsibility and ends up frozen in the ice for 100 years. When he wakes up he finds out the fire natoin has killed all of the airebenders, and invaded over 3/4s of the war, and that if he doesn't master all four elements before Sozin's comet returns a year from now then the fire nation will likely use the power of the comet to permanently win the war.

She is also one in a long line of slayers, but while avatars reincarnate, the Slayer fights until they die and then a completely new Slayer takes over from there. Aang is able to bend all four elements and has a connection to the spirit world, Buffy has super strength and the ability to have visions. Both characters want to live a normal life, but because they are the chosen one they are forced to fight to save the world. They're both surrounded by a gang of friends who follow them because they are the chosen one, Buffy has the Scooby Gang, and Aang has Team Avatar / The Gaang.

Both stories are not only deconstructions of the pressures of being the chosen one, they are also bildungsroman that are about their main character growing up and learning adult responsibility alongside learning how to fulfill their role as the chosen one. They both die once and are magically revived. (Buffy voice: "Hey, I've died twice".)

Perhaps the biggest connection and the one this post is about is both shows are thematically about redemption, and eschew traditional Christian ideas of good and evil in favor of a more nuanced look at morality.

BUFFY He wants forgiveness. GILES Yes. I imagine he does. But when James possesses people they act out exactly what happened that night, so instead he's experiencing a form of purgatory. He's doomed to kill his Miss Newman over and over again - and forgiveness is impossible. BUFFY Good. He doesn't deserve it. GILES To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it. Now Buffy goes off - her spite palpable. BUFFY No. James destroyed the person he loved the most in a moment of blind passion. And that's not something you forgive. No matter why he did what he did. No matter if he know now that it was wrong and stupid and selfish. He's just going to have to live with it. XANDER He can't live with it Buff, he's dead.

They are both shows about forgiveness above all else, and this is why a major plotline in both shows feature a character who starts out as an antagonist making a long journey and eventually changing sides to join the heroes.

ZUKO VS SPIKE

So, since there are really no objective ways to determine the quality of a "redemption arc" because the idea of redemption is entirely subjective and based upon your personal beliefs, I am just going to judge Zuko's redemption arc by comparing it to what I consider a complete arc.

I am going to oultine the stages of Spike's arc, and why I consider his arc to be a complete arc and then compare Zuko and see if he checks all of the same boxes that Spike does.

There's really no objective criteria for judging redemption arcs. It's not like the hero's journey. So, in order to give this post some organization I'm going to make up my own template based on Spike's character arc, because I consider it to be a complete arc. I will be judging Zuko based upon how far he progresses through the different stages I outline in Spike's arc.

These stages are Origin - usually a tragic backstory, but is just a backstory that describes why the villain is the way they are currently and what circumstances led to their current motivations.

Season Two Spike - The character is just a straightforward antagonist, though usually with some redeemable qualities so the audience can see the potential for a future redemption. In terms of character arc, I would say that this is when a character is entirely guided by their mistaken assumption of the world.

Season 4 Spike - A dramatic change in circumstances for the villain, that forces them to re-evaluate their life. The antagonist usually loses their spot as main antagonist to someone else, or stops being an antagonist entirely but also has yet to join the good guys. This major shift in circumstances is what causes the antagonist to start re-evaluating themselves, it's meant to be a shocking eye opener.

Season 5 Spike - The hero now wants to be on the side of the good guys, but for all of the wrong reasons. They make overtures at redemption, but it's not true redemption yet because while they might be trying to do the right thing it's for mostly selfish reasons, or they still don't know what right and wrong truly are.

Season 6 Spike - Character regression, this is an inevitable part of almost any redemption arc, and honestly should be a part of good character arcs. Basically, the character regresses right before the big change, they get worse before they can get better, this is what adds tension to the story. This regression is necessary because a temporary reversion to their old self, and overcoming that regression is a way to demonstrate that the character has indeed permanently changed.

Season 7 / Season 1 of Angel - Spike The character is truly redeemed because they have done the work that they need to change, and as proof of that they have re-evaluated their previously flawed moral code, and now have invented a new set of morals to follow and live by. This is what I consider the most important part of a redemption arc, the character has to show proof that their way of thinking has changed. Every character starts with a flawed understanding of how the world works, and one of the biggest benefits of going through a character arc is the wisdom gained as a part of that journey. Every character arc should end with the question: "So, what have you learned?"

ORIGIN: The Storm vs Fool for Love

So this is going to start out making Zuko look like a way better character than Spike, but bare with me for a second. Zuko and Spike both receive entire episodes devoted to their backstories (Zuko gets two, but we're only discussing the Storm for now).

In the storm we learn the circumstances for Zuko's banishment, in parallel to learning exactly why Aang ran away from his own destiny as the avatar and how he ended up frozen in Ice. During the course of the episode, after Zuko orders his crew to sail right into a storm they start to express their displeasure about Zuko's treatment of them until Iroh takes one man aside and explains how Zuko was banished. That Zuko used to be a more idealistic prince, who was banished because he spoke up in a war meeting against the sacrifice of young fire nation soldiers. That the Zuko of the past was punished for trying to defend fire nation citizens and that's why the current Zuko is so desperate to find the avatar to restore his honor he disregards the safety of his crew.

At the end of the episode we are shown a glimmer of the old Zuko who once spoke out against sacrifice soldiers when he goes out of his way to save the life of one of his crewmen during the storm and drags them back onboard.

Spike's origin was that he's bad poet, and everyone laughed at his poems so he decided to become a vampire.

See when I describe it like that, it makes Zuko sound like such a better character, because his backstory is obviously more sympathetic. If the reason Zuko was banished was because everyone laughed at his bad poetry, I think it would be much harder for audiences to connect with him on an emotional level.

However, Spike's backstory works in spite of the fact that it's not immediately sympathetic. It doesn't need to be a tragic backstory, because it establishes the same thing that Zuko's does, once Spike was a normal person before he was led astray.

Both of these backstories exist to portray the humanity of the antagonist, and also the reasons why they want the thing they want. I'm going to simplify both characters for the sake of comparison, but arguably both Spike and Zuko want the same thing. They both want love and approval from an external source. They are both chasing love, for Zuko it's chasing his father's love and approval, and for Spike it's chasing first Drusilla's love, an d then Buffy's. Both are also willing to completely remake themselves into someone they're not in order to get their love, Zuko acts like a much harsher version of himself that's obsessed with war and conquest because he thinks that's what his father wants. Spike basically remakes his entire personality depending on the person he's in love with, he decides to be a good guy only because he falls in love with Buffy and decides that if he's good now Buffy will love him back. However, before that Spike remade himself into a vampire because he thought that is what would impress Drusilla.

They've both completely remade themselves in order to please someone else, but there remains some hints of their original self. By the end of the episode after spending the whole episode acting out their aggressive persona, Spike and Zuko give a sign that the person they were in their origin story is still there. Zuko saves a crewmember from drowning, and Spike ends the episode trying to comfort Buffy even after she's rejected him and made it clear that there's no chance of a relationship happening between the two of them.

Buffy looks up at the sound, her face wet with tears. BUFFY What do you want now? Spike is about to pull the trigger when he sees her tears and through them, her pain. His rage vanishes in an instant. SPIKE What's wrong? BUFFY I don't want to talk about it. Spike lowers the g*n. SPIKE Is there something I can do? Buffy says nothing, the reality of her mother's situation hitting her like a steel weight, overcoming her. Spike sits down next to her and tentatively pats her back, trying to comfort her. She lets him.

Both of these episodes follow the same formula, and the Storm is my favorite episode of Avatar the Last Airbender, but I'm still going to elaborate right out the gate on why I think "Fool for Love" does a better job at spinning an origin story.

This is where I'm going to start outlining one of my major problems with Zuko's redemption arc too, in that it cares more for audience pathos than it does the actual events that happen in the story. Zuko basically wears a t-shirt that signals he's going to get a redemption arc, so a lot of the steps in his arc feel signposted.

Starting with the episode itself, like we learn about Zuko's tragic backstory, because Iroh was explaining to the crew that this is the reason why Zuko was treating him poorly, and therefore the crew should feel sorry for him. This isn't who Zuko really is, this is who he is as a result of trauma, and let me explain the trauma so you will now sympathize and understand him better.

It's not bad, it's just less organic. You can see the author's fingerprints what I'm saying, and remember this is my favorite episode of ATLA so I'm not saying this is a bad episode. I just prefer Fool for Love because it's more interested in exploring Spike as a character, it's not telling the audience to feel sorry for him.

Fool for Love is an episode that begins when Buffy accidentally slips and is stabbed by one of the random mook vampires, the ones she usually kills without a problem every night. This small slip almost killing her leads to her to have a crisis, as she tries to figure out what went wrong exactly.

She ends up going for Drinks with Spike, and pays him money to tell her about the two slayers that he's killed in the past one hundred years. She's hoping that since Spike has killed two slayers, he can tell her what her mistake was, what her weakness is so she can fix it.

Spike who has fallen in love with Buffy that point, ends up treating the entire night like a date. He tells Buffy his entire life story, as a means of answering her question. First that he was nothing more than a poet named William Pratt, called William the Bloody for his Bloody Awful Poetry. That he fell in love with sire Drusilla and had an eternal love with her that lasted more than a hundred years, and in the process reinvented his personality from a sensitive poet to a violent vampire that relished in bloodshed. That he eventually became bored with his immortal existence and started to chase after slayers because they are the only thing that can kill vampires as powerful and old as he, and killing one in the boxer rebellion, and one in the 1970s.

In between the story of the two slayers he killed, we also see a highlight reel of Spike's romantic failures. Spike confessed to a girl asking her to see that he was a good person deep down only for her to say she was beneath him.

SPIKE I know I'm a bad poet but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me- CECILY I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me. She stands and walks off, leaving Spike devastated and alone.

Spike then is eventually rejected by Drusilla his forever love, and the girl he became a vampire to try and impress. Then at the end of the episode he's rejected by Buffy in the exact same manner.

BUFFY Say it's true. Say I do want to. She shoves him to the ground and looks down at him with disgust. BUFFY It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. She tosses the wad of cash at him contemptuously. BUFFY You're beneath me. Buffy turns and walks off into the night, leaving Spike alone in the dark alley.

Spike became a vampire because he was too sensitive to survive as a normal person. Yet deep down he wanted to be loved for who he is, not for the person he is pretending to be, yet every time he asks someone to see the real him he's told again and again that he's beneath them.

The entire episode is basically about all the ways that Spike changed himself, in order to hide that softer version of himself and try to be a version of himself someone would loved, and how that failed over and over again.

A character needs to start out the story with a flawed understanding of the world. Spike and Zuko both have a very flawed understanding of what will get them love, Spike sees becoming a vampire as the greatest thing that ever happened to him, and Zuko sees that he needs to be a better, more vicious prince like his father wanted him to be and capture the avatar to restore his honor.

BUFFY So you traded up on the food chain. Then what? SPIKE No, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting k*lled made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own. Of course, in order to do that... I had to get myself a g*ng.

However, the story is much harsher on Spike. No one really takes Buffy aside and sits down to explain to her "Here's why you should be more patient and understanding with Spike, because before he turned into a vampire he was a very different person." No, in fact Spike explaining his entire backstory to Buffy doesn't win him any sympathy points in her eyes at all. After learning everything about him he's still "beneath her".

Arguably it doesn't really engender much sympathy with the audience either. Who is more sympathetic, the guy with the obvious facial scar who was kicked out of his home by his abusive father and is now pursuing the avatar because it's the only way for him to return home... or the guy who's a bad poet who's sad because his girlfriend dumped him.

However, I find Spike's to be more complex because it doesn't tell the audience that Spike is sympathetic and redeemdable, it just shows that through his last action of choosing to comfort Buffy when he saw her crying alone on the porch in spite of the fact she rejected him. Zuko's origin story episode does the same thing, and if you had cut the fact that Iroh was explaining this to Zuko's crew so they'd go easier on him it'd be entirely show and not tell.

Jeel: I'm sick of taking his orders! I'm tired of chasing his Avatar! I mean, who does Zuko think he is? Iroh:Do you really want to know?

Imagine if it was Zuko explaining his backstory to one of his crewman, and then at the end much like Buffy the crewmember went "I don't care you're still an asshole" and then Zuko had to save them anyway. That would make the moment feel a lot less telegraphed and a lot more earned.

SEASON 4 of Buffy:

I'm going to skip the seasons where Spike and Zuko are main antagonists, because I think I already established what their flaws are, and what their want/need arc is. Both Zuko and Spike wrap themselves in anger and aggression, in order to mask their softer sides. They want love, and they pursue it by trying to earn it by accomplishing external goals, instead of doing the hard work of fixing themselves. They need to become better people, but they ignore this need in favor of their want.

This is most apparent in Season 2 of Avatar, and Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In season 4, Spike returns to Sunnydale only to have a chip put in his head that shocks him every time he tries to harm a human. Now that he's incapable of being a vampire, Spike has an existential crisis that leads him to re-evaluate his life. However, Spike does not conclude that he needs to become a better person.

In fact Spike spends the entire season in denial of the change of the circumstances in his life. Instead of trying to change for the better, Spike just wants to get the chip out of his head so he can go back to being a vampire.

Denial of the change in circumstances, and wanting to go back to being their old selves is what colors this stage of the redemption arc. Zuko also, is declared an enemy of the fire nation after his actions in the seige of the north pole. He no longer has his ship and crew, has to live the life of a refugee, and his much more competent sister takes down hunting the avatar.

During this season changing sides does not cross Zuko's mind either. He spends the entire season wanting to go back to being a prince, and in denial of his change of circumstances. He cannot accept that he a royal is now living the life of a beggar. He steals an ostrich horse from a couple who helps heal his uncle. He declares himself the prince of the fire nation after fightnig off some bully earth army soldiers and then acts confused as to why the locals seem disgusted with him.

All characters start the story with an incorrect view of how the world works, and instead of mending their incorrect beliefs, Zuko and Spike in this respective stage of their arcs choose to keep clinging to those incorrect beliefs. They are still pursuing that want, and ignoring what they need even though that want gets farther and farther out of reach. The idea that Spike might want to change sides to the good guys does not even occur to him, because he defines himself as an evil monster.

Spike: (looking around) I admit, it's a bit of a fixer-upper. Needs a woman's touch. (looks at Giles) Care to have a crack at it? Giles: While I'd loved to go on trading jabs with you, Spike, perhaps I'll come to the point. As much as it pains me to say it, um, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the help you provided me in my recent . . . metamorphosis. Spike: (rubbing a crick out of his neck) Stuff the gratitude. You owe me more than that, mate. Giles pulls out a small bundle of dollar bills and offers it to him. Giles: Three-hundred. Count it if you'd (Spike snatches it out of his hand). . . like. Spike: I'll do that. While Spike starts counting the money, Giles looks the place over. Giles: Um, thinking about your affliction and, uh, your newfound discovery that you can fight only demons; it occurs to me that (chuckling) I realize this is completely against your nature but I-I-I-- Has it occurred to you that there may be a higher purpose-- Spike: Ugh! You made me lose count. (faces him) What are you still doing here? Giles: Talking to myself, apparently. Spike: Well piss off, then. (indicates the money in his hands) This bit of business wraps up any I got with you and your Slayerettes. From here on I want nothing to do with the lot of you. Giles: Your choosing to remain in Sunnydale might make that a little difficult. Spike: Well you and yours will just have to show a little restraint is all. Get out. Giles doesn't say anything and heads for the door. Spike: (following) And I don't want you crawling back here knocking on my door pleading for help the second Teen Witch's magic goes all wonky or little Xander cuts a new tooth. We're through. You got it? Giles opens the door and Spike flinches away from the brightness. He looks over his shoulder at the vampire and his eye twitches. His feelings might be a little hurt. Spike: (callously) Honeymoon is over. Giles leaves without a word.

Spike in particular receives help from the good guys several times, and refuses to change sides because of his denial of his change in circumstances. When Spike first escapes after getting chipped, he receives shelter from Buffy and Giles, lives with them under hiding for a long time, only to spit on them several times and learn nothing from the experience. At the end of the season he even betrays them to the bad guy for the chance at having his chipped removed so he can go back to being a vampire.

Zuko receives an offer from Katara to help heal Iroh with the same hostility. Though, there are more consequences to Spike spitting in the face of the Scooby Gang, because in season 5 and season 6 when he decides he wants to start getting along with them because he's in love with Buffy they are all reluctant to let him join because they all collectively hold him accountable for his previous behavior.

Either way though the pattern of behavior is the same, Zuko and Spike refuse to acknowledge the changes to their lives and leap at the opportunity to go back to their old life. They only think about their wants to the point where it distracts them to the reality of the situation.

Iroh: So, the Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask ... Zuko:[Sighs and takes off the mask.] What are you doing here? Iroh: I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you've found the Avatar's bison? Keep him locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him? Zuko: First I have to get it out of here. Iroh:[Starts yelling.] And then what!? You never think these things through! [Points at him.] This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go! Zuko: I would have figured something out! Iroh:No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death! Zuko: I know my own destiny, Uncle! Iroh: Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? Zuko: Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this! Iroh: I'm begging you, Prince Zuko! It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?

Both Zuko and Spike are refusing to answer the big questions, and only focusing on getting what they want, even as what they think they want gets farther and farther out of reach.

I'm not going to speak too unfavorably of Zuko's arc in comparison of Spike's here, because the denial of both characters is portrayed well except to say that Spike's is harder hitting. If only because as I'll cover later, the Good Guys actually remember the multiple times they saved Spike's life and he spat in their faces for it, and this infleunces their behavior towards him in later seasons and makes his redemption arc harder.

SEASON FIVE of BUFFY

This part I'm going to have to go slightly out of order because Spike follows this order, in season 5 he redeems himself for the wrong reasons, in season 6 he regresses as a character, and in season 7 he finally redeems himself for the right reasons after climbing back from his lowest point and committing to the work of self improvement. The regression stage is important because it's what shows the audience that the redemption will stick, that the character won't fall back on bad habits.

Zuko's arc is slightly out of order. Instead of the redeeming himself for false reasons, he skips right to the character regression stage. He chooses to go back to the fire nation, spends ten episodes regressing as a character after betraying his uncle in favor of everything he's ever wanted, and then finally after the Day of Black Sun joins the good guys in order to correct his mistake.

However, I think by skipping the "redeems himself for the wrong reasons" stage we are missing out something critical, which is why Zuko's redemption in the last half of season 4 reads to me as so rushed and incomplete. Now, let me attempt to explain the reasons for my reading, by explaining what I think is so brilliant of Spike's arc in Season 5 of Buffy.

To begin with I am going to explain what I mean by Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons. In order to do that I am going to borrow a lot of quotes from this meta on ao3, Spike, Buffy, Angel & Romanticism.

When I say Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons, what I mean is Spike is genuinely trying to help the good guys, but his understandings of good and evil are flawed because he is a soulless monster without a conscience that helps him judge between good and evil. For Spike, much like Zuko, most of his jugdements are based on what he thinks will give him approval. He is chasing external validation from others, and therefore he has no internal moral code. Even when Spike is trying to help out the good guys in Season 5, his motives are impure (he's just trying to score good boy points because he thinks if he demonstrates he's a good person Buffy will fall in love with him). He also has not truly changed, because Spike is still seeking external validation, he just wants Buffy's validation instead and he thinks acting like a good guy is how he will earn it. He's changed the person he's trying to please, but he hasn't really changed anything about himself.

Yet, Spike spends the entirety of season 5 convinced that he is a monster who is redeeming himself. That is one interesting layer of both Zuko and Spike's arcs, they both think they are on journeys of redemptions. Zuko thinks that capturing the avatar will redeem his honor, because in the eyes of his violent culture that is what will redeem him by fire nation standards. He doesn't stop to think whether or not fire nation standards are incorrect, or like Uncle suggests whether this is his destiny or jsut a destiny someone else forced upon him.

Spike on the other hand sees himself as a romantic figure, much like Zuko. When he falls in love with Buffy, he convinced that loving Buffy is what redeems him and he will become a good guy out of love for her. Just like Zuko, he views himself as a protagonist of a story about a man on a redemption quest but has absolutely no idea what true redemption would even entail.

However, Buffy goes a lot harder on deconstructing Spike's view of himself as a romantic hero. Spike is a poet, he is a romantic, he sees the world through a certain romanticized lens like it is a story where he is the main character and Season 5 goes through great lengths to disabuse him of that notion.

Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic–and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic–that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role. (Impalementation)

Zuko and Spike both start out with a flawed understanding of the world. They have this certain narrative about themselves, and if they follow the script then things should work out the way they expect it to. Zuko's script is if he brings the avatar back home he'll earn his father's love and restore his honor, which is continually frustrated by the fact that Zuko is not the person that he is trying to be. He's not competent enough to bring the avatar back, not ruthless enough to survive in the world of fire nation politics. He's doing everything he can to follow the story, but the story keeps proving to be false and Zuko can't cope because he's working with a flawed understanding of the world., The narrative lens which he applies to everything is twisted by Fire Nation propaganda and his own trauma, and because he hasn't seen anything else he can't see it.

Spike is basically doing the same thing, he is a vampire who has read both Dracula and Anne Rice, he knows the tropes of the soulful vampire. As impalementation points out above Spike is a romantic and a disappointed romantic at that, he longs for a world that plays out like the stories he's read, longs to roleplay the chivalric romance of a knight protecting their love, first with Drusilla and then with Buffy, only to be disappointed at every turn. Spike has read lots of books, and he too thinks that reality is supposed to function like a story though in Spike's case it's a love story between a loyal knight and the one they serve, and when reality goes off script Spike cannot cope.

We’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal–between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way.  (Impalementation).

Both ATLA and Buffy explore the idea that these characters are following false narratives, that they're thinking of themselves like characters in a story. ATLA goes a long way to deconstruct what Fire Nation propaganda is, and the way Zuko's understanding of honor is tainted by the culture he grew up in, that despite being obsessed with honor he doesn't really understand what restoring honor would truly mean. However, it doesn't go to quite the lengths that Buffy does, in completely peeling away the romanticism until the reality is left underneath.

All throughout Season 5, every time Spike attempts to be good it's purely transactional. Spike thinks of himself as a vampire who is redeeming himself out of love, so he thinks if he starts performing good deeds that Buffy will begin to see him in a different light. Only to be rebuffed (haha) again and again when characters refuse to play along to his script.

Rupert Giles : We are not your friends. We are not your way to Buffy... There is no way to Buffy... Clear out of here. And Spike, this thing... get over it ...

The Scooby Gang doesn't want him hanging around because he spent all of season 4 spitting in their faces every time they tried giving him a chance.

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”.  But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful.  (Impalementation).

Season 5 goes to great lengths to show the duality between the real and the romantic, when Spike's actions are motivated by his grand ideas of romance, and when the real selfless gestures of affection are shown.

Expressly, Spike does not get a reward, even for his real moments of generosity. The season begins with Buffy telling Spike that she's beneath her. At the end of Season 5, Spike's realization is that Buffy doesn't love him, but she treats him like a man and that's enough, and he has that realization when she's standing on top of a staircase still above him. Spike has learned in some part the difference between real selfless love, but he isn't immediately given what he wants for it. The reward is the revelation itself, a one hundred year old vampire slowly learning what real love is.

The season doesn't even reward Spike for acting like a true selfless knight at the end of the season, because even after he laerns how to finally be selfless the romanticsism is ripped away. Spike no longer makes demands of Buffy's love, and he's happy just being able to help fight with her and protect her, and he fails to both protect Buffy's sister Dawn in spite promising to, and is unable to do anything but watch Buffy jump to her death.

Spike spends the entire season trying to redeem himself for the wrong reasons, and even when he finally does start fighting for the right reasons he's not magically rewarded because Buffy the Vampire Slayer is much more interested in the reality of exploring what it would mean for a soulless monster to redeem himself even though the universe doesn't give him a reward for getting enough good boy points, then it is the romantic story of a beast being saved by the power of his selfless love.

SEASON SIX of BUFFY

In season Six of Buffy, and the first half of Season 3 of Avatar the Last Airbender, both Spike and Zuko hit their character regression and lowest points after being given everything they think they want. For Spike that is a relationship with Buffy that quickly spirals out of control, and for Zuko that is his father's approval and a seat at his father's side in the war room.

When Zuko returns home to the fire nation, he finds himself too changed to be satisfied by the things he thought he wanted when he was thirteen. This leads him to succumb to paranoia, send assassins after Aang, have frequent explosions of anger, and finally do some deep introspection.

Zuko: [Turning around.] For so long I thought that if my dad accepted me, I'd be happy. I'm back home now, my dad talks to me. Ha! He even thinks I'm a hero. [Close-up of Azula, who smiles.] Everything should be perfect, right? [Aerial view of campsite.] I should be happy now, but I'm not. [Turning back to the others.] I'm angrier than ever and I don't know why!

Spike and Zuko are both given what they want, just when they were starting to learn to let go of the idea of chasing that want and it throws them for a loop. The scoobies begrudgingly accept Spike's presence, and Buffy begins to reciprocate Spike's affection for the first time. Only for that relationship to spiral into one that is mutually unhealthy and codependent.

The regression brings about an identity crisis in both characters. As Zuko and Spike both are still trying to cling to stories in order to provide them with answers for who they are, and what they are doing wrong. Except Zuko is starting to see through the fact that most of the stories the fire nation told him are lies.

Buffy finds herself unable to live up to her personal ideal, and Spike becomes confused about what ideal he’s supposed to be living up to. As their identities dissolve, both of them try to fill the emptiness with different stories. As for Spike, his identity begins to dissolve and he uses romantic stories as a crutch to tell himself who he is, he plays the brooding vampire boyfriend because he is "no longer a monster" but he can't be a man either.

From their very first kiss, it’s clear that the Buffy and Spike relationship will be about using stories to hide out from the confusion of life. Notice how Buffy’s line that “This isn’t real, but I just wanna feel” is overlaid by the trappings of a cliche Hollywood clinch. It’s less to me about what Buffy “really” feels for Spike, and more of a meta statement: stories aren’t real, but they do make you feel something. And that’s what Buffy wants. Their kiss is the culmination of Buffy trying and failing to be the things expected of her. She tries to dress up like the bot at the end of “After Life”, she tries to act the competent applicant in “Flooded”, she tries on all sorts of identities in “Life Serial”, and in “Once More, With Feeling” she sings openly of how she cannot either live up to her Slayer self, or “be like other girls.” (One of the most brutal images in season six to me, and which foreshadows this arc, is Buffy in “Bargaining, Part Two” in her black funeral dress, watching the idealized Buffybot in white get ripped to pieces). Spike, similarly, has been at a crossroads of identity for years. In season four, he tried to cling to the “bad” identity the Initiative stole from him, and in season five, he tried to replace that identity with a noble, Knightly, Lover identity instead. But when Buffy pulls that identity out from under him too, treating him not “like a man” but as a “dead man” who “isn’t real”, the longstanding shakiness of his selfhood becomes undeniable.  (Impalementation).

Either way what the regression demonstrates for both characters is that no change they try to make ever sticks, because their sense of self is so shaky, because for both Zuko and Spike they have been building up themselves based entirely around what other people want. In order to have a stronger sense of identity, they'd have to stop clinging to stories which provide them an easy answer to who they are and instead figure out who they want to be.

Spike is quite literally forced to re-evaluate who he is when he is no longer allowed to play the part of a monster. The ugliness of reality, and of Spike's actions when he does the REALLY BAD THING (which I'm not discussing because I don't want to put a trigger warning on this post) breaks him free of any kind of role he's trying to play.

SPIKE: You know, everything used to be so clear. Slayer. Vampire. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry, picks his teeth with her bones. It’s always been that way. I’ve tasted the life of two Slayers. But with Buffy… (grimacing in anguish) It isn’t supposed to be this way!  He grabs a piece of furniture and shoves it over, with accompanying crashing noises. SPIKE: (angrily) It’s the chip! Steel and wires and silicon. (sighs) It won’t let me be a monster. (quietly) And I can’t be a man. I’m nothing.

Both Spike and Zuko are put through character regression for two reasons, one to illustrate to them that the things that they wanted aren't what they want and won't make them happy, and two to make them question the stories that they've been told to strip away romanticism, and be real people.

In order to grow as people, they must first learn to question all of the stories they've been told, and stop listening to stories and think of what they want, to form their own identity. The only way to change as a person, is to... look at yourself critically as a person.

Thus the resolutions of Buffy and Spike’s arcs in season six are all about personhood and change. They’re about letting go of stagnant, destructive illusions and embracing the idea of living and growing in the world. They’re about seeing beyond romantic roles, and accepting responsibility for one’s own identity. (Impalementation).

This is where I once again will argue that spike's redemption is superior, because while Zuko and Spike both reach their lowest points it's Spike who actually has all of his narratives stripped away and is challenged to become his own person and think about how he is and what he wants, whereas Zuko never fully stops thinking of himself as a romantic hero. By the end of season 6, Spike is on a journey to learn who he is as a person, whereas on the day of Black Sun and the rest of Season 3, we're still following the story of a prince on a journey of redemption.

It's because by the end of season 6, Spike's journey has entirely focused on the internal, how can he be a man? If he's a soulless monster, then is it possible for him to be a person living in the world like Buffy is? On the other hand, Zuko's arc never changes from an external to an internal goal.

Zuko is still tied up in notions of destiny and honor like he is a main character in a story.

Iroh: Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself. [Zuko sits down, with his head facing down.] Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko. It is your nature, your legacy. But, there is a bright side. [Zuko looks up.] What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you. Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world. (Season 3, the avatar and the firelord).

If Iroh didn't tell Zuko that good and evil were at war inside of him, and that he's from a special bloodline because he's descended from both Roku and Sozin and therefore this means it's a part of his destiny to bring balance would Zuko have done the same amount of self reflection?

While Spike is faced with unrelenting reality, Zuko has the notion that he is a romantic hero reinforced over and over again, most particularly by Iroh. Spike doesn't have anybody sit there and point out for him that he's at war with himself and doesn't know whether to be a man or a monster, because Spike is actually capable of self reflection. Whereas, Zuko seems to do everything because he's told that destiny said so. He doesn't move until he's told he's the romantic hero following a pre-planned destiny.

Zuko: But I've come to an even more important decision. [Closes eyes and momentarily pauses.] I'm going to join the Avatar and I'm going to help him defeat you. Ozai: [Smugly.] Really? Since you're a full-blown traitor now and you want me gone, why wait? I'm powerless. You've got your swords. Why don't you just do it now? Zuko: Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar's destiny. [Puts his swords away.] Goodbye.

Zuko is allowed to play the part of a character in a story and because of that he doesn't reach the same level of self-evaluation as Spike. He certainly tells us some things, like that he's learned that the fire nation is wrong, and that the war needs to stop but once again these things are more like telegraphed to us then actually shown onscreen.

Zuko's arc isn't really about learning that the fire nation is evil, like that's a part of it, but what his arc is really about is learning that his father was abusive and instead of living to please his abusive father he needs to figure out what type of person he wants to be.

Which is why I compare him to Spike, a character who's arc revolves around love, who isn't a part of a fascist regime currently colonizing the world like Zuko's is. In fact in spite of Zuko witnessing the poverty of the world and going through the experience of being a refugee, and the one time a bunch of farmers were angry at him for being the prince of the fire nation in Zuko Alone, we don't really see Zuko reflecting on the after effects of the war or the lies of fire nation propaganda. We are told that Zuko's arc is about these things, but most of the actual meat of Zuko's arc is instead Zuko learning that he doesn't have to bend over backwards to please an abusive father. You can stretch it and say that from that Zuko learned that the values his father taught him are all the wrong values, and that he has to learn how to be a proper prince but Zuko is more motivated by abuse and his desire for love then like reflecting upon what is morally right.

Which is why I made the comparison for Spike, but Spike's arc forces him to do a lot more self reflection on who he is, and forcing him to form his own identity outside of what others expect from him, even though Spike's character arc is much more blatantly about his selfish desire to be loved.

Like, what arc contains more self-reflection on the nature of good and evil and what growing to be a better person means, the arc about the boy who was prince of the evil empire, who became a refugee saw how his nation was destroying the world and teamed up with his father's worst enemy to take him down and end the war, or the 100 year old vampire who falls in love with the hero and starts stalking her.

The answer will surprise you.

As I said above it's because after a certain point, due to what probably were time constraints with not having a fourth season to work with Zuko's arc becomes very railroaded.

Spike has to step away from the role of monster, vampire, and lover in order to become a man, and begin the process of forming his own identity because that's what it means to be a person living in this world, to grow up and accept responsibility for your actions.

Zuko is told that it's his destiny to join the avatar and bring balance to the world, and so he does that because it's his destiny, and also he learned that the fire nation was evil at some point offscreen, and then he switches side to join the avatar and decides he wants to be firelord because that's his destiny too.

It's a good arc, and it's mostly complete and servicable, but also lacks a lot of the humanity that Spike's arc has because Zuko until the end is still playing the role of the romantic hero. We never see him break free of that role, and while the arc still works just fine, we are missing out on actually seeing Zuko do the hard work of forming his own identity.

Zuko spends the entirety of his time onscreen chasing external objectives, and by the time he's switched sides he still has an external objective he's chasing, he's still trying to live up to somebody else's standards rather than it's own it's just he's chasing the Avatar, and his Uncle's approval rather than the approval of his father.

SEASON SEVEN OF BUFFY

So season six ends with Spike hitting his lowest point and doing the really bad thing, and Zuko having betrayed team avatar and his Uncle in order to get his throne back. Now both of these characters have to deal with the consequences of what they did at their lowest points and slowly earn back the trust of the heroes and prove that this time they have changed for real.

I will say that Zuko's arc once again perfectly functionable. He spends enough time making it up to each person he's wrong, that it's believable that the gang would trust him. There is enough evidence that Zuko is not going to revert to his old ways again like he did at the end of season 2. He spends enough time onscreen working to earn his redemption and forgiveness of each cast member.

However, therein lies the rub, or at least what rubs me the wrong way about these sets of episode. I spent time during the Season 5 section of this post, discussing why skipping the "redemption for all the wrong reasons" stage is bad, and right here is why. Though this is supposed to be the climax of Zuko's redemption arc, it feels like Zuko is at the exact same place that Spike was in Season 5. Zuko is trying to redeem himself yes, but it's because he wants to earn good boy points and have the main characters trust him.

There is a scene where Zuko yells at Katara and asks why she won't forgive him, and it sounds like something Spike would say at Season 5.

Zuko: This isn't fair! Everyone else seems to trust me now! What is it with you? Katara: [Turns around furiously.] Oh, everyone trusts you now?! I was the first person to trust you! [Places her left hand on her heart.] Remember, back in Ba Sing Se. [Points to the ocean.] And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us! Zuko: [Closes eyes in resentment.] What can I do to make it up to you? Katara:[Cuts to shot of her and Zuko standing on the cliff as she approaches him while snapping at him angrily.] You really want to know? Hmm, maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King. [Cuts to side-view of her and Zuko.] Or, I know! You could bring my mother back!

Everything about this scene indicates that Zuko's understanding of redemption is flawed, that much like Spike he's attempting to do good things to earn good boy points so the heroes will accept him.

There's nothing wrong with this, it's actually a part of a redemption arc to learn to do good things for the right reasons, not just to earn other people's approval. It's just Zuko himself never gets to the second part, because suddenly doing good things to earn good boy points starts working out for him.

The plot contrives several different field trips so he can make it up to each member of the gang he personally hurt, a field trip with Aang in order to learn about the true nature of fire bending, a revenge trip with Katara, a trip with Sokka to help him get his father out of prison.

However, when the plot doesn't present Zuko with a convenient way to redeem himself he doesn't really seem to care. When Toph tries to tell Zuko about her worries over her parents he blows her off, and when Suki confronts him about burning down her village it's just played off as a joke.

There's actually nothing wrong with Zuko only trying to redeem himself for selfish reasons because he wants the gang to accept him, it just doesn't get addressed. Since everyone accepts Zuko so easily, Zuko's never forced to do the hard work of forming his own identity instead of constantly seeking the approval of the people around him. As a result even though Zuko goes through a character arc, we don't actually learn that much about him as a person or what his true motives are because Zuko never reflects upon those things.

Zuko's arc still works if you view it as a romantic story, but not as a human one. It works as the story of the lost prince coming home and retaking the throne to set the nation on the right path, but not about Zuko the person.

Starting with the big apology both Zuko and Spike make. Zuko's apology is not to Katara, not to Aang, no the most important person he needs to apologize to is Iroh, because Zuko still has not broken away from the idea that he needs to live to please his father figure. His worst crime is not trying to kill the avatar repeatedly, but disappointing Iroh who believed in him.

Whereas Spike at least begins his scene with an apology to the person he hurt the most, Buffy. Spike's arc in season 7 is all about getting a soul, soemthing that makes him now capable of making a moral judgement. The first thing he does after getting a soul is finally feel guilt for the first time in one hundred years, and now with the added benefit of a conscious he realizes how horribly he had been treating Buffy all along.

Spike's big act of redemption is to seek out a soul, so he could become the type of man that would never hurt Buffy again.

Zuko's big act of redemption is to leave the fire nation and join the avatar's side... because, it's his destiny to do so.

See the difference here is Spike is challenged to form his own identity, by literally giving himself a conscience and the ability to feel guilt whereas Zuko just has to follow some destiny that was laid out for him. He doesn't have to question himself beyond "it's destiny". Whereas Spike's soul forces him to self, reflect because now that he's no longer a soulless monster he has to reflect on all the ways he has hurt the people in his life.

Spike's apology scene is also a lot different than Zuko's is to Iroh.

To begin with, Spike only appears to offer his help and tells Buffy that if she wants him to go away he will. He doesn't even tell Buffy that he got a soul for her sake, because he doesn't want her to feel obligated to forgive him. He spends the whole episode hiding it, until we at least reach the cross-hugging scene.

A scene which brilliantly shows the agony of feeling guilty and genuinely understanding you did something wrong and wanting to be forgiven, without prioritizing Spike's feelings of guilt and self-loathing over the feelings of the person he hurt.

SPIKE I dreamed of k*lling you. Keeping an eye on him, Buffy bends down to pick up a large splinter from the broken pews at her feet to use as a stake, if necessary. Spike starts pacing. SPIKE I think they were dreams. So weak. Did you make me weak, thinking of you, holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your... ending? Angel—he should've warned me. He makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here, in me, all the time. (walks around toward her from behind) The spark. I wanted to give you what you deserve, and I got it. They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn. Buffy's face shows shock, disbelief and, finally, comprehension. BUFFY Your soul. SPIKE (laughs) Bit worse for lack of use. Buffy turns to face him. BUFFY You got your soul back. How? SPIKE It's what you wanted, right? (looking at the ceiling) It's what you wanted, right? (presses his fingers to his temples, looks down, and walks toward the altar). And—and now everybody's in here, talking. Everything I did...everyone I— and him... and it... the other, the thing beneath—beneath you. It's here too. Everybody. They all just tell me go... go... (looks back over his shoulder to Buffy) to hell. BUFFY Why? Why would you do that— SPIKE Buffy, shame on you. Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev— (looks away) to be a kind of man. Spike walks toward the 6-foot-tall crucifix altarpiece at the front of the chapel. Sounds like he's quoting something. SPIKE She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved. Spike's standing only a foot away from the crucifix, staring at it. SPIKE So everything's OK, right? (sighs) Spike embraces the crucifix, resting one arm over each side of the cross bar, and resting his head in the corner of the vertex. His body is sizzling and smoke is rising from where it touches the cross. SPIKE Can—can we rest now? Buffy...can we rest?

Spike is forced to be very honest about his desire to be forgiven and loved even though he's done bad things, and it is very selfish, and also very human to be grappling with those feelings in front of the person you hurt. Spike's desire for a release from guilt, to finally rest instead of having to struggle with everything he's done.

It's a genuine apology which is accompanied with proof that Spike has taken steps to show that he will never hurt Buffy that way again, that he specifically got a soul in order to become a man who can't hurt her that way.

In comparison this is Zuko's apology scene to Iroh, which is just as heartfelt but also, like everything in Zuko's arc just a little bit easier.

It is a genuine apology, but again my focus is on is Iroh the one that Zuko needs to apologize the most?

Zuko's character is all about his personal conflcits, his relationship with his uncle, and his newly made firends in the gang and learning to do right by them, even though it's supposedly supposed to be about him learning that the fire nation is wrong and how he needs to make the fire nation better.

In comparison, Spike's character arc is framed from the get go about those personal stakes. Buffy is the person he hurt the most so it makes sense he would apologize to her first before anyone else.

In Spike's apology scene Buffy doesn't even forgive him. She walks away and leaves him there hugging that cross. She sheds some tears for him and is clearly moved by his suffering, but the show clearly equates that Spike's suffering and remorse isn't enough until he's provided concrete proof in action that he's on the side of good now.

Spike doesn't get convenient field trips that let him earn back everyone's trust in Season 7. He is forced to help everyone, not because he wants to earn forgiveness, but because he wants to demonstrate that he has changed. What we witness in season 7 is now that Spike has accepted truly that being a good person won't make Buffy love him, he's now forced to grow as a person because he wants to live inside the world just like Buffy does. To grow and change like a real person would, not an undying thing.

Because Spike's arc is about taking this character that was an immortal being who had not changed in a hundred years, and making him want to change, and making him learn what it means to live in the world and continue growing and changing every single day like everybody else does.

Spike's reward for his efforts to be a better person isn't to be told that Buffy forgave him all along but that... she believes he can be a better person.

BUFFY No. I don't hate like that. Not you, or myself. Not anymore. You think you have insight now because your soul's drenched in blood? You don't know me. You don't even know you. Was that you who killed those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for those girls? SPIKE There's no one else. BUFFY That's not true. Listen to me. You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance. SPIKE (lunges violently at her, but chains hold him back) Window dressing. BUFFY Be easier, wouldn't it, it if were an act, but it's not. (walks toward him) You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man. SPIKE Buffy... BUFFY (in his face) And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike.

Spike isn't told that he's forgiven, or he's some destined hero, the only thing he's reassured about is that he has the capacity for change, which is because Spike's entire arc is about whether an undying monster can finally learn to change and how to be a better than.

I could go on longer, I could mention how in Season 5 of Angel Spike still has to be a good person even though Buffy isn't even around to support him. That's where Spike is truly challenged to stick to his goal of becoming a better person every day, even though he's not going to receive Buffy's love as a reward.

However, I'll end it here because I think I've made my point. Zuko's arc is fine, but it's also missing that final step that Spike's arc. As a redemption arc it's fine because in the eyes of the audience and the characters around Zuko, Zuko has clearly done enough to earn redemption. He has gone through the motions and shown onscreen that he has changed.

As a character arc it feels woefully incomplete for all of the reasons I listed above, because Zuko did not do the work that Spike did of learning what kind of man he wants to be. Zuko ends the story as a hero, but he never becomes his own person like Spike does.

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤷ More of a WhatIf! situation...Requests are open, thank you for reading!🌷⋆.˚

a/n: this is too cute, thank you to anon who requested it!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Balerion the Black Dread is the most feared dragon in history, a creature of shadow and fire, destruction and legend.

・And yet, to his rider, he is not just a beast of war; he is a protector, a guardian, and the closest thing to a living god.

・Balerion is shockingly gentle.

・His rider is a speck of dust compared to his size

・If the child is scared or nervous, he’ll release deep, rumbling noises to calm them.

・His presence is felt rather than seen, a vast shadow always looming just beyond the horizon.

・If his rider whispers secrets to him, he listens, unblinking, as if understanding far more than any human could.

・Big Bad Balerion lets his rider climb onto his back, even when he does not take to the skies, walking through the land like a silent, unstoppable force.

・His rider sees what no one else does/what no one else can; the lands beyond the horizon, people below as ants, as meaningless...their lives so far away. His rider sees the world through a dragon’s eyes.

・He allows no one but them to touch his face, closing his great eyes when their small hands trace the scars time has left upon him.

・Balerion knows the sound of his rider's voice among thousands; even in a crowded battlefield, even in a storm.

・He will wait forever for them if he must.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Titan & The Tiny One

The Shadow That Follows

The Living Fortress

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・The bond was created because the little one had too much bravery. When they first met her, everyone warned them to stay back; after all, Meraxes was one of the greatest dragons in the world.

・But when the child approached, small and fearless, Meraxes simply lowered her enormous head and sniffed at them curiously.

・Placing their tiny hands against her shimmering silver scales, Meraxes was not angry in the slightest. She relished in the moment. A touch that felt profound. So, from that moment on, that little fierce child belonged to her.

・The bond with Meraxes is unbreakable, an odd but beautiful connection between a mighty dragon and a child who sees her not as a beast, but as family.

・Always watching, always protective. Knows who is around her rider and what their connection is to them

・No words are needed. She understands her rider, and her rider understand her.

・Does not refrain from showing respect because her rider is younger.

・She checks on her rider constantly; sniffing, nudging, and even wrapping her tail around them when they sleep so they don’t wander off.

・When they're upset, Meraxes rests her giant head beside them, letting the child lean against her as her slow breathing calms them down. ・If her rider ever cries, she licks at their face or nudges them softly, her way of trying to fix what’s wrong.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

My Baby Now

Loyal to the End

The Fierce Guardian with a Soft Spot

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・Vhagar has seen many things; countless wars, her own rider's deaths, kings rise and fall, and the passage of time itself. She is a creature of war and legend, she is not easily impressed, nor does she bend to anyone’s will.

・At first, she ignores them completely, pretending she didn’t hear their commands.

・But when the child reaches out a small hand, fearless and steady, Vhagar huffs, the warm gust ruffling their hair as they press their palm against her ancient scales.

・Vhagar does not coddle, but she watches. Always.

・The old girl keeps her distance at times, but she is never truly far, her looming shadow a constant presence.

・If anyone so much as raises their voice at her rider, her growl alone is enough to silence them.

・There is communication between Vhagar and her rider. She does not need words; just a flick of her tail, a deep exhale, a narrowed eye says everything.

・Flying Above the Storms – She takes her rider so high that the world disappears, the sky stretching endless and free. The storm rages on below, but neither notice.

・She snorts in amusement when her rider dares to stand tall, to challenge her with their stubborn little spirit. Sometimes she humours them; most times she does not.

・Whenever her rider falls asleep against her, their tiny form barely noticeable against her massive body, yet she stays perfectly still for hours.

・Vhagar has seen it all, but her rider reminds her that there is still wonder in the world, still reasons to fly.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Ancient Guardian & The Tiny Warrior

Terror to the World, Gentle to One

The Old Warrior & The Young Dreamer

๋࣭⭑ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・Dreamfyre is curious and regal, her head tilting as she studies her tiny would-be rider.

・She does not simply accept anyone. And yet, when her rider reaches out with such quiet trust, Dreamfyre leans forward, allowing their hand to press against her cool, sky-colored scales.

・The second she breathes in their scent, the bond is sealed. Her rider is hers now, and always will be.

・"A baby!!!" She'd croon, ruffling her rider's hair with her breath.

・For many of these dragons, it is when they inhale a person's scent which makes them decide yes or no.

・Dreamfyre is deeply expressive—she chuffs softly when her rider is near, her way of saying "I see you. I know you."

・Very graceful in the air, always making sure her rider feels safe.

・She lets her rider play with her scales, allowing them to trace tiny patterns with their fingers.

・She nuzzles them softly when they wake up, a warm "good morning" before stretching her massive wings.

・She loves when her rider sings or hums, Dreamfyre joins in - tilting her head and releasing soft, accompanying rumbles.

・The blue dragon recognises her rider’s voice instantly, no matter where they are, and will always come when called.

・To the world, Dreamfyre is a legendary streak of blue across the sky. Yet, to her rider, she is theirs; their friend, their protector, family ... and a piece of the heavenss themselves.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Wings of Comfort, Fire of Fury

The Living Fairytale

A Love That Soars

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・"A.....CHILD?!"

・When his rider first approaches, he snorts, releasing a deep breath that stirs the air like a storm.

・But when the child steps forward without fear, he is impressed...as the young one reaches out with a steady hand, Vermithor lets out a low, rumbling growl. Testing to see what they do.

・With determination, the child looks old mountain in the eye. And as their hand touches Vermithor's snout, the bond snaps in place.

・Now the pair do staring contests all the time.

・It's Vermithor who loses mostly.

・Vermithor is colossal, his roars shake the ground, yet with his rider, he rumbles softly, lowering himself carefully so they can climb atop his back.

・He keeps a steady distance, watching from afar, yet the second his rider needs him, he is there in an instant.

・Vermithor does not (sometimes) start fights, but he will end them—and if anyone dares harm his rider, they will not survive his wrath.

・The Bronze Fury is BIG on naps and is more than happy to share them with his tiny human.

・He allows his rider to curl up on his wing, against his chest or even his neck. He will not move until his rider wakes.

・Sometimes he wraps the very tip of his tail around them, a subtle, instinctual way of keeping them close and protected.

・Though he is slow-moving and ancient, he does have a playful side.

・If his rider hugs him, he freezes at first, as if unsure what to do. Then, he very carefully leans into it, letting out a little tiny whine.

・His little rider tells him jokes they make up, and they make absolutely no sense but Vermithor gives a huff just so his rider thinks he's funny.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Ancient Titan & The Tiny Flame

A Bond of Trust, Not Submission

I Would Burn the World for You

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

・In her mind she's thinking, 'this is my baby, I'm gonna protect my baby no matter WHAT.'

・She’s the perfect dragon for a child because she loves company and comfort.

・The bonding happened so easily and without fuss. However, the rider did disappear from the family to go and bond with a dragon...

・When the young one reached out, there was no hesitation. Silverwing bent forward, allowing them to touch her.

・In the moment, she had let out a soft, deep hum. A sound of approval. She was riderless no more.

・Silverwing often nuzzles her rider’s hair, careful and slow, as if reassuring herself that they are safe. It also combines their scents. Letting everyone know that 1. Silverwing is bonded and 2. Her rider has the protection of a dragon.

・Very affectionate, lowering her head so her rider can press their forehead against hers.

・When her rider is sad or scared, she wraps her tail loosely around them, pulling them close like a mother comforting a hatchling.

・Honestly, if she could sing, she would. Like a little lullaby, but all she could make is a light hum.

・Loves to play! Whenever her rider feels energetic, she'll flap her wings just enough to create gusts of wind to make them laugh.

・If they’re nervous about flying, she nuzzles them gently, reassuring them before taking off.

・Unlike some dragons, Silverwing genuinely enjoys floating on a lake, allowing her rider to sit on her belly as she drifts peacefully.

・Silverwing is quiet but deeply attentive, her large eyes fixed on her rider as they chatter about their thoughts, dreams, or stories.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Moon & The Tide

Peaceful, But Deadly

The Guardian & The Dreamer

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Meleys is a proud dragon, but once she accepts someone as hers, she is devoted to them for life.

・Meleys is not easily impressed and does not accept riders without testing them first.

・If the child approaches with confidence, she does not move, however, if they show hesitation, she huffs and flicks her tail, testing their courage.

・When the young one touches Meleys' snout, and looks her in the eye; the dragon knows and the bond is formed.

・She huffs dramatically when they take too long to get ready for a flight, as if saying, "Hurry up, little one, we have places to be!"

・Meleys is strong-willed and does not take orders lightly, yet for her rider, she listens not out of submission, but out of deep affection.

・If her rider laughs, she lets out a high-pitched, chuffing sound, almost like a dragon’s version of a giggle.

・Meleys is dramatic in the most regal way possible—she will huff, flick her tail, or turn her head away if she feels ignored.

・She loves having her scales brushed, especially if her rider does it while talking to her.

・When she is flying at full speed, she lets out excited, high-pitched chirps, as if celebrating her own agility.

・If she sees another dragon being affectionate with their rider, she immediately nudges her own, as if to remind them who the best dragon is.

・Despite her fearsome reputation, Meleys has a surprising fondness for tiny creatures.

・If a small animal tries to hide under her wing, she freezes completely and allows it, looking down at her rider as if to say, "Well, what do I do now?"

・Meleys enjoys wandering and flying freely, but no matter how far she goes, she always comes back to her rider.

・

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Queen & Her Little Shadow

A Bond of Speed & Freedom

Fire & Beauty

๋࣭⭑ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Caraxes is not easily impressed, and at first, he snarls and flares his wings

・But instead of running away, his rider stands firm, reaching out with small but steady hands.

・He narrows his great golden eyes, lowers his head, and nudges them experimentally—just enough to see if they will flinch.

・When they don’t, he lets out a sharp, approving huff, allowing them to touch his deep red scales.

・He is loud but loving, intense yet deeply affectionate, and fiercely protective of the small human he has claimed as his own.

・He has fought countless battles, but this tiny human? He would burn the world down for them.

・And loves it when he can hear the little one yell, "FASTER FASTER FASTER!"

・If someone makes his rider cry, he reacts immediately, nostrils flaring as he lowers his head to glare at the offender.

・He loves rubbing the top of his snout against his rider’s hands, chest, or face, the dragon equivalent of a cat headbutting their favorite person.

・Birds love landing on his horns, and while he acts indifferent, he never shakes them off.

・Influences his rider to become more aggressive when they're being bullied

・Caraxes lets his rider climb onto his back in ridiculous (and stupid) ways, even if they struggle and take forever. He allows them to be ... a kid.

・He loves when they scratch his jaw or the base of his horns—he rumbles so deeply that it shakes the ground.

・If his rider ever gets lost, he lets out a high, piercing roar, calling for them until they return.

・Caraxes is extremely vocal—his rider quickly learns the difference between his huffs, growls, whines, and deep rumbles.

・He loves being spoken to—his rider can talk for hours, and he will tilt his head, blinking slowly, as if truly listening.

・He is grumpy if they don’t say good morning to him first.

・If they try to be sneaky and leave without him noticing, he immediately catches them, blocking their path with his tail.

・If they’re sitting on the ground, he rests his massive head beside them, staring with his sharp golden eyes as if expecting them to entertain him.

・A very, VERY jealous being. Caraxes does not like when his rider spends too much time with other dragons.

・If another dragon roars at his rider? Immediate retaliation. No one gets to intimidate his human.

・When his rider sighs in frustration, he mimics them with an exaggerated snort. When the rider notices and folds their arms, Caraxes pretends like he didn't do a thing.

・He hates waiting—if he is kept waiting too long, he lets out small puffs of flame, just enough to be dramatic.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Loud, Chaotic, and Full of Love

The Fierce Warrior & The Tiny Braveheart

The Overprotective Guardian

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・Syrax is highly selective of who she allows near her, yet when she first meets her rider, there is no hesitation.

・Syrax treats her rider like one of her own hatchlings, keeping them close, shielding them with her wings, and always making sure they are safe.

・This also means, they'll be able to grow up together. Since Syrax isn't very old herself.

・She is exceptionally careful around her rider, moving slowly, making sure her wings do not knock them over.

・Syrax rumbles softly whenever her rider touches her, it is a deep soothing sound that makes the ground vibrate and her rider giggle.

・She often presses her forehead against them, a sign of deep trust and affection.

・Syrax moves with grace and fluidity, twirling through the clouds in ways that make her rider laugh with joy.

・Loves when her rider runs up to her with open arms

・"We're going for a ride Syrax!" And the yellow dragon would let out a little noise in celebration

・Syrax loves spending time with her rider because she loves listening to court gossip

・And everytime she sees her rider there's a new present for her

・Sunbathing together! Syrax adores basking in the sun, and she always makes room for her rider to lie beside her on her massive wing.

・She is always listening for their voice; no matter where they are, she will hear them call her name.

・Unlike her more aggressive kin, Syrax worries about her rider. She checks on them constantly, making sure they are safe, fed, and warm.

・When waiting for food, she taps her claws rhythmically against the ground, the dragon equivalent of impatiently tapping fingers on a table.

・Syrax is not just a beast of war; she is a queen of the skies, a guardian, a mother at heart. And for her rider, she is all these things at once.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Golden Guardian

No One Touches the Little One

The Dragon Who Cares Too Much

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・Beautiful Seasmoke is graceful, swift, and playful, one of the most agile and intelligent dragons of his time.

・While he is skilled in war, he is also gentler than many of his kin, making him a perfect match for a young, adventurous rider.

・He is as mischievous as he is protective, nudging his rider toward fun but always watching carefully to keep them safe.

・Which brings me to the ultimate headcanon: Big Brother energy

・"Seasmoke, today I learnt more words in High Valyrian!"

"Hell yeah you did lil dude!" (Comes out as a roar, obviously)

・Huffs warm air over them in the morning, a gentle wake-up call that is more effective than any alarm clock.

・Seasmoke is naturally curious, and the first time he sees his rider, he doesn’t roar or threaten—he watches, head tilted in intrigue.

・Seasmoke is extremely touchy for a dragon, constantly nudging, headbutting, and wrapping his tail around his rider. Especially shows this when he's around people he doesn't like, when he's bored and wants to go for a fly etc.

・He loves flipping his wings suddenly while his rider walks nearby just to send a gust of wind their way and make them laugh.

・If his rider ever trips or falls, he immediately lowers his snout, nudging them gently as if saying, "Up, little one."

・Seasmoke chitters and warbles a lot, making soft sounds of excitement whenever he sees his rider (that's a lie, sometimes he screeches in happiness)

・He’s an expert at blending into fog, and sometimes, he plays a game where he vanishes into the mist, only to reappear behind his rider with a playful growl (this TERRIFIES onlookers)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Free Spirit & Their Loyal Dragon

The Playful Protector

Two Halves of One Soul

๋࣭⭑ 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Drogon is fierce, untamed, and utterly relentless. A creature born of fire and destruction, feared across the world.

・But to his rider, he is something different.

・His bond with them is absolute, forged in trust, protectiveness, and something almost possessive.

・'This I Will Defend' mentality.

・His protective instincts go into overdrive once the bond is in place

・Both are chaotic and want to set fire to everything. The rider has to be given a talk by their parents that they cannot do that.

・He is not just a guardian—he is a shadow over their shoulder, a fire in the dark, a force of nature that bends to no one but them.

・To the world, Drogon is death with wings, but for his rider, he lowers his massive head so they can pat his snout with tiny hands.

・He allows no one to touch or speak harshly to his rider without a deep, warning growl vibrating through his chest.

・This lets his rider get away with a lot of things aka saying the word 'no' can only be done if Drogon is not within ear-reach

・Drogon drops food at their feet, as if expecting them to eat like him. He doesn’t understand why humans insist on cooking things first.

・Drogon has no concept of personal space, and his rider is always warm whether they like it or not.

・Drogon loves to sprawl in the sun, wings half-open, scales shimmering in the light. It always makes his rider laugh, as he rolls around on his back like a big ol' pup

・If anyone tries to disturb nap time, Drogon lifts his wing slightly and growls just enough to scare them off.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Fire and Fury for the One I Love

The Monster and Their Tiny Human

You Are Mine, and I Am Yours

๋࣭⭑ 𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 ✶⋆.˚

・"Umm, what do I do with it?"

・Rhaegal is thinking his rider is a meek thing but as soon as they are face to face, Rhaegal is given orders.

・Quickly becomes proud of his rider, letting them take control and learn on their own.

・He only steps in when he thinks they need help (he knows they will never ask for help)

・Rhaegal is not a dragon who takes orders easily, but if his rider asks him to do something, he obeys without hesitation.

・If his little child rider ever wanders off, he follows at a distance, making sure they're safe without hovering too much. He guides them carefully, using his tail or wing to steer them away from danger.

・When his little rider is asleep against his side, Rhaegal wraps a wing around them, keeping them warm and protected.

・Rhaegal LOVES cool rivers and lakes, and sometimes he lets his rider splash him playfully while he watches with amusement.

・Rhaegal likes to 'hunt' gifts for his rider. So he'll bring them shiny rocks, feathers, or small bones, dropping them proudly at their feet.

・To him, the rider is his hatchling, his most precious treasure, and nothing in the world will ever harm them as long as he lives.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Only One He Listens To

The Quiet Guardian

A Bond That Needs No Words

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Oh my beloved Viserion.

・You just know that the bond would be so precious and delicate.

・He could crush his rider in an instant, yet he lowers his head so the little one can pat his snout or curl up against his warm scales.

・Vissy would definitely be upset that he couldn't sleep in his rider's room. And vice versa.

・The pale dragon loves when his rider gives him affection. Pets are good, Scratches are better.

・If he were small, he'd spend all day wrapped around his rider's neck. Sometimes he'd sleep, most of the time he'd be content just to be close to his little friend.

・When flying, Viserion is always conscientious of his rider. He doesn't want to hurt them in any way.

・If someone even raises their voice at the little rider? Viserion growls low, golden eyes locked onto the offender until they back away.

・He often circles around his rider, keeping his tail close like a barrier. No one gets near without his approval.

・The moment he senses they might be cold, he instinctively wraps his body around them, sharing his warmth like a living furnace.

・Although Viserion cannot pur, he does it in his dragon version; rumbling in a deep, soothing way

・If his rider is ever upset? He nudges them gently with his snout, blowing warm air over them in a silent gesture of comfort.

・The child rides him before anyone else does. No saddle, no commands; just pure trust.

・He’s extremely playful; flicking snow at his rider with his tail, letting them ‘chase’ him in a game of tag, always careful never to move too fast.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Gentle Giant x Tiny Companion

You’re My Hatchling Now

The Only One Who Understands Him

𝒈𝒊𝒇/𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

@drogonthered

@ariesfusion

@daenerys-stormborn

@onyxstorms

YokSArt on ig

Tuğce Karaburçak

irises.art on ig

eiobya on ig

@eiralune on X