#just a touch of misogyny but not for long

[chososcutie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ HONEYMOON OR BUST ⸝⸝ .ᐟ⋆

pairing ── satoru gojo x reader

teaser ── after being forced into an arranged marriage, you're expected to have heirs, with a husband who hates you! will a honeymoon that leaves you stuck with him in a snowy cabin for a week filled with awkward moments and charged tension change that? or will it reveal the harsh reality of the cold, loveless marriage you've been forced into?

content ── fem!reader, angsty ending, spitting, degrading, rough fucking, hate sex, forced proximity, masturbation, fingering, breeding kink, oral (fem!recieving), teasing, pregnancy, mention of cheating, thigh fucking, pussy slapping, slight misogyny, name-calling, one bed troupe, accidental indecency, enemies-to-lovers

count ── 8k

PART I

heirs.

the word lingers in your mind as the banquet ends, as you walk out in your too-tight wedding dress, even as the carriage comes that was to take you to your honeymoon.

it wasn't fair.

they had never told you that this was expectation.

not only had the monarchy stolen your life, your future, your dreams, but now they were forcing you into a mother?

your face darkens, shadowed by the veil, as you walk beside your husband, the send-off for the honeymoon commencing.

"long live the king!"

"may the crown forever be bound upon your brows!"

"may god bless you with a fruitful womb!"

next to you, satoru's jaw tightens ever so slightly, his haunting silence, coupled with his formal white robes sweeping behind him giving him a ghost-like illusion.

you didn't know what he was thinking, but at least you knew he had been out of the loop too, judging by his cold expression.

from the sounds and looks everyone around you were giving however, you knew that they were assuming you were both just itching to rip off each other's clothes and consummate the marriage, but you didn't even know if you could stomach to look at him let alone touch him, and from the storm brewing in his cerulean blue eyes, glinting with something dangerous that warned not to be messed with, you sensed he felt much of the same.

you're snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of hoofbeats and a heavy, latched door creaking open halfway, revealing the mode of transportation you were to take.

and oh, was it a sight to behold.

fully decked out in lace, satiny curtains draping over the windows, it was painted a pinkish rose gold and pearly white hue, adorned with golden wheels that seemed to swell under the light of the fading twilight sky.

it was a love carriage, meant to bring feelings of romance and tension into the air, perfect for a couple heading to their honeymoon.

but unfortunately for you, however, this arrangement was anything but romantic.

the terse quietness between the two of you only thickens tenfold once the doors slam shut behind you, the loud clapping and cheering of the people watching you two abruptly cutting off as you're left alone together for the first time that night.

and for a long moment, no one speaks.

but just as you think you’re in the clear, starting to relax into the seat, you hear satoru's hollow voice, tinged with bitterness as he continues looking straight ahead. "did you know?"

you quickly turn to face him, shock creeping its way into your words. "how could i have known? i told you that i didn't want this either but you seem to believe it's all my fault."

“i never said that.” he says dryly.

you both lapse into silence once more, your hands curled into neat fists in your lap while satoru sits stiffly, back straight as a board.

the nerve of this man. for him to assume you wanted this marriage, that you wanted his kids, that you even wanted to be queen.

you shook slightly beside him, infuriated and wondering how you were ever going to get through this cursed honeymoon.

from the bits and pieces of this arrangement you had been made aware of, it was to take place in a distant, secluded cabin, decked out with a master suite and hot tub, in a mountainous taiga.

when you thought of an ideal honeymoon, you had always dreamed of going somewhere faraway and warm, a nice contrast to your own dreary kingdom with its blustery weather and snowcapped peaks. but that, along with everything else in your life, had been stolen from you, snatched out of your control and decided for you.

just like him.

you look over to satoru again, only to find him as far from you as possible, sulking while he stares out the window pointedly. his arms are folded across his silky white monarch robes, the contrast between his royal lineage and childish antics almost jolting.

finally, a couple hours later, you arrive at your secluded honeymoon estate: a big wooden framed cabin with high cobblestone chimneys, with a roof topped in powdery white, and heavy log walls awaiting you both.

the idea was to have a completely deserted, isolated cottage in the middle of the woods all to yourselves so you can focus on.. indulging in each other, and sealing the marriage forevermore so to speak.

and it was half working so far because the second the carriage set off again back the way it came, it was just you and satoru.

alone.

together.

"i.." you begin uncertainly, but he quickly interrupts, voice brisk and cold.

"you take the left side rooms, and i’ll remain on the right. over the duration of this week you are not to bother me, until i decide fit." he says crisply, before walking away from you toward the estate, his robes swishing behind him.

oh. so that was how it was going to be?

you stare after him for a moment, hurt creeping into your senses for a brief second before you shake it off. just when you had thought you two were finally getting to have an understanding of each other...

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY ONE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

on first sight, the cabin looks large, at least enough to fit two people and still be spacious, but the truth was the inside was tiny. cramped, even.

the second you enter, you’re instantly slapped in the face with the heady scent of loud, sensual perfume and rose petals making a pathway across the planked wooden floor.

irritatedly, satoru ducks his head through the doorway. he was too tall to even fit!

“well.” his gaze sweeps around, making mental notes of what your arrangements would be. “it seems to be.. smaller than i imagined.”

it was a three-room cabin to be exact, with a bed, a bathroom, and a cramped kitchen. the only saving grace was the bubbling, frothing hot tub outside with more rose petals decorating the top along with two flutes of champagne set beside it romantically.

“let’s see how big the bed is..” his broad frame disappears into the room, with you following suit as you take in the obnoxiously overdone romantic setting.

there’s candles, dimmed lights, the works. it was like they were begging you to fuck each other.

the bedroom was even worse.

a king size, with curtains draping over everything dramatically, it was a sight in itself, maroon red covers highlighting the seductiveness of the room.

“looks like we’re sharing a bed again.” you come behind him, trying to suppress the scorn in your voice unsuccessfully, watching as his shoulders tense in agitation.

“they told me it was bigger..” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing with a scowl.

with a small sigh, you flop onto the bed, your overly exuberant wedding dress you were still wearing billowing around you, and lifting up slightly.

you didn’t realize how much however, until you hear satoru’s soft inhale of breath and look down to see your delicate lace garter exposed, wrapped on your plush thigh with a pretty white bow.

you had forgotten your wedding dressers had made you wear one for the purposes of tradition, and you had relented solely because of the fact you were certain that, garter or no garter, satoru would not touch you either way.

noticing his visible reaction, you can’t help the urge to sling your leg further upward to reveal more of your tantalizing skin, his eyes devouring every inch you offer him.

before you can go any further however, he reaches for you, warm calloused hands skimming across your skin, and igniting a fire low in your stomach as he pulls the poofy tulle of your skirt down to cover you again. his hands linger for a moment longer than necessary before he draws back, a firm little scowl gracing his pink lips.

“it's not ladylike to showcase yourself off like a slut, princess. didn’t your kingdom teach you that?”

he spits 'kingdom' out like a foul tasting word, not giving you the chance to respond before departing again, the bathroom door slamming closed behind him.

the second he leaves, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, the ghost of his searing touch still fresh in your mind as you lay back against the covers, eyes wide.

later, as you're tucking yourself into bed after changing out of your stuffy wedding clothes, satoru finally reappears.

his hair is sticking up in wet little spikes, and he’s wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants. leaning against the doorway with his hands folded across his chest, he's the epitome of effortless beauty.

"god, so eager to be in bed with me already, hm?" he tilts his head at you, sharp blue eyes boring into yours, his tone cruel and mocking.

you scoff, turning on your side to face away from him. "yeah, you wish."

he hums softly in disagreement, before the mattress dips under his weight as he slides in to bed next to you.

with all the lights off, and flickering candles casting the room in a warm glow, the moment becomes more intimate, the press of his body to your back causing you to become sleepy beneath the covers.

pathetic, you think to yourself ruefully.

you should hate the man for everything he had said and done, but all you seem to do is just let him have his way, complying like the good little wifey you’ve been reduced to.

but before you have time to further evaluate and let shame overwhelm you, you begin to drift off, the promise of dark surrender claiming you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY TWO ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

when you wake up in the morning, the bed is empty with nothing but rumpled sheets left in satoru's place, and after eating some breakfast, you decide now is as good a time as any to take some time to yourself, and try out the hot, new bubbling jacuzzi in all its glory, before he gets back.

luckily, along with the cottage you were staying at, clothes and swimsuits had been provided, curtesy of the royal family, and should be in the drawer right.. there!

"aha!" triumphantly, your fingers feel the stretchy elastic texture of a bathing suit, pulling it out only for your eyes to practically pop out of your head at the sight before you; a matching white tiny tube bikini top, paired with minuscule thong bottoms.

"no no.." you murmur under your breath, quickly rifling through the drawer for other options, but of course, that's the only bikini there is.

you sigh to yourself. naturally, your tits were going to be popping out of this top, and your ass would be exposed, but you would just have to make it work.

squeezing into it proved to be a bit of a challenge as they obviously hadn't taken your sizing into consideration, but you manage to do it with minimal cleavage being pushed up though more than you would like.

and finally, finally, you get inside the jacuzzi, the water steaming hot and bubbling, your head lolling back with pleasure as the jets do their work.

"ughh, this is just what i needed after.. satoru?"

you startle as you see the familiar white-haired man standing in front of you, widened azure eyes taking in the way you're sprawled in the hot tub, foam surrounding you in your skimpy little bikini and leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

instinctively, you slink down into the water, hoping he can't see you too well.

"can’t a girl enjoy herself alone? i’m trying out the jacuzzi."

his eyes rove over you intensely, expression unreadable. "your tits are out."

after a moment of silence where you clear your throat awkwardly and shift, he doesn't get the hint, brazenly going on. "hah.. but you knew that, right? you probably want me to look at you, yeah? show off those pretty breasts because they're all you have to offer.."

"oh just shut up! leave for god's sake!" you growl, teeth gritted so tight you're surprised they don't crack.

but instead of relenting, his brows furrow, as if contemplating something.

“hold on, i think i have a swimsuit too..”

that led to a few minutes later when a very shirtless satoru, wearing swim trunks that look a size too tight, slides in beside you.

you try to look anywhere but his muscular chest, but it proves difficult with the way his arms reach up around his head, biceps prominent and pale pink nipples tantalizingly close to your face.

instantly as he gets in, his shorts plaster themselves like a second skin to his muscular thighs, revealing a very big bulge straining against the fabric, the sight so erotic your cheeks flush as you look away.

he sighs softly while the steaming hot water laps around his body, tilting his head to look at you. “so about that swimsuit.. is skimpy the look you're going for, or do you enjoy whoring yourself out..?"

you wave him off with a scoff. “yeah, yeah. you're the one wearing speedos.”

satoru moves slightly at that, shifting into a manspread, with his hips lifting up and his cock so noticeably outlined, you can’t help it when naturally your eyes are drawn toward him, mouth going dry at his pure size. you only manage to tear yourself away when you hear his soft hum of amusement next to you.

"well clearly you like it, you dirty little slut."

guiltily, you glance up, about to stutter for a response when his eyes search yours, heat swirling in them for a second as his lips hover over yours.

just a little closer and..

“are your nipples always this hard or is it just for me?” smugly, he glowers at you and with a horrified glance down, you find he’s right, your nipples pebbled and standing at attention, almost see-through in your flimsy excuse of a swimsuit.

you quickly get up, water rolling off your sheened body, glaring daggers at satoru. screaming out a “shut up perv!” before disappearing back into the house, satoru watching your ass jiggle in the tiny microthong you had on with curved lips and a growing boner.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY THREE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

after yesterday’s disaster of a tranquil time in the jacuzzi, you decided today that you would take advantage of the wintry landscape you had become stranded in, and hike through the taiga trees alone.

it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at first, it’d do you good to get out of the house and away from that royal pain-in-the ass, but now two miles in, frozen cold, shivering, and more than a little lost, the idea wasn’t as appealing.

"f-fuck.." you shudder, blowing on your hands and rubbing them together while peering around at the haze of trees, each so similar you can't tell if you've been walking in circles this whole time or not. "s-so c-cold.."

and then, just as you go to step, twigs cracking underfoot, your ankle twists, your heart dropping as you hear a snap! before pain washes over your entire leg, and you tumble down onto the icy ground, everything going black.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

when you regain consciousness again, you feel yourself being jerked and jostled around, still heavily disoriented.

you're moving, you realize, and someone is holding you, a toned chest radiating heat pressed firmly against you, along with arms looped underneath your legs, carrying you bridal style.

he huffs softly in your ear, and instantly, you recognize his breathing patterns from the nights you had spent in the same bed.

satoru.

for a second, you let yourself slump into his tight grip, your leg aching, and eyes half-closed, but then the hand he's using to support underneath your legs tightens, squeezing you, and you feel your breath stutter.

“i know you’re awake.”

dropping the act, you blink your eyes open to stare at his looming figure. how did he find you? when you hadn’t returned, had he been worried about.. you?

“don’t read too much into it.” he says gruffly, shifting you in his arms as he opens the door to the cabin, and carries you to the bedroom to lay you gently down.

“now where does it hurt?”

you sniffle, trying to sit up to show him, but quickly he pushes you back to lay down, his hand splaying across your chest and shoving roughly, the action almost provocative.

“words.”

“m-my ankle. i think i twisted it, and when i fell, i heard a snap.”

his gaze is focused on your foot, and he nods, before holding it up to examine.

“it doesn’t look broken. i’ll get some ice and wrap it, but it’s probably just a sprain.”

he stands up, but before he can leave, you grip onto his sleeve, stopping him. he looks back, eyes raking over your face.

“hey. thank you, for saving me.”

his eyes linger on your lips for a second before he turns back around. “it was nothing.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY FOUR ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

with your sore ankle, you hadn’t been able to move around as much, and as a result, had been cooped up in the stuffy cabin with satoru, his habits getting increasingly more and more annoying as the hours went on.

"sa-toru! put the fuckin' toilet seat down, damnit!"

you hear his voice lilted with mockery as he calls back, "oh my, what a filthy mouth you’ve got on you.."

you want to slap him. you're going to slap him.

in an effort to calm yourself, and keep yourself occupied, you decide to take a bath, thinking the hot water will soothe your violent urges, and your achey ankle.

a few minutes pass, with you wallowing in tepid water, cold and wet, and with a frustrated groan, you get up, realizing this isn’t helping. silken droplets roll off you in beads, as you prepare to grab a towel when suddenly..

creeeeak!

"you wanna take a little longer? c’mon some of us gotta..”

satoru stops in his tracks, head poking through the door when he spots you, completely naked, your body dripping wet and glistening. his blue eyes immediately rake up n’ down, and you swear his pants grow bigger, heat rising to his cheeks.

“satoru! i’m.. get out!”

your hands fly to cover yourself, while he’s left checking you out shamelessly, practically drooling as he eyes you like a dog in heat.

“get! ouuuut!” you slam the door in his face before slumping down, staring in disbelief as your hands slowly fall to your sides.

oh. my. god.

this man really was going to kill you.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you realized that in your marriage, you would have to see each other intimately eventually, especially now that you were expected to have heirs, but it was still so unexpected for him to barge in on you like that..

you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment at the memory as you lie in bed, waiting for satoru to come to your shared room, and poke fun at you.

but.. the moment never comes as seconds stretch into minutes and then to hours, and darkness steadily overtakes the room.

maybe he had finally decided to sleep on the couch..

huh. you turn over, eyes beginning to droop in the quietness of night. oh well. at least you had the bed to yourself!

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY FIVE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

two big, calloused hands come to your plush thighs, pushing them apart with a soft sigh, already fucked out just by the sight of your drenched pussy, glistening with strings of your slick arousal running down between your legs.

he murmurs something too low for you to hear, before two thick fingers come to glide over the slippery sheen of your cunt, causing your hips to buck up instinctively, the space between your thighs widening. he obediently lowers his head before nuzzling it between you, and staring up at you with big azure eyes that practically beg for you to let him eat your pussy.

“toru..” you manage to breathe out through small heaves, and that’s all it takes for his hot, slithery tongue to run up your folds before beginning to lap sloppily at your pulsing core, uncaring of the pools of spit and drool he’s leaving in his wake.

“hah.. s-shit, slow down..” you whine, eyes scrunched closed tightly at the foreign feeling, and building heat in your abdomen. no one had ever touched you like this before.

encouraged, his head presses further into you, soft mussed hair tickling you as his nose bumps your clit with every kitten lick on your throbbing nub, until you feel hot all over, and a weird sensation fluttering around in your stomach.

you feel satoru moan into you, hands coming to your hips to press you harder into his eager mouth as you grind your pussy sloppily on his face, chasing the feeling of the very tips of white pleasure starting to blacken the edges of your vision.

your walls clench as his tongue pushes in to you, before he pulls back, smacking his lips together and taking your puffy bud into his mouth and sucking hard, groaning out at your sweet candied taste.

your mouth drops open, a hoarse moan spilling out as your legs tighten around his head, and then you’re cumming harder than you ever have.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you tear your covers off, body covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, and panting heavily, your panties absolutely soaked through.

a wet dream. you had just had a wet dream about satoru.

fuck.

you slowly swing your feet from the bed, placing them down gingerly on the creaking floorboards, praying he wasn’t up.

you needed to clean yourself up after the embarrassing mess you had just made, so you head to the bathroom, being as quiet as possible.

and just when you think you're in the clear, pushing the slightly ajar bathroom door to open wider..

plap! plap! plap!

satoru, in all his glory stands before the mirror, head tilted back and panting softly with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and a hand wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking himself off furiously.

and the first thing you think is that he’s huung. absolutely enormous, his reddened length twitching and oozing with sheens of glossy precum dripping all over his hand and down his wrist, veins thump thumping! an erratic tempo as you watch his throat bob in a swallow.

he must already be close, judging by the soft grunts he's letting out and the increasingly filthy noises his hot, pulsing member makes as his hips thrust in and out of his hand, fat cock just weeping with syrupy slick.

schlick! schlick!

in fact, he's juuust about to cum, his breath picking up speed as his thrusts get sloppier, squeezing his veiny base hard when you finally speak.

“satoru.”

that single breath of his name is all it takes to finally snap his attention toward where you’re staring at him, his cerulean eyes widening as his hand instantly stills.

but it’s too late.

his drooling slit is already gushing ribbons n' ribbons of hot, sweltering seed, oozing out in creamy little pulses as he shudders, trying to fight it even as his eyes roll back and his hips twitch pathetically.

his half-lidded eyes make their way over to you, and the sight of him is almost pornographic: muscular hulking frame with splatterings of cum pooling all over his abdominals, and seemingly endless spurts of his load continuously spilling out of the reddish divot on his thickened tip.

it's then that you're finally able to make yourself move, tearing yourself out of your trance as you slam the door hard, sprinting away to anywhere but where he is.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you don’t see satoru for the whole rest of the day.

at least, not until it starts snowing, and snowing hard.

a blizzard, would be the only way to describe it, as flurries of icy white swirl around in frenzies, the snow on your door piling up inch by inch, until at least a foot blocks the doorway.

of course, satoru finally reappears right before the snowing worsens, and the weather condition becomes severe.

you swallow thickly, looking up at his impassable face, wondering what you're going to say to break the silent tension before suddenly..

BZZZT!

the lights flicker, before shutting off entirely, leaving you both in utter pitch-black with the snowfall steadily increasing outside, raging against your windows with growing intensity.

the electricity.

“shit..” you breathe, the darkness discombobulating you as you try to find yourself, hands waving around only to encounter something thick and hot, jumping beneath your touch, and an involuntary noise caught between a groan and a whimper leaving satoru’s mouth.

oh god.

“that was my-”

“yep got it..”

before he can say more, you start walking away, cheeks burning and glad that he at least couldn’t see your face in the dark.

you needed to fix the electricity before you could worry about satoru, and so you try to make your way toward where you knew the power box was located, stumbling and tripping as minimally as you could manage.

just as you think you’re about to make it though, your head knocks hard against someone else’s, practically rattling your teeth with the force of it.

“oh my god, try and be a little more careful, why don’t you? fuck.” comes a slightly raspy baritone, as familiar as it was infuriating.

“satoru? uungh ow..” you rub your head sorely for a few seconds, before starting to place your hands around to locate the circuit breaker.

“what do you think you're doing?” his hands brush yours for a second as he reaches across you to start fiddling with the panel you had just found.

“fixing our electricity, how about you?”

he chuckles, the sound condescending. “just back up, let me take care of this. it’s a man’s job after all. you probably don’t even know what a fuse looks like.”

your jaw drops open. “you misogynistic fucker. you’re saying that because i’m a woman, i can’t do it?”

“no, i’m saying that a prissy little bimbo like you can’t do it. that has nothing to do with women.” he opens the panel with ease, arms casually stretched around you as he works.

you’re practically shaking with anger now at his almost constant undermining remarks of your stature and capabilities. it was all getting to be too much.

unaware of your oncoming rage, his hand feels around inside before you hear the soft flick! of a switch, and the lights turn back on.

satoru turns to you, mouth smugly curved up as he mock-dusts his hands. “easy-peasy.”

you’re on him in a heartbeat, face inches from his as you curl your hand around the collar of his shirt, pushing him hard against the wiry boxes and circuits littering the walls. “why are you so determined to treat me like some commonplace whore who can’t even separate her right hand from her left? why can’t you treat me like a person? i’m your wife for god’s sake, you’re supposed to have heirs with me and lead this kingdom to prosperity at my side, and you can’t even let me flick a goddamn switch?!”

he pauses, and it surprises you when you feel his chest shaking beneath your palms, mouth wide and laughing, almost maniacally. “god. why does everyone keep talking about heirs?”

you swallow, watching him go on, giggling with hysterics, the sound almost chilling.

his head slowly falls back, looking at you then, crystalline eyes wide with something dangerous and rough glinting in his pupils.

“they want heirs, huh? let’s give it to them then, sweetheart.”

you gasp as in an instant, he has you against a table, flipping you effortlessly as his hot, pulsing cock presses up against your ass, his hips rolling forward with a small groan.

you can’t help the way you buck back into him, body begging for more as your breathing increases and your core pulses with need.

“you like that, huh? heh.. fighting so hard to say you’re not a whore yet you melt at the slightest touch..”

“oh s-shut up.” you grit out as his grinding increases, clearly getting more n’ more worked up by your arguing. “you’re the one who.. ah.. was jerking off.. ngh.”

he growls at that, forcing your head back with a sharp tug to your hair. “that’s just a natural physical form of release. was just a bit.. hnngh.. pent up, is all.”

you arch your back and tantalizingly begin to sway your ass against his throbbing boner, his head tipping back with a hoarse grunt. "you're sure it wasn't a coincidence that you just happened to see me naked before that?"

his hot breath huffs against you as he humps into you with fervor, grabby hands making their way to your hips to pull you harshly against him, forcing you to bend over more as his fat cock nestles into your clothed cunt. "j-just shut up, and take off your pants.."

without wasting another second, your fingers hook in the waistband, shoving them off you as you let clothing pool to the ground before shifting to widen your legs.

“fuck, you’re dripping princess..” he moans softly as his thick fingers come to dip inside your panties, smearing globs of your sloshing slick around.

you whine, trying to move yourself back into him for more but he quickly pulls his slender digits out, popping them into his mouth and sucking your essence off with a groan.

“oh c’mon, just fuck me already!” you pant, getting impatient as you curl your fists tightly around the edge of the table.

“stupid.. hah.. kingdom forcing me to marry a fuckin’ brat..”

you mewl then as you feel him coming to wedge his hot, weighty shaft pulsing and throbbing against you bare, his soft breaths becoming sharper in your ear as he slathers his oozing, slippery sheens of glossy precum on you.

“they wan’ a heir so bad, i’ll give ‘em a heir.. now, open those slutty legs..” he whispers roughly, sounding strained and desperate as his hand snakes between your thighs to part them enough to slide his cock in between, slowly fucking into your tantalizingly plush skin.

and then, you’re gasping for breath, your body feverish as his thickened, angry mushroom head is bumpin’ hard against your pussy, causing you to clench around nothing.

chuckling hoarsely, he grips his weeping length tightly before roughly slapping it against your cunt, again n’ again until you’re practically sobbing, “please, sa-toru! god, ngh.. put it in, put it in..!”

teasingly, he swipes his thickened cock head against your entrance, collecting your generous slick, before pushing juuust the tip in, enough for your walls to tighten harshly in an attempt to suck him in further but to no avail.

“you ready to give the crown a baby? yeah?” his hand comes to wrap tightly around your throat, almost choking you as he purrs into your ear. “gonna be all pregnant swollen up with my kid? these pretty tits filled with milk?”

for emphasis, his other hand roughly grabs at your breast, squeezing tightly, and making you cry out, bucking back into him.

"yes! just.. give it to me 'toru fuck!"

he snickers, and then, in one harsh, ruthless thrust, buries himself to the hilt deep inside you, until his tip is pressed up right against your cervix, and heavy, twitchy balls slap your ass with his sheer force.

your tight, gummy walls instantly clamp hard around him in welcome as you practically scream, clawing at the table desperately.

"yeahh sweetheart, milk me dry.. you want this fuckin' baby, don'tcha?" he reels back his hips, before harshly plowing into you, the slap! of skin against skin echoing as his brutal pace makes your mind go blank, eyes half-lidded and jaw slacken with drool seeping from the corners. you were already cock-drunk!

his nasty hips only grow rockier as you pant out a dazed, "toru.. hnngh!" and he quickly reaches a hand to pull back your head, tapping on your cheek meanly. "open."

you do, and his eyes flicker before he leans forward to spit a heavy wad of hot, pooling saliva into your awaiting mouth, watching with satisfaction as you swallow instinctively.

you feel his hands reach down, both of them curling around your stomach to hold you steady, as he heaves out a, "ohh-h, i'm.. ah.. allll the way in here."

his palm slides to your abdominals, just above your belly button, where the veiny outline of his girthy cock is barely visible, disappearing and reappearing obscenely with every punctuated thrust.

his curved dick hits directly into your cushy, sweet spot and you can't help but squeal, trying to both grind on him and move away from the huge, twitching member absolutely ruining your insides.

"stop.. hnngh.. squirming!" satoru's eyes are rolled all the way back in his head as he continues to hit even deeper into your poor, abused cunt, landing a sharp smack! on your twitchy clit, your pouty sheened lips opening in a small o'.

he rocks himself steadily into you, before you're sobbing out so brokenly, your tummy knotting tighter n' tighter until achingly you register the way you're cumming and cumming hard, so much slick gushing out of you, the force of it pushes satoru's cock back a few inches, small heaving gasps coming from you as your vision turns black and spotty.

he groans then, cerulean eyes peering so hazily at the messy sight laid before him as sloppily, his pace is increasing with an almost primal kind of need, his textured, washboard abs bumping against your back while he mashes his thickened tip into your cervix repeatedly.

and then, you feel him shudder behind you, dragging his hefty, swollen cock languidly deeper into your pulsating walls, as loads n' loads of sweltering hot, glossy white seed are oozing steadily into you, so much of it that it's pooling below you, your overspilling cunt gaping as it trickles down between your thighs.

"take it, take it all.." he's heaving out from behind you, hands coming to splay out on the table in front of you as he pushes his hips experimentally forward, watching the way more creamy filth instantly sloshes down your legs.

and then, he's spinning you around and lifting you by the hips to lay flat against the table, roughly shoving your legs up by your head, heavy cock still oh so hard and swollen inside of you.

growling a sultry, "damn kingdom wants me to fuck a baby into you so bad then that's what they're gonna get.."

⊱ ׅ ۫ ׅ✧ ── DAY SIX ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

the next morning, you wake up so sore and battered from the night before you can barely move.

after going for several rounds, satoru taking you in every position imaginable, you both had collapsed onto the bed in a tangled heap of arms and legs, your sweaty bodies molded together stickily, and now with morning sunlight filtering through the window to shine brightly onto your face, you open your hazy eyes to find satoru's face nuzzled into your neck, snoring softly.

because even after all that rough sex and hate-fucking as he spat on you, degraded you, and cooed at you mockingly while you struggled to take all of his monstrous cock on your own, he was still cuddled up to you like a sleepy puppy, his soft white hair tickling you as his arms wrap around you, holding you tighter.

"satoruu.." you poke his cheek, shifting in his arms.

he only lets out a small whine of protest before moving his pale freckled face away from you in irritation.

oh for fuck's sake. you manage to free both hands from where his heavy body has you pinned, before shoving on his chest as hard as you can.

thump!

he groans, cerulean blue eyes instantly opening to glare up at you as you peek over the edge of the bed at him.

"fuck was that for?" he demands, toned back and muscles rippling tantalizingly. he was still naked from last night.

you blink at him innocently, tender doe-eyed gaze growing even more sickly sweet. "need you to get up. i want a bath."

he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face in annoyance. "yeah? why can't you do it yourself?"

you pout at him, glossy lips sticking out dramatically. "you were the one who made me all messy n' sticky! s' only fair!"

"well who said they wanted me to cum all over her t-"

he's cut off as a soft pillow comes sailing in the air toward him, hitting him straight in the head with a small "oomph!".

"shut up, and make me a bath." you say plainly.

he grabs you so quick you can only squeal as he stands and grips the soft skin of your hips tightly, pulling you toward him and pinning you while his mouth huffs above yours.

"wanna say that again? i don't take demands from naughty princesses like you." his eyes narrow, flickering with heat. "and what you did last night was naughty."

you try and push his broad frame off you, but when that doesn't work, decide to instead try another tactic. "yeah? help me remember, was it when i rode you just like this..?"

you make an effort to squirm and grind your body under him, adding a few overexaggerated moans for effect, watching as his eyes turn half-lidded, his breathing coming in faster pants.

"orrr was it when i sucked your cock so good, you were almost in tears..?" teasingly, you let your eyes roll back, mock-gagging while faintly bobbing your head.

he swallows thickly, and you look down to see his length, leaky and hard, pulsating to life right before you.

"oh oh! i know! was it when i.."

quickly, he slaps a hand over your mouth, groaning out a, "fuck just shut up!" before his mouth is on yours, and he's claiming your tongue in a hot, sloppy kiss, as his hands find their way dragging down your body lower n' lower until his heated kisses and rough touches are all you can remember, teasing and mocking long-forgotten.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY SEVEN ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

today was the day that you both would return to the kingdom, escorted by horse-drawn carriages, and royal banners waving in the air, welcomed to the palace as official monarchs.

it was a big day, and you tucked your lip between your teeth nervously as you laced your corset up, fluffy tulle skirt sweeping around you.

after today, you would be queen of the gojo clan, forever dutiful to the throne up until the day you died.

you swallow thickly, making some last minute adjustments to yourself in the mirror when suddenly you feel a sharp, stinging smack! to your ass.

before you can react, satoru is already sidling up behind you, pressing his front flush against you, thick girthy outline prodded into your back as he whispers, “that dress is so tight on you.”

“toru, you pervert!” you wheel around, scowling firmly as you push him back, trying not to reveal how dizzy his touch makes you, watching him stumble back with mouth curved in a smirk, his eyes heavy and lustful.

“quickie before we go?” he steps forward again to close the distance, hand wrapping around your waist as his hips roll forward temptingly, causing you to suck in a breath, restraining yourself.

“no! they’re close, i can see the carriages in the distance!”

it was true. faintly outlined in the horizon, a whole army of royal steeds were quickly approaching, trumpets distantly playing with the stamp of the gojo clan drawn up high.

“fine.” he huffs, dragging you to him to spin you around and catch you in a dip. “how ‘bout a kiss?”

your eyes narrow on him suspiciously but you relent nonetheless, his glossy, candied lips crashing onto yours in a craze as he takes much more than a kiss from you.

he sucks your top lip into his mouth loudly, groaning softly at your taste before his tongue lewdly tangles with yours, pools of hot saliva mixing together.

in fact, you’re so caught up in him, you don’t even realize he’s moving you both until he slams you against the wall, one hefty thigh slotting its way between your legs to hold all of your weight, never breaking the kiss.

“toru.. mmph!” you try to break away to speak but he doesn’t let you, fervent mouth sliding against yours as he slowly lifts his leg higher, until he’s applying pressure directly to your pulsating core, an instinctive moan drifting its way out of your mouth.

you drag yourself along his thigh urgently, grinding back n’ forth and letting out small whimpers into his mouth, but suddenly, he stops, breaking the kiss with strings of saliva stretching between your lips as he peers at you, panting softly.

the moment turns more intimate as he hesitates, hand coming to caress your cheek almost softly, his eyes studying you with something you can’t quite decipher. “you know things are going to be different once we return to the kingdom, right?”

you hesitate. “different..?”

at the furrow that appears between your eyebrows, your eyes drifting to the fast-approaching carriage, he kisses you on the lips, this time softer, gentler, as if he’s apologizing for something you don’t know about, his hands drifting around your waist to press you firmer into him. “come, my queen.”

and with that, his hand comes to curl at the small of your back like he hadn't said anything, ushering you out the door and toward the carriages awaiting you, leaving your mind to spin with a complicated mess of emotions.

a few weeks go by following you and satoru's arrival to the kingdom, and you had slowly begun to see him less and less, as the demand for his presence steadily increases, his duties causing him to be away from the palace almost constantly.

and though you hated to admit it to yourself, the times he would come home, hurried and barely sparing you a glance before being rushed away, something different and unexpectedly warm would blossom up into your chest at the sight of him.

sometimes, he would sneak away to find you in your room, his eyes heated and low as he quickly pinned down your plush body, his chubbed cock already grinding against the softness of your stomach while he would kiss you tenderly like there wasn't anyone else in the world but you.

and, in the deep, achey recesses of your heart, that longed for something resembling affection without ever truly receiving it before, it felt like making love.

always by the time you woke up in the morning though, he'd be gone, nothing but rumpled sheets left in his place and the clinging scent of his cologne.

and as time passes, he appears less and less, until you never saw him at all, stuck lording over a lonely castle with nothing but the servants to keep you company, as even then your mind was clouded with thoughts of that familiar, infuriating smirk and enchanting blue eyes.

until one fateful day, it happened.

you had woken up, your head pounding and more than a little dizzy, feeling acid rush to your throat and fill your mouth, running to the toilet to gag over it, before slumping back down defeatedly.

you had been feeling sick lately, a little out of sorts with your body, and had also noticed how you were beginning to grow softer in some parts, more plush and chubby where you had once been less so.

and as you sat, with your head in your hands, leaned over the ceramic toilet bowl, you felt it.

a kick.

just barely, but you knew then, that you were with child.

you felt tears beginning to prick at your lashes, the joy of life setting in as you imagined how satoru would react, hoping that this would at least mean he could stay home more frequently, caring for you and cooing over your belly with a fatherly smile on his lips.

as soon as you're done cleaning yourself up in fact, putting on a sheer silk gossamer that showed off your tummy's newfound plumpness, you're already sending the servants off to retrieve satoru at once, sitting primly on the bed as you wait, with thoughts of his face when he found out already running through your head fondly.

finally, you hear the tell-tale creak of the door, and then rapid footsteps approaching as a slightly rumpled satoru appears, running his hands through messy white hair, looking as beautiful as ever.

“sorry, was busy.” his eyes dip down to what you’re wearing before flicking away, seeming almost distracted and out of it. “did you need something?”

you shift, smile slightly dimming. “yes, actually, i was just going to tell you.. well.. i’m expecting.”

he doesn’t even react to your words, nodding briskly like this was planned all along as he turns to leave again. “good, now that we have the heir, it’ll make a lot of things easier.”

he’s halfway out the door when you pull him back by the sleeve, eyes searching his.

“you aren’t going to stay with me?”

he sighs, turning back as if talking to a confused child. “of course not, i have kingly duties that need immediate attending. you will stay with the child, until its of an independent age to be comfortable on its own.”

your eyes narrow on him. “why are you treating this like a business transaction? i’m your wife, your queen, and i’m carrying your future child. don’t you care about that more than your kingdom?”

he rolls bored, blue eyes, the conversation obviously too dull for his tastes.

“i told you this was never going to be anything more than a marriage of convenience.” he moves to leave again, but you block the door, tears starting to brim in your eyes.

“so all of this meant nothing?”

he stares at you hard then, his next words ones you would repeat to yourself for the rest of your life. “it never was something to begin with.”

in a final attempt to get him to stay, you whisper hoarsely, “i-i love you, doesn’t that mean something?”

his cold, mountainous eyes that have never been more distant from you turn mean then, into something harsh, something angry. “you don’t get to fucking say that. not after everything you’ve done to ruin my life.”

you shove him slightly then, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. “what have i ever done to you besides be your wife?”

he looks away, swallowing angrily. “before you came along, i had a wife. a very pregnant wife. she wasn’t royalty but she was mine. and then my stupid father found out about us, and arranged a marriage immediately in place of her, to avoid scandal and protect the gojo clan name. bringing you.”

you can do nothing but stare, eyes wide as your body seems to cower before him. “w-what? you have another woman?”

he rubs a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to get through to you. “don’t you get it? you’re the other woman. this..”he gestures between you wildly. “.. is nothing more than publicity and a cover-up.”

you sniffle softly, as he roughly pushes past you to get out the door.

that was the last time you ever saw him.

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @stickyyyv4mp @lady-of-blossoms @mashtura @ssetsuka @satoruxsc @literallydea @mikkmmmii @iluvgogurt445 @bbutter-flyy @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @miizuzu @whytfisgojosohot @gojosatorusprettyprincess @melotter

[navybrat817]

Jawbreaker

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky put a mouthy rookie in his place. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Established relationship, mention of injury, misogyny, punching, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes defending you (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm dedicating this to @whisperlullaby , who got to read this in advance, because she deserves this man (along with the rest of you). ❤️Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A small part of Bucky felt bad as he idly wiped his hand with a towel. A very small part.

He didn’t want people to fear him because of his past and he refused to let it define him. That meant that he tried his best to avoid violent tactics unless absolutely necessary.

But today, well, fuck that. The fucker had it coming.

Steve stood in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed as he waited for his best friend to acknowledge him.

Oh, Bucky expected some sort of reprimand, but he was sure Steve would change his tune in a minute or so.

“You gonna ask me what happened, punk, or glare at me until I talk?” He asked, tossing the towel away.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t look amused. “Why did you break that rookie’s jaw?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What’s the phrase? He fucked around and found out.”

You would’ve been proud of him for that reference.

Steve shook his head when Sam burst out laughing a few feet away. “Sam, please,” he begged, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “What did the guy do?”

A bitter taste flooded Bucky’s mouth as anger coursed through his veins again. He inhaled as he thought of your sweet smile and soft touch before he exhaled, the storm inside of him calming.

“Buck, you gotta tell us something,” Steve urged, needing some sort of information to try and do some damage control.

The brunette straightened up to look his friend in the eyes, wanting him to see the fury beneath the cold mask. “He told my girl to throw an apron on and get back in the kitchen when she went to spar.”

You, one of the most capable agents Bucky had ever known.

You, who had shown nothing but kindness to everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.

The person Bucky was lucky enough to call his other half. His better half.

And some asshole rookie had the gall to treat you as if you didn’t belong there with the rest of them.

Sam was no longer laughing. Steve’s jaw clenched in understanding.

Bucky swallowed, that fury threatening to surface again as he remembered the hurt that filled your eyes at the comment. “You know I’d support anything she wants to do, whether that’s working or staying at home. It doesn’t give some prick the right to make her feel bad for her decision.”

“You know I don’t like bullies, but breaking his jaw?” Steve questioned. The guy deserved it, but did the punishment actually fit the crime?

“When she walked away, he said to come back when she was ready to see what a real man could do for her,” he said, the words coming out like a snarl.

The way you tensed up, fear and disgust flickering on your face, he didn’t think. A switch inside of him went off and he swung.

The fucker was lucky that all he got was a broken jaw. He could’ve done so much worse.

And it wasn’t that you couldn’t defend yourself because you could, but you shouldn’t have to put up with garbage like that.

A cracking sound echoed in the room before he realized he crushed the armrest of his seat. “Fuck. I’ll pay for that,” he mumbled, kicking a bit of the broken piece with his boot. “Can you just tell me how much trouble I’m in so I can get back to my girl?”

He didn’t care if he they suspended or even fired him as long as he got back to you.

The room stayed silent before Sam mused, “Technically, what the rookie did counts as harassment.”

Steve nodded. “And I’m sure Nat can persuade him not to sue for the injury he received,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll take care of it, Buck. Just. No more breaking jaws, okay?”

“When it comes to my girl, I make no promises,” Bucky smiled, his heart racing at the thought of you. “And maybe he’ll think twice before he opens his mouth again.”

“The damage you did, I don’t think he can open his mouth at all,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s phone went off before he could comment, his heart swelling as he read your text. He had to bite back a groan, too.

“Thank you again, Jawbreaker. I love you and I’ll be on my knees waiting for you.”

You wanted to thank him not just with words, but with your body and heart. It all belonged to him, like he belonged to you.

And he didn’t need to tell Steve and Sam what the message said since it was just for the two of you. “Love you, too, baby. Nothing to thank me for, but I’m on my way. Be ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maybe we'll see how you "thank" Bucky down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[madamechrissy]

Yandere Bully! Gojo - Part 2

Ya'll have been asking for part 2 so here it is! Disclaimer- bullies suck- yandere shit, degradation, nsfw, lots of Bully Gojo harassing the reader tbh, misogyny, possessive, name calling, rough sex, videoing against consent, oral (m and f receiving) don't read if not your thing (college au) say hi to Geto- (Part one here - part three here

Bully! Gojo who saw you flirting with your classmate in Physics, pouting the entire time, since you finally got annoyed by him and are now completely ignoring him. Now he's glaring with those icy blue eyes, and you can damn near feel his touch on your skin.

Bully! Gojo who yanks on your ponytail hard after class lets out, making you bend backwards, his other hand shutting the classroom door, locking it. Your heart races as you glare back at him. 'what the fuck do you want, Satoru?' he laughs then, arms barring you on either side. 'you're trying to make me mad, aren't you baby?' you scoff, turning as he leans down, so goddamn tall, you ignore that tension in your tummy.

Bully! Gojo who says 'you know that pretty little cunt belongs to me' he's slipped his hand down your tummy, it trembles under his touch, then he's got you right between your thighs, his fingers slipped right under your pleated skirt. 'it d-doesn't, we don't even date, you're just a jerk!' you shove him then, and he smirks, running his fingers over your panties, already sticky from his touch. 'then why are you so wet baby?'

Bully! Gojo who now has you on the teacher's desk, your thighs spread, spitting on your bare pussy, your thong is already in his pocket of course, he'll use it later. You've been a brat for weeks ignoring him, and he's done, he's now watching the bubbly liquid ooze onto your little clit smirking as you jerk, your cheeks all flushed with anger, eyes dilated with want. 'you know you need me, you're so slutty f'me, hmm?' you feel the hot spit hit you, breasts yanked out of your blouse, he sucks on one of your nipples, you wish your hands weren't sinking in his silky white hair... but... 'f-fuck you... Satoru...'

Bully! Gojo who scowls now, shoving two fingers in your soppy little cunt, stretching you out and making your head fall back. 'no more flirting, aha listen how loud your stupid little pussy is, she missed me' he cooes, scissoring his fingers in and out of your wetness now. you hear your pussy and the squelching wetness as his long fingers curl inside you, pressing on that spot. You're stifling a cry by shoving a hand on your mouth, he just chuckles, blue eyes fucking insane 'no baby, make noise, let em hear who this pussy belongs to' then starts lapping at your clit with his stupidly long tongue, quick flicks that overstimulate you so fast, you're struggling not to scream when he sucks it into his mouth, looking up at you under snowy lashes.

Bully! Gojo who is soon covered in your slick as you cum all over his stupidly pretty face, orgasm wrecking your mind like it always does with this asshole. Satoru pulls back with half his face glistening, pressing against you and pulling your hair so hard tears prick in your eyes, looking down at you. 'pathetic little slut, you're all mine, admit it' you just reach for his cock, he smacks your hand. 'no dick for you till you beg good enough, got me!? and tell that boy you don't fucking like him.'

Bully! Gojo who grins deviously when he watches you break that poor boys heart, stomping away with your arms crossed as you walk by him, heading to the bathroom with tears in your pretty eyes. Fuck he loves when you cry. so he decides to follow you in the bathroom now, busting right in your stall, much to your panic, grinning at you. 'aw, you cryin?' you scowl, standing then. 'fuck you Gojo!' so he decides to take you up on that, going to slide your panties down again, and you yank them away before he can steal them, only for him to shove them in your mouth instead.

Bully! Gojo who now has you picked up against the bathroom stall door, mean tip of his cock bullying it's way into your tight, gummy little walls, so slick you're already gushing when he sinks in. You're crying out, mouth muffled around the fabric, so you go to yank those panties out of your mouth, that won't do at all for Satoru, so he decides you grab your wrists together, putting them over your head as he fucks into you. He's wrecking your cervix, grinning like a goddamn psycho. 'so weak, aren't you? Just look at you, stupid slut getting fucked even more stupid. Aw you're even drooling! cute.'

Bully! Gojo who the next day corners you against your locker, lifting up your skirt and peeking, whistling as you smack at him 'no panties, fuck you're slutty' for you to huff 'well you keep stealing them, you fucking psycho!' he chuckles at you again, grabbing your bare ass as you stomp away. Later in class he's leaning close, stealing your answers, you stomp on his foot under the desk, then tense when he scowls, leaning close and whispering in your ear 'get me an A or I'm fucking your throat so hard you won't be able to fucking swallow'

Bully! Gojo who got a B from copying you, because you honestly did it on purpose, and now you're in his dorm room, choking on his cock, he's so deep in your throat he can see the bulge, moaning at the sight. You're on your back on his bed, head hanging off the edge, he's smacking your titties over and over, watching them jiggle as he fucks you and starts talking shit, when does he shut up!? 'stupid little brat, can't even get an A huh? Baby that just won't do, I need you to- ah fuck that tight throat mmm- need you to- f-fuck!'

Bully! Gojo who pulls out of your sore throat, cumming all over your pretty tits now, you gasp for breath, coughing as he does, laughing now, squirts of sticky white ropes all over your breasts, your tummy. You weakly get up with no help of his, only for him to start taking pictures of you, earning your glare. 'gonna share these next time you flirt with anyone' he threatens, but he never would of course, well maybe with Suguru, but you gasp, standing and smacking him in the face, only making him hard again, earning you bent over his bed, with your wrists tied together by his tie, as he begins to smack your pretty ass, over and over, leaving handprints, 'looks like this greedy pussy wants cum in her, huh?'

Bully! Gojo who ends up making you beg for his cock in you, fingering you over and over without letting you cum, he keeps getting you right to that edge then yanking them out, breathing right on your cunt and laughing against your puffy lips, overstimmed from his playing, and he's talking to your pussy directly 'she's such a fuckin brat, but you, oh I love you. Such a good girl f'me' and then he kisses her with a 'muah' as you're crying, tears hot and sticky down your cheeks, cunt throbbing around nothing. 'Toru... please' you whine out, and he sighs now, finally rubbing his tip between your slit.

Bully! Gojo who loves when you call him Toru, it just does something to him, not that he'll tell you though, instead 'oh fine, since you're just so pathetic, needy... begging...' and shoves his cock deep inside you, full nine inches so deep and thick you struggle to take it, so fucking full, and he's moaning, thumbs pressing into the dimples on your back. 'you love this fuckin cock, don't you?' 'n-no, you don't even date me you dick ah!' Satoru is now fucking you even harder, and you swear you hear your bully whimper as your walls flutter around his veiny length, dripping down to his balls that are smacking your clit.

Bully! Gojo who busts a load of cum in you, moaning as you cum with him, so hard you're already pushing his cum back out, thighs trembling, he laughs then, as you're weakly just half laid on his bed, before he's videoing you, playing with the cum pouring out of your little hole. 'I think I need to show Suguru this, baby' 'Suguru! what!?' he's chuckling as he hits send and you hear the bling of a message when Satoru releases the tie, turning you around and planting a kiss on your lips, so sweet, like he wasn't a complete bully ass hole. 'To Suguru, really!'

Bully! Gojo who smirks as there is a knock on the door, and who is it but your old high school bully, Bully! Geto, who smirks down at you as he studies your naked body hungrily, you cover your tits up now, making Satoru grin as he yanks your hands down. 'I need some help teaching you a lesson baby' you glare at them now, and Suguru licks his lower lip, violet eyes glinting 'fuck you really look good, finally filled out huh?' you flip him off, and now Satoru is spreading your thighs as Suguru is behind you, holding you, tongue slipping up your neck to your ear.

Bully! Gojo who's lapping his own cum out of your pussy, as Bully! Geto is squishing your breasts with his big hands, moaning, you try to close your legs, sore and so oversensitive, but Suguru holds them completely open, leaving you to Satoru's mercy, as he's swirling his tongue in and out of your pussy, and you're screaming out, feeling Suguru's cock hard and thick under you, scowling up at him. 'hate you, Sugu. Hate you Toru.' they both laugh at you, now Satoru's smacking your wet pussy, and Suguru's hand is wrapped around your throat 'see she needs teaching' Satoru says, before nipping at your clit, making you jolt, and Suguru is kissing your mouth, even as you bite his lower lip, 'don't worry, I'll help'

Bully! Gojo and Bully! Geto who the next day at school watch a guy grab your ass, only for them both to beat the brakes off him, as you watch curiously, the six foot three men fighting someone over you, for a moment you melt, but then they have you cornered later in the hallway, Suguru has your books up high and Satoru is sliding up your skirts, you smack at them and realize you still hate them, even if their dicks will be inside you later.

Well now reader has two bullies, poor thing lol- remember, bullies SUCK and none of this is cool, it's only okay bc it's Gojo and Geto lmao

[kthologue]

2 + 1 — gojo satoru

synopsis. two times megumi thinks gojo is a lost cause and one time he approves of the white haired idiot

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, ooc, misogyny (from the clan heads), he is so pathetic for his wife (nauseating!), slight yandere behavior, violence, in megumi’s pov, not proofread eep

notes. can you tell i've been obsessed with the apothecary diaries? >< also how long has it been since i've posted a fic? anyways... enjoy!

fushiguro megumi has always wondered how that blue eyed idiot managed to marry you. he must have resorted to underhanded tactics; or at least that's what the sea urchin suspects. though he's never voiced it, the question has bothered him since the day he first encountered the both of you.

nobara clicks her tongue. “this is borderline creepy.” her orange eyes are filled with nothing short of distaste.

“there’s more too,” megumi’s voice responded, carefully flipping the page. the delicate artifact in his hand is something that he should have not touched. perhaps he should have wrapped it with a talisman and destroyed it while he had the chance.

it was too late for that anyway, because not even a second later, gojo satoru bursts through the shoji doors of the classroom. 

with eyes blown wide as if they were caught committing a crime (they were), the first years who had pulled three seats up to a singular desk stare at him. satoru's eyes widen behind his blindfold as he catches sight of the object of their focus.

there lies in the middle of the wooden desk was the physics textbook that all first year jujutsu tech students were required to read. however, this wasn’t just any plain old textbook. it was gojo satoru’s former textbook. brimmed with doodles of their beloved [name] sensei and gojo himself when they were back in highschool.

any free space that was not filled with words were taken up by drawings of you inside of hearts and sometimes a depiction of a chibi version of the two of you.

a true testament to gojo satoru’s pining and devotion to you.

“sensei, we can explain–” yuji attempts to explain himself but gojo holds up a hand to silence the boy. 

unlike you, megumi finds it a lot more challenging to read the white haired sorcerer’s expression with the blindfold on. he wonders if his punishment will be a painful beating disguised as a sparring session (megumi will run to you, who will scare gojo into backing down). you have that effect on him.

it seems like the heavens have answered megumi’s prayers because gojo satoru doesn’t seem to harbor any anger at his shocking revelation.

“i can’t believe you guys found this old thing.” satoru dismisses his students’ personal space by leaning closely to observe the pages. the black haired boy makes a noise of disapproval, but was quickly cut off by his benefactor. “megumi, be grateful that i’m in a good mood today.” he doesn’t elaborate the ominous message, rather choosing to hum happily as he studies his own drawings.

megumi is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. 

“i never took you to be the pathetic type,” kugisaki continues to flip through the pages of the textbook. yuji nods furiously, as if to agree to her observation.

“you seriously never noticed?” megumi mutters under his breath.

gojo places a strong hand on megumi’s back, a languid smile on his face, “it was only natural, considering the lengths i had to go through to win her over.” he ignores the way megumi gasps for air.

“seriously?” itadori asks in disbelief.

“seriously.” gojo confirms wholeheartedly.

megumi shudders, recollecting memories of times before gojo tied you down for good.

2009

“sorry i’m late!” gojo bursts through the dingy apartment door with a convenience store bag in his arm. he was breathing heavily, an indication that he had run to the apartment. an uninterested seven year old megumi doesn’t bother leaving his place on the couch to greet his benefactor.

“they’re in the kitchen,” he says in his monotone voice, eyes never leaving the book that you had just gifted him.

“they?” gojo walks up to megumi to ruffle his hair aggressively. he receives a hiss in return.

“tsumiki and [name]?” the black haired kid says it like it was obvious. his sentence is accompanied with an eyeroll.

at the mention of your name, gojo immediately perks up. megumi imagines that if he were a cat, his ears would be swiveling and his nose twitching, attuned to pick up any trace of your presence. he had just learned that from the nonfiction book in his lap. 

“[name]?! here? now?” gojo’s eyebrows are raised all the way to his forehead. the white haired sorcerer immediately started fixing his uniform and hair. megumi thinks it was comical. he was a lost cause.

the snarky look on his face is quickly wiped off when he sees gojo leaning down, mouth wide open.

“oi brat, check my breath,” gojo opens his mouth wide for megumi to check. the black haired kid shrivels up into the couch the further gojo leans down. megumi considers summoning his newly discovered jujutsu technique, hoping to avoid his fate.

“—toru? what are you doing?” your voice, like a divine intervention, stops gojo from sending megumi to the depths of despair. a sigh of relief escapes his lips.

now it was his turn to watch gojo squirm. the older male’s face contorts to an awkward smile and all of a sudden gojo is reduced to nothing but a mess.

“don’t worry about it darling!” gojo slowly turns around to face you. “agh—?!”

megumi has to peek around satoru’s big frame to see what elicited such a response from the man.

he’s met with a wave of underwhelming familiarity. there you stand, clad in a frilly apron with a wooden spoon in hand, the essence of domesticity incarnate. the soft glow of the warm kitchen lights dances around you, casting a warm aura that seems to envelop the room.

“welcome home, satoru.” you give him your signature closed eye smile. “i mean, you probably don’t consider it your home but—“

you’re cut off by satoru banging his head on the nearest wall repeatedly. he’s muttering something under his breath that you don’t hear.

to his dismay, megumi's keen ears catch every syllable. satoru's voice, though hushed, carries a hint of longing, "what an angel," he whispers, his words laced with adoration. "just marry me already."

unamused, he watches while you try to desperately pry gojo from his strange outburst.

a lost cause indeed.

2009

in that very year, megumi learns that gojo’s efforts to win your affection had yielded no progress. it had become increasingly apparent that his frequent visits to megumi and tsumiki's humble home were motivated to immerse himself in the semblance of domesticity that your presence offered. megumi almost pitied the man, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew you deserve someone more sensible.

me

[name]

[nameeeee]

i’m dying.

and it’s your fault t^t

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

excuse me?

me

i’ll have you know that i worked the hardest that i have ever worked to finish all of my paperwork so i could see you tonight… only to find out from megumi that you’re on a date?!!?

i feel like my chest is caving in. 

i’m going to throw up.

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

oh this is what you’re interrupting my date for?

me

i’m going to be sick.

please tell me, is he hotter than me? wealthier? funnier?

megumi quickly looks away from gojo’s phone screen when the white haired male slams it shut and mutters under his breath a couple of curses. he’s pretty sure half of them were death threats.  honestly, couldn't you have attracted someone with more dignity?

“change of plans,” gojo claps his hands together. “movie night’s off.”

“what?” megumi protests, confusion etched in his features.

“our beloved [name] is getting swept off of her feet. you wouldn’t want that to happen, right?” gojo continues, his tone light but his gaze sharp as it bores into megumi's soul. something unpleasant coils in the pit of his stomach.

megumi feels a chill run down his spine, his mind racing with the implications of gojo's words. if you choose to date this new guy, he realizes, you won't need him or gojo anymore. and that thought terrifies him. it pains megumi to feed into gojo's delusions.

but he can’t let this unnamed suitor steal you away.

a wolfish grin makes its way to gojo’s mouth when he realizes that he’s won.

“what's the plan?”

2016

it was only years later that megumi had seen the true monster that lurks inside of gojo satoru. 

on a hot summer evening, amidst a gathering of esteemed clan heads, he and satoru found themselves in a traditional chamber. while the finer details of the meeting escape his memory, the image of the room that altered his perception of gojo satoru is etched in his mind indefinitely. the wooden walls, adorned with subtle yet elegant designs, speak volumes about the room’s significance as a venue for the most influential members of jujutsu society.

throughout the meeting, he finds himself driving in and out of focus, content to let his mentor represent the gojo clan. however, his attention is abruptly seized by a particular remark that cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

“how’s that whore of yours, gojo?” a clan head jeered, clearly drunk on the sake that was constantly refilled by the servant on the side. his flushed complexion is scarcely discernible thanks to the dim glow emanating from the few lanterns scattered around the room. 

there was only one person he could have been referring to: you. underneath the wooden table, his fingers tightened painfully into fists. pretentious bastards, megumi thinks.

another geezer rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “she has a nice body. perfect to be a concubine, but i would marry a more submissive woman.”

megumi's gaze stealthily darts towards gojo, seated beside him.

he’s startled to find the white-haired man wears a wide grin that belies a hidden truth. unseen by the elders before them, lurking beneath gojo's outward expression, is a manic gleam in his eyes—a revelation that sends a shiver down megumi's spine.

“i’d hold my tongue if i were you.” gojo satoru’s voice was dripping with venom. he sounded downright murderous.

"i'm right, am i not? we can share her if you'd like- name the price." the drunkard continues loudly.

megumi senses an instinctive wave of primal dread washing over him, compelling him with an urgent, almost instinctual need to flee or die.

before he can move a muscle, the flames that surround the room flicker before extinguishing in succession by an unknown force. the metallic stench of blood fills the air and all he can hear is the sound of flesh mutilating and bones crushing accompanied by the painful shouts of the men that once sat in front of him. he doesn’t have to see it with his own eyes to be able to sense gojo’s strong curse residue that suffocates the room.

“stand up megumi. we’re leaving.” his voice carries a feral edge, leaving no room for objection.

on their way out of the compound, the two don’t utter a word at what had just transpired. 

megumi's gaze remains fixed on the ground beneath his feet, the images of the recent events swirling in his mind, leaving him unsettled and shaken. with each step, he grapples with the unsettling realization that beneath gojo satoru's charismatic facade lies a darker, more sinister nature.

the strongest sorcerer of today, riled up by the mere mention of your name.

megumi supposes he doesn’t feel much remorse for those clan heads anyway. he was never the type to mourn over people he didn’t know dying. especially not people who he knew would live on to do evil. it doesn’t help that they were blatantly disrespecting you. perhaps he could sympathize with the monster inside of gojo.

oblivious to the turmoil that stirs inside of megumi, gojo starts to smile.

“i know what you’re going to say,” gojo hums happily. “gojo sensei, you’re so cool! i approve of you marrying my beloved [name]! kyaa~’” he makes a pathetic attempt to imitate megumi. 

the black haired boy grunts. he was going to say something along the lines of his approval for his benefactor, but all desires of flattering the white haired sorcerer disappeared.

gojo watches the black haired boy intently before tutting.

“not that it matters.” megumi is startled to hear how his voice dropped an octave. “i was always going to marry [name] and i’ll be damned to let anyone stop me.” 

2018 – present day

after satiating his students with tales from his pining days, your husband comes home often clingier than normal (is that even possible?). the moment satoru enters your home, his arms envelop you, caging you in his hold.

you can't help but giggle as his hair brushes against the side of your neck, his embrace pulling you in close, as if he's inhaling your presence.  his muscles flex when you attempt to slip away, keeping you in his tight embrace.

“sato– what is going on?!” 

“is it a crime to show my wife some love?” he kisses your neck. when his flurry of kisses stop, he resorts to absorbing all of your features with those cerulean eyes of his.

you don’t bother pushing him away again, choosing to thread your fingers through his soft hair. even after all these years, you will never not feel the effect of satoru’s eyes on you.

“i was telling my first years about you today,” he says softly.

you smile, “is that so?”

he pushes his nose into your neck again, nodding.

“you’re so good to them,” you whisper. despite the initial shock behind satoru choosing to pursue education, you’re extremely proud of how far he’s come.

“mhm,” satoru inhales. “i’d be good to our little ones too.” one of his hands sneak to your stomach.

you delicately guide his face away from your form, your fingers tenderly urging him to meet your gaze. "is there something you want to tell me?" you inquire softly, your eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

satoru's smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "perhaps," he murmurs, his touch light as he guides you towards the bedroom. without hesitation, you yield to his lead, eager at his sudden intimate gesture.

from outside your home, three first year students stand, waiting for their sensei’s cue to enter.

“do you think he’s forgotten about us?” yuji furrows his eyebrows, hands full of grocery bags that were going to be prepared for dinner.

extra notes. had the idea of gojo and megumi crashing your date in my drafts for so long. maybe ill elaborate on it if the ppl want to see :,)

[solbaby7]

En Cognito

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, misogyny, best friends that wanna fuck, sexual tension, possible violence, jealous!az, slowly shifting into slight darker content 👀 hope no one notices

summary: Going undercover alters your appearance more than your friends ever anticipated—now Azriel can’t tear his eyes away.

—

“Stop touching and just relax.”

“I can’t,” You squirm under Mor’s touch. Two hours spent around the city spending obscene amounts of money on a dress and heels that you were only going to wear once. Nimble fingers part through your hair, undoing paper curls and oiled fingers run through the ends of silky strands. Everything is too tight—too exposed. “I am deeply uncomfortable.” Your arms cross behind your back, fingers awkwardly intertwining to create some sort of barrier between your ass and the possibility of peering eyes.

The High Lords cousin doesn’t take it personally, quickly finishing final touches on your makeup and the person you see in the mirror is so far off from what you were used to that it makes your breath catch. “It’s perfect. You’re going to be perfect—they won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

Your hand shakes at the thought, painted fingers curling around the glass of champagne and knocking the whole thing back in one go.

“You’re going to ruin your lipstick.”

“If I don’t have at least two more of those, I’m going to ruin this whole night.” It felt weird having your hair down like this and your fingers twitch to tuck it back into your usual bun but Mor keeps throwing looks over her shoulder while she refills both glasses. Just daring you to fuck up her work.

After the second glass your brain finally stops hyper-fixating on the fact that you can actually feel the bare skin of your thighs touching with each step, an annoying change from the leathers that usually prevented things like this. “It’s just a few dances. Bat your lashes and smile pretty and the intel will come to you, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t think one dress will get me all of that.”

“It’s not about the dress.” She’s rubbing oil into your skin that makes it shine when the light touches, the sweet smell lingering long after you’ve left the room and the whole walk downstairs is filled with gentle reminders on everything she’d been teaching you all week. “It’s you in it. Seriously, where have you been hiding all of this ass?” You swat her hands away, grateful that the others had left far earlier. You could just hear Az and Cass now, eyes rolling at the very thought of their relentless teasing—this would be the topic of many jokes for weeks to come.

Slight sway of your hips, soften the length of your spine, shoulders back and head high. Confident steps even though the heels were fucking killer; five inches of added height and you’d still feel small in a room crawling with fully grown men. The champagne glass is finished and refilled once more before you’re tugged away to the balcony and past the wards.

Usually, winnowing was calming but for some reason, this time it had the hairs on the back of your neck prickling at attention from all the eyes that slid in your direction. “That was subtle.”

“We’re late,” Mor mutters through her teeth, flashing a less than sweet smile to the males undressing her with their eyes. Typical for Hewn City but still fucking disgusting. “I figured a flashy entrance would distract from that. Now, be nice.”

Easier said than done with anxiety beginning to ebb forth, fingers flexing and nails running over the details of your dress. The words from earlier repeat in your mind and instantly your spine straightens, chin raising and the added swish to your hips is enough to attract the attention of any male within a five mile radius.

It’s customary to greet the High Lord and Lady, your heels clicking and face aloof when swiftly curtsying into a respectful bow. “Rise,” Feyre commands, voice strong and filled with unquestionable power but you could see that look in her eye—familial fondness creeping at the edges of blue irises and you’re quick to appear anxious. Less comfortable when surrounded by people you’d known longer than you could put into words. “Join the others, there’s plenty of food and drink for everyone.”

Better judgement screams in your mind not to look just a little to the right; your peripheral catching onto the faint glow of cobalt blue but your eyes slide over without permission.

Azriel looks godly standing guard near his High Lord and Lady. He’s handsomely dressed in one of his fancier pairs of fighting leathers, lethally strapped to the nines with daggers at his thighs, switchblades tucked in pockets or strapped to his ankles and swords that cross at his back, right between his wings.

Like an angel of death; just as tempting as he was deadly.

You look away before he can catch you admiring the tailored cut of sturdy, dark tactical gear stretching across his muscles. Too quickly for you to notice the way he double takes, eyes widening a fraction and stance stiffening ever so slightly when he recognizes the slope of your nose and shape of your mouth glistening in gloss. He nearly chokes on his breath at the accentuation of your figure, curves on full display in a complete juxtaposition to your usual attire and his stare follows as you disappear into the crowd of bodies.

He can’t leave his spot but it doesn’t stop him from sending out his own personal surveillance to keep tabs on the way you shift about the room.

Everywhere you move, eyes follow.

Males halt their conversation, sipping on whiskey so expensive that it probably equates to a months worth of rent but judging by their tailored suits and gold cuff-links—money was the least of their problems.

“A drink, miss?”

Relief works its way into your form when you accept, thanking the waitstaff politely while acting your ass off with the fluttery lashes and doe eyes. It paints a perfect little picture—entrapping susceptible males with overly inflated egos and misogynistic thought processes. You’re almost a little too deep in the facade, aimlessly wandering through the sea of bodies with ears specially attuned to every conversation; sifting through the meaninglessness in order to catch little pieces of a bigger picture that had yet to be deciphered.

“And who might you be?”

“Nobody.” The response is instinctive, a second nature that’s easily smoothed over with a demure smile.

Even you could admit the male was handsome, all solid muscle and alluringly ragged edges. His suit is immaculate, fitting the strong line of his shoulders to perfection as the halfway unbuttoned tunic beneath broadcasts the tawny tones of his chest loitered with inky tattoos. Dark hair frames his face, a silver scar cutting through the thick of one brow and yet its completely overshadowed when in the midst of such beauty. “You certainly don’t look like ‘nobody’ to me.”

Warmth spreads at the nape of your neck, your body affected by the soulful bass of his voice and for a fleeting moment you have to remind yourself of the task at hand.

The male doesn’t give time for you to come up with another one of your carefully curated lies. A hand is extended your way, the faelight above catching on the masculine rings adorning his pinky and pointer fingers when your hand is taken in his own.

It’s almost embarrassing—the spectacle he makes in spinning you slow, taking in every detail with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Thank the Mother for Mor and her attention to detail, picking out the perfect dress and glimmering diamonds that distracted from the true soldier that burned in your soul, a characteristic that had been exercised for decades enduring Cassian and Azriel’s relentless training regiment.

“Whoever you’ve come with will never recover from the loss he’s about to take,” The males eyes are ravenous, that previously bored darkness finally flickering with life beneath the surface.

The surprised laugh you let out is genuine, a shocked bark of a thing that’s anything but ladylike but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You have a very high sense of self in assuming I’d go anywhere with you considering I don’t have the slightest clue on who you are.”

Another lie added to the steadily growing web. You’d been briefed on every single person in this room, memorized their faces and obsessively studying their lives and known connections until the only thing left was to figure out who possessed the most valuable information. “Who better to trust than Stewards right hand?” Feminine wonder masks the satisfaction of such an easily attained lead and suspicion begins to grow in your gut. Maybe it’s not as well concealed as you’d assumed because the cockiness is dialed down multiple levels and the smile he wears is far more flattering than that entitled smirk. “Call me Atlas.”

Music filters throughout the space and steadily the sea of bodies becomes more uniform, paired up couples shifting about the room with a hardened grace that allowed their movements to appear elegant, even if their faces were stripped of any semblance of emotion. “Atlas,” The name is foreign on your tongue but not entirely unpleasant. “Have any clue where they keep their stash?”

A cheshire grin accompanies the muscular bicep he holds out in offering. “Allow me to lead the way.”

Everything goes as planned, a knowing nod to Mor, a giddy smile when the Stewards second hand tugs you down a hallway, bypassing stationed guards and passing over a small pouch of silver coins to the scrawny soldier standing in front of a thick set of double doors. “Where are we going?”

“You wanted the good stuff. Kier keeps them in his office.” High heels click against the polished floors, taking in the layered colors of obsidian, onyx and oblivion. It’s typical for a male, simple, with just enough overindulgence to make your eyes roll.

“Are we supposed to be in here?”

Atlas moves across the space with ease, unlatching the lock on the liquor cabinet and collecting two glasses and a thick crystal decanter filled halfway with a deep amber liquid. “Are you going to tell on me?”

Every movement you make hold more grace than you’ve mustered up in a century. Femininity oozes from every pore and it’s intoxicating—this males reaction to the slightest graze of your nails against his fingers. It plants a terrifying seed, one eager to learn exactly how far you could take it. How many other people would react the same way?

Your mind takes a turn, sliding a key into a door you’d long since boarded up.

And you can’t help but wonder if the simple seduction would work on Azriel too.

“I can be convinced to keep a secret,” Magic must be used to keep the liquor chilled because the crystal is cold to the touch. “If you show me the balcony too.”

Atlas nods slowly, taking your words entirely different than intended but you don’t bother correcting it. Not when he strides over to the doors with such ease, pulling out a personal set of keys and unlocking them as if he’d done so a million times before.

You supposed Hewn was a sight to behold from this angle, high heels click against the concrete, bracelets clinging against the iron railings as you peer over. In its own, hauntingly beautiful way; a darker part of you could find the appeal if you overlooked the horrors that took place there.

“Now, I’ve snuck you out here, breaking all kinds of rules and jeopardizing my job for you.” If it’s the truth, Atlas has a hell of a way of making it seem nonchalant—every word laced in an amusement you can’t quite place but it’d be lying to say you didn’t find it slightly charming. “Will you finally tell me your name?”

There’s a mischievous sparkle in your eye, a taunting elongation of one leg, the shiny curve of your high heel dragging gently against his ankle. You almost answer when your eyes catch on the shadows in the corner, their color just a little too dark, their ebb just a little too sentient. Of course, Azriel would follow you out there when he believed you were taking too long, playing the perfect position of Night Court security when urging guests away from restricted areas but jealously slips its way into his tone when he finds you and Atlas on the balcony standing a little too close to be considered friendly. “You aren’t supposed to be out here.”

The male with you doesn’t seem the slightest bit deterred, cockily tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear while the other hand fishes out a small pouch full of gold coins from his suit pocket and rudely stuffs it into Azriel’s chest without even looking. “How about you go back inside and give us a few uninterrupted moments to get to know each other?”

Azriel’s brow raises, wings bristling when tracking the two fingers Atlas has grazing down your cheekbone and his tone is eerily even when responding. “Did you come alone tonight?”

“Yes,” Atlas retorts none the wiser, a smirk curving at the corners of his mouth. “Though, I have no intentions on leaving how I came.”

“Is that so?” It happens so quickly. Azriel snatching the male away from you, his fist darting out and connecting with Atlas’ jaw with such precision that the impact sends the Steward’s second in command unconscious on the cobblestone. “Mission’s over,” Azriel all but growls, his grip possessive when pulling you in. “We’re leaving.”

“Azriel,” Your eyes widen, glass slipping from your grasp as your brain moves like molasses when trying to comprehend what you’d witnessed. It doesn't bother Az though, his hand a firm weight at the dip of your back, pinky finger just grazing the curve of your ass with every step. “I wasn’t even close to being finished—he was about to give me everything.”

“Oh, I’m more than aware of what he was about to give you.”

He looks like he’s readying himself to winnow the two of you out of there, thick clouds of shadows materializing around his threatening frame but something forces him to decide against it. His jaw clenches, stance rigid and voice clipped when telling you to 'come this way', taking a sharp left turn before shoving your body inside. “Azriel, what the hell?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” The door slams behind him, lock twisting with a resounding click but none of that distracts from the downright murder-strut Azriel adopts when stalking towards you. Your heart hammers against your chest, heels scraping against the polished floors in your attempts to create space but the male before you eats it all up. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me?”

The laugh that pushes free is breathless; taken aback. “What?"

A war wages in Azriel's mind as he strains to contain the small semblance of control he's ever been able to gather in your presence. You make him crazy; shove him out of his comfort zone and force him to take risks that his skillful training strictly rejects. You're an enigma, a flame that burns but also provides warmth to those who handle you with care. “I thought you in your leathers was sin.”

You swallow thickly as your body responds to the drop in his voice; the gravel that positively rattles his tone and morphs that strong soldier boy into a predator of a man with ravenous wants and needs. Rapturous desires that plagues his thoughts, tainting his actions and lingering in the void of his shadows with intent to kill.

Shock blends into need as Azriel backs you against the desk, the rigid line of his cock straining against the stitching of his leathers. It digs against your belly; teasing, taunting you with the possibilities. “But then you come waltzing in wearing this dress—cauldron boil me—are you even wearing any underwear?”

"I couldn't," A blush burns at your cheeks, every inch of you sparking to life under his stare. "Mor said panty lines are tacky."

"Then it'd be best you refrain from telling her what happens in here because I'm about to make you sound fucking garish." Hips buck involuntarily, a helpless rut whittling away at whatever self-control Azriel has left. It’s clearly not much because soon his lips are too preoccupied with learning yours and strong hands are busy familiarizing themselves with the curves you usually kept so carefully concealed. Eager fingers run over the tight fabric around your waist, gliding over the length of your stomach and cupping the weight of your breasts, thumbs grazing over peaked nipples. Mapping the canvas of your body like a man starved.

Denying his touch is out of the question; at least that’s what your body decides as it leans into the heavy drag of his weight. For once, you lean into the girlish nature of allowing the male to lead—to comply as Azriel guides your face to his own. Indulging in feverish kisses because he started it and it was only fair for you to finish it.

The lines of friendship blur with his tongue in your mouth and you’re too drunk on the scent of his cologne to question what any of this could mean afterwards. What chaos could ensue from helping him hike the hem of your dress up, up, up with a needy groan. “Can’t believe you hid all of this from me,” Azriel all but whines, golden irises gobbling up the fullness of your thighs. Pupils dilate at your lack of undergarments; the thin leather thigh holsters strapped tight against the muscle of your legs and inky shadows swipe at the weapon secured there—stealing it as a prize.

“Can you blame me?” The words come out breathy, palms dragging along rigid muscle hidden beneath his clothes, nails seconds away from slicing through the offending fabric for more of his warmth, for more of him in general because this male was a thing of dreams. Of carefully curated fantasies that females with far more time on their hands wrote about in their journals. “How would I get any work done with everyone staring at my ass?”

His touch is bold, two fingers sliding between your thighs to slide along the slick that collects between lower lips. "That won't be an issue for you anymore." A gasp forces your lips to part when he circles around your clit, feeling the area around it without actually giving what you want. Azriel likes it more that way; enjoys the ways your legs tremble and chest heaves. "You'll find that people don't stare much at the things that belong to me."

"I'm not yours," You struggle to verbalize the thought fully when he finally applies the right amount of pressure to your neglected bundle of nerves. Quick little circles under the calloused drag of two fingers works a strangled moan free. "I don't belong to anyone," You try to speak it aloud so the point comes across but all that's leaving your lips is pathetic pants of yesyesyes and pretty pleas for moremoremore.

He’s cruel in his torture, pulling his hands away seconds before release can wash over you and a cocky smirk etches in the corner of his mouth. It’s knowing; cognizant of the fact that your orgasm lies in the palm of his hands, rests under the willful press of his fingertips.

“Please?” You whisper, voice cracked; broken, ruined from nothing but his hands alone and you still hadn’t cum yet. Every nerve burns, toes curling, stomach clenching and pussy pulsing around nothing as your hips careen forward—searching for the sweet friction that Azriel just knows how to provide.

You thank the Mother for his lack of revolve, for it had to be her mercy that allows his stubborn defenses to crumble so quickly. To give in and offer everything you’d been begging for . He’s not kind about it; doesn’t coax the orgasm forward but yanks at it like a dog on a leash. It’s claiming the way he watches you through your high, drinking up your sounds and committing the slick sight of you to memory.

He doesn’t even give you enough time to catch your breath before he’s tugging his leathers down his hips, thick fabric bunching at his thighs. “Save your pretty pleas for soft pricks like Aaron.”

“Atlas.”

Azriel’s brow raises, a subtle twitch of muscle that shouldn’t be as threatening as it is. Or at least it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t followed by the ominous drag of his cock through your folds, the heavy weight of him coating itself in your slick.

You know he wants to say something. It’s hanging off the tip of his tongue; some venomous comment fueled by raw, unbridled jealousy. Some sick part of you wants him to say it—maybe then he’ll admit to his feelings; confessing to the tension that permeates when the two of you enter a room or share a joke or brush arms or get a little too heated during training.

“I believe your role tonight is soft and demure,” His voice is deceptively even considering the rough jolt of his hips that bullies the blunt head of his cock deep inside of you. “So don’t use that mouth of yours unless it’s to tell me how good I fucking feel.”

Az holds true to his word because every time your lips part to make some stupid comment for him to slow down or loosen his grip on your hips because you’re sure bruises are forming—Azriel just fucks you harder. Presses the palm of his hand against your mouth to muffle the moans, to seize the symphony of sighs that gasp free when he treats sensitive spots with such aggression.

He can feel your legs shaking, tuts his tongue in hushed amusement when he catches you trying to inch away; searching for a spare second to catch your breath. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

No mercy is shown for your choked breaths when Azriel’s focused on the ripple of your ass with each thrust. “It’s so fucking deep,” The words come out garbled against his palm and it’s only then that he pulls it away, fingers ghosting over the swollen plush of your lips in silent appreciation.

“Filthy pussy’s just sucking me right in,” Your cheeks burn, lids fluttering closed as you try not to acknowledge the fact that his voice and those syllables strung together is just enough to have you clenching around him; slick gushing down the length of him and dripping from the heavy weight of his balls.

A sharp smack of his hand against the fat of your ass; the perfect pinch of pain to accompany the mind-numbing pleasure that wracks through every nerve. “Azriel!”

“Now you remember my name?” His tone is pure venom, every rational part of his brain clouded with envy, leaking with a bitterness that scrunches up the perfect lines of his face. “Can’t believe you were about to give this up to that fucking ingrate.” Cool air breezes against your sex as your ass is lewdly pried open enough for Azriel to stare at the sopping wet mess you make. “Not after I’ve been waiting so godsdammed long for this—for you.” A creamy ring of your cum catches at the base of his cock; cunt clenching over and over and over as he works you through orgasm after orgasm.

Mumbled praises and keening moans are your only reply, knees bending for better leverage as you lean back into the pace he sets. Screw the mission—fuck the objective. Damn anything that wasn’t Azriel and his cock and those perfect hands that claims sweat-slicked skin. You don’t even fight it, succumbing to the pleasure and the male administering it. “Right there!” You barely recognize the sound of your own voice, ears focused on Azriel’s grunts and whispered praises. “So good. So good—fuck!”

“This is mine?” It’s not really a question. That much you know when you feel the pressure of his thumb rubbing circles along your clit. “Say it so I can hear you.”

“Yes!” Eyes roll. Words slur. Fists clutch at polished wood; manicured nails leaving indents in mahogany. “Belongs to you.”

Azriel’s too good—too precise; too determined. Forces him to rut deep and carve out a place inside of you with his name branded on it. Thick ropes of his seed paints quivering walls; claiming with a kind of possessiveness that has your toes permanently curled in your heels.

There’s barely enough time to catch a proper breath or situate your dress when thick wad of papers are smacked before you like a godsdammed gift, all neatly stacked and basically tied with a fucking shadowy bow. All the intel you’d bitched at Az for compromising—written right there in plain sight. “Those are the—you…thank you.”

“Don’t get all sweet for me now,” Azriel muses darkly, affectionately patting at your cheek as if you were some drowsy pup, his head nodding in gesture to the neat stack of stolen papers on the table while swiftly tucking himself away and redoing the ties on his breeches. “I’m only covering for your pretty ass so I can ruin it later.”

[joonberriess]

k e r o s e n e

⋆ TAGS — cheating, older!oc, oc’s a mommy (her hubby’s a hunk), obsessive!jk, blackmail, dead dove do not eat, non-con and dub-con (oc never says yes at all bc she’s coerced even if she "gives in"), dark, smutty smut, tit play, mentions of breast milk, protected sex and then unprotected sex (dw reader is secure n safe!), harassment bc jk does not take no for an answer, threats that oc lowkey gets hot n bothered by, exhibitionism but my way (SPOILER: someone gets fucked next to a sleeping body), some plot, slight(?) dirty talk, jealous!jk, jk is not a good guy at all, oc’s morals r questionable 2, open-ending, SOMEONE DIES sooo, office sex, angry(?) sex, drugging, meanie!jk, degradation, breeding kinks r mentioned, misogyny and objectification, possessive!jk

⋆ WORD COUNT — 15 k

I can live in your dreams, will you be my fantasy little baby? 

“Oh, it’s you.” You let a breath of relief from your lips, “Did you need something?” There’s a small pause and you end up averting your eyes. 

The tension is heavy and it has your stomach twisting in knots out of anticipation. Your eyes flicker over to him and you make eye contact in an instant. You stare into his eyes nervously as an all too familiar sensation of feeling like prey washed over you. 

“Always so cold,” Jungkook’s steps are calculated and slow, his dark gaze stays on you the entire time, “but for you though? I’ll take anything y/n.” He stops in front of your desk with a wicked little smile, “My bad–Mrs l/n.” He corrects himself. 

You bite your tongue as a twinge of annoyance passes over you, “Jungkook..” A soft sigh of frustration leaves you, “One of these days you’re going to get me in trouble if you keep calling me by my name, it makes people think..we’re close..” You murmur the last part to yourself while looking to the side, “ ‘s not something I feel like explaining to the dean either.” 

Jungkook draws closer to you, he slides his hand along the surface of the desk as his fingertips lightly graze the wood. Your eyes drop down nervously, you take a step back but he follows. You’re at the corner of the desk when he finally cages you in with one arm, “And why would you have to explain to the dean? Hm? What kinda stuff you got goin’ in your pretty little head?” He grins. 

He’s so close you’re practically inhaling his cologne, he smells undeniably good as you hold yourself back from breathing in more of his intoxicating scent. You jump when his fingers brush over yours, “Relax,” Jungkook laughs playfully, “you’re always so tense.” 

“Was there something you needed?” You finally breathe out after realizing that Jungkook wasn’t going to be paying attention to anything you’ve said up until now. Telling him to stop would be like letting him off with a slap on the wrist and you figured it was better to see what he wanted so you could get this entire interaction over and done with. “I have a few meetings to attend so my time is short.” 

A few beats of silence pass and Jungkook doesn’t say anything which makes it harder for you to figure out what he was feeling. “Do you now?” He hums, “But no, nothing much, I just needed help with the rubric.” 

You quickly retracted your hand from his and stepped away from the desk, “What part did you need help with?” You’re gnawing at your bottom lip, just itching for this entire interaction to be over. 

Jungkook beckons you over, “How am I gonna show you if you’re all the way over there?” He snorts, “C’mere, I won’t bite.” He breathily hums while he fishes out the papers from his bag. 

You wobble over on uneasy legs with your arms folded numbly over your chest. You’ve long tuned out Jungkook’s voice, the only thing you were acutely aware of was where his hands touched as he talked to you. You peered from the corner of your eye to watch as he stroked up and down your arm slowly. Occasionally he’d give you a small faint squeeze to the arm while his thumb rubbed circles over your goosebumps. 

“y/n?” Jungkook’s voice grounds you back to reality, you’re suddenly more aware of your surroundings—more aware of him. “You with me?” He appears out of the blue in your face, you flinch at the close proximity and turn your head. 

“Yeah.” You softly breathe out, “I, uh think you should be fine. You’ve never failed the other assignments before, so this should be no different.” You tug your arm from his hold, “Is there anything else before I go?” Despite slipping on your coat, Jungkook’s piercing gaze manages to make you feel like you’re naked. “Jungkook..?” You whisper. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side as his hooded gaze racks over your covered form, “Mm,” he toys with his lip ring and bites his bottom lip, “nah, I think I got somethin’. I’ll see you around, Mrs l/n,” he coos softly while licking his lips. 

You’re left standing alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. 

+

I can be what you need, little baby. Just tell me what you need. 

You’re not sure when the obsession began, nor WHY it even existed. Had you possibly led him on? Did Jungkook get any mixed signals you might not have been aware you gave him? There were so many why’s but very little answers. 

Jungkook came from a very wealthy background (old money), his father was a famous business tycoon and Jungkook was set to inherit the family company in the future. Much like his father Jungkook lived up to the Jeon name. He was ambitious, intelligent, and cunning. If things weren’t going his way it was known that Jungkook would make it happen one way or another. 

What Jungkook wanted, he got. Thanks to daddy’s money of course. Despite this though Jungkook proved to be a highly intelligent individual. His exam scores over the years were proof. Even now Jungkook’s scores were at an all time high, he was the picture perfect example of a good student. The perfect role model if it weren’t for his rather unorthodox behavior. 

It began with little thank you notes attached to snacks, then small gifts like plushies and flowers. From the very beginning you had been wary of his gifts, you couldn’t decipher whether he was sending them platonically or romantically, but you being the absolute saint decided to give him the benefit of doubt. That alone would be your demise. 

What began as brief polite conversations slowly turned into lingering looks and wanton whispers of unspoken desires. 

You as his teacher knew better and tried to set things straight with him but each time you sat him down he’d give you those devilish eyes of his and leave you a sputtering puddle. What even was the point if Jungkook always managed to turn you into a mess with his cocky attitude?

You found yourself worrying about your job more often. Jungkook simply didn’t care about the ring you wore around your finger, it’s something he’d come to tell you many, many times. You partially blamed yourself for not being firmer with him, Jungkook was a brute who had no regards for your personal boundaries. It was evident in the way he cornered and handled you to his liking. 

Which is why you weren’t surprised with him anymore. 

“Comin’ to bed soon love?” You look up to see your husband propped up against the doorway with his arms folded over his bare chest. You’re tempted to look further down when you notice he’s wearing those damned sweatpants, the ones that hung low on his hips.

“Yeah, I have one more left and then I’m all yours.” You sleepily smile while blowing him a gentle kiss, “And Jae? Did he fall asleep already?” 

Jicheol brushes his wet hair from his face with one hand, “Out like a light, must’ve been real tired from today.” He comments, “Which reminds me of a certain someone’s bedtime.” He gives you a look that immediately has butterflies fluttering, “If you’re not in bed by eleven I’m comin’ in here and carrying your ass out. You’re warned.” He tosses you a little smirk over his shoulder before slipping away and shutting your office door. 

Your face flares up like a shy schoolgirl as you chew on your pen to distract yourself from the not so nice thoughts invading your brain. You notice the papers you’re holding belongs to Jungkook, you’re surprised he ended up at the bottom of the stack. You scratched your head in wonder and curiosity since you wanted to see what Jungkook wrote. With a lazy hum you lean back in your desk chair and begin reading. 

‘I can be your baby in real life, sugar,’

‘Look me in the eye tell me I'm the one,’ 

‘Can't you be my fantasy, little baby?’ 

Your heart begins to race and you swear you can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Shock fills your entire being the more you read and the heat never leaves your face. You don’t know what to think or say, this by far was something you would have never guessed would happen to you. Not even in your wildest dreams, or nightmares. 

The icing on top was the fact that he had written within the essay requirements and had met each and every one of your expectations so technically the essay was valid and you couldn’t just toss it out. It was clear that he had thought it through, he went about his word play smartly and knew how to phrase his words just damn near perfect. 

So here you were now going through a crisis because your very hot student just said he wanted to bang you in different positions all night long. You felt like if this kept up with him you were going to be taking a paid or unpaid leave, it didn’t matter to you as long as you could take a break and get away from this all. Get away from him. 

“Babe?” Jicheol’s voice brings you out of your moment of hysteria, “It’s past eleven-ten come to bed now, yeah?” He strolls into your office, “Damn, that bad?” He says while eyeing the papers sitting in your hands. He goes to reach for them when you finally snap out of it and yank the papers back. “Uhh..okay, didn’t know it was THAT bad of an essay, now quit playing and come to bed.” He groans tiredly. 

You place a hand over your racing heart and sigh, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” You toss the essay onto the desk and lead your husband out by the arm, “Let’s just call it a night.” You mumble while hiding your face in his arm. Jicheol doesn’t mention anything else. 

.

“He went too far.” You whisper under your breath while turning away from the innocent papers sitting on your desk—innocent but oh so ominous.

Since reading it you’ve been on edge. You tried to avoid the topic of essays during a lecture but a sweet girl had asked and you were forced to talk about them. Jungkook had a (knowing) smirk the entire time as you informed the class that you indeed had finished reading and grading them. You hadn’t meant to but your eyes slowly gravitated towards him, your gazes met until you were the one who turned away with a flushed expression. 

A gentle but firm knock brings you out of your inner turmoil, “Who is it?” You softly call back while turning to the door with a hand over your chest. 

“Me,” Jungkook replies while already slipping into the room like he has many, many other times.  

Your heart skips a beat and your stomach does a flip, this was harder than you initially thought it would be. You’re not so sure this is even a good idea but you inhale deeply and close your eyes, “..I’m going to keep this very brief with you,” you step behind your desk while reaching for the essay lying on your desk, “the essay—why?” 

Jungkook grins softly, “What?” He shrugs innocently, “Didn’t like it? Was I a little too ‘vulgar’? Not somethin’ you’re used to people telling you?” His gaze alone is enough to make you feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes, unpleasant little shivers creep up your spine and you try not to let it show how nervous he’s making you. 

“Don’t–” You raise your hand with gritted teeth, “..There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and you’re crossing every one of them. I warned you time and time again about your..‘actions’ but you’re not taking me seriously.” You give him a pointed look trying your best to come off as stern. 

Jungkook lazily grins, “Oh but I am taking you seriously Mrs l/n,” the way your name rolls off his tongue shouldn’t make your stomach swoop the way it does, he takes a step closer and you backwards, “ ‘s why you’re my favorite teacher y/n.” 

Your patience finally snaps, “Let me make myself clear: these little games of yours? Stops today. I’m not entertaining you nor the stupid child’s play you have going on. If this keeps going I’ll report this to the dean and have you removed from class.” 

You try your best to stand tall and keep your gaze unwavering but Jungkook’s a challenge though. He stares back defiantly with his dark onyx eyes—they’re empty and void of any emotion (his tongue poking the inside of his cheek says it all though). “Really now?” He hums, “Let me know how that goes for you,” he chuckles under his breath while reaching over with a tattooed hand to play with the family picture lying on your desk, “Cute you even came up with that silly little idea.” 

“Excuse me?” You watch closely as he handles your picture frame so carelessly in his hands.

“Go on,” he nods his head as his lips curl in amusement, “run to the dean and tell ‘em allllll about how inappropriate I am. You have my essay as proof,” he licks his lips, “I wonder if they’ll think the same thing as me,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, “pretty face..soft lips..” His gaze drops down before he’s meeting your eyes again, “Pretty everythin’.” 

You clear your throat, “Leave,” you point to the door, “I can’t have you in my class any longer. So leave, I’ll have this situation sorted with the dean by tonight so expect to receive a letter or email.” You hold your hand out for the picture frame, “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook tosses the frame up in the air a few times, each time making your heart skip a beat as you wait with a bated breath. “Okay.” He grins and places the frame in your hold, “There’s a tiny little problem though,” he mumbles and suddenly grips your hands tightly and squeezes. 

You gasp in surprise as he tugs you closer until you’re both leaning face to face. He’s so close you can smell his spicy scented cologne, the forced proximity begins to make you panic with fear. The only thing separating you two is the desk and nothing else—even then you have no doubt he’d just pull you over the surface if he wanted to. 

Your eyes flicker over his face a few times and you nervously lick your lips, “Let me go,” you’re not sure why you’re whispering when you could be yelling and screaming bloody murder right now. 

But you don’t. 

“Jungkook–” 

“You know,” he starts softly, “my dad always said if I wanted something then to take it. No one’s going to give you anything simply because you say please and thank you. You’re either at the top of the food chain or…the bottom. ” You make a wounded noise and turn your cheek to him as his hot breath fans over the side of your face, “and right now ‘m gonna take.” He mumbles, “And if I have to take a little walk down to the dean’s office and tell them that my beloved professor is making moves on me—I will.” 

Your eyes widen and his grip slowly loosens when you start going lax in his hold, “You wouldn’t want me to tell everyone their favorite teacher likes fucking her students? Maybe we can make it a little spicy and tell them how we’ve been having a three month affair? Hm?” 

“Y-You’re insane.” You yank yourself back from his hold in a rather harsh fashion. You cradle your sore wrists to your chest and stare back at him with glossy eyes, “None of that is true and you know it.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Oh baby,” he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye, “who said anything about truth? It’s a wonder what money can buy these days.” He hums, “ ‘s a reaaaalll shame my dad funds a few organizations here too don’t you think? Maybe my dad should have a loong phone call with the dean tonight, they’re pretty good friends after all. I’m sure they’d like to catch up.” 

You feel like your world is crashing down, he’s cornered you and now you’ve got no escape. You’re filled with hopelessness and despair, Jungkook’s got you right where he wants you. “C’mon don’t make that face,” you don’t notice when he comes to stand in front of you, “no one has to know..” He coos quietly while backing you up into the desk.

“Jungkook–” Your hand comes up to push his arm away when he sets it right next to you on the desk, he cages you in with his breath fanning over the side of your face because you refuse to look him in the eyes. His hand is so close to your thighs too it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. “Jungkook, please.” You whimper while turning your face as the two of you look into each other's eyes. 

His lips part but a knock brings the two of you out of your trances. He looks at the door in annoyance and clicks his tongue, “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters more to himself while refusing to move from his spot. “Mrs Gong?” You hear one of your students say, “I was um, wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about the essay.” She says softly. 

“Go on,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, “answer her.” He teasingly nips at you. 

You tremble under him and push at his chest repeatedly, “Y-Yes..! Give me a moment I’m finishing up with another student right now dear,” you yelp when Jungkook strokes over your inner thigh, slapping a hand over your lips for a few seconds, “... J-Just sit out there, I’ll come in a bit.” 

Jungkook chuckles quietly, and ignores the fierce glare you throw his way. “Let me go, Jungkook.” You attempt to slip away from the desk but Jungkook brings you back in with a hand curled around your waist, “Jungkook–” He silences your desperate pleas with a soft little ‘shh’ as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You can’t do anything but helplessly stare back at him, angry at yourself for being so weak and caving in. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen baby, so listen carefully,” he softly whispers, “I’m going to leave you my phone number and you’re gonna answer me later on tonight—ah-ah, none of that now,” he says when he sees a protest bubbling up, “you’re gonna be a good girl and reply okay? I don’t give a fuck if your husband is there or not, if you don’t answer me baby I’m gonna be forced to do somethin’ ugly and we don’t want that now do we? No, that’s right.” He talks to you like he’s speaking to a child or something. “Got it all down?” 

You nod timidly and hold your tongue, “Good girl.” He smiles and lets you go, “Remember baby: answer.” He waves his phone in the air teasingly while stepping away. 

You watch him walk to the door, he stops briefly and your heart skips a beat wondering what he could want now. “And for the record—I meant every little word just now.” He smirks darkly before pushing the door open and stepping out. You’re left standing there in the middle of the room trying to calm your racing heart.  

“Mrs Gong?” The girl timidly calls out. 

Your eyes snap over to the picture frame sitting in your hands and you take a deep long breath, “Come in.” You just dug yourself a hole you can’t even get back out from. 

+ 

You looked out of your class window to see that the sky was beginning to set and it was a lovely shade of red-orange hues mixed with purple. You quickly glanced down at your watch and figured now would be a better time to leave. You shrugged your coat on and carried your things out the door. The janitor greeted you on your way out as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway. 

The campus was pretty lonely and empty save for a few people here and there. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way down to the teachers parking lot. From a distance you heard another pair of footsteps but you paid no mind thinking it was probably another teacher or the security guard. Sometimes things were too good to be true. 

“Was beginning to wonder where my favorite teacher wandered off to.” Jungkook calls out from behind. He stands there with his hands in his pockets and a hand combing through his slightly messy hair. “Thought she might’ve run off for a second, we can’t have that happening now can we?” He hums. 

You let out a chilly breath and shake your head, “Been busy with work and life stuff..” Your eyes are lowered to the ground, you refuse to meet his eyes because you already know what’s staring back. “Did you need something?” You tilt your head. 

Jungkook toys with his lip ring and nods, “I’m guessing that’s why you requested days off for next week then hm? Husband takin’ you on a little trip, is that it?” He looks mildly bothered but the underlying possessiveness in his tone makes it easy to ignore. “Tell me baby,” he steps closer while caging you in between him and the car, “you trying to get away?” 

You look up at him through your lashes and shake your head, “Jungkook, we’re outside.” You squirm around uncomfortably, “Someone’s gonna see us..!”

“C’mere,” he curls his hands around your waist and tugs you into him, “we got some business of our own.” You nearly stumble when he begins walking you two away from your car, your eyes dart around the parking lot in panic as you attempt to budge yourself away from Jungkook. 

“Where are you taking me? Stop..! You realize how crazy this looks,” you turn your head in time to see a sleek black car come into view, no doubt it belonged to Jungkook though. “Why am I here Jungkook?” You pushed at his chest until he finally stumbled back a little. 

Jungkook gives you a playful smile, “Out, gonna give you a nice little send-off before you run off from me next week baby.” He reaches around you to unlock his car, “Get in, ‘s fuckin freezing out here.” When you came out the sky was still colorful, now it’s completely dark and the only thing around was the orange lighting from the several lamps in the parking lot. 

“Jungkook I’m not getting in the car with you,” you hopelessly look at him while pursing your lips in an attempt to suppress the oncoming whine, “I have things of my own to do, my husband is waiting for me.” You secretly relish in the way his eyes narrow when you mention ‘husband’, “Can’t all this wait for another day?” 

He props himself against the car, his gaze drops down to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands baby,” he leans down to whisper low in your ear, “we do this the easy way or something really bad can happen.” His lips slide along your cheek gently, placing a small trail of kisses to the corner of your mouth. 

You meet his eyes as a thick wave of tension falls over you both. He takes your silence as an answer and pecks your lips, “Get on then,” he murmurs. His car lights up in a fuschia pink color when he starts it, you feel small curled up in his leather seat. 

This is it. You’re really doing it. 

Your heart races even faster when you see Jungkook reach over to shift the gears, “Wait, Jungkook–” You slip your hand over his marveling in the size difference, “My car, I can’t leave it here.”

Jungkook lets the steering wheel go and for a minute you think he’s giving in, but ignorance is bliss. He tugs you in by a hand to the cheek, slotting his lips over yours as he uses his hold to keep you still. You sit there unresponsive in complete shock, Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind as he occasionally tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth. He moves his lips languidly until wet little smacks begin to fill the quiet car. 

You reach over to push him off but he quickly snatches your wrist up in his hold, you barely even fight back as you end up falling into his touch even more. You make soft noises as tiny little moans spill into Jungkook’s hot mouth, your lips are glossed over and slicked up with spit from his kisses. 

Jungkook pulls away and pants hotly into your mouth, “You make it hard to control myself.” He quietly murmurs while pressing chaste kisses on you, “You have no idea,” he whispers, “those pretty little eyes and sweet lips drive me mad sweetheart. Fuck,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

Jungkook quickly shifts the car and begins pulling out of the parking lot. You end up hopelessly looking back at your car as it gets smaller and smaller the further he gets. To add more salt to the wound your phone buzzes loudly in your purse, you pause and Jungkook does too. “Answer it.” He says whilst slipping his hand over your knee, “C’mon baby, don’t keep him waiting.” 

Your eyes sting with unshed tears as your worst fears come true, Jicheol’s texting you asking if everything’s alright and if you’re coming home now. Your eyes slide over the words over and over again, you can’t bring yourself to reply to him it was too much. Eventually though (because of Jungkook’s piercing gaze) you manage to reply that you’re heading out for drinks with some colleagues. 

Jicheol replies with a ‘have fun, love u lots’ and something inside of you twists bitterly. “Tell him not to worry,” Jungkook turns to face you at a stop light, “me and you? We’re gonna have a nice loong conversation all night.” 

. 

“Relax pretty,” Jungkook mumbles behind you, “just sit back and let me do all the work.” His big hands settle over your hips using his grip to guide you towards the large bed sitting in the middle of the room. 

Originally (or so you’ve been told), Jungkook was planning on having a dinner date first before taking you back somewhere for some fun. But here you were, standing in the middle of a hotel room feeling like a cheap whore. Funnily enough Jungkook had picked out a couples suite too judging by the rose petals, candles and bottle of wine. 

You came to a stop in front of the bed, your hands were gripping the sash tying your coat together in an effort to stop Jungkook. Like everything else though, he took again and again.

His hands pried yours off and slipped the coat right off your shoulders, it pooled around your feet and you were left standing in your white blouse and black pencil skirt. You could feel his hot breath fanning over the side of your neck, sending pleasant little shivers down your spine. 

“Look at you,” he whistles low as his hands cup both of your tits through the blouse, “like a wet dream come true, you’d make any man fall to their knees baby.” He purrs while massaging both soft mounds, the stimulation has your tits aching and nipples hardening through the cups of your bra. 

A weak whimper slips past your lips, you reach up to grip his wrist tightly rather than attempt to pry him off. You stumble over your coat just trying to get away from him, “Jungkook—no,” you turn in time to see him advancing towards you like a predator. 

He licks his lips slowly as he reaches out to gently shove you onto the bed, “No what baby? I’ll treat you realll good, show you how you’re meant to be fucked stupid. I’d have you hangin’ from my cock in a heartbeat, ‘s all you’re good for baby: takin’ cock and bein’ filled with cum.” Jungkook climbs over and pins you on the bed, “Don’t need to use your pretty little head when you’re with me baby,” 

You cry out in surprise when he rips your blouse open and leaves a flurry of hot open mouthed kisses over your chest and peeking tits. “Fuckin’ hell,” he snarls and yanks the bra down, your tits come spilling out from the cups. He takes a hard nipple into his mouth and suckles gently, mimicking that of a hungry babe. 

“Oh,” your eyes squeeze shut as hot pleasure shoots all the way down between your legs where you need it the most. His tongue rolls and swipes over your nipple repeatedly, he hums low and sneaks his other hand up to cup your tit. You moan louder as Jungkook fondles the soft flesh in his hand and your nipple ends up rubbing against his palm. 

“You like that?” He rasps out and pulls away to give your other nipple the same treatment, “Got such slutty little tits for me, bet I can make ‘em leak for me.” A cheshire grin paints his lips as he deviously licks over your wet nipple, “We’ll just have to wait ‘n see, don’t we little mama?”

It feels like you’re in heaven right now just by having your tits played with. It wasn’t like Jicheol and you didn’t have an active sex life—nor was it boring by any means—but one thing that never quite went away was the sensitivity in your tits. Another thing you had discovered was that you still had some milk in there, if you played with them for long enough your tits leaked like crazy (Jicheol knew this firsthand). 

Your eyes flutter shut as more moans force themselves out of you, “Fuck–wait,” you whisper out while pushing his head away, “hurts a little…” You mumble while shivering from the cold air hitting your wet nipples. 

“Gonna taste that pussy of yours baby,” Jungkook reaches for the zipper to your skirt, “wonder if it’s as pretty as you.” He licks his lips hungrily, “Show me,” he pats your thighs and tugs the skirt down your legs. 

Jungkook moans when he sees the lace garter attached to your sheer black stockings, “God, look at you. You were made for me weren’t you baby?” He strokes over your legs and then pries them apart, settling nicely between your open legs. 

Jungkook tugs you close until your hips are pressed tight against his own, you can feel the print of his hard cock through his joggers. It feels hot and heavy, you’re already picturing how big his cock’s gotta be and the mere thought is enough to make your mouth water. As ashamed as you are to admit it, but you’re eager for him to fuck you. You want him to make good of his promises to fuck you all night in different positions until you can’t cum anymore. 

A wave of regret washes over, “Wait,” you sit up and cover your chest with one arm mentally preparing yourself. If you were going to cheat, then you were going to make sure you didn’t remember any of it, “pass me a glass of wine.” Your lips are pursed in a soft pout, gaze half-lidded and dreamy-like (a charm you used on Jicheol to get your way at times). 

“There you go sweetheart,” he reaches over for the entire bottle and pops it open, “let yourself go for me.” He purrs and brings the wine directly to your lips. 

.

You become hyper aware of everything around—the rain that hits outside the fogged-up windows, the faint crackling noise from the candles, and the shuffling noises from the bed. How much time has passed since you both got here?

“Oh fuck..” You hear Jungkook breathily mutter under his breath, he continues to fuck his cock in and out of your soaked and sopping pussy without abandon. The lube ends up dripping from your folds and slides down the crevices of your cum splattered cheeks.

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, your clit’s numb and rubbed raw by now. An array of used condoms litter the trashcan nearby and by the looks of it the box might be empty after this round. Surely he’ll stop there…right? 

“Hear that?” He grunts with effort as he smacks his hips into yours, “Sloppy pussy drippin’ all over me, ‘s like you were made for me, made to take cock ‘n be my lil’ cock sleeve.” He purrs low and lowers himself until he’s hovering over you. His strong hand comes up to grip your thigh, he wraps it around his waist and holds you close while he fucks into your greedy pussy over and over again. 

Your face heats in embarrassment as the squelching and slapping noises get louder, you manage to bite your bottom lip and suppress the cries and whines that threaten to slip out. Everything about this is so good, from the way he fucks down to his heavenly cock that Jungkook sure as hell knew how to use, but you rather die than admit your enjoyment openly. 

“Shit.” Jungkook looks like a wet dream come true as his head hangs low in pleasure and his necklace swings back and forth from the force of his thrusts. 

You’re scrambling to find a grip on him, your hands curl around his shoulders and hold on for dear life. Your once quiet sighs become louder mewls and moans, little breathy “uhs” leaving your lips. The louder you get the harder he goes, he’s driving his cock deep inside with such force you wonder if you’ll be able to walk after this. 

With each punishing slap he lands there’s a sweet little sting that follows afterwards. A particular thrust startles you bad when he brushes up against your g-spot. You find yourself leaning into him, thighs widening around his waist as you angle your hips in a way you know his cock will hit the spot. 

“Mm–wait, ‘s good there,” you breathe out, “fuck..right there…” Your words are slurred and come out borderline pornographic reminding you of a porno or something. 

Jungkook doesn’t reply anything other than a grunt, he reaches down to hook your thighs over his shoulders. He’s pressed so close his chest is rubbing up against your sore tits each time he lands another thrust. You’re finally letting your moans slip as the volume begins steadily increasing inside the room. The noises you both make rival those of the creaking and skin slapping. 

“My name baby,” Jungkook whispers over your lips, “let ‘em know who’s fuckin’ this pussy.” The crazed look he has in his eye paired with his wild thrusting has your orgasm slowly ebbing away at you again. 

You don’t like how close he is, how exposed you’re feeling from the forced face to face proximity he has you in. The hunger in his eyes has your cunt clenching around him like you’re afraid he’s gonna stop fucking you. Jungkook lets out a low moan and reaches up with one hand to squeeze your chin tightly, “C’mon, don’t go all stupid on me,” he licks his lips. 

“Jungkook,” you softly moan as your lips part in a tiny ‘o’ from the grip he has on your chin/cheeks, “mmph—’m coming..!” You grit your teeth and arch your back just a tiny bit given that Jungkook’s got you in a mating press. 

Jungkook lets your face go and does the unexpected, he lands a hard slap on your ass before he’s rubbing the sore skin gently, “Louder.” He lands another smack, this one hurting more than the one before.

“J-Jungkook..!” You cry out with watery eyes. 

“Again.” Smack.

You manage to whimper out a half-garbled cry of his name, your pussy rhythmically throbs around his cock in a milking motion. There’s a nasty sound each time he bottoms out balls deep inside, your thighs shake and tremble from their spot on his shoulders. You’re left with a dazed cloudy feeling afterwards—nipples sore and your pussy wet as hell. 

“Mmm,” you bite your lip and turn your face away in dizziness, “s..leepy..” 

Jungkook doesn’t stop fucking you even if you sleepily beg him to stop. He pumps away at your spent cunt until he’s coming with a low groan of your name and a throbbing cock. You let out a sleepy sigh as your eyes begin slipping shut, you feel Jungkook gently tap your chin to get you awake again, “Open up for me baby, we’re not done here.” He hums low. 

+

You woke up early in the morning after barely managing to catch any sleep. Jungkook had his face tucked in the crook of your neck and his arms tightly wrapped around your body. Your back was pressed against his chest where his necklace tickled the back of your neck. His hands were folded over your middle, grip tight and snug. You were beginning to wonder how the hell you were getting out. 

“Fuck my head hurts,” you whisper out while lifting your head to survey your surroundings. 

Clothes, shoes, bags—they were tossed everywhere. The sheets were sliding off the bed and the comforter was completely off hanging to the side. You spotted the empty glass of wine and two cups sitting together on the nightstand next to the candles, bitterly reminding you of the night before. 

“I need to get out of here.” You whisper while tightly wrapping the white sheets around your body. 

You don’t know how but you somehow manage to untangle yourself from Jungkook’s arms and slip off the bed. Jungkook’s still sleeping so you use this as a chance to dress and leave quickly. You’re not too sure if you’ll be leaving anytime soon if Jungkook wakes up. 

“Shit.” You frown when you see all the messages Jicheol sent you (there were a ton of missed calls too). 

jicheoooll<3 : babe r u ok? 

9:23

don’t get too wasted, call if you need me to come

9:35

having fun?? 

10:00

you staying with friends tonight babe? pretty late alr

10:57

gn, call me in the morning beautiful 

Once you manage to get dressed and call a taxi, you put all your attention to replying with a made-up story in your head. The guilt is eating you alive but you can worry about feeling like a shitty person later, right now you need to get away.

The cold air hits you in your face when you step out of the warm building, people are going about their days and cars are moving steadily through traffic. You hear a beep and you see your taxi parked on the side of the road. For now you can forget and you’ll worry about Jungkook later, you think to yourself while slipping into the warm car. 

.

Your heart begins pounding at the sight of Jicheol’s car which is still parked out in front when you come home. You check the time on your watch and numbly realize he must’ve called in, the guilt feels ten times worse. With a heavy sigh you park the car in the driveway and slip out with your things and coat in hand. You were going to have to face him and your son one way or another, no use in crying over it now. 

“What’s done is done.” You find yourself thinking out loud while heading up the steps. Your key is halfway in when the door suddenly opens and the warm air from inside hits you in the face. You’re momentarily stunned as you stand there with your hand still hovering in the air, “Jicheol.” 

Your husband lets out a breath of relief as his big hands come up to cup your face inspecting for any injuries etc, “You’re okay,” he says in obvious relief, “did you have fun last night?” 

“Yeah..” You whisper back, “Think ‘m gonna shower though, I stink.” You complain softly while heading inside rather quickly in an attempt to avoid Jicheol because you don’t know whether you want to cry or scream at your own guilt, “How’s Jae?” You were hoping to slip away to the bathroom before Jicheol could catch up but he’s hot on your tail after shutting the front door. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you bitterly think while turning the hot water on. 

“He’s fine, your mom came and picked him up last night. He’s gonna stay over for the weekend.” Jicheol slips his hands around your waist and gently guides you into the spacious bathroom, “Wanted to be here when you came,” he mumbles in your ear while kissing over your neck and shoulder, “missed you last night.” His hands slowly unbuttoned your messy blouse, “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout your fine ass, should’ve never let you walk out the house like that.” He huskily says. 

Normally you’d shudder in anticipation and delight but right now the guilt is eating away at you. Your eyes slip shut in an attempt to focus and steer your mind away from what happened last night but god Jicheol’s making it hard. No matter how much you try to think about something else, your traitorous mind finds a way to flash images of Jungkook ripping your top open and sucking your nipples till they were sore and leaky. 

“Got such slutty little tits for me, bet I can make ‘em leak for me.”

A breathy little ‘yes’ falls from your lips when the pair of hands massaging your tits slip under the cups and knead your sore mounds of flesh. Jicheol rolls your nipples between his fingers knowingly, tugging just the way he knows you like. “So fuckin’ needy.” Jicheol chuckles darkly. You lose yourself in the feeling as moans and sighs fall, the heat from the water running isn’t helping much either. 

Your eyes slip open and a noise of confusion leaves you when Jicheol stops to tilt your chin towards him. Everything shifts back into place and you’re suddenly aware of everything around you—the running water, the steam, Jicheol—you try to ignore the disappointed feeling you get in your chest (you're scandalized that you’re feeling disappointed to begin with). 

“You okay baby?” Jicheol looks worried, “Want me to stop?” 

“No,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug him closer to you. Jicheol stares at you through half-lidded eyes, licking his lips hungrily when you bring his face down. Your lips hover over his, “I missed you too.” You whisper quietly before closing the distance between you two. 

Jicheol releases a muffled groan and slips his hand down to grip your hips tightly, you sigh blissfully when you press up against his front. You can feel the outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach, sitting there throbbing from its confinements. He mutters a husky “fuck” and lifts you up onto the countertop with your back pressing against the foggy mirror. 

Jicheol always makes you forget. 

+

You ended up pulling Jungkook aside after a lecture sometime later on during the week. You spend the entirety of your mini-vacation at home sulking in discomfort anytime you think about what happened with Jungkook, and Jicheol wasn’t making it any easier with his sweet self. It was driving you insane and you felt like you needed to talk about it to feel a little better about your shitty actions. 

Jungkook already has a sly little grin on his face when he slips into your office, “Why the pouty little face? You’re the one who called me here,” he folds his arms over his chest as he stands in front of you with amusement written all over his features. 

You meet his eyes hesitantly and take a few seconds to gather your thoughts, “Now that you got what you wanted, can we both mutually agree this little thing of yours is over?” What’s scarier than Jungkook’s anger is his silence. It was like trouble was brewing in your face and you didn’t know how to stop or control it. “Don’t look at me like that Jungkook, you knew what was coming. I’m married for fucks sake,” you whisper to him, eyes darting back and forth between him and the door.

“Our thing.” Jungkook loudly corrects making you turn your head in alarm, “last I remember it takes two to tango baby, ‘n you sure as hell didn’t seem done when I fucked you all night long. Or did you forget?” He tilts his head to follow your gaze when you begin avoiding his eyes, “Hm? C’mon sweetheart, tell me how much you enjoyed it—how your little pussy was so good to me and soaked my cock?” He cages you in and yanks your chin up to face him, “C’mon, say it.”

You let out a terrified whimper and try to push him away but Jungkook pins you up against him, “Jungkook–let go,” you turn your face away trying to look away, “get off..!” 

“Oh but you loved it baby,” he coos out while watching you fight against him like a child throwing a tantrum, “ ‘s why you gave it up to me so easily,” he pouts mockingly, “rode ‘n fucked me like the little fiend you are sweetheart.” He rasps hotly in your ear, “Gripped my cock nice ‘n tight with that soaked cun—” 

You moaned wantonly as he wrapped his lips around a sensitive spot on your neck, through your panic though you began pushing at his shoulders to stop him from leaving a mark, “J-Jungkook, no,” you bite down on your lip with a muffled moan, “fuck—just listen to me dammit!” You grip his face in both hands, “There are rules and boundaries Jungkook, you can’t just fucking waltz in here doing shit because you feel like it alright?! My job, my reputation, my LIFE is on the line and you’re more concerned with getting your dick wet? Do you just not care that my life can potentially—no—be ruined, all because you’re a rich brat who wanted pussy?” 

Jungkook recovers from the initial shock when you snapped at him, he cups your face and slams his lips against yours. You pant hotly into his mouth while he spins you both around and guides you onto the desk, papers and pens go flying as Jungkook comes to stand between your parted legs. You’re forced to let him in as he moves his slicked up lips desperately, he kisses with such ferocity it knocks the breath out of you. 

“Mmph—Jungkook,” you whisper between harsh breaths and kisses, “stop.” You gasp out as he buries his face in your neck and leaves more filthy opened mouthed kisses. 

He pulls away with a soft pant, “You don’t want me to, trust me,” he tilts your chin again so you’re facing him, “I’ll make your life a living hell in point two seconds baby, don’t test me. Unless you want everyone to see how much of a cock slut in bed you are, is that it baby? You want them to see how pretty you look when you’re hanging off this cock? Because I can make it happen.” He darkly whispers. 

A sick part of you shivers at the threat when he talks to you in that low tone he uses when he’s angry. Your pussy has a second little heartbeat down there because of him, you can’t even say you’re ashamed anymore. You silently stare because you refuse to give him the satisfaction of replying. Jungkook doesn’t need to hear it though because he’s already leaning in to kiss you more gently than before. 

“Don’t need to think,” Jungkook mumbles, “just sit ‘n look pretty for me sweetheart, ‘s all you need to do.” He trails off as his hands slip up your skirt, hooking his fingers around your panties and tugging. They come sliding down to your ankles while Jungkook works his belt open, “Gonna give you what you need,” he trails off. 

Your lust filled eyes meet him in a fierce stare down, not once do you look away as he spreads you open and makes himself comfortable between your legs. You hate how easy it is to submit and fall under his control. You were supposed to be the one with authority here, not him. Funny how he turned you putty in his hands each time. 

Jungkook fists his cock with slick noises, he’s pushing through your slicked up folds and you feel the head poke at your unclenched leaking hole. There’s a filthy little voice in the back of your head that hisses in excitement chanting a series of ‘yes’ and ‘in’ over and over again. Your cunt’s hungry and desperate to be stretched out by his fat cock.  

“.. Just shut up and fuck me.” You find yourself whispering while wrapping your legs around his hips and bringing him closer.

Jungkook forgoes the condom entirely, he taps his cock over your pussy a few times before he’s pushing in with a low hiss. He fills you up inch by inch, everything feels so much better with him going in bare. Your mouth waters at every little bump and curve you feel, your pussy opens right up and molds to fit around him.

Your lips fall open in a silent moan as Jungkook bottoms out in your tight little sopping hole, your rim stretches and hugs his cock nice and snug. It’s a tight fit but you’re in utter bliss right now, and even if you wanted to complain at the small sting you feel when he shifts but you don’t bother to. Jungkook’s not going to listen anyways, he never has. 

“There you go,” Jungkook bites on his bottom lip, he keeps you steady with his hands curled around your waist, “open right up for me baby.” He breathes out. 

His hips slowly roll forwards, he idly grinds and bumps his hips against yours. You feel some pressure here and there, like your poor pussy’s going to burst but each time he moves you feel him hit a sensitive spot. Your hips jump when the tip nudges into your cervix, just poking like he’s testing the waters or something. 

“Jungkook–” you huff, “slow down, hurts.” You try shifting around to see if you’re able to steer his cock away from your cervix. 

Jungkook lays a soft apologetic kiss over your shoulder before he’s hoisting you closer, he has your hips tilted at an angle where he’s striking dead on into your oversensitive walls. You moan in relief, biting down on your lip to keep your noises in. You nearly forget that you’re both still on campus, fucking on your desk like it’s some cliche porno. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, he hooks his chin over your shoulder and fucks into you. His hips roll into yours over and over again, slipping in and out of your drenched pussy with ease. You can faintly hear the wet noises start up wondering if your desk will be salvageable by the end of this. 

You find yourself holding on to him tightly with your arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. Your moans threaten to spill out each time he fucks himself in, the tip keeps grazing over a sweet spot repeatedly sending pleasant little shivers down your spine each time. Jungkook doesn’t stick to that languid pace for much, he ends up bucking his hips eagerly and shoving his cock deeper. 

“Oh fuck,” he rasps out while hugging your body tighter, “c’mon, make some noise for me baby. Let ‘em know who’s fucking this greedy cunt.” He grits his teeth and slaps his hips into yours with a loud squelching ‘plap’.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” as if on cue your pussy makes another embarassingly loud squelching noise. You’re so fucking wet it’s slipping down between your asscheeks and pooling under you. “And these tits,” he groans and slaps one through your blouse, “such pretty fuckin’ tits on you, wonder how they look all swollen and filled. Maybe I’ll breed this cunt till you catch, it’ll make a nice little surprise for your husband.” He grins wildly. 

You whine loud—it’s unintentional (you’d like to think)—the very thought of possibly ending up pregnant sends a sick thrill down your spine. You find letting cries and whimpers slip from your lips, they’re louder and clearer than before. Jungkook smirks knowingly and you know what he’s about to say, but he simply lays you back on the desk and lifts your legs over his shoulders. The angle changes again and your mouth falls open. 

“There..!” You throw your head back and groan. 

His cock repeatedly punches into your g-spot, you scramble to get a hold of something to keep you grounded. You feel like you’re going crazy with him hammering away at your sore cunt and your impending orgasm bubbling in your lower stomach. Jungkook’s face hovers close and you can feel his hot breaths fanning over you. 

“There?” He moans, “Like it when I fuck you stupid huh? Pretty pussy all meant to be mine,” he slows down but keeps his pace brutal, “gonna fill you up baby, you’re lucky I can’t put a baby in you.. Or else.” He darkly mumbles while leaning down to swallow up all your moans and sighs. 

Your eyes flutter shut from the strong pleasure, he knocks the breath out of you each time he bottoms out. Your clit throbs pathetically from neglect and you desperately want to reach down to soothe it but Jungkook’s pounding you so good you can’t focus. Your lips part with a needy cry, he uses it as a chance to bite on your bottom lip and swipe his tongue over the seam of your lips. 

“C..um, ‘m gonna cum,” you softly whimper while arching into him, “please ‘m so close.” 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, he quickly falls into you and rolls his hips into yours over and over again. You trap him against you but Jungkook figures out a way to keep moving. Jungkook grinds into you slowly, letting you feel every inch and the girth. This makes your mouth fall open as a shudder runs through your body. 

“Fuck..” You begin shaking from pleasure, your arms slip from his shoulders but Jungkook simply hoists you upright into his strong big arms. 

You’re caged against his chest while he slowly fucks in and out, you’re so close you just need a tiny little push. If Jungkook could just hit that spot one more time—ohh.. “Jungkook,” you feel a strong tremor pass over you. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, rhythmically clenching and massaging him as you cum all over him and yourself. 

Jungkook doesn’t let up no matter how tight you get, he’s groaning and hissing under his breath while whispering the most filthiest fucking praises, “There you go baby, jus’ like that. Go on and make a mess for me, want you dripping my cum out of that loose cunt of yours.”

He cums a few minutes later with a loud moan, you like the feeling of his throbbing cock buried deep inside as he unloads all his pearly white cum into you. You squirm around a few more times but Jungkook ultimately ends up gripping your hip to stop you, “Shit–don’t do that.” He moans painfully. 

The two of you pant quietly while trying to catch your breaths. It turns into a slow little make out session you can’t refuse or resist because he’s that sexy post orgasm glow. You’re lips-locked when a knock brings the two of you out of whatever world you were both just in. 

You pull back from his lips with a wet noise, panting hard as you try to catch your breath from the brutal fuck just now. “Mrs Gong?” You hear one of your students say. 

Jungkook’s still hazy from his orgasm (evident in the way he looks at you all blissed out), he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and quietly moans when you clench around his half-hard cock. He doesn’t say anything thankfully, “I’ll be right out,” you finally manage to say without sounding like you just ran a marathon. 

This boy was going to be the death of you. 

+

jungkook : get ready, gonna take you out. wear somethin pretty too

You frown in both annoyance and confusion, when and how did Jungkook get your address? “I don’t even wanna know.” You mumble while shaking your head, with Jungkook there’s no limits to his depravity. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had someone paid to get your information. 

You look over at the bedroom door and make sure it’s closed before you sneak to your closet and dial Jungkook, “What the hell do you mean we’re going out?” You mutter while balancing the phone on your shoulder, “I don’t remember little dates being a part of this arrangement.” 

“The tongue you got on you,” Jungkook says from the other line, “makes me wonder if I need to stuff it with somethin’ else damn baby. But we’ll save that for another day, today I wanna take you somewhere nice,” 

You pulled a sweater from a hanger and paused, “Jungkook what’s the dress code?” You sigh in exasperation, all this talking and he still wasn’t telling you anything. You figured you might as well make the best of it, “Hurry up I still have to call my nanny to come take care of my son, I don’t have all day.” 

“Casual, not too casual though. I’ll see you in five.” And with that he hangs up. 

“Great,” you sigh while tossing your phone on the bed after shooting the nanny a quick text, “I’ll see you in five, my ass,” you mimic while finding something nice to wear. 

The door creaks open and your son Jae comes running in making excited airplane noises, “Where you goin’ mama?” He tilts his head, “Are you going to see aunties for lunch? Ooh, can I come, can I come?” He buzzes in excitement while smiling from ear to ear. 

“No baby, mama’s meeting a different friend, a work friend.” You gently correct yourself while surfing through your jeans, “Wanna help me choose an outfit,” you squat to Jae’s level and brush his unruly hair out of his face, “looks like I’m gonna need your eyes for this Jae.” 

His eyes widened comically, “Mama but you have your own!” He gasps while covering his face with his tiny hands, “These are my eyes!” He squeals while running out of the room. 

You grin deviously and chase after him with a “come back here”. The house is filled with your giggles and Jae’s excited yells and laughter, you end up chasing Jae back to your room as the little boy hides himself under the blankets. 

“C’mon, mama wants to look pretty today won’t you help me baby?” You pout while sitting on the bed, “Pretty please with sprinkles and fairies on top?” 

Jae pops his head out with a dramatic little sigh, “Fiinee,” you grin triumphantly, “I’m gonna make you look prettier than any other lady out there today.” He smiles toothlessly and runs into your closet. 

You end up wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and your cream colored sweatshirt. Jae didn’t know anything about shoes so you slipped on your cozy socks and a pair of brown tasman slippers. Upon Jae’s insistence you applied a little mascara and clear gloss over your lips, “There, is mommy done now?” You ask while spraying some body spray he was holding out to you. 

“Done, you look so pretty.” Jae shyly says while hiding his face in your leg, “Is Miss Danielle coming today? I like her a lot, she’s super cool and nice.” 

You hum absent-mindedly while putting your phone and wallet in your purse, “Yes she is, mama needs you to be the bestest boy ever okay? I’ll be back around dinner time when daddy’s coming home okay?” You smile sadly, “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Me too,” Jae softly says before the doorbell brings him out of his trance, “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!” He runs off leaving you to your devices. 

“That boy.” You shake your head and slip your watch on. You can hear Jae talking with Danielle down in the foyer as you finish getting ready. 

Your phone pings and you immediately know who it is, “Danielle,” you greet while passing the girl in a hurry, “thanks for coming last minute you’re a lifesaver.” You sigh in appreciation, “House is yours and if you’re hungry order some delivery for you and Jae okay? I’ll pay you extra if I take too long. If my husband comes home first then you’re free to go.” 

Danielle already has Jae in her arms as she smiles sweetly at you, “No problem, you know I like Jae a lot anyways.” She shrugs, “Have fun.” 

“Oh I will.” You bitterly mutter, “Bye my loves.” You blow a kiss to your son at the door and head out. Jungkook’s Mercedes is parked right in front of your house and you done nearly sprint over in fear. Your heart quite literally almost falls out of your ass. 

“Are you fucking insane?” You spit while slipping into the car, “Jungkook move, oh you just finally fucking lost it didn’t you? Anyone can see you—my neighbors, my son, the nanny!” 

Jungkook laughs quietly and brings you in for a messy smooch, “Calm down, we’re leaving right now.” 

“No, right now.” You glare, “Move.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to your lips in obvious hunger, “Give me a kiss.” You look at him in disbelief and he merely shrugs, “What? You heard me.” He’s really not playing around because he doesn’t budge or make a move to shift gears or anything. 

You nervously look around the area before leaning over to quickly kiss him, “There.” 

“Another one.” He calmly replies despite your whining and the face you make. He’s serious then, you think while curling a hand behind the back of his neck and pulling his face closer to yours. 

Your lips meet in a hot kiss, you find yourself putting a little more effort into it than most times he’s kissed you. Jungkook’s a good kisser you won’t lie/deny, if anything you felt shittier for admitting that you enjoyed kisses with him. You gently bite down on his bottom lip in a mix of arousal and curiosity. 

Jungkook lets out a quiet groan and leans more into it to deepen the kiss. “No more,” you whisper when you pull away to catch your breath, “I’m serious.” You softly say albeit a bit more gentle and less hostile. 

“Okay.” He pulls away and starts the car. His hand comes over to settle on your thigh, fitting so easily like you were made for him. 

You slump in your seat and turn your head to watch your home slowly disappear as Jungkook pulls out of the neighborhood. If you look closely though, you won’t miss the awe-struck looking nanny standing there looking from the living room window. 

“Are you okay? What are you looking at?” Jae asks. 

“Nothing,” Danielle mumbles as she shakes her head, “let’s watch tv yeah?” There’s no way she just caught her boss kissing someone who was obviously not her husband. 

.

“How was your day?” You find yourself looking up from the bowl of chips you’re having when Jicheol suddenly talks to you, “Dani told me you had a last minute meeting with a coworker?” He hums while unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly, “y/n?” 

Your focus shifts back onto Jicheol after momentarily spacing out, “It was good,” you mumble and try not to think about earlier when Jungkook was buried balls deep fucking you over the hood of the car, “Had some lunch and then we went for like a nature walk..of some sorts.” You trail off dumbly. 

Jicheol raises a brow, “Some sorts..?” He tilts his head with confusion written all over his face. 

“Fuck, Jungkook!” 

“Right there..!” 

“Mmmh..yes,”

“Com–coming!” 

You freeze mid-chip and peer over at your husband, “Yeah..some sort,” you crack a tiny smile to break the tension, “that’s not important though,” you set the bowl off to the side somewhere, “how was your day?” You smile prettily. 

Jicheol (thankfully) takes the bait, he has a smile painted over his handsome face, “Boring, I had a few meetings here and there and then some paperwork to file.” He sighs heavily and falls dramatically on the bed next to you, “You busy tomorrow?” He quietly asks while poking your side. 

“Depends,” you softly whisper and lean down to press gentle kisses over his lips, “what are we doing?” You blow against his lips gently, cracking a smile when Jicheol hooks a hand around the back of your neck, “Hm?” 

Jicheol doesn’t reply and instead brushes his lips over yours, “C’mere,” he quietly murmurs, “on my lap sweetheart.” You can feel his big hands over the small of your back, he guides you over so that you straddle him. 

You bite your lip and watch Jicheol closely, the excitement builds up quickly because something about your husband drove you wild. Jicheol didn’t even have to try to get you in the mood, god bless for fine men like himself. You lean down to attach your lips to his rather eagerly, if you both could just skip the foreplay—

“Babe,” Jicheol pauses when your phone begins to ring loudly. You let out a deep sigh and hesitantly pull away from him looking mildly annoyed. His sharp eyes stay on you while you reach around for your phone and check who it is. “Who’s calling?”

‘Great’ you think while seeing the caller ID, “No one, probably spam.” You say through gritted teeth while turning your phone off ALL the way, “Don’t worry about it,” you mumble while giving him quick pecks, “ ‘s not important baby.” You run your hands along the planes of his chiseled chest and toned stomach. 

Jicheol uses his hold on you to switch your positions, you giggle up at him when your head lands on the soft pillows, “What’s so funny, hm.” He buries his face in the side of your neck and sucks marks into your unblemished skin. 

Your lips part and you bury your fingers in his hair, “Nothin’,” you lick your lips as you catch your phone from the corner of your eye, “nothing at all.” You say as his lips find yours and the two of you sink into the sheets. 

+

The cold morning air brushes against your cold cheeks fiercely, only fueling your adrenaline to keep jogging despite your lungs begging otherwise. You liked morning jogs a lot, helped clear your mind and get you away from everything for a bit. Besides, the trail you took was local and not many people came out at this hour. 

“Ah shit.” You whisper tiredly while pausing in your tracks to pick up your fallen AirPod. You take a minute to inspect it and clean the earbud of any dirt and grime it might’ve got from the floor. 

You hear footsteps nearby but you assume it’s another runner (while there weren’t many, it wasn’t rare either). You move off the trail to get out of the way when suddenly the steps stop and a strong pair of arms wraps around your middle. You yell out in surprise and turn your head to see who your attacker is. 

“Jungkook..?” You breathlessly ask, “You scared me, what the hell is wrong with you?!” You smack his chest a few times.

Jungkook has this scary look on his face but what’s new? This spoilt brat was always pissy about something so you weren’t phased, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that again.” He glares, “You intentionally ignored me for one,” he takes a step forward, “and then two, come to my surprise baby you turned your phone off. The fuck is that about?” He growls. 

You shake your head and sigh in disbelief, “Really? You’re crying about me turning my phone off? So what, am I supposed to ask you for permission now? Can’t even let my phone die without you freaking out?”

Jungkook snatches your wrist and tugs you towards him, “Don’t fucking give me that,” he whispers dangerously low, “I’m not a fucking moron like you think I am.”

“Nobody said that.” You tug on your wrist, “Now let me go, someone’s gonna see you and I have to get back home.” Jungkook’s about to answer when he suddenly pauses, staring at something. You frown in confusion and look, “What?” You follow his eyes and you go still. 

The marks. 

You really done it now. “Jungkook…” You hesitantly meet his eyes and wish you never had. He looks so fucking pissed you don’t know whether to cry or run away. 

The fear kicks in and you take a step back from him. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and slowly nods his head, “I see..seems like you were too busy being a little cockslut hangin’ off someone else’s cock. Tell me was it good?” He darkly mumbles, “Did he fuck you better than I did? Did he have your pussy droolin’ and creaming around his cock like you do to mine? He make you scream like I do baby?” He envelops your entire throat in his hand, not gripping but rather just holding you in place. 

“I’ll scream.” You whisper shakily. 

“Go ahead,” Jungkook laughs in your face, “you do it plenty so I don’t see the difference now.” Your face burns with humiliation and you turn your face away from him, “Oh don’t give me that,” he mock-pouts, “c’mon baby look at me.” He grips your cheeks between his fingers as he squeezes them together and makes your pouty lips form a tiny little peak that he smooches. 

“Jungkook please,” you softly whine, “not here, someone’s gonna see.” 

“You’re right,” he mumbles while staring at the dark hickeys Jicheol left on you, “I know a better place.” You follow his eyes and look over to see that he’s set his sights on your home. Immediately you turn to protest but Jungkook lifts a finger over your lips, “Ah-ah, just do as I fuckin’ say.” 

. 

You’re walking on pins and needles right now, today might just be the day your entire world ends up ruined. You can’t help the way your eyes flicker over to the laundry room, the anxiety claws at your insides and you’re desperate for any escape. After Jungkook had demanded you let him into your home things started piling one after the other. 

First it was Jicheol who had decided to come early from work (out of all days you bitterly think), and then you had Danielle over helping with Jae. How the hell are you planning on explaining anything if Jae or Danielle accidentally enter the laundry room and see Jungkook in there? This isn’t a “oh, my mistake” situation, there’s no coming back from this once everything begins to surface.

You shudder just thinking about it, “Danielle–honey, do you mind taking Jae out to the park for a bit? I got a lot on my mind right now and I think I’m gonna just cook dinner or something to get my head out of the clouds. I’d prefer if Jae wasn’t in the house though.”

Danielle stops coloring the page Jae had handed her as she tilts her head up to meet your eyes, “Oh, sure. Do you want me to pack him something or will we be coming back early?” She stands to her feet while dusting off her jeans. 

“Pack a few snacks,” you look over at the closed double doors and nervously bite your lip, “actually here, just take this and bring me back the change—or don’t. Just head out before it gets dark.” You say while ushering her and Jae out. 

Danielle doesn’t comment on your jittery behavior, she simply waves bye and takes the little boy with her down the street to the local park. Now you just have to find a way to keep Jicheol occupied. “Jicheol? Baby do you mind stopping by the store and bringing me a few things?” You loudly call out. 

Jungkook’s long made himself at home in your kitchen, he waves his hand with a teasing smirk on his face. “Fuck you,” you mouth while passing the kitchen to head upstairs where Jicheol was probably at, “Jicheol baby can you run to the store?” You sound out of breath by the time you reach the top, Jicheol’s standing in the doorway in his loungewear. 

“Sure, you got a list or something?” He hums. 

“Uh yeah, I wrote it down but I forgot where I slipped the note. Just go, I’ll send it to you when you’re on your way yeah?” You try to appear as calm as possible but the devil downstairs wouldn’t let you. 

Jicheol looks at you weirdly but ends up nodding anyway, “Okay well, you do that.” He slips past you, “I’ll call you if you don’t send the list by the time I get there.” He begins descending downstairs, “By the way, did the neighbors get a new car? I swear I keep seeing that same Mercedes up and down the street.” 

You freeze in terror and clench your fists tightly, “..Oh really? I didn’t know either,” you slip downstairs and turn the corner to see Jicheol standing in the kitchen while drinking a glass of water you don’t remember seeing him or anyone for that matter set out. 

“Maybe you should get going before it gets late. I kinda need the things for the dinner I’m making.” You nervously smile. 

“You tryin’ to get rid of me now?” Jicheol laughs, “So jittery baby, what’s got you all fired up hm?” He tucks you into his arms and rocks side to side, “Did something happen baby?” He softly says in your ear. 

“No,” you mumble back, “was planning a surprise.” 

Jicheol nods slowly, “Okay, I’ll be back then my love. I can’t wait to see what you got planned.” He winks and parts from you. You close your eyes and wait for Jicheol to leave, you can hear him getting his keys and a few other trinkets of his. Any minute now.. 

. . .

“Jicheol?” You call out when you don’t hear the front door open or close, “Is everything okay?” 

You end up stepping out to go see what was happening, instead you got a fat load of Jungkook carrying your unconscious husband away to the living room, “Jungkook?! What did you do? What the fuck did you do?!” You begin panicking, pacing back and forth throughout the room, “Fucking hell, are you some sort of deranged psycho!” 

“Relax,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “I drugged him, well been drugging him with the water I left out.” He snickers and tosses Jicheol over the couch, “Fuck he’s heavy,” he cracks his back and rolls his muscles, “baby, baby,” he raises his hand, “you’re stressin’ me the fuck out with all your walking and pacing.”

 

“Well excuse me, my husband is drugged and passed out in front of me, but sure I’ll keep it down for you Mr Jeon, anything else?” 

Jungkook lazily grins, “You can be as loouuud as you want, I’m not complaining.” He raises his hands in surrender, “But you know what, there is something you can do for me.” He purrs low, “Come here.” 

Your eyes widen knowingly and you shake your head, “No, fuck no. We can go to the room or anywhere but not here—not in front of him.” You hiss. 

“I don’t really give a fuck.” Jungkook tugs you close, “Awake or asleep, I’ll fuck you whenever and however the fuck I want.” His hot breath ghosts over the side of your neck, “I know that deep down—you love this, gettin’ fucked silly in front of your husband, don’t you wanna show him how well you take my cock?” He whispers. 

Your eyes slip shut in both arousal and horror, “No.” 

“Liar.” Jungkook bites down on your earlobe teasingly, “Explain this,” he suddenly thrusts a hand into your sweatpants. His cold fingers cup you through your panties, heavy palm sitting right under your pulsing heat. “Hm?” 

“J-Jungkook, no,” you fight against his grip and squirm around, “listen to me dammit!” You sob in frustration as all the fight begins to slowly leave your body, ending with you melting into a mush of goo. 

Jungkook coos softly, “Baby needs a cock in her? Is that it?” He cages you in between him and the coffee table the back of your knees bumps into, “C’mon tell me, you know I like hearing filthy things leave that pretty little mouth.” He tilts you by the chin to face him, “Look at me,” he patiently hums. 

Your eyes flutter open to the bleary sight of Jungkook, “Just get it over with,” you blink tears away, “please Jungkook.” 

He doesn’t say anything when he slides his lips on yours, his hand cups the side of your face to hold you perfectly still and pliant in his hands. Your face scrunches cutely and you find yourself trying to guide him away from the living room with hands over his abdomen. However a frown makes its way to your face when you notice he doesn’t budge. 

“We’re not going anywhere sweetheart,” he calmly says after pulling apart with a string of spit connecting your messy lips, “but you already knew that, why play dumb?” He talks to you like he’s talking to a child. 

You make a noise of protest but it dies down when Jungkook begins moving. He guides you over to the armrest of the sofa Jicheol’s passed out on. Your heart slams in your chest violently like it’s about to burst. Jicheol’s sleeping face is centimeters away from yours making it all the more horrifying.

 

Jungkook steps behind your bent form, he runs his hands over your sides and thighs with a pleased sigh. He slips his hands into your sweats, taking his sweet time in massaging your hips and the swells of your ass cheeks. You end up biting your lip and trying not to squirm away from his unwanted touches. 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath when he tugs your sweatpants down and sees the pretty undies you had on under, “well happy fuckin’ birthday to me.” He whistles and runs his palm over the waistband, hooking his fingers in and pulling until the band snapped back in place. 

You yelped and jolted from the stinging sensation you felt in your hip, he finally decided to grant some mercy and tugged the panties down your thighs. They dropped around your ankles alongside your sweatpants leaving your cunt out in the open for Jungkook. By now you’re sure some wetness had built up between your sticky dewy folds, they felt moist and drenched. 

“Such a little liar,” he smacks your drooling cunt, sending you reeling over the couch with a cry of shock. Your face is dangerously close to Jicheol’s, you catch yourself from letting out another yell when Jungkook spanks you again. The pain sparks a heat inside of you. 

“If I woulda known this slutty cunt drips at the thought of being fucked infront of your husband, I would’ve fucked you a long time ago baby.” He chuckles breathily and rubs over your tender pussy. You moan in protest from the “soothing” touch, he has to give you a warning pinch when your squirming becomes tedious, “Behave.”

Jungkook slips his fingers between your folds, parting them in a ‘v’ as he strokes over your entire pussy. A delicious shiver passes over you when his fingers brush over your slippery clit. The touch is enough to make your swollen bud throb with anticipation and need. You bite a whiny moan and let your head hang in slight disappointment. Jungkook isn’t deterred though, he keeps brushing over your clit never quite touching it. 

“Drippin’ already.” Jungkook murmurs while burying his face in your neck, “head up baby, want him to see the slutty little faces you make while getting fucked stupid.” He shallowly dips his fingers into your sopping hole with a lewd squelch. “Hear that?” He purrs low, “filthy already.” 

Your face grows hot with shame but Jungkook doesn’t stop swirling his fingertip around, he wipes his finger clean in your inner thigh, leaving behind a dollop of slick smeared all over. He shuffles behind you until the head of his weeping cock slides through the mess between your legs. His cock comes poking out through your thighs as he slips himself between your squishy wet folds. 

He slowly rolls his hips and lets his cock slide over your mound again and again. The underside of his shaft rubs against your clit giving it the much needed friction you were craving. “Mmh,” your thighs squeeze together and you push your hips back, plush ass meeting his pelvis with a messy smack. 

“Needy little thing,” Jungkook muses and steers you forward with a hand over your back, “gonna fuck it out of you though—he may have married you but this cunt still belongs to me at the end of the day.” He suddenly slams his hips forward, instantly filling you with a loud splat as his balls collide with your folds, “Mine to fuck, mine to breed, mine to claim.” He groans. 

Your mouth falls open and you shudder, his cock from this angle somehow makes you feel fuller and more stretched out. Your rim hugs his cunt tightly and you can feel the slight tug on your perineum when he backstrokes. Another lewd “uhn” leaves you when he drives his cock right back in, the tip pokes your cervix but it’s nothing too serious or painful. 

“Let me hear you,” Jungkook bites his lower lip and rolls his hips faster, “let your husband hear how you—really—like to get fucked.” He huffs under his breath and brings the hem of his shirt up to his mouth, biting it so he can see his cock disappear into your ruined cunt over and over. 

Your ass ripples with every thrust and there’s a low smacking noise, he’s punching more and more moans from your throat. It’s harder to keep them in when he’s rubbing those spots so good. His cock bumps into your g-spot occasionally but Jungkook wants to drag it out so he doesn’t hit it yet. Your pussy clenches around him drawing a hiss from him as his fingertips dig into your hips. 

Jungkook slams forward and sends you toppling over the armrest a little with your feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You’re jostled closer to Jicheol and hold back a terrified scream you almost let out. Jungkook’s losing control and the pace is sending you flying towards your husband, one wrong move and you’re going to topple on top of Jicheol.

“J-Jungkook slow down,” you mewl, “ ‘m gonna fall..!” You gasp, he hits your g-spot head on with vigor. When he sees the tremor that wracks your smaller frame he starts pounding into that spot wildly. 

Your cries are clear as day, the wet smacking is thundering and the couch rattles loudly over the wooden flooring. You scramble to find a good grip to keep yourself steady while you get the pounding of a lifetime. His vicious thrusts send you forward but his firm grip keeps you speared right on his cock. You chant Jungkook’s name which only spurs him on as he fucks you like a madman. 

Jungkook lets the hem of his shirt go and trails a hand up to twist in your hair, “Fuckin’ slut—pussy’s mine ‘n mine only. Let’s leave him a nice little present for when he wakes up baby, yeah? Gonna fuck this slutty pussy on him even with my cum dripping from it? Least you’ll be all loose ‘n wet for him,” he smirks, “you’d like that wouldn’t you? Maybe we should let him join next time, we’ll fuck all your little holes and keep ‘em filled with our cock.”

You shamelessly moan at that and tilt your head back for him without having to be asked. He lets out a pleased moan and leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, “One cock not enough anymore?” He rubs your ass with his other hand and lands a hard slap over it, “Hm?” 

“N-No,” you hiccup with teary eyes, “need t-to cum,” you gasp, “soo close..mmh..” 

“Cum,” Jungkook whispers, “go on,” he brings a hand down between your sticky thighs and smacks your clit with two fingers. 

The sting sends you over the edge with a loud cry spilling from your lips. You shake from the intensity and slump over with a tired moan. Jungkook doesn’t care that you came already because he keeps pumping his cock in and out of your, using your cunt for his pleasure. 

He yanks you back like a ragdoll and wraps his hand around your throat tightly, “Next time think twice about lettin’ him mark you,” he growls in your ear, “or else drugging won’t be the thing I do.” He lets you go carelessly and grinds his cock deep, pelvis pressed tightly to your ass. 

Your lips part silently in a ‘o’ as you shudder, a mini-orgasm takes you by surprise and you’d rather not think it’s because of what he said just now.. Surely not right? Right.. 

Jungkook moans softly as your pussy hugs his cock nice and snug. He fills you spurt after spurt with cum, not bothering to pull out right away. In fact he grinds his hips in tiny motions to milk his orgasm out, sighs of relief slipping from his lips. The room feels hot and you’re pretty sure the stench of sweat and sex is pungent in the air.  

“Jungkook,” you shakily murmur while pushing back, “c’mon, it’s not funny anymore let me up.” You softly plead while looking back at him with wide glossed over puppy eyes. 

Clean-up is a quiet ordeal, Jungkook looks smug when you pass by with shaky legs. He doesn’t miss the chance to smack your ass, to which you fiercely glare at him as you disappear to quickly change. When you emerge in a comfy home outfit you stand in the doorway pointing to the front door. 

“Out.” You glare, “Not in my house Jungkook, this is the first and last time we do this. You hear me?” You’re not entirely sure he’s listening but you say it anyway. This was not only risky as hell but stupid too, everything was at stake (even if the adrenaline was crazy). 

“Kiss,” Jungkook mumbles with a grin as he finishes slipping his coat back on, “c’mon before I go baby.”

You stare at him unimpressed and walk over to press a gentle kiss over his lips. Of course he wraps his hands around your waist and tugs you closer to him, kissing Jungkook was never a quick ordeal. Nothing was ever quick with him. “Okay,” you push at his chest gently, “enough. My kid and nanny are coming home any minute now, get out.” You huff. 

“Yeah, yeah, you weren’t saying that when I fucked your brains out–” His laugh is cut off when he pauses to stare down the hall in amusement, “Looks like we have a audience baby.” He grins. 

Your head whips to see Danielle standing in the kitchen doorway, she looks shocked and disturbed. Jae’s nowhere insight but your heart still drops to your ass, “D-Danielle.” You’re going to fucking lose it right now. 

She takes a step back and looks at Jungkook with both fear and nervousness, “T-The front door was l-locked so we came through the  b-back.” 

“Dani–honey wait,” you stretch your hand out to her but she’s already running. You can hear Jae in the pantry loudly asking where the applesauce pouches are at. You look at Jungkook with fear in your eyes, “Jungkook—s-she..s-she knows!” You quiver and hold back a sob. 

Jungkook cups your face in his hands, “Don’t cry sweetheart, I’ll fix it yeah?” He hums, “Don’t worry that pretty little head, everything’s gonna be fine.” He kisses your cheeks and wipes your tears with his thumbs, “Smile for me—yeahhh, there you go pretty girl.” He grins, “I’ll handle it.” 

+

Jungkook blows the smoke out from his lips, he crushes the cigarette under his boot and clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Shit,” he mutters and digs around his pocket for his phone, “hello?” He answers with his head tilted back as he watches the tiny snowflakes fall around him. 

“Did you handle it?” 

“I did,” Jungkook chuckles, “what, not gonna ask if I’m tired? It was a lot of work baby, don’t you think I deserve a present?” His eyes flicker down briefly but he goes back to snow watching. 

“...Thank you.” 

“Oh you will be thanking me later, but for now I got a lot of things to attend to so I’ll see you around baby. Don’t get too comfy, I was thinking about heading to London just the two of us. I’m sure that pretty brain of yours can come up with somethin’ to tell him, bye baby.” He smirks and hangs up before you can get a word in. 

He stands in silence just staring at the lump in front of him. “Poor kid, shit luck and shit life.” He grunts and lights another cigarette, “..Gotta get the cleaners ‘n shit—fuck it’s a mess.” He sighs and dials another number, “Hello?” He loudly says, “Round up the cleaning team—no it’s only one, might be two but for today it’s one. Teen, the baby-sitter.” He nudges his foot against the stiff limbs laying in the snow. 

“I’ll triple the payment if you help me eliminate a certain someone..yeah, spring cleaning. Oh, and don’t tell father about this. He’ll be real sad to know it happened..again..”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ it’s fun to play with the salesman knowing he is head over heels for you, until it’s not because he appears at your door with a notice to marry him.

warnings_ AGE GAP (reader in her early 20s and American), immigration inaccuracies, enemies to lovers, dub-con marriage, angst, misogyny, abuse/violence (not directly the salesman to the reader), questionable morals, do not romanticize irl. NOT PROOFREAD

notes_ I’m obsessed with chill from LISA’s new album, it’s so obsessed salesman begging reader for a chance coded.

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

The door makes a loud click after you head out. The frontman was demanding you to hand over the file with all the names of the VIPs and who were sponsors for the games of the year. You could say you were free from stepping in the island for a couple of months. The rest of your job was in Seoul, keeping everything in secret and getting rid of possible nosy people.

You make your way through the long dark halls and press the button of the elevator.

Exactly at the same time as another man.

You turn to look at him and he offers a little friendly nod, to which you don’t reply.

You silently step into the elevator when the doors open and the man in suit steps behind you.

You could feel his eyes on your hair, shoulders, silhouette under your dress, and your naked calf. You knew the man was the recruiter and one of the favorites from the late Il-Nam.

The salesman had rarely seen you. He couldn’t remember your face but after hopping into the same elevator as him, he was sure he wouldn’t forget your face and features.

You caught his eye. The last time a woman infatuated him was when he was a late teen.

And he knew that was a danger. Because if you passed his internal tests, he would get obsessed with you.

He wasn’t expecting to talk to you, but he sure felt disappointed when the elevator reached the first floor and you quietly headed out, without acknowledging him.

…

Grey and black everywhere.

Those were your favorite colors, but not in a place that should be called home.

You roll your eyes, feeling a warm arm around your waist.

It shouldn’t hurt so much to feel awkward about casual sex.

You gently move away from said arm and you spot a sleeping salesman.

His disheveled hair made him look a lot younger. Adorably appealing…

But you hated him and he didn’t deserve to have your caresses.

When he started to appear almost everywhere you worked, subtly showing you he was deranged and insane, you ended up agreeing to share the same sheets as him.

The salesman was just for the thrill, he didn’t mean anything.

He had a great physique, perfect cock and gave good aftercare. Perhaps he was just acting to keep his place between your legs but you liked it.

Except when he started to hint at something more serious. More than sex…

You’d get scared, irritated and so you would run.

You quietly get dressed and then you turn to give the man one last look.

He was in good shape to be an old asshole…

Back at your place you shower and take your plan b because you weren’t on any medication or contraceptives. The salesman was always sure to put on a condom but he liked to tease you about cumming inside you.

Fuck him (indeed, you were doing it)….

Beep beep, there is no ringtone but your phone vibrates.

You roll your eyes at the number.

“I told you not to call me to this number” you spit out, moving towards the kitchen. “In fact, I told you to not call me at all”

“You left without saying goodbye…” you wondered why he tried to sound like he was hurt, it was pathetic.

“That was the whole point” you answer like it was the most obvious thing.

“Don’t be like this, angel” he says. “We had a wonderful night, Don’t you remember your own voice saying how good I touched you?”

He was grinning, perhaps holding his breath to not cackle. He was mocking you.

“Enough, you’re a fucking asshole” he knew you were angry when you started speaking English, either angry or very relaxed.

He was well aware since your dirty talk always came in English.

“Just admit it, y/n” You roll your eyes once again.

“Oh, I’ll gladly accept that your cock makes me so happy. But it’s a shame it comes glued to you. And don’t call me again!” you harshly almost yell before hanging up.

The salesman smirked, ready to stretch out and start his day.

…

It is not a workday, you are going home after picking up a dress from the dry cleaner. It’s uncomfortable to carry the dress in a plastic bag across the station.

It’s very late, and the place empty.

Your train is about to arrive when you hear a loud slap followed by a male groan.

Your lips immediately form a smile.

When you turn around, on the other side of the train tracks, there is your salesman.

Definitely not your salesman.

You see him with his nonchalant demeanor, the careless but savage expression of arrogance.

He is too damn cheeky.

The young boy takes the money and leaves, looking back at the man and holding his swollen cheek while walking away.

You clap, making fun of the salesman.

He turns and smirks softly as if he was content to see you there.

“You really have a firm hand,” you say.

“What do you have there?…” he ignores your comment and points at the dress hanging from your shoulder.

“A dress…”

“Dress… For what occasion, exactly?” you shrug, debating whether to tell him or not.

“None of your business, sir” You decide to keep the girlfriend’s dinner private.

“Perhaps a date?”

“Perhaps I’d rather not?” Both of you look at each other smiling.

“Have a date with me” the salesman leaves you speechless for a couple of seconds.

You can’t have a date with him.

You hear the train coming, and then you turn back to look at him.

“It would complicate things even more” he knows it’s dangerous, to form interpersonal relationships with while having a vile job. “But even if we could, I wouldn’t…”

It hurts his deepest and most intimate feelings.

The salesman gets his vision obstructed because of the train. But he can see you hopping in and turning to give him a look at your back.

Maybe he should give up. He was wasting his time and he firmly believed nobody deserved so much of his attention.

Including you…

And just as he was leaving the station, his phone vibrated.

…

Be a ghost while we find something else to dissipate this; the frontman had said to you a week ago.

Apparently, In-ho trusted you enough to tell you his brother Hwang Jun-ho was looking for you after finding your ID was not renovated and your tourist permit had expired months ago.

The frontman told you that he couldn’t lose you because you already had a good record of your job. He said that you shouldn’t draw any attention from the authorities and if needed, you would have to reside on the island.

But he would find a solution. In-ho was your friend after all…

You are drinking sparkling wine and watching a TV show when you hear a knock on your door.

You don’t bother to grab a sweater, you are in a silk nightgown and it’s quite a cold day, but your place is warm.

After a new soft wave of knocks, you finally stand up and answer the door.

There is your salesman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You ask with eyes wide open and notice he is eyeing your outfit. “How do you know where I live?”

The truth was, you were never invited to spend the night at your place, it was either at a hotel or his bachelor’s apartment.

“The frontman has the perfect solution for your situation” he hands you a perfectly neat folder with papers.

You eye him, doubtful.

As you start reading the papers, your eyes only open more and more till you look back at the salesman in pure shock.

“I have to marry you?” You nearly scream at him.

“It’s the fastest solution. Marrying a Korean citizen will revoke your felonies and offenses” you sigh.

“And of course, it had to be you…” he shrugs, looking uninterested but you know he is dying to know your answer.

“In-ho knows I’m your closest workmate” Well yeah, In-ho didn’t know you hated the salesman, that you could barely stand him, and that you were fucking him.

But you also know he would try to give you the easiest gateway chance. There’s not much to think about. Even less when you remember the type of you’re into.

“Take me to the nearest civil registry” his eyes opened, surely surprised.

His heart beat as his hands started to sweat. He was marrying you…

What an odd sentence. Not that he minded…

…

“Y/n, come back here!” The salesman yells as he jobs behind you.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” You yell back.

Through an empty park, you are walking with no exact direction. You’re so angry, frustrated, and anxious even.

It was bad that you got married in a nightgown, flat shoes, and some random coat. Even worse when you waited almost an hour for the judge to arrive.

Upon entering the little room, the salesman appeared with a little bouquet of white roses and handed them to you.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you signed the paper and the bastard kissed you when it was over and a random photographer appeared to take a picture.

And that’s when you ran outside, towards the park over the street of the civil registry.

You stop when you feel like getting out of breath, the trail running uphill.

“This is ridiculous!” the salesman yells, grabbing your wrist. “I know it wasn’t a fairytale wedding but at least you’re out of trouble now!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

And you slap him.

He retrieves, looking at you surprised.

“I’m sorry…” you almost whisper.

Your feet drag you to sit on the bench and sigh, holding your head and refusing to cry.

The salesman takes pity on you, he sits beside you and dares to gently rub your back.

“I’ve always been crushing for you” you admit.

“What?”

Oh, so that caught him off guard…

“Since I was a newbie and you were already an officer” you reveal, not daring to look at him but keeping your eyes on the sunset.

“I had high hopes of you acknowledging me one day” he gulps, already worried about something he hadn’t remembered yet. “Until the day you and your friends came to kick my ass”

He froze.

“It was you?…” he asks and you nod, finally eyeing him.

015, a circle, a woman. It was you…

His friends received a warning directly from Il-nam for ruining two corpses in perfect conditions, when it had been your fault.

Despite anger, vengeance, and mocking, the salesman followed his friends to the guards’ dorms and entered their room to beat the hell out of them.

Once they turned on the lights and saw it was a woman, they cowardly ran out.

“I thought my ribs were broken” you try to joke, but he remains silent.

The salesman remembered only watching, he was too drunk to actually throw some punches. But he had the key to open the dorms, he caused everything.

“I’m truly sorry,” he says.

To be fair, you weren’t expecting an apology from an arrogant man like him.

But was he arrogant enough? To subtly keep up with his approaches towards you, For literal years?

“You’re sorry?” He nods, taking your free hand, you almost backed away, but he didn’t let you. “I can do horrible things. But not to you…”

“Okay”

“Okay? Just like that?… y/n, What the fuck?”

you stand up, shrugging while finishing your cigar.

“Can we just go home?… So we can fuck?” he chuckles, surprised at your careless vocabulary.

“So now it’s home, angel?” now you roll your eyes, trying to hide a little smile.

“My place, of course” he nods, a smile also lingering over his face. “Sure, sweetheart”

“I have a name, you know?”

“But you’re my wife now”

“Yeah, cheers to that” he knows you’re joking, you roll your eyes and make a disgusted face, but now he knows the truth.

You also feel the same way he does.

“Can I have some chicken nuggets?” he nods and watches you leave towards his car.

He chuckles.

The salesman looks down at the marriage certificate and then back at you, listening to how you started to curse like a lunatic because he hadn’t unlocked the doors yet.

He was in love.

…

You let him wander all across your place. He opens some of your books, your high school yearbook, your community college certificate, your bachelor’s degree, and everything.

All while you sat and ate your chicken nuggets and listened to a podcast.

The salesman eyes you every now and then and he knows you were nervous, even anxious about the whole idea of suddenly being married.

He softly nods when you announce you’ll take a shower. And within the sound of water running, he can hear your quiet cries.

He feels awful to his own surprise.

His fingers trace the framed pictures on one of your shelves. With your family, that seemed little but real, with also few friends but fun and you alone.

The salesman wondered who the woman he married was? , he wanted to know more, he even questioned if he would ever meet the people in the pictures. Was that even possible?

And then, he heard you open the door.

You were sitting by the edge of your bed when your husband appeared, standing on the frame of your bedroom.

Husband… My husband; you internally vowed.

What was a husband? Certainly not a man who randomly appears at your door with a notice. Not a man you resented and slapped him after signing the marriage papers.

What would your family and friends think? An older, wealthier, insane husband.

At least you knew his real name and age now.

He appears at your door, and you tilt your head, gesturing for him to walk inside the room.

He steps forward, stepping just in front of you, you ignore his perfect black socks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, startling you.

“I guess so” you answer calmly. “Though, I’m glad it was you and not anyone else”

“Why is that?” The salesman asks, feeling slightly hopeful.

“Because I know you and you know me” he nods. “As much as I hate to admit it”

“When did you start to like me?” You ask him he shrugs, but revealing how nervous he is.

“The day we ended up in the same elevator”

“Really? Why?” You question with genuine curiosity. The salesman chuckles, patting your leg. “Because you looked very attractive to me. I didn’t remember you and I thought I had never seen you before”

“Would you do it again?” He frowns at your question. “Let your friends beat some random woman as punishment?”

“No. But there still would be punishment. Just not like that… That’s not what a gentleman does” You nod, not fully convinced but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

You hear the distant droplet of water splatting the floor made of tiles on the shower. You don’t know what to say.

“Now what? I thought I’d never marry…” you admit.

“Me neither” the salesman kneels, perfectly eyeing you so you can’t refuse to know him. “But I’m sure we can work out some sort of agreement”

“A marriage is not supposed to be a contract,” you say.

“I want to commit to you…”

He what?…

“For real?” He nods, his hand fishes something out of his pocket, and takes your right hand.

He places two cold rings in your palm.

Two white gold bands. One has a square-shaped little diamond and the other is simply the band.

You look at him, surprised.

“Yes, I want you to be mine”

“Will you be faithful? Calm? Attempt to get to know me? Be willing to love me one day? Will you listen to me as I will listen to you? Can we be friends before husband and wife?” You realize you have bombarded him with many questions.

But when you lock your eyes with him, he only smiles.

“That’s a promise,” he says.

And for the first time, you can’t hate him. You lean to kiss your husband.

______________________

I’m right at episode 5 of Coffee Prince and I’m already cooking a Han Kyul fic that looks promising to me, with TOO many Y2K references and a brother’s best friend plot IT HAS ME EXCITED !!!!!

[slut4thebroken]

Obsessed

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

Summary | Bucky has a crush on his teammate.

Warnings | Smut, non con, voyeurism, no sex, masturbation, misogyny, stalking, public masturbation kinda, come marking, invasion of privacy, creepy!bucky, dark fantasies.

Words | 1.2 k

Notes | This is lowkey a prequel to another fic that I have in the drafts but shh…

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 24: stalking + voyeurism

Ever since joining the Avengers, Bucky’s been completely obsessed with you. It wasn’t so bad before he was an official member and he would only really see you on missions. But once he moved into the compound… the intensity of his obsession skyrocketed. Every little thing you did constantly made him hard, from your smile to the way you’d close your eyes and moan after taking a bite of a particularly delicious meal. 

Sometimes he’d use his enhanced hearing and listen to you working out from the room next to the gym, fucking his fist while imagining you were panting because he was pounding your fucked out hole instead. Or when you’d be sparring with Natasha and get hit just a little too hard, he’d memorize the sound of your little whimpers and groans of pain. 

If he was feeling extra ballsy, he’d stand in the dark hallway and watch you. Honestly the fact that you preferred working out in the middle of the night was a blessing. He’d hide in the shadows and watch the way your tits moved in your sports bra. Or the way your tiny little shorts would be constantly riding up your ass. 

He’d hold out as long as he could before reaching a hand in his pants and fisting his cock. The light glimmer of sweat on your skin, the way your cheeks flushed a pretty red, the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily… All of it made him ache for you even more— for your much smaller body to be pinned beneath his huge frame as he pounded into you and made you whimper and moan for him. 

He finished in his pants with a low groan and hid away in his room since your room was barely ten feet from his. Once he heard your door shut, he waited impatiently for the bathroom door to close and the shower to start. After he heard you step in the shower, he slipped into your room. 

Your work out clothes were tossed on top of the rest of the clothes in the hamper. He walked over and picked up your underwear— of course you’d wear a thong, he thought with a smirk. Shoving the item in his pants, he cleaned up his seed as much as he could before tossing the garment back in the pile. 

Walking over to the dresser, he listened carefully, confirming you were still in the shower, then opened the top drawer. A lot of sports bras and cotton panties, but digging a little deeper, he found the lace. Mostly red and black, some light pink and white. God- what he wouldn’t do to see you in this… He closed it and walked over to your bed, finding your pajamas and underwear laid out. He hit the fucking jackpot tonight. 

Picking them up, he freed his cock from his pants and rubbed your panties against the tip. He made sure to rub the inside against it, smearing a subtle amount of precum. The thought of his dick and precum indirectly touching your cunt made him consider using the panties to jerk off… but that would be way too obvious when he eventually came on them. 

He reluctantly put them back how he found them and moved to your nightstand drawer, finding not one… but two vibrators. Just sitting there. You didn’t even try to hide them. He slowly stroked his cock, not wanting to get carried away and lose track of time. Your phone screen lighting up tore his attention away from the toys in the drawer. He didn’t even notice it at first, but this was fucking perfect. 

Ever since he accidentally came across some open tabs on your phone, he’s been dying to find out more. He opened it, already knowing the password, and scrolled through the tabs before clicking on one. 

His hard length slid through my slick folds, making me clench around nothing and whine. He chuckled, but lined himself up with my entrance regardless. Finally, he pushed inside my aching hole, both of us letting out low moans. 

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky mumbled, going to a new tab. 

I squirmed, still half asleep, at the fire growing in my belly. Warm and wet suddenly engulfed my clit, making me cry out. I’ve never had a dream this realistic before. A low groan against my heat made my eyes flutter open. The sight of a mop of brown hair between my legs made me jerk away, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to his mouth. 

He stared at the screen with wide eyes and moved to another tab, still pumping his cock slowly. 

“N-no. Please stop.” I sobbed, trying to push his hips away. Cold metal met my neck and I choked on a gasp. 

“You’re gonna take my fucking cock. Or I can kill you and then fuck you. Your choice.” He hissed, dragging the knife across my neck, almost as if to show me how he’d kill me. When I didn’t respond, he forced his cock inside, making me let out a hoarse scream. He wasted no time with his frantic thrusts in my pussy, both of us listening to the way my arousal created a squelching sound each time he moved. 

“Listen to how wet your pathetic little cunt is for your rapist.” He grabbed my hair so tight that my eyes watered and pushed my head down to watch. “Look at how you’re drenching my cock.” He growled, brutally pounding my already sore hole. 

The sound of the shower curtain sliding open snapped him out of his trance. He locked your phone and placed it back down then swiftly exited the room. He didn’t even bother tucking his cock back in his pants. The second his door was closed, he leaned against it and quickly fisted his throbbing length. 

He thought about threatening you like that— The way your sweet little pussy would drool at his words. He’d tease you about how he can smell you already. You’d whine and squirm and flush in embarrassment, and that would only drive him to do it more. 

He’d cut all your clothes off but remain fully clothed himself. He’d make fun of how fast your heart was beating and how sweet your cunt smells. He’d jerk off right in front of your face before covering it in his seed and forcing you to keep it there. 

He wanted to pull you into his room next time before you could make it to the gym, yank your slutty little shorts and panties down, and jerk off until he came in them, then make you work out with a mess between your legs. He wanted to spar with you and not hold back at all— punching and kicking you, making you whimper and groan in pain. Knowing your ego though, you wouldn’t stop. He wanted to make you bruise— make you bleed… Permanently mark your pretty skin with his name. 

He shuddered as he came, his seed coating his hand and the floor while he imagined you were kneeling in front of him with your mouth open, eager to swallow it down. 

The more he tried to resist these fantasies, the harder it became. It didn’t help that you clearly were craving it too— what with all of the porn you read, you were obviously desperate for a good dicking. 

He thought about maybe asking you first… but if you really wanted consent, you wouldn’t read such filthy stories about being forcefully taken. 

Who was he to deny you what you needed? 

[ovaryacted]

GUILTY AS SIN || II. VETITI FRUCTUS

─ General Marcus Acacius x fem! virgin! reader || WC: 11.5k

SYNOPSIS: After General Acacius hangs you out to dry, you're sure he no longer wants anything to do with you. Yet, when he confronts you while your father is away for business matters, he tries to prove you wrong.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Girthy age gap [Acacius is 50/reader is early 20s]. Explicit Language. Formal dialogue. Virginity loss. Unprotected p in v. Pull-out method. Oral sex (f! receiving). Fingering. Mirror sex. Light handjob. Praise kink. Size kink. Marking kink (if you squint). Dirty talk. Marcus guides you through it. Breast/nipple play. Terms of endearment (dove, little dove, mea columba). Misunderstandings & angst. Jealousy. Confessions. Mentions of misogyny, patriarchal norms, & customs. Mentions of societal beauty standards. Reader has hair & wears dresses & jewelry. Marcus the Munch makes his debut. Not historically accurate.

➣ Note: Reader's Father’s Name - Julianus Novius Lurio. Handmaiden name - Viria.

A/N: This chapter took me such a long time to write and I apologize for that, but I'm glad I was able to finish it. I did this for the 5 mutuals that wanna fawk Marcus Acacius like I do! Big thank you to @gothcsz for the constant encouragement and feeding my love for the General. Anyways, reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | PREV CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | AO3

You had awoken the following morning to an empty bed and disheveled sheets, not a trace of Acacius left behind, at least to the naked eye. Your fingers searched over the silk that covered your mattress for any possible remnant of the man you had spent all night dreaming about, the buttery material cool to the touch. Curiously, you drew your face closer to the pillow beside your head, digging your nose into the plush cushion, hoping to find something reminiscent of the General.

Faintly embedded in the covers, you caught it: small hints of almond oil and basil smudged under your nostrils; you’d recognize that scent anywhere. All it did was confirm what you needed to know, that what transpired last night wasn’t a dream.

Resting once more on your bed, your eyes closed as you made sense of the things you did last night, what you felt. A part of you knows you’ve stepped into risky territory with the General, tempting him in such a way you gave him your first set of kisses, and in return, he gave you the first taste of forbidden pleasure. If you thought long enough, you could still feel the thick muscle of Acacius’ thigh between your legs, his plush lips trailing kisses over the side of your neck, his voice whispering the praise you sought after. Just thinking about it brought a throb to your core, something new that caused you to exhale a deep breath.

A tentative knock at your door snapped you out of your daydream. Clearing your throat, you sat up straighter on the bed and called out to the inquisitor. The door to your bedroom opened, with Viria appearing on the opposite end, slightly bowing forward at your presence.

“Oh, you are awake, my lady.” She acknowledged warmly, coming to your side of the bed, silently taking in your appearance. She didn’t say much about how the other side of your bed appeared used, but she watched over you with a knowing glance. “Shall I prepare a bath for you? Your father is said to make his return before midday.”

“Yes, that would be helpful. Thank you, Viria.” She nodded, stepping out of your room to order the other servants to set up the bathing chamber.

As you stripped yourself of your sleep gown and slipped into the scented bath water, you cleansed your body of last night’s conduct with the pumice stone, ridding the ghost of Acacius’ touch and replacing it with the scent of jasmine and olive oil. Viria had helped you dress once your skin had dried, layering the flowing material of your stola and fastening it with a golden brooch. As she styled your hair while the other servants took care of preparing for your father’s arrival, you glanced at her apprehensively through the mirror in front of you.

“Viria, did you see anyone leave the domus in the night?” She paused styling your hair momentarily, releasing the curled strands in her hand before placing them on your shoulder.

“If you are asking about the General, yes, I saw him leave before the others awoke at dawn. He left quietly without a word; I am sure he had not been spotted.” Viria’s words did little to provide you any comfort, a slight sense of defeat washing over you as your head filled with unanswered questions.

“Did he spend the night with you?” She asked cautiously, a wary look gracing her features as she tried to understand you. “Was he…was he forceful with you?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort. He was not like that…quite the opposite actually.” You were nervous to speak the truth to the one person you trusted in your home after all of these years, wringing your fingers over your lap. “We kissed.”

“You kissed the General?” Viria commented in hushed shock, receiving a bashful nod of your head. “And you wish to deprive me of such information?” Her lighthearted approach to her probing eased you slightly, chuckling lightly along with her.

“No, I do not plan on doing such a thing. It was bliss what we did, I have never felt anything like it. Yet, we avoided the very thing I hear so much from other people. It’s strange.” While you spoke, Viria resumed styling your hair, isolating each riveting curl to fall down your back. “Though, I am rather confused on how to feel. He confuses me…” You slumped your shoulders and looked off to the side.

“Well, he is a complicated man, I am sure he has his reasons for leaving without notice. But, so long as he treats you with respect and not like a barbarian, that should be sign enough that he is considerate of you.” You hummed at that, feeling another squeeze on your shoulders. “Perhaps you should speak to him afterwards, once you two have a moment alone.”

You left the conversation at that, adding the finishing touches of your look for the day, a simple set of earrings paired with a jeweled necklace, tying it together with some scented oil on the sides of your neck. The rest of the morning was focused on making sure your home was prepared for your father’s return. The servants kept themselves busy by sweeping and scrubbing the floors, placing fresh flowers in the vases by the entryway while others cooked a welcoming feast and fetched the best aged wine in the reserve.

Your father arrived just as the sun reached the halfway point in the sky, the guards at the front door lowered their heads to welcome the man that paid them. Standing beside Viria and some of the other servants to honor him, you all offered him a bow of respect as he walked down the entryway, nodding in approval at the scene before him.

“Stand, child.” He commanded, straightening your back to look at the man before you in the eye. He looked you over once or twice, the end of his lip faintly coiled upwards, patting you on the arm before walking down the line and thanking the other members for their kind welcome. Strolling behind him, lunch was a quiet affair, consisting of light conversation between the bites of food prepared for the day.

“How was your trip, father?” You asked him, sitting across from the man at the dinner table.

“It was fine. Some of the other politicians in the provinces had conflicts they asked my input on, nothing to cause much concern over.” His fork dug into a piece of pork, munching away at the piece of meat and washing it down with the wine in his goblet. “How have things been in the city since my departure?”

“No change since you left. Rome remains the same.” You took tentative bites of your meal, pacing your swallows the way you’ve been trained to. Posture tall and shoulders drawn back, always so careful not to irritate your father.

“And what of your marriage affairs?” The question immediately spoiled your appetite.

“I believe that is intended to be your duty, to find me a husband worthy of partnership.” You chose your words and delivery carefully, taking a sip of wine to manage the nausea you could feel coming.

“When I find a man who offers the right price for your hand, then I will consider it. I refuse to have you bring shame to my name and my legacy by bedding with a commoner. I did not raise you to be a whore after all, unless I am wrong in my judgment?”

The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you met your father’s piercing gaze, eyes widening at his insinuation. It should be no surprise to you, these were the same comments you’ve heard for most of your life since reaching the appropriate age for marriage. The price was never enough, or your father was too busy establishing himself as a man of politics to care for your future outside of being his emotional punching bag. The thought of him figuring out your affections towards the General made your stomach churn, and you knew then that there was no possibility of your union happening with his approval.

“No, father, I understand. I shall wait for you to approve such a union.” He responded with a satisfactory hum, gulping the rest of his wine and snapping at one of the servants for a refill. You did your best to finish the rest of your meal, growing impatient to avoid more of your father’s temperament.

Luckily, he remained busy with his work in the Roman Senate, frequent meetings with the other politicians and leaders kept him out of his home more often than not, leaving you to your own devices as you’ve grown accustomed to. Though leaving you alone to your thoughts granted you time to think about Acacius or where he was as of late. You haven’t heard from him since the night he snuck into your room and offered more than conversation, the night replaying on a loop in your mind and in your dreams.

It was almost one full moon cycle before you saw him again.

The front doors of your domus opened, welcoming the sound of heavy footfalls and the metallic clicks of armor. You’ve trained yourself to recognize when Marcus was present in your home, the staccato of his steps echoing the walls of your entryway, exactly how you remembered. You made your way to the atrium like you always have, ensuring you’d get a good look at him as he stepped through the halls to speak with your father.

The moment you saw the top of his head, you were expecting him to turn and meet your eyes. Desperate for the soft chocolate irises to hold your gaze for that one moment to signify he was okay, that things hadn’t changed between you, that he hadn’t lost interest in you.

Except he never did.

You watch with furrowed eyebrows as Acacius walks beside your father towards his study wearing his black and gold armor, the signature red shawl thrown over his broad shoulders. His face remained hardened, jaw firm and eyes sunken as he kept them forward, body stiff and head stuck in place with no sign of turning.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

The doors of your father’s study closed with no change, the sight of Acacius now kept hidden from you, savoring the last bits of his back and graying curls before you were shunned out in the dark. Standing there full of confusion, your chest stung at the slight dejection you just witnessed.

Has he grown bored of you so soon? 

You retreated to your bedroom again, refusing to see Acacius going through the front doors. Keeping to yourself, you disregarded the sound of his voice through the walls, commenting on something the twin Emperors had requested for the next Senate meeting. He parted ways from your father and trekked to the doors, surely on his way to speak to whoever demanded his attention. Unbeknownst to you, he glanced in the direction of the atrium and further to your room for a mere second, walking out of your home without turning back.

The next time you went to the market for some goods, you stopped by the garden you and Acacius claimed for yourselves, searching everywhere for a note or a sign to explain his sudden behavior. The place was just as you left it previously, looking by the fountain and the marble bench to see nothing left behind, peeking around the trunk of the massive tree and the weeds surrounding it to see if you had missed anything.

Not a note. Not a flower. Nothing for you to find.

Had he even thought of you during this time?

Were you so easily forgettable?

You didn’t have the time to continue rummaging before Viria stated it was time to return home. Taking your baskets and stomping out of the garden, you controlled your breathing as much as you could, brushing off the disappointment and the hurt brewing inside you. It was delusional to think you would be anything but someone’s plaything, a naive little girl yearning to be seen as a woman capable of making her own choices.

You were stupid to think the General viewed you as something other than a toy to occupy his time, and nothing would change your reality, no matter how much you wanted things to be different.

Anxiety gnawed at your gut from sunup to sundown, restless nights spent wasting away questioning yourself and your worth to the man you’ve opened up to. You ran through the multitude of possibilities to explain his sudden rejection, finding any loophole to give Acacius the benefit of the doubt put you on the verge of losing your mind from the stressors.

You’ve heard of the recent campaigns initiated by the twin emperors to satisfy their lust for violence, your father spending lengthy periods in his study noting the financing to the army, lingering by the door in case his drunken mumbles revealed any news of the General and his location.

Last you heard, he was along the coast of Alexandria in Egypt, standing at the ready to combat runaway rebels of the army. Resting was a hassle; your clammy skin and hyperactive mind kept you awake throughout the night, with Viria offering teas to soothe your nerves by morning. It was useless; too much of your psyche was tethered to a man who had made it obvious he no longer cared for your existence. Yet you still prayed for his safe return every night, for respite and favor from the twin leaders who were hellbent on jerking their lapdog’s leash.

The news of the army’s successful conquest didn’t surprise you, nor did the extended invitation you and your father received to another one of the emperors’ banquets. However, the thought of being in the same space as the General once more, much like how it had first been when you two initially met, brought bile creeping up your throat. You prayed the wine they served would quell your worries; at this rate, you’ll drown in it one way or another.

Heeding your father’s commands, you dressed in all white and gold, a jeweled armband cuffed around your bicep with opals draping down your open back. Your hair was folded into a neat array of braids, some bordering around a pinned bun and the rest melting into your wavy tresses layered neatly around your neck.

With your hand taking its place around your father’s arm, you held the folds of your stola with your free hand, adopting the facade of sociability with grace. It was the same routine as usual, nodding your head when you were acknowledged, letting the men offer their sons’ hands in marriage or their own while laughing off their propositions and feigning a playful smile.

Amongst the crowd of opulent wealth and overindulgence, the urge to search for the one face you cared to look for was hard to ignore. Subtly turning on your heel and heading for more wine, that was when you spotted him.

General Acacius, draped in his signature white and golden armor, the cape flowed behind him, golden cuffs on his thick wrists. His hair had grown since the last time you saw him, grayer than you remembered, curling down the nape of his thick neck. From afar you could count a new scar on his forearm, a shade of light pink contrasting his tanned skin. He was still relatively the same, the same Acacius, your Acacius.

But he wasn’t alone.

Perched beside him was a woman you’d never seen before, at least not in the streets of the city from where you usually ventured off. Dark raven hair with a singular streak of gray and golden pins ornate her head, almond-shaped eyes as blue as the sea, smudged in dark pink and lashes darkened with ink. The green material of the fabric adorning her slim figure cascaded around her pronounced waist, her chin angled upwards with confidence and a permanent smirk on her oval face.

You didn’t miss how her hands clutched onto Acacius’ bicep, her nails scratching at the muscle, grip steady and consistent, never once parting from him. It was as if she was purposefully taunting you, proving a point that he was only hers to have. Hers to touch. Hers to claim. That he was never yours to begin with.

She was older, refined, established. Everything you weren’t.

The way Acacius’ hand clasped over hers and looked her way with the same charming grin he wooed you with tore your heart in two, the glass in your hand shook from your weak grip as you observed the scene from afar. The room began to spin, and your breath caught in your throat, rib cage rattling around your lungs as the white fabric you wore grew tight, constricting around your frame.

It was too much.

Pushing through people to reach the balcony, you were thankful the space had been empty for some time, everyone’s attention drawn to the boar that was brought out to be served. Tightly gripping the railing, you struggled to take a steady intake of air, knuckles turning white against the marble guarding you from falling over the edge of the hill. The tears lining your eyelids burned, threatening to flow down your cheek and leave their mark.

It was idiotic and embarrassing more than anything. To think you would be the one chosen for once, desired and sought after the way you wanted. Jealousy. An all-new emotion to you, one you did not preferably enjoy. The image of that woman smiling with glee while she relished in the attention she received from Acacius seared into your mind, filling you with disgust, a fiery irritation burning in your chest.

She has what you’ll never come close to. Nothing would be able to change that.

Pivoting on your heel to the sound of hasty footsteps behind you, your teary gaze was met with Acacius’ furrowed eyebrows, concern written all over his war-worn face. Quickly wiping at the corners of your eyes, you made a pathetic attempt at keeping your head high, brushing off the seething rage overpowering the betrayal bubbling inside you. Whether you were mad at Acacius directly or the witch who selfishly caressed him, you weren’t all too sure.

“General. Congratulations on the success of your campaign.” Your voice grew strained as you spoke, face hardened with the reaffirmed formalities.

“I give you my thanks,” Acacius replied, gauging your body language and expression as you played into the dismissive and cold act towards him. You cut him off before he could speak a second time.

“I shall let you enjoy the balcony in peace.” In an effort to excuse yourself, you paced to the banquet entrance. Just as you were about to pass Acacius, his hand came to grip your forearm, stopping you in place in front of him.

“Dove.” He whispered firmly, his voice seeping into your mind, a shaky exhale escaping you from the sheer closeness of him, your body betraying you at his missed touch.

“Do you give all of your playthings nicknames as well?” Tearing your arm away from his grip, you faced him directly with a bit of distance between you, uncovered anger in your emotional eyes. “Or is that only when you have yet to grow bored of them?”

“Playthings?” He squinted at you, stepping closer with a slight puff of his chest at the insinuation.

“The woman on your arm,” just mentioning her burned your tongue and sent your blood boiling, practically smelling her on him, “I was unaware of your…tastes.”

“She is merely a party guest.”

“A guest?” You fought the urge to laugh sourly in his face, taking offense to his sudden aloofness.

“You do not believe me?” Acacius tilted his head, and for a second you would think he sounded confused, even hurt. You didn’t bother having enough faith in him to find out. “Or would it be more convenient to paint me as a liar?”

“It certainly suits the current circumstances between us. One does not attempt to woo a girl and disposes of her for a replacement. But that is how this works, is it not?” Your words were laced with venom, striking a nerve when you noticed Acacius growing stiff, his back straightening more, fingers flexing by his side as realization dawned on him.

“I can explain everything, dove, please.” The authoritative tone he had with you wavered as the conversation progressed, edging to the point of pleading when those brown orbs landed on you. 

“No. I do not wish to hear it.” Unyielding in your decision to shut him out, your ears tuned into the level of noise at the banquet, needing to turn back before someone grew suspicious of your whereabouts. “Vale, General Acacius. I will pray for your continuous prosperity on behalf of the empire.”

Hurriedly parting from him, you were quick to leave Acacius alone on the balcony to meddle in his own thoughts. Your body vibrated for the duration of the outing, occupying yourself with whatever wine, meal, and conversation you came close to. For the remainder of the night, you refused to look over in the General’s direction, not caring whether his guest was stroking his broad chest or holding his hand. Yet, you could feel his eyes on you the entire time, stealing glances when he could without making it too obvious, burning holes into the back of your head whenever a man approached you, offering them a petty bat of your lashes.

You were thankful that your father suggested taking his leave not too long after that fiasco of a conversation, not looking back at the attendees much like Acacius had done when he blatantly ignored your presence in your own home. Wishing the man of the house goodnight and storming past Viria towards your bedroom, the dam you constructed collapsed, and the tears you’ve been withholding flowed over the material of your pillow, sobbing long into the night until dawn broke the next morning.

It was never going to be you. That was just how things were, and how they’ll always be.

The days have gone by in a blur, repeating the same endless cycle of the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. You hadn’t stepped foot outside of your home much, foregoing your usual visit to the market and instead handing Viria a list to check off. She tried her best to put you in higher spirits, bringing you fresh flowers and your favorite fruits from her shopping trips, but it was no use. The frown remained permanent on your face, and your appetite had dwindled since the night of the banquet, not being able to keep anything down besides liquids for the most part.

Your father inquired about your change of attitude, and the only excuse you could offer was worry from the hecticness of the empire, the rapid changes around you frequently making your head spin. He didn’t bother probing more than he thought necessary, reminding you to maintain your strength unless you wished to plunge your household into despair due to your insolence. That night, you forced yourself to eat a loaf of bread and a side platter of cheese, leaving the dish clean despite the urge to throw it back up.

Senator Lurio was on his way to another trip for political matters out of the safe confines of the city. You almost had half a mind to ask your father to take you with him, to grant you some space from Rome, another sight that wouldn't bring so much anxiety. He declined, as you expected, waving you off and ordering you to pray for his safe return. At least you no longer had to play pretend when it came to your sadness and heartbreak, Viria grew concerned for your well being regardless of the number of times you brushed her off and sat at the fountain feeding the koi fish, fingers strumming the water for hours.

The night was silent and empty, your mind a contradiction to the serenity your domus should provide. The silk slip you threw on for bed helped keep you cool from the warm air, massaging oil into your damp skin before coursing the wooden brush through your hair in mindless passes. A knock at your door caught your attention, placing your brush down at your vanity and coming towards the entryway of your bedroom, opening the door to find Viria on the other side of the threshold.

“Viria, it is late,” you stated, looking at her in slight confusion with no hostility in your tone. “Should you not be resting?”

“I should be, my lady, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor? Who would be in their right mind to come at this hour?” You had tried to think of who would come late into the night and request your presence specifically. Perhaps it was a messenger for your father? Or worse, an intruder.

Another pair of footsteps to your left forced your head to turn, eyes widening at the sight of General Acacius removing his black hood from his head, meeting your gaze. You stood frozen as you looked at him, reminded of his presence after busying yourself trying to forget him the past couple of days. Wiping your face of the initial shock, you huffed out a breath; the anger you’d dimmed ignited once more.

“No.” Shaking your head defensively, you positioned yourself to turn inward to your bedroom, threatening to shut the door behind you. “I do not wish to speak to him. Send him away.”

“My lady, if I may,” Viria spoke up, always persistent to show you reason when you’ve lost your way, “the General comes as a guest. He seeks to speak with you and swears he will not bother you again if that is what you request of him. I believe you should pray for an open mind and listen to what he has to say.”

Your nostrils flared out as you glared at Viria and then at Acacius, who stood idly by. He didn’t say anything as he waited for you to come to a decision, his body rigid with his hands to his back. A soldier’s stance, at the ready for your command, as if you were the one to dictate his actions and not the other way around. Admitting defeat, you dropped your shoulders with a sigh and stepped to the side.

“So be it. But he is to leave soon after.” You affirmed, ignoring Viria, who gestured for Acacius to go into the bedroom with you.

He whispered his thanks to her as she closed the door, leaving you alone in the room with him. You instinctively put some distance between you two, standing closer to the middle of your bedroom while he remained by the entryway.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, General?” Sarcasm dripped from your lips; the intention in your opposing behavior didn’t go unnoticed by the man before you.

“I came to apologize and to ask for your forgiveness,” Acacius said calmly, his broad shoulders widened as he spoke.

“And what for?” Your body itches with anxiety, the endless pit in your stomach fluttering along with the beat of his words. “You have done nothing wrong. You simply acted in the way a man of your stature would.”

“I do not understand,” he switched his weight from one foot to the other, hands flexed in antsy fists. “There are very few men who act as I do, or who have the title and honor I carry.”

“I am not speaking regarding your title, General.” You take a breath, fingers toying with the fabric of your slip. “You may have honor, but at the core, you are still a man with urges who seeks to release them somehow. Whether it be on the battlefield or in the brothels, the drive of men is natural and cannot be avoided.”

Acacius took your words personally, becoming slightly defensive as he caught your insinuation. To think he simply goes and sticks himself into whoever he finds convenient when you know nothing of what went through his head or how much you occupied his mind was offensive, to say the least. He thought the time you two spent together and crossing the line of boundaries dividing you would be enough to show how he truly felt. He thought wrong.

“That is something I do not spend my limited time doing,” he voiced, growing frustrated with your refusal to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Do not generalize me with other men in this city because of the social customs they engage with. We are not all alike; you must know that despite your naivety.”

“You speak of honor and virtue, and yet you come here to lie in my presence.” This time you chuckled bitterly at him; the fierce green flare in your eyes burned holes through the General. “You toyed with me for some time and found another that is more willing to provide what you need. Is that not what you men do?”

“If you would allow me to explain—”

“There is nothing left to explain, Acacius!” You threw your hands up exasperatingly as your voice increased in volume. “I understand why things happened the way they did. You sought some enjoyment from me, and once you grew bored, you went to seek companionship elsewhere. No need to elaborate on that when I know this is how things were always meant to be.”

“And that is far from the truth.” He took a step closer to you then, and another while your feet were planted to the ground. “You merely saw one side of things. Is that how you truly see me? A man who seeks to take advantage of you? After the time we spent together?”

“How else do you wish for me to see things, Marcus?!”

At the shout of his first name, his eyes widened, mostly in surprise rather than anger. You took yourself off guard as well, stammering at the usage of his name in such an informal manner, he should have your head for it.

“General, forgive me. I should not have—”

“No.” The word came without pause, and you expected him to retaliate, to strike his hand over your cheek and put you in your place. Instead, he came as close to you as he could without startling you, his hand lifting to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The act of softness shocked you, eyes misty as you struggled to face him.

“I am not angry with you.” He spoke softly to you now, much like he had always done since the start of your relationship with him. “I do not wish for us to argue, to throw around false accusations. Speak to me honestly; let me understand you.”

“I felt hurt. Betrayed.” Your bottom lip wobbled, trying to find the right words to describe your emotions to Acacius, who was as patient as he was considerate. “I saw you with that other woman and…I was convinced your affections towards me had changed.”

He hummed at your words, staying silent for a beat longer, working to find the best way to explain his side of things without having you jump to more conclusions.

“The woman I was with at the banquet is a friend of mine, not a lover. She is not fond of men in particular, but…she favors the female form. We have an arrangement when we need to maintain our roles at these festivities. She is nothing more than a friend whom I respect and aid when needed.”

You felt stupid.

“Oh.” You faltered in your answer, ruminating on the fact that Acacius had left you with no other message to show you otherwise. “Then why did you leave so suddenly? You were here one day, and the next had disappeared into thin air with no regard for me when you returned.” He exhaled then, looking off to the side.

“After that first night together, I was sent on another campaign that very morning. The Emperors refused to give me the proper time to depart, to write a note to you. The campaign itself…it went on longer than it needed to. I lost men, saw more blood lost in the vain ambitions of the empire, and…it drained me. But this is my duty; this is the burden I must carry, you know that better than anyone.”

You hung on to every word he said, silently looking at him to continue with an encouraging nod.

“When I returned to Rome, I was sure that all I would do is put you in danger. Leaving you day and night to wonder whether or not I would make it back safely, to worry you to such an extent…I could not bear doing that to you. I convinced myself that it was easier to push you away, to let your father wed you off to someone else. And yet the thought of you being with another man vexes me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse spiking as you caught part of his confession. He felt the same way? Maybe there was a chance. Maybe you weren’t crazy for being fond of the General after all.

“Is that true?” With a raised eyebrow, you inquired for more, seeking more of his candor.

“Yes. It is.” His hand now tenderly cupped your cheek, thumb wiping at the tears that streaked down your face. “On my travels, you consume my mind so often it overwhelms me. I see you in my dreams, in my prayers…I look for you in every corner I turn. I desire you, dove. I crave to want you, to kiss and touch you. You are not mine to have, and it pains me that I cannot have you the way I want.”

“Why not, Acacius?” your cheeks were heated from his confession, your hand holding his wrist to ground yourself. “You have the will to do as you please.”

“Your father would disapprove of me. He is a man of politics, and he has his stake in funding the army. They will call it a conspiracy if the General of the army he pays for is engaged with his daughter. I cannot do something that would put you in harm's way, I would never forgive myself.”

“I do not care.” You declared, pressing your body to his and tilting your head upwards. “I refuse to let my father control me and my choices any longer. If you truly desire me, then show me.”

“Dove—,” the General eyed you, placing his hands on your hips to hold you steady. “If word got out of this, you would be damned and punished for your actions.”

“Am I not damned either way? To let a hypothetical husband whom I have never met dictate my existence is suffocating. I cannot keep depriving myself of so much in fear of my father’s judgment when all I care for is being with you.”

Hands creeping up to the brooch holding his black hood, you gripped onto him tighter, gently tugging him towards you in an act of persuasion. His brown eyes swirled with the torment of fulfilling your mutual impulses, to give in to the temptations you both felt towards each other.

“Please, Acacius.” You were so close you could smell him, the familiar scent of almond oil hitting your nose. “Let me control the one thing I have that is mine. I want it to be you; I only want you.”

His breath could be felt on your lips, the anticipation building like a live wire. He kept his eyes on you, watching you closely with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The hand on your hips turned into one strong arm around your waist, bringing you flush to Acacius’ strong body, a shiver rolling down your spine. He leaned his head closer, the tip of his nose lightly grazing yours and his free hand holding the side of your jaw.

“Dove…” It was a plea, so hushed one might consider it a prayer. Your fingers dug into the thicker material of his hood, tilting your chin to welcome him.

“Kiss me.” Close to begging now, he focused his attention on your mouth, plump lips parting as the distance closed in. “Please kiss me.”

Acacius’ resolve snapped, meshing his mouth with yours in a passionate kiss, yelping from the force he used. He kissed you fiercely, keeping you pinned to him and cradling the back of your head, his fingers spreading over the expanse of your skull. He didn’t let you part for air, granting him entry into your mouth so his tongue curled around yours, reclaiming his place. You willingly gave up control, running a hand up his thick neck and scratching along his scalp, gripping the curling gray strands you were enamored with.

You panted against him, sharing the same breath as the hand on your back shifted down to cup your rear, pawing at you greedily in a way that sent a moan pouring out of your mouth, one that Acacius happily swallowed. He overpowered you and took you off guard, expertly taking off his black hood and tossing it to the floor, never taking his hands off of you.

His lips parted from you, trailing to leave kisses on your cheek and jaw. Tossing your head back, you gasped at the sensation of his facial hair brushing over your skin; the faint tease of a bite on a spot behind your ear made you whimper.

“Acacius,” a rumble settled in his chest at the sound of your voice, airy and needy. The strap to your slip fell down your shoulder, his lips following the piece of fabric to place another kiss.

“I want to see you,” he proclaimed, grasping at the silk material that covered your body, a silent question hanging in the air. “Will you let me see all of you?”

“Yes,” it was effortless to answer him, craving more of his touch. “Please.”

Stealing one more kiss from you, he held your silk nightgown and pulled it up to your thighs and torso, lifting it above your head and letting it fall to the ground. Standing bare under the warm candlelight of your room, you didn’t take your eyes off him, waiting for his next move. He took a step back to take you in, shamelessly raking his sight over your naked body from head to toe.

Predatory in his perception, Acacius walked around you in a slow circle, taking more of you with every step. You stood in place, anxiously following him as he spun, breasts rising and falling with every nervous breath. He remained silent, catching your gaze once or twice, mischief in his brown eyes with the smallest hint of a grin tugging on the corner of his lips.

He stops to stand behind you, his broad back shadowing your figure. You could feel his presence, hear his breathing, and sense his eyes pinned to the back of your head. The ghost of his touch ran down your spine, a knuckle drifting to the nape of your neck and down your back, teasing your tailbone. Your eyes fluttered closed, slightly arching towards the touch.

“Acacius…” At the call of his name, he beckoned forward, pressing himself against you from behind. The linen fabric of his tunic rubbed over you, his proximity making you gasp. A large hand came to your hip, your head leaning against his shoulder as he kept you close.

“Beautiful,” Marcus whispered, blood rushing to your cheeks at his words. “So beautiful, little dove.”

“Touch me.” He hasn’t done anything, and you were already growing impatient from the teasing, the center of your body tense, seeking release.

“I will, sweet girl,” Acacius nipped at your ear, guiding the both of you closer to the bed.

You expected to have him hovering above you, doing the things you’ve heard from married women in passing, to have pain between your legs as he claimed you for himself. Yet he surprised you, sitting on the edge of your bed with you perched on his lap, your back to his chest and your thighs over his, keeping you spread. Opening your eyes, you were met with your reflection in the full-body mirror positioned ahead of you, Acacius’ head hovering in the crux of your shoulder.

“W-What…what are you doing?” You asked him, voice trembling from anticipation.

“I want you to see what I see,” Acacius rasped in your ear, both hands on your hips as your breath caught in your throat. “I want you to watch yourself when I touch you for the first time, my darling.”

He continued with his generous kisses on the side of your neck, craning your head back to invite him for more. The curve of his nose stroked the column of your throat, threatening to leave a mark for you to find in the morning. One of his hands reached to cup your breast, kneading your skin in a gentle squeeze. He pinched at your nipple, rolling the stiff nub between his pointer finger and his thumb, one of your free hands stretching to the back of his head for another rough kiss.

He took his time touching your chest, familiarizing himself with the weight of your breasts in his sword-worn palms. The texture of his skin against yours felt too good for you to ignore, looking in the mirror to watch how you fit just right in his hands, whether that be him palming your chest or holding the side of your ribs and hips. You were a perfect fit, and in the back of your mind, you thought of how else you would mesh together.

Acacius’ touch was drawn elsewhere, his fingertips trailing down your sternum and towards your stomach, ghosting along the skin under your belly button right above your pelvis. You could feel yourself pulse above him, your body lacking what you didn’t know you needed. Sneakily, your hips shifted upwards, chasing the tingling sensation of his fingers treading closer to where you wanted him most.

“Easy, little dove,” Acacius said beside you, tapping the skin of your mound with his other hand grasping one of your thighs, holding you in place. “Do you wish for me to touch you?”

“Yes, yes, please…I cannot bear it any longer.” He was satisfied with your pleading, a grin on his face as he kissed the back of your neck.

“Watch yourself,” he commanded, black engulfing his brown irises as he observed your reflection. “Look in the mirror as I touch you.”

Finally, he gave you what you wanted. A broad hand reached towards the most sensitive part of you, thick fingertips lining your slit, coated in the wetness of your arousal. The tips of your ears burned from the sensation, watching his hand move between your thighs in the mirror in front of you. He flicked his wrist upwards, the tip of his pointer and middle finger swiping your sensitive clit, rubbing in circular motions as your thighs shook from his touch.

With a whimper, you clasped at his arm, one hand holding his wrist and the other swaddled around his arm. You were entranced by your reflection, mindlessly widening your legs more, angling your hips to chase his calloused fingers circling your clit.

“Look at you,” he murmured beside your cheek, dark eyes sweeping over your figure, diligently rubbing your sensitive nub counterclockwise. “So wet and eager for me. Thought of touching you like this for so long.”

Your empty walls clenched under his touch, nails digging into the muscle of his bicep, and your head lolling to the side. You struggled to focus on your mirror image, the pleasure amounting to a level you didn’t anticipate. It was different than last time, more of a constant slow build versus the previously rushed movements of your hips grinding over his thigh. He had full control over you, pinned to his chest and at his mercy, hearing him purr sweet nothings in your ear as he rapidly brought you to your climax.

“Acacius, please…so close,” you gasped out, the tempo of his motions increasing in pace, heat boiling in your lower gut as the rope of tension wound tighter, ready to snap.

“Come for me, dove. Come for me, and I will make you mine.”

With his words you fell apart, keeping his arm between your legs and threatening to shut your shaking thighs from the impact. A loud wail of his name echoed through the walls of your bedroom, your eyes closing as Marcus held your legs open so he could watch you convulse. He milked your orgasm for as much as you could handle, your release soaking his hand and dripping onto his thigh.

Once the wave of your climax had ended, Acacius drew his hand away from between your legs, leaving affectionate kisses on your shoulder to ease you through the cooldown. There was a small smile on your face when you looked at your reflection again, meeting his gaze from behind you.

“And how was that?” He inquired, not stopping you from standing on quivering legs and straddling over his lap to face him with blown pupils.

“Perfect,” you replied breathlessly, leaning forward to catch his plump lips in a kiss, tugging at the collar of his toga.

You could feel him under you, his muscular legs, and the bump of something else poking at your thigh. Instinctively, you gyrated your hips over him as you littered kisses along the side of his neck, nipping playfully at the thick vein that poked out. The groan that escaped him from deep within his chest graced your ears, pulling back to kiss him more passionately, the heavy weight of his hands sweeping along the curve of your back to guide your movements.

Acacius held your thighs and flipped you both around effortlessly, causing you to lie on the bed with him hovering above you. Your legs were hooked around his waist, hands on his broad shoulders as you looked up at him, heart stirring, wondering what was going on in his mind. Expertly, he grabbed one of your pillows, placed it under your head, and kissed your forehead. He dropped kisses over your nose and cheeks, giving you more on your lips in small pulses, bringing a laugh to your face.

“You are radiant when you laugh,” Acacius noted softly, the heat in your cheeks persistent as he glanced at you with adoration.

“Will you spend the whole night toying with me, General?” You jested, curling a finger around a gray strand by his forehead that fell out of place.

“I will toy with you however I see fit,” a cheeky smirk appeared on his face, chuckling together. “If that is what you still desire from me. We can always continue this another time.”

Ever the considerate man, your chest warmed at his suggestion of doing more another time, not needing to rush the experience if you had changed your mind. But you knew deep down he was what you wanted, and you didn't want to waste another moment longer without having him.

“I want you,” you confessed honestly, thumbing the scar on his cheekbone. “I want you to make me yours…if you will have me.”

He sealed his promise with a kiss, repeating his familiar pattern of caressing your jaw and neck with his lips, pinning you to the mattress, and mouthing at your collarbones before arriving at your chest. Two kisses were left on your skin, one on each breast, a third right where your heart was beating rapidly.

“Then let me worship what is mine.”

Acacius’ lips enveloped one of your nipples, sucking the nub while flicking the other with his fingers. Your back arched at his touch, fingers coursing through his hair to keep him in place, gasping as the sensations ran through you like an electrical current. From one breast to the other, he lavished his attention on the stiff peaks, blowing on your wet skin when he was done with them.

He continued with his passage down your body, holding your waist and mouthing your sternum and stomach, kissing under your belly button and curling his hand around your thigh, bending it over his shoulder. You sat up on your elbows to watch him, lustful eyes meeting his dark ones, gasping when he smooched along the side of your inner thigh, biting into your skin hard enough to make you jolt.

“Acacius,” your fingers dug into the silk sheets of your bed, the suspense growing in your body, not knowing what else to expect.

The man before you kissed the crease where your inner thigh met your hip, then your mound, skimming the soft skin of your lower lips. Spreading your legs to welcome his head, Acacius placed a tentative kiss on your clit, the contact sending you reeling and your hips shaking. He went back for another kiss, licking a broad stripe up your cunt, humming at the taste of you invading his mouth.

“You are perfect, little dove,” he groaned against you, both hands wrapping around your thighs to keep you secured in place. “And you taste divine, the sweetest ambrosia.”

You didn’t hear what else Acacius had to say when he dove in to feast on with ravenous hunger, your back curving over the bed with a whine. Squeezing the pillow under your head, you closed your eyes and focused solely on how Marcus was pleasing you, flicking his tongue over your opening and collecting more of your slick into his wanting mouth. He was a greedy man, lapping at you like he could never get enough, a man thirsty and living in a drought, seeking replenishment from the oasis that was left to be unclaimed between your thighs.

The sweetness of your arousal filled his taste buds, reminding him distantly of fig and honey, a combination he often favored during the summers of his youth. The curve of his nose pressed further into your pussy, seeking more of your desire for him and slipping his tongue inside of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your throat, hands winding in his hair to ground yourself, bucking your hips into his face as he fucked you with his tongue.

“Oh, oh Gods…Acacius,” you stuttered on the call of his name as the General grunted in response, the vibrations shooting up your back.

You were unprepared for this kind of gratification in the bedroom. Sure, you were somewhat familiar with what happened behind closed doors, at least from what Viria had told you in private when your father refused to teach you anything else. There were always rumors of what happened in the brothels, how the workers easily wooed the men they entrapped, pleasing them in ways that were still misunderstood by you. But this, being worshiped in such a gluttonous way by a man so willing to get on his knees for you, was something unheard of.

You would think once again that General Marcus Acacius was an exception to the rule.

In the throes of his audible slurping, the General focused on sucking at your engorged clit in concentrated pulses. Meanwhile, his finger teased your twitching entrance, clutching at his head as he delved it deep inside you with minimal resistance. You keened at the feel of him filling part of you, quickly drawing the thick digit out and thrusting it back inside. He repeated the action a few times, concentrating on watching your face contorting in delight once he inserted a second finger, coaxing you to cry out into the room.

Breathless moans escaped you, the last bits of shyness and shame leaving you as you gripped the back of Acacius’ head, grinding your hips towards him with a receptive growl. He knew you were getting close to having another release, your walls pulsing around his fingers with every nudge he gave you. He curled the two digits inside you, burrowing them down to the knuckle and hitting a spot you didn’t know existed, tears in your eyes at the ferocity of what you felt hurtling towards you.

“Please, please…Marcus!” You didn’t know exactly what you were begging for, whether it be for release or mercy; Acacius understood it well.

Deepening his steady pumping, he sucked at your nub harder and moaned against you, sending you falling headfirst into your second climax. This one was more drawn out than the first, a tingling that started at the tip of your toes and spread from your quaking thighs, rushing to your head. Your nails scratched at his scalp as he coaxed you through your release, prolonging it for as much as he could until your body grew too sensitive for more. With a gentle tug of his head, Acacius drew away from your twitching pussy, leaving one last kiss on your clit. He pulled his fingers out of your hole and slipped them in his mouth, cleaning up what was left of your arousal before straightening his back and standing to peer at you.

You were still catching your breath from your climax, thighs trembling on his hips as he massaged your skin in an attempt to soothe you. Tears ran down your cheeks, not from pain but from being overwhelmed in the best way, your lower body throbbing from how the General treated you. When you focused on Acacius, the tip of his nose, lips, and chin were stained with your arousal, meshing in with the prickly gray of his mustache. His eyes gaped at you voraciously, licking his top lip as he stared down at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, nodding as you tried to bring him back down to your level.

You dragged him in for an eager kiss, licking at his bottom lip and hunting the taste of you on his tongue. He sighed against you, pressing himself over your body, letting you feel the length of him poking incessantly on your lower stomach.

“Will you let me see you as you have seen me?” You suggested to him in a low murmur, gazing at him with lust-blown eyes. It only made him want you more.

“Anything you wish,” Acacius said, backing away from you to stand on the edge of the bed, using your arms to sit upwards to watch him.

The black hood he wore was already discarded in your earlier pursuit of kissing him, his big hands grabbing at his linen toga and hauling it above his head, tossing it to the ground. You instantly gawked at the expanse of golden skin now exposed to you, kissed by the sun, and marked by scars from years of training and fighting in wars. He appeared to be even more broad without the bulkiness of his armor constantly weighing down on him, his body as strong as it was soft, a reliable vessel blessed by Mars.

Ogling him closely, Acacius went to remove his loincloth; the last piece of fabric shielding him from your view dropped to the marble floor with the rest of his clothes. Trailing your eyes down his body, your sight landed on his thick length bobbing against his stomach; the graying thatch of hair at the base caught your eye, your cunt flexing in response.

You couldn’t help but let your mouth water at the sight of him.

Acacius shuffled forward to hover over you again on the bed, his knees digging into the mattress as he went. Your hands itched to touch him, to get a real feel of him for the first time, but your nerves were starting to eat away at you. Gently, he reaches for one of your hands gripping the sheets, kissing the inside of your palm, each finger, and your inner wrist before placing your hand on his chest right by his left pectoral.

“You can touch me.” He coaxed, not letting go of your hand as you went on your journey to learn his body. “Feel all of me.”

Your touch continued down his bare chest, grazing along the scars you found on his freckled skin. Some were freshly pink, others were faded with age and mixed into the rest of him. You wondered what were the fables of each of these markings, the moment he experienced that imprinted onto him for the rest of his life. You went along the path he set for you, your fingertips reaching his belly button and the soft hair lined underneath it.

With Acacius’ help, you enclosed your hand around his aching cock, the heavy weight of him warm in your hand. You marveled at the sight of him, his skin smooth, twitching at the feel of you giving him a testing squeeze.

“You are big, General.” You commented with a lilt in your voice, the smallest hint of a smirk on your face.

“And you are a tease, little dove.” He played along with your game, guiding your movements with his larger hand, showing you how to touch him the way he liked. Though he was sure he would give you a more in-depth lesson next time.

He groaned at the touch, tentatively jerking him with a flick of your wrist, doing what felt natural to you. To your surprise, he grabbed hold of your jaw and kissed you fervently, fondling him until he took your hand away and urged you to lie flat on your back.

Swathing your arms around his shoulders and keeping him close, Acacius held your thighs, spreading you open and placing your legs on either side of him. His hard cock rested on your pussy, grinding his length between your lips, coating him in your wetness. The tip of him bumped into your slick pearl with every shift of his hips, clenching around nothing and whimpering as you seek more of him, to finally be his.

“Please, Marcus, take me. I want to feel you,” you pleaded, waiting for his next move. Grabbing hold of the base of him, he notches himself at your entrance, his free hand on your hip to keep you steady.

“I will go slow,” he assures you, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, breathing with you. “You will hold onto me and tell me if it is too much or I hurt you. Understand?”

“I understand,” you echo with a dry mouth, your eyes beating closed as your nerves wrack through you.

Slowly, he rolls his hips and eases himself inside you with a careful thrust, pushing into you with control. Your breath hitches when he manages to get halfway before meeting resistance, fingers clinging onto his shoulders at the slight tinge of pain from being breached for the first time. He tried to thrust into you again, making you whimper from both pain and something else, moving his hips away to lighten the pressure before attempting to drive another inch into you.

“Too much?” He droned, and you nodded shakily. “Breathe for me, sweet girl. You are doing so well.”

The kisses and words of praise he gave you did little to alleviate the stinging tightness you felt from Acacius sliding into you for the first time. You were grateful he had been so attentive before, the fullness of him enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. He coaches you to breathe in through your nose, and out your mouth, and once your body was relaxed enough, he plunges into you in one go.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, the stretch of him bringing tears to your eyes, huffing out a breath and holding onto him tightly, shielding your face in his neck. He stayed still on your behalf, giving you time to adjust, all while caressing your back in the process.

Acacius drew his head back to look at your face, an expression of worry and concern etched on his features. His thumb wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes, kissing you with affection as you leveled your breathing.

“Marcus,” you mumbled at him, looking at him wantonly. “It’s so much…”

“I know, dove. I know it is.” He felt you fidget your hips just a bit, panting from the change in angle. “Just keep your eyes on me, look only at me.”

Following his command, you did your best to focus on Acacius, shuddering when he pulled his hips back, missing the stretch of him already. He lunged himself back into you, down to the hilt, punching a rough moan out of your mouth as he carved room for himself in your cunt. He maintained his slow and even pace, not doing too much to aggravate your body as you adapted to taking him.

The more he moved, the more you craved him. Every push and pull of his hips felt like a kiss from the inside out, his cock hitting spots you didn’t know were a part of you. The depth of his languid strokes and the angle were done with precision, reciprocating his advances and instinctively meeting his thrusts halfway. You didn’t realize how vocal you had become, senseless keens pouring out of you with your arousal coating Acacius’ cock with every shove into you.

“There she is, my little dove.” You pulsed at the way he said it, possessive in his tone and his handling of your body. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how you want me.”

“Full, so full…” Your voice grew to a higher pitch as you spoke, his eyes rapacious as he watched you. “Please, give me more. I need more.”

He didn’t keep you waiting any longer; grabbing hold of one of your thighs, he raised it to his shoulder, driving into you even deeper. He upped the tempo of his thrusts, sending your head craning into your pillow. Acacius took advantage of your position, laying his entire weight over your body and biting at the skin of your neck as he fucked into you intently, filling you to the hilt and doing it repeatedly.

“That’s it. Take it all, taking me so well.” He grunted into your ear, a hand coming to grapple the back of your head, grabbing your hair in a tight fistful. You were coerced to face him, lamenting with glassy eyes as he had his way with you. “This is what you wanted? To know what it felt like to be mine?”

“Yes, yes,” it seemed to be the only word in your vocabulary, rendered speechless from how Acacius was fucking into you so intimately. “Only yours. Only yours.”

He couldn't hide the wide grin on his face, locking his mouth over yours in a possessive kiss with a snarl, swallowing all of the sounds that poured out of you. The same tingling sensation from earlier sneaked up on you, your slick walls tightening around Acacius’ cock. He altered his bucks against you, hitting as deep as he could, making sure to leave his claim on your body from the inside out.

“Acacius, please…mercy.”

You could barely breathe being smothered under him, your sharp nails scraping at the nape of his neck and down his shoulders, tearing through his skin and marking him for yourself. He licked at his thumb, bringing his hand down to where your bodies met, and rubbed at your slicked nub, a cry forcing its way out of your throat.

“Come for me one more time, little dove,” he pounded against you so vigorously, that you would think he was purposefully trying to break you, the bed creaking under you. “One more for me, mea columba. Give it to me; let me feel you soak me.”

With a wail, you fell over the edge a third time, stars shooting under your eyelids as you shook violently and soaked Marcus entirely. You couldn’t handle the intensity of your orgasm as it slammed into you, all the blood rushing to your head, leaving the rest of your body numb. It felt like you were floating, swimming even, the warm breeze of a shoreline hitting your skin under the blazing sun.

It was euphoric, a sense of nirvana that you’ve prayed for so many times before, and here it was given to you freely and openly by a man that should be held at arm’s length.

Acacius was getting close to meeting his end; you could tell from the way he thrusted more frantically against you, groaning loudly in the curve of your neck. A few more drives of his hips, and he forced himself out of you, fisting his cock rapidly and spilling his seed over your stomach, tainting your clammy skin. You studied him with half-lidded eyes, how he heaved with sweat cascading down the side of his forehead, thick fingers holding his length in his hand to claim you, some of his release dotting your mound.

The General held himself up with one thick arm, closing the distance between you to kiss you much softer than the previous times, your lips plump and bruised from his prior aggressiveness. You reciprocated his affection happily, bringing him closer with a hand winding the back of his head, sighing contently against him.

“You amaze me, General.” You remarked, a dopey smile and wet streaks on your cheeks from the experience he granted you. You silently hoped the other servants in the domus weren’t disturbed by the loud noises coming from your room, but you had a feeling Viria would be able to cover for you.

“And you amaze me. Did so good for me, my sweet girl. So good.” Acacius praised, standing up to reach the bathing basin on the farthest corner of your bedroom. You eyed his broad back as he stepped away from you, catching the red scratches you left embedded in his skin staring back at you.

He turns and smirks when he catches you looking at him, taking the damp cloth to clean his spend from your skin. You slightly hissed when he wiped between your legs, a muttered apology falling from his mouth as he cleansed himself, tossing the rag back in the bowl and sauntering towards you.

You thought he would put his clothes back on and flee into the night, leaving someone to wake you in the morning. Instead, he came to your bed, slipping under the sheets and pulling them back to signal for you to join him. Without a word, you threw the sheets over yourself, a small inch of space between you and Acacius, staring at him curiously as if he had not just taken what remained of your innocence.

He blanketed an arm around your waist, beckoning you closer to him, and you rested your head on his chest, calmed by the steady beating of his heart. You silently caressed his side while he ran lines up your spine, his touch comforting and welcoming, palming your head and running his fingers through your loose hair. There was a nagging question tearing at your spirit, wondering what would come of this, what you meant to the General whom you just gave your virtue to on a silver platter.

“Do you plan to stay?” You asked him, raising your head to look back at him with your chin to his chest, his brown eyes already on you.

“I will be here until dawn breaks, and we will figure everything else out after.” He confirmed, bringing you close, kissing the crown of your head and again on your lips, petting your cheekbone. “Rest now, little dove. I will be here when you wake. I swear it.”

With your body against his, you breathed in his scent; the serenity your body felt beside him eased you to slumber. As you slept against the General, he stayed awake for a while longer, taking in your sweet face as you dreamed of whatever manifested in your pretty head. A part of him grew anxious about what to expect from your blooming relationship, how best to work around your father’s scrutiny, and protect you from the hardships that came from his demanding position in society.

But he knew what he wanted; he knew that whatever this was between you was something he was willing to fight for. And so he held onto you a little tighter, joining you in the land of dreams and fantasizing about you, as he usually did when he was away. Only now, part of his dream became a reality, and he had you by his side, safe in his arms.

©️ ovaryacted 2024-2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

Latin Translations: Vale - farewell/goodbye. Mea columba - my dove.

[no-144444]

melbourne- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries, mentions of panic attack and crying (in this part)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | more to come...

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“Oscar?” The awkwardness in your voice wasn’t lost on you, but you’d rather have Oscar see you in your bra  (or lack thereof) and underwear than have to be in that dress one moment longer. 

“Yeah?!” he called from the other room.

“Can I have some… help?” you asked and held his footsteps approaching. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, poking his head into your room. He made eye contact with you in the mirror and smiled. 

“Can you unzip my dress?” you asked, shy and uncomfortable. 

He swallowed. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Sure.”

He tried to act cool about it, but he was shitting himself. He apprehensively started pulling on the zip, one of his hands on the curve of your back. 

“Can you… close your eyes Osc?” you asked, feeling humiliated. “I’m not wearing a…”

Oh. “Yeah, of course,” he smiled and closed his eyes, gently pulling the zipper down. God almighty he was hard. No bra under the most gorgeous dress he’d ever seen on you? He was glad he’d been your ‘date’. He felt you quickly pull on a hoodie and the loss of contact made him frown. 

“Coast is clear,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I’m dressed.”

He opened his eyes and saw you standing in front of him, the image of exhaustion, but you still looked beautiful. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth moving before he could think. 

“Goodnight Oscar.”

He couldn’t read the expression on your face. The disappointment, o-or was it happiness? Were you annoyed by him? Did you want him to stay?

“Goodnight,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek and going back to his room to have a mini-freakout. 

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Funnily enough, Kigali to Australia is a 22 hour-long flight. A long, warm, uncomfortable 22-hour flight, even though you were in business class with Oscar beside you. 

“Why is it so hot?” you complained, fanning yourself with your hand. 

“You’re wearing a fleece,” he pointed out, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Of course you’re warm.”

“I don’t have any other clean clothes,” you sighed. 

“I have a t-shirt if you want it?” he offered, taking it out of his hand luggage.

“You just have a t-shirt in your hand luggage?” you questioned, taking it out of his hands and pulling off your own fleece, replacing it with his t-shirt. 

“Yeah,” he answered, shrugging. “It didn’t fit in my suitcase.” 

“Well, thank you anyways,” you said, putting your headphones back on. “I’m going to try and get some sleep.”

He nodded, trying to seem casual. He was anything but casual. You were wearing his shirt. In what world would he be casual about such a momentous occasion? He let himself stare at you as you closed your eyes, turning toward him to lie down, and he just… admired. He didn’t know how long it had been until the overhead lights went out and the plane went into low-lighting, so as to let people sleep.

You opened your eyes to see Oscar looking at you. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded. Lie.

“Want a panadol?” you offered, getting out the cold medication that was infamous for knocking you out. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he yawned, taking one from your hand. You both tried to ignore the way the touch gave both of you shivers. “Night.”

“Night,” you smiled. 

It was going to be a long Christmas break. 

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Honestly, the first few days in Australia were hectic. You got past the run-up to the holidays without any more awkward incidents between you and Oscar, mostly because his sisters ‘stole’ you from him. While he wasn’t totally happy about that, it was nice to see you have a bit of freedom and enjoy yourself. They showed you all around Melbourne, brought you shopping, brought you to the beach, and everything else. 

But you slept in Oscar’s bed every night. Not enough room in the house meant you had to share and despite your offer of getting a hotel, he insisted. You two brushed your teeth together in silence and then fell asleep together, every single night. It was slightly maddening for him, and you, but neither of you spoke about it. It was all so… intimate. Quiet nights with him behind you in the mirror, listening to him go on about his day with his friends or family, nodding your head slowly as you drifted off, helping him with his skincare, or him helping you dry your hair. It was nice. It was very you. 

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Oscar woke up to the sound of sharp breaths and hiccuped sobs beside him, and he knew something was wrong. Immediately, he turned around to see you sat up in bed, your hand over your chest as you tried to calm down. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up beside you. 

“I… I can’t breathe,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face. 

He felt his heart break for you. “It’s alright,” he whispered, he wrapped an arm around your waist and situated you in front of him before taking one of your hands and letting you squeeze it. “I want you to breathe with me, alright?” he guided, his voice as calm and smooth as it usually was. He took a deep breath and you tried to match it, hiccuping as you did so. He exhaled, you followed suit. 

Inhale. You squeezed his hand.  Exhale. You relaxed. Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax.  Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax.  Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax.  Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax.  Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax. Inhale. Squeeze. Exhale. Relax. 

Until you had your breathing back to a normal rhythm. 

You took another deep breath, leaning your head on his shoulder as you wiped your tears on his t-shirt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

He shook his head, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he told you. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” your voice was smaller than usual, exhausted from the panic attack. 

“What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle and he smoothed a hand down your back. 

You were quiet for a moment. “I had a dream about the crash. I get them sometimes. It’s just… a lot.” 

The crash. Of course. He knew he should’ve insisted you see someone about the mental impacts of it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head. 

“I know, but I’m still sorry,” he smiled sadly. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

You took your head off his shoulder. “You do everything to help me,” you reminded him, a hand on his cheek. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.”

He shrugged. “I still wish I could do more.” 

Both of you just sat there for a moment, staring at each other with sad eyes. Neither of you could deny whatever was brewing between you two, especially not after tonight. The electricity between you two was ridiculous, and you genuinely couldn’t deal with your heart beating 30x faster than it should. Oscar was safe. Oscar wouldn’t hurt you. Oscar was… well, Oscar. Perfect, sweet, kind, gentlemanly, hilarious, talkative Oscar. He loved you like it was breathing. 

“Do you remember Abu Dhabi?” you whispered. 

“Me getting drunk and you having to take care of me?” he chuckled. “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?” you asked, your eyes transfixed on his. He looked at you confused. He could feel the weight of the moment, feel the atmosphere change. He just hoped it was for the better. 

He shook his head, his hands still soothing you, going up and down your back. 

“You said loving me was as easy as breathing,” you repeated the words for the first time, and though they felt strange and foreign on your lips, when they’d come out of his, they sounded beautiful. “Did you mean that?”

He was stunned by his drunk self, artistic and pathetic, impressive. He nodded gently. “Yes.”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you whispered, your eyes drifting down towards his lips. “But I want to give this- us a try,” your voice shook, but you said it regardless. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

He could’ve sworn he’d died and gone to heaven. Never in a million years did he ever think that he’d be sitting with you on his bed, with you telling him that you wanted him. His brain short-circuited, but his mouth had always worked faster than his brain anyway. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours and everything that had been building for around a year exploded. 

He was all passion and love, you could feel it in the way he kissed you. He wasn’t doing this just to kiss you, no. He wanted this. He’d yearned for this. He’d waited for this moment, and he wasn’t letting it go, letting you go. Your hands on either side of his face were cautious and delicate at the beginning, but once he kissed you, your hands were suddenly in his hair, pulling. Adding the perfect pressure to the kiss. His hands held you in an almost bruising grip, digging into the back of your neck and your side. It was everything either of you had ever wanted. 

You broke apart, a smile on both your faces.

He smiled, answering your question. "I fucking love you."

You just kissed him again. You could do that anytime you wanted. He was yours.

And, the most important thing, you were finally letting yourself be open. You weren’t scared of him or how he’d react when he’d learn certain things about you. You had finally let yourself breathe. Let yourself love. 

What a fucking wonderful feeling.

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[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

inviolable

part I

Pairing: Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben's your dad's best friend, his partner in crime, your godfather. You've harboured a secret crush on him for years, and maybe—just maybe—he's got some hidden feelings of his own that he's kept bottled up for too long.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben is his own goddamn warning, age gap, pining/mutual pining, forbidden romance, forbidden relationship, secret/hidden relationship, power imbalance, dubious morality, possessiveness, jealousy, smut (clitoral stimulation, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, dry humping, p in v, kissing, spitting), dirty talk, mild misogyny, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 7,741

A/N: I'm back. Christ, I'm on a proper mission with writing at the moment. Must be the insomnia. Thank god for it though, eh? Anyways... this is a little something that's been in my head for a long old time, it's based off a weird dream I had a couple months back (I was watching The Boys damn near constantly, like falling asleep with it on and everything, as well as reading a bunch of SB smut) and I just built on it, and it's kinda run away with me a lil bit. <3 Lot of the plot in this first instalment... plot is a term I use lightly. Because—what goddamn plot? Hope you guys like the little Sameo! (see what I did there? Cameo... but... Sam? No? Sorry.) So... this is part one. This one will definitely only have two parts... and knowing me, I'll have it finished by some time tomorrow night. So, yeah, while all the warnings listed above may not be evident here? They will be in the next part. S'gonna be a doozy. Until then? All the love.

Without further ado: INVIOLABLE

There are things in this world meant to remain untouched. Sacred things. Hallowed things. Bound by blood, by time, by unspoken law. To trespass against them is to court ruin—to lay hands upon the inviolable and feel the weight of the world shift beneath your feet.

Some doors are never meant to be opened. Some lines are never meant to be crossed. Some names are never meant to be spoken in the dark, breathless and trembling, as hands that should never touch find purchase in forbidden places.

But the thing about forbidden things? They don’t stay untouched forever.

You don’t remember when it started. Maybe it was always there, a quiet, undisturbed thing, like a seed buried deep beneath the soil, waiting for the right moment to break open.

Ben had been a constant for as long as you could remember. Your godfather. Your father’s best friend, his shadow, his second half in ways that made it impossible to imagine one without the other. There was no family barbecue, no holiday gathering, no Sunday spent in the backyard without him. He was always there, cigarette tucked behind his ear, beer in his hand, voice rough and low like gravel warmed by the summer sun.

And God, he had always been so handsome.

Even as a child, you’d thought so—before you even knew what handsome was supposed to mean. You just knew you liked looking at him, that your stomach flipped when he laughed, that you wanted him to notice you. And he always had.

Where your father had rolled his eyes at your endless energy, Ben had indulged you. When your dad had said no, Ben had smirked, crouched down, and let you climb onto his shoulders anyway, holding you steady as he walked around the yard like you belonged there, like he didn’t mind carrying your weight. He let you hang off his leg, dragging him down with your tiny hands locked around his knee, and he would walk anyway, his booted steps slow and exaggerated as he played along, dragging you through the grass while you shrieked with laughter.

And the gifts. The perfect gifts.

It had been your sixth birthday when he’d given you the lamb. A stupid little stuffed thing, soft and floppy-eared, but from the moment you’d unwrapped it, it had been yours. Clutched in your arms at bedtime, dragged through the house by one matted paw, tucked beneath your chin when you curled into your father’s lap.

"Lamby," you’d called it, with all the solemnity of a child bestowing a title upon something sacred. And it had stuck.

Your father’s friends had made it a joke—called you Lamby just to get a rise out of you, to tease you until you were red-faced and flustered. "Only Uncle Ben is allowed to call me that!" you would snap, every single time. And your father had only laughed, nudging Ben with a knowing grin, muttering something about his little admirer.

You hadn’t understood what that meant back then. You hadn’t known it was anything more than adoration.

But then puberty hit.

And the adoration didn’t go away. It just... shifted.

You told yourself it was still innocent. That it was normal to notice the way his arms looked in his rolled-up sleeves, the way he leaned against your father’s truck, the way his voice melted into you like whiskey and smoke. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything when you hated seeing other women near him. When he brought girlfriends to family parties, when they sat too close, when they ran their hands down his arm or pressed their lips to his cheek, it made your chest ache with something raw and unfamiliar.

He was yours.

Not in any way that made sense, but still. He was your Uncle Ben.

And then came the night after your eighteenth birthday.

You had been drunk. Slurring your words, tripping over the sidewalk, clutching your best friend’s arm as she tried—and failed—to keep you both upright. The thought of calling your father had been enough to send panic clawing up your throat, so you’d called the only other person you trusted.

He had picked up on the first ring.

And twenty minutes later, his truck had pulled up to the curb, headlights slashing through the dark, his expression set in something between relief and exasperation. He hadn’t lectured you. He hadn’t yelled. He had just sighed, tipped your chin up to look at him, and said, "This gonna become a regular thing, Lamby?"

And God, you had hated how warm that stupid nickname made you feel.

He had dropped your best friend off first, watching until she was safely inside, then pulled into your driveway and put the truck in park. He had glanced at you, eyes dark in the dim glow of the dashboard, fingers drumming against the wheel before he spoke.

"I can’t lie to your dad, you know."

"You won’t have to," you had promised, voice soft and a little too sincere.

And that had been enough for him. He had ruffled your hair, just like he always had, fingers threading through the strands before falling away. "Get inside, get some water, and go to sleep. No more stupid shit."

You had nodded, cheeks burning, throat tight. You had felt so young then, under the weight of his gaze. Too young. But you weren’t. And someday, he was going to realise that too.

Then came 4th of July weekend, the year you'd turned nineteen. 

The heat had been unbearable.

Thick and wet and heavy, clinging to your skin, making the air hum with something dense and slow-moving. The whole backyard had smelled like charcoal and cut grass, the acrid tinge of fireworks powder settling into the summer air as your dad and his friends—Ben included—set up the launch station.

You’d spent the whole day running back and forth between the house and the yard, fetching ice-cold beers, mixing up pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, your father muttering something about not letting his old ass friends drop dead from heatstroke. It should have been annoying, but you liked being useful, liked the way they all grumbled their appreciation, knocking back the drinks you handed them, sweat dripping from their temples.

And Ben? You’d liked it most when he reached for the glass.

The way his fingers had brushed yours, barely noticeable. The way he had tilted his head back, swallowing deep, Adam’s apple bobbing, before exhaling with a low groan. "Christ, Lamby. Think you saved my goddamn life."

You shouldn’t have felt it the way you did.

But you had.

And now, as the sun dipped low, casting everything in burning gold, you were perched on the picnic table, watching them finish the setup. Your legs bare, thighs sticky from the heat, the denim of your cutoffs riding too high—not that you were about to fix it. Your father was barking out orders, directing Ben and the others, but you could tell they were moving slower now, the heat catching up with them, exhaustion weighing down their steps.

Then Ben sighed, slapping his hands against his jeans. "Goin’ for a smoke," he muttered, and without much thought, he came to rest right beside you.

Not on the bench, but on the table itself. Perched, ankles crossed, the slight shift of the wood beneath his weight making you acutely aware of how close he was.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, that earthy scent of sweat and sun-baked skin mixed with the cigarette as he lit it, fingers cupping the flame from the breeze before shaking the lighter closed.

And then—he glanced at you.

Just for a second too long.

Just long enough for your heart to stutter, for something low in your stomach to twist itself into a tight, hot knot. He looked away too fast, like he caught himself before it could mean anything, and it made you feel a little sick with wanting.

So you grinned, cocked your head, and asked, "Can I try?"

His reaction was instantaneous. A sharp scoff, a low laugh, and then—"Fuckin’ behave yourself."

Your breath hitched.

You shouldn’t have felt it the way you did. But you did.

Something in his voice, in the rough scrape of it, made the air feel different. You weren’t sure if it was disapproval or something else, but either way—your face burned with the heat of it.

You tried to brush it off, tried to act like it didn’t matter, but as he took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the humid air, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he’d felt it too.

The fireworks had gone off like crackling constellations, splitting the night sky into pieces, blooming in colours that made your father’s face glow with the kind of pure, boyish joy that made your chest hurt. He had been beaming, beer sloshing in his hand as he threw an arm over one of his old friends, laughter bubbling from his chest.

The rest of them had been just as bad, slurring through old war stories, cheering every time another explosion thundered overhead.

You had slipped away at some point, away from the heat of bodies and the tang of sweat and liquor in the air. The mosquito lamp buzzed softly from the porch as you leaned against the railing, staring out into the yard, the scent of burning gunpowder still thick in the air.

Then—footsteps behind you.

Ben.

"Knew you’d be hiding somewhere," he muttered, already pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He perched on the railing, flicked his lighter open, and took a slow, deep drag. Then, without looking at you—without any warning at all—he pulled the cigarette from his lips and held it out.

"Just this once."

Your chest constricted.

For a second, you just stared at it—like maybe if you reached for it, you’d burn yourself on something else entirely. But he was watching now, eyes flicking sideways, and you didn’t want to look like a kid.

So you took it. Put it between your lips. Inhaled, tried not to cough.

Ben chuckled. "Look at you. Lil’ fuckin’ menace." Then—softer, lower, just for you: "Lamby."

That did something to you.

Something dangerous. Something hot and breathless and twisting, your whole body thrumming with something bright and stupid and electric.

Then, before you could even process it, he was holding out his beer. "C’mon. Might as well complete the set."

You took a sip, felt the cold bite of it trickle down your throat, the taste of smoke still lingering on your tongue. Ben watched, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before he tapped his nose with two fingers and winked.

"Don’t tell your dad."

And just like that—he stood, stretching, rolling his shoulders before heading back toward the others.

You sat there, reeling.

Preening.

Because it wasn’t much, was it? Just a cigarette, just a sip of beer, just a joke. Except it wasn’t. Because it had been just for you. Because you’d felt seen in a way that made something curl and bloom in your chest.

And later, when the house was quiet—when the night was settled, heavy, deep—you still weren’t asleep.

The guys had been too drunk to leave, sprawled across couches, filling up the guest rooms, your father snoring loud enough to shake the goddamn walls. But you were still awake, still buzzing, still aching with something you couldn’t name.

And then—footsteps. Soft. Slow. Passing by your room. You watched the shadow slip under your doorframe.

And then—pause.

Just for a second. Not long. Not even long enough to be real. But you felt it all the same. The moment passed. The shadow moved on. The footsteps faded.

And still—you sat there for the next hour, face buried in your pillow, biting back the giddy, breathless, shaking laughter in your chest. Because whether it had been him or not, it didn’t matter.

You wanted it to be.

And when your first date had come around, you had been so excited.

Not the kind of giddy, fluttery excitement that made you feel small—no, this was something deeper, something that made you feel light on your feet, steady in your chest. It had been a long time since someone had noticed you like that, since someone had looked at you and seen more than just the girl they grew up around, more than your father’s daughter.

And Sam had seen you.

A guy from a couple of towns over, nice enough, awkward but in a way that had made you laugh, spilling beer on you at the bowling alley before immediately scrambling for napkins, his face red as he apologised over and over. He had stayed with you the whole night, ditching his friends without hesitation, choosing instead to sit in a dimly lit booth while the two of you talked.

Not just talked—really talked.

Folklore. Mythology. The things that made your brain buzz, the subjects you had been considering studying in college, but never quite voiced aloud to anyone who might take it seriously.

But Sam had taken it seriously.

He had leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, asking real questions, pushing deeper, not just humouring you, but actually listening.

And when he had asked you out, when he had ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, waiting for an answer—

You had��squealed. You had said yes immediately, heart skipping, stomach twisting, exchanging numbers before parting ways, feeling like maybe—just maybe—you were stepping into something new.

So tonight, you had dressed for it.

Your prettiest sundress, soft and light, swaying when you moved. Sandals, simple but delicate. You had done your hair, your makeup, catching your reflection before heading downstairs, thinking—"I look… grown up. Pretty, even."

The thought had felt strange, thrilling, like shedding something old, stepping into something undiscovered.

And then—you walked into the living room.

Ben and your dad were lounging on the sofa, beer bottles in hand, eyes fixed on the baseball game you hadn’t even realised was on. The room smelled like cologne and sweat, hops and leather, the low murmur of the commentators filling the space.

You had barely glanced at them as you passed, already reaching for your bag, when you said, "Sam’s gonna be here soon to pick me up."

And that was when Ben spoke.

"Who the hell is Sam?"

His voice had been flat, clipped, like he was barely paying attention—but then your dad answered.

"Some guy who asked her on a date. Seems like a good kid. Bit of a square."

You had opened your mouth to protest, to defend Sam, to tell your dad that being a square wasn’t a bad thing, when you felt it—

Ben’s eyes on you.

A slow, sweeping once-over.

Your breath caught, the moment thickening, stretching, twisting into something you weren’t sure you were imagining.

Then he turned back to your dad, muttered, "She’s too young to be goin' on dates."

And your stomach dropped. Not because you were embarrassed—no, because of the way he’d said it.

The rough edge to it. The way his fingers tightened around his beer bottle, the way his jaw flexed, his shoulders tensing where he leaned into the couch. It wasn’t some offhand comment—it was something else.

Your dad had only laughed, smacking Ben’s arm, shaking his head. "She’s twenty now, man. C’mon."

Ben didn’t answer. Not at first. Just took a long sip of his beer, eyes flicking back toward the screen, but not really watching.

And that’s when your heart started pounding.

Because your father had been fine with it. He had laughed it off, joked about it, made peace with it weeks ago.

But Ben? Ben wasn’t fine.

Ben was annoyed.

And you didn’t want to play things up in your head, you didn’t, but he was coming across jealous.

And that—that made your chest feel too tight, too warm, something curling behind your ribs, something you shouldn’t want as badly as you did.

Because Ben had never looked at you like that before.

Sam had been sweet.

That was the only way to describe him. Sweet. Earnest. Polite in a way that most guys weren’t. He had kept his hands to himself all night, opened doors for you, paid for dinner even when you’d offered to split, and had spent most of the drive home talking excitedly about a new book he thought you might like, glancing over at you every so often like he couldn’t quite believe you were still sitting beside him.

And maybe that’s why you let him walk you to the door.

Because it had been nice. Because he had treated you like someone special, not just a pretty girl, but someone he actually wanted to know.

You had stood there on the porch, shifting slightly, fingers curling around the strap of your purse as he leaned in.

Not too fast. Not too forceful. Just slow, like he was making sure you had time to pull away if you wanted to. And maybe you would have let him kiss you. Maybe you would have closed the gap, felt something soft, something simple, something nice.

But you didn’t.

Because the second your lips almost met—

The door swung open.

And there stood Ben.

Big. Broad. Muscular as hell. Arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, eyes hard and cold and fixed—not on you, but on Sam.

"’Bout time you got home, Lamby."

Your stomach dropped. Not because of the nickname, but because of how he said it. Because it wasn’t warm. It wasn’t teasing.

It was territorial.

And Sam? He felt it too. You could tell by the way he shifted his weight, by the way he glanced at you, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping back, voice soft, awkward.

"I had a great time."

"Me too," you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He hesitated, gave you a small smile, then turned, walking quickly toward his car, never once looking back.

You stood there, arms wrapping around yourself, watching the red glow of his taillights as he pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road.

And then—you turned, crossed your arms tighter, and fixed Ben with a glare.

"What the hell was that?"

Ben didn’t answer right away.

He just… looked at you. Really looked. His eyes dragged over your bare legs, the hem of your dress, the soft slope of your throat, the lingering flushed heat of almost being kissed. His gaze swept slow, unhurried, deliberate, before finally settling on your face.

And his nostrils flared.

You shifted your weight to one leg, your jaw tightening, mirroring the way he stood, meeting him with a glare of your own.

And then—he scoffed.

"Get your ass inside," he muttered, stepping past you, brushing against your shoulder as he did, bigger than you, overwhelming in a way that made your stomach twist. "Before I tell your old man you were about to let some lanky fuckin’ two-pump chump feel you up on the doorstep like you’re easy or somethin’."

You bristled. Your whole body went rigid, something inside you snapping.

"If I didn’t know any better," you bit back, sharp, breathless, "I’d think you were jealous or something."

Not your wisest choice.

Because Ben went still. Not in a way that meant hesitation. Not in a way that meant denial. No—he stilled like a predator hearing its prey snap a twig.

Then—he moved.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just deliberate. Slow. Unavoidable.

Stepping forward, backing you up against the frame of the doorway, dipping his head down just enough so his mouth was level with yours, so his voice coiled low and hot in the air between you.

"I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight," he murmured, so quiet, so rough, "but it sure as shit better not be that fuckin’ pussy’s fingers."

You gasped. Your body locked up, breath hitching, eyes going wide.

And Ben just smirked.

Like he liked that reaction. Like he had wanted it.

Then—he straightened. Stepped back like nothing had happened.

"Better get upstairs, get into your comfies," he muttered, voice gruff, unreadable. "Come watch the football with me ‘n your dad. Or I’ll take you over my fuckin’ knee for the backtalk."

Your breath shuddered. You nodded. Wordless. Weak. Then you turned, stepping inside, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you headed upstairs—

And you knew.

You knew that nothing about tonight had been normal. That something between you had shifted. Twisted. Changed.

You took your time.

Stripping out of your sundress, pulling on one of your dad’s old t-shirts—soft, worn, faded, the fabric thin from years of washes, hanging loose over your frame. Bare legs, bare feet against the cool wood floors as you splashed cold water over your face, washing away the night.

Washing away Ben’s words. Or at least, trying to.

But they sat heavy in your head. The way he had looked at you. The low scrape of his voice, the bite of it, the way your whole body had locked up at the filth that had dripped from his mouth.

"It sure as shit better not be that fuckin’ pussy’s fingers."

You shuddered, inhaled deep, let the cold burn of the water centre you before heading downstairs.

The game was still on when you walked back into the living room, your dad and Ben both where you had left them—sprawled out, half a beer deep, yelling at the screen like the players could actually hear them.

Ben saw you first.

His eyes flicked over you, quick, assessing, then—that nod. That slow, subtle nod to himself, like he was fucking appraising you. Like you were something to be measured, studied, cataloged.

You ignored the way it made your stomach twist.

Instead, your dad’s attention finally snapped toward you, and his brow furrowed.

"I been wonderin’ where the hell that shirt went," he muttered.

You just grinned, gave a smug little shrug, before nudging his leg with your bare foot, signaling for him to move over.

"Looks better on me, anyway."

Your dad snorted. "The hell it does." Then, before you could flop onto the couch, he smacked your foot away. "Grab a couple more beers before you park your ass."

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told, gripping the hem of the t-shirt and curtseying, voice sickly sweet.

"Yes, sir."

Then you saluted him, just to really drive it home.

"Fuckin’ wiseass," he muttered.

Ben just chuckled, deep in his throat, like he was trying not to laugh.

You disappeared into the kitchen, grabbed three beers, popped the caps off, and pressed two of them against your chest as you sipped from the one in your free hand, the glass cold against your skin.

By the time you returned, the game had picked up speed, your dad too distracted to care when you plopped the bottles down on the coffee table and threw yourself onto the couch between them.

"Could have moved your lazy ass, y’know," you muttered.

Your dad just scoffed, didn’t look away from the screen.

But Ben?

Ben side-eyed you, slow and heavy, and when he spoke—you felt it.

"Keep up the cheek, Lamby, and I’ll take that beer off you."

Your fingers tightened around the bottle.

"Don’t know what the fuck you’re so cocky about," he muttered, tipping his own beer to his lips, voice just this side of gruff. "Stealin’ one of my beers like I gave you any kinda permission to."

Your stomach flipped. But you didn’t let it show. You just sighed, long-suffering, exaggerated as hell, before taking another slow, deliberate sip, the bubbles sharp against your tongue.

And then—you settled. Leaning back, letting yourself sink between them, wedged in the space you’d claimed a thousand times before.

Except this time, it was different. Because this time, you felt Ben. Felt the heat of him, so close, so solid, so unignorable. And it took everything in you not to shiver.

Because even if you were watching the game—

He was watching you.

The game rolled on, the low drone of the commentators mixing with the occasional grumble, scoff, or sharp curse from your dad or Ben. You sat nursing your beer, the bottle cold between your palms, the sharp bite of it against your tongue as you stared at the screen, more focused on the way the room shifted around you than on the game itself.

Your dad was getting tired. You could tell.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t—hiding yawns behind his bottle, stretching in that slow, lazy way that meant his body was giving up on the night before his mind was.

You, on the other hand, were stretching out more. Slow. Casual. Your bare feet crossed at the ankles, propped up on the coffee table, legs long and catching the glint of the TV, skin warm under the flickering glow.

And Ben noticed.

You felt it, even if he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached for his cigarettes, shaking the pack once before holding it out toward your dad.

Your father just waved a lazy hand, shaking his head. "Not for me, but might as well light one up in here. Don’t drag your ass outside on my account."

Ben just nodded. Grunted. Then—he lit up, fingers steady, bringing the cigarette to his mouth, holding it between his lips as he inhaled, slow and deep.

The scent hit you instantly—smoke and something deeper, something heavy and masculine, something that made the air feel too thick.

Then your dad yawned—loud and unrestrained.

"Shit, I’m beat," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’ll gimme a ring tomorrow or somethin’, tell me how it ends?"

Ben just grunted again, smoke curling from his mouth as he nodded.

Your dad turned to you next. "Lock up after him when he heads out, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," you murmured, waving him off.

He just rolled his eyes before disappearing upstairs.

And then—it was just you and Ben.

You went to shift over, to slide into your father’s now-empty spot, but—

Ben clicked his tongue.

Your breath hitched.

Not because of the sound—but because he didn’t even look at you when he did it. Just sat there, lips still wrapped around his smoke, one arm swinging lazily over the back of the couch, his whole posture relaxed, commanding.

"Stay put."

So you did.

But the shift in weight, the pull of gravity, had you falling into his side—your shoulder brushing up against the heat of his broad chest, pressing up into the space right under his arm.

And that was when it hit you.

The smell of him.

The mix of soap, sweat, beer, and smoke, clinging to his skin, wrapping around you like a hand at the base of your neck. It made your head feel light, your skin too tight, your thighs press together just a little too much.

You took a sip of your beer, trying to steady yourself, trying to act normal.

And then—without really thinking, without really meaning to—you turned to him.

"Can I have a puff?"

He scoffed. Didn’t answer right away. But that was fine, because you were already reaching up, already plucking the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to your own before he could stop you.

And when you took a slow, deep drag, before reaching up and placing it right back between his lips—

The eye contact?

Was fucking unbearable.

The kind of slow, steady hold that made the air thick and stifling, the kind that felt like something physical pressing against your chest.

Your lips curled into a slow, shit-eating grin. And then—you exhaled. Blew the smoke right into his face.

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t react. Not at first.

Just let the smoke roll between you, let the weight of it settle as he stared right into you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, unreadable.

And then—he smirked, slow and knowing, that cocky, heavy-lidded thing that made your breath hitch even though you refused to let it show.

"You’re fuckin’ trouble."

You just smiled, all sweetness and venom, voice syrupy smooth.

"Learned from the best."

His expression twitched—just a fraction. He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face, before finally pulling the cigarette from his lips. His fingers curled around it loosely, letting the smoke rise, twisting in slow tendrils toward the ceiling.

Then—his voice dropped.

"Nah."

His eyes dragged down over you, slow, tracking every inch. His gaze stopped at your thighs, where your dad’s old t-shirt had ridden up, baring just a little too much of your skin.

Then lower. Down your legs, down to your feet.

"I mean it," he murmured, voice gravel, something heavier lurking beneath it. "You are trouble."

Your mouth went a little dry. But you tilted your chin up anyway, feigning innocence.

"Oh yeah?"

He hummed, a slow, lazy sound, before shifting in his seat.

"Didn’t like the way you looked at me earlier."

That threw you. Your brow furrowed, beer bottle cooling between your palms.

"What?"

His jaw ticked. He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, exhaling through his nose.

"After that little cocksucker left," he muttered, voice low, cutting, "you looked at me with a sharp little glare. Didn’t fuckin’ like it. Not one bit."

That made your lips twitch.

"Maybe that’s because you were acting like an overbearing ass."

The moment the words left your mouth—

His palm cracked against your bare thigh.

Not hard. Not painful. But sharp. Sudden. Enough to make you yelp. Your whole body jerked, legs snapping together, feet moving off the coffee table—

But before you could fully pull away—

Ben grabbed them. Big hands, rough hands, curling around your ankles as he shifted you in one easy movement, and the momentum sent you falling back against the arm of the couch, spine hitting the worn fabric, breath catching in your throat.

By the time you realised what had just happened—your feet were pinned in his lap. And he was staring at you. Sharp. Knowing. Unreadable.

Your stomach flipped. You squinted at him, eyes narrowing in accusation, your body already on edge, already tense. Because you knew. You knew exactly where this was going.

And Ben knew you knew.

His smirk shifted—turned into something smug as fucking sin. And then, he moved. His free hand dragged along the sole of your foot, fingers skimming, featherlight. A slow, deliberate touch.

Your whole body jolted.

"Ben—"

His fingers danced over your skin again, dragging across the arch of your foot—and you burst into laughter. Sharp, breathless, uncontrollable.

"Shove off, you big asshole—"

He only chuckled, voice gruff, satisfied.

"Better keep your fuckin’ voice down," he muttered, pinning your feet harder, his other hand relentless as he tickled along your soles, grinning as you squirmed. "Or your old man’s gonna come down and bust some heads."

You tried to snap your foot back, tried to twist away, but he was too strong, too big, too fucking relentless.

"Dad’s snoring like two bears having a fight up there—" you gasped between giggled curses, thrashing uselessly. "Not even a nuclear blast’d wake him right now—"

Ben let out a bark of laughter.

"Christ," he muttered, still grinning, his fingers raking over your skin again, making you kick and writhe. "You got a fuckin’ mouth on you."

You writhed in his grip, half-giggling, half-breathless, your muscles burning from the struggle as he pinned your feet down like it was nothing. Like you weighed nothing.

"Gonna fucking kill you," you gasped, still kicking uselessly, your ribs aching from the laughter that you hated, that you didn’t want to be enjoying as much as you were.

"Oh yeah?" Ben drawled, voice low, amused, unbothered as hell. "You ‘n what army, Lamby?"

Your frustration surged, and before you could think—before you could talk yourself out of it—

You got a leg free.

And with one smooth, defiant movement, you lifted your knee, stretched your leg out, and pressed your toes against his jaw, pushing his face away.

"This one," you muttered, breathless, still flushed from the tickling.

And for a second, everything stopped. Because Ben froze, his fingers locked around your ankle, catching it before you could pull away, holding it there.

And then—his gaze dragged down your leg. Slow. Deliberate. Lazy in the way that only meant he was taking his time.

You felt it.

Felt his touch, felt the way his fingers tightened, felt the way his eyes swept over your thigh, over your skin, the places where your dad’s old t-shirt had ridden up, the hem curled high from how you’d been squirming—

And then, he saw.

His stare landed on the place between your thighs, on the thin, soft fabric of your panties, barely visible from the angle you were sitting at.

And your entire body lit on fire. Your stomach plummeted, heat spreading up your spine, over your chest, over your face, until you felt like you were glowing under his gaze, burning under it.

And Ben sucked in a sharp breath.

One second. Two.

Then, suddenly, violently, he shoved your leg back down, his fingers gripping too tight for a beat too long before letting go.

He sat up straighter, bracing his elbows on his knees, reaching for his beer like it was the only thing in the room that made sense.

The bottle tipped against his lips. He took a long pull, his throat working, his jaw tight, his whole body stiff.

You just stared at him. Stared at the way his shoulders rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched against the glass, the way he muttered something too low to catch, barely audible under his breath.

And you wanted.

You wanted so fucking bad—

To crawl into his lap, to trace the sharp edge of his jaw, to tangle your fingers in his hair, pull, make him look at you the way you needed him to.

Because he looked so fucking good like this. Like a mountain of a man, big and broad and sturdy, something you wanted to climb, sink onto, plant your flag in.

Your fingers tightened around your own beer bottle.

You tipped it back, taking a long drink, letting the liquid burn its way down, grounding yourself, steadying yourself.

Then—without a word—you shifted, leaning forward to set the bottle on the table, before settling back into your new spot.

Your feet still in his lap.

Ben didn’t react. Didn’t flinch at the contact, didn’t shove you off. He just watched the game. And after a moment, his hand—big, warm, heavy—started rubbing absentmindedly over the arch of your foot.

The game had all but faded into background noise.

The occasional roar of the commentators, the distant sounds of the crowd—none of it mattered. Not when his hands were on you. Not when he had been absently kneading his thumbs into the arch of your foot for the last ten minutes, rolling slow circles into your skin, his grip firm, practiced, easy.

You could feel the rough heat of his callouses, the way they pressed just right, the way his fingers flexed, working the tension out of your muscles like it was second nature.

And he wasn’t even thinking about it.

That was the best part.

Ben was just sitting there, cigarette balanced between his lips, rubbing slow, absentminded strokes over your skin while he watched the game, like he hadn’t once stopped to consider how fucked this was.

So you smirked.

"Let me bum one."

His fingers paused. Then—a glare. Sharp, lazy, warning.

"Cut it with the fuckin’ lip."

But you weren’t done. You tilted your head, batting your lashes, voice turning syrupy-sweet.

"Oh, come on, Uncle Ben..."

That made his jaw clench.

"Let me bum one," you pressed, pouting, teasing, just to see how far you could push. "You know you wanna."

And then, just to twist the knife—

"Corrupt me a little bit."

That did it.

Ben sucked in a sharp breath, something dark flickering through his eyes, his whole shoulders locking up—

And then his cigarette fell. Right into his lap.

"Shit—!"

He jerked upright, cussing, ash scattering over his jeans, pushing your feet off his thighs, slapping at the embers, brushing at the fabric as he snatched up the cigarette and stubbed it out fast in the ashtray.

You should have felt bad. You didn’t. Because you saw it. The shape of him. The press of something thick and stiff against his thigh. And suddenly—your whole body went hot. Because you weren’t imagining it. He was affected.

You were getting to him.

Your stomach coiled tight with satisfaction, your pulse thudding at the base of your throat, and you barely even thought before you moved.

You sat up slow, shifting forward, reaching for the cigarette in the ashtray, fingers just about to brush it when—

Ben’s hand shot out. Grabbed your wrist. His grip was strong. Firm. Tight enough to hold you in place, but not tight enough to hurt.

And when you turned to look at him, his face was dark. His eyes were on fire.

"Fuckin' quit it," he muttered, voice rough, almost wrecked, something like threat and warning and desperate restraint all tangled together.

And then, just low enough that it sent heat licking down your spine—

"Or I’ll tan your fuckin’ ass and send you up to your bed snifflin’ and sobbin’ like you fuckin’ deserve."

Your breath hitched. The air between you thickened.

His fingers burned into your wrist, his body coiled tight, his chest rising and falling just a little too hard, a little too sharp.

And you? You should have backed down. You should have apologised, pulled away, let the moment die.

But instead—

You just tilted your head, blinked up at him with wide, mock-innocent eyes, voice so quiet it could have almost been sweet.

"Promise?"

Ben went still. Not stiff. Not tense. Just—still. Like a predator right before it pounced.

And you felt it—the moment he cracked. The moment you broke him.

Ben didn’t say anything. Not at first. He just sat back, spine sinking into the couch, exhaling slow and deep through his nose, his fingers still wrapped tight around your wrist.

Then—he shifted. His body sprawled wider, his legs spreading, one arm draping across the back of the sofa, his whole presence turning into something vast and unavoidable, taking up space like he was daring you to crawl into it.

And he patted his lap.

"C’mere."

Your breath stuttered. You should have hesitated. You should have played coy, drawn it out, but you didn’t. You scrambled. Too fast. Too eager. Hands bracing against his shoulders, knees pressing to the outside of his thighs, you climbed into his lap, straddling him, settling into the space he had made for you.

And fuck—he was warm. Solid. Unshakable beneath you. His hands landed on your bare thighs, big and hot, fingers spreading, gripping you just enough to make you feel held.

And then—his eyes lifted to yours.

"You," he murmured, voice low, steady, edged with something raw, "are workin’ my last fuckin’ nerve."

You grinned. Syrupy-sweet, saccharine, the kind of smile that could make a saint burn alive.

"I’m happy to work something else, if you want."

The slap came fast. Sharp. Sudden. His palm cracked against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt, your breath hitching, your fingers tightening where they had settled against his chest.

"Where the hell’s this fuckin’ attitude come from?" He muttered, jaw tight, eyes dark, heavy.

You shrugged, playing at innocence, eyes lidded, mouth curling.

"Dunno." Another shrug, slow, deliberate. "Probably frustration."

That made him squint. Accusing. Waiting. Expecting.

So you tilted your head, batting your lashes, voice dropping into something honey-thick and dangerous.

"I mean…" A pause. A breath. A glance down at his lips before dragging your eyes back up to his. "You ever thought about how hard it’s been for me?"

He didn’t blink.

"Enlighten me."

You leaned in just a fraction, your fingers smoothing over his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, the warmth of his skin even through his shirt.

"How I’ve had to spend the last few years," you murmured, voice soft, feigning confession, "watching you walk around with your tight shirts, and your big arms, and that beautiful fucking hair and beard that could give a saint bad thoughts."

Ben huffed. Lips parting, breath sharp, eyes dragging over your face like he was looking for something. Then—his fingers squeezed, pressing into your thighs, holding you just a little tighter.

"One to fuckin’ talk," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped.

"Oh yeah?"

Ben scoffed. And then—he let it out.

"Had to put up with you swayin’ around in those little cut-offs—"

His hands slid higher, fingers flexing just beneath the hem of your dad’s t-shirt, thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"—watchin’ your ass eat ‘em up every time you walked away from me—"

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"—legs on fuckin’ show, flutterin’ those big eyes at me like you’re fixin’ to get fuckin’ stuffed."

Your whole body flushed with heat. You sucked in a breath, sharp, uneven, lips parting before your tongue darted out, wetting them.

And then—you mock-gasped. Eyes wide, voice soft, laced with something insidious.

"You’re my godfather," you whispered, tilting your head, watching him twitch at the words. "You’re having impure thoughts about me?"

Ben exhaled hard. His grip tightened—just for a second, just long enough to send a pulse between your thighs. Then he groaned. Long. Frustrated. Dropped his head back against the sofa, dragging a rough hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling like he was praying for salvation that wasn’t coming.

And then—his voice. Low. Wrecked. Raw.

"Christ on a cross."

A breath. A sigh.

"Don’t fuckin’ remind me. Your old man’d fuckin' kill me."

Ben’s voice was low, rough, edged with something like guilt—but not enough of it to stop him. His fingers flexed against your thighs, thumbs brushing higher, the pads of them teasing dangerously close to where you wanted him most.

"If he knew the kinda shit I’ve been thinkin’ about you since you turned eighteen—"

Your stomach flipped. Your breath caught, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your whole body going hot at the admission.

Since you turned eighteen. Since you’d beenlegal. Since the world had decided you were fair fucking game.

You gasped, mock-shocked, but real heat licking through your veins.

"What kinda stuff?"

Ben stilled. For a second, he just looked at you, his green eyes burning, pinning you in place. And then, low, quiet, wrecked—

"Stuff that makes me feel like a fuckin’ pervert."

Your stomach dropped. Your whole body tightened, throbbed, ached. And then you laughed. Low. Sweet. Dangerous.

"I’ll show you mine if you show me yours."

Ben grunted, his grip tightening on your thighs, squeezing, pressing.

You tilted your head, grinning down at him, teasing, watching the way his jaw flexed, the way his fingers itched to grab you harder.

"I’ve been thinking about you when I touch myself."

He groaned. His head tipped back, his whole chest rising and falling too fast, too sharp.

Your hands slid up his chest, nails scraping lightly over fabric, feeling the way his body locked up beneath you.

"I think about how your hands would feel between my legs," you whispered.

Another grunt. A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching, his grip bruising, branding.

Your breath shuddered, your body buzzing, your mind spinning with the filth of it all. But you weren’t done.

"I wonder if you’d let me sit on your face."

His whole body went rigid.

"Wonder if I’d feel that nice, clean beard between my thighs—"

Ben rutted up into you.

A sharp, unconscious thrust, his cock pressing up through denim and cotton, so fucking solid that you felt it pulse against you.

You gasped. Your fingers dug into his chest, your whole body throbbing.

But then—his head snapped back up. His eyes met yours again. Dark. Hungry. And then his lips curled.

"You wanna talk about confessions?"

You swallowed, hard.

"Few months back."

His hands slid lower.

"Stole a pair of your panties outta the bathroom."

Your heart stopped. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, pulse hammering between your ribs.

"Pretty little pink ones," he murmured, low, knowing, like he was fucking testing you. "Little bows on the sides."

You gasped.

"I’ve been looking for those—!"

His smirk deepened. Then—he rolled his hips into you again. The pressure made you whimper, made your head drop forward, your forehead nearly brushing against his.

"You ain’t gettin’ ‘em back."

Your stomach coiled, tight and hot and pulsing.

"Been using ‘em."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, knuckles going white.

"At first, just sniffin’."

Your whole body burned.

"Then the scent went."

Your nails dug into him.

"So I started usin’ ‘em to jerk off."

A sound escaped you, something breathless, wrecked.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

"Not a trace of your scent left in ‘em now, Lamby."

He ground up into you harder, your panties soaked, pressed against the thick ridge of him through his jeans.

"They’re mine now."

You whimpered. Writhed. Because fuck. He was just as wrecked for you as you were for him. And now—neither of you could take it back.

You shouldn’t have said it. You knew it was cruel, knew it was the final fucking push, knew it was only going to break him more—

But you said it anyway.

"If I’d known that sooner," you purred, voice silky, sinful, designed to ruin him, "I would’ve left more out for you."

Ben groaned. Deep, guttural, wrecked, his fingers clamping tight around your thighs as he dragged you along his cock. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy. The ridge of him pressed up against your cunt through your soaked panties, denim rough, thick, a perfect contrast to the slick heat between your thighs.

"You’re a fuckin’ menace," he muttered, gritting his teeth, his hips shifting up just enough to make you gasp. "Been temptin’ me too much."

You gasped. Let your nails scratch over his chest, let your mouth part into a mock-pout, breathless, needy.

"That’s not fair."

Ben huffed, blinking hard, like he was trying not to look at your lips.

"What’s not fair?" he muttered, voice gruff, strained, thick with restraint.

"Knowing I’ve been batting my lashes at you—" you breathed, voice sickly sweet, ruined, eager, "and you’ve been stringing me along."

His fingers twitched.

"Not giving in."

His thighs tensed under yours.

"Not giving me what I deserve."

The slap came sharp. Not as hard as before, but closer. Higher. Right at the crease of your thigh, just barely missing where you wanted it most.

Your whole body jolted. Your breath hitched. Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to him.

And then—his voice.

"If I gave you what you deserved," he muttered, voice low, deep, dangerous, a fucking promise, "you wouldn’t be walkin’ right for a week."

A slow, agonising pause.

"And your dad’d know it was me."

Your stomach dropped. A full-body shiver ran down your spine, curling at the base, settling between your thighs. Your fingers twisted in his shirt. Your mouth parted, a small, helpless sound escaping before you could stop it.

And Ben?

Ben felt it. He heard it. And it made him fucking crazy.

"You scared my date off earlier," you gasped, voice small, teasing, ruined. "You owe me now."

Ben’s jaw clenched.

"Should at least make up for it," you whispered, barely any breath behind it, "by letting me touch your cock."

He cursed. Low. Filthy. His fingers dug into your thighs, a full-body shudder raking down his spine, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together.

Then—his eyes snapped to yours. Dark. Sharp. Unforgiving.

"You sure?"

The words came gritted, strained, wrecked.

You nodded. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second guess. Just nodded. And that was it. That was the final straw.

Ben moved fast.

His hand shot up your thigh, rough and unhesitating, fingers hooking under your panties, yanking them to the side—

And then he was inside you. Two thick fingers, stretching you, filling you, sinking to the knuckle in one sharp, devastating push.

You gasped, body arching, your forehead nearly bumping into his.

Ben groaned. His other hand snapped up, tangled into your hair, gripping the back of your neck, pulling you down, down, down—

And then—

He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Ruining. His mouth slotted over yours like it belonged there, like he had been starving for it, like he couldn’t fucking breathe without it.

His fingers plunged deep, curling, pressing up against the spot that made you quake, made you whimper right into his mouth.

"Keep your fuckin’ voice down," he muttered against your lips, licking into you, filthy, hot, deep.

You moaned, soft, helpless, rocking into his fingers, clenching down on them, your breath shuddering, uneven, wrecked.

"That’s it," he breathed, groaning, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging, biting.

His hand tightened at the back of your neck, holding you in place, keeping you locked against him.

"You’re a soaked little thing, huh?"

You whimpered.

He dragged his fingers deeper.

"All this for me?"

Another groan, another thrust of his fingers, sharper this time, rougher, working you open.

"Fuckin’ hell," he rasped, swallowing your moans, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, groaning as he sucked, wet and hot and desperate.

His tongue slid past your lips, licked into you, a full-bodied claim, filthy, unrelenting.

And you—

You couldn’t think.

You could only cling to him, whimper into his mouth, lose yourself in the feeling of his fingers inside you, wrecking you, coaxing you closer to something you’d never felt before.

@mostlymarvelgirl <3

[bunny-jpeg]

sponsors

max verstappen - team principal au

cw: smut/pwp, team principal au, driver!reader, bikinis, age gap (20/45), yachts, teasing, protective!max, objectification/misogyny, max makes it all better, praise (kink), power dynamics

a/n: happy birthday max verstappen and happy ten years at formula one!

a big part of formula one was to get sponsors, very few people could pay for a team on their own. thus, the hefty logos across the racer's jackets. and while teams like ferrari had decades long sponsors, a new team like verstappen racing had to get what they could get.

and that max having to put his best media smile on and dazzle any prospective sponsors. but, max also needed your help. so when he asked you join him on his boat during the mid-season break you happily smiled and said, "of course."

you learned early on that a lot of men liked you because you were young, pretty and knew a lot about cars. but, you never thought that it would get to this level. while you thought you'd be sitting beside him over drinks.

not the one serving them. in a bikini.

"mister verstappen." you said as you picked up the bikini from the bed in one of the rooms on the boat. it was white and looked like it would cover very less.

max came up behind you and placed his hands on your hips, "i know... a little unconventional. i promise, i'm not whoring you out. just serve some drinks and that'll be it."

"it feels degrading."

max kissed your neck and replied, "don't worry. no one will try to touch you. i'll make sure of that." while he wanted the sponsors, you were still his. so he'd make sure that you were protected, that was a promise.

you turned your head to look at him and he kissed your forehead. before you went for his lips. you held onto the bikini tighter, "will this be good for the team?"

max nodded, "of course, it means we can get those upgrades for the second half of the season. also their company will make us seem more legitimate."

"then let's do it." then smiled at your boss, a little more assured. you could handle the leering, you were used to it. but with a promise from max about your safety, you felt more assured that it'll all work out.

a white bikini with your hair back a little, paired with heeled sandals and the chain around your neck that had max's logo on it. you were more quiet than usual, letting your boss talk business. you knew these men were from italy, and while they eyed you while you were at the bar getting their drinks, you kept any words to yourself.

this was business, as max once told you. you raced, he did all the behind the scenes work. that was what a team principal did. you brought the drinks over on a platter and gave max's his first.

you bent over to be closer to your boss and he patted your face with his rough hand which made you smile. he whispered in your ear, "good job, did you make the drink a little stronger for them?"

you looked at him and smiled. you looked almost proud of yourself. max had to plaster a smile on his face to keep it together. you were eye candy right now, and even max was feeling the effects of it. when you pulled away, and tried to give the other drinks to the men across from max, one of them stuck their foot out a little bit.

you tripped, but didn't spill a drop of liquor on the floor. you caught yourself even in the heels and made a loud yelp noise.

"she's a better server than a driver." one of the men spoke in italian. impressed that you didn't see the drinks get spilled. he did almost see your ass spill out of the bottom of the swim suit.

max's eyes stayed on you as you tried to compose yourself. he could tell that almost tumble made you a little shaky, "i assure you, she is a lot better on the track." he smiled.

"is she... for sale tonight?" the other man asked as you handed him his drink. max knew you didn't speak italian, so you had no idea what was being said about you. the man continued, "she's beautiful and would be a fairly good ride for the evening. what do you say mister verstappen?"

max relaxed against his seat and chuckled, "my drivers are not whores." then took a sip of his drink then looked to you. he said in english, "she is one of the best racers i know." and you looked at him.

you beamed at your boss as you held the platter to your chest. when you went to put it back at the bar and come back to the three men, max adjusted his posture and allowed you room to sit on his lap. you took it as him eager to be close to you, but in reality he was staking an ownership.

no, max wasn't going to whore you out to these businessmen. firstly, he had too much respect for you, and secondly, you were already his.

"i do not like when those touch what is mine." he spoke in italian as he got an arm around your waist, "she is a driver for verstappen racing, not a street walker. do not refer to her as such."

one of the businessmen laughed, "always stubborn, verstappen. but i am impressed that you managed to find someone so young. look at how she is in your lap. trained like a puppy."

you looked to max in the hope he'd translate, but instead he rubbed your head. you rested up against. he had his drink and chatted, he shifted the topic from the beautiful woman in his lap.

but yet, the curl of jealousy stayed in max's gut. he hid it well and when the other men tried to make comments, he brushed them off. he already made his position known. even if throughout the afternoon, he wanted to punch these men in the face. but, that wouldn't look good on him. and it would scare you. you've seen max get loud during races, but never, even get violent.

he kept himself composed through two gin and tonics that you happily served to him. but when he waved the men off the boat at the end of the afternoon with a promise of a healthy sponsor contract, max's gazed turned to you.

these men were talking about the entire afternoon like you were a piece of meat on sale. and maybe max invited it by dressing you up like that. but, it still didn't make it right. max soon had his arm around you and you looked up at him with a smile.

he kissed you on the lips and pulled you closer to him. "you did so well." he said before he gave you another kiss, "but i want you out of this now. i think this will be for my eyes from now on." his hand dropped to your ass where he gave is a good squeeze.

you both ended up in the bedroom once more, your kicked those stupid sandals off and before you could get the bikini off. he stopped you. you looked at him and he looked back at you.

"i want to take it off."

take it off of you was like unwrapping a gift, your skin warmed from the afternoon sun as you smiled at him warmly. oh, you were divine. but, he bet you knew that. he got you naked save for the necklace.

you laid out on the bed and smiled at him, "we did good today."

he took off his button up shirt and took it off his shoulders. he could feel your hungry gaze on him as he got undressed. he smiled a little, "you did excellent." once he was naked, he got into bed with you and took your face in his hands, then pulled you in for a searing kiss.

you squirmed against him a little before you melted a little in his touch. your heart beat picked up and you moaned against his lips. you were so naked and vulnerable for him.

"my prize driver." he remarked as he pushed hair out of your face and chuckled, "you are perfect. turning heads wherever you go." he laughed a little, "you make me proud."

and you felt something bloom in your chest as you said, "thank you sir." then yelped when he got on top of you and rested on his heels. his cock stood at proper attention.

he thought about how he took your virginity. you had admitted one night that you had never slept with someone before and your best friend was a rabbit in your suitcase. so even now, as he rubbed his cock up against against your wet slit, it still excited him.

of course he wasn't going to whore you out, not when the only cock you had was his. he took you by the hips and then guided his cock into your sweet sex. he shuddered a little as he pushed all the way in.

you really were the prettiest thing at the paddock, with your darling smile and cute laugh. you knew how to have a good time and while you were stubborn at times, you melted into your boss' grasp like honey. you were painfully sweet, even when max told you to put on your winning face before you raced. max was fortunate that he got a hold of you before anyone else.

"you did so good for me, schat." he spoke to you softly as he held onto your highs and rutted against you, "you played the part so well. i hate what those men said about you. they treated you like meat, took everything in me to not kill them."

you pouted a little as you held onto the covers under you, "what did they say about me?" you knew the conversation was animated, but you could only pick up a few words. but their gazes on you were intense.

max pushed into you further, making you rest on your tailbone, "they're dogs, my little racer." he said with hate in his tone, "they're dogs who deserve nothing. for men that rich, they are stupid. they should know that you're mine."

"did they want to fuck me?" you asked as you tried to reach for his shoulders. his cock hit against the softest parts of you and your back arched a little from the feeling.

max nodded, "but, i'd never let them do that." he assured you, "no, no, no, never. that was why you were so close to me for most of the afternoon. i didn't want them alone with you."

you looked at him and nodded, "my hero."

max smiled a little as he leaned forward, hiking your hips up more to hit at just the right angle. his lips captured yours as you moaned against the feeling. it all felt perfect. and while you felt a little objectified, it was hard to do so when max made sure that you felt special. that you were more than just a sex object.

"you did good." he said, "you did excellent. thank you for putting up with them. i promise i won't make you do that again." he kissed at your jaw with love, "no one can touch you the way i can. alright? you're mine."

you nodded, "of course, sir. always sir!" you held onto him a little tighter as the pleasure swarmed your gut. the kissed got hotter as your bodies moved together. you didn't realize what max meant by being 'his', you thought simply it was that you were part of his team. that sex was just an added bonus.

but that wasn't what max meant, he wanted you in every way he could have you. you were the subject of his fantasies, he had seen you in every way a man could. the dinners he took you out to, the better car he put you in. the way he held your lower back while you walked through the paddock. you assumed it was because you were a good driver! not that max wanted you carnally. silly little driver.

"you're so special." he said, "you knew how to turn heads and make anyone fall in love with you." he was talking like he hadn't staked a claim on you. like he hadn't taken you under his wing to be the best driver you could be. you were cute, sweet, max didn't want any bad men to hurt you.

you whimpered against his movements, getting louder. but thankfully no one could hear you. you knew of the rumour mill surrounding you and max. what people had said both in the tabloids and in the garage. it wasn't hard to draw conclusions when max was constantly with you, his hands on you that could be seen as romantic. but, when others asked about your relationship with max verstappen, you simply smiled and said, "he's the best boss ever."

even when he was bruising your sweet pussy. his cock nudging up against your g-spot which made you whimper and squirm. it was cute, you were cute. most team principals didn't bed their drivers daily, but there were always exceptions.

"please, sir." you said, "it feels good!" you clung to him a little tighter and he responded with heavy kisses.

max could feel his heart hammering in his chest. he could feel your nails into his shoulders as you held onto him. his cock was perfect inside of you. he knew if he got your knocked up by next week, there would be no surprises. except maybe for you. even though he frequently finished inside of you. you loved the feeling and who was max to deny his superstar.

he felt something run up his spine as he continued to move against you. when he broke the kiss and looked at you with those blue eyes of him. he soaked in the sight of you, on the verge of climax.

his beautiful driver.

with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, you squirmed further and climaxed around his cock. you clenched onto him and almost bit into his strong shoulder as you felt your heart beat pick up. a strained moan left you lips before you relaxed on the bed.

max drank in that sight, he kissed your cheek and said, "perfect. like always." because he pushed you up further, almost bending you in half to really work his cock into you. even with the dull throb in his knee (which made him briefly think about the age gap), he continued to bully his cock into you.

it didn't take long before he finished inside of you as well. he tensed up for a moment as he held onto your hips. he hissed through grit teeth as the pleasure came down on him. only you could make him lose control like that.

"good girl." he said as he put your bottom half back down on the bed and pulled out of you. you laid out in a heated mess on the bed and he laid down beside you.

he kissed your neck and shoulder as you settled down. he praised your silently with kissed along your heated skin. next time he wouldn't put you in that bikini, but if it was just you two on the boat. then maybe he'd put you in it for his eyes only.

-

by the time the season started up again, you were all smiles with a new logo on your uniform. the updates to the car were made to both yours and your teammates. and when you held the trophy over your head for the following grand prix, max couldn't help but beam as he clapped.

"we did it, sir!" you chirped as you pulled him into a hug. your joy at winning warmed him, just as you were going to warm his cock come evening as a thank you for getting you closer to the wdc. <3

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

In the Wake of Silence

Aemond x unnamed wife | HOTD Big Bang

Summary: Aemond and his wife endure a loveless, arranged marriage. His wife, haunted by bearing witness to the events of Blood and Cheese, seeks respect and support from her indifferent husband. The Prince, troubled with his own demons that triggered the Dance, struggles to meet her basic needs. Political intrigue and personal grief threaten to tear them apart, but his wife demands recognition and partnership, a fraught path, hoping to find respect where love has failed. | Word Count: 8.8k~ | Warnings: angst, child death, spoilers for hotd s2 ep 1, dub-con, mentions of miscarriage, canon-typical violence/misogyny

A/N: my submission for this year's HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the artwork, and for organising the event alongisde @emilykaldwen. Please do show all the love for other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, you're all in for a treat!

The first light of dawn barely touched the horizon as Aemond Targaryen slipped back into the Red Keep. His movements were stealthy and deliberate, the echoes of his footfalls swallowed by the cold stone corridors. The scent of the brothel, flesh and sweat, still clung to him, a reminder of the night’s escape from the relentless pressures of court and marriage.

As he approached his chambers, the atmosphere within the Keep struck him as strange. It was too noisy, too chaotic for the early hour. The usual stillness of the dawn was replaced by the frantic rustling of armoured feet and the distant, muffled cries of distress.

Turning a corner, Aemond's sharp gaze took in a disturbing scene. Members of the Kingsguard were dragging servants and courtiers from their rooms, shouting orders and spreading panic. The confusion and terror were palpable, a stark contrast to the serene darkness he had left behind.

"What in the Seven Hells is happening?" he muttered to himself, quickening his pace.

Aemond's mind raced, trying to piece together the reason for such commotion. He rounded another corner and saw more guards, their expressions grim and unyielding as they secured the doors of the royal nursery. His heart skipped a beat, an inexplicable sense of dread washing over him.

His steps became more urgent, the clamour growing louder as he neared his chambers.

He pushed open the doors and immediately noticed something was amiss. A draught hit his face, a wall he had never known was in fact a doorway was standing ajar. His eye scanned the room, taking in the disorder. His belongings had been disturbed, gold coins taken haphazardly from the table. Papers were scattered, and the lingering scent of unfamiliar presence clung to the air. Something rancid.

His expression remained impassive as he made his way through the halls. Kingsguard rushed by him, towards Helaena’s chambers as well as maidservants with newly washed blankets. When he reached his mother’s chambers, Ser Criston gave him a grave look, but stepped aside. Inside, his mother was bent over her table, her long chestnut hair falling in waves either side of her face to hide her moist eyes and sheer exhaustion. His grandfather, Otto, was seated, his spine as straight as his face. 

At the sight of him, his mother paused, her eyes filling with a mix of relief and fear.

“Aemond,” Alicent began, her voice trembling.

His eye flickered about the room, a habit, taking in the darkness that lay within her chambers, in his blind spot the drapes still pulled tight to push out the sun, the rumpled bed sheets. 

“Mother,” he answered, “what has happened? My wife–”

Alicent’s face paled at the thought of having to revisit the hellish night she had only just left behind. “They came in the night. For Helaena’s boy…” she trailed off, “Jaehaerys is dead.”

Aemond’s blood ran cold, the weight of her words sinking in. His mind flashed back to his ransacked chambers and the passage he had found ajar. A passage even he had not known existed.

They had come looking for him.

And when they could not find him…

“And my wife?”

Alicent wiped her cheeks gently, inhaling as if to draw strength, “she was there, with Helaena and the children…”

The realisation hit Aemond like a blow. The assassins had been mere steps away from her. The thought of his wife in such proximity to danger, witnessing the horror of Jaehaerys’ murder, was almost too much to bear. The indifference he had maintained toward her now felt like a cruel and taunting weight.

“We must not be shaken by this,” Otto insisted, somewhat firmly, coldly. “We need to remain strong and act decisively."

“Not be shaken? They murdered my nephew, and my wife was there. This is no small matter.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his tone becoming sharper. “And that is exactly why we must remain composed, Aemond. Panic will only serve our enemies. We need to show them that we are not easily broken.”

“They came for me, Grandfather. When they could not find me, they killed an innocent child. My nephew. My wife could have been next.” His words were like arrows, laced with poison. “And how fares the King? Is he as composed as you wish?”

“The King’s composure is of no concern to you, Aemond. Your duty is to protect this family and this realm, not to question the King’s state of mind.”

“You speak of strategy while my family bleeds.”

There was a marked silence. Aemond was wound tight. His grandfather, while known for his clever strategy and had served many Kings as Hand at this very moment, was as detached emotionally as one could possibly be, and only saw how this tragedy might benefit their claim.

“And where was our Kingsguard while all this took place? Where was our vigilance when they slipped through our defences?”

He noted his mother’s still stance, her eyes unmoving from a single spot in the room, her hands, needing something to do, rose to her necklace, tight with worry and anxiety.

Otto said nothing for a moment. “We shall not be caught off guard again. Every measure will be taken to ensure our security.”

“I am sure your grandson will thank you for it now,” Aemond shot back.

“We will protect the ones who remain,” Otto retorted. “But we must do so with clear minds and steady hands. Emotions will not serve us in this fight.”

A tense silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken words and clashing wills. Alicent stepped forward, her voice a fragile thread of calm amidst the storm. She took his hand, so large in her own it seemed near impossible that he could possibly be her son. Her large brown eyes were misty with tears. 

“The Hand is right. We must be united in this,” she uttered quietly, trembling. 

All Aemond could manage was a tired sigh. There was no use argumentation. For better or for worse, his grandfather was the King’s Hand, and if the King was indisposed, incapable of making rational choices, the members of his court had no choice but to obey.

“Where is my wife?”

Alicent hesitated, her expression pained. "She is with the maester," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She is hurt?”

"No,” was her quick answer, “but do treat her gently," she said softly.

His frustrations at that moment were only tempered by the knowledge that she was not harmed. The relief briefly gave way to unease at the knowledge of what his wife had witnessed a night he himself was pressed to another woman’s flesh.

He moved, walked, existed, for some time without really realising.

"She witnessed the attack, my prince," the maester began, his voice steady despite the gravity of his words. "She was with Queen Helaena and her children when the assassins struck. It was a brutal and sudden assault. She managed to escape physical harm, save a small cut on her neck I have treated, but the emotional toll is severe."

"She is in shock," the maester continued, his gaze sympathetic. "Physically unharmed, thankfully, but emotionally... she has endured a great trauma."

Aemond nodded tightly. His mind raced at the thought that he had been out of harm’s way while his family and blood suffered horror beyond comprehension in their own home.

"Is there anything else?"

The maester hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "There was some... spotting," he finally said, his tone gentle yet hesitant. "Not indicative of her cycle. It may have been due to the stress and trauma she endured."

He couldn’t deny the slight sinking of his heart at the implication. Understanding the maester’s unspoken words, that his wife may have even been with child, added yet another devastation to the evening’s toll.

The maester nodded towards a door. "She requested to be alone. I advised her to rest, but she insisted on waiting for you."

Aemond swallowed hard, steeling himself for the sight of his wife, knowing that the rift between them had deepened with each passing moment of his absence. Of his continued absence, in their marriage.

He entered the chamber as if navigating a dragon's lair. It was dark with the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the dim glow of the hearth. Her figure was seated by the mantle, her back to him, still in the same dress she had worn the evening before.

He called out to her, but she did not face him.

“How kind of you to return from your nightly excursion.”

Aemond felt the hot frustration at the nape of his neck, his defences prompted. His jaw tightened at the accusation in her tone. “I had matters to attend to,” he said coldly, not bothering to disguise the edge in his voice.

“Matters,” she echoed in disdain.

“What I do in my leisure is my business. You know this.”

She finally turned to face him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “While you tended to your 'business,' I was here, witnessing the murder of our nephew. Is the first thing you have to say to me a poor excuse for your absence? And not perhaps a soft word in grief and comfort?”

Aemond’s expression remained stony, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes. “I know what happened, and it should never have come to that. But do not think to judge me for seeking solace elsewhere.”

Her face crumpled somewhat, the pain evident in her eyes deepening, “I do not judge that, Aemond. I simply ask for respect and loyalty–”

“I have given you my name and protection–”

“It is not enough!” She rose her voice, which seemed to suck all the energy from her lungs, “not when I am left to face these horrors alone. Your sister lost a child. As did I–”

Her mouth pulled shut, her eyes drifting as if she had said too much for her frail heart.

His eye narrowed, a mixture of shock and defensiveness flashing across his face. “I did not know.”

She looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy with your whores to notice.”

“Mind yourself–”

“Or what?” She snapped, “you will ignore me? As you always have done? Ignore your responsibility to your family? To me?”

It was rare she was ever able to best him with her words alone. But her next ones rendered the tall Prince completely silent.

“You have never been here, truly. I have been married to a ghost, a shadow that drifts in and out of our chambers but is never truly present.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them filled with the echoes of their shattered relationship. Aemond’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost like regret in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by cold resolve.

“I am a Prince of this Realm. My duties extend far beyond you. This marriage. You will have to accept that.”

It was a neat trick Aemond did often, he would open his mouth and Otto Hightower’s words would slip out between his lips.

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Then go. Do what you must. But do not expect me to wait for you, not anymore.”

Aemond hesitated, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out to her but didn't know how. The door closed with a resounding thud, leaving her alone in the darkness, the weight of their broken marriage heavy on her shoulders.

Why must it solely have been her burden to bear.

So she remained, the dim light from the hearth casting long shadows on each wall and tapestry. Her mind wandered aimlessly through her grief, reliving the horrors of that fateful night. The sounds and visions of her memories fueled the terror that gripped her even still. The pain of her own lost pregnancy, discovered too late, was a dull, constant ache in her heart. The exciting, blossoming swell of motherly intent had been snuffed out as quickly as it had been lit.

And the loneliness of her failed marriage only deepened her sorrow.

“The Mother knows.”

She blinked hard, but still heard the firm knock at the front of her mind. Two foreboding men who clearly did not belong in those parts of the Keep, one pulled harshly at Helaena’s arm, the other  grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet. A cold blade pressed against her throat, and she gasped, her eyes wide with terror. Helaena let out a muffled scream as Cheese, smaller but no less menacing, held a knife to her neck. Two pairs of frightened white eyes flickering terrified in the darkness.

“She’s the Queen,” the smaller figure, dark curls stuck to his forehead, sneered against Helaena. 

“A son for a son, he said. Well, does she look like a fucking son to you?”

She winced, his palpable violence felt through the pressure of the blade to her throat. Her breath felt like fire, her throat dry, the words spoken between the two men felt as if they were conversing in a language unknown to her.

“Prince Aemond ain’t here,” the other let out a cruel laugh, gesturing to the two cots with Helaena’s twins somehow sleeping deeply through the struggle. “We need to get our head and get out.”

Helaena could barely utter words, just winces and whimpers for mercy.

The man behind her was reluctant to release his grip. And through her body, an equally trembling voice broke loose.

"If you wish to hurt Aemond, take me," she said, her voice steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. "I am his wife. My death will wound him deeply."

She felt her breath still, two fierce blue eyes, shimmering with violent need, met hers from over Helaena’s shoulder. “So much loyalty for a man who is not even here to protect you. How touching.”

The man behind her peered at her face, his foul breath hot against her skin in a way that made her skin crawl. “So, you are the wife," he sneered, the cruel smile returning. "But we were promised a son. One who carries Hightower blood. You are useless to us.”

Helaena whimpered, her eyes darting to the cots where her children slept soundly, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them. The smaller of the two pressed his blade a little harder against Helaena’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Maybe we should kill them all," he suggested, his voice dripping with malice. "Just to make sure we don't miss the right one."

The larger laughed behind her, a low rumbling sound the deepest in the Seven Hells. “Imagine his pain when he finds her body cold in his bed." He loosened his grip slightly, letting her feel a false sense of relief before tightening it again. "Or maybe we should kill the boy first, let her watch the consequences of her husband’s crimes.”

She was only let go then, her neck aching as blood rippled to the surface, a superficial cut, but one that stung nonetheless. She watched with wide eyes, unease. The blade that was at her neck caught the light of the candles briefly.

“They both look the same. Which one’s a boy?” he asked with a trembling excitement. 

No.

Two hooded eyes, craving bloodshed and death, turned to Helaena, who stood similarly vulnerable. “The Mother knows.”

The room seemed to tilt and sway, the walls closing in around her, sounds muffled as if her ears were submerged underwater. She saw Helaena’s tear-streaked face, the anguish in her eyes as she was forced to point out which of her children was the boy. The assassins crowded the bed, dark shapes looming over the small, innocent form lying there.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her helplessness. She wanted to shout out, to offer herself in place of the child, but the reality of her situation silenced her. Perhaps the smallfolk knew too well that Aemond cared little for his wife. That her sacrifice would mean nothing.

It felt like a nightmare, each moment stretching into eternity. She followed behind Helaena, Jaehaera hugged to her tiredly, limbs heavy with dread. The corridors blurred together, each step a struggle against the overwhelming sense of doom. As they neared her chambers, she broke away, her heart pounding with a desperate hope that Aemond had returned.

She burst into her chambers, the door slamming against the wall with a resounding crash. "Aemond!" she called out, her voice trembling with panic. The silence that greeted her was deafening, a void that swallowed her cries. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of the night's horrors pressing down on her. "Aemond!" she screamed again, her voice breaking with desperation.

But the chambers stood empty. She stood there, the cold emptiness of the room closing in on her, offering no comfort, no solace. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her solitude. She stumbled forward, calling out his name once more, her voice echoing off the walls. "Aemond, please!"

The darkness seemed to close in around her, her hopes extinguished like a dying flame. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, trembling violently. The silence was unbearable, a stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed her only moments before. "Aemond..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a choked sob.

The tapestry on the far wall was slightly askew, the ends flailing in the draught. A cold realisation washed over her. This was where they began. This is where the assassins had come in. A sick sense of vulnerability swept over her, making her stomach churn. They had been here. She was not safe anymore.

Her heart raced faster, and she felt a sudden, sharp pain shoot through her abdomen, doubling her over in agony. She gasped, clutching her stomach, the intense cramp sending waves of nausea through her body. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt, a searing agony that stole her breath and left her gasping for air.

"No," she whispered, her voice breaking with a new kind of desperation. "Please, no."

But the loss was immediate.

She whispered Aemond's name one last time, her voice a fragile thread in the vast emptiness.

A gentle voice broke through her trance, pulling her back to the present. “My dear, can you hear me?”

She blinked, the room coming into focus. Alicent, her mother by marriage, was seated before her, concern etched deeply into her features with a drink cradled in her hand. Her dress was different, her hair braided in a manner that did not resemble that terrible evening.

How many days had passed? What had she eaten? Had she seen Aemond since that morning?

It was frightening, to exist without remembering.

Alicent repeated her name softly. “I’ve been calling your name.”

She turned to look at her, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I apologise, I... I was just thinking.”

Alicent sighed. “I know, dear. I cannot imagine the pain you’re in. But you mustn’t let it consume you.”

She nodded, but couldn't help but feel both frustrated and powerless. How could she not allow this to consume her, when she could still feel the twisting in her chest and the hollowness that had deepened since that night. “Of course.” Was all she said.

Alicent gave her a sympathetic smile, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’ve endured so much. More than anyone should have to bear. And I know it feels impossible now, but time will help.”

It felt as if ‘time’ was merely Aemond's mother's way of shifting responsibility. As if the effort were not needed in this mortal realm, and decided entirely by the Gods.

It was unfair, she thought. To have been abandoned by them in her time of ultimate need.

Alicent retreated, shrinking as she felt her despair, “Helaena is deeply hurt. She is sensitive, and this tragedy has cut her deeply, naturally,” Alicent trails off. “Perhaps you might go and see her. It might help both of you.”

Would Helaena even want to see her? She had not tried, reasoning that she and the King had enough to deal with. The death of their child. One another. The dark omen that loomed over the Keep.

She had not wanted to intrude on her suffering, despite feeling it so profoundly herself.

“Aemond has his own way of dealing with grief,” Alicent added suddenly, “it may not be the way we wish, but he is still young and finding his path. His responsibilities weigh heavily on him.”

She could have laughed. The only decent smile she would have broken in an age. Responsibilities.

It seemed the Dowager Queen truly had no idea what any of her own children were thinking or doing at any given time. And for that, she could not help the simmering resentment.

She masked it simply with a polite nod, acknowledging but not believing. Alicent’s face tightened with the strain of balancing her loyalty to her son and her compassion for her.

“I understand your grief, my love. I truly do. But you must try to understand his burdens, as difficult as that is. He has a duty to the realm, and sometimes that means... sacrifices.”

Her eyes were dry from nights of endless crying, and she felt them strain as she turned her head to Alicent, as if she could not quite believe what she had said. As if Aemond's words were perfumed and spilling from his mother's mouth.

“And that is what I am?” 

“You are a part of this family, and we must all find a way to support each other. I cannot excuse his actions, but I can ask for your patience and understanding. For all our sakes.”

It was not an answer to her question. Merely a dismissal. She swallowed hard, the bitter taste of resignation settling in her throat.

For a moment, she stared down into her cup of warm tea, untouched. Watching the rich brown ripple, for she could not stand to look into the bitter shade of Alicent's any longer.

“It is all I ask,” Alicent uttered gently, as if she was aware of the tentative string she walked upon. 

She nodded slowly, the weight of expectation pressing heavily upon her. She forced herself to meet Alicent's gaze, searching for any sign of genuine compassion or understanding. There was some, but it was overshadowed by the stern duty that ruled the Dowager Queen.

Alicent gave a sympathetic smile, “you have shown great strength, my love.”

She nodded again, though she felt anything but strong. The days had blurred into nights, and each moment seemed to stretch endlessly before her, a relentless parade of sorrow and duty. She was exhausted, worn thin by grief and the constant strain of maintaining a facade of normalcy.

Where was strength, in witnessing a brutal crime?

Where was strength, when losing a child that had barely lived?

Where was strength, in the waning tide of a failing marriage.

She had said to Aemond that it felt as if she were married to a ghost. But the more time went by, Lords and Ladies tiptoeing around her, their glances quick and measured, she felt very much the ghost herself. As if they see her, feel her presence, but do not hear her speak or breathe as if she were alive.

As much as she did not value the Dowager Queen's opinion of Aemond and their marriage, she struggled to cope with the unending trauma of her presence for Prince Jaehaerys’ murder. The nightmarish memories haunted her days and nights, an ever-present shadow that refused to fade. Each scream, each drop of blood, each moment of terror replayed endlessly in her mind. The palace that had once been her home now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around her.

The loss of the pregnancy was distant, but she still felt the fresh kick of it as if it were recent. It was a silent, aching sorrow, compounded by the knowledge that Aemond, the father, remained indifferent. The possibility of what could have been gnawed at her, the child a symbol of hope now lost forever.

With the child, she could at least have been useful, she reasoned. Her duty would remain paramount. But as Aemond grew less and less present, slipping into the arms of those he would rather share the warmth of his flesh with, it seemed less and less likely he would wish to try for another child with her.

Yet another thing her husband could take away from her. Her purpose.

The absence of this feeling had made her desperate for reconnection. She visited Helaena's chambers every day, requesting the Kingsguard stood straight at the door if she might speak with the Queen. But every time, he said the same thing.

“The Queen requests to be alone at present.”

Each visit, each attempt, ended in heartbreak. The closed doors and silence were a painful reminder that while she was not alone in her suffering, but also not welcome in her attempts to bridge their mutual anguish.

She felt her heart lurch into her chest when she returned to her chambers, finding an unfamiliar presence rummaging around the ornate oak cupboards. The figure, however unseen in this part of the Keep, possessed the silver moonlit hair she knew so well, but short, unkempt and choppy.

Her shocked gasp seemed to draw the King’s attention, and he turned, his clothes askew, face swollen and sunken from tears and wine consumption.

“Y-your Grace–” she found her words, giving a polite curtsy, trying to calm the hammering of her heart.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he muttered, twirling a newly found decanter of wine in his hand. “The servants will no longer allow me to have my fill.”

She swallowed, her hand dropping from her chest, away from her thrumming pulse. “Of course, Your Grace. Help yourself at your leisure.”

Aegon’s gaze finally met hers, and for a brief moment, she saw the depth of his anguish. The loss of his son had shattered him in ways that wine alone could not mend. He took a long, unsteady sip from the decanter, the liquid sloshing slightly as his hand trembled.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Your Grace?” She asked softly, unsure if her presence was a comfort or a burden.

Aegon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Unless you can bring back the dead, there is little anyone can do.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and poignant. Aegon’s words lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the shared grief that bound them both. He realised, too late, that his careless remark had cut deeper than intended. He had lost a son, but she, his sister by marriage, had also felt a profound loss.

Aegon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I apologise. That was thoughtless of me.”

She shook her head, her expression softening. “We all speak from our pain, Your Grace. I understand.”

Aegon leaned against the table, his eyes bloodshot. “Where is Aemond?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. And that seemed an answer enough. She felt her cheeks get hot, in his presence, the guilt seemed to grow and grow.

Why could it not have been her that night. She has mulled over the question several times.

“I am sorry…” she choked out, wiping her cheeks when moisture nipped at her sensitive skin. “I could— could have done more—”

Aegon’s expression softened, the bitterness in his eyes giving way to a rare moment of understanding. “It was not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

There was a beat of silence as he approached, the decanter hanging lazily in his grip at his side. He looked exhausted, as if all the fight had left him.

“I thank you…for being there for Helaena and Jaehaera,” he murmured, as if the Keep’s walls had ears, “my sister has a gentle temperament, and you are much like a natural born sibling to her.”

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and an unspoken understanding. For a moment, their grief became a silent bond between them, a fragile thread of connection in the midst of their suffering.

Her voice broke the silence softly. “I only wish I could do more, Your Grace.”

Aegon opened his mouth to reply, but the appearance of Otto Hightower in the doorway halted him. Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly hid the decanter behind his back, trying to conceal it. With a curt nod to her, he slipped out of the chamber, leaving her alone with Otto.

She surmised perhaps, Otto had given the King a sharp gesture, inviting him to leave. And she steeled herself for the man's oppressive and yet firm presence, and turned to face him.

Otto stepped into the room, his gaze sharp and calculating. He glanced at her, noting her flushed cheeks and the way she quickly composed herself.

“I hope I am not interrupting.”

She shook her head, the brief moment of awkwardness fading. “Not at all.”

Otto’s eyes swept over her, lingering momentarily before returning to her face. “I came to ensure you are managing well under the circumstances.”

Just what reaction might he expect from her? To be scaling the walls with madness?

“It is said that people often find unexpected strengths in times of hardship, though it seems some have less experience in harnessing them.”

Her fingers tightened where she held them in front of her and tried her hardest not to mirror the feeling in her expression. “The weight of grief is heavy.”

“Indeed. It is important to remember that appearances can be deceptive. And, it would be unfortunate if this…response were to become an impediment rather than a motivation.”

Her shaky exhale did little to ease the tension in her body.

“I appreciate the reminder, Lord Hightower.”

Eager to see the back of him, she made no attempt to offer wine or tea. She did not want this emotionless, self-serving attitude to further darken the doorway of her chambers.

And she thought as she listened to the Lord Hand’s footsteps echo softly down the hall, that she now realised where her dear husband inherited this trait.

Aemond lay in the dimly lit room of the brothel, the scent of incense mingling with the faint aroma of sex and wine. His eye drifted shut at Sylvi's fingers through his hair, running the silver strands through them as if it were silk illuminated by pale moonlight.

Sylvi, with her deep, knowing eyes, watched him closely. She had always been good at reading him, understanding the depths of his turmoil without needing words.

“You are troubled,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm in the quiet room.

“None more than is usual.”

“Tell me,” Sylvi countered, not letting him evade the truth.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond’s voice was low, but his attention seemingly elsewhere, “I was out.”

“You were with me,” Sylvi reminded him, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns on his scalp.

“In truth, I am proud that he considers me such a foe. That he seeks to murder me in my bed.” Aemond’s voice held a mix of pride and bitterness, the conflicting emotions evident in his eyes as he looked up at her. “He is afraid of me.”

“As well he should be,” Sylvi said with a sickly smile, her fingers pausing for a moment, her body leaning closer to brush her breath against his lips. “The boy has grown into a man.”

“No. Not here.” Aemond pulled away from her intimacy, creating a physical and emotional distance. Sylvi sensed there was another truth Aemond was not displaying, and there was a thin, tentative line she had to tread as the man before her curled his legs to his chest.

“And what else?” she inquired, making no attempt to touch him.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp an elusive thought. The room felt colder, the flickering candlelight casting long, unsteady shadows on the walls. His usually composed facade was cracking, and the turmoil within him was evident in the tension of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. He struggled to find the words, each breath he took seeming heavier than the last.

“They came for me. When they couldn’t find me, they killed my nephew. And my wife... she was there to witness it all.”

"That must be an unimaginable burden to carry."

Aemond continued, his voice growing harsher, as if he expected Sylvi to be more…insistent of his guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but I was not. I was here. And she... she suffered because of it. My sister also.”

But there was little the other woman could say to quell the storm within. It was a complicated one, as it was always with Aemond she had begun to find out. While it was clear there was no love in this tumultuous marriage, the thought that she had endured such trauma while he was away, seeking solace in the arms of another, gnawed at him relentlessly. His absence had cost his family dearly, and the weight of that realisation was almost unbearable.

“And how do you feel?” she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“How do you think I feel?” he snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “I am angry. My wife slips further into grief, not that she was ever truly close to me. And I do not know how to reach her.”

“Anger is natural, given everything that has happened.”

He shakes his head, the words seem empty. “And what is to be done about it. She lost a child that night,” he recalled bitterly.

Sylvi regarded him with a knowing look, her eyes glimmering softly in the dim light. Her voice was gentle, almost melodic as she spoke. 

“Perhaps, if she were to fall with child again, it would lift her spirits.” There was no recognising the subtle manipulation in her voice, nor did he realise the depth of what he had just revealed. He simply nodded, lost in his thoughts.

Sylvi’s fingers traced patterns on his arm, her touch light and soothing. She was planting a seed, one that could lead to healing or further heartache, depending on how it grew. “You have the power to change things, Aemond. You can give her hope again.”

“I do not know if I have hope to offer her.”

Sylvi tilted her head slightly, her eyes studying him with a blend of sympathy and curiosity. “She is your wife. She is still your responsibility. Even if you don’t love her.”

Aemond’s face hardened, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Love is for peasants who wish to fuck without sin.”

Sylvi's gaze softened, though there was a hint of steel beneath her calm exterior, and perhaps a catching of some offence. “And what of duty? Even in the absence of love. And perhaps, through fulfilling it, you might find something worth holding onto. New life can often pave a new path.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but the weight of her words hung heavily in the air, the hollow ache of his failure sitting like a stone in his chest. 

“I suppose duty is all that remains.”

The conversation with Sylvi weighed heavily on his mind, her words about duty and new life echoing in his thoughts. As he reached the door to his wife's chambers, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle before he finally pushed it open.

She was sitting by the window, staring out at the darkened sky. She didn’t turn to look at him as he entered, her grief-stricken face illuminated by the moonlight. The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. He watched her for a moment, noting the listlessness in her movements, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he had been avoiding.

“I need to speak with you.”

She looked up from where she sat by the window, her eyes dull and unresponsive. “What is it, Aemond?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “We need to try again. For a child.”

Her reaction was immediate, her eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he replied, his voice steady. “We have a duty to our house, to ensure its future.”

“Duty,” she spat the word like it was poison. “Is that all you ever think about? Our child, the one I lost, does it mean nothing to you?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “It is not about that. It is about moving forward. We cannot dwell on what we have lost forever.”

She stood, her hands trembling with the force of her emotions. “You think I have not tried to move forward? Every day I wake up and try to put the pieces of my shattered life back together. But you... you have not been here. You do not understand what it’s like.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I have my own burdens. My own ways of dealing with them.”

“By disappearing to the brothels every night?” she shot back, her voice rising. 

He had never seen his wife like this, never. With her, there was an element of submission she had always offered, and she never complained, not once, before. Her eyes were so expressive he could read them like a tome. And in this moment, when she had said what was at the forefront of her mind, something she would dare not voice mere moons ago, he watched as her mouth slipped shut and she shrank back in on herself, sensing her words had widened their ever-expanding emotional chasm.

She looked upon him as if she were afraid of his response. But expectant.

Aemond took a step closer, his expression hardening. “This is not just about us. It is about our family, our legacy. We need to try again.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. “I cannot snuff my pain out like a flame, Aemond. I cannot…pretend everything is well and start over like nothing happened.”

“I am not asking you to forget,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

But he was asking her to cast it aside. And for what?

“Why, Aemond…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why do you care so much about an heir when you cannot even care about me?”

The silence that sat between them was an ugly one, borne of years of regret and guilt, like a festering wound that refused to heal. It stretched and twisted, warping the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths and broken promises. The weight of it was suffocating, pressing down on their chests and stealing the breath from their lungs.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him, leaving only the bitter taste of unspoken confessions. He could almost hear the whispers of the smallfolk, the cruel gossip that had spread like wildfire through the castle walls, rumours of her inability to bear a child, seeded by a careless word in a brothel. The knowledge of it gnawed like a disease, a constant reminder of her perceived failure, exacerbated by Aemond’s apparent indifference.

Aemond’s gaze was hard, his jaw set in a rigid line. The vulnerability he had shown moments before was gone, replaced by the cold mask he wore so well. “Because it is what is expected of me,” he replied, the edge in his voice returning. “We all have our roles to play. I must ensure our future, whether I like it or not.”

He began taking off his doublet, the heavy garment sliding off his shoulders with a practised ease. The action was mechanical, almost detached, and it sent a shiver down her spine as she realised his intention.

"So soon...?" she said quietly, blinking the moisture from her eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with the weight of her sorrow.

Aemond paused for a moment, his hands stilling on the laces of his shirt. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by the cold determination that had come to define him.

“We cannot afford to wait,” he said, his tone softer but no less resolute.

Her heart ached with a sorrow so profound it felt as if it might swallow her whole. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but she knew it would be futile. Instead, she simply nodded, the movement small and resigned. She moved to the bed, the weight of her grief pressing down on her with every step and when Aemond joined her, the distance between them became palpable even in their proximity. There were no tender words, no gestures of comfort; just the cold, stark reality of their duty. His touch, impersonal.

She tried to steel herself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, knowing that this act was not born of love, but of necessity. And in that moment, the chasm between them seemed wider than ever, a silent testament to the love they had never truly known.

He did not look at her, did not seek her eyes. His mind was elsewhere, already thinking of the future he was so determined to secure. When it was over, Aemond pulled away, the silence between them more deafening than any words could have been. He dressed quickly, his movements efficient and unfeeling. She remained where she was, her body and spirit drained.

Her own form felt nothing like her own as she righted herself to sit up, pushing her skirts back down her legs, armouring her skin as if she needed protection over every inch of her. Aemond stood, his back to her, barely a silver hair out of place, fastening his breeches with a meticulousness that seemed almost cruel in its precision.

“Do you find comfort in their arms because you cannot stand to be close to me?”

Aemond's shoulders tensed, but he did not turn to face her. “I do not know what you want of me,” he replied, his voice distant and cold, like the draught seeping through the cracks in the ancient stone.

“I want to be respected as your wife. Your equal.” Her plea hung in the air, laden with the weight of unmet expectations and unfulfilled promises. 

“I cannot change what has happened. I did not know how to be there for you then, and I do not know now." He finally turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I do not know how to be that man. I have failed you, and I may continue to fail you. But I will try to respect you as my wife, if nothing else.”

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of his words, the fight draining out of her. The acceptance in her voice was tinged with a profound sadness, the acknowledgment of a life destined to be lived in the shadow of duty rather than the light of love.

“Very well. If that is all I shall ever be.”

Some time passed, each day blending into the next in a haze of routine and muted sorrow. Servants and guards whispered as she passed, their sympathetic glances and hushed tones adding to the heavy silence that surrounded her.

The bloom of spring flowers went unnoticed, their colours a stark contrast to the grey fog that seemed to envelop her mind. She was supposed to track the days, to know when her moon blood should come, but time had lost its meaning. The markers of her cycle were swallowed by the same darkness that claimed her thoughts. 

“The summer of a woman's years is a short season. It passes by in the blink of an eye. Toyed with by this momentary value.”

Her mother had always been blunt about her words. But now, more than ever, with the taunting explosion of colour and vibrancy outside, she felt as if her season was closing in, like a prison she could not fight.

Some evenings, as she sat alone in her chamber, she felt a familiar ache low in her abdomen. It was a dull, persistent pain, one she knew all too well. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. Was it her moon blood, or was it something else? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she could not bring herself to seek answers, to go to the maester to confirm. The prospect of hope was too painful, the fear of disappointment too great.

Life or loss. There was an element of control she could grapple to, by simply not knowing.

As usual, her Lord Husband remained absent from her life. Perhaps it was just as well she did not know, and that he did not inquire.

It was a pleasant enough evening in any case, spent mostly by the fire, the light of the flames serving to assist her in the delicate art of her embroidery. A pastime she would otherwise spend with Helaena in days passed. Since calling to her chambers most days in the immediate aftermath, in truth, she had rarely tried to urge her to accept her presence. Reasoning that in time, perhaps the troubled Queen would make her way back to her, in body and soul.

She felt her whole jump in her seat in shock, the door to the chambers swinging open and then shut with a loud thud. For a short moment, it brought her back, the horror making her heart hammer against her ribs, fully expecting to see two figures darken her doorway once more. 

But her wide eyes only looked upon the lone figure of her husband, his face a mask of anger and humiliation. As usual, he had ignored her presence entirely and went straight to the decanter on the table, pouring himself a generous measure of wine. Unusual behaviour from her distant husband. He sat down heavily in the chair by the hearth, taking a long drink, his movements tense and jerky.

She knew better than to ask, given the state of their fragile bond. Fearing perhaps the reaction she would receive. Instead, for a moment, she watched him silently from the corner, her own heart heavy with grief and pain. Despite her suffering, she felt an irresistible pull to reach out to him, to try to soothe the anger radiating off him in waves, almost palpable in its intensity.

Her steps were soft and deliberate as she approached him cautiously, each footfall muted on the cold stone floor. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension. Aemond didn’t look up from the drink in his hand, his gaze fixed on the swirling crimson liquid. His fingers gripped the glass with a white-knuckled intensity, as if the drink was his only anchor in a sea of turmoil. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. The contact was gentle, but he stiffened, his posture becoming rigid under her touch. Yet, he did not pull away, a silent sign that he was at least willing to tolerate her presence.

“You do not have to,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and strained, a mixture of resignation and weariness. “I have given you no reason to.”

“I know,” she replied softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of her empathy and unspoken concern.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the movement slight but significant. A flicker of something unidentifiable crossed his features, perhaps it was vulnerability, or perhaps a fleeting moment of regret. She met his gaze with unwavering softness, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding that transcended the barriers between them. The lines of her face were etched with sorrow, yet there was a tender resolve in her expression.

With a hesitant motion, Aemond took her hand, his grip warm against her chilled skin. He turned his face into her hand, not kissing it, but letting the skin rest against his lips in a gesture that was both intimate and detached. As if he was silently thanking her for her presence, for her effort to reach out despite the emotional chasm that lay between them.

She let her hand fall away slowly, stepping back to give him the space he seemed to need. The small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a release of some of the tension, indicated that her gesture had made a difference, however slight.

Aemond took a deep breath, the sound escaping his lips like a weary sigh. The tension in his body eased slightly, and he became aware that while they might not be aligned in love, his wife understood him in a way few others did. She grasped his pain and anger, and she reached out to him despite everything that had transpired between them. He gave her a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of her attempt to bridge the gap between them, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

She returned the nod with a gentle inclination of her head, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of hope and understanding. They didn’t need many words; the shared silence between them was enough to convey their fragile understanding, a tentative first step toward mending the rift between them. The quiet was a balm, a soft promise of potential reconciliation, though it remained unspoken.

Her heart seemed to lift, the rest she received later that evening somewhat fruitful. And though Aemond left in the early hours of the morning the next day, she recognised that he no longer visited the brothel, busying himself instead in the library most evenings. It was a small victory, but one she clung to, rightly or wrongly. 

The servants were even more palatable that morning, with sweet words and even sweeter smiles for her. Dressed in a gown she favoured the most, she felt her mood ripen.

She was gently roused from her reverie by the sound of quiet footsteps approaching her chamber door. A soft, hesitant knock followed, and the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was Helaena, the Queen, accompanied by her only living child, Jaehaera. The sight of them was a poignant reminder of both the life and loss that threaded through their lives.

Helaena’s eyes were red-rimmed but held a glimmer of resolve and determination. Her composure was fragile, but there was a soft strength in her presence. Her heart ached at the sight of them. 

“Sister.”

She rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate, a sign of the emotional and physical exhaustion that still clung to her. Helaena stepped into the room, her gaze meeting hers with a quiet understanding.

“I thought we might spend the day together,” Helaena said, her voice steady. “As we used to.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at Helaena and Jaehaera. The gesture was more than kind, it was a lifeline extended in a sea of shared sorrow. 

“I would like that very much,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet imbued with genuine warmth.

For a while, the three women sat together in silence, the room filled with the soft murmur of their breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric and the icy dropping of a needle. It was a quiet that spoke of shared pain and tentative hope, a small balm for their wounded souls. Helaena rarely spoke, apart from the quiet mutterings she herself was used to in her dreamy presence.

They, Helaena and Jaehaera, were a reminder that there were still threads of connection and understanding that bound them together. The day held the promise of comfort and perhaps, slowly, the possibility of healing.

From the doorway, Aemond watched them, his face was an unreadable mask, but his expression betrayed a depth of emotion, regret, longing, and a faint glimmer of hope. His gaze lingered on his wife, who held Jaehaera with a tender protectiveness, and on Helaena, whose hazy mutterings were soothing musings to the silent exchange of grief and solace.

He took a step back. For the first time in a long while, he felt a stirring of something he could not quite name, a hint of what could be if he only allowed himself to reach out and grasp it.

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[daycourtofficial]

Deceptive Domestication

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 7.7k | Warnings: sexism, misogyny

Summary: The two of you have to pretend to be a married couple for a mission. Can you live with this false reality? Or will your feelings for Azriel eat you alive when it’s over?

Author’s note: started making it, had a breakdown, bon apetit

“Angel, where are you?”

Azriel’s deep voice moves on the wind, finding you at the back of your cottage. You twist the new ring adorning your fourth finger, the skin beneath it showing no tan lines, “I’m back here, just one second!”

Azriel laughs, his voice sweet and full of honey, “the wife’s an avid gardener. When we were first considering moving here, she insisted we check the soil to make sure she would be able to have her prized blackberries.”

You appear from the side of the house, wiping your hands on the apron around your dress. Azriel’s arm reaches around you, clasping you on your shoulder as you get next to him. 

“He’s right, I love my blackberries greatly,” you say, reaching out to shake hands with your new neighbors. They lived in the house closest to yours, a red thatched roof adorning the black building. Delicious smells came from it, and judging by the smoke from the chimney, they were likely preparing dinner when they saw you two.

“We just wanted to come by and meet the two of you, we saw you come in last night and wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Arben,” the male points to himself, “and this is my wife, Alija.”

You nod to both of them - they looked to be a good bit older than you and Azriel, wrinkles adorning their tanned faces. “Thank you, this used to be my Uncle Sal’s home. Since he passed away recently, he left the home to us and we wanted to leave our home village.”

“I’m so sorry about Sal, sweetheart,” he says, a sympathetic look in his eye, “he was a nice male, talked about you all of the time. Alija has to finish dinner, but we’ll see the two of you around, yeah?”

You press your lips into a firm smile, nodding before pressing into Azriel’s side and turning back to the house. His arm on your back guides you to the door of your new home, his touch a familiar warmth amidst all of the new. Once you cross the threshold, shutting the door behind yourselves, Azriel’s hand falls from your back and he immediately puts distance between you two, walking towards the bedroom he was staying in. His smile drops, the air in the room frigid. Rhys’s words clang through you, a shock to your senses.

Go to this village as a married couple. I’m unsure how long it will take.

You jolted as Azriel slammed the door behind him. Sighing, you move to your own room, taking in the bags left to unpack. You had taken great care to pack enough to last you as the season changes. The two of you were here indefinitely, marooned in a quaint village of about forty-three people.

Move in, become friends with the neighbors, find out what you can.

There was a circle of villages in the western part of the Night Court where females kept disappearing - six had gone missing in the last month. The villagers were not speaking to outsiders, but Rhysand thought a long term mission might allow the spies to get close enough to get some questions answered.

So he decided on you and Azriel.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

It had been strange seeing Azriel play this version of a spy, even if it had only been a day. You were so used to him lurking in the shadows, it felt so strange to watch him play the part of a doting husband, and to do it well. Introducing you to the neighbors and random villagers, a hand kept on your skin at all times - on your lower back, your waist, your shoulders. It was so easy to get swept up in the illusion you two were selling - even you were convinced you were newlyweds, moving for a fresh start.

Until he slammed his door, reminding you it was all fake, a farse for information.

Things between you and Azriel have always been easy. You two were the best of friends, most of your free time being spent with him since joining the Inner Circle two years ago. The two of you spent countless nights sitting together when sleep wouldn’t find you, you two had even developed a code - open bedroom doors at night were a silent invitation for the other to come in, spending most nights in each other’s rooms, wrapped up in sheets that smelled of the two of you.

All of that ended very suddenly a few months ago. Suddenly his door was always closed to you, your own cracked every night. A call to him, begging him to acknowledge you.

You started keeping your door closed a month ago. It didn’t feel right, shutting him out, but clearly you had done something wrong. Your entrance into a room would cause him to leave immediately, changes in his training schedule to avoid you, abruptly turning around when he saw you.

It was all pissing you off.

The rest of the Inner Circle were just as clueless as you were as to what happened to cause Azriel’s sudden distance. Cassian tried to interfere - making plans with both of you for dinner at a restaurant and ditching, trying to force you two to spend time together.

Azriel just left once he caught sight of you.

That was your tipping point. You stopped going to training, you pulled back from family dinners. They were his family first, and you wanted to give him whatever space he needed. Everyone protested, telling you it was his problem, and in Cassian’s words “if he’s going to be a jackass, I don’t want him around anyway.”

Still, you retreated, hardly seeing much of the family you had forged over the past few years. No matter how much it hurts you to do so.

Once you began accepting this new Azriel-less reality, Rhys had called you into his office. The high lord looked almost conflicted, your entire family aware that something weird was happening between you and Azriel. None of them dared to ask Azriel, his darkened mood making it incredibly easy to anger him, and anytime they asked you they were met with a shrug and a soft, “I don’t know.”

All of them had been scratching their heads, desperate for an explanation for the sudden iciness between you two. It had been weeks of this, and everyone missed seeing the two of you exchanging whispers in the corner or watching Azriel’s shadows wind through your hair.

Which was why Rhysand decided to insert himself into the situation. He called you into his office, and after asking you to take a seat, he began asking after your week. Your eyebrows knitted, confused about the formality of it all, when you realized you haven’t actually seen Rhysand in almost a month. 

You had taken up residence in the House of Wind - since you were a scholar it lended easy access to your work, and whenever you wanted to leave, you asked Azriel to ferry you around. You tried to remember the last time you saw anyone in the inner circle that wasn't Cassian or Nesta, and it was when Cassian offered to fly you into town to get lunch with Feyre three weeks ago.

You’re not certain how to tell Rhysand the past few weeks had been filled with silence, whatever happened between you and the shadowsinger led you to avoid Cassian and Nesta, avoid training, avoid anything that wasn’t being buried in your work in the library.

You look into violet eyes, and you check your mental shields because he’s looking at you as if he already knows how sad this whole situation has made you.

You take a deep breath, shrugging. “Time is passing, I suppose.”

Rhys’s face falls a bit at just how dejected you sounded. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - they all knew there was something between you and Azriel, they all saw how you two gravitated towards each other. Neither of you would open up about whatever it was that shifted things so quickly and easily and it was pissing all of them off.

“I need your help with something.”

It was the best plan they could come up with to try to salvage things.

-

You woke up early the next morning, determined to tend to the garden before the sun reached its peak in the sky. You had plans later in the afternoon to meet with a few of the women of the village, but you had to get to working on this garden. There was no time table on this mission, and the two of you only had food stores to last you a few months.

If you were to be stuck in this purgatory that long, you needed new food to replenish whatever you use.

Your story to tell the villagers was that the two of you were quite young from the other end of Illyria. The two of you were extraordinarily lucky that one of the older fae males in this village happened to pass away a few weeks ago, allowing the two of you an easy in. You merely reviewed some family records, and were posing as his beloved niece, here to lead a new life with her husband.

You tended to the garden behind the house - the weeds had grown wildly in the previous owner’s absence. Your ‘uncle's absence, that is.

You spent all morning pulling weeds, making quite an improvement to the garden before you decided to go in and make yourself lunch. You came in, rinsing the dirt from your fingers, the water feeling nice against some of the minor cuts you acquired outside. After drying off, you pulled out a loaf of bread, slicing the bread to prepare some sandwiches. 

You hummed to yourself, trying to fill the silence of the house. It wasn’t large - a quaint two bedroom house with two bathrooms, a nice little kitchen, and a sitting room. You were a bit surprised at how well the interior of the house had been maintained by your ‘uncle’. 

Azriel was headed with the rest of the males to the war camp, spending his day training as a lesser ranked Illyrian. He was glamoured to look enough not like himself to the other Illyrians that they wouldn’t think anything of him. You had also glamoured some of Azriel’s siphons, only allowing one on his chest to remain. He was not happy about it, not wanting to seem so much weaker than he truly was. He wouldn’t listen to any of your points about it, but Rhys eventually convinced him to allow your glamour to cover six of his siphons because “it’s quite obvious who you are”.

Azriel’s refusal to listen to even your opinions on the mission was grating. You wanted to get to know the local females, and Rhys agreed with you, but Azriel kept arguing that ‘it wasn’t safe’.

Stupid Illyrians and their stupid pigheadedness, you suppose. If you’re not supposed to speak with the other females, why were you even here?

You knew this mission would be difficult for Azriel - his hatred for his own people fueling centuries of anger and resentment. You thought being trapped here was an appropriate punishment for how he had iced you out of his life.

You had just finished making your sandwich when there was a knock at the door. You brushed your hands down your dress, glamouring wings back to life behind you, breathing deeply before you answered the door.

An Illyrian woman stood in your doorway, her dark curls slightly hiding her tanned face that was turned down. She was taller and broader than you, but still small for an Illyrian. Her demeanor told you they treated her that way as well. Her wings were tucked in tight behind her and her shoulders shook lightly before you.

Her voice was weak as she told you, “we go every day, bringing lunch to the males, if you wish to accompany us.”

Wish.

You knew the reality of coming here - you knew they would give a few days of grace to settle in, set up your garden, bereave your uncle before they assigned you to a chore rotation. In communities like this one, everyone had to pull their weight.

It was just astonishing how ‘pulling your own weight’ made the females seem two to three times heavier than the males.

You nod your head to the female, closing the door behind you as you meet her outside. You had no idea where the war camp was, knowing it mustn’t be too far from the village. You vaguely remember Azriel and Rhys discussing the three villages that filtered into the camp, how all three were short walks from the villages.

Dirt crunches beneath your boots as you walk alongside the female, her deep brown eyes downcast towards the ground, shoulders hunched to make herself as small as possible as you walk. “What’s your name?” You ask, your voice causing her to flinch. Her eyes were wide as they looked at you, shock at being addressed you presumed. It was astonishing how awfully they must treat her, because her face resembled a wounded dog’s.

“Kaltrina.” Her words are mumbled, and you have to strain your ears a little to hear her. 

“Kaltrina - it’s nice to meet you. Um, are you married?”

Not your usual first question, but around these parts marriage was as good as social standing. Also any unwed women over the age of 24 were considered ‘unwanted’ or ‘untameable’. This village was harsh on women - even by Illyrian standards. The males of this village made Devlon look forward and free-thinking.

“No, not married. I live with my brother, Dardan.”

Her tone didn’t suggest anything about him, but you weren’t sure exactly what it meant. She offers you a smile and a soft nod, “is your husband nice?”

You offer the same soft nod before you hear her say, “he’s quite good looking, too.”

You pause, trying to remember everything Cassian and Rhysand had told you about Illyrians to prepare for this - they told you males were incredibly territorial, treating their wives more like trophies and laborers rather than spouses. A male would take this as a compliment - one mention of a good-looking wife would be something to boast about, mentioning it more than once would be an offense.

But how did the females treat their husbands, how did they speak to each other about them? It was the biggest gap in your knowledge, but you suppose you can explain away any discrepancies on how far away the two of you came from.

“Yes, he’s quite pretty.”

She giggles at your words, and you feel a swell of pride at getting it right. She walks next to you, standing a little straighter for the rest of the walk.

The two of you made it to the war camp, joining the other females to distribute food to the males. The males look at you like you’re not much more than a piece of meat or some dirt on their boots, but your eyes scanned the crowd for Azriel, not finding him the entire time you’re there.

You do get a chance to speak with a few of the females as you all head back to the village, carrying leftover food with you. Most of them seem to welcome you - suggesting what crops grow best in the area, telling you to reach out if you need any help with anything.

The other females head off at the fork in the road, telling you and Kaltrina they would see you the next day. You breathe deeply, looking to Kaltrina once more. She hardly spoke once the two of you had met up with the other females at the war camp, keeping her distance from them the entire time.

“How’s your brother?” You ask, the innocent question causing Kaltrina to flinch. 

“He’s a fine male.”

Her answer feels so dry, so rehearsed. You don’t press the issue, changing topics instead. “How will you spend the rest of the afternoon?”

“Chores.”

You listen to the birds singing around the both of you, their song a beautiful melody across the skies. You eventually pass a house similar to your own, but a bit smaller, the roof not well cared for. Kaltrina gives you a small wave before turning down the path to her house, disappearing behind the door. 

You kept walking towards your own house, but you did see her appear in the window briefly, watching you walk down the road. It made the hairs on your neck stand up, but you quickly looked forward again, making your way back to the house, determined to finish unpacking this afternoon.

-

You had finished unpacking by the time you heard the door open, Azriel traipsing through the house. 

“Hello my loving husb-“

Your sarcastic words die as you turn to see his face, a cut on his lip and a black eye. He shakes his head, trying to tell you it’s nothing, and he starts moving to just head to his room, but you’re not having it.

“We have some bandages in the bathroom.” Your words don’t have a command in them, but he heads towards the bathroom. You pick up a bottle of alcohol, dabbing some on a rag. You motion for him to sit on the edge of the tub, and he goes.

You’re a few inches from his face, the closest you’ve been in months. His scent was so comforting, you just wanted to wrap yourself in it and stay for a while. He stays silent, his face a blank slate you could slap any emotion to. 

His shadows have been having fun whizzing around the house. He had told them they had to stay completely hidden if they were to come to the war camp with him, otherwise they had to stay in the house or go off wherever they wanted. They didn’t like the options, but most of them stayed with him, tucked into his boots, his pants, the hilt of his sword. Now that he was back, they scattered across the house, energetic wisps of darkness moving through the house, through your hair, against your skin.

“What happened?”

He huffed, his fingers dancing on his thighs in irritation. “I’m a new male, they’re just seeing if I can take it.”

You nod, and from the irritation in his voice, you know he’s shutting you back out. You hold the alcohol covered rag up to his lip, cleaning the blood from his face. He had healed a good bit since he received the beating, and you notice his knuckles are bloody. 

Hopefully he put up a good enough fight. 

“I went with some of the women to the war camp to distribute food.”

His eyes snap to yours, his wings rustling behind him. His eyes were dark, a look to them you’ve never seen directed at you. He reaches his hand up to your wrist, his grip tight but not uncomfortable.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

You’re taken aback by his tone - even if your relationship was tenuous, he never took such an aggressive tone with you. In all your years of friendship, the most strain in his voice you had heard directed at you was when you were free climbing up the cabinets of the kitchen to get to the top shelf for some cookies.

“Because Rhys thinks-”

“I don’t give a damn what Rhys thinks when it comes to you, I said it was a bad idea and to stay away from them.”

“They’re battered females, Azriel! The males treat them like dirt! And their friends and sisters and mothers have gone missing. I can help them, I know I can - that’s why we’re here!”

His hand tensed around you before he pulled his hand away from you. He looks away from you, his harsh breathing echoing through the small bathroom.

“You’ll only get yourself hurt by talking to them.”

He snatched the rag from your hand, pushing past you out the bathroom and into his room, slamming the door on your once again. You want to scream or stomp your feet at how ridiculous he was being.

“I’m not a kid you can boss around, Azriel.”

His silence didn’t make you so certain about that.

-

The next week goes by much like your first full day in the village - you wake up after Azriel’s gone, tend to the house (your ‘uncle’ left it in semi-decent shape, but it did need a few repairs), head with Kaltrina to the war camp to feed the males (where you were even able to meet Kaltrina’s brother and several of the female’s husbands), and spend your afternoon preparing dinner for the two of you.

You’re not on speaking terms with Azriel after his outburst while you cleaned him up - every day he’s returned with some minor cut and scrape, and all you do is point to the alcohol and provide him with fresh rags. You won’t clean him up yourself, you’re too pissed at him for that, but you still urge him to do it himself

You still care, despite it all. 

Despite the ice between you and Azriel, the females of the village began opening up to you, accepting you as one of their own. You join them every day to serve lunches to the males, and several of them even invited you to their homes to help teach you how to cook with the regional vegetables. 

“Your husband’s too skinny,” one said, “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but you took it for what it was - an offering. You spent the afternoon with her, learning how to smoke pig ‘the correct way’. She had told you her name was Bora, she and her husband have lived in this village for several centuries, and she has had many, many smoked pigs.

“None compare to my family recipe.”

She was quite intimidating, and you could tell she took shit from no one, not even her husband. You were touched that she would share her family recipe with you so readily, thinking perhaps she took a special interest in you until another female stopped by and, after telling her Bora was teaching you her family recipe, she told you, “it’s how she inaugurates new females to the village’.

You were less touched and your ego deflated a bit, but you were still grateful she would spend so much time with you. The afternoon flew by, time not registering as you helped Bora peel her vegetables while the pork cooked. 

You looked up, noting the dark sky through the window, dropping the zucchini. “Oh no,” you mutter, running out of the house to the road, eyes wide to find Azriel running up the road, blades drawn. His siphon was glowing in the dark, it’s cobalt blue blazing with intensity.

He was frantic, and you could have sworn you saw his shadows frantically zipping around him, moving in and out of houses. His body visibly relaxes as he spots you, rushing towards you. His arms wrap around you, crushing you into an embrace. His breathing is ragged, “I thought- I thought- you-”

His words come out choppy, but he pulls back, his hands on your face. He’s breathing hard, trying to string words together. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement.

“Is everything alright?”

Bora’s voice startles Az, and one of his shadows whips into a defensive position before you shoo it away. He quickly collects himself, moving one of his hands to the back of your head, pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry, I got worried when I got home and my wife wasn’t there.”

He pats your hair, his hands combing through them softly. “Just need her to be safe, s’all.”

Bora nods, perhaps more understanding than she should be of Azriel’s concern. “Ah, to be newly married again. She was safe,” she turns away before adding, “she’s always safe here with Bora.” 

The older female waddles back inside for a moment before coming back out to the two of you, the tray of pork and vegetables on it. “Here’s dinner tonight - Bora’s family recipe.” She winks at you, and the two of you politely thank her before heading back to your house. You carried the tray, but Azriel kept both of his hands on you the entire walk back.

The walk back is mostly quiet, Azriel’s heartbeat slowing as the adrenaline leaves his body. You swivel your head around, noticing no one out in the village at this hour.

“Why were you being so nice and touchy to me out there and anytime we see the neighbors?” Your words come out barely more than a whisper, but you knew he heard them. “The men in this village hardly view their wives as more than livestock, it might be more suspicious for you to be so nice to me.”

He turned, just enough for you to see the side of his face, to watch his mouth as he said, “I could never do that to you.”

You spent the rest of the walk in silence, spending the entire time dissecting the way he said “you”.

-

Your house with Azriel is still quiet, the two of you living separate lives behind the oak door. Sleeping apart, eating dinner in different rooms. You two only spoke when you were outside of the house. 

A few days after cooking with Bora, you and Kaltrina were headed back to the village from the camps for lunch when she offered to help you make dinner. 

“I want to say thanks, for being my friend.”

Her words make you feel terrible over how strange you had found her. Maybe she was just awkward. You weren’t sure, but you knew you’d be safe inside your own home, so you agreed to let her stay. 

The two of you prepare dinner, Kaltrina seeming a bit nervous as she skitters about your kitchen. You make idle small talk, but the air in the room seems so off you can’t put your finger on it.

“What will your brother be doing for dinner tonight?” 

She looks a bit downcast as she tells you, “he has plans tonight, he’s eating at his friend’s house.”

Her tone tells you not to ask anymore, and you don’t press the issue any further. 

The two of you eat in silence, Kaltrina’s eyes moving around your house, taking in every detail. She excuses herself to the bathroom, and you show her where it is. 

In Kaltrina’s absence, Azriel makes his way through the front door, his shadows beginning to spread throughout the house in contentment. You quickly shake your head at the tiny wisps that come to you, sending them back to Azriel. You point towards the bathroom, jerking your head at the noises from behind the door trying to tell him someone was here.

The water runs, and Azriel quickly moves across the room, his arms circling your waist. Your eyebrows pinch, but you quickly relax them as Kaltrina leaves the bathroom. Her steps halt at seeing Azriel, her eyes wide at his sudden appearance.

“Kaltrina, this is my husband. Valon, this is my friend, Kaltrina.”

He nods to her before squeezing your waist and giving a swift kiss to your temple. Kaltrina’s eyes linger on the display of affection, not breaking contact even moments later. Azriel rubs your back, eyes fond as he looks to you, “I’m going to head to bed, take your time with your friend, but don’t leave me waiting too long.”

Was that a signal? You two slept in separate rooms - what did his words mean? You lean up, kissing his cheek before rubbing at his jaw and nodding. He turns his attention towards Kaltrina, “it was nice meeting you Kaltrina, my wife is quite fond of you. Have a good night.”

Her mouth is slightly ajar, her cheeks a harsh shade of red as she squeaks, “good night.”

Azriel nods at her and he slips into your bedroom, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You turn back to Kaltrina, her eyes lingering on the door to your bedroom, and you could almost feel the yearning radiating from her. 

“Come on, we should clean up a bit.” The two of you head into the kitchen, cleaning and scraping the dirty dishes from earlier. You two work in silence, the only sounds in the room are the scrubbing of pots.

“Your husband seems quite nice.”

Her voice is full of want and yearning. You stop cleaning pots before you, Kaltrina’s eyes fixed on you until you look. She turns her eyes away, looking back to the pots.

“Yes, he is very kind.”

“He’s unlike any of the males around here.”

This conversation felt a bit dangerous. Azriel said it was fine, that he couldn’t treat you the way any of these males treat their wives - like servants, like cattle, like nothing. But you knew the females of the village would notice how he treated you, if they haven’t already. You start to wonder if they had noticed, discussing the odd outsiders, figuring the two of you out, getting you-

“He’s very good-looking.”

Kaltrina’s voice startles you, and you look to find her not even looking at you, gazing off to some point on the wall. Had she meant to say that out loud? The two of you finish up cleaning, although it is mostly you doing the work, Kaltrina’s gaze is lost somewhere on your kitchen wall. You quickly escort her out, wishing her a good night. You offer to walk her home, but she declines, saying she’ll be fine on her own. 

You close the door behind her, taking a deep breath. Azriel was in your room - your room - the one with the unmade bed, clothes haphazard around the space. You two used to frequent each other’s private chambers, but now you can’t recall the last time he laid in your bed, perused the books on your shelves, or sat in the chair in the corner of your room at the House of Wind.

You push open the door to find him pacing in front of your bed, his shadows lounging lazily on your bed. You nod to him, picking at your fingernails.

“I think it’s Kaltrina. I think she’s the one doing this.”

“Kaltrina?” His voice is full of surprise and misunderstanding. “You think Kaltrina, that little thing is behind all of this?”

“Yes! I just.. Don’t know why.. The way she talks about you…”

“We can’t go off of silly little feelings when convicting someone of a crime, you know.” He stands in front of you, his wings blocking the light from the candles, casting shadows across his face.

“I’m well aware-”

“You have to think - where would she keep them? How could she overpower so many Illyrian women? And besides, why does it matter what she thinks of me?”

Your anger was bubbling to the surface, his condescending tone leading you to yell out, “what the fuck is your problem, Azriel?”

He looks at you, turning away quickly while muttering, “we are not doing this here.” His shadows are ever so slightly trying to push him back towards you, but he ignores their attempts, plowing through them to your kitchen.

“No, I think we are doing this right here, right now. I’ve let too much shit go by and I can’t keep acting like everything’s okay anymore.” You take in a shaky breath. “I’m tired of pretending. Just tell me whatever it was that I did that made you hate me and we can move on!”

“No.”

His curt reply annoys you even more, and you’re directly in front of him poking his chest.

“Just tell me what I did!”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s clearly not the case.”

He groans in frustration, running a hand down his face, but you are unrelenting in your pursuit for the truth.

“We were friends, you used to like spending time with me. I don’t know what happened that made you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you.”

You laugh, “well you could have fooled me. For months everyone’s been asking me what happened between us, and I have no clue! It’s like you woke up one day and decided we couldn’t be friends anymore!”

“That’s not what happened-”

“Oh, it’s not? So you were pretending to be my friend while you secretly hated me before cutting me off one day?”

“I HAD TO.”

His eyes were wide with an almost feral-like look to them. He looked almost more beast than fae.

“I had to. Those fae that were trafficking females and males, they… “ His hand shakes as he curls and uncurls it, his scarred fingers twitching with the motion. “One of my spies found your name in one of their notebooks, reported it to me immediately.”

His ferocity is turned on you, hazel eyes looking into your own, as if he was searching through your soul. “Don’t you get it? They know you, they know who you are.” His voice raised an octave, squeaking, “because of me.”

“So, what? Because someone knew that I was important to you, you cut me off?”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Oh, no, was it that someone pointed out to you that I was important to you and you didn’t like that?” Your voice was raising, getting louder, but you couldn’t care. 

“That’s not-“

“I’m a big girl, Az, I deserve to know everything before making decisions. I don’t deserve my decisions to be taken from me.”

“Will you let me speak?”

His shadows were covering the windows, the doors, the walls. His chest was heaving as he tried to get the words out, tried to make you see.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“So instead of explaining this to me, you cut me off like I meant nothing to you? Why couldn’t you just tell me that? Why couldn’t you tell me-”

“You would talk me out of it! Convince me it was in my head. I needed you to be safe, for cauldron’s sake!”

You sniffle, eyes catching on the door. “I have a lot to think about,” is all you say before storming out, closing the door behind you. You walk from the house, your boots sinking into the grass at your feet as you walk aimlessly around the village. Your thoughts whirled and swirled of Azriel’s words, your hands pulling at your hair in frustration.

“Hey, there.”

You whip around, fist raised, to find Dardan looking back at you. You quickly drop your fist - he could still tell the others you showed defiance towards him and you’d be in a lot of trouble. 

“Oh, hey, Dardan, right? I must not have heard you. How are you tonight?”

You try to make your voice sound as pleasant as possible, as feminine as possible. 

“Just taking an afternoon stroll,” he muses, “care to join me?”

You look around, noticing you’re much further from the village than you intended. Even though you were a married female to the rest of the village, it was still disrespectful towards your husband to be seen on the outskirts of town with an unmarried male. 

“Um,” you start turning around, your gut trying to tell you this was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Actually, I should get back to my husband. I need to start working on dinner soon.”

You turned your head just in time for something hard and metal to make contact with it, the last thing in your vision was the ground before complete darkness.

-

Your head was killing you, your neck at an unnatural angle as you opened your eyes. The room was dark, but still too bright for the pounding of your head. You take a deep breath, trying to note your surroundings. 

Your hands were bound behind you, some fabric you should be able to easily pull apart. You were on the ground, some dirt beneath your body as you laid on the cold ground. You began tugging on the fabric, trying to maneuver your hands to slip through the knot.

“Tug all you want, we got a talented witch in these parts.”

Your body goes cold at the voice.

Dardan.

Fuck.

You want to slam your head on something, but there’s nothing. Your breathing speeds up, your mind moving through all your interactions with Dardan.

You thought he was nice. He had been amicable to you at the war camp, you barely even thought of him during this mission. You thought it was Kaltrina. How could you have gotten things so wrong? 

He smiles as he watches your brain try to figure things out. His smugness was a new look for Lee - one that made him look very unattractive. “We knew one of Rhysand’s dogs was bound to show up at some point, just didn’t think they’d bring a pretty bitch like you with ‘em. Color me surprised when my little sister brought you around.”

You snap at his words, “bitches bite.”

He goes by to sharpen whatever knife he was wielding before replying. “We got big plans.”

Dardan wouldn’t say more than that, continuing to sharpen his blade before inspecting it. Once it was to his satisfaction, he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you from the ground. You scramble, trying to get your feet on the ground, kicking at the dirt he was dragging you across to gain some footing. His pull on your hair was unrelenting, even as your arms flailed back trying to hit him.

Eventually you’re able to get your feet beneath you, trying to keep up with his steps. He opens the doors to the structure you were kept in, the light of dusk surprising you. There was no way to tell time in that barn.

“It’s almost sunset, girl.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, trying to take a big inhale so you can scream. The sound was piercing - a loud screech coming from you. Dardan just laughed. “Screech all you want, no one’s around for miles.”

Rhys’s words echo in your mind.

Stay close to Azriel.

A warning you had forgotten when you stormed off. Dardan’s tight grip brings you towards a clearing full of other Illyrians from the village you had been staying in and several of the nearby villages. You’re about to call, to beg them for help, when you notice six of the males are each dragging a female in some way towards the center of the clearing. You can’t see over the wings and heads in front of you, but the crowd parts for your eyes to land on a stone altar with ancient languages carved into it.

The crowd gave enough space for the six Illyrians to stand in a circle around the altar, each one cradling a woman by their neck with a blade pressed to it. You start fighting back against Dardan, trying to scratch him, hit him, but he throws you towards the altar where two winged males stand, catching you in their arms easily. You throw out your hand, making contact with one of their jaws, a soft “bitch” hissed at you. 

You throw your bound hands into the other one’s gut, but the first one grabs your elbow, twisting harshly. You struggle in the hold, winding your head back to headbutt him, but the other one grabs your head, holding it in place. You start kicking your legs out, hoping for any kind of contact, but a male from the crowd comes up and catches your ankles. 

The three males hold onto you, moving you on top of the altar. Your movements do nothing to stop them as they clamp down your feet, moving towards your hands, shackling them to the altar as well. Your pleas to be let go fell on deaf ears.

You turn your head to the left, two of the females coming into your view. Their wings twitched as their captors held them, not much fight in them. You yell to them, begging for them to fight back against the males at their backs. Tears stream down the side of your face, leaking into your ears as you watch their complacency, what they’ve been conditioned for. 

Nausea rolled in your stomach at the idea of how long they’ve been aware of this fate. These girls have been missing for weeks and months of their lives, kept Mother knows where to beat them into compliance. 

They stood at attention, knives to their throats, unmoving. 

Your eyes water seeing Kaltrina amongst them, her eyes downcast.

It was sickening.

Dardan comes from the crowd, looking down at you over the crook of his nose. He raises a knife to your throat, your skin nicking on the blade as your breathing quickened. 

“Any last words?”

You look up at Dardan, mustering every ounce of defiance onto your face as you pull back, spitting into his smug face. His face falls for a moment before wiping the saliva off. Dardan looks towards the sky, “just a moment until sundown. If only your pretty little shadowsinger could be here now, to watch you become the ultimate sacrifice.”

Breathing gets harder as the seconds tick by, knowing the sun will set at any second. You felt a cool breeze blow over you. 

Not a breeze.

A shadow.

“Get your fucking hands off of my mate.”

Your heart stops in your chest, something sparking deep within you at Azriel’s growl of warning in a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Dardan’s knife is still pressed to your neck, but you’re able to move your eyes enough to see wisps of shadow pulling the knives away from the necks of the other females in the circle. 

You tilt your head back, barely able to make out Azriel standing behind Dardan, his shadows angrily darting all around him. Several more of them make their way to you, almost cloaking you in the scent of their master.

Dardan’s arrogance doesn’t balk at the sight of Azriel, his grip on the knife tightening. 

“You can drop the ‘mate’ act, freak,” Dardan spat out, his words causing the shadows to whirl in agitation. “We need her-”

In a flash the shadows coating you slithered up your torso, slithering around the wrist that held the blade. They pulled the wrist away, the knife narrowly avoiding slicing your throat. At the same time, Azriel moved for Dardan, his fist connecting with Dardan’s jaw causing a crack across the clearing. Dardan hit the ground, but Azriel dove after him, landing punch after punch.

In the chaos of the fight breaking out, the crowd was in hysterics, all of the males attempting to fly or flee, pools of shadows surfaced at their feet, tripping them up, their bodies slowly disappearing into the darkness. Some of them tried to crawl from the darkness, but to no avail. The crowd quickly went from about 30 males to just the six females left, all unharmed, huddling together for some form of protection.

Azriel was choking Dardan out, scarred fingers forcing the breath from Dardan’s lungs. “I will enjoy taking my time with you.” Azriel’s words hung in the air as Dardan slowly slipped into the shadows underneath him, but Azriel remained on the grass. He quickly got to this feet, most of his shadows gone, likely to keep the Illyrian prisoners in check.

He stumbles over to you, quickly undoing your binds before wrapping you in his arms, pulling you from the altar.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” are all he says, his words repeating as you feel tears fall onto your shirt. You gripped him just as tightly, finding it easier to breathe in his presence for the first time in ages. 

“I can’t live in fear anymore.”

He lunged for you, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s rushed, full of fear and trepidation. 

But by the cauldron was it warm and full of life. 

He pulled back, wiping spit from his mouth, his fingers covered in blood pushing the hair out of your face. “When I heard that your name was on one of those books, the bond snapped for me. I flew in a rage, killing all those traffickers. But I knew there were more like them out there.”

His eyes were full of regret, “I should have told you, but I thought you’d be safer not knowing. Then I figured this mission was my last time to actually have you, to play pretend.”

You laugh at the ridiculousness of it, pulling him in closer to you. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling that deep smell of cedar that you adored more than anything. It felt like coming home.

“I’m still pissed at you for not telling me.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound you haven’t truly heard in ages, “can I make it up to you? I won’t keep secrets from you ever again.”

He holds your face in his hands, his own eyes wet with tears. One of his hands pulls away, his tan skin radiant in the moonlight. You bring up your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You keep your eyes on his, “no more secrets. From either of us.”

He nods, a bargain tattoo beginning to snake its way on your skin. 

“No more running.”

The tattoo wove its way on your skin, dark tendrils solidifying where your forearms meet. When you pull your hand away, the tattoo is incomplete, missing the gaps where Azriel’s arm belongs.

Much like a one-sided duet, your tattoos look empty without the other there to complete the song that echoed in your chest, the song that hummed at the sight of him. The bond didn’t feel so much like a snap as a slow sinking, as if you had finally opened your eyes after so long. 

Wrapped in his arms, the two of you had a lot to figure out - the females, what to do with the strange occult Illyrians, but the two of you could do it.

He promised - no more running.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

[saintobio]

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOTHERBOARD BIRDCAGE | XVI.

the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die

cw: kinktober prompt (dubcon) fem reader, takes place at the beginning of dune 1, fem reader, dark!paul, misogyny, allusions to collaring and bondage, implied mind control orgasms, cunnilingus, arranged marriage (reader and paul are the same age), slight degradation/dumbification, reader has an implied attraction to leto, implied overstimulation, teasing, paul talks about reader like she’s a literal meal, dead dove do not eat, unedited

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

The winter sun hangs heavy on Paul Atreides' head like a pale crown.

“You look radiant, my love.”

An exhalation, “Thank you, I am happy it pleases you.”

“I think it will always please me to drink in the sight of you for the rest of our lives, a crucial part of my every meal.”

His father smiles, pleased and amused, a saying that is learned behavior then. Leto Atreides studies your gait, dragging his weighing stare back to your neutral face as they yearn to drift lower, lower, lower.

The dawn marking your second decade of life flies in on wedding bells, the night sleeps restlessly on the Atreides’s ship to Arrakis.

You pace back and forth, now kept in a room in your in-laws stronghold on the sand planet. Your marriage bed is practically all that exists in the beige space, unassuming built in shelves on either side. What is a wife to do but drape herself over the golden sheets and sigh the days away, after all.

Paul has been very polite with you, smiling charmingly against your mouth during your chaste first kiss, keeping his touches brief and only from his fingertips to the small of your back. You would take a step away and you could practically feel his fingers splay out, yearning, the air crackling, but he always let his hands fall to his sides.

You smile at him when you can, in your own way, tense and barely there. You haven’t been married for 24 hours, and your husband is already off doing his duty. You try not to think about it, the reason for the Atreides to stay on Arrakis and your loneliness. Paul is someone you’ve known for as long you’ve been his wife, but you have no one else.

His mother is deeply complicated and his father… Paul told you it’s just better for you to stay away. So you have, wasting the hours away pacing, going over your outfit options with the new handmaids you selected, the rejects from the ones sent to be picked over by your mother in law. The loneliness has become unbearable, Paul visits when he has the time, brief kisses and barely there grasps of your elbow.

You can hardly be blamed for being at your wits end one night, huffing as you roll over in bed after your afternoon nap and sliding one of the pillows between your supple thighs. It’s where Paul rests his head for the few hours you share a bed as most married couples are meant to do, you can still smell the traces of sea vapor and cold tree bark that he left behind.

“Hah….” You softly moan, languidly rocking your hips, missing your clit entirely but you have been on the brink for so long that there is no need for direct stimulation.

Your cunt quickly wets the expensive golden fabric through your undergarments, and you allow yourself to imagine it’s a man’s thigh you’re grinding on. Your husband’s, pale but flushed pink and thickened with sinewy muscle, used to tensing up. You can’t say if you feel a great desire to turn these visions into reality, but the imaginary is safe, and safe is good. You cannot mess up smooshing an ordinary pillow against your weeping cunt.

You are used to arousal being shameful, everyone stuffs their fingers up their holes and goes through trial and error until they hurtle over the edge, and they’ll don their gowns to tell their juniors the horrors of sexual proclivity. You’ve never even fingered yourself, the most you’ve done is shyly slip a digit in and then yanked it out when you felt a dull burn.

If only your teachers and staff of your castle could see you now, dry humping your distant new husband’s pillow with no orgasm in sight. You sigh and sink your head into the remaining nest of pillows, lounging in the lazy pleasure that’s barely pleasure at all. Your eyes flutter shut, which turns out to be the pivotal moment of your marriage.

You feel him before you see him, a lanky hand gingerly slides over your wide hip into the dip, not halting your movements or guiding you, merely touching to touch.

Your eyes shoot open and you try to flinch but Paul hisses something quietly, a wave of calm washes over you but you still look over your shoulder to hesitantly meet his eyes. Paul grants you a small warm smile, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

“I was planning to discuss this with you, but apparently you’ve taken matters into your own hands, my love.” He softly chuckles, bending down to peck the swell of your warm cheek.

His next words are whispered into your pores, his mouth so close that you feel the stitches sewing his skin to yours, “I know this has been a new experience for you, and you barely had time to get used to Caladan before you were whisked away here, but you have to know that I promise to be a loving husband.”

How can you be assured of that? If there is anyone to be wary of in this universe, you’ve been taught that it is one’s husband.

“Yes, well, can you at least…” You awkwardly trail off, pointedly gesturing to the pillow wedged between your thighs, he had not let you move since he had returned.

Paul's face transforms in genuine confusion, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing ever so slightly, then his eyes drift down to the pillow and he exhales an ‘ah’.

His grip tightens, the tips of his fingers form mini half craters in your flesh. “I don’t see the point in that, unless the way you’re clutching onto the thing for dear life causes you pain then it can remain where it is.”

You get swept up in the undercurrent warning. He’s right unfortunately, the pillow is too silken to bring you any discomfort, you are just too prideful and prone to embarrassment. From the glint in his eyes, this will be something he will help you work on until it’s a trait of a past you. You shyly meet his stoney gaze head on as you let your thighs relax, they slide down the pillow and settle on the plush bedding.

Paul leans over with interest, sliding his hands from your hip dips to caress your inner thighs. You automatically tense up and he tuts, fixing you with a cajoling look.

“Come on.” He coos, his fingers travel up your thighs to play with the tufts of hair peeking out from your underclothes. “How are a husband and wife meant to get to know each other if their bodies are uncharted territories? You don’t even speak to me.”

You sigh, relaxing your body so your husband can peruse it as he pleases. Paul leans down to get closer and gets a hold on your underwear, in an instant they’re torn away. You react with an aggravated exclamation, Paul smiles as he leans down to press a kiss to the center of the hair on your mound. Your breath hitches but you say nothing, frozen by the shock of what is supposed to be a perfectly natural moment between a married couple.

Paul drags his nose through your pubic hair, his tongue darts out for small licks every so often. You ball your hands into fists as he moves his mouth towards your swollen bud. When he finds it, he latches on and starts to suckle, smoothing his hands up and down your legs as if you’re nothing more than a frightened bull, a beastly thing that he tames and conquers.

“Refreshing.” He murmurs into your folds, his tongue leaves your clit to lick broad stripes before fucking inside your sloppy hole. “I could do this forever if my wife would let me.”

He would do it even if you kicked and screamed, but that’s neither here nor there. You don’t even need his powers to be open and willing this time, well, open enough. He has an acquired taste, little wives who ultimately bend to their husband’s will but act as if a spiked chain is around their neck.

The cool metal will become as warm as Arrakis’ sun in the blink of an eye.

You dig your nails into your palms, convinced you can barricade yourself against the pleasure through sheer will. Paul Atreides has never been one to succumb to your grievances, you’ll crumble to pieces under his influence, it could be a soft and slow thing if you act properly. He wants hearts to bloom in your irises, sparks of light forming a ring around your pupils, miniature collars.

You flail about for a moment and carve into the sheets with your heels, your skin so smooth you slip and lose your footing. Paul keeps watch from his vantage point between your thighs, lapping up the wetness pushed out by your body in the same way you’ve seen him sip his drinks. Slow, but purposeful, an act of seduction under the disguise of something truly mundane. He curls his tongue and it reminds you of a dance, you’re caught up in the whirlwind.

“I think…” He pants, nearly out of breath and he has not even been in your cunt for five minutes, “Your sweat should be bottled, I would spray it on my pillow and have the sweetest dreams.”

You don’t know what to say to that, Paul’s knack for muttering words that steal the breath from your lungs is another thing you’ve not grown used to.

“You fill me-” lick “-to the depths of my stomach.” lick

“Paul.” gasp, on the cusp of a nip to your inner thigh. “Husband.” gasp, this one is softer, your thigh gets a kiss now. “Let me- I can tend to you instead, you don’t have to do this.”

He laughs into your curls, and the tip of his nose glistens with you. His eyes are half lidded, more animal in heat than man. You’re truly too sweet for words, for the looming threat that is Paul Atreides. Desperate to perform your wifely duties, it’s much more bearable for you to degrade yourself by pleasing your husband than it is to imagine that what would truly please him would be burying his face in your beautiful cunt.

He doesn’t say any of this to you, however, because there are times when Paul prefers you just as on edge as you like to keep yourself. Your fingers twitch and slowly unfurl, but your growing hope that this strange torture will stop is dashed as Paul dives down to suck on your swollen bud. You’re surprised by how sensitive it is, how it twitches and throbs under his tongue’s attention.

Your fingers seek out the bed beneath you, begging for its help, trying to claw through the mattress itself. Paul’s fingers are digging into the meat of your thighs now, like you’re a piece of bread he can tear through to devour your innards. Your inexperience rears its head in a terribly embarrassing way, you don’t know where to look or how to push him away or how to fight against your body’s response. Your mind whispers that you want to card your shaky fingers through his hair, but you don’t, you do not.

If not because you’re determined to maintain the distance you share with Paul, then because he would enjoy it too much. He’s terrible, in a subtly sinister way, but he would drink up your every touch and scrap of affection like a parched tree.

“This cunt, it makes me sick. This hole… you’re so wet, my flower.” The syllables drip from his pink mouth like the drool that pools in your entrance. “You send me over the cliff into madness, ever since the first moment I saw you. My wife in everything but name, the missing vessel of my soul.”

Paul kitten licks your clit, tenderly raking his nails up and down your squirming legs. You act as if you can buck off your incoming orgasm like a wild horse, like your husband eating you out is a serpent wrapped around your sternum. Luckily, it’s in his DNA to tame unruly creatures, bring them to heel under his stern outstretched hand.

You mewl, a soft hearted creature at heart, practically purring, “Please.”

“Please, what? You know I’d be more than happy to give my wife whatever her heart desires. Have you forgotten my vows already? Maybe your brain is leaking out your cunt.” Paul inquires suggestively, he flattens his tongue over your hole and stills, the corners of his mouth hike up when you inevitably rock your hips against his face.

“I… why did you stop?” You don’t say that if he’s so desperate to meld your skin together then why is he ceasing his overbearing actions, but that might come across as disrespect, and Paul seems to enjoy disrespect because he can make you wish you had never been anything but the pet cleaning his feet.

A wife is not disrespectful, especially one that will soon become an even greater royal. You are blessed to have this life, as unwanted as it is, you could be a concubine, one of his father’s perhaps. Time will tell if you wish to belong to a different Atreides, but you are anchored to the present with every useless thrust your hips do.

“That’s alright, if you’ll only let me make you come by wearing yourself out, then I don’t mind. Be my quest, my love.” Paul chuckles, though it’s muffled in your folds.

You make him forget what time it is, what his next schedule will be and who he will have to navigate interacting with. History must be looking kindly on House Atreides once again, because you seem to be heading for a day wasted in bed after he’s done with you. It will be a great help to have a wife whose head is too high up in the clouds to place another cinder block on your already strenuous load.

He guesses Gurney and Duncan are right, being “pussy whipped” does exist. He can’t wait to come to meetings with his wife’s pleasure hanging off his body like the finest jewelry.

You speak again, your tone is irritated and breathless with anticipation, “D-dear. Please, husband, I feel strange, I know I’m doing it wrong. I’m sorry.”

That usually works, right? Husband’s like it when their Wife’s apologize when they believe they’re solely in the wrong. Paul seems to join them in that, nevermind that the only thing wrong you could ever do is place yourself as a separate being from him. Marriage is not for people who are content with being untethered to their lover, it’s for the howling monsters who imbed it at the center of their selves.

“Hm, that’s what I thought. This doesn’t have to be something you force yourself to endure, I can make you feel so good if you allow me.” He whispers and tightens his hold on your thighs, spreading them farther and diving back in for thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths, sevenths.

You moan louder than you thought yourself capable of, and Paul matches you with a deep one of his own that comes from the back of his throat. He slips his tongue back in your hole, his dark eyes keep watch so he can catalog every miniscule change in your expression to comb over like one of his precious digital logs. You are fire made into a humanoid being, searing curves climbing over the golden sheets like a flood of flame, your limbs searching out any reprieve from how irrevocably your lust penetrated your body.

Paul’s eyes flit towards the bundle of restraints in the corner of the room, not hidden from your line of sight, you’ve just stupidly never noticed them. You don’t notice the thought slithering around in your subconscious until it’s brought to the forefront. He opens his jaw as wide as he possibly can and does everything in his power to swallow you whole, thrusting his tongue in you until your previous self pools below your ass and wets his chin.

He would play with your clit like he’d rather take it and fidget with it when political matters get too stressful, but you arch your back as he goes to take his hands away from your thighs and his mind is made up for him. See? You really are shaping up to be an outstanding wife.

He curls his palms around the thickest part of them, pushing them apart until you whine at the slightest hint of a burn. Paul wants to show you that you can be split on more than just his cock.

You hear his voice in your head now, reverberating throughout the halls of your skill. It seems so hollow, like a bird’s, the whooshing sounds of his suggestions rattle your foundation.

A faint bundle of heat flutters in your cunt, from your clit to the precise tongue pistoning in and out of your loosening hole. Paul’s dark stare impales you into place, leaning on your elbows in this once cold marriage bed, all the trappings of luxury.

My beloved wife.

The wind fanning my flames just by existing.

You are so very dear to me, when you slump in defeat, when you laugh, when you think I’m not looking. I always am.

Gorgeous girl with a cunt most of my men would fall on their weapons to weep at your feet in hopes for a taste.

You’re so sleepy, so lax. Oh, I know. You can drift, my flower, I’ll be here, I’ll keep you anchored.

Your maids have been bored, I’ve noticed. They should be happy to change these sheets when I summon them tomorrow, life itself clutched in their hands.

Let go, my love, drench my tongue and my face, I want you to spray it so far your come coats the back of my throat. You never did give me a suitable wedding gift.

Your body assumes its own battle stance, locked up tight right before your spine feels like it’s been snapped by an invisible force. Your orgasm burns its way out of you, but you choke on how cooling it is at the same time. You���re lost to him, too out of it to be able to tell how you adorned your husband. You feel drying wet skin nuzzling between your thighs, you hear sheets being rustled in your mind as Paul blows steady air onto your clit.

Your fingers find their way through his brown almost-tresses as the small licks start again, rekindling.