#omg i can't feel my foot

[grilledkatniss]

You know I just KNOW Taylor is a side part girly at her core. It's just a fact. Can dodge the controversy all she wants by not explicitly siding with either front and avoiding issuing any fashion statements in that regard, sticking to her trade mark bangs but

We know her heart. She's a proper millennial through and through.

[tonycries]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, “Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[hoseoksluna]

LITTLE JUICE | JJK

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut, pwp

rating: 18+

summary: when you get insecure about being constantly needy for your boyfriend, jungkook shows you that it's okay.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: the plot is TEENY TINYYYY in this one, pure filth, mirror sex, dd/lg, little space, new roles for the wine universe omg, jungkook is a caretaker, pet names, degradation kink, praise kink, dry humping, they're so in love it's sickening, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), fingering, squirting, daddy issues, heavy dom/sub dynamics, handjob, penetrative sex without condom, cowgirl, plushies used in a sexual situation.

luna's note: i'm so sorry i couldn't get this out for you on xmas day since i was so sick, but let this be a gift for the new year! i missed writing smut sooooo much, and i can't wait to get back to it starting january. this was so fun omg. i missed wine sm. my daddy issues be daddy issuing so this has something new in it, i'm super excited abt it!! i hope you like this and that you enjoy reading. make sure to let me know what you think in my ask box!! mommy luna is baaaaackkkkkkk. HAPPY NEW YEARRRRR. <3 (one day early but i felt like saying it idc) BIG MWAH.

luna's necessary side note: i missed u all so damn much wtf. OH, AND HAPPY BDAY TAEHYUNGGGGGG.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

The mirrors, lining the walls, are nearly all fogged up once you take a step inside the vast rehearsal room. A certain mellow, yet familiar song led you towards the right door—one that made your ears perk up in curiosity because it reminded you of something you’d heard a long time ago, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Not until you rearranged your bobas into the crook of your elbow and slid open the door. 

The stuffiness of the room only added to the sensual aura of the song, and your legs nearly gave out on you. 

No BS by Chris Brown.

The song that started it all.

Jungkook, clothed in black from head to toe, seems to be locked in his own world as he moves his body in the center of the room, his chest and feet hitting each beat without a singular mistake or a misstep. And when the chorus of the song flows in, his whole figure follows suit. It rolls into the rhythm like the slowest, most passionate wave of the sea that splits in the middle and begins to course down your sternum. Your cheeks darken with a feverish tint. You feel every inch of his movements inside you as if he were there, and when Jungkook spins and sinks to his knees, propping only one Nike-shod foot on the floor, and he hip-thrusts before he continues those rippling motions to the last beats, the muscles of your thighs quiver on reflex and your dampened private parts flutter.

You did not expect to see that when you texted Jungkook you were going to visit him just because you finished work early and you could get boba before your favorite shop closed. You feel as though you just got blessed twice. 

TGIF, indeed. Never in your life had you ever thought you’d celebrate the work week ending like you are right now—with two bobas in your arm, cooling your heated skin, and with your eyes witnessing erotically angelic artistry in a humid room. And with your sensitive parts outright dripping, too, because the song ends, enveloping the room in a silence that welcomes in Jungkook’s heavy breathing as he slumps back onto his back, his chest lifting and falling in the air. 

You feel fuzzily faint. He made you wet in record time and he hasn’t even touched you. Nor has he looked at you. 

Instinctively, your hand grasps your mango boba and you press it against the side of your face. Smile to yourself as a lightbulb flicks to life in your mind. 

Leaving behind your purse, you take both of the delightful treats and walk over to him. His eyes are closed as he’s absolutely unaware of your presence, your steps soft and sly. His round, sweat-splotched nose puffs out hard breaths that move through you and you coo to yourself silently before you place both of your feet on either side of him. You squat down, careful not to let your bum touch his lap, and you get his boba ready, placing your own on the ground. And with the loudest roar you can muster, you press the drink to his glistening cheek. 

He yelps. His fear-filled eyes fly open, his hands quick to catch you as you tumble down on him in reaction, your lungs submerging the room in your obscenely loud giggles. Tears of laughter cloud your vision, preventing you from seeing the horror twisting his face, but the little you saw was enough to douse your body in extraordinary elation. The tapioca inside the long cup swirls as it swims ferociously in the thick, violet liquid, mimicking the roundness and the blackness of his pupils with utmost perfection. 

You swipe a finger under your eye, speckles of your glitter smearing its pad. You lean down, your laughter subdued as it slowly fades out, and you can see the horror smoothing out and transforming, seamlessly, into a relieved adoration that taps against your heart. You kiss him with the boba now cooling your cheek as well. Leave behind a hard peck on his perspiration-coated mouth that makes him softly hum into this physical exchange of love, and just before you draw away, he breathes out against you with his nose. And that doesn’t just tap on your heart, it knocks on it most warmly. 

You love him so much. Too much. So much that the simplest of his body and human reactions make you feel things. Things that normal girls don’t normally feel. 

Good thing you’re not a normal girl. 

You’re a messed up girl. And you’re a girl in love. Have been for the past year. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” 

Your mouth widens into a pleased grin, and the light bulb that shone in a bright yellow melts into a warm, dusky pink tinge that floods your spine—only because he squeezes the dip of your waist that you’ve been working hard at carving out. A new thing you’ve implemented into your daily routine after you’ve gotten a new job that doesn’t allow you to fuck him all day long like you used to. The sex has gotten even better with time as the wine of his love ripened and matured. To such an extent that you found yourself craving it more than you had in those times when you were just seeing him for sex. Two rounds aren’t enough for you—and you remember well that after two rounds you were usually too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. Now, because you have matured too, your vessel for his love and his liquid stars has grown, needing more to feel satisfied to the fullest. The new job kept you away from him, the long hours teased you. So much that your bathroom breaks were too frequent and obvious and you spent them locked in a bathroom stall with one hand in your panties and your other holding your phone to your ear while Jungkook guided you, his hand, too, in his pants, locked in the same place on the other side of the line, whispering encouraging, lewd instructions that sent you shaking over the edge in mere minutes. 

Instructions that got him in trouble at his workplace, hence why he had to come up with a solution. Because your thirst was never quenched in minutes. His voice was too pretty, and too soft. 

Gym five times a week for you, dance lessons for him, physical distance for the both of you. A perfect solution for a perfect problem. All that sexual frustration was released during those exercises filled with delicious pain and you went to work the next day free of that carnal lust swishing in your veins. You focused on your work, and you didn’t have to take long bathroom breaks. You didn’t even need a spare pair of panties in your purse anymore.

It worked—and it’s completely crazy to you that all it took for you to break your public purity streak was seeing him dance like that. 

You sit up and with your swift movement, the squelching sound of your cunt rubbing up against your juices sounds out across the room. Your cheeks heat up with a different shade of red as embarrassment runs down your spine, especially as Jungkook’s brows twitch upwards and his eyes widen, his large hands lowering down a little, following the curve of your figure that leads to his favorite part of you. 

Your hips. 

A blush scatters upon his cheeks, too. He heard it. 

He calls out your name, sweeping his tongue across his abruptly dry and chapped bottom lip. Your name, not princess, not baby. Your government name without any embellishment of adoration. 

You’re in trouble. 

Your embarrassment pinches you at the two dimples on the small of your back. “Y-yeah?” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but he pauses for a moment. As if he could sense where the emotion touched you, his long and warm fingers find its icy traces that it left behind while still keeping the crooks of his thumb anchored on your hip bones. 

“Did you get wet for me?” 

A shiver cascades down the slender column of your back, a visible one for his eyes to see that coax out his softness for you, evident in the roundness of his bottom lip that he juts out, triggering your unprecedented shyness. What a drastic shift of dynamic in your relationship you perceive this to be. All along, for a year long, the atmosphere of your shared love has been nothing but an environment of safety, where you could unfold your sexuality as naturally and confidently as you wanted to without an ounce of coyness. Introduce an unyielding desire and a well-meaning solution for it into the equation and watch the change bloom. 

For some reason, you’re reminded of his past, now distant, liking of a certain degradation kink that once grew like vines across your intimate relations with him. The memories travel along your veins—the vulgar pet names, the calling out, the rough handling—and crest at your core, moistening the center of your panties even more as your walls pull in. And the way Jungkook takes that bottom lip between his teeth divulges to you quite clearly that he feels it. 

Which is a bad thing because you can’t lie about it. 

But… you can’t divert his attention from it. 

You slosh his drink in your hand. “I got you your favorite,” you chirp, the boba twirling beneath your hand while his identical pupils remain unmoving, unblinking, fixed on you. You manage a smile, but its staticness crumbles as soon as you realize that Jungkook isn’t really influenced by your change of topic. “Taro boba. I got a milk one, too. Mango. You wan—”

His hands descend down to your thighs, squeezing, halting the tide of your words, the progression of your trick. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your skirt and before you know it, he lifts you just a little bit to maneuver you and make you sit on the shaft of his semi. A low gasp gushes out of your throat as well as a leak of your dew not only onto the fabric of your underwear but onto the material that now clings to his manhood. 

He twitches, hardening beneath your pussy, and gooseflesh pricks your skin. 

“Mango? You always get Taro with me.” 

The glitter from your eye make-up that you smeared across his cheek during your kiss twinkles underneath the dimmed light and he doesn’t guide your hips to move against him. No, he rolls his own—ever so slowly, ever so discreetly. His hands merely hold you down, but nothing about it is forceful. Subdued pleasure springs up your sternum, pooling in your head, making you woozy as quickly as if he were pouring booze down your throat. And when he heightens the pressure enough that he twitches again, you recognize he’s doing the same move that is a part of the choreo he was practicing. 

Your heart hammers against your chest. Your nipples pebble against your cotton top, and Jungkook’s eyes fly to them, catching and taking in their aroused state, perhaps even coaxing it out of them. 

A sigh leaves his mouth. He fists the hem of your skirt, dipping his head into the current of the pleasure he’s giving both of you, and so do you. 

You just can’t help it; you can’t fight it. When your toe touches the surface of the wine of your shared love, nothing can keep you from taking a dip. And the same applies to Jungkook, too. In this case, he’s dripping in red, having slipped entirely into the current, one arm out of the water, fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you into the water. 

And something about his desire lessens your strange coyness. His lack of solution offering brings down the stigma, setting you free. And you missed him. You missed him terribly. Haven’t felt his dick in five fucking days. 

You place your hands on top of his. 

A small fire begins to burn within the snug blackness of his eyes. All of a sudden, the noises he stifled come out in soft, almost inaudible growls that cause your clit to throb and your nails to dig half-moons into the skin of his hands. A green light from you for him to enjoy this—and he does. Jungkook throws his head back, his pretty chin pointing to the ceiling, and his big chest heaves. 

It is only at this moment that his eyes leave yours just to bask in this forbidden pleasure. 

Anyone could walk in—the doors aren’t locked, nor are they shut at all. Anyone could think the practice room is available for personal use, without a single soul present. And anyone could see you riding the horsey because the sight of him lost in the vivacity of it all forces you most carnally to give him more. 

You hump him. 

“My friend got it the other day and she said it was delicious,” you breathe out, speaking of your unordinary choice of boba. The movements of your hips are small, minuscule, but hard enough that his knuckles get painted with a shade of ivory that sprinkle your chest with little shocks of joy and pride. A thick vein bulges on the side of his throat as Jungkook tries his best not to let out the entirety of his noises that his body is brimming with—and for that very reason, you grab his hands and place them very brattily on your perked, full breasts. “I wanted to try it and see for myself.” 

This feels good. This feels like the time before you got older and greedy. And the feeling is validated when Jungkook whisks his eyes back at you and grapples your tits, squeezing them so hard that it’s you who bites their bottom lip until you nearly draw blood, your body set on fire with a blue desire that kisses his big hands with such roughness that he whimpers. 

But the moment is ruined all too soon. 

A myriad of high-pitched voices is carried through the thick air, accompanied by giggles. You gasp, looking behind you, and before you know it, you’re up on your feet and Jungkook’s unopened boba is knocked to the side, now rolling sideways towards the mirror. 

You go to fetch it, but a strong hand on your arm prevents you from doing so. You spring back to your place in front of him and you glance up at him in confusion just to see him frowning down at you. 

Sweat drips down his temple. The tips of his brows almost meet in the middle, but swim away and relax at the sight of your puzzlement. The voices grow louder, your breath hitches in your throat and Jungkook’s hand lifts and pets down the back of your head, awakening the butterflies in your tummy as if he’s done it for the first time in your life. 

A yearning to kiss him consumes you. 

“Stay here,” Jungkook murmurs, keeping his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. “If they see us like this, they’ll walk away.” 

You nod, understanding if you were to do as you wished, the girls would’ve taken it as a sign to enter the room and perhaps mingle. But if they see you stuck in an intimate moment like this, they quietly and quickly leave without any unnecessary fuss. 

Smart man. 

“I’m also so fucking hard that I can’t even hide it,” he continues, lowering his tone even more. It penetrates you, making your clit thrum, and as your grin blossoms, so does a romantic shade of blush across your cheeks. You envelop your arms around his torso, propping your chin on his chest, radiate your love up to him, and Jungkook smiles down at you. “As per usual.” 

He kisses your forehead, lingering there for a beat longer before he lifts his head and focuses his gaze at the situation at the door. You don’t care much because you dwell on the hot and cold sensation he left in his wake from the warmth of his mouth and the iciness of his lip ring—something you’ll never get used to and something that will always ruin your panties. 

“They’re gone.” 

And so is he. Off to shut the door and lock it, peeking through the little rectangular window to check if anyone is around. Once the coast is clear, you sense him behind you as you bend to pick up his knocked off boba and you stumble upon his gaze in the mirror as soon as you straighten your spine. 

A hungry look is wrung into his features. 

The corners of his eyes droop in arousal, narrowed as they are. His pupils are blacker than the tapioca in your hands. His teeth nibble on his bottom lip impatiently and you flutter all over, taking in his state and his large stature towering above you. You could melt into him and never be found again, hidden in the crevices of his body that you still believe are there for you. Hidden forever, safe and sound. 

He’s delicious through and through—and it’s been five days since you last had a taste of him. 

Five torturous days. 

“You must be thirsty after all that dancing,” you say, breathless and thirsty yourself. His chest heaves, colliding into your back, and all those soft crevices of him touching you brings you back into that ravenous, greedy state you can’t get out of so easily. Dangerous, he is. Utterly, utterly dangerous. Erasing your clean streak like that. “Let me open it for you.” 

You go to turn around and fetch his straw from your purse, but he doesn’t let you. He encages you where you are by a mere placement of his hand on your hip, fingers back to gripping the fabric of your skirt. He can rip it off if he likes—he can buy you a new one and make your heart elated anytime. 

The idea hardens your nipples, making a show for him all over again. 

He pushes you flush against him, earning a sultry gasp from you. The fingers that gripped your skirt elongate across your mound while the other graze your chin, elevating it a little, ensuring a strong eye contact. 

You flutter. Can’t take it anymore. He has to take you home and fuck the shit out of you before you— 

“I am thirsty,” he purrs, his lips borderline touching yours. “But for something other than bubble tea. Care to guess what it is?” 

Your breath lodges in your throat. You know well what he means, but out of habit and out of personal pleasure you pretend to be dumb. You want to hear him say it—you want him to be as detailed as he was during those naughty afternoon phone calls that got him in trouble with his boss, who told him off for having long work breaks. You want him, his filthy mouth and even filthier, condescending manners. 

You want the old times—and for the sake of your desire, you remain silent. Twist your brows in feigned confusion. Widen your eyes a little. Puff out your cheeks. 

Your adorableness makes him twitch against your hip. Jungkook sucks in a breath. Takes the hand that caressed your chin and glides it down your neck, your chest, your stomach that flexes under his touch until he winds up at the waistband of your skirt. There he stops and he tilts his head to the side, sweeping his tongue along the pillow of his bottom lip. 

“What I want,” he starts, his breathing quickening. “Is the little juice that is in here.” He skims the pads of his fingers down your mound, beneath the hem of your skirt and along the sopping surface of your clothed feminine flesh. You mewl, your hips instinctively riding his fingers, following the sailing, back and forth motion. Your adorableness deepens with the influence of the sudden pleasure by the way it scrunches up your features and Jungkook whimpers again, stopping his motions when he feels you timidly soak his fingers. “I want it so bad that I can’t go one more minute without it.” 

You glance down more to see how big of a mess you’re making on his hand, but as attuned as he is to his role, brought about by his arousal, Jungkook takes your breath away with his following actions. 

He moves you closer to the mirror. Bunches up your skirt even higher so you have a perfect view of your panties, which have a large wet spot in the middle. Little rivulets of your juices flow out of their confines and down your inner thighs, proceeding to make a puddle on the hardwood floors beneath your feet. Jungkook’s fingers are shiny in the light, coated in your lustfulness, and he drifts them up and down that stain—over your swollen clit and sensitive lips. 

“See? Here. This little wet princess part of you is what I crave.”

And just like that, owing to his words, you flourish into the little girl you haven’t been safely dwelling in for months, sliding into that role as easily, tenderly and meekly as if you were slipping your feet into your fluffy slippers. You regress, beautifully, making sweet little noises into his neck as you go to hide in there, poking his drink into his hand, silently telling him to take it while you rub your sticky thighs together, eager to get the uncomfortable throbbing feeling away. And he does, solid in his own caretaker role, sinking down onto his knees, placing the drink on the floor against the mirror. But he remains there, looking up at you, eyes big and round, yet still steady, sure, mature and irrevocably dependable. And you sense those eyes to be telling you to take your panties off and give the Daddy what he craves. 

You hook your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and drag it down past the middle of your thighs, letting him handle the rest, but you catch his eyes watering ever so gently—and the discovery causes your heart to skip a beat. He’s taken in the role you’ve slipped into, having watched it happen in real time in all its glory, and perhaps he’s nostalgic, or perhaps he’s just euphoric, but he takes the time to bask in it all. 

And he kisses the cotton fabric of your panties first before he kisses the soft flesh of your thigh. Drags it down. Lets it pool in his hands at your ankles. Peeks up at you. 

“The way you willingly give yourself over to me never fails to mesmerize me,” he purrs, pressing another kiss to your thigh without taking his eyes off of you. Your stomach jumps, energy-charged butterflies scurrying to the front of your stomach in longing to kiss him, too. “You’ve been feeling bad about being needy for me. Worked hard for weeks to be a good girl, but what you don’t know, princess, is that you were a good girl even when you called me up at work asking for me,” he continues, lips brushing against your skin with every pronounced vowel. He edges around your knee and begins to pepper gentle, wet kisses there. Your mouth falls open—and you discover this place is a spot of more sensitivity than your neck. You double over, grabbing a tight hold of his tousled, yet soft hair, and Jungkook moans against you. “And you’re a good girl right now for giving yourself over to me, even when you’re so careful about being horny for me in public.” 

Your body forces out the same kind of noises, so tender and pained, your heart rapidly kicking against your ribcage. Your arousal is heightened by his words carrying such devastating praise, even when the most inert core of you aches for such different debauchery—the very opposite of what he’s giving you. 

You leak for him, nonetheless. 

Unable to take it anymore, Jungkook cradles your ankles and carefully rids you of your ruined panties, half-stuffing them into the front pocket of his jeans. A tiny bit of the pink fabric sticks out of it and the sight intoxicates you, pulling you deeper into your little space. Even more so when he finishes his praise because he wasn’t done yet. Not quite. 

“And to see you be little for me so prettily again after such a long time,” he husks, spreading your legs far apart enough to see that gleaming rivulet make its way down the inner of your thigh. “That makes me the happiest man in the world, princess. I missed you. God, I missed you.” 

Jungkook leans in and, with his tongue flat against your inner thigh, he collects the little juice you leak for him. He moans at the taste, but the sound is broken by a cry marked by yearning for more. He doesn’t stop there—he delves immediately, without sparing a second, into your lap with such a verve that your back crashes against the still fogged up mirror. His mouth seizes your clit, making kissing sounds as he laps and sucks at it with a hunger that could never be replicated in the arts. You grip his hair tighter for support, almost sliding down the mirror while struggling to contain your noises, the pleasure permeating every inch of your body that is ultimately submitted to him. The pressure of the delight he’s giving you deepens when he places one of your thighs on his shoulder, helping you take it while he continues to moan into your pussy and eat her like she deserves. 

But you can’t take it. Not at all. Not when he begins to flick his tongue on your clit in a way that he does. 

Your foot slips, but Jungkook is in control. He makes sure you land on your bum safely and painlessly, not once ripping his mouth off your cunt. His eyes continue to be steady, fixed on you, narrowed into such thin, alluring slits that it hastens your sweet release. You hiccup as you take little breaths, overwhelmed by it all. Your cheeks burn, and the fire spreads down your limbs, leaping over to your boyfriend at work, who glows with a rosy tint. Jungkook pulls away a little bit, dripping in arousal and perspiration, and he allows you to see his technique in all its glory. 

The tip of his tongue stimulates your engorged clit with rapid, hard flicks. 

Your orgasm inches closer and closer. Jungkook pushes your legs all the way back until you’re a squished mochi that he can’t get enough of, and when he puts a bigger pressure on your little bud, it is your absolute undoing. 

Closer and closer, the orgasm takes over you completely. From the top of your head to your little toes that flex in your sneakers, you begin to shake uncontrollably as the highest level of the delight bursts upon your body. Jungkook’s noises grow in volume simultaneously, enraptured as he is by the view of his created paradise unfolding over you—and he never stops looking at you. 

Not even as you come down from your high. 

Not even as he, with your little juice dripping down his chin, turns you around and stacks one of your feet on the mirror while he keeps the other leg back with his hand. His limbs surround you, and as you blink through the blinding fog of your orgasm, you realize that you accidentally managed to match your shoes with his. High Nike dunks, black. The ones he got for you as well when he bought a pair for himself. 

Your hole clenches in the mirror. A stream of your little juice makes a larger puddle on the floor beneath you. 

“Look at you dripping for me, fuck.” 

Hooking your leg over his right limb, he strums your entire feminine flesh with the four of his fingers, the squelching and squeaking sounds of your pussy pulling a tortured groan out of him as if he hadn’t gotten a taste of you a mere minute ago. His other hand sneaks to your tits to feel them up, stopping at your pebbled nipple, which he fondles as he breathes against you, inhaling your scent. Your hips buckle, your drenched seashell sensitive from his feast, and Jungkook lets out a pleased chuckle. 

“My pretty little pussy. Always so sensitive from all my love, huh?” 

You nod, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and Jungkook grins before he places a fat, rewarding kiss to your cheek, the two of his fingers, middle and ring, one of them adorned with that white Miffy plastic ring, starting a series of circles on your clit. 

Your hips buckle again, the pleasure soft yet dizzying, overwhelming your senses. Jungkook tightens his grip around you, squeezing your breast. 

“Whose pussy is this, princess?” 

In the middle of it all, a light bulb flicks to life once again in your woozy mind. And a pleased smile, just like his, begins to grow on your mouth. But Jungkook is impatient and you’re not responding fast enough for his taste, so he lifts his soaked fingers and uses them to grip your mouth. 

There it is. 

“I asked you a question. Whose pussy is this?” 

You’d bite your lip if he weren’t squishing your cheeks together, but your satisfied smile reaches your eyes, crinkling them. That causes him to relax his hold and give you a chance to give him the answer he seeks. 

Little does he know you’re about to manipulate him into giving you the sin that you desire. 

“This slutty little pussy is yours. Yours and no one else’s, Dada.” 

His brows twitch and light unrolls across his face, softening his features in a way you’ve never seen before. He curses, momentarily rolls his eyes back, and he plunges his wet fingers into his mouth before he seizes your mouth in a compulsive kiss that thoroughly shuts off your brain. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you comprehend he licked off his fingers and didn’t swallow only so you could get the treat he had himself—because he busies his fingers by burying them inside your fleshy heat. 

And he fucks you hard and doesn’t stop even when you begin to make intense little noises into his mouth. 

You struggle to kiss him back when he curls his fingers and pistons into you with rapid jerks from this angle. His other hand tugs your top upwards, finds its way into the cups of your bra just so he could pinch and rub your nipple in the way that you like. And when his tongue flicks against yours and his mouth purses softly against yours before he deepens the kiss, your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly that you’re as surprised as him once you come apart all over not just his hand, but the mirror, too. 

You splatter it with your little juice and even then, Jungkook doesn’t stop. Growling with heavy breaths, he strums your clit as fast as he can until there’s nothing left you can give to him. 

You slump against him, high on the complexity of yours and his aphrodisiac love. Specks of your glitter—your small shooting stars gravitate down to your flushed cheeks, and then his fingers are in your mouth, traveling far down and deep until you grace him with the sound he likes. You gag around them and he nods, pleased, smirking. 

“Good girl. Your slutty little juice tastes good, doesn’t it, baby?” he asks, and your stomach springs, your drunken feelings intensified by the fact you finally got what you yearned for. “Your mouth makes me fucking crazy. Dada, slutty pussy. I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

You mewl, your eyes heavy, but you want more—you want his cock, and he can feel it, he knows it. He knows it when he pulls out his fingers and kisses you as if the world was meant to end in the next minute. He knows it because he withdraws and he tells you. 

“Dada’s gonna fuck that slutty little pussy of his, hm?” Jungkook murmurs, and then his zipper is down, and just like the old times—he doesn’t rid himself of his clothes and gives you a brand new world with his strokes just the way he is. 

Fully clothed, with his hard drooling cock poking out of his unzipped jeans. 

He presses you against your wet juices on the mirror, spitting on his hand and lubricating the tip of his manhood. He enters you and you gasp, fogging up the mirror with your breath, and the hand that holds your head steady against the mirror buries into your hair while the other wraps around your hip. He sheathes himself inside you slowly whilst your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of finally being stretched out by him and once he bottoms out, it’s over. 

Your life is over.

“Dada’s pussy always so tight.” 

He pounds into you religiously—creating a new order for this brand new world. Hard, merciless strokes that scramble your brain and turn it into a mush. Your ass ripples with each collision and his noises melt into yours, a hymn for the utopia he’s fucking you into. And then he’s lifting you from the mirror and keeping you flush to himself, staring at you in the reflection while your tits spill out from your bra, bouncing, and Jungkook can’t get enough. Both of his hands drag down your straps, freeing your breasts, and he’s groping them, pinching your nipples without ever stopping the entrancing snapping of his hips. 

“Pretty princess getting fucked. Look at you. So pretty and all mine.” 

And then his Miffy-adorned finger is back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and your personal world is finished—because your pleasure is his ultimate undoing. 

The smacking of skin quietens and his hips begin to roll—a languid, staccato version of his choreo that got you all needy and wet but an hour ago. Jungkook whimpers into your ear how much he loves you, over and over again, as he stuffs you full of his cum, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your swollen little clit until you come all over his twitching cock. 

And he doesn’t pull away. 

He holds you like this, panting into your neck, his grip still tight, still evoking a sense of safety you won’t find anywhere else. Your drowsy eyelids flit, consider yourself well-spent, and the thought begins to sing a celebratory song in your chest—because all that hard work paid off. 

You’re no longer greedy; you’re gratified after the first round. 

Jungkook kisses the nape of your neck. “We should go before Bunny and Vinny start wondering where we are.” 

The song wraps around your heart, which dissolves at his words. Jungkook pulls himself out of you, but you swivel around and throw your arms around him, catching him off guard. His still erect and wet length brushes against your thigh—and the contact makes you quiver in his arms.

“I feel good,” you explain into his ear. “I don’t need more.” 

Jungkook chuckles. Wants to look at your face and he smooths your hair back, grinning at you. “I’m proud of you, princess, but look,” he says, glancing down. You follow his gaze down and perceive he’s talking about his private parts. “I’m still hard.” 

His cock twitches at his words and twitches once more at the sound of your giggles—happy, happy giggles because the stigma behind your neediness withers and completely disappears, never to be found again, only because Jungkook isn’t embarrassed or afraid to show you he needs more. Your chest becomes light, light enough that you think you grew a pair of wings to fly around the room with.

“Gym, Gguk. You have to hit the gym more often,” you joke, knowing his work out schedule transcends beyond the five days you spend at the place. 

The corner of his mouth curls as mischief twinkles in his eyes, divulging to you that he likes the way you challenge him. 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, lifting his arm, pulling back the oversized sleeve of his T-shirt to flex his biceps. Your cheeks heat up at the strong mountains that appear and your hand can’t help but to knead it. “These aren’t big enough for you, huh?” 

You scoff and shush him at the same time, leaning over to plant a singular kiss to his muscles. Jungkook uses the opportunity to hide you in his embrace and you both sputter into laughs and giggles. He pecks your hair, but something interrupts your sweet moment. 

“Look at the mess you made,” he says, pointing at the mirror, and you gasp when you turn around. 

An imprint of the side of your face is left behind on the reflection. Foundation, mascara and glitter amidst the little pearls and rivulets of your juices. You worry what you look like now if your make-up is smeared to this extent, but it soon is washed away from your mind when Jungkook crawls forward and makes a heart on the wetness of your slick. 

He takes a picture of it and then he cleans it off with his gym towel. The floor, too. 

At home, you fuck him hard for it. 

With his Taro boba in his arm, Vinny on his chest and Bunny in the crook of his other arm, you ride him until your thighs burn and he resembles the prettiest rose you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Having come more than enough on his cock, you jerk him off while you flick your tongue on his tip, and he moans, flushes and convulses until he spills all over your hand and his stomach. Ropes of him cum reach the plushies, too, as he can’t stop coming and, growing feignedly jealous, you swallow him, longing for him to drip down your throat. 

He comes so much that your belly is full and he’s as gratified as you were in the practice room. 

And after a quick shower, you both drift off to your brand new world unexpectedly, the events of the day having exhausted you enough that you fall asleep within the next heartbeat. Vinny and Bunny tumble on in the washing machine while you and Jungkook dance in the new paradise, having stepped into the role of parents having a date without the kids. No stress, no stigma—just the freedom of being loved right. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[nhmkhnh]

ours.

pairings: top!hybrid!caitvi x bot!fem!reader

preface: two hybrids. one sweet, unsuspecting soul. and a storm of desire neither can escape.

author's note: OMG I WAS JUST CHILLING AND THIS IDEA POPPED UP?

wrn: lowercase, explicit content (minors &men dni) list: amab!caitvi ;; german shepherd hybrid!vi ;; black panther hybrid!caitlyn ;; possessive!caitvi ;; virgin reader ;; panties stealing ;; dirty talk.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

it started with rain.

cold, biting, relentless—the kind that slicked your skin and filled your shoes and made the alley reek of wet cardboard and rot. and there they were, curled together in a tattered box: one sleek and black as a thundercloud, the other shaggy and trembling, golden fur soaked to the bone. hybrid pups. abandoned.

caitlyn had growled when you approached—low and warning—but you’d crouched anyway, gentle hands out, whispering comfort. vi had whimpered. shivered. nudged her face into your palm. that was all it took.

you took them home.

you gave them blankets, food, warm milk. let them sleep at the foot of your bed. they curled together every night, caitlyn always between you and vi like a silent sentinel. you swore caitlyn never slept—she just watched you, eyes glowing in the dark.

then came the morning.

you woke to a mess of limbs and breath and bare skin and heat—two women in your room, not pups. tall, inhumanly beautiful, naked except for the thin fur along their arms, their tails, their ears. vi grinning wide, canine teeth flashing. caitlyn still, quiet, crouched like a shadow at your side of the bed. you screamed.

they didn’t leave.

not that day. not the one after. somehow, they stayed. vi was a disaster—chewing wires, knocking over plants, chasing anything that moved. caitlyn barely spoke, but watched you like she was memorizing your breath patterns. together, they destroyed your wardrobe.

or rather… a specific part of it.

your underwear.

they stole it. bit into it. tore through delicate lace and soft cotton and left nothing untouched. you found pieces in vi’s room, stashed like trophies. caitlyn never denied it—just held your gaze while licking her fangs, like she had a right to it. like she was daring you to stop her.

it was humiliating. infuriating.

and it kept happening.

you started locking drawers. they started figuring out locks. you switched brands. they tore through those too. every month, a new trip to buy replacements, while your heart pounded and your body flushed and you told yourself it wasn’t on purpose. that they didn’t mean to make you feel like this—cornered, wanted, shaken down to your bones.

and then came the weekend.

it was quiet. for once. rain again, soft this time, tapping the window while you cleaned. you wore a big old t-shirt and a pair of simple cotton panties, barely decent. you were alone. or… so you thought.

you turned—and froze.

vi was behind you. caitlyn at your side. blocking the hallway. blocking escape. you opened your mouth to speak, to scold, but the words died as vi leaned in, her breath hot at your neck.

“pretty girl still can't catch my drift after all that shit?” her voice was feral. dripping with heat. lust.

her hands landed on your hips, heavy and sure. caitlyn’s nails grazed the hem of your shirt, sharp and slow. you whimpered, stepping back—only to feel vi’s body press up behind you, trapping you against the kitchen counter. her cock, thick and hot, strained against your lower back.

“i-i’m not— i didn’t mean—” you stammered.

caitlyn’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of your panties, claws scraping lightly against soft skin. her purr was low and dangerous.

“then why do you smell like this, little virgin?” she murmured. “you want this. you’ve always wanted this.”

“i’m not— i-i’m not ready—”

“you’re ready,” vi growled, grinding her hips slow against you. “been ready. you just needed us to make the first move.”

you sobbed a little—half from shock, half from the way your legs were already trembling.

they knew. they could smell it. your arousal. your heat. your ache to be touched. and they wanted you. now. here.

vi bent you forward against the counter, hand sliding beneath your belly to lift your hips up, caitlyn still kneeling in front of you, tongue tasting the skin just above your waistband.

“first time?” vi murmured, dragging her cockhead along the seam of your soaked panties.

you nodded, shaking.

“good.” her voice dropped to a growl. “then we get to ruin you together.”

what came next was a blur of heat and whimpering surrender.

vi slid inside first—slow, careful, but unrelenting. she was huge. too big. your body clenched tight, trying to resist, but her hands held your hips firm and steady, whispering praises as she fed inch after inch into you.

“so tight, sweetheart. fuck—gonna stretch you open real good.”

you gasped, nails digging into the counter, tears slipping free as she bottomed out. caitlyn kissed them away. her hand stroked your hair, her lips brushing your temple.

“let her have you,” she purred. “she’s gentle. she’s so good for you. then it’ll be my turn.”

vi didn’t move at first—just held you full, trembling around her. you were panting, squirming, overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled for the first time. she kissed your spine.

then she started moving.

slow. deep. maddening. each thrust pulled a choked noise from your throat, your body jolting with every roll of her hips. your legs were shaking. you were soaked, heat-slick and dripping down your thighs.

caitlyn licked it. moaned into it. her hand slipped between your legs and rubbed gentle circles into your clit, her claws barely grazing the sensitive bud.

“look at you,” she whispered. “so fucked out already. and we’ve barely started.”

vi was panting now, pace quickening, cock pulsing thick inside you.

“gonna knot you,” she groaned. “gonna fill you up so good, baby—gonna make you ours.”

the word ours broke something in you.

you came hard. shaking. crying out. clenching around vi’s cock so tightly she cursed, bucked forward—and locked inside you with a deep, helpless growl. her knot swelled, locking you together. you gasped at the sudden stretch, body fluttering from the intensity.

she stayed there, panting, grinding shallowly with you pinned between her and the counter, her weight draped over your back.

“mine,” she whispered. “fuck—mine.”

then caitlyn stood.

“now it’s my turn,” she said, voice cool. hunger in her eyes.

vi carefully lifted you up with her still knotted inside, cradled you back into caitlyn’s arms. the panther hybrid kissed you slow—possessive, tongue stroking deep—and lined herself up beneath you, thick length brushing your still-throbbing entrance as vi held you open from behind.

“we’ll go slow,” caitlyn murmured, voice velvet. “we’ll make it good.”

she pushed in.

your body, already tender and trembling, screamed with sensation. her cock was thinner than vi’s but long, sliding in with slow, patient pressure as vi rocked her hips behind you, still knotted. you were sandwiched. stretched. fucked full.

and you couldn’t stop moaning.

your eyes rolled. your legs kicked uselessly. caitlyn kissed you again, muffling your cries, her hands on your breasts now, squeezing gently as she fucked up into you.

you came again.

and again.

they didn’t stop.

it was hours before the haze broke—before your body stopped spasming, before your throat stopped making desperate sounds. you didn’t remember collapsing. just… warmth. arms. breath.

you woke between them, cocooned in blankets, vi curled at your back, caitlyn curled at your front. their bodies pressed to yours, bare and hot and gentle. you couldn’t move. didn’t want to.

vi’s nose was in your hair, mumbling sleepy praise.

“so good, pretty girl. so sweet. all mine.”

caitlyn licked your cheek.

“ours,” she corrected, voice like silk.

you whimpered, flushed and half-dazed, and they both rumbled soft possessive sounds in reply. vi’s hand stroked your thigh. caitlyn purred against your chest.

and that’s how it stayed.

you. between them. claimed.

owned.

theirs.

[modernquackfare]

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

[parkerluvsu]

Boyfriend Art going to a boys night out and getting drunk and Patrick calling you to go get your boyfriend because he's been talking about you the whole time and talking about how much he is in love with you and all and when you go back home things lead to a hot makeout session while he's telling how much he's so lucky to be your boyfriend and how he is so obsessed with you

this is so cute omg.. i need bf art in my life so bad!!!

all you wanted was a chill night in, no parties, no loud neighbors, and no hangovers. when art said that patrick invited him to a frat party on the other side of campus, sitting at the foot of your bed with puppy dog eyes, you couldn't say no. but, you made him promise not to come back too drunk or too late. art agreed, letting patrick drag him to the party around 10.

it was almost 1 now, and you were cuddled up in your blankets binge watching your favorite show when you felt your phone vibrate from under the mountain of fuzzy fabric. patricks caller id flashed on the screen as you accepted the call.

"patrick? what's up, are you guys okay?"

"hey um.. art got pretty wasted tonight.. he got a hold of some pink whitney and you know how he gets so.."

you sigh, shaking your head, before you hear some rustling on the other end of the line.

"'s this her?" you hear a little hiccup from the voice you now recognize as arts. "'m sorry baby i didn't know it was g'nna get m' drunk.." another hiccup "feels like the room is spinning.." another rustle.

"yeah well.. you heard him.. can you come pick him up? ill send you our location"

you agree to drive over, pulling on one of arts old hoodies and driving over as quick as you can. pulling up at the frat house, you see a scattering of red solo cups on the lawn, along with some beer cans. you wait in your car for a minute before you see patrick helping art down the front steps, and you open your door when patrick helps strap art in. patrick pokes his head through the window, "again, sorry about this, he just kept asking for you.." patrick sighs, looking at art, whose gaze is fixed only on you. arts watery blue eyes look at you like you've hung the stars themselves, and it isn't even only because he's drunk, he looks at you that way always.

the drive home is quiet, with arts occasional hiccups disrupting the silence. art leans over when you're at a stoplight, the red lights illuminating his face, "'m really sorry.. i didn't wan' you to be angry at me" he says, pouting at you as you continue the drive home. you shake your head, "im not mad at you art, i just always want you to be safe okay? i don't want to have to worry about you so much.." art hangs his head and nods, falling quiet again.

by the time you arrive at your dorm, arts still hiccuping, stumbling over his own feet as you usher him into your room, not keen of waking anyone up at the early hour of the morning. art flops onto your bed, his head bouncing on your pillow, the movement causing a groan to erupt from his lips.

you root around in your drawers, trying to find an old pair of his boxers and a shirt. suddenly, you feel a pair of hands wrap around your waist, a head presses against your neck and you feel a sigh of warm air against you. "art.. go sit on the bed" you sigh, pulling some clothes out for him. art presses wet kisses along your shoulder, nuzzling his nose into your skin. "'m sorry.. please f'give me.. didn't mean to make you angry" he whines, squeezing your waist. you shake you head, turning around in his arms, "im not angry art.. please go sit down so you can change.." you sigh, breaking away from his arms and leading him to the bed. art sits on the edge of the bed, his alcohol-muddled brain causing him to stare off into space. you tap art's arms, silently asking him to raise them, pulling his stained shirt off of his body with ease.

you can't deny it.. any anger that was in your body when you drove art home is gone now, seeing his slightly messy hair and pale skin glowing in the moonlight only makes you want to take care of him more. once his shirt is off you hand him an older t-shirt he left at your place, watching him put it on before handing him some pajama pants. you get art situated in bed, walking to the kitchen and filling up a glass of water and walking back.

art looks up at you blearily, tucked into the corner of your bed and where it meets the wall. you slide into bed next to him, feeling his body slump into yours once again, his face smushed into your shoulder. his hiccups have gone now, just soft breaths against your skin. it's completely silent, until art takes a sharp breath in. "i- i don' think patrick told you but everyone at the party was so annoyed with me.. couldn't stop talking about you.." that catches your attention, making your heart thump in your chest. "i swear patrick wanted to kill me, i know he's just jealous though.." you can't help but fall for the bait, "whys he jealous?" you ask. art presses closer to you, his nose almost touching yours, "cuz you're perfect.. 'n sweet 'n amazing.." he presses a small peck on your lips for each word, a tipsy smile emerging on his face. his smile is infectious, and you can't help but kiss him back, smiling against his lips, "is that so?" you add. he huffs against you, letting you take the lead against his clumsy lips. you can still taste the sweet liquor on his lips, almost making you feel intoxicated yourself. art leans into you more, placing his hands on your knees and moving further. "'s true.. 'm fuckin' obsessed with you.." he groans out, now growing more confident in his movements.

you let the kiss grow more heated until you feel arts hands starting to creep under your shirt, and you pull away slowly, letting a string of drool connect you. art blinks at you, confused. "why'd you stop?" he practically pouts. "you're drunk art, you know i love you but you gotta sleep this off" you say, sweeping a thumb on his cheek. as if on cue, art yawns, only proving your point. he slumps into bed, pulling up a blanket from the foot of your bed. "fine.. but we continue this tomorrow, yeah?" he asks, one last request before falling asleep. "sure, sure art" you reply, running your fingers through his soft blond hair. you're sure art won't remember all of this in the morning, but you sure as hell won't let him forget it <3

[aethercoreria]

lowkey hate non MC fics

not for the reason you think. I love a non MC fic where reader isn't MC because of AU/OC reasons, author doesn't self insert or does so differently, just because the author feels like it, MC is her own separate character for the plot etc. No issue there.

But I'm baffled tbh when it comes to a certain type. Why would you even want to be the third wheel or disposal placeholder even in your imagination? Over a fictional man?🥀🥀....That a billion dollar renowned greedy ass company created to elicit strong emotions from you so you can keep paying them for months and years?....🥀🥀 Oh my God, stand UP!

The LIs looking at you 👁👄👁 watching you lament in self imposed anguish over being the side chick...in your own self ship (if you choose to ofc!)....in your own imagination...When this is canonically a multiverse type of story with infinite endings....Yet you always choose the one where you lose? Not even Xavier is this...(this is a strong word but) pathetic over Lumiere like please.

I do think MC has a strong personality but (ugh cw defending Infold🤮) the writers hands are tied here. If she's too bland, many of us would lose interest and call her a doormat pick me. If she has some personality, the people who can't relate to her are feeling disconnected which is valid but still. MC's personality is also more fluid than the writers are given credit for. The way MC acts with e.g. Sylus or even Caleb, she would never with Zayne I'd bet you anything. We're also forgetting how much of personality is shaped by our environment and circumstances so there's a good chance you're more similar than you think, yknow?

I personally like MC but she's not perfect omfg! Sitting there like oh no I could never match up to this actually very everywoman ass lady who's sometimes rude, cranky, puts her foot in her mouth, childish and fucks up sometimes. On a semi related note, it's good that MC is very obviously not some angelic paragon of virtue because that does not stop the LIs from loving her so wholeheartedly.

I also hate how the LIs are portrayed. It is a scummy thing to play around with the feelings of people you're not that into when you're in love with someone else. I'm confident in saying they'd break your heart in the short term by shutting it down from the start than long term by stringing you along. Omg. Like no wtf I'll die on the hill Zayne and Xavier of all people in the world are not having a fake relationship with you while pining for MC every second. All of them of ofc but I have to emphasise my mains. They'll be some single ass yearners instead of using you as romantic collateral damage like what kind of trash ass man do you take them for???

Okay let me end it here or I'll keep yapping but tldr; pull yourself together and stop mischaracterising the LIs so you can sit in self pity and pretend you're so unlovable even a fictional man created to do just that, mind you, would leave you when you are literally his main character. Some of the worst people I know irl have partners obsessed with them, I promise you, your main would choose you too.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

genuinely tweaking over your OlderBF! Bruce headcannons omg. do you have any more Older BF! Bruce thoughts to spare? (I adore you and your writing <3)

I alwaysss have more Bruce thoughts to spare. I think this man takes over my mind more than my boyfriend does (not complaining :) )

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne (Part 2)

Sensitive content: Brief mention of kidnapping and stalking

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who is so utterly devoted to you. This man is at your side and obeying your every will as often as he can. You saw a pretty dress you wanted in a shop window? It's laying on the foot of your shared bed when you come home. You need attention after an argument? He's cancelling his work meetings, if he can, to spend a bit of time with you.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who underestimates just how loud and angry he can get. There is never a moment where he isn't stressed, even when he's with you. And, as much as he tries to hold back, he loses his temper so easily with you.

"Im just saying, Im concerned, alright-?" You start, arms crossed over your chest as you take a seat on the edge of your lavish shared bed.

"What, that Im cheating?" He snaps back almost immediately, head whipping around to face you as he stops pacing. In all honesty, he regrets it as soon as he sees the look in your eyes, but he's far to stubborn to ever admit that.

"Bruce, you know that's not what I mean." You respond softly, choosing not to further escalate the situation by simply laying back on the bed and picking up your book from the nightstand. "You come home every night covered in bruises and disappear out of nowhere, so forgive your girlfriend for worrying about you."

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who would rather you think that he's cheating on you than spilling his guts about being Batman. It absolutely kills him inside every single time you get misty eyed askinf if he's cheating, but he knows better than to risk your safety with the burden of knowledge.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who, god forbid, if you were ever to get kidnapped due to his line of work would push you away for good. All of your stuff would be packed away before you could even calm down for the situation. He wouldn't give you a proper goodbye, either. It would be too risky for him to ever be near you again.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who would absolutely develop a nasty habit of stalking you after a separation like that. He tells himself that it's to ensure your safety when he watches you walked into your favorite coffee shop every morning, but he's having a hard time convincing himself.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who knows just how unloveable he makes himself. Every woman he has ever been with has either been put in danger because of him or left. He doesn't think he could go through something like that with you, so he instinctively pushes you away like he always has with everybody else.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who, despite what he told himself about keeping his distance, finds himself knocking on your apartment door late at night. In his hands are a bottle of wine, your favorite flowers, and gold sheet-covered chocolates.

"Im sorry." His eyes are filled with utter guilt as he glances at your exhausted features. Bruce didnt even give you a chance to process that it was him at the door before he started throwing out apologies.

And the most you can really do for a moment is just look at him, your eyes not entirely focused as you stare out into space a little. "Thought you told me to stay away." You mutter softly, trying to blink the physical and mental exhaustion away.

"I..." How could he even deny that? He did, in fact, tell you to stay as far away as possible for your own safety. "I know." He continues after a moment or two. "But I'm selfish... I can't stay away. I... I want to explain a few things to you, if you'd consider letting me in.

Of course, you caved.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who can't bring himself to look you in the eyes as he explains himself and his nightly activities as Batman. He feels so guilty about ever putting you in danger in the first place, but he can't bring himself to stay away like he eventually learned to with Selina.

"I was scared." His quiet, honest response when you ask why he never chose to tell you about his double life. You want to be mad, you really do, but his fingers in your hair as he holds you against his chest after a few glasses of wine was just too good to resist.

"And you think I wasn't?" You ask softly, craning your neck to look up at him a lottle better. "I could handle the thought of you with other girls, Bruce..." You whisper, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. "But you have no idea how worried sick I was seeing those bruises every night. You have absolutely no idea how worried I was that they had gotten to you, too, when they took me."

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who lets himself get a little tipsy that night with you, which is rare because he always finds excuses not to drink to stay in peak physical condition for his duties. Neither of you drank enough to be intoxicated, but just enough for everything to feel warm and fuzzy. And enough for you to forgive him.

"So sorry, gorgeous..." He mutters between slow, lingering kisses. Despite seeming so brooding and tough, his lips are absolutely divine and you missed them more than you'd ever admit.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who ends up getting a little frisky when he's drinking. His hands are almost everywhere, no matter where you are. You were honestly thanking god that it was just the two of you relaxing in your apartment. Hell, he practically had you seeing god with how well he fucked.

"I love you so much..." His eyes are closed as his hips slowly slot into yours yet again, face buried into your shoulder. Normally, you'd be begging for a bit of a quicker and brutal pace, but everything was just too sweet to want anything else. The prolonged sliding of his cock into your weeping hole allowed for you to feel absolutely everything, including his utter adoration and love for you.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who tries to keep you away from the paparazzi as much as possible after the kidnapping. Sure, he hated the prying eyes of tabloids trying to disect your relationship before, but he was just so much more paranoid and anxious afterwards. He barely lets you out of Wayne Manor without him or somebody else in the family.

OlderBF! Bruce Wayne who still struggles to communicate with you, even after he's told the truth about his vigilantism. He often finds himseld lying to you without even noticing it, even about the little things like how many thugs he took down on last night's patrol. But he tries to work on it, he really does. He's started writing things down on scrap pieces of paper or notebokks that he found himself being dishonest about.

Masterlist

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Rapunzel

In Which: After receiving a reminder of your life before Seonghwa, you've become defiant again. He tries a gentle approach, then a not so gentle approach, then you make him get mean.

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

Baby Series !

♫Baby Playlist♫

18+. MINORS WILL SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST IF THEY TOUCH MY BLOG.

➯a/n: the long awaited, dreaded, anticipated — the window escape... omg seriously yikes i can't tell you how many times i cried while writing this. it's the longest any chapter has taken me and you can probably tell why, it's a very very fucked up chapter, enjoy !! ➯a/n2: seriously after this i swear i'll PROGRESS the story lmao

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, ANGST (and fucked up comfort)

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: DEAD DOVE I CRUSHED IT (just like babys foot-), captivity, baaad physical violence against reader: slapping / spanking / legs scratched / foot crushed (off screen), hwa insults reader; calls her: little girl / brat / stupid, forced nudity, forced little space, heavily implied that readers ex s/a'd her but never explicitly stated, trauma bonding, panic attack brought on by being locked in a dark closet, reader is canonically afraid of the dark, seonghwa is way too good at lying to the police, seonghwa is INSANE and MEAN when he's pushed too far, mind breaking, the beginnings of stockholm syndrome, kissing in little space, san and mingi are OFFICIALLY accomplices (they stop reader from escaping), not even slightly proof read i couldn't handle it 😭

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind.

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

˗ˏˋbaby-yaaaˎˊ˗ @maplelilly05 @m00njinnie @tinyteezer

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    "Rise and shine, My Baby."

     Two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours.

     "Five more minutes," you grumble as you press your face deeper into your stuffed raccoon. You don't want to face the day yet. You don't want to face Seonghwa yet.

     You can count the number of hours you've spent out of little space during these past weeks on your fingers. Every time you think you might be coming back to your grown self, to a mind-space where you can be angry and violent and fight your way out — Mommy was there to make you feel tiny again.

     Instead of angry, violent, and trying to escape; you were mostly confused, scared, and frustrated.

     And you had no other way to cope other than to fall deeper into your little space. It has been an inescapable loop.

    "C'mon, baby-doll," he lifts your sleepy form from the false comfort of the blankets, letting you drag your stuffed animal with you. "Time to wake up."

    Mingi is already at the table, eating quietly with his head down as Seonghwa carries you to the table; the stuffie dangling as you hold its hand. "Morning Mingi," he says as he sits you down carefully.

   Remember your manners, Baby.

    "Mornin' Ming." You whine as you rub your eyes. You wait with your head down, leaving you and Mingi as some sort of warped mirror to each other.

You aren't allowed to look him in the eyes. You aren't allowed to look anyone in the eyes. Only your Mommy.

"Here you go, love bug," Seonghwa hums as he sits next to you, sliding you a bowl of oatmeal and fruit.

When you go to pick up the spoon, he grabs your wrist — not roughly, but purposefully as he looks at you pointedly. He lifts an eyebrow.

"Tha- thank you, Mommy."

He lets you go and smiles softly, "you're welcome, Baby."

A knock at the front door makes everyone freeze.

None of the members bother to knock. They all have keys, they waltz in whenever they want.

"Stay there," he points to you sternly as he hurries to the door, giving you one last glance before leaning to the peephole.

His heart drops to his toes.

"Who is it?" Mingi asks as he leans with you over the table-top.

His jaw tightens as he cracks the door just slightly, keeping the chain in place. "Can I help you?"

"Park Seonghwa?" The cop on the other side of the door lowers his hand from where he was about to knock again.

He gulps, nodding slowly, "yes."

"Do you know a Miss (L/n)?"

Seonghwa can hear you gasp quietly, followed by Mingi's hand slapping over your mouth and a 'sorry' whispered soon there after. "Uh... I'll join you in the hall. My roommate is sleeping on the couch. Just a moment." When the cop nods understandingly, he closes the door quickly.

He runs over to you both quickly and rests his palms on your cheeks, squishing them firmly as he stares into your eyes. "You're my good girl, right?" 

    "Is that the pol-"

    "Right, Baby?" You nod against his hands, and he forces a smile as he coos, "you are. I'm going to step outside, and you're going to go wait in Ming's room, okay?"

    "Yes, Mommy..."

    You squeak as his lips suddenly meet yours, and you hold onto his wrists as a lifeline as he kisses you like it's his last chance to ever do so.

    For all he knows, it might very well be.

    A soft knock at the door makes him pull away. With a sigh, he turns you toward the hallway softly and hums, "go on, Baby. Ming will be right there."

    As you dazedly wonder down the hallway, he looks towards Mingi: who has his head down and is fidgeting with his hands. He looks torn.

   "Mingi?"

    His head snaps up, looking towards Seonghwa with wide eyes.

    "Don't do something you'll regret. You get it?" He sets his hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes intently, "just go and keep her distracted, okay? Keep her little."

    "O-okay, Hyung," he nods, though his face still clearly shows how he's stuck between wanting to listen to him and wanting to tell the police outside the door everything.

     Seonghwa can see that, and he gives him a shove in the direction he wants him to go by hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Mingi."

    Another knock.

  He runs back to the door quickly, taking a glance towards Mingi and sighing relieved as he watches his figure disappear down the hall.

   He unlocks the door and moves the chain, slipping out quickly and closing the door behind him before they can see inside. "Sorry," he bows a bit, "sorry, I had to- to take something out of the oven."

    The older man nods, a bit suspicious, but he takes the excuse anyway. "So, you know a Miss (L/n)?" He asks, clicking his pen.

   "Oh, yeah. We are- sorry, we were dating." He's so nervous. He's thankful he's taken acting classes. If he weren't always in the spotlight, he thinks he would have crumbled the second he spoke to the cop.

    "When was the last time you had contact with her?"

   "Uuuhm." About a thirty seconds ago. "About three weeks ago maybe?"

    "Was this in person?"

    "Yes, I went to her apartment..." Act innocent. Act dumb. Say something! "Is- is she in trouble or something?"

    The cop looks up from where he's writing on his small note pad. "Have you had contact with her since you were at her apartment?"

    "No, sir. We had just broken up, she said she wanted space — is she okay?" Of course you're okay. You're just inside.

    "Unfortunately, Miss (L/n) is missing."

"...what? Missing how?"

"Missing as in nobody knows where she is, Mr. Park. That's the general definition, isn't it?" The cop raises his eyebrows, tapping his pen against the paper. "Apparently, you're the last one to see her."

Shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck. Why isn't his brain keeping up? "But that was so long ago... You're just now investigating?"

"To be completely honest, Mr. Park," the cop shrugs, "we had no reason to believe she was truly missing until a week after she was gone. But her friend was very insistent that she would never just skip town, and now we believe her."

Seonghwa has to take a few deep breaths. "What- I'm sorry, can I ask what changed?"

"Unfortunately, we found her ex-boyfriend a few days ago."

He blinks. Oh, he's not supposed to know about your ex — "he doesn't know anything?"

"He's dead." The cop watches his reaction closely, and thankfully he's in his mind enough to respond appropriately.

His jaw slightly dropped, he looks down at the floor. "Oh..."

"Did you know him? Lee Namsun?"

"Uh," he shakes his head, "no, not personally." He's onto you. He's onto you. He's onto you. "Do- do you think she's dead?" He bites his tongue hard enough to make a thin layer of tears build up in his eyes.

The cop sighs as he tears up, and he reaches over to pat his shoulder, "don't worry, son. We have no reason to believe that."

"Thank goodness," Seonghwa wipes his eyes. Thank goodness he bought that.

"I have just a few more questions, then I'll let you be."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"You won't tell me what you talked about?" You ask Seonghwa for the fifth time. Sitting on the unmade mattress, holding the bedsheet; supposed to be making the bed but instead looking at him beggingly as he folds laundry.

"Baby," he groans, glancing over to you sternly, "drop it. This is the last time I'm going to say it. Forget about it."

"Did he mention Yejin? I'm sure she's worried about m-" He drops the shirt he was folding and turns to face you with an angry look.

Oh, crap.

Not only were you annoying him, now you've broken a rule. 'Don't talk about before.' Meaning, forget everything that happened before he 'brought you home.'

"I'm sorry, Mommy." You blurt out quickly, hugging your knees to your chest.

"How many times have I told you-"

"I'm sorry! I miss her!" You're crying before you even know what's what, thick tears streaming down your face, "I just miss her..."

You flinch as he steps forward, anger barely concealed on his face.

"It's okay, Baby," he sighs as he sits next to you, dragging you into his lap. "I know you miss her. She was a good friend, but you know what I say, right?"

"Mommy is the best friend." You whisper through your tears.

"That's right, angel~" He cups your face softly, rubbing away your tears with his thumbs. "Mommy is the best friend. You don't have to have any others when you have me." There's a long pause, and then, "and what about Ming? Isn't he your friend too?"

"...Yeahm." You shift in his lap, picking at the patches on your shorts.

"I know you miss Yejin. But you don't need her. You have Ming, have all of us. You have Mommy~" And, more importantly, Mommy has you.

"Yeah," you say shortly, blinking away the remainder of your tears, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, but..."

"I know." Your head hangs low, soft sigh escaping your lips. "Only five?"

"Only five, Baby. Will you be a big girl about it?" Hesitantly, you nod before climbing out of his lap quietly.

"Do you have to-" You get cut off as he pulls you forward, wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his face in your stomach.

"Yes."

His palm hits your behind, making you yelp and grab onto his hair. "Ow!"

"I know, starlight," he says with another harsh smack. "I know it hurts." Smack!

"Wait, wait-" You'd think you'd be used to getting spanked by now. You've acted out a good amount, so you've had your fair share of spankings.

But his hands are so large. And he doesn't hold back. And it's humiliating.

"But that's the point." He mumbles into your stomach before looking up. "What were you going to say?"

"I d- I just wanted to say I'm s- I'm really sorry for breaking a rule..."

"Are you stalling, Baby?"

"Nuh-uh!" You yell, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth. Raising your voice is another big no-no.

He knew that the police visiting the apartment would send you back to 'brat-land', as he calls it.

And you've been making such good progress, too...

Such a shame.

"No! No!" You yell some more as he pulls you to the bed, already knowing you've earned yourself more punishment. "Mommy, please! I'm sorry!"

"Are you? You're sorry, Baby?" He groans while shoving you face down into the mattress, pining you with his knee on your back.

"Yes!"

"Then why are you still screaming like a brat?" His insult hits your foggy brain right where it hurts, making you dig your fingers harder into the bed as he yanks your shorts down.

"...'Cause you're hurting me, M-"

"I wouldn't have to hurt you if you behaved. I'm sorry, angel, but clearly you need a reminder of the rules. Two in one day? I thought we were past this..."

He pushes your head to the side softly and traces your cheekbone with his knuckles. "Why are you acting up, Baby? Because you miss your friend?"

"I- Because- Just-"

"Baby-ya..." He pouts — and you'd almost think he was feeling sorry for you if he wasn't still pinning you to the bed with your panties exposed. "Tell me. I won't be mad."

No, of course not. He's going to be furious.

"I miss my life..."

He presses his lips together, nodding slowly. "What do you miss about it?"

You watch him with wide, fearful eyes. He's urging you to talk about it? You aren't allowed to even bring it up.

"I miss... my bed- ow!" You try to bury your face back in the bed when he smacks your bottom suddenly, forced to keep your head sideways as he holds you.

"What about our bed, hm? Isn't it comfy?" His anger is about to boil over, you can see it in his eyes through your unshed tears as you look up at him. "Don't you like cuddling with Mommy?"

"I do," you nod quickly, "I love our bed, Mommy. I like your cuddles." He needs so much validation it's almost impossible to give him it all. Especially when you're feeling big and feeling disgusted at the words you force off your tongue.

"What else do you miss?" Oh, this is all a way to get you to admit you don't need your old life. He's done this before. He doesn't really care about what you miss — what he's stolen from you. "I asked you a question, precious."

"M-" You close your eyes, breathing out heavily, "Miss Lee."

You bite back the whine as you earn yourself another smack. "Why?"

"She was kind to me."

Two smacks, this time. "And we aren't? Doesn't Sannie give you extra TV time? Hm? Doesn't Ming color with you? What about me?"

"I'm sorry, Mommy. I don't mean-"

"Am I not kind to you? Do I not take care of you? I don't worship the ground My Baby walks on?"

His words are making your gut churn in knots. Because they're true; at least to some extent. He does take care of you. He does adore you. More than anything. All he expects in return is your love — and complete submission.

"I'm really sorry, Mommy. You do take care of me. You- you are kind, you're the best." You pull your hands up to your face, hiding in them as he sighs. "I'm sorry I'm a brat. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, little angel," he whispers as he rubs your head, "don't cry." But how could you not? "Catch your breath, and let's get this over with. I don't like hurting you, Baby. Please, don't draw this out..." As if he can't just stop at any point. As if he has to do this.

He lets you push your face into the mattress when you move again, taking slow breaths to calm himself down. "I'm sor-"

"I know, Baby. You said you would take your punishment like a big girl, are you still going to do that?"

Sniffling, you press your forehead to the bed, resting where he can hear you; because you know the drill. "Yes, Mommy."

"What are the rules, Baby?" He'll ask you, every time you end up in this situation. Which, even in this short amount of time, has been too many times to count. Sometimes, during the first few days, it was multiple times a day because you were just so disobedient.

"Don't look other people in the eyes." And you'd go through them all.

Smack! Getting a hit for each one; making sure you'll remember it when you sit down later.

"Don't talk back."

Smack!

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"You okay?" San asks quietly as he sits across from you at the table. He didn't miss the shouting the hour before, and he surely didn't miss the pillow under you.

"Fine." You say shortly, stabbing your fork into your food.

You aren't in little space. Even though Seonghwa has been trying to get you there ever since you scrambled up after your punishment and pulled up your shorts without a word.

You aren't in little space; so you're angry and violent and you want to bolt for the door. But that's never worked for you before. After the first time, Seonghwa even stopped counting that as an escape attempt because you were snatched up so easy as you fought with the dead bolted door that could only be opened with a key.

"Eat your food, Baby." He says from the kitchen, wiping down the counters.

"I'm not hungry."

"How much did you eat?"

"Enough."

"How many bites?"

"A couple."

San and Mingi listen to you go back and forth, eyes glued to their own plates. The younger man flinches when your raise your voice —

"I said I'm not hungry!"

"And I told you to eat. Don't make me come over there and feed you myself. Stop being so difficult, do you want another punishment?"

"I hat-" You stop yourself quickly as his head whips around, correcting your near fatal mistake. "I'm so mad at you!"

"Go to our room, love."

And you're glad to do just that, stomping off. "And don't slam the door!" He shouts just as you push the door closed loudly on purpose.

You slump to the floor quickly, swallowing back your tears as your sore behind collides with the hardwood. Swiping up the stray that makes it down your cheek, you look around the room.

The bed is still unmade. He had held you after your punishment, shushing you softly until you calmed down despite pain and lingering humiliation. And by the time your tears had stopped; it was lunch time.

You push yourself up to make the bed so that he doesn't come back and get mad that your chore isn't done — before you realize what you're doing and scoff at yourself. Yanking up the blanket, you look down at the soft fabric.

And then your eyes trail to the window.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

He knocks again before he enters the room, already having waited long enough for you to answer. "Baby, you shouldn't ignore-"

His heart jumps to his throat as he notices you aren't in the room. And the sheet is tied to the bedpost closest to the window. And the window is open —

"Baby!" He yells as he runs to the window, eyes wide and teary as he leans over the ledge.

And there you are, hanging just out of his reach in the alleyway. Thank goodness his window doesn't face the road, or he'd be screwed; even more than he is now. "What are you doing?!"

His hands scramble to grab the fabric, fighting with gravity to pull you back up. "San!" He screams as loud as possible, "Mingi! Help!"

He's never had to witness you in any danger that he hasn't been in control of. He's about to pass out from fright. From pure heart-shaking fear.

"Hyu- oh, shit!" San runs in quickly, wrapping his hands up in the fabric and pulling you up even as you protest.

Mingi is right behind them, eyes wide as saucers and his heart about to slam out of his chest. He reaches between them quickly and grabs your arms as he watches your fingers twitch, knowing what you're about to do. "Don't!"

But you do anyway; you let go of the sheet and the two elder members fly back as they yank it inside the apartment. Mingi almost falls forward, straight out the window with you, if not for letting go of one of your arms and grabbing the wall. Leaving you dangling precariously from the third story with nothing but his grip on your forearm keeping you from the drop.

"Let me go! Mingi, please! Just let me go!"

His breath catches in his throat as you say his name. His full name. Not 'Ming'. Grown-up to grown-up, you're begging him to let you fall rather than be back in the apartment.

He doesn't have time to think about it as San wraps his arms around his waist and starts using him as leverage to pull you higher and higher until Seonghwa eventually gets his arms wrapped around you and pulls you back in.

"Oh, Baby!" He sobs as he falls to the floor with you, "My Baby! Why did you do that? God, my sweet girl..."

You start to cry with him, face in his shoulder as your cries shake your body; held tightly in his arms. Your own wrap around him before you can stop them.

"L-let me see you," he breathes shakily, cradling your face in his hands; tilting you this way and that, "are you hurt, Baby?"

Mingi backs into San, hand seeking his and finding it quickly to wrap their pinkies together. They already know what you were trying to do. Seonghwa is lagging behind because his brain is stuck in the panic.

"You're okay? Yeah?" He sniffles, wiping his eyes quickly before his arms are right back around your shoulders and crushing you to his chest. "Oh, I was so scared... You-"

It clicks. Just like that.

His breathing gets shallow and his hands tighten around you, "what were you doing?" He asks lowly; and you only cry harder. You don't even want to imagine the punishment you're going to receive.

He pulls you up, throws you to the bed without care, and slams the window shut before turning to the others. "Get out." Mingi shrinks into Sans side as he stands semi-tall.

"Hyung, don't hurt her... Please, take a secon-"

"Get the fuck out before I strangle you!"

Everyone jumps into action: San backing away quickly with a heavy heart, Mingi pulling him out of the room with just the same, and you lift yourself on shaky arms; crawling to the corner of the bed.

Seonghwa stands at the door for a moment after he slams it. The sound of your cries usually breaks his heart, but right now they make him even angrier. You're crying? After you tried to leave him? After you tried to leave in such a dangerous way?

"Get over here."

"N-no, ple-"

He's on you in a second flat, yanking you to the middle of the bed; straddling your legs and pinning them to the bed as you try to kick away. "I can't fucking believe you, Baby." He sneers as he fights with your shorts so hard that the button pops off.

When you notice what he's doing, you start screaming even harder. "No!! Stop! Stop!!" You haven't screamed like this since the first night, and you know that the others in the apartment can hear you. You'd be surprised if the members in the apartments above and below you don't hear. "You liar! You lied to me! You promised you wouldn't be like him! You promised me!"

And he plans to always keep that promise. He just wants you to feel as vulnerable as he did watching you dangle out of the window by a goddamn sheet.

In one swift pull, he's rid you of your shorts and underwear, back on top of you before you can scramble up. "Please, don't! Mommy, Mommy!"

"Stop screaming. I don't want to hear it." He's never going to cross that specific line, but you can think he will for a little longer. Maybe a bit of terror will do you some good. "Get your ass up," he pulls you by your scalp, making you hiss.

Standing on wobbly knees, you don't have any choice but to let him peel your shirt away; leaving you trembling and naked. When you go to wrap your arms around yourself —

Seonghwa slaps you. You freeze, both in disbelief and fear. He's never slapped you. It hurts so much more than spankings. It makes your knees buckle under you; and he lets you fall to the hardwood with a thunk.

"D-" You stutter as you bring a hand to your cheek, the other holding your weight as you sit on your hip. "...Did you just slap me?" Your shock has stopped your tears, leaving you to look up at him in confusion.

He crouches in front of you, ignoring your words completely.

"What the hell was that?"

His tone is so level and calm that your heart stops. Your tears are back full force, and you're blubbering like an idiot; unintelligible pleas and apologies until he slaps you again. You face the floor, biting your lips to stop your sobs.

"You're un-fucking-believable, do you know that, Baby? I'm so disappointed in you. After everything we've been through? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Of course, when you try to say anything, it comes out as a pained cry; holding your freshly slapped cheek in favor over the other one.

He tuts his tongue, "I didn't think so." You can't fight his arms as they wrap around you and haul you up, even if you tried.

He pushes open the sliding closet door and shoves you inside. "Think about what you've done." Is all he says before he closes it.

You're so frazzled, caught off guard, that he has time to jam the door before you try to slide it open. "Mommy?" You slap the door, looking around the pitch black space. "Open the- please! Don't leave me here!"

You sit quickly, rubbing your face before you hit the door again, weaker, "please? Pl- put me in the corner, I swear I won't- won't move. You know I'm sacred of the dark..."

He knows. Of course he knows. That's part of the reason you're in there. When he opens the door and the first thing you seen in hours is his face, you'll associate him with safety — even after what he does to you.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

Your head is pounding as you rest it against the door. Your hands shake as you hold yourself. The tips of your fingers are numb with a lack of oxygen, just now calming down after hyperventilating for the past hour.

You don't know what to think. What to feel. You just want Seonghwa to open the door.

You feel phantom touches that aren't there after a while.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you bring your thumb to your mouth to comfort yourself.

You want nothing more than to be out of this damned closet. You're starting to feel small, starting to regress even though you try to fight it off because you know it will only make matters worse.

You begged for a while before you realized he was either ignoring you — or left you. He never leaves you. Not when you're upset.

But he did today.

The door slides open slowly, and you barely catch yourself on your hands. "Mommy?" You ask as you look up quickly, meeting his dark eyes as you crawl out of the cramped space. "Mommy! You came back." You hug his leg tightly, uncaring of your nudity after so long. Uncaring of anything.

Not even noticing the hammer in his other hand as he pets your head softly. "Of course I did. Silly girl." His voice doesn't carry its usual playfulness when he calls you that. His tone is still flat, but you don't mind as long as you can hear it. As long as you can hear anything other than your own echoing breathes.

You cling onto his pants as he leans your head back, "are you ready to apologize?"

"Yes." You gulp, eyes finally finding the tool in his hand, "wha-"

"Get to it, then."

And you do, forcing everything else off your mind as you let go of him; getting on your knees to quite literally beg for forgiveness.

He lets you grab onto his pant legs, a bit of a smile trying to tug its way into his lips as you try to keep some part of him adhered to you so he can't disappear again.

"I'm really sorry, Mommy... I was- I acted out because I was upset. I don't know what I was thinking. I k- I should know better. Please don't stay mad at me. Please? I'll never do anything like that again, and- and I'll never complain, I'll eat all of my food and I pr- I swear I'll be good! I won't be a brat, Mommy- please, don't put me back in there! I'll be good! I'll be so good!"

Even though you had hours to think about what you wanted to say — you start losing your words as he doesn't say anything. He just lets you keep on begging until he hears what he wants to.

"-and I'll never talk back, I'll always do what you say- just say something! Mommy, please, say something?" You tug on the fabric with a pout, "I'll take all of my punishments like a big girl and I won't fight you on them-"

"Is that right?" He finally speaks, heart softening with each of your words. "You'll take your punishments like a big girl?"

"Y-yes." You stutter as your brain reminds you of the weapon in his hand.

"You know I'm always fair with you, right? The punishment fits the crime. Isn't that what I say?"

You nod slowly, letting your hands drop to your sides.

"Listen closely," he leans down and looks right in your eyes, "don't try to run away. Or you won't be able to walk. Walking is a privilege, Baby."

"Wait, hold on a s-" You try to crawl backwards into the closet you dread so badly as the puzzle pieces fit together in your mind.

He throws the hammer onto the neatly made bed, both hands clawing at your legs — clawing. Nails scratching up your skin as he pulls you back out into the light. Nowhere for you to hide.

"Don't be a liar now," he pouts down at you as you thrash, but it isn't his genuine pout and you can feel it, "you said you'd be a big girl about this!" And you're proven right as he drags you out by your ankles as he yells. "We always keep our word, Baby!"

He crawls over you, pinning you to the hardwood and slamming your hands down with a death-grip on your wrists when you try to slap at him.

He ignores your cry, "are you ready to keep yours?" You shake your head, fast. You'd rather be a liar than get a hammer to your legs at the hands of an angry Seonghwa that you hardly recognize. "No?" He huffs a small laugh, "no? You have some serious nerve, little girl."

Your heart shatters; stuck in a million pieces in your chest as he calls you that with such... venom in his voice.

"You're scaring me..."

"Am I? I'm scaring you, Baby?" He raises his eyebrow, gesturing to the window, "that! That was scary! Seeing My Baby dangle out of the fucking window like goddamn Rapunzel! Do you know what was going on in my mind? Do you have any idea!?"

You can only shake your head, choking on your sobs.

"No. You don't. You don't know- do you know anything?" He groans as he reaches and gets the hammer. "One thing you're going to get through your thick, little head-" You scream as he lifts you up, back on the bed without a struggle.

"You don't get to leave me."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You must have blacked out, because the next thing you know; Seonghwa has his arms around you and your foot is filled with a pain that spreads through your entire body.

You let out a wheezing breath, eyes screwed shut tightly and hands shaking as you hold onto the sleeves of his t-shirt.

You don't have the wits about you to notice him wiping his eyes before he lifts you up wordlessly and carries you into the hall; still naked as the day you were born. You would be mortified if you could focus on anything other than the throbbing in your foot.

Thankfully, San and Mingi seem to be hiding. You make it to the bathroom without incident, eyes glazed over as he sets you on the counter.

He's silent as he digs out a bandage wrap, not a word spoken as he wraps up your swollen and discolored foot. He sighs as he stands up, spreading your knees to stand between them.

"Hurts really bad, doesn't it?" He searches your eyes as you force yourself to look up at him; nodding carefully. "Good. Maybe you'll think about that next time you decide to act so stupid."

The million pieces of your heart break apart and fall into your stomach.

Stupid. Stupid.

"Next time, I'll break your leg." His words don't reach you; still stuck on him calling you stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stu-

"I didn't mean to be stupid." Your voice trembles, your chin wobbling as tears try to fight their way out. You bring your arms around yourself, hiding your chest as you start to shake with emotion.

His eyes widen slowly.

Like he's finally come back to himself. "Oh, Baby, no... No, that's- I didn't mean that. You aren't stupid, sweet girl. You just did something stupid. That doesn't mean you are."

He's putting his arms around you again, slow and gentle; rubbing your back in comforting circles as you immediately wrap yours around him and cling to him for dear life.

"I'm sorry, Baby, I didn't mean it like that." He's forced to look in the mirror behind you as he hugs your quivering form. Until he closes his eyes, that is; unable to bear it. He leans his head against yours with tears of his own slipping down his face. "Didn't you think about what could have happened? We live on the third floor, angel... You could have gotten so hurt. What would I have done if you- if-"

He has to stop himself. He can't think about that.

"Come on, starlight," he whispers as he carefully pulls you into his hold, "let's get you some pain meds and some comfy pajamas, yeah?"

"P-please?"

You've fallen far, far into your little space. Everything is far, far too much to handle. You're in pain, both physical and emotional. Seonghwa is gone from completely horrifying and mean to the sweet and caring person you fell in love with. And it makes your head spin.

"Of course."

The pajamas are soft, and so is his touch as he helps you into them. He gives you the medicine as promised, and for once — you take the pills he hands you willingly. Washing them down with a sip from your bottle and waiting for them to kick in while he rubs your head slowly.

He multitasks, heating up a pot of soup while he massages your scalp slowly; never leaving your side, keeping you on the counter next to the stove. Always within reach.

Thunder rumbles outside. You hold onto his sleeve a little tighter. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Baby?"

"Can- maybe can I eat in our room, please?"

He thinks for a moment, rubbing the back of your neck gently. "Okay, you can eat at my desk, how about it?"

"Thank you," you lean and give him the quickest, smallest kiss to the cheek. But he still smiles.

He carries you first, sitting you in his chair before going back for the food. He holds the spoon, and you don't fight him on it as he leads it to your mouth and then back to the bowl until it's empty.

"Are you getting tired, angel?" He asks as he sets it down, rolling the chair to the bed so you can crawl in.

"Yeahm..."

"Let me get your blankey, you can have a nap." He knows you won't argue, and you don't. You simply fall onto your side of the bed and curl up, grabbing your stuffed raccoon with a yawn.

The medicine has you a bit tired, but mostly it's from your emotional exhaustion.

You melt into him as he cuddles up behind you, draping you both in your favorite throw blanket.

"I love you, Mommy."

It gives his pause. Then a wide smile spreads on his lips. It's the first time you've said it first. And he knows it's probably just because of your fragile state; but he'll take it.

He'll take anything when it comes to you.

"I love you, Baby."

❝rapunzel❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

[sturnsmadl]

loverboy!matt headcannons!

loverboy!matt who buys you your favourite chocolate everytime he goes to the store.

loverboy!matt who is always randomly posting you.

loverboy!matt who gives you a new bouquet of flowers each week.

"i got you your favourite, tulips!"

loverboy!matt who only follows you on all socials.

"why do i need to follow them back? i only have eyes for you."

"she's your mother matt."

loverboy!matt who admires you as u speak.

loverboy!matt who refuses to argue with you.

"yep..your right. sorry princess."

loverboy!matt who constantly picks you up late at night.

"what? i missed you."

"at 2am matt?"

loverboy!matt who refuses to sleep unless he knows your okay.

"why aren't you answering??" "hello?" "are you okay?"

"i was in the shower. im fine."

loverboy!matt who always suprises you with picnic dates.

loverboy!matt who feels horrible when he accidently hurts you.

"omg- im so sorry baby! do you need anything??"

"u stepped on my foot..you didnt stab me.."

loverboy!matt who gets you a care hamper when your sick or on your period.

"aww thank you..you really didn't have to.."

"its the least i can i do."

loverboy!matt who follows you around like a dog.

"matt im going to the fridge"

"crazy. me too!"

loverboy!matt who can't control his smile when he sees you.

loverboy!matt who only has slow and soft sex with you.

"fuck..so tight for me.."

loverboy!matt who's favourite holiday is your birthday.

"happy birthday!!"

"thank you..what is going on.."

"you're having a party!"

loverboy!matt who can look at you and know how your feeling.

loverboy!matt who finally proposes after planning it for so long.

"will you marry me?"

"wait..seriously..?"

loverboy!matt who sobs at the wedding seeing you walk down the aisle.

"your so pretty.."

loverboy!matt who gets a tattoo to remember the day you became his wife.

loverboy!matt who can't leave you alone for a minute.

"matt im showering!"

"just let me in pleaseeee!"

loverboy!matt who knows you struggle to show your feelings well.

"hey...whats wrong?"

"i dont know.."

"okay..shh..your okay."

taglist! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @moonk1ss3d @sturnclouds @christophersgf @ellizzyy @fratbrochrisgf @phoenix062 @pixxiies @conspiracy-ash @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @xoxo4chrisss @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @ilusa

[thetxtdevil]

OMG OMG, I have to admit I have an obsession with bunny!soobin or hybrid txt in general, but please please could you make a puppy!kai who is obsessed with his owner and is like a pervert for her PLEASE I'm begging on my knees🥀🥀💔💔⛓⛓

Ooo This reminds me of one of my draft of hybrid beomkai, I should really finish that...

mdni/nsfw, fem.reader, very pervy puppy!kai

Ever since you stepped foot into the adoption center for the first time puppy!kai has been obsessed with you. Golden ears were standing tall, and his fluffy tail was swinging at lightning speed. If you winced, you could see his body shake out of excitement. There was no way you could pass by the sweet puppy.

It was something about your scent, your touch. He absolutely adored you, the smile you gave him when he asked you to play, the warmth you'd bring to him when cuddling, the feeling of your plush breasts under his head, the smooth, soft skin that you'd let him touch when nervous during a thunderstorm. There's no hiding that he is down bad for you.

But you're his owner, he thinks it's bad having these... dirty thoughts about you. However, Kai is addicted to the rush he feels when he watches your lips. You could be doing the most mundane things like talking, singing, or eating ice cream, and then noticing white cream all over your lips. You catch your puppy staring, all you do is grin, he's so sweet, so you let him lick it off. It warms your heart to think of your sweet puppy!kai loves you.

That being said, you feel a different kind of warmth when you find your lost underwear in Kai's room. How did they get there, hmm? Puppy!kai has a great sense of smell, knows your emotions, and how he can help if you're sad or angry. So naturally, the scent of you, particularly of your wet panties, is his treasure. He'd hide them like treats in his bed, so that in the dead of night, he could use them for his pleasure.

Puppy!kai's thoughts for being bad are out the window when you start to let him watch you change. He no longer cared if it was wrong, not when he could sense the butterflies form in your stomach. You notice the way his eyes study your body, tail wagging wildly, as it does when he's happy. Kai could leave before you notice his rock hard cock under his sweats but he can't, so has to quickly cover himself with a pillow. Bad idea. Now he's given the idea to use that pillow once you leave in your cute flowy dress that he knows he can easily flip up to expose you and slip himself in The pillow will have to suffice.

What teases him the most is when you two are cuddling, your fingers in his blond hair, while you're reading your book. May I add that they are spicy, smutty books? Puppy!kai will be content, nudging you to rub his fluffy ears more until he senses it. His eyes widen, and his relaxing state fades away when he smells your arousal. You notice his tail wagging in the slightest, "What's gotten you excited, Kai?"

He lifts his head, big brown eyes glare at you, nose flares. You put your book down and grab his face, "Puppy, tell me what's on your mind."

Kai's head falls into the crook of your neck, lightly licking the skin. "You, you're on my mind." He says, teeth shyly drag on your neck like he's afraid to mark you without permission. You gasp, feeling your puppy grind his hips into you. "I'm sorry y/n, I can't hold myself back anymore." The man whines.

You spread your legs, letting the hybrid slot his body in between them. "I know, puppy, go ahead."

Kai whips his head up again, studying your face, making sure you mean it. Once he sees the small smile form on your lips, he crashes into them. Rough kisses matching his rough grinds of his big cock on your clothed cunt. Your scent intoxicated him, he felt drunk, everything was spinning as he gripped your clothes. Whimpering as he shreds your clothes off, even though he's seen you naked many times before, he still looks at you in awe.Desperate and needy, puppy!kai wastes no time shoving his dick into you. Kissing your pain from the stretch away. "It's ok, my love, you can do it, I know you can." Kai says in pants, feverishly thrusting into you, "You can take my knot too, right?" You were not prepared for what was about to come or cum. The bulge in your lower tummy was evident, now your vision was spinning with lust. Kai's nose trails down your neck, placing a few pecks before biting into your skin. "My beautiful owner, now you get to be with me forever, isn't that nice?"

A Nuisance,

TxT's Devil

[reiderwriter]

😝 brain rot from my character ai scenario… the team goes out to a bar to celebrate and you wear a tiny little dress (just to rile him up obvi) but you also end up attracting a lot of male attentionand he gets SO jealous and protective of you he’s like sitting off to the side just watching you flirt with everyone and the team is like “he looks like hes gonna explode wtf” and then the SMUT HES ALL “they can’t have you, you’re all mine” “you really like all the attention huh? i’ll give you what you wanted” OMG it’s making me crazy i hope i described it good enough 🥰🥰

A/N: Is it really a reiderwriter smut if I don't have to clarify that 'I got carried away' at some point in the authors note? No, it is not. Thank you for the request. My brain is now equally rotted, oops.

Warnings: complaints, dirty talk, semi public sexual activity, partial voyeurism, fingering, hard/rough sex.

You weren't even dating.

Which made the situation even more frustrating for Spencer, and even more exciting for you. 

You'd always flirted with the man a lot, had been told multiple times to knock it off even after getting a little too close for comfort on a case. 

But you couldn't really blame yourself on that one. You'd had to do a quick takedown at a dive bar, and you'd been tasked with pretending to be a touchy couple at the bar to block the back entrance at the staff entrance. 

You'd draped yourself all over him, allowing yourself to get closer than you'd ever been before. 

If you'd just happened to let your hands fall down to his crotch, it was pure coincidence. So was giving his obviously erect length a few strokes through his jeans as he sat staring at you like you were his last meal and he was back in prison. 

Emily had to pull you aside after that one personally. 

You knew she was protective of Spencer, seeing him as a little brother, but it seemed like she was more protective of you at that moment. 

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” She'd asked, waiting carefully for your answer before she said anything more. 

Two could play at that game. “What is this concerning?” 

“With Spencer.” 

“I'm not sure what you mean, Emily.”

“Yes, you do. Listen, I don't care what you get up to in your personal life, but Spencer has a way of making others feel very… seen. He can get protective and pushy. And I just want to know you're ready for that, and you're not going to let it affect your work.”

“Is Spencer having the same talk?” 

She laughed at that. 

“Spencer? No. I already know it's going to affect his work, because it has since you joined our team. He still gets his job done, but I know where his priorities would lie if there were an emergency.” 

You'd shivered at that and excused yourself. 

If he was that obsessed with you, why had he not told you? Stepped over that line from friends to more than that?

You needed to force the issue, and you had the perfect opportunity when Penelope invited you out for drinks. 

“Y/N! Don't go, it's Friday night, we-” she said gesturing wildly to the team gathered around you, “are going to a bar. No, you can't rain check either.” 

“Can I at least get changed first?” 

“You need to get changed. We're going to a nice bar, Y/N.” Running off again to grab the rest of your team members and force their attendance, you grinned after Penelope. 

It was time to see exactly how focused on you Spencer Reid was.

And how willing he was to let you slip through his fingers.

An hour later, you were stepping out of your taxi, pulling your skirt down as you did. The short black dress had a terrible habit of pulling up your thighs to flash your underwear at anyone in a 10 foot radius. Usually, that bothered you, but tonight, you planned on using it to your advantage. 

After all, you'd left out the underwear tonight for a reason. 

Pulling your jacket around you tighter, you pushed the door to the bar open and scanned the room for your team members. 

“Y/N, over here!” Tara called you over, nursing a beer. Luke sat next to her, Penelope on his other side, and Matt on hers and completing the group was Spencer Reid. 

“Where are JJ and Emily?” You asked, doing your very best to ignore Spencer as you sat down next to him, practically falling into his warmth. You sat so close to him. 

“At the bar. Emily is convinced she can flirt her way to a free drink, and JJ is convinced she cannot. The girl she's working on now has to be 22 at most, so it could honestly go either way.” Penelope answered, and you felt Spencer shift slightly beside you. 

“Speak of the devil,” Luke said as the two women approached. 

“Well? What's the result?” You grinned up at them, letting your head fall back against Spencer’s shoulder as you gently rested your hand on his thigh. He sat silently for a minute, not moving and just taking in the conversation. 

“I've still got it.” Emily grinned triumphantly. 

“Maybe I should give it a try. There are a few hot male bartenders tonight. Who knows, I might score more than just a drink.” 

Spencer choked on the drink he was sipping as you spoke quickly, a few knowing looks passing between every other person at the table. You'd have to be blind to miss it. Or Spencer. 

“Spencer, are you okay? You should be careful, I wouldn't want you to choke. That's how I want to end my night, but it's not for everyone.” That one earned you a few snickers from the others and a glare from the man himself. 

“I'm fine, thank you, Y/N.” He smiled down at you and gave your knee a friendly tap that turned slightly less friendly as he pushed it further up your leg. 

The others had since averted their attentions, moving their conversation onto other things, but you and Spencer were still stuck in each other's orbits. 

Your heart beat faster until you were sure it could be seen, raw and fit to burst out of your chest. His fingertips brushed your hem. He was seconds away from realising that you were going to get the attention you wanted that night. 

Slipping just an inch up the hem, he twitched almost imperceptibly as he searched for your panty line, brows knitting when he couldn't find it. 

“What's wrong, Spencer? Searching for something that isn't there?” You enjoyed watching his frown deepen as he registered your words, but you enjoyed it even more when you gently pushed his hand away as you stood. 

“Well, I need a drink. Let's hope I can recreate your success, Emily.” You said, finally pushing off your jacket. The dress may have been short, but it was also low cut, burning the candle at both ends as your breasts threatened to spill over with any particularly deep breath. 

“Sweet lord in heaven! You didn't come to play tonight.” Penelope exclaimed, practically applauding your body as you twirled for her and showed off the form fitting dress, giggling all the way. 

“You said it was a nice bar, Penelope. I'm hoping there are also some very nice men here, too.” With a wink, you turned on your heel and strode to the bar, making sure your hips swung seductively with every step. 

You couldn't immediately give in and turn to see if he was watching you when you got to the bar, though, not willing to give him the satisfaction. You were doing it all for him, but you still didn't want him to know that.

It didn't take long for men to swarm you. They came one at a time, and you entertained them each as you waited for your unnecessarily complex cocktail order to be prepared. 

In the 7 minutes you'd been away from the table, you'd been approached by three separate men. They all tried lines on you, gave you their numbers and tried their best to woo you, but with Spencer’s eyes burning across your body as you leaned against the bar, you really couldn't have cared less. 

Still, you leaned in, giggled in the appropriate places, and took the numbers, knowing they'd never be called.

When your cocktail was finally ready, and the last one offered to fund it for you  You finally felt a hand at your back. 

“That won't be necessary, thank you.” Spencer ended the conversation, handing his own card over to the bartender as he kept his hand on your back, his body crowding yours. 

The man walked away in defeat, and you turned on him, sipping your drink as you refused to move away.

“Now why ruin all my fun, Spencer?” 

“You're really enjoying all this attention, huh?” He said, pushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned closer to you, his next word a whisper against your skin.

“I can see your pussy from all the way back there,” he said, tugging down your skirt slightly. You weren't surprised though  simply taking another sip and maintaining eye contact. 

“I know.” His hand, having slipped up to your waist, tightened as his gaze dropped to your lips. 

“You want everyone to see your dripping cunt? Want to let all the men here take a turn trying to catch your attention so they can slip in?” His voice was low, practically a growl as he licked his lips.

“No. I wanted to see how long it'd take you to come over and do it. By my count, that was eight minutes, correct?” 

“Good girl. Just remember that you're mine. I'm not letting anyone else have you.” Giving your face a gentle stroke, he let it trail down your body, subtly cupping and squeezing your chest on the way down. 

“All of a sudden, I feel very tired, Spencer. Take me home.” He wasted no time, grabbing your hand and gathering you up, your jacket and bag collected from the desk as he gave minimal answers to the others as you departed. To their credit, they asked minimal questions. 

The cold air hit you hard as you pushed the doors open again, but Spencer was unperturbed, pulling you over to his car silently, a strong hand on your shoulder helping you into the passenger's seat.

You dare not talk the entire drive to his apartment, so sure that any word from you would have him turning immediately to deposit you right back at the bar. 

He didn't, though, but he also didn't look at you or touch you. You sat squirming at the heavy atmosphere, suddenly desperate to know exactly what thoughts were trapped inside Spencer’s impressive brain. 

“We're here.” He announced, pulling up quickly and cutting the engine, climbing out in a hurry. 

You fumbled with your own seat belt as he pulled your door open, catching you up in his arms as he closed the door behind you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him carry you up the stairs to his apartment.

His lips didn't meet yours until the door was firmly closed and locked behind you, and even then, he didn't immediately dive in. He out you down, and a touch of disappointment flooded your body as he completely entangled himself from you. 

It dissipated completely when his hand wrapped around your throat. 

“Let me be clear, Y/N. You are mine. If you want attention, I will give it to you. If you want to choke on something, I'm more than happy to provide it. If you want to dress like a little whore, go ahead, but don't forget who your sweet little cunt belongs to.” His fingers tightened with each word as you gasped for air, back resting on the nearest wall as his body pressed up along your own. 

“Do you understand?” He asked, and you nodded repeatedly, fast and desperate. 

“Good. Now, ass up on the bed. I'll meet you there.” You practically sprinted to the room in question, slinking up onto the bed. He said ass up, but you hesitated slightly as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind you, just long enough to earn a slap on your ass as he finally returned to your side. 

“You have to listen, Y/N. You wanted this, so you have to listen nicely.” 

“I'm sorry, Spencer, it won't happen aga-” He stole the end of your sentence as he slipped his fingers into you, gently working the two longest ones up into a frenzy as he finger fucked you. 

“Sorry, what was that? I don't think I quite caught your words.” You could only moan in reply as you buried your head in his pillows, ass pressing back into his fingers to help him get deeper.

“So needy. Look at this little black dress. You knew this was going to happen, right?” A third finger slipped inside you, and you screamed out in pleasure as he continued using you.

“Burying your head isn't going to work, Y/N. Your cunt is answering for you.” 

You heard the rattle of his belt unbuckling as his fingers finally slipped out, the emptiness only a relief for a second before his cock was hitting deep inside of you. 

Thoughts escaped you as you finally got what you'd been begging for for weeks. His every frustration was pounded into you as he tugged at your hair, pulling your torso up so he could hit even deeper. 

Pulling back your head with a hand on your throat he laid a barrage of kisses across your upper back and shoulders, making sure to bite and suck and nip as his spare hand toyed with your nipples, pinching and pulling. 

In a second, you reached your climax, not having the breath left in you to let him know before you tightened on his shaft and let your body fall limp under his hands. 

“I'm going to mop up our cum with this dress, Y/N, and then I'm going to make you put it back on.” With a final grunt, he pulled out, jerking his cock through his release as he shot his load right over your pussy lips. 

He collapsed on top of you, and you finally gave up your last bit of strength beneath him, enjoying the pressure of his weight pushing down on you again. 

“Thank god that worked,” you gasped, catching your breath. You smiled as he flipped you over and pulled the dress off your head, true to his word. 

“What worked, Y/N?” 

“This. You don't know the lengths I'd have gone to to get you yo finally fuck me if this hadn't worked.” 

“But suddenly, I'm curious, and I have all the time in the world.” You laughed lightly but snuggled into his chest again, meaning to sleep. 

“Unless you want to get dressed again now…?” 

[neoktty]

You know that I’m watching, and you like it.|n.jm

summary: you and jaemin have been on the wrong foot since university started. You swear jaemin has been plotting on you and you have no clue why. That’s for him to know and for you to find out.

pairing: enemy!jaemin x bullied!reader

genre: angst, enemies to lovers, tension, drabble.

warnings: suggestive, jealousy, mentions of verbal abuse, misunderstandings.

wc;???

notes: omg my first post! I didn’t know what to write so I’m just posting this to see how it floats! Please give suggestions and tips!🤍

That's the second time this week he's done that.

You're talking to your friends about future plans to meet up and parties that are coming up when you see it; his eyes pierce you from across the dining hall of the university, searching your expression and reading your lips nosily. It's jaemin, of course it's him.

Ever since you'd turned him down freshman year he's been hovering over you ever since. He's always there, his lingering scent and nasally voice seeping into your void from the background. It's like he's close to invading but never breaching the threshold of your personal circle. For the past two years you've been minding your business. You keep to yourself and stay on top of your academics. You're not really popular but you're not totally unknown either. Untouchable was the word, always polite and intelligent but kept everyone at arm's length, even your closest friends.

You're beautiful, your aura and unique appearance became the topic of many conversations across campus. This led to the na jaemin to acknowledge you.

Jaemin is quite popular on campus, his good looks and athleticism got him far on the ranks of people's hearts. He'd come to believe that whatever he wanted, he could have. Soon you would learn that that means you too.

Ever since you left him standing on the porch of that NCU frat house that night, he'd been secretly loathing you. Jaemin couldn't stand the fact that he couldn't have you. He knew he was attractive and he knew he was your type, he had to be. The way you looked up at him through your eyelashes and the way you responded to him with airy and light answers confirmed his thoughts. But the rejection...the rejection was a slap in the face. Your actions completely contrasted with the words that spilled from your lips; "I'm sorry, I just can't right now."

Since then he'd made it a mission to make sure that nobody gets too close to you. From watching you across the room to scaring off men from hitting on you. Anyone close to you gained a nasty side eye from Jaemin, sharp responses and biting insults. Because if he can't have you, no one will.

You were aware of this but you tried your best to ignore it. You could feel his presence everywhere, hot breath fanning against your neck and the scent of linen and cologne washing over your senses. You can't help but flush every time he glances your way, his lips quirking upward and his pretty eyes sparking with something dangerous yet enticing.

"You know that I'm watching, and you like it." Jaemin's large hand braces itself on your shoulder, pink lips brushing against your ear as he whispers. With a final pat on the shoulder he removes his hand with a drag and walks off into the crowd of bustling students.

Your body stiffened, lips parting as a shuddering exhale left your lips. While watching him walk away, the voices of your confused and concerned friends filter out into static. Yeah, you like it.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [wlw][mdni][friends to lovers?][fingering][oral (f! receiving)][nipple play][nipple sucking][hickeys][omg, this is so scary to write ngl][strap-on mention]

"You know, you'd make a great vig—"

"No."

Your voice doesn't waver and your eyes don't leave the screen of your phone, fuzzy sock-clad toes wiggle when Barbara's foot nudges against yours playfully.

"You'd be so good though. Like.... We could be the only female vigilante duo." Barbara shifts, sitting back against the wall, watching the way your thumbs fly across your screen, undoubtedly slicing various fruits in half with one of those stupid, outdated games you collect like they're Pokemon cards. Too attached with your half-progress to even uninstall them and that's why you keep having to swipe away that notification to clear away space.

Barbara watches your brows knit in concentration, she watches your tongue brush over your lips before you speak.

"It'll be a warm, sunny day in Gotham where the crime rate is zero, when I ever decide to run around in tights and a gimp mask." You respond with a snort of laughter, unable to hide your amusement at the way Barbara's eyes narrow, brows knitting into a frown.

"Asshole." She hisses. "I'm doing good things in my tights. What are you doing, huh?"

"Playing Fruit Ninja, and going on Tumblr."

You respond like it's obvious, before shifting and sitting back against the headboard, resting your phone to your side, and you stare at Barbara.

Gingery strands fall gracefully past Barbara's shoulders, the milky flesh exposed by where the neckline of her sleeping shirt has been stretched and worn, silver rimmed glasses rest on the freckle-dusted bridge of her nose and leafy eyes narrow at you expectantly.

You never could say no. Even when you really, really wanted to.

"Well." You let out a petulant huff. "Sell your vigilantism to me."

Barbara doesn't wait, scrambling onto your lap like she has for the past 10 years whenever trying to convince you of something and by natural instinct, your hands move to rest on the cottony fabric of her night pants.

"You can save the worl—"

"I didn't know the world consisted of Gotham and only Gotham." Your voice is sarcastic and you don't miss the scoff that falls past her perfectly shaped lips.

"Stop interrupting, you're ruining the moment."

Clearing her throat, Barbara places her hands on your shoulders, manicured nails glinting in the dim lighting of your bedroom and you're half convinced she's doing this on purpose.

Warm breath fanning across your face as Barbara looks at you, spotted cheeks ruddy with the cold that seems to creep in through the cracks of your windows.

"You can make.... A difference."

It's not an appealing thing whatsoever. Vigilantism seems like something for people who have a lot of reasons to be angry, especially Gotham vigilantes.

But you can't say 'no' to Barbara. Even when your life might actually depend on it.

But her lips are so pretty and pouty, a delightfully prominent Cupid's bow and a plump bottom lip, so hydrated from that lip mask from earlier and you swallow, hands twitching on her thighs before letting out a breath.

"It does sound... Slightly more appealing when you put it like that." You lie. But only because watching the dimples in Barbara's cheeks deepen, makes you feel better about a lot of things in the world.

Like slow WiFi.

Barbara lets out an enthusiastic squeal before nodding her head, and before you even know it, she's under the covers beside you, her attention turned towards the TV.

"Okay, sidekick." She hums. "Put on a movie."

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌼🧺˚˖𓍢ִ🌿˚.

You're not sure what made you pick a sapphic movie but God, the way Barbara smells makes it all better. Her cheek pressed against your shoulder, an arm wrapped around your waist while one of her thighs are tossed carelessly over you.

Most of her attention is on the TV.

Focused on the black and white film, the youthful faces of Audrey Hepburn and Shirley MacLaine burning into those pretty, leafy pools of hers, and your fingers absentmindedly card through the strawberry strands that seem to be just about everywhere.

Manicured nails scratch lightly against Barbara's scalp, the sensation making her dark lashes flutter at the soft feeling and she glances up at you, eyes half-lidded and she scrunches her nose up. And you don't miss the way she melts against your side when you pinch the middle of her spectacles, carefully removing them and setting them on the bedside table.

"How'd you find this movie?"

Barbara whisper quietly, her attention alternating between the screen and your profile, her fingers absentmindedly tracing over the knit of your sweater as she waits for you to answer.

"I read the play when I had to do a report on it for school." You lie. Again.

You don't even know why you're lying. But you spend very little time on it when you feel the way Barbara shifts closer to you, her face pressed against the curve of your neck and her hand snaking underneath where your sweater had ridden up, warm fingertips tracing squiggles against the soft flesh of your ribcage and her nose brushes against your pulse.

"You smell really nice." She breathes out.

"You smell really nice too." You speak just as softly as her, hoping that she can't hear the thrum in your chest, that she can't see the wat your eyes flicker briefly towards her before ultimately remaining glued on the TV.

"Why won't you look at me when you're talking?" Barbara questions softly.

Her voice is as quiet as the barely audible raindrops that pelt outside, almost overshadowed by the grainy sounds of film and you swallow, before looking down at Barbara.

She stares up at you from beneath her lashes, green eyes reflecting the images from the screen as they flit between your gaze and your lips. The battle seems to go on forever before the warmth of her palm presses against your cheek, and her lips meet yours.

It's so... Sweet.

Barbara's lips mould against yours in the most perfect way, her fingertips brushing along the soft flesh of your cheek as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss.

It feels like the air leaves your lungs when you feel the way her body melts even more, pressing every inch of her form against your side and you can't help but shift, making yourself more comfortable.

She lets out a desperate and shaky breath through her nose before pulling away, her gaze fluttering open before staring at you with wide eyes.

And you watch mortification take over her expression and her lips barely part to push out an apology, before you kiss that spot between gingery brows, right at where her forehead makes that little crease.

"Don't apologize." You whisper softly. "I liked it."

You don't know when the line between friendship blurred. If it was that secret kiss you shared at your first slumber party, if it was when she had you pick out bras you thought would fit her best or if it was when she'd hop into the shower with you.

But God knows that right now, there's not a lick of friendship in sight.

Not with the way her hands cradle your face, her back against the headboard and her thighs around your waist as you kiss her, your hands resting just beneath the fabric of her shirt, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts just to illicit those pretty gasps from her lips and Barbara swallows when you pull away, staring up at you with those pretty, doe eyes.

There's no way to describe how perfect she looks.

Hair just a bit messy, cheeks flushed and lips reddened by kissing, and lashes fluttering, each deep breath she takes causes her breasts to press even more against yours and Barbara lets out the shakiest breath.

"Wow..." She murmurs, a shy and awkward laugh slipping past her lips. "You kiss different from when you were 14."

And you let out a hum, thumbs continuing to caress the dip of the flesh before you brush your lips against the curve of her jaw, an action which makes her tip her head back against the headboard, letting out a shuddering breath.

"I read a lot more now than I did then." You respond softly. "I've picked up a few things."

Pulling off Barbara's T-shirt would most likely be the most accomplishing moment of your life, watching the way perky tits press together, rosy nipples pebbling at the slight chill in your room. You feel like you're on a completely different planet, and everything sounds like it's underwater until Barbara's hand reaches for the bedside lamp, switching it off.

And the only light, is the grainy movie that continues to play to an uninterested audience, the motion picture dimly illuminating the way your hands cradle Barbara's chest, thumbs brushing over her nipples and you listen to the way her breath hitches, getting caught in her throat.

Fingers card through your hair lovingly when your head dips lower, tongue darting out to swirl around the pebbled bud until your lips find purchase, tongue teasing and flicking until Barbara's letting out breathy sighs.

"Shit... That's..— keep doing that..."

Your other hand continues to adore the unattended breast, fingertips gently tugging before you raise your head, pressing your lips against hers again in a messy, almost desperate kiss.

Barbara smiles into the kiss, dimples popping as her hand dips into the waistband of your nightshorts and panties, manicured digits moving against your slippery folds as her free hand guides your available palm to her sopping cunt.

You can feel her throb through the cotton of her panties, slick forcing the fabric to cling to her sodden core before you tug the panties aside, carefully brushing your thumb against her clit. And she gasps into the kiss, before letting out a giggle, grin widening as she continues to tease against your own, sensitive nub, returning the favour sloppily.

"Don't stick a finger in..." You whisper softly. "You've got long nails.."

Her snort of laughter is nothing short of angelic, eyes crinkling at the corners before she whispers a lazy 'I know', and the way her lips form that shy 'o' when you slip a finger into her cunt is something that's euphoric.

Gummy walls spasm around your fingers, snug enough for you to feel each ridge and crevice as your finger continues to prod and curl, thrusting past the fleshy folds and you feel the way her own digits falter against your core. Clearly distracted.

"That feels nice...." Barbara whispers, deep breaths heaving and she pulls her hand out of your pants, instead, cradling your face in her palms and pressing her lips against yours.

The desperation in her kiss and the way you swallow each moan and whimper creates a hypnotic concoction of sex that lingers in the air. Tender and affection touches, hesitant and wanting all the same, and you can feel the way her heart pounds in her chest.

Your lips part, and her tongue brushes against yours, the taste of sugary fizzy drinks and candy lingers in her mouth, the sweet taste makes your head fuzzy and Barbara's body nearly freezes when you slip in a second finger.

And it's gentle when you fuck your fingers into her, your thumb pressing sweet circles onto her clit until she's letting out whimpers and whines, choked sobs slipping into your mouth alongside her tongue when she comes.

Slick pools on the sheets below her, puffy pussy lips glistening in the faint light from the TV and you pull your fingers out of her drooling cunt, before you shift.

Sock covered feet rest on your back, warm hands wrap around Barbara's thighs, blunt fingertips digging into the plush of her thighs and you nearly sigh when her fingers card through your hair, moving the strands out of your face.

The sight of her flushed face is something that makes your thighs clench but nothing makes your cunt throb like the way her pussy squelches, pushing out another trickle of slick.

When your tongue curls against her clit, Barbara's thighs clamp shut, the pressure against your head is intense and you push her thighs further apart, before staring up at Barbara through your lashes, head lifting the tiniest bit.

"It's the attempted skull crushing for me." You tease, watching the way her pouty lips curl into a shy grin before her hand moves back to the crown of your head, before gently urging you back down.

"Head pusher." You mock under your breath, before dragging your tongue through her velvety folds, satiny fluids painting your tongue in her taste, your nose occasionally bumping against her clit when your tongue dips past that tight ring of muscle, her cunt spasming around the wet muscle.

It's a heady feeling.

Warm, plush thighs pressed against your ears, cunt drooling messily and covering your chin in a glistening sheen before your tongue flits, lips wrapping around her needy clit before you suck at the sweet nub.

Feeling the way her hips buck, hands fisting in your hair and a shaky gasp leaves Barbara's lips, before her chest heaves.

"You—... shit...— use that strap-on in your nightstand..." Barbara shudders. "Please, God, fuck me."

Your head lifts, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Did you go through my nightstand?" You question, lifting your head just a bit, two fingers easing into her cunt as you lazily lick at your stretched hole, feeling the way she spasms around your digits.

"....maybe." She replies shyly, fingers carding through your hair, massaging your scalp like there's some sort of conditioner in your hair and she needs to thread it through your strands.

"But, why do you have a pocket—"

"Mind your business!"

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

[weebsinstash]

Omg more Viktor and Jayce pls that was so good

I keep gravitating back towards the scene where they have their first huge disagreement, the whole "I'M from the Undercity" conversation, and I still feel like a disabled Reader who is from the Undercity is one of my favorite routes to go to pair Viktor up with

I keep feeling drawn to scenarios where Reader meets Viktor but not Jayce and you inadvertently, unintentionally, cause a big rift between the two of them because Jayce says or does something fucked up to you that stabs Viktor in the back in the same way as that conversation

Like could you even imagine if Viktor is already forming feelings for you and here's Jayce, talking about how he doesn't trust you, you aren't like the two of them, you're too anxious and twitchy like you're planning something, how Viktor needs to stop letting you hang around. Just envision in your mind Jayce just REALLY REALLY being riled up and saying something like, "I'm tired of having to worry about them stealing something while they're constantly just limping around--" and here's Viktor immediately coming to not just your defense but his own, "'Limping around'?LIMPING AROUND? Is that really what I heard tou say just now?!" like he's absolutely furious, because uh, what the FUCK is that supposed to mean, Jayce?

Jayce getting jealous when Viktor sidelines a project they're working on together because he wants to help you with a brace or he's inventing some sort of mobility aid for you, and Jayce being absolutely convinced you're taking advantage of Viktor and will stab him in the back. Jayce being jealous and feeling replaced when Viktor is constantly spending time with you to troubleshoot the aids he's built for you. Jayce really itching to work on this project but he can't find Viktor anywhere and he's running all over town and he catches you two... having lunch together. He's jealous. He's angry. He's feelin' a lil possessive for sure.

But also like. Reader feeling... insecure when Viktor heals his leg. I was just reading that this man is 5'10??? So you go from seeing him using his cane, kind of slouching at times, to having him stand at his full height before you, completely healed? It has you feeling... small in more ways than one to see that he's just... gotten better while YOU haven't, or maybe never will. Absolutely 100% you're happy for him but... you just wish you weren't dragging him down more than ever before now that you and him... are on even less equal footing than before

But then I also think of how Viktor's journey slowly corrupts him, or distorts his thoughts, and how a yandere obsession could... pile on top of that

He's healed his leg, he's feeling the rush and the high of running and having a fully functional body for the first time in his life. His chronic pain is gone. He keeps his cane but he's no longer REQUIRED to use it. He's high on life itself, like the entire world has opened up to him all over again. There are so many possibilities now. He feels like he can do anything he can put his mind to. And, of course, YOU are one of the first things he can think about. Now he can do so much more to help you! Protect you! Eliminate any dangers to you!

I couldn't decide if Viktor would want to heal the Reader's leg much like his own or if he would just keep you as you are. I mean, like if he could choose, make a distinction between helping that one singular part of yourself versus what he was doing to people like Salo. Maybe, through some sort of means, you were also touched by the Arcane, and you're able to keep your sanity while it heals your fragile body

(Mmm.... yandere Viktor who can remember you across timelines or gets glimpses of other realities... I love me a good timeline/multiverse "I'll keep going through this loop as many times as it takes to save you" oh wait shit you know what just happened, unlocked a new love for Ekko, we're gonna come back for him later)

Reader meeting Old Viktor or meeting him much in the same way young Jayce did because Viktor still loves you across timelines and he wants to keep every possible vestige of you safe, maybe with you even meeting a version of him who only learned the error of his ways after you had died. Old Viktor giving you something for protection from your current Viktor, maybe even giving you the rune or key to keeping your sanity to be safely healed by the arcane. It being Reader's destiny that meet Viktor and you both change each other's lives. But. Also. Old Viktor giving you something that actually helps young Viktor capture you or something though, too 👀 old Viktor needing to keep the loop going and being the first step on your long journey of becoming the apple of his own eye.

The absolute timeline fuckery potential of the catalyst to you meeting Viktor, being fucking Viktor. Old Viktor gives you some trinket and when you meet "your" version for the first time, the trinket is the first thing he notices, or something like, you drop The Thingy and it's while you're chasing that thing as it rolls or bounces or whatever, that's what causes you to collide with Viktor and meet him for the first time

Ngl.... the slightly mentally broken version of Jayce that's all scruffy and lugs that hammer around is kinda the only version of him I find like, HOT hot, and god 🥴 he has, juicier plot potential than the earlier versions of Jayce as well

To just spit it out, Viktor going through his whole Glorious Evolution and having his takeover but, deciding to keep Jayce and yourself as you are. Mentally broken newly born gods can have their beloved humans for forced companions/pets, as a treat. You and Jayce growing closer in your captivity. Jayce with everything he's lost developing new unhealthy attachments to one of the only things he has left: you. Viktor who may or may not be varying levels of indifferent or outright approving if Jayce were to be physically affectionate with you, developing to outright intimacy.

Who knows, maybe Jayce is sent through some Inception-style Homura-level timeline fuckery where he either learns the importance to the timeline and fate of the world that you're kept safe (which he might take to extreme degrees in effort of trying to do good) or he may just be driven mad with grief seeing so many outcomes where you die, and it's through these branching choices and timelines that he develops deeper feelings for you

But also!!! The version of Viktor who is going around healing people who has not gone full evil borderline cyborg yet also had his own dynamic to him! Live with your yandere lover on his peaceful hippie commune while everyone, like, grows crops for the needy and does borderline habitat for humanity level charity stuff but also there's this constant underlying unshakeable feeling everyone is a little off and cold, like physically cold? Like imagine you and Viktor having a touch-heavy love language because he's been your friend and helping you with your leg and a lot of that involved him needing to touch you, but also for you to trust him and lean on him and the other way around, and once Jayce revives him, the very first thing you notice when you hold his hand again for the first time is how much colder he is. And thus everyone else in the commune has that same sort of... 'something is off' hairs on the back of your neck 'this is the kind of shit dogs bark at' just all around unexplainable bad feeling (because somehow you can subconsciously sense thst everyone is. You know. Kind of. Kind of dead and it's not entirely clear if these are the original people or somehow copies of their consciousnesses)

Wait what's that? You say you don't feel comfortable being boxed in all the time not being able to leave the area and the vibes are honestly just creepy bad here and you're not exactly sure you agree with some of the stuff Viktor is talking about anymore? Did I say "peaceful hippie commune"? Sorry, I meant to say, "dedicated cult hivemind where the second Viktor even remotely suspects you of ANYTHING he has both the people keeping an eye open and he is watching you through their eyes and if you make it known to ANYONE that you're going to leave or escape or whatever the situation is, everyone will drop everything to stop you like it's the fucking Truman Show"

Some HEINOUS fuckshit like, you've got precious items to help you survive or escape hidden under your clothes and you're about to make your getaway and, oh a voice behind you! It's a little girl Viktor healed :) and she's oh so innocently and sweetly asking what you're doing and how nervous you are makes it immediately obvious that you're up to something. You laugh and try and make up a believable lie as soon as you can, "oh, i was feeling really bored so I wanted to jog around!" and she's just like "oh okay! But the jogging paths are the other way, though?" and she's being completely innocent about it. But. You take like. Just a little toooo long to respond, and suddenly she's just, POSTURE SUDDENLY JERKING UPRIGHT, the voice of a full grown man rising up from her throat,

"Please turn back, my love. I would hate to have to chase you"