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kingofbodyrolls · 2 months ago

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Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you.

Blood.

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are.

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun?

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them.

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake.

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones��this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes.

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress.

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap.

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze.

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look.

Two lines.

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it.

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over.

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment.

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

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cepheustarot · 5 months ago

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What do people like about you?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: The first thing to note is: you are associated with the word "stability". People appreciate you, see what a good, devoted friend and faithful partner you are, you can also have strong ties with your family and relatives. In addition to being loyal to people, you are true to yourself, you do not betray your principles and interests, moreover, you rely on them when making important decisions. You are the kind of person who will definitely not betray himself — people like this trait in you, they admire it. By the way, they also like what a caring, kind and moderately generous person you are, the brightest moments of life and memories are created with you, people always have a good mood when you are next to them. They really like that you can brighten up their day with your presence, they like spending time with you. They also believe that you are the soul of the company because you are the one who creates the mood around others, besides you are quite a friendly and sociable person. As I said before, people like the fact that you don't betray yourself, you defend your interests. At the same time, they admire the fact that you can defend your opinion, do not change yourself and do not adapt to others. You are probably the one who speaks your opinion directly to your face, does not hide the truth. People also notice that you are a person who tries to keep a balance in everything, in all areas of your life and you also work hard at it but at the same time you know the measure and very rarely bring yourself to burnout, severe fatigue. People also like the way you treat them: you always try to be attentive, remember details from their stories, some little things. To some extent, you are an open person, you are not afraid to express your opinion and people appreciate it very much. They also appreciate that they can find support in your words, it's really important to them.

Pile 2: People like about you what an active, mobile person you are, who does not like to sit around and is always busy with something. In addition, you can speak quite fast, you can move quickly, use a lot of gestures, you have expressive facial expressions and people are charged by your vibe, they immediately catch your mood. People admire the fact that you are a very purposeful person and are able to achieve your goals, implement plans in a short time. At the same time, they also note that you work quite hard work, you are constantly improving, developing, learning something new or trying yourself in a new field of activity, they like that you do not limit yourself to one thing and try yourself in many ways. They think you're a pretty versatile person, they like the way you share your impressions, tell life stories and they admire your lifestyle. At the same time, they like that you are easy-going, you agree to any adventure, you are ready to keep any person company. They also like that you are an intelligent and rational person, maybe in the eyes of some you can act impulsively but in fact you often think over your steps, make a plan of action. And people like that you think ahead first, rather than acting spontaneously, they admire your responsibility. They also like that you are a person of reason, you rarely succumb to emotions, you like to act thoughtfully, considering every step and every word. People can also see you as a wise leader, able to lead people and pass on their knowledge to them, you can also be seen as an experienced mentor or a specialist who knows his business.

Pile 3: People like your aura in general, the way you look and behave: they are attracted to your beauty, external and internal, they like how you present yourself among people, how you interact with them, they consider you very confident, very charismatic, they like your style, your image, your aesthetics in general. People also believe that you are a very conscious, wise, spiritually developed person, they admire the fact that you know a lot, understand a lot in this world and, by and large, calmly treat everything that happens. They like that they always feel calm and safe next to you. You calmly react to any changes or crisis situations because you know that all this is temporary and everything can be handled. By the way, you are ready for any changes, you quickly adapt to them, you can easily part with the past and with some people, you don't worry about it for a long time. People also like the fact that you are not afraid of new beginnings, you can easily drop something and start from the beginning or even move on to another business that interests you. Often people can turn to you for advice because your support and help really helps them a lot and affects them for the better, they can see in you a kind of mentor who opens eyes to many things in life. They also admire the fact that you are not afraid to make mistakes, you treat them calmly because this is part of life and part of the way, you are well aware of this and accept it.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

#tarot #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #pac #tarot reading #pick a photo #pick a picture

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kamiversee · 8 months ago

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 28 || The Effect You Have

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——IT ALL BEGAN SO SIMPLE. Once Gojo got you home, he opened the trunk of his car to reveal the fifteen dresses he'd purchased for you, all of which he forgot to tell you had also been tailored for you as well.

He left that part out because the two of you had gone to get a dress tailored once just a few days ago. The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was specifically tweaked to fit you perfectly and after that, Gojo took the extra step of having the tailor keep your measurements for future dresses.

It was a detail he decided to leave out because he'd been planning for this for a while now and he didn't want you to think he was weird in any way-- even though the gesture was rather nice of him. Gojo was also sure to leave out how expensive each dress actually was, never wanting to reveal the fact that he'd spent his entire bank account on you if he could.

You went upstairs first, carrying only one dress with you as you did so. When you got into your apartment, you quickly noticed that Shoko had left some time ago, giving you the space for a while. Since it's a Friday, you recall that she has one class and then usually likes to go out and do something right after.

Within minutes after you walk into your apartment, Gojo is entering with the remaining dresses piled up in his hands. You would've helped him carry more but he insisted otherwise.

He takes all the dresses into your room and places them on your bed, just as you instruct him to. Once he's done, the man goes ahead and seats himself onto your mattress with an expectant look in his eyes.

You blink, one dress still in your hands as you wonder why Gojo's looking at you in such a patient way, "What? Why are you still sitting there...?" You ask simply.

Gojo shrugs, "I mean I didn't buy all those dresses for no reason..."

You scoff out a laugh, "Ohh, you want me to try on the dresses for you?"

He flashes you this innocent little smile, "Mhm..."

You narrow your eyes at him, "You'd see the dress whenever I wear it though..."

"That's not true, I'm not gonna be at this nightclub every time you go, I'm just taking you tonight since it's your first time there," Gojo explains.

You stare for a second, then nod, "Uhuh... Fine then, I guess I'll try on the dresses for you..."

He smiles, "Let me know if you need help putting them on-"

"You're not slick, Satoru," You cut off as you turn and dip into your bathroom.

The sound of him chuckling is heard as you move around and begin to change yourself into the first dress. Like all the others, the dress is beautiful and so obviously expensive, despite whatever Gojo tells you about it not being pricey.

You're careful to put the item on, quickly noticing how it fits like a glove and how pretty it looks on you. This first dress is silk and dark blue, almost royal blue, backless, and rather enticing. Just looking at yourself in it makes you feel odd.

The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was one thing, after all, you've been to plenty of parties before so it was your typical dark red party dress. But this dress... Well, you know Gojo said the club was pretty fancy but based on this first dress and the glimpse you caught of the other ones, it seems like classy is what you're gonna have to go for.

When you consider yourself to be done, you open the bathroom door with your eyes down on the dress as your free hand moves to smooth it out. Gojo's eyes are all over you instantly and when you look up, you're not too surprised to see him moving to get off the bed.

"Why are you getting up?" You chuckle, watching him casually approach you.

Gojo's soon standing in front of you, towering over you like always, "I needed a closer look."

"You might need glasses because I'm pretty sure anyone could've seen everything perfectly fine from my bed," You say in response.

He smiles and tilts his head at you, "Gimme a spin."

You fold your arms under your chest, "Say please."

"Please?" Gojo utters as if it were second nature to do so.

With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turn yourself around and give him a full three-sixty of the dress. Gojo's got this big stupidly happy smile on his face as you do so as if he couldn't be more at peace watching you perform such a simple act.

When you're done and come to a stop facing him once more, he's still smiling at you. "Well?" You ask.

"Y'know I'm gonna say you look beautiful in everything, right?" He sighs, the look in his eyes just dripping with affection.

You swallow, "Then what's the point of me trying all these on...?"

"I'm gonna help you figure out which one you should wear tonight!" He says cheerfully, "Gotta' make sure you make a good first impression on Nanami."

A brow is raised in question, "You do know he's seen me before, right?"

Gojo does this gesture with his hand as if to wave off what you just said, "That doesn't count."

"Right, sure it doesn't." You say, shaking your head at him.

"Oh, I also bought you shoes," Gojo suddenly tells you, turning away and heading back over to your bed.

You watch with wide eyes as he flops down onto your mattress, "What? Why?"

"Uh, to go with the dresses, sweetheart." He hums.

"Well, where are they?"

"Check your closet," Gojo says, laying down on his back and staring up at your ceiling, "Shoko said they came earlier this morning."

You blink, not sure how exactly to react just yet. It's so unusual for you to get spoiled like this. It's one thing for him to buy you a dress every now and then, and another thing for him to pay you for your sinful acts but to go out of his way and purchase this much for you is just...

New.

Your feet move to your closet and the second you open it, you're met with a shitload of new shoeboxes. "Wh-What the hell..." You say softly.

Gojo sits up slightly, holding his body up with his elbow and looking in your direction, "Hm?"

"Satoru..." You whisper, your eyes darting all over the fifteen different boxes of shoes in front of you. "You didn't really..."

"I did," He hums, "I swear they aren't as expensive as you think they are-"

"Shut up," You cut off. He closes his mouth quickly and you crouch down to the first box that catches your eye. "Satoru, these are Christian Louboutins...."

"Oh, I forgot I got those..." He replies.

You move the box around in your hand to inspect the item, "They're like a thousand dollars for each pair on average..."

"Okay...?"

Your eyes go to the other boxes nearby, "I'm seeing seven different pairs..."

"Seven different colors," Gojo explains with a casual shrug.

You take a second to reply, wondering what the hell is wrong with this man and trying to figure out why he'd go out of his way like this. "That's roughly seven thousand dollars on just shoes." You point out after some quick estimates made.

"Okay.....?" He chuckles, "They're shoes for you."

Your heart throbs in your chest in reaction to his emphasis on the shoes being for you-- as if he were implying that the price will never matter if it's something for you. Carefully, you place the box back down, too scared to even open it and look just yet.

"I..." You release a sigh, "I don't understand you..."

For a moment, Gojo goes quiet. You can't see his face so you don't catch how his expression grows worried. He feels like you may even be upset with him for a moment, which is the exact opposite of what he'd hoped to achieve with this.

After a moment of thought, "Is it too much...?" He asks softly.

"Yes, yes it is." Your response is quick and you go on to ramble immediately, "Why the hell would you buy all this for me just for me to go to one little nightclub? There are thousands of other heels you could've bought for me that aren't nearly as expensive. I'm gonna feel like I'm literally walking on eggshells the entire night because of how expensive these are. What if I break them? What if they get dirty-"

"So..." Gojo cuts you off, raising a brow, "I should've bought you a backup pair for each shoe?"

He sounds so genuinely confused that it's almost funny. "No Satoru, you shouldn't have bought me anything this expensive to begin with." You say calmly.

He blinks, "Why not?"

"I..." You sigh again, "It's weird."

"Weird how?" Gojo questions, not understand your reaction at all. He thought you'd be happy about this kinda thing, he's seen the way your eyes light up whenever he pays you so what's the difference here? "I'm buying things for the woman I love, what's so weird about that?" He questions.

"Stop saying that."

His brows pinch together, "What? That I love you? Or, that you're the woman I love?"

"It's all the same, just stop." You tell him.

"Why?"

"Because..." Your words fall off your tongue as you lose the reasoning behind why you want to hear him stop uttering such a phrase.

Every time he says those things it's like you can hear the truth behind his words. Almost as if in no universe could you deny the fact that you wholeheartedly believe he's in love with you. And for some reason, that belief of yours confuses you.

Gojo grins a little, "Because what sweetheart?"

"I don't know how to feel when you say things like that." You finally explain.

"There's no right or wrong way to feel, y'know..."

You shrug, "Well, it makes me feel... weird."

A sneaky little smile spreads across his face, "Is it because you love me t-"

"No." You deny it instantly.

"Alright then," Gojo sighs, "What is it?"

"Sympathetic." You correct him, somewhat figuring out what it is you feel as he utters those three words to you.

"Huh?"

"Every time you say that you love me or do things that make me feel like you love me... I begin to feel sympathy for you." Your explanation makes his heart race for some unknown reason.

Gojo swallows, "W-Why?"

"Cause' it's like... the things you do are making up for the bullshit you make me do. A-And it's all so fucked up because the last thing I want to feel is sympathy for my blackmailer." You stammer, steadily getting worked up over this small conversation.

Gojo lets out a sigh of relief and then smiles softly, even though you're not looking at him yet, "Listen, I'm not spoiling you like this because I want you to forgive me for what I've done. I... I don't ever expect to make up for it. But, if getting you new expensive things can put a smile on your face, even if only for a second, I'd sell a limb to be able to provide that for you."

Your head whips around to the man, "What?"

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you."

There's this sharp feeling in your chest. It's like you could feel the gravity of his words weighing your heart down. Almost as though, you knew he was serious.

Nearly overwhelmed by his seriousness, you quickly turn your head away, "I appreciate that..." You murmur, unsure of a better way to respond.

"Great-"

"But," You interrupt, "I don't understand why."

"Those three words." Gojo explains, "That's why."

"Because you love me?" You ask.

"Mhm." He hums in response.

"Well," You slowly begin to stand up and move out of your closet. "I don't understand that either."

Gojo watches as you grab another dress to try on and take it into the bathroom. He gets how you find his feelings for you confusing and has no intentions of explaining them just yet so instead, he results in saying something rather simple.

"Love isn't meant to be understood, sweets," Gojo tells you just before you shut the bathroom door.

You merely hum in response to that and the rest of you trying on dresses goes pretty smoothly.

With each dress, he'd comment on either how the material looks good on you or how the color makes a certain feature of yours stand out, all of his comments well thought out and making you feel all warm inside. You eventually even start trying on the heels with these dresses and each outfit is something you never thought you'd find yourself wearing.

Not that they didn't fit your usual style or anything but the prices that followed the items you wore were just something you'd never given yourself the leisure of even looking at. So to have such pretty and expensive items on your body and in your closet felt really nice.

Eventually, you land on the last dress. The color alone made you not want to wear it because simply looking at it reminded you of that morning you spent with Gojo. It was baby blue and rather small on you. There were these thin spaghetti straps that went over your shoulders, a decent amount of cleavage was revealed, and once you got down to how it just barely stopped at your thighs, there was this small slit in it.

It was cute and when you turned around, you noticed it hugged your ass nicely. Even so, you didn't want to reveal yourself in it to Gojo because you had a feeling you knew what his reaction would be.

"It's been fifteen minutes, love. Need some help?" Gojo calls out from the other side of your bathroom door.

You looked to the bottom of the door and noticed his shadow was there, smiling to yourself at how he so clearly knew you were purposefully taking a while. "No, I don't need help..."

"Thennnn what's taking you so long?" He hums.

"Nothing." You say before moving to open the door.

You're quickly met with Gojo standing there, leaning against your doorframe like always with a little smile on his face. His eyes are on your face, not yet dropping down to the dress.

Slowly, he allows himself to get a look at you and you watch the way he smiles. "You are so..."

"Beautiful?" You finish, having heard him say the same thing for the past hour or so, "Yeah, I know-"

"Perfect," Gojo corrects, "You're absolutely perfect."

You roll your eyes at his compliment for the millionth time, "Whatever."

He moves a hand to your waist and suddenly pulls your body close to his. Your chest presses up against him and your eyes frantically search his in question of why he's suddenly touching you.

Then, you catch that look in his gaze that you haven't seen in a while. It's the look that makes your knees go weak, that begging and pleading look of his that so clearly tells you he wants his lips on yours. You hate the way you recognize it so quickly now.

Gojo leans down to you, his arm slithering all the way around your waist, "This is the one." He whispers to you.

You blink, "The one what?"

"The dress you should wear tonight," He clarifies.

"Why? Does Nanami like blue or something?" You ask curiously.

Gojo shrugs, "I think so."

"Oh.." You murmur, watching as Gojo's face nears yours.

He stops himself just an inch away from your lips, his head tilted and his eyes low on yours. He doesn't say anything just yet, simply looking at your lips with the strong desire to place his own over them.

"Can I..." He trails off a little, almost as if he's nervous to ask his question.

You don't know why but you just nod, permitting him to kiss you.

What was it about this man that made you miss the feeling of his lips over yours? You don't know. You have no idea why every time Gojo's lips press into yours and you kiss him, your knees go weak, your brain stops working, and you feel so drowned in love.

You don't feel the same for him but damnit you can't deny how much you enjoy the way he kisses you. Sometimes, like right now, it's gentle and slow, his lips carefully and strategically moving over your own until his tongue is in your mouth, affectionately making out with you as his hand travels up and down your back.

Other times it's hot and heavy, both of you chasing the feeling of each other's lips as if time will one day stop you from feeling that connection.

Currently, you find yourself lost in his kisses, panting softly by the time he pulls away and both of you moving in for more just as quickly as you pulled away. So lost in it, you don't even think as he eases you into your bathroom and lifts you onto the counter, his lips desperate against your own.

Gojo's not kissing you like he wants to have sex with you or anything, he's kissing you like he just enjoys the feeling just as much as you. It's like he melts into your mouth, releasing small hums and even smaller whines into your parted lips as he sinks into the moment.

His hands go to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hand and kissing you like his life depends on it, and as if he's worried you'll slip away from his grasp at any given moment. After which, Gojo's hands would be on your thighs, sliding up your legs and just barely going up and under the dress, eager to just feel your skin.

As he does so, you think you get dizzy when he pulls away just to whisper, "I love you," In the lowest voice you've heard from him.

And it's not just one time he does that, it's constant that he breaks the kiss just to whisper those three words into your lips as if he wants you to never forget it as if he needs to chant the phrase in order to pass the needed level of understanding behind it.

"So much," Gojo utters, "I love you so fucking much." His lips are back on yours within the next second, needy tongue shoving into your mouth that you so gratefully accept.

You're unsure of what you've done to make this man be so deeply in love with you like this. Maybe the day you find out, you may reciprocate the feeling but as of now, the the only thing you can do in response to his repeated claims is kiss him back.

You could never utter those three words back to him. I love you. It's a phrase you've reserved for someone else. A sentence in which you direct toward an entirely different man. Even now as you make out with Gojo, you still think of who's stolen your heart.

Somewhere deep down inside, you tell yourself that it should be him instead. It should be Choso telling you that right now. It should be him holding you so lovingly, kissing you so tenderly, and longing for you the way Gojo does.

That's who you should be with at this very moment and yet, there you were, against Gojo's lips hearing how in love with you he claims to be.

As of now, you could only await the day in which you'd be where you're supposed to be.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

After about forty straight minutes of locked lips with Gojo Satoru, the two of you eventually pry yourself off of each other. You hadn't even realized you kissed him so long and you didn't even notice the way your lips made it to his neck at one point.

It was almost subconscious the way you left hickeys on his neck, marks that he had no intention of stopping you from making. Gojo actually held your head at his neck at one point, thriving in the feeling of you against him.

When the two of you were done, you watched him admire the work you'd left on his neck as he gazed in the mirror. His fingers traced over each one and the man wishes he could keep them there forever. To have evidence of you on his skin was something he'd wish to keep forever.

Even so, the two of you eventually left the bathroom and it was decided that the final dress you tried on was what you were going to wear that night.

Gojo left later that afternoon and told you he'd be back to pick you up when it was time to go. You still didn't quite understand why it was so important for him to take you there but you didn't argue with him about it.

Shoko eventually stopped home later that afternoon and she teased you about going out for the second night in a row. This time, even though she wasn't going with you, she went ahead and got ready with you-- the two of you helping one another with makeup and accessories.

She even made a comment on the dress you were wearing, saying that it was really pretty on you and that she loved the color. She also not-so-sneakily made a comment on how she recalls Gojo having a tie from high school that matches it but you brushed her words off.

And of course, to your surprise, the tie in question ends up being around the neck of Gojo Satoru when he comes to pick you up. Why would he match his tie with your dress? You don't know and you didn't care enough to ask. It's not like you and him would be side by side throughout the night anyway, you were supposed to be meeting Nanami.

The nightclub in which you were set to be was located all the way across town and the drive took forever. The ride was filled with low music and Gojo telling you things he thinks Nanami would look for in a woman.

He tells you that you have to be careful not to be too bold with him because Nanami may misinterpret what you've approached him for, going on to tell you how the guy apparently gets hit on a lot and turns a lot of people down. So basically, you'll have to be careful with your flirting.

You take a mental note of everything he's saying and by the time you get there, you think you're ready for the whole thing. You've only seen Nanami twice, once in a photo and another in person but you could spot the man in a crowded room since he has rather distinguishing features.

Plus, Gojo told you he'd be at the bar and probably the furthest away from the dancefloor so you'd most likely find him there.

Even so, Gojo wanted to at least be in the building with you so he walked you to the door and entered the building with you. The man even gave the bouncer at the entrance a death glare for ogling you. After that, the two of you entered and you quickly noted how fancy the place really was.

It wasn't your typical club with people partying and drinking all over the place or loud music blaring throughout the building. Instead, there were people dressed very classy and almost elegant in certain areas. The dancefloor was filled with a few couples, all of whom danced to some slow jam.

You actually liked the scene in front of you. The only thing you felt nervous about was looking out of place. Luckily, by Gojo's side, you fit right in since he was wearing a suit and pulled himself together rather nicely. But, you wouldn't be around him the entire night.

And that was what worried you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

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zaldritzosrose · 11 days ago

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Sell Your Soul (Vampire!Aemond x Mortal!Reader x Wolf!Aegon)

Summary: The blood of Old Valyria was steeped in mysticism and magic. There was no rhyme or reason to the powers a Targaryen received. Some saw it as a curse. Others, like the brother princes, saw them as a blessing. Power beyond measure and they used it to their advantage. The mortals would send a tribute in return for protection, but what happens when both brothers covet the prize?

CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, she/her pronouns, supernatural au, polyamory (sharing is caring), profanity, innuendo, mentions of blood/injury,, primal play, threesome (mutual participation from all parties), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, anal penetration (male receiving), multiple orgasms.

Words: 6069

No beta...let chaos ensue!

For centuries, the mortals of Westeros had paid tribute to their Valyrian rulers. Countless sent to the Red Keep to pay for the protection the silver haired immortals gave them.

There was little rhyme or reason to the supernatural abilities of a Targaryen. Some would shift their shape, some would turn into a beast on a full moon, others would eternally sate themselves on mortal blood.

Whatever they became, they were immortal.

Once every quarter, a new tribute would be sent to the Keep. It was only the two princes who now partook in the ceremony. Taking it in turns to receive a tribute every quarter.

This quarter, the turn belonged to Prince Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince had long since mastered his thirst for mortal blood. Usually sating himself on a planned hunt or on the battlefield. But his favourite time of the year was his tribute months. Knowing he would have a subservient mortal to bend to his will?

He enjoyed nothing more.

Prince Aegon on the other hand, let the beast within control everything he was. He had succumbed to his nature so deeply that he could shift his form on a whim. A true connection between man and beast. The amber in his eyes a constant reminder of his true being.

Their father had long rescinded his claim, living out his immortality on the Targaryen’s ancestral seat of Dragonstone. The once King Viserys was joined by his eldest daughter and her family, who like Viserys, had chosen to remove themselves from royal life.

Their sister, Helaena, had returned to Oldtown with their mother. Birthing Targaryens had lengthened Alicent’s life substantially, but neither enjoyed immortality as the brothers did.

You were of a Noble House. Not as grand as the likes of the Baratheons or Lannisters or as ingrained into Westerosi history as the Starks. But your family were known well enough.

The tributes were chosen at random. Though no one knew the true details of the selection process. Only that a letter, sealed with a red dragon, would appear by raven at the door of the one chosen.

This quarter, the letter arrived at your family’s door.

The preparation for your journey to the Red Keep was intensive and felt wildly unnecessary.

The luxurious bath filled with petals and oils, permeating your skin and your senses. The gown that had been designed and made solely for the event. A silken dress of sapphire blue, golds and black. The colours not of House Targaryen, but of Prince Aemond.

You were to belong to him, to his House. Not you.

You were no longer your own person. You were to be owned. To serve Prince Aemond’s wishes, whatever they may be.

So, into the carriage you went. With a singular chest of your more precious belongings. The books you had kept since you were a child, a favoured shawl for when the night’s cooled. Your father had been assured, within the letter, that everything else would be provided for.

Your life was soon to change forever. Little did you know just how much.

The throne room was opened in preparation for the tribute’s arrival. Aemond had ensured he’d hunted the night before, keeping his thirst at bay for the new arrival.

The Iron Throne was shared between the brothers now. When Aegon chose to take his lupine form, Aemond would sit the throne. When Aemond was out hunting, usually for up to a week, Aegon would take charge.

The younger prince sat comfortably on the throne. His posture the perfect mix between relaxed and upright. Fingers tapping against the iron blades beneath his arm.

Waiting.

The heavy doors to the hall soon opened, two guards flanking a young woman. The only movement from the prince was a straighter back as he waited for the mortal tribute to be brought to him.

“Your tribute, my prince,” one of the guards urged you forward with a firm push.

You immediately dropped to a curtsy. You had heard the stories of the princes. Prince Aemond was the fiercer of the pair in his brutality and blood lust. Whereas Prince Aegon was every bit the animal, frivolous and lustful in his demeanour.

He held out his hand in silence, waiting for you to take it.

And take it you did.

His skin was like ice. Soft yet cold, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling.

“My lady,” Aemond purred, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

But his lips lingered, the tip of his nose now pushed into your floral scented skin. It wrinkled slightly at the scent, but he continued on whatever path he had planned. Tracing down to your wrist until he could nestle again your vein.

You felt him inhale deeply, the low grumble of satisfaction within his chest should have put you edge.

“You smell delightful.”

Aemond said the words with no more gravitas than if he was complimenting your gown or the weather. Goosebumps rose on your arms as he pressed another kiss to the veins on your wrist.

“Thank you, my prince.” Was all you could manage, your voice barely a whisper but he heard you well enough.

Delightful wasn’t a good enough word, Aemond thought.

You smelled divine.

Aegon had heard the carriage arrive, watched as the guards led you into the Keep. You were beautiful. A small growl of frustration had left him when he remembered you weren’t to be his to claim this time.

But he had followed. Slipped behind the pillars of the throne room as you entered. Amber eyes able to see better in the low light that his brother preferred.

And he watched.

Watched you walk to stand at Aemond’s feet. Watched as you curtsied before the younger prince. And watched as Aemond sated himself with your scent.

A scent he could smell from here. So sweet. The mix of floral oils and the blood that ran in your veins. You smelled more delicious than any mortal he had smelled in a long time.

And yet fate had not brought you to his feet.

But he wanted you, nonetheless. Aemond could never treat you as you should be treated. Use you as you should be used.

No. You needed a beast.

The chambers were grander than anything you had ever slept in before. You wagered they were grander than your entire family home.

Plush bedding in deep purples and blues. A heavy four poster bed in a deep mahogany, carved with what looked like dragon wings.

One wall was filled with shelves crammed full of books. Histories, poetry, romance and everything between.

The opposite side had a large vanity, perfumes and oils placed neatly on the dark wood. A door to the side showed you a balcony, though the prince made you promise to keep the heavy drapes closed if he entered the room.

Aemond leaned against the door frame, watching you inspect every inch of the chamber with fascination. He couldn’t count how many mortals had taken to this chamber before you. His brother had his own in his corridor of the keep for the same purpose. But he would never tell you as such.

He had learned long ago, mortals found fascination in the most pedestrian of things. And to have you happy, would only make you taste sweeter.

“Thank you, my prince. I have never seen a room so beautiful.”

Aemond smiled, the sharp tips of his fangs grazing his lip. He walked towards you, his back straight and his steps slow.

“I am glad. These are to be your chambers for your time here. Do with them as you please, but always be ready should I call.”

You nodded. The terms seemed simple enough. You were to serve the prince however he pleased. Be it to fuck or to feed.

You were his now.

Aegon could smell it. The sweet scent of the bath the servants had drawn for you.

Of course you were to be bathed. Aemond enjoyed his meals when they were fresh and warm. A hot bath would only warm your blood and calm your nerves.

But the smell was like a torment.

Reminding him over and over that you were not his.

He had never felt like this during one of Aemond’s quarters before. None of the other tributes in those times had ever entranced him as you did.

And Aemond knew. Aegon could tell.

The way his brother’s nose twitched in the throne room; it wasn’t in reaction to your perfumes. It was in reaction to him. The musky scent of a wolf had not always been a scent Aemond enjoyed.

Aemond had known he was in the throne room. His brother was intelligent, perceptive. He’d have known exactly why Aegon was there.

Which would only make what he planned all that more satisfying.

Morning came and a tray of food had been left on the small table at the foot of your bed. You settled on to the couch to eat before noticing the small scroll next to your pot of tea.

The daylight hours are yours to do with as you please. All I ask is that you do not leave the Keep walls, that way I know you are safe and well.

I will send a servant for you when the night comes. Every night, you will come to my chambers. Clothes will be left for you every morning. Your meals will be delivered to your chambers, or wherever you would prefer to eat.

Anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.

Aemond.

You read the note twice more. Committing every word to memory. You knew there would be rules, but you had not expected as much freedom as you were apparently being offered.

“I can go as I please…?” you mumbled to yourself.

The rules made sense, of course. You were a payment to the Prince; it was understandable he would not want you to venture far. The intricacies of what you would do in his chambers remained a curiosity. You had asked the Maester in your family home about the Targaryens. More specifically about those of a vampiric nature.

It was known before the letter arrived who the tribute would go to. So, when it arrived at your door, you immediately demanded everything the Maester knew.

No sunlight for Prince Aemond.

No silver for Prince Aegon.

Prince Aemond would sustain himself on mortal blood, though animal would suffice if he was desperate.

Prince Aegon would shift with the turn of the moon, becoming more beast than man.

The Maester had made sure you knew everything; despite your reminder you were serving only Prince Aemond. But the Maester had heard the stories. Both brothers were vicious in their own right. He wanted you to be well prepared.

You finished your breakfast and moved to get tread for the day. As the note had promised, clothes had filled your wardrobe. A variety of gowns in all manner of fabric and colour. Though there was one consistency you noticed. Every single one was a lower neckline than you were accustomed to.

Though when you thought on it, it made sense. As a vampire, Prince Aemond would need…access…to your throat. You assumed that was the main service you would provide anyway.

You chose a lighter gown, having felt the warmth of the sun coming through the drapes. Your plan for today was simply to explore the Keep. Learn your surroundings.

Though you would soon come to find you were not the only one on the prowl.

Aegon followed you everywhere during the day, though for the first week or so you never managed to see him. You simply always had the feeling you were being followed. The hairs on the back of your neck would stand on edge. You were sure you could always hear footsteps shadowing yours.

But he always remained out of sight.

You would see him when he allowed it. When he would pass you after dinner, or when you chose to walk the gardens.

But you knew it was him that stalked your every move.

Some nights, you were sure you would see his amber eyes in the shadows.

Aemond, on the other hand, was a curious man. You could never tell if he disliked your presence or craved it. But you had fallen into a comfortable routine.

As soon as the sun set, you would eat your last meal, bathe and walk to Aemond’s chambers. He preferred you dressed simply, not wanting to risk blood stains on one of your more lavish gowns.

You usually sat in his lap, or between his outstretched legs on the bed. His fangs sunk into your neck or wrist.

In the times he took you to bed, which were becoming far more common, he would feed from the flesh of your thighs. Alternating between drinking the blood in your veins and lapping at the slick between your folds.

If your blood wasn’t his means to survive, he’d say your cunt was his most delicious meal.

A month had passed. Aemond was more enamoured with you by the day. He had drained the last tribute long before a month. But you were different. He enjoyed your company more than he anticipated.

But then there was Aegon.

Time and time again, his elder brother would come asking for one night with you. For Aemond to share you, just temporarily. And tonight was another of those times.

“One night, brother, you can surely spare her for one night?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to share you to spite his brother. Well, that’s what Aemond would tell himself. No, it was to make a point.

They had agreed to take a turn every quarter. Those four months, the new tribute belonged to the chosen brother and him alone.

Changing that now would surely tear down the routine they lived by?

“As I have told you countless times, brother…No.” Aemond said tiredly, this was the second time they’d had this conversation this week.

“Your time for a tribute will come soon enough. You need to exercise patience.”

All that earned Aemond was a rough growl. Amber eyes flashing with rage as the elder prince realised he wouldn’t get his way.

“A deal then.”

It wasn’t a question, or at least Aegon didn’t post it as one.

“What?” Aemond asked simply, returning his attention to the books in his lap.

You would arrive soon, and he wanted Aegon gone by then.

“A deal. A game of sorts.”

Aemond sighed. Whatever it was would be guaranteed to be ridiculous.

“I have no time for jests, Aegon.”

Aegon however, was taking this seriously. Grabbing the book from Aemond and throwing across the room.

“It is not a jest!”

Aemond rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was like Aegon was on fire. The entire energy of his body bubbling to the surface. The look in his eyes told Aemond he was truly serious.

“Alright, I’ll indulge your nonsense. What game are you suggesting?”

Aegon sat in front of him, lounging in the armchair in contrast to how Aemond sat perfectly straight backed.

“A hunt. Not to kill as we usually would, but to claim her as a prize. Whoever catches her first is the one she belongs to.”

Silence settled between them while Aemond considered what his brother was saying. If he lost, he would lose you. He wasn’t truly sure if he wanted to risk that. And how would you take being competed over?

“One condition. We tell her. I will not allow her to be caught off guard by it all. She has been a loyal and obedient tribute; she deserves as such.” Aemond finally said, his voice low and calm.

Aegon huffed a little, but he knew agreeing was his only option. His brother was quite possessive of his tributes but treated them far kinder than Aegon.

“A fair compromise. We are agreed then?”

The elder prince held out his hand, as though they were agreeing to something far more pedestrian than the life of a mortal. Aemond took it, one shake sealing their agreement.

And with that, Aegon made to leave the room.

“May the best brother win.”

You came to Aemond’s chambers at the same time as you had every night you had been here. Dressed in a soft white gown, one of his favourites. Hair flowing in sync with your gown in the breeze coming through Aemond’s window.

The prince preferred his room on the cooler side but would always light a fire if you requested it.

Usually, he was either reading by the unlit fire or lounging on his bed. But the air in the room felt tense as you entered. Aemond stood eerily still by the balcony in his room, moonlight illuminating his lean silhouette.

“My prince?”

Aemond turned slowly, singular gaze softening a little as he looked at you.

“Sweet one. Would you like the fire lit?”

The small goosebumps on your arms gave the answer before your words could. Aemond moved quickly, it was rare for him to allow servants to enter the room once you joined him for the night.

The fire soon roared to life. Your body naturally being drawn to the warmth. Aemond followed, holding his hands out to temper some of his body’s coldness. All for you, of course.

“Thank you, my prince.”

He sat in his armchair, beckoning you to sit in his lap. You had no hesitation, legs both slung across him, your back against the arm of the chair. His arm around your waist and his lips immediately at your neck.

Aemond had every intention of one last feed before he proposed Aegon’s game. Your blood was only second to your company in the things he would miss should he lose.

But even without words, you could tell something was wrong. Even in a month, you could sense a tenseness in how he held you. His hand a little too tight on your waist.

“Is something the matter, my prince?”

You could feel him freeze; teeth just pierced into your throat. He pulled back, laving his tongue over the bite mark before sighing.

“Yes, my dearest. Tis not something I had ever hoped to have to speak on.”

You remained silent. Knowing he would tell you in his own time.

His head rested against the back of the chair. A low hum left his lips as though deciding how to formulate his next sentences.

“My brother…” Aemond started, fingers tightening and loosening on your waist.

“He has proposed something, regarding you.”

The mention of Aegon made you squirm, for reasons you didn’t fully understand. Both brothers were handsome. Aemond in an ethereal, almost demonic way. Aegon in a primal, animalistic way.

Deep down, you knew you wouldn’t dislike being owned by either Targaryen prince.

“Me? What does your brother wish with me?”

You weren’t entirely foolish. You had seen the way Aegon would look at you as he passed. Watching you as you walked the gardens, he was able to stand the sun unlike Aemond. He only ever watched. Spoke if you spoke to him. But his eyes betrayed everything.

Looking at you as one would look at a fine jewel or a decadent meal.

As though he wished to capture and devour.

At first, it had made you uncomfortable. Made you wither under his gaze. But now…now you found yourself seeking it out. Wondering what his touch would be like. Warmer than Aemond’s, most likely. Rougher even, an untamed animal.

Aemond’s nose again the shell of your ear brought you back to your senses.

“He asked me for a deal. He covets you, sweet one.”

Aemond should have been against it. Upset, frustrated, angry. Yet he wasn’t. He had seen how Aegon looked at you. His brother had no shortage of lovers at his beck and call. Walking in daylight allowed far more freedoms.

So for Aegon to covet what belonged to Aemond, it was not something to trifle with.

Your silence prompted him to continue.

“He wishes to compete for you. For us to chase you down and claim you as a prize.”

It shouldn’t have sent heat rushing down to your belly. It shouldn’t have made your cheeks flush. It shouldn’t have made your core twitch with need.

Aemond could smell it. Though in his pride, he believed it was only in response to him.

“And you are telling me because…?”

Aemond inhaled a breath he did not need.

“Because I wish for you to be fully aware…to not be taken by surprise or be taken advantage of.”

You gave your prince a small smile. You knew this was out of possessiveness not love, but it made your heart swell. Your pulse beat just a little faster.

“Do you want to make the deal?”

Aemond pressed a kiss to your pulse.

“I do. Aegon is not one to covet often. To ask such a thing…”

You turned your head. Daring to press a kiss to his forever pouted lips. Aemond smirked, tugging you in deeper.

“Then hunt me, my prince.”

The time was set. The Kingswood would be the setting. At night, of course. Not close to a full moon so as not to truly risk your life. Everything was designed so that you would be safe, and the competition would be fair.

Your gown was both practical and beautiful. Flowing out in layers of chiffon and silk. Shades of white and soft blues and lilacs. You almost glowed in the moonlight as you and the princes waited at the boundary of the woods. You were more than thankful the night was a warm one.

The brothers talked between them, too low for you to hear. You simply waited.

Soon, both were at your sides.

“Run as fast as you can, sweet one.” Aemond said softly, twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers.

“We will give you a head start.” Aegon chuckled, his chest just close enough to your back that you could feel the heat of him.

You nodded. Bustling your skirts to make running easier. And with that, you ran.

As fast as you were physically able.

You were deep in the Kingswood by the time you heard the cracking of twigs. You knew it was purposeful. Both princes were too well skilled in the hunt to give away their position.

It was a taunt. Something to get your body pumping with adrenaline.

And it worked.

Your heart beat faster. Your legs burned with the speed you ran. But it was exhilarating. The longer you ran, the more you realised you had little concern for which prince caught you. The idea was what kept you running.

One would catch you.

The question was simply…which.

They could hear you, smell you. The sweat on your skin, the blood in your veins. The cracking of the twigs and leaves beneath your feet.

And they could hear each other.

Aemond could hear Aegon’s growls. The gnashing of his teeth as he lost himself to the hunt. He could even smell the change, his brother’s scent turning more and more lupine as he closed in on you.

Aegon could hear Aemond. His heavy, purposeful steps as he ran. A sound impossible to hear for mortals. But Aegon would know his brother’s steps anywhere.

Aegon found you first. Saw you at least. Just ahead, dress billowing in the breeze. You were like something from a fairytale. A princess lost in the woods.

Two monsters hunting her down.

“I can smell you, pretty girl.” Aegon called out, his voice rough and low but echoing through the trees, nonetheless.

You passed by a tree, claw marks imbedded that could only come from someone moving upon two legs.

Aegon. It had to be. So where was Aemond?

Your question was answered when you saw a flash of silver pass ahead of you. Faster than anything you had ever seen. You could hear Aegon, howling out your name behind you.

Ahead must be Aemond.

You trapped between the brothers. And the idea sent fire through your veins.

But you were tiring. A mortal could only run for so long. Your legs gave out in the centre of the Kingswood, grasping on to a nearby tree before you hit the ground.

And then you felt him. The warm, rough hands of the wolfish prince.

“Caught you…”

His arms were around your waist, inches from the ground. His chest pressed hard into your back. His lips on your shoulder.

“Not so fast, brother.”

Aemond’s voice was like silk, appearing from behind the tree you clung to only moments before. Finding you at almost the same moment.

“It appears we found her at the same time.” Aegon grumbled, his arms almost painful around your waist.

You could feel the argument brewing. The tense air between siblings.

“My princes…”

Your soft voice made them stop immediately. Curiosity in both of their eyes.

“You both found me. You both win.”

Rules were technically rules. Whoever found you first, claimed you as a prize. And they had both found you.

“You may both claim your prize.”

You couldn’t remember how you got back to the Keep, just that you had arrived their quickly.

They brought you to your chambers. Neutral ground you imagined.

You were laid flat on your bed, the white fabric of your gown splayed out around you. Both brothers on either side of you.

Your mind muddled with the feeling of their hands tugging at your dress. Taking layer after layer from your body until you were entirely bare. Their own clothes soon followed, warmth on one side and cold on the other.

Your two monstrous princes.

“Such a beautiful prize, brother…” Aegon growled into your neck, lips ghosting over your skin.

Aemond’s hands were everywhere. He delighted in the gooseflesh that followed his icy hands. Aegon’s warm lips soothed the cool touch, following the path his younger brother took.

They were in perfect synchronisation. Hands moving over every bare inch of your body. Lips claiming your skin with forceful kisses.

“A delicious one too.” Aemond hummed, lips finding the swell of your breast. Taking your soft bud between his lips, teasing you.

Aegon’s hands hand delved between your thighs. Rough fingertips finding you already wet and waiting.

“Her blood or her cunt? I assume you have dined on both?”

Aemond chuckled, tugging at your closest thigh as Aegon shifted down your body. You barely sighed out a moan before Aegon’s mouth latched onto your pearl.

He was just as you pictured. Feral. Animalistic.

Aemond preferred to take his time. Tease. Tempt.

Aegon devoured you. He had your back arching almost immediately.

The younger prince remained latched to your breast. His third favourite part of your body, he’d told you. Your blood, your cunt, your breasts. You should have taken offence, but the way he touched and fed was nothing short of euphoric.

Aemond held your legs wide. Gaze flicking from his brother’s head nestled between them, to your face. Eyes closed in pleasure as you began to moan out Aegon’s name.

It wasn’t long before you were spilling on Aegon’s tongue. The elder growling into your skins as he finally tasted you. He shoved Aemond’s hands away. Wrapping his arms around your thighs and keeping you pressed against his face.

One peak became two. Coating his tongue with your pleasure with a scream of his name.

“Aegon…” you sighed, vainly pushing Aegon’s head away.

Aemond’s lips were at your neck. Kissing all the places that would make your body shiver.

“I told you, brother. Delicious.”

Aegon growled a reply. The amber in his eyes seemed brighter, boring into you as he crawled up your body. You half expected his lips to find yours…

But they found Aemond’s. The younger groaned into his brother’s mouth, the fierce kiss a clash of fangs and tongues.

The taste of your slick on Aegon’s tongue, mixed with his brother’s own distinct flavour had Aemond’s length twitching against your side. His hand tangled into Aegon’s shaggy locks, tugging him closer.

And the sight had your cunt pulsing around nothing. You didn’t mind being momentarily ignored, the embrace before you was enough to keep your body thrumming.

But they didn’t ignore you for long.

Aemond’s free hand roamed freely over your stomach, lower and lower until his fingertips teased over your mound. Aegon’s hips remained settled between your thighs, and Aemond wasted no time in simultaneously touching you both. His fingers nestled between your folds as his knuckles brushed against Aegon’s cock as he slowly ground himself against you.

The longer Aemond touched, the more you and Aegon both moved. Seeking out his hand in any way you could. And at the same time, grinding against each other. It was like a rhythm, all three of you falling into synchronisation in pursuit of pleasure.

Aegon’s lips remained near Aemond’s, chasing his kiss again and again as his length rubbed faster against your core.

Your own hands found their way on to Aemond’s body. Up his thigh and across his waist to his back. If there was one thing Aemond had asked you when he first bed you, it was to touch him. Any way you saw fit, just touch him. Dig your nails into his shoulders, tangle your hands into his hair, he didn’t care as long as he was touched.

It soon turned out that Aegon was much and the same.

The elder prince’s lips left Aemond’s and found yours. Aemond’s hand sandwiched between you both as Aegon leaned forward to kiss you. You could almost taste Aemond on his tongue.

“Do you want us both, pretty girl?” Aegon asked, his lips moving from yours down to your jaw and neck.

Aemond continued to slide his fingers between your folds. Parting them just enough for the length of Aegon’s cock to rub between them.

You could barely speak, on the verge of overstimulation and they’d done hardly anything to you really.

“Answer my brother, sweet one.” Aemond whispered, pressing his fingers against your pearl to earn a shocked moan from your lips.

“Yes. Yes…please…”

The question was pointless in truth. It was abundantly clear you desired them both, but the princes were never shy of seeking a boost to their ego.

And the look they shared was almost as though they were communicating in a way you’d never quite understand.

Aemond slipped from the bed, his absence making you whine just a little. But you just missed the small smile he gave at the sound.

“I’ve had her quite a few times this past month, brother. What say…you fuck her first?”

You tried to stifle the flush to your skin, the way your legs clenched together for some relief at the thought.

But only Aegon truly understood Aemond’s plan.

“You are too kind,” Aegon grinned, turning back to you and swiping two fingers through your slick.

His hand then moved to his length, using your juices as lubrication as he pumped himself a few times before lining up at your entrance.

You should have questioned what Aemond would be doing, but the slow slide of Aegon’s cock between your folds was far too much of a distraction. Your back arched from the bed immediately, hands grasping at Aegon’s shoulders.

Your eyes fluttered closed, focusing only on the feeling of Aegon’s length pushing in and out at a torturously slow pace. It was almost as though he was waiting for something.

Aemond had already found the small vial of all, similar vials stashed everywhere in the Keep – should the brothers ever need them. Long fingers slick as they circled Aegon’s hole, free hand pushing his plump cheeks apart.

Aegon’s rhythm faltered momentarily at the feeling, stuttering as Aemond pushed his fingers deeper and deeper. It never took much really, centuries of being each other’s source of pleasure had kept them both forever ready.

The elder’s hips slowly matched Aemond’s rhythm, the push of his hand urging Aegon’s hips to move faster.

So, when Aemond positioned the head of his cock at Aegon’s puckered hole, all the wolf prince did was lean a little further forward. The new angle pushing his cock deeper into your cunt.

The brothers soon sank into a rhythm. Aegon allowing the rough push of Aemond’s hips to determine the thrusts he made into you. Their rhythm bordered on punishing and all you could do was pant and moan out some garbled combination of their names.

Your body jolted with every combined thrust. Aegon’s head buried between your breasts, your hands tugging at his hair every time he hit deeper and deeper.

Aemond’s hands were tight on Aegon’s waist. Restraining himself from the urge to use his full strength solely for your benefit. But that didn’t stop the bed slamming into the wall with their combined vigour.

You could Aemond whispering to Aegon, but it was too low for you to properly hear except for the last few words.

“Fuck her harder. Bite her. She’ll like it.”

Aegon growled into your chest, his lips already latched onto the valley between your breasts. But now, his teeth joined. Grazing your skin just to tease.

“Harder, Aegon. Leave a mark. Can you not see mine own on her skin?”

Aemond’s marks littered your body. From where he drank to where he simply latched on as he fucked you. Soft crescents a shade or two lighter than your skin. Aegon could see them well enough.

He started slow. Thrusting deep in unison with Aemond as he sunk his teeth into your breast. His bite was harsher than Aemond’s, but pleasurable all the same. The sting soon gave away as he suckled the blood he drew.

When he’d had his fill, not needing the sustenance in the same way Aemond did, he leaned back to tangle in yet another kiss with his brother.

The blood on his tongue made Aemond growl into his mouth, taking whatever was left to remind himself just how delicious a morsel you were.

Their hips continued to thrust into you, body arching as your release overcame you before you could think. Slick coating Aegon’s cock, milking him for all he was worth. He still inside you, letting Aemond control the rhythm.

The pace was almost painful, Aegon’s cock spearing you wide open in response to Aemond’s hips. The younger prince’s cock bullying at Aegon’s prostate until he spilled inside you with growl.

Aemond followed, sinking his teeth into Aegon’s shoulder as he filled his hole completely. His seed dripping down his brother’s thighs.

Your body was past spent. Exhaustion overtaking even before Aegon pulled himself from your depths. He moved to clean himself up, whilst Aemond came to your side.

“Do you think you could me one more, darling?” Aemond purred into your ear, slipping between your thighs.

You sighed out in agreement as Aemond rolled his hips against you. Hardening already and reminding you of his stamina.

It didn’t take much, his cock sliding in easily and beginning a soft rhythm. Aemond wasn’t about to leave himself without the feel of your silken walls.

Aegon watched from the side, fully cleaned and still bare. He lounged on an armchair. Simply watching.

Aemond rut into you slowly, urging you into a wakened slumber with his tenderness. You came for him with a whimper, his lips on your neck. Just like he always would. Letting you fall to sleep still buried inside you. As close as you could be. His seed pulsing into your cavern now.

When you finally relaxed, eyes barely opened, Aemond pulled away. Taking the cloth from Aegon he cleaned your skin of both of their spends. Aegon slipped into the bed at your opposite side.

Both brothers nestled against your now sleeping form.

“We keep her.” Aegon offered, sliding an arm around your waist to join Aemond’s.

Their fingers interlaced over your stomach, relaxing to the sound and feel of your breathing.

The idea was something they had never considered. To share a lover, to keep a mortal together for the first time.

Aemond hummed his agreement.

You would be theirs. Theirs to love. Theirs to own. Theirs to devour at will.

You had sold your soul, and they would cherish it.

Aegon/Aemond taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@aemondsbabe @kaelatargaryen @thought--bubble

@towriteloveontheirarms @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel

@arcielee @tumblin-theworldaway @aemondsbabygirl

@hoosbandewan @mysticalendings @arcielee

If you want to be added or removed, let me know!

#aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #vampire aemond #aemond targaryen smut imagine #aegon smut #aegon targaryen smut #wolf aegon #supernatural au #poly au #aegond x reader #x reader smut #x reader

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

Note

Hello 👋 can I get a little body switcheru with twist dorm liders and Yuu? Even better if we'd have F!Yuu in this one ❤️!

I don't think I'll be doing all the dorm leaders right now but just a few 🖤🖤🖤

Body Switch | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

What a gift! To see precisely what your obsession sees, to touch with their perfect hand, to hear their lovely voice whenever they opened their mouth. Oh, the possibilities are endless! No matter the circumstance this is the stuff of dreams nightmares:

Vil Schoenheit

“OH SEVENS!”

Is at first horrified at the feeling of not being in his perfectly preened body

In his clean and not dingy home

But it diminishes when he realizes the one screaming in the dirty mirror is you

His precious love

“Ergh these black heads are insane. My potato has been neglecting their routine. That’ll be good to make a note of.”

He immediately gets to work

He has to make the next 24 hours in his dearest’s body count

and he’s got so much to do and such little time

Immediately he inspects your home and makes a note of everything that’s lacking in Ramshackle

Perfect ammunition for his proposal to move to Pomefiore

Next he reads your diary or journal if you have one

And he dives into your photos and makes a mental note to send more headshots to you

Next he goes to Rook

“We have less than 12 hours before I return, get your camera.”

Already planned and prepared the photos are perfection

Next he takes your measurements

Both for clothes and for ropes and fluffy cuffs

He debates deleting your friends from your contacts

But he’s not petty he is he’ll just send a text or two with passive aggressive undertones

And when he’s got close to an hour

He takes the time to…examine your every inch …careful to not leave a mess behind

“So…soft and round…they will look glorious in couture.”

Idia Shroud

“Eeek! It worked!”

Spends nearly an hour squealing and jumping around

But then he goes to the mirror and starts his fantasy

Using your lips to confess an undying love to Idia Shroud

He records it and everything

Next he goes to his room, already set up to allow a very specific code

He goes to his dorm

Everything is going perfectly to plan

Next he plans to dress you in the cosplay he already has your measurements for

“Yes! Now I just have to take this o-o-off! Ack! T-their s-skin! No! I can’t e-e-even if I’ve s-seen it through the camra it is so different!”

He genuinely can’t make it past your shirt

Too embarrassed and caught up in simply seeing all your skin

So instead he’ll move onto the next objective

Going to the pick up spot he’d already designated

Riding calmly as your taken to some unknown artificial island

“Hehehe well at least one objective was completed…let’s just say that other one isn’t one of my skill levels just yet. Hehehe I’ll have more than enough time to level up though!”

Malleus Draconia

Someone or you must have said that little expression

“Try walking in my shoes! Its really inconvenient when you scare everyone away from me!”

“In your shoes?”

So he tries it

Having your body become his own, allowing a day without his, in your words: overpowered bod

Oh is he warm

So warm he feels like your constantly hugging him

Its immaculate

Than he spends a good while just admiring you in the mirror

More than happy to study every pore of your skin in great detail

“Oh I did not realize their birth mark was this adorable.”

But he’ll soon find your legs ache so easily

Why can’t he stand straight for seven hours without your knees getting wobbly

Or how defenseless you are

With nothing but his tiny wisps if his own magic to sense

Its kind of horrifying

But as agreed he tries to go throughout the day as you

Enjoying the attention of all your friends

Granted they send weird looks when he says something odd

But you’ve already employed Grim as ‘his wingman’

Who frantically tries to get him through the day

He learns so much ‘by being in your shoes’

“I do not appreciate everyone having such careless interactions with you, especially when the amount of muscle let alone magic is…concerning.”

#yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus twst #yandere malleus #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere twisted wonderland #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere twst #yandere idia shroud x reader #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia #yandere idia x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere vil #yandere vil x reader

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solbaby7 · 7 months ago

Note

Hi!! I have a request if you don’t mind 💜💜

Could you do a Rhys x reader where she has bought some lingerie for the first time without Rhys knowing she bought it and he catches her trying them on in their bedroom?

He’d have a hard time trying to decide on if he wants to fuck you with it on or to rip it off.

Temptress

pairing: rhysand x reader

warnings: sexual descriptions, swearing, a million different ways to say panties, possible typos

—

You’d been swayed.

Captivated by such delicate pieces that when the sweet shop owner offered you a discount on the piles of lingerie you’d been sifting through—you couldn’t refuse.

Bags hang off your arms filled to the brim with intricately detailed bustiers and corsets, thongs of varying colors and cuts with garters and thigh high tights to match. Some were riskier than others; crotchless panties or g-strings decorated in shiny chains with a custom diamond encrusted ‘R’ dangling over your ass.

A warm glow casts over your form, gaze fixed on your figure reflected in the mirror and you can’t help but admire the way each piece looks on. Velvets and silk, lace and leather that fits as if it were made specifically with your measurements in mind. Too distracted by the effects of a push-up bra, you don’t even notice your High Lord lingering in the doorway. Both arms cross at his chest, shoulder resting on the doorframe and head slightly tilted as violet eyes roam you over.

Rhysand’s perfectly silent while you move to change, bending over to slip on a silky pair of underthings with thin pearl strings that held at your hips. Teeth bite at the fat of his bottom lip as he takes in the round of your ass against the pale pink material and he fights the urge to tear it clean off.

Your hands smooth over your figure, utterly oblivious, eyes squinting in thought before flicking over to the male in the mirror. A low gasp of surprise, a blush fanning across your cheeks at the dark look looming in indigo irises. “Rhys,” It’s instinctual to cover up, arms crossing over your chest to hide parts of you he’d already memorized a million times over. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He hums low, almost dismissively as he drinks in the feminine whine lacing your tone. “Didn’t see you much today, sweet girl.”

“I went out to the city to do some shopping,” You confess softly, slowly lowering your arms to show off the newly acquired purchase. “Pretty, right?”

The look in his eye is predatory no matter how subdued his tone is. Because while you’re referring to fine details in the lace line cups; Rhysand is fully ogling the generous lift of your breasts. “Absolutely mouthwatering,” Four steps is all it takes for him to clear the length of the room and to your surprise, he strides right past you and settles into the chair tucked by your mirror. Rhys pulls the bag into his lap, shuffling around the items until he finds one that had his cock jumping in his pants. “Try them on for me—start with this one.”

A sheer little slip dangles from two fingers, the matching thong draped over his knee and excitement swells in your belly when the door closes behind you. The lock sliding into place with nothing more than a cocky lift of his brow. A shiver runs down your spine, body wedged between his spread legs. “Help me take this off?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Rhysand takes more care with the fabric than you would’ve. You’re forced to remain still as the bra is unhooked and eased off your shoulders. A pleased hum pulls from the back of his throat, reacquainting himself with the weight of your breasts and the hardened peaks of your nipples. Goosebumps ripple against every inch of bare skin, stomach clenching when his knuckles trail a path down the soft swell of your belly. “Leave these on,” A thumb slides under the elegant pearls holding the underwear in place. “I like them.”

“Elegant enough for a High Lady?”

Rhys chuckles, settling back into the chair with low lids. “Elegance has no place in the plans I’ve made for you tonight.” The lights go dim; darkness beginning to cloak your bedchamber and Death Incarnate seems to expel a sigh of relief when allowing such subdued power to stretch free from its confinements.

Chiffon nearly slips free from your grasp, limbs quaking as the tension held this in the air. He watches your every move, a bulge steadily growing in his pants but he makes no move to touch himself. “You’re not working?”

“It’s not going anywhere.” Your brow raises, a little smirk quirking in the corner of glossy lips and his eyes are rolling before you can even throw in your two cents on how any other night his answer would be completely different. “Besides, what kind of male would I be if I chose boring documents over my mate—one who’s half naked and hot as sin.”

“You flatter me.” Thin straps snap against your shoulders, the powerful darkness casting perfect shadows against feminine curves. A blush begins on the apples of your cheeks, lashes fluttering fondly as you eat up the praise. “I’ve barely even gotten to the fun stuff yet. Should see the kinds of goodies I’ve got stuffed in that bag.”

A smile curls at his full lips, body language effortlessly regal, arms lax at his sides as his legs spread just a little wider. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Your eyes dip down without permission, catching the outline of his erection through tailored dress pants. It strains again the stitching and yet there’s no shame in sight when staring so brazenly. Desire clouds your thoughts, lust darkening your gaze as you turn slowly—providing the perfect view of ass in your underthings. Power fills the space, tainting the air with a thickness felt with each breath taken.

You don’t shy away from it though, steps holding a newfound confidence as you prance over to the bed. Legs elongate, back arching and soft hair dips messily against your cheeks in a way that sends your High Lord in a frenzy as you sink into the sheets. You make a show of getting settled, allowing the satin to shift up your thighs, bunching invitingly near your hips.

Painted toes dangle against the headboard, canopy draping tied securely at each side to leave the view of your ass exposed to him. It’s a tease; an invitation for Rhysand to waltz over with that unwavering air of entitlement and take what belonged to him. “This one might be one of my favorites,” The playful dip of your tone tugs him from his thoughts, though the look in his eye does little to hide the things conjuring up in his mind. So you feed the depraved fantasies, slowly spreading your legs and sliding a hand down the length of your body until manicured fingers collide with delicate fabric. “Easy to put on after a long day of spending all your money.”

He takes the bait, entranced by your shamless groping. “Terrible, horrible thing.”

A nail hooks into the fabric covering your sex, offering a fraction of a glimpse before it returns to place with a snap. “The worst,” You agree, engulfed in the perfect scent of you and Rhysand intermingled in the sheets. Still, you crave more; every fiber of your being begging to his touch. “How about you come teach me a lesson?”

“I will.” He undoes the bindings holding his breeches together, allowing his cock to spring free and one strong hand wraps around it; stroking the hard length up and down. “But first, I want to watch you play with it.” Darkness clasps around your ankles like chains, a cruel laugh echoing in your ears as your hand follows the command without hesitation. Your arousal is audible, squelching obscenely as a free hand keeps lace tucked to the side. “Atta girl, just like that.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #high lord rhysand #rhys x reader smut #pro rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand smut #rhys smut #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you

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rinachains · 2 months ago

Text

synopsis: in which your leader invites you for a drink and you see a new side of him.

wc: 2.1k

contents: drabble; cult leader!geto x gn!reader; tipsy, clingy geto; fluff, small warning for cult!leader geto lol; alcohol consumption

a/n: pls keep in mind that english is not my first language. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

It wasn’t necessarily unusual for Geto to invite you to join him in his office. Usually, though, you drank tea or coffee and sipped your soothing beverages as you chatted about your day, your duties and anything else that came to mind. You actually assumed he didn't drink alcohol at all - until now.

You were currently standing in his dimly lit office after he asked you to come over earlier that day, taking in the view of him pulling out a bottle of sake and two glasses, putting them on the small, wooden table in front of him. His long, silky onyx hair was tied back in a low ponytail, his usual monk attire had been discarded and replaced with a plain black robe that revealed a glimpse of his strong, broad chest. You could see a faint, healed scar on his otherwise smooth, pale skin. It was unfair how beautiful he looked without even trying, how ethereal.

“Are you planning on joining me eventually or do you want to stand by the door for the rest of the evening?” His purple eyes met yours, a glint reflecting in them, drawing you to him as if you were a crow seeing a shiny object. “C’mon, you know I won’t bite.”

Feeling a little flustered about acting so awkward, you hurriedly walked over to the table where you sat down opposite him on the soft cushions beneath you and crossed your legs to make yourself more comfortable. You couldn't help but naively think that this felt a bit like a date, but you knew better, didn't you? You were just driven by your own hormones because you weren't quite used to the attention of a man like him yet.

“Is there an occasion for this or did you just suddenly feel the urge to get drunk, Master Geto?”, you asked in a subtle, amused tone to relax yourself and get rid of the tension, raising an eyebrow as you eyed the table.

“No special occasion, I just wanted to share a drink with you.”

“Oh, but I don’t really drink”, you said sheepishly, holding your hand out in front of you. “I mean, I could go for one glass of sake, but I’m afraid that’s my limit.”

He chuckled, looking up briefly through his eyelashes before concentrating on pouring the drinks. “Are you a lightweight or just not fond of the taste?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I’m not much of a drinker either, but I thought it could help with relaxing. This week was pretty draining.”

Every time you two would have your little meetings, he would actually indulge you by sharing how his day went and what he’s planning next, but it never truly went deeper than that, solely scratching the surface. You weren't sure if he ever told you how he really felt. He held back, and you couldn't blame him for that. You always wondered why his hatred for non-sorcerers ran so deep, why he started this cult, what finally made him do what he's doing now. You desperately wanted to know and absorb everything about him, but you had to hold back. You wanted him to open up on his own because you were afraid you might overstep your boundaries and destroy the casual bond you two had forged.

He hummed approvingly as he observed you bringing your filled cup up to your mouth and taking small, measured sips. “Self-restraint is good, it’s quite hard to not be greedy.”

Then, contrary to you, he downed his drink in one go, making you choke back a startled laugh. His tongue darted out to lick the remaining liquid on his lips as he put his cup down. You felt your mouth fall slightly open at the sight, resisting the urge to copy him and lick your own lips.

It’s been about a year and a half since you joined Geto’s side. You remembered that day clearly, every single detail burned into your brain.

He was a stranger approaching you in his monk's robes, and for a moment you assumed you were surely going to be dragged into a cult. Which wasn't entirely wrong - you were technically part of a cult now, except you were the one doing the scamming, and he was helping you discover something very important about yourself - your cursed energy and technique.

Years, almost decades, of feeling as if you were crazy, until you met someone who finally understood and proofed to you that you weren’t crazy, but, in fact, special. You were no longer lonely; for once you were surrounded by people and there was no loneliness that weighed you down.

He was your leader, but he never made you feel inferior. Your group was more like a family; that’s what he said to you from the beginning, what he promised with such earnest enthusiasm. You’d join his family, become a part of it, a new member. You’d finally belong.

It also didn’t help that he was handsome – devilishly so. You didn't think you'd ever met anyone as captivating as him, with eyes so keen and sharp, smile so nihilistic and almost cruel, voice so gentle and soothing. Truthfully, he had you under his spell the moment you encountered those purple hues.

Normally, he was carrying himself in such a collected, mature manner, domineering and commanding but without being brash and forceful – he was a natural leader who effortlessly managed to wrap others around his long fingers, including you.

Now, as the two of you were sitting here, and you slowly finished your one drink and he was already on his third one, there was a light flush coating his cheeks, his hair lightly disheveled, a few more strands than usual hanging in his face, framing his delicate, sharp features. It gave him a boyish charm that made the corner of your lips curl up, your cheeks feeling warm (and not just from the alcohol). It was vulnerable in a way; you wondered if you were the first one to see him in such a state. The thought of someone else getting this view made your stomach churn; you wanted to be the first and the only one. A view reserved for you eyes only.

“Let me pour you another one, Master Geto”, you exclaimed, reaching out for the bottle and carefully pouring more liquid in his cup.

His eyes intently followed your movements, hand twitching with the secret urge to pet your head and relish the softness of your hair. So eager to please.

“Suguru.”

“Huh?”, you quickly turned your attention towards him again, just as you put down the bottle on the table.

“Call me Suguru.” His head tilted to the side, bang swinging with his lazy movements, and he put his hands behind him, leaning back. “We’ve known each other for a while now. And I trust you. Shouldn’t the person I trust call me by my first name?”

“You-“, you choked out a response, flustered by his unexpected directness, “you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”, he gave you a look of genuine confusion, making you hold back a chuckle at his current childlike nature. “I want to be honest with the people I care about.”

A huff escaped your lips, more collected now. “I guess that checks out since you lie so much on a daily basis.”

“Hmh, exactly”, he purred, a deep rumble vibrating in his chest and you swore you could almost feel it despite the small distance between you. “I have to lie so much to these monkeys, ‘have to play pretend. I don’t have to do that with you.” Something akin to a blissful expression formed on his face and his voice was so insufferably sultry, dripping honey that you could almost taste on your own tongue.

You pursed your lips, biting the inside of your cheek. “But you’re still my leader, it wouldn’t be really appropriate to call you by your first name”, you paused for a moment, watching his face and thinking for a brief moment that it almost looked like he was sulking. “Plus the other ones still call you Master Geto.”

“Mhm but that is different”, he sighed, confusing you even more. Different how? “And, if you insist that I’m your leader, then I give you the order to call me by my first name. You can’t resist my orders, can you?”

You let out a sigh in return, sounding exhausted, though you weren’t sure from what exactly. Maybe it was time to go for you, feeling like you’d lose your mind the longer you were with him in his current (incredibly irresistible) state.

“I believe I have to go now, Suguru. I have to be up early tomorrow.” You carefully got up from your sitting position and turned your back to him, and just as you were about to walk towards the door, you were suddenly held back and placed on the floor again, making you let out a gasp.

Strong arms were wrapped around your waist, holding onto your stomach, lightly squeezing, but still considerate with their touch. Geto’s scent enveloped you, something earthy and fresh, and just so addictive. It smelled like home. The warmth he radiated surrounded you, you were able to feel his broadness and his muscles against your body, reminding you of a shield rather than a cage. You didn’t believe you ever felt so secure.

“Don’t go.”

“Suguru…”

“Stay here. S’comfortable when you’re around.” Oh.

You tilted your head, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his face, only for your nose to almost touch his cheek. A shiver ran down your spine. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils dilated, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed; he appeared almost pained. As if the mere thought of you leaving him would hurt him deeply. You felt your knees getting weaker and you became overly aware of the way you were breathing, trying to tell yourself to take normal, regular breaths.

“Say: do you like being here?”, you felt his warm breath hitting your bare nape as he lowered his head, your hair standing up and goosebumps covering your body. “Do you ever regret joining me?”

Surprised by his sudden questioning, you raised your eyebrows. “Have I given you the impression that I did?”

His thin lips dropped into something resembling a pout. “Answer my question.”

You resisted the urge to poke his forehead, instead holding your hands still by your sides, lightly grazing his arms that were still wrapped around you, his finger caressing your covered stomach in soothing circles. “No, I never regretted joining you. In fact, I believe it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

He hummed, somewhat satisfied by your answer yet still skeptical.

“You could have lived a simpler life.”

“Sure, perhaps I could have lived a life in blissful ignorance”, you huffed. “But I also would have lived the rest of my life wondering what’s wrong with me. Maybe I would have become mad at some point. You gave me the answers I needed, and more. You gave me purpose.”

Geto was sure – sooner or later Satoru would have discovered you and taken you under his wing. You would have become a jujutsu sorcerer; putting your life at risk, just to save monkeys who neither cared nor were even aware of your existence. No, he couldn’t have allowed this. The thought made his skin crawl, images of you being life stock haunting his mind. You were made for something better, you deserved more than that, to be untainted and free from the shackles of jujutsu society. Only he could give you that. Perhaps he was selfish in that way, for needing to have you by his side, but he would gladly indulge in that selfishness if it promised your proximity to him and your safety.

You directed your stare towards the ceiling, a contemplative expression grazing your features. “I guess you saved me.”

You couldn’t see how his eyes were now less drowsy and became bigger, a sparkle appearing in them, and how the colors in his already reddened cheeks seemed to deepen.

“Saved you, huh”, he murmured under his breath, voice coming out muffled as he tucked his chin further into your shoulder, almost nuzzling you. Your heart stuttered at the contact, cursing him internally for touching you so casually, for acting so intimate with you.

“I’ll always keep you safe. That’s a promise. No filth should ever touch or harm you.”

“That’s quite a big promise.”

His hand grabbed your chin then, a gentle yet firm grip, the sheer size of his large palm covering it, fingertips barely grazing your bottom lip. He held your gaze, so intense and unwavering that it made your throat dry and afraid to swallow. “I mean it.”

“Alright”, you whispered, as if it was a secret only the two of you should know, forming an invisible string that held you together. “I’ll hold you to it.”

#jjk x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #fluff #drabble #geto x you #suguru x you #geto suguru x you

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beegalactica · 10 months ago

Text

How to set S.M.A.R.T goals

Well, January's almost over... Have you abandoned your New Year's resolutions yet? Did you give up trying to work out for an hour every day yet? It's never too late to start fresh and a new hour, day, week, or month could be the chance to hit that restart you need.

It's great to be ambitious, but a hint of realism can make our goals more achievable.

S - Specific

What exactly do you want to accomplish? Why do you want to accomplish this? Get into the smallest details about what it is you actually want. Don't just say you want to 'glow up', what does this actually mean for you?

M - Measurable

How are you going to accomplish it? Break this big goal into little steps. If you want to 'get clear skin', how will you do this? Will you make sure you drink your water every day? Will you develop a skincare routine that you stick to?

A - Achievable

Is this something you can actually get done? Is this something possible for you? There is no limit in life, but if you make a goal that you don't believe you can actually achieve, you're setting yourself up to fail because your own belief is not there. Pick a goal and commit to it. Commit to the idea of yourself being able to succeed in whatever it is.

R - Relevant

Is this goal in line with your greater ambitions? Is this something that will help you become the best version of yourself? How will achieving this thing benefit you? Do you believe it is the best thing for you? If so, why?

T - Timely

How long do you think this will take you? How long do you want this to take you? Do you have the time to dedicate to accomplishing this goal? If not, are you prepared to make time to spend working towards your goal?

How I set S.M.A.R.T goals

Let's use the example of my Tumblr. At the start of the year, I decided that I wanted to start a blog. I didn't just write 'start a Tumblr blog' in my 2024 planner and leave it there, I wanted to 'start a Tumblr blog AND grow it consistently', but even this wasn't all. I didn't set a goal to reach x number of followers by the end of the year, but my main goal was to post consistently every week. I set myself the goal of posting at least once a week, instead of trying to post 5x a week because realistically, I know how busy things can get. I knew that starting this blog would help me improve my own discipline, and also allow me to help others, thus making me a better, more committed person. I was prepared to dedicate an hour of my time every week to sit down and just write. I've done this so far in January and hope to continue this for the rest of the year.

Instead of just setting goals in your head, try to put exactly what you want to accomplish into words somewhere for you to look back for motivation, but also to have as a plan of action to get it done.

#lifeblr #becoming that girl #girlblogger #girlblogging #it girl #self improvement #that girl #self care #goal setting #goals #motivation

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thegnomelord · 4 months ago

Note

Nobody can convince me otherwise that Price wouldn't cry if he was proposed to/proposing

He gives off similar vibes to my dad and he cried at his wedding cause he was so happy

Okay, 1) Ur dad sounds super sweet lol. 2) Price so would and have a surprise ficlet.

Would you?

CW: SFW, Price X GN reader fluff, proposals, crying

The thought of marriage strikes him as you two lay in bed one night. It's not a particularly special night; he's not fresh from the battlefield or hardening his heart to go back to it. It's just a regular Tuesday night — your arms around him, your legs a tangle of limbs in the sheets, your head resting over his chest so you can be lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart — when he thinks. . . Wouldn't it be nice to be buried under your name?

That maybe, just maybe, he'll have you to keep him from a pauper's grave. That your and his bones will be able to mix when time erodes flesh, wood, and earth between you two. That the only thing that will remain will be those gold rings.

He starts planning that morning, approaching the proposal like he would a suicide mission; he calculates every variable, scours his brilliantly sharp mind for every little detail he's catalogued about you, making plans upon plans for how it could go both wrong and right. Writing sessions of what he wants to say to you stretch long into sleepless nights, he cracks open that old dusty book of family recipes and scribbles little exclamation marks next to the dishes you enjoy, secretly taking your ring measurement so he can confidently go ring shopping.

His wallet is fat from his work, yet he picks up side jobs in the private security sector on his off time — He's happy to babysit overgrown brats if it means he can buy you a ring without blood money. He wants this to be something pure and free of the violence shrouding his life. He doesn't do it often, but some times he fantasizes of what will come next; he'd hate to wear a stuffy suit like he does his military blues to those posh military dinners, but for you, it wouldn't feel like a labour nor a penance. He's sure it wouldn't take much for Kate to get her officient license, and whenever he starts thinking of that Price finds himself smiling like a loon at the thought of you on your wedding day, bright eyed and with a big smile with his ring on your finger.

A simple question — what if you refuse? — always brings him back down to the ground and drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. He tries not to think about it (he thinks too much about it, the bloody fool)

He decides to propose on your anniversary.

He wakes up long before you, having barely slept a wink the night before with last minute thoughts running through his head. Breakfast is ready for you by the time you stumble out of bed, his beard scratching your chin as he gives you a goodbye kiss before you set out to work. He spends the rest of the day making sure the house is spotless, getting you flowers, picking out the nicest clothes you two have and then goes to make dinner.

And of course, the things out of his control go wrong on the one day he needs it to be perfect. He only notices the oven is busted when the roast he's making in it starts smoking enough to set off the fire alarm. He scrambles to salvage it but it's too late and he's left scurrying around the kitchen trying to figure out something else.

Price doesn't notice when you get home, the locking of the door and your tired footsteps betting lost in the sound of clattering pots and pans. He nearly tosses the pan he's holding when you sneak up and wrap your arms around him, pulling him back from the roaring fire of the stove to press your chest to his back.

You rest your head on his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. "Relax," You say, both an admonishment and a suggestion.

"Bloody git". Price grumbles to himself under his breath but relaxes into you, nuzzling his head against yours. "M' sorry love, the bloody oven broke and-" he clams up just as he's starting to explain, already rethinking the proposal as a whole because Christ, how can he be a good husband when he can't even make you dinner properly?

"Hey," You begin and kiss his temple, rubbing soothing circles into his side. "How about we dress up and I'll order take out huh?" You say, letting go of him and taking charge by calling both of your favourite takeout place before he even has a chance to refuse.

Price knows this proposal is dead in the water. He's seen far too many proposal videos on that TokTik app — the ones with extravagant locations and massive diamond rings gifted to the brides to be via doves — to know such a simple proposal would fly.

But he still goes along with your plan; At the very least he can enjoy the sight of you done up in nice clothes, in the knowledge you do it for him. And he's sure you love how he looks in his suit too, his beard can't hide how pink his cheeks get when you call him dashing or handsome as you fix his tie. He gets you back though, cupping your cheek when you're done with his tie so he can pull you in for a long and slow kiss. He wants to press further, proposal plans already at the back of his mind, but he's interrupted by the delivery guy. He's especially not pleased when you stick your tongue out at him like a child and scamper away to get your takeout.

After plating the food, you sit down to eat, and Price remembers to light the special candles he'd bought. The food is good even if it's not what he'd wanted, but it's easy to forget about this shortcoming of his when you're laughing and telling him about some thing that happened to you today. He listens intently, remembering why he loves you when you speak so passionately about your hobby.

Price decides this is it.

He had a speech prepared, written and rewritten a dozen times until it was perfect, the one he'd practiced all day until his throat was raw. But the words dissapear like a mirage in his mind, and even if he did remember them, it would feel too out of place. So he simply stands up, cutting your talk short. His back aches as he gets to one knee, hands shaking a bit and fumbling with the box before he presents the golden ring to you. "Do you. . ." He hesitates, takes a deep breath, "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the ring, staring, bewildered. The pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, only to swallow up his heart when you open your mouth and say "Are you serious?"

This is it, Price thinks, he's mistaken what you two had together for something it was not. He's already thinking of ways to backtrack, fat tears building at the corners of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away.

He's caught unaware when you kneel down in front of him. There's a sheepish look on your face as you bring out your own little box. Inside is a simple golden ring, your and his initials carved into it.

You give him a wry little smile, "Surprise."

Price stares at the ring. A second passes. Then another. A third one is well on it's way before his mind finally realises what this is and a childish laugh bubbles from his chest. "You-" He reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug. "-bloody Muppet almost made my heart give out." He grouches but absolutely melts into your body as you return the hug. You feel his mighty shoulders shake and chest rumble as his laughter gets out of control, pulling you into laughing with him.

He buries his face into your neck, trying to say something but his hiccups turn the words into meaningless happy noise. He doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, but it's a good type of crying — the one where you just don't know how to express the light airy feeling gripping your chest. Price feels like his ribcage is stuffed with dandelion fluff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you." He says into your skin, low and quiet, voice still raw as he nuzzles his beard into your neck. His hands grip you tightly, afraid to let go.

"I love you too." You say, kissing him with nothing but love and care and tenderness in your actions.

Price is running high on the buzz of getting engaged when you two settle on the couch, back in comfortable pyjamas and wrapped up in blankets and each others arms, your takeout on the table as you settle to watch a movie. Your hand finds his, two golden rings clicking together beneath the sheets, and Price feels fresh tears roll down his cheeks before you kiss them away.

Being buried under your name would be nice, but living under your name is much better.

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #trinckets of the hoard #gnome writes #captain john price #john price cod #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price #x gn reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #gn reader #cod fluff #fluff

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if-loves · 7 months ago

Text

mad man.

// Yandere Sunday

sum: Did you know? The thoughts of a mad man are hard to spy on.

wc: 1610

warnings: maybe OOC sunday

a/n: i took some liberties with the whole halovians and telepathy through their halos thing so yea lol

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

You’ve always prided yourself on being an attentive person.

As a Halovian, your job is to expand the influence of the Harmony. Some do so by joining the Oak Family and dealing in politics, while others join the Iris Family and become celebrities. You are no different, initially joining the Oak Family to become a diplomat, only to be then promoted to be one of Sunday’s trusted assistants.

The nature of the work is similar to that of a diplomat, but on a smaller scale as you only deal with Penacony. Although your dream of traveling the cosmos is left to gather dust, you have to admit that you are quite satisfied with your work. Sunday is a benevolent leader and boss who has done nothing but made you feel comfortable.

He compliments the detail of your reports and notes, even going so far as to say that it “is far more organized and detailed than his”, even though you don’t believe him at all. As much as you admire his work ethic and how he’s managed to lead Penacony to new heights, he’s not someone that you’d wish to be… friends with.

You’ve always prided yourself on being able to read people, an invaluable skill especially for a Halovian, but you find that no matter how hard you try, you’ve never been able to get anything out of Sunday. The only thing you’ve been able to gather from him is… nothing. Every action, expression, word, is all calculated and planned, like a mixed yet carefully measured dose of nectar and poison.

His sister, Robin, has a much friendlier appearance, although you do recognize that the nature of her work probably demands that of her; she’s rarely around, so you don’t think too much about her. She’s not the one who writes your paycheck.

Sunday, on the other hand…

Logic tells you that considering his position as the head of the Oak Family, he is no stranger to cruelty. Politics is never sweet, and if it was, then it was a poison coated in a thick layer of honey. This applies to all aspects of it, including dealings with other planets, and especially to anything related to the IPC. This also applies to internal affairs, from the heads of each family down to every family member, no matter how insignificant their role may seem to be.

Sunday is biding his time for something, and you want to know what.

You’ve seen hints of his oddities, the slightest cracks of his facade. You’ve seen a lot more than others, but you don’t think you’ll ever see enough that could satisfy your curiosity - not unless it’s all of him.

And so, you watch. You watch as he sits in meetings on end, facade never once cracking. You watch as he scans over your reports, the same, default smile on his face. He compliments your work again, but it is all white noise to you. You can’t say you’re surprised at the lackluster results of your observations, for a predator such as he is always on guard, yet also always ready to strike. His true self is buried in dreams he will never have.

It is in your house that you come to a realization of sorts - you’re a Halovian. You can use telepathy, and in your special case, if you try hard enough, you can even take the smallest peek into his head. That is, if you’re willing to risk it.

You’ve never had good experiences with the mind reading thing you can do. It always results in immediate nausea and pounding headaches as if you’ve had one too many SoulGlads, and it often leaves you so exhausted you nearly always collapse on the spot. There’s never been anyone worth using it on, not until Sunday.

Is this curiosity worth feeding? You don’t quite know.

It’s at a bar that you reflect upon these thoughts, swirling your glass of… well, you didn’t exactly ask for anything specific, just sweet. The bartender, you think his name is Gallagher, is wonderful at what he does. You don’t see him often, but something about him feels familiar, like he’s someone you know but you can never quite put your finger on who. But the familiarity and liquid courage encourages a conversation, and if you’re falling, you only hope that the landing kills you instantly.

“Gallagher, is it?” You ask, eyes still trained on your drink, cheek resting on your hand.

“Yes. And you are (Y/n), I presume?” He replies, neither sparing you a glance.

“How’d you know?” You can’t even be bothered to sound surprised.

“Everyone knows Sunday’s favorite assistant.”

“Mr Sunday isn’t one to play favorites.”

“Is that so?”

Silence follows afterwards, soft jazz and the chatter of visitors the only sounds.

“I am curious about something, but I don’t know if I should really pursue it.” The words spill out of your mouth for you, the alcohol their water.

“Should you really be taking advice from a stranger?” For the first time he glances at you, hands still working on whatever concoction was asked of him, but his eyes on you.

“It’s either a stranger or me, so both choices aren’t great.”

“Hm. Well,” he shrugs, eyes back to the mixture of liquids, “I’d say, go for it.”

“…Thanks.” With a last swig of your drink, you fish out your credits and set them on the counter, walking out of the bar, the squawk of a crow your announcement of exit. Have you gained clarity, or are you stepping straight into the jaws of the monster? Only time will tell.

Gallagher watches your back when you leave, and he smiles.

A ball is happening on Penacony, and Sunday has enlisted you to accompany him.

You’re less than happy, but dress yourself appropriately. Sunday’s reputation is directly related to yours, and you’d rather not deal with the repercussions of both the public and Sunday himself.

Although this ball was out of your plans, you think that you have an opportunity. Sunday will be busy speaking to other representatives and guests, and you’ll be left to the corner to keep an eye on potentially rowdy guests. The halo floating behind you tells everyone all they’d ever need to know about you.

Sunday is speaking on the stage when you decide to risk it all. You look around you to see all the guests paying close attention to the stage, and none of them could care less about you, for the ball is coming to its end. With quiet steps, you retreat into the nearest bathroom, eyes still trained on Sunday’s distant figure.

Your halo vibrates behind you, trying desperately to connect itself to his, but as the speech draws to an end, you’ve come up with nothing but a very real nothing. Despite all your efforts, you could not peek into his mind, and it makes you wonder just how guarded is he?

You can vaguely hear his closing words, but what really shakes you is an announcement of one last dance. This wasn’t in the schedule - and Sunday loves order over anything else.

In quick steps, you are back to where you stood the whole night, a stiff and strained smile on your face. You don’t attempt to search for Sunday in the crowd, for you are not even sure you could dare to face him after what you tried to do.

Instead, it is he who finds you; Sunday of the Oak Family, dressed elegantly in a white suit, his halo seemingly glowing behind his head, his wings fluttering to the sound of the music. You wonder if he does it consciously.

“Shall we dance, my dear assistant?” He holds his gloved hand out for you, and you feel one too many pairs of eyes watching for you to be able to reject. And so, you take his hand.

He leads your steps gently, twirling you, dipping you, his face mere inches from yours. He doesn’t complain when you step on his shoes, nor when you stumble clumsily; he takes it all in stride, never once letting you go. Even when others change their partners, he chooses to stay with you.

It’s almost so easy to forget that Sunday is the head of the Oak Family.

“Did you have fun?” He whispers into your ear, a placid smile on his face.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“There’s no reason to be afraid, I won’t punish you.” He dips you perfectly, golden eyes boring holes into yours, but his grip tightens and ow, it’s starting to hurt-

“Sir, your grip-”

“If you want to know me so badly,” he turns you to face away from him, hand on your chin forcing you to stare at a violet crow, “then you should stop playing these games.”

The uneasiness settles in slowly, marinating in your belly. Then, like a house on fire, it spreads uncontrollably into every part of your body, before finally settling in your head, like a parasite feeding.

The dance is still gentle and elegant, much like the music being played, but to you, it is a violent, inhumane battle between escape and capture, freedom and imprisonment, life and death. Every twirl is a stab, every dip a shot, and every word is the nightmare transforming into reality.

The music comes to a close, and the guests all make their leave. Only you are left with the beast.

“Come, my dear. You have much to learn.” He smiles so genuinely, and it’s like he’s glowing. You think he looks like an angel. “Just as you wished for.”

Your halos touch.

#honkai star rail #yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #sunday #yandere sunday #sunday x reader #hsr sunday #hsr #yandere sunday x reader

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