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saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ speak of the devil

synopsis. satoru and his father don’t quite get along—you don’t think it would help that case if his father walked in on you fucking on his desk right now, but satoru doesn’t seem to care at all

FIVE PLACES RB! GOJO SHOULDN’T FUCK YOU SERIES

length. 3.4k words (why did it take all day sobs)

contents. fem! reader, minors do not interact, college au, rich boy! gojo, as always it’s shameless satoru, you sit on satoru’s lap, brief fingering, dry humping, desk sex <3, clothed sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, perfect girl)

notes. to everyone who kept asking when i was gonna update this series: here it is. now don’t ask again <3

the one time you decide to surprise satoru with a visit is the one time he’s nowhere to be found—it takes you ten minutes and the help of two maids to finally find satoru in his house. as it turns out, he’s in his father’s office—the only room you’ve never been in yet.

“hey,” you murmur, “been looking for you everywhere. way to ruin my surprise.”

“baby!” he grins, perking up from his spot at the chair, setting the pen in his hand down. “you came all the way here to surprise me? you must love me so much. and think i’m hot too, right? and funny? and smart? and—”

“i’m leaving,” you tease, rolling your eyes. and then you notice the papers in front of him, peeking over his shoulder as you read over them. you understand nothing. “what’s this?”

“paperwork,” he grumbles, “old man says i have to start being more responsible for stuff if i’m gonna take over someday. what a geezer.”

you snort—satoru never runs out of insults for his father. normally, you wouldn’t encourage his comments, but….well, his father deserves them. quite a bit, in fact.

“my poor businessman,” you say sympathetically, smoothing back hair from his forehead as you cup his face. he pouts, leaning into your touch as you rub over the swell of his cheek with your thumb. “you deserve a break.”

“i know,” he whines, “i’ve been doing these for like an hour. i could’ve been playing video games with suguru. or fucking you.”

“satoru!” you gasp, pressing a hand over his lips as you eye the door and listen for any signs of anyone nearby. you turn to him and hiss, “you have too many people wandering your house for you to say that so loud.”

“not like they’ve never heard us before,” he shrugs.

well, that’s satoru for you—as shameless as ever. not only has he probably traumatized the poor maids with his insatiable horniness, but he’s not even got the tact to at least seem embarrassed. not even slightly ashamed. you scoff, shaking your head as he grins up at you cheekily.

“you’re a real case, you know that?” you say in disbelief, “i think the only surface you haven’t fucked me on is your parent’s bed. and that’s only because you love your mom enough not to do that.”

“if it was just the old man’s, i’d have fucked you on that too,” he snickers. and then he hums thoughtfully, “actually, i think i have fucked you everywhere. it’s like a bucket list.”

“satoru, you’re sick in the head.”

“the showers, the guest rooms, the kitchen, the living room, the movie room, my room, of course—oh, the game room too. and we can’t forget the backyard and the pool either. i think we got it all—wait.”

he sounds serious. you look at him with furrowed brows as you tilt your head. “what?”

“we didn’t get this room.”

oh god. he’s absolutely ridiculous—and not only that but a complete idiot, too. not only do satoru and his father not get along, but his father couldn’t disapprove of you any more than he already does. the last thing you both need is for him to walk in on his son fucking the girl he probably wants to hire a hitman to assassinate.

“oh my god,” you say exasperatedly, “toru, have you not one ounce of shame? you can’t possibly think—”

“why didn’t i think of this sooner?” he wonders out loud—and oh no. satoru has that look in his eyes, the one that’s locked in on something he wants. the spoiled side of him isn’t going to let this go. the weak part of you is probably going to have a hard time fighting him.

the unwise part of both of you will probably get you both into a whole lot of trouble.

“because it’s a bad idea. you’re a smart guy, toru,” you try to butter him up—it doesn’t seem to do much, though. “the smartest. so, so genius and intelligent, so you know this is a terrible idea, so let’s just drop it—”

“i should’ve done this way sooner,” he chuckles, looking at you in awe, “bend you right over this desk and fuck you over that fossil’s papers.”

his words are so shameless and so, so wrong. but for some odd reason, your clit aches a little at that.

“no, absolutely not—”

“can you imagine? he’s signing papers right where i had you drooling for me? he’d be so mad if he knew,” satoru cackles.

god—this should not be as appealing as it sounds. you try to throw on your best stern look, but satoru is as smart as he is sly. he can see the way you shift on your feet as he smirks up at you, and he’s already got that determined look in his eye that you know well enough.

it’s the same look he has when he decides he’s hungry—for you, that is. the same look that paints his face as he eyes you like you’re his next meal. the same look that tells you he wants you—and he’ll stop at nothing to have you.

and….well, you’ve never been good at saying no to satoru. it’s your fatal flaw.

“satoru, we should definitely not be doing any of that in here, and we definitely should not be risking making your dad—who hates that we’re dating, by the way—any more angry with us than he already is—”

“sweetheart,” he chuckles, pulling you by the wrist to fall onto his lap, “you worry too much, y’know that? i should fix that. fuck you dumb over this desk so you don’t overthink in that pretty little head you have.”

you glare at him, but he’s already got you straddling his hips, arms looped around your waist as he kisses your jaw with a hum. he’s already hard from what you can feel—the bulge pressing against your heat is hard to miss.

“satoru—”

“save the part where you say my name for later. i haven’t even done anything yet,” he winks—and then he’s kissing you. he’s clever, you think, because kissing you is the fastest way to get you to melt against him, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls you closer.

so close, in fact, that you can feel his cock practically twitch in his pants as you shift on top of him, dragging your clothed cunt over his aching bulge.

“this is such a bad idea, toru,” you whisper in between kisses—but not one part of you fights his touch or even attempts to pull away. he hums, pressing wet kisses along your jaw as his hands dig into your hips, moving you to grind along his hardened length.

“yeah? you sure? let’s check, shall we?” he raises a brow, hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and brushing past your folds—wet. dripping and messy and needy, just how your pussy always seems to be when you’re with him. he grins in satisfaction and throws you that knowing look as he mumbles, “sorry, baby. this pretty little pussy of yours disagrees.”

“toru,” you gasp as he toys with your clit, rubbing slow enough circles that you whine and roll your hips, trying to get more. but satoru is a brat—always has been, right from the day he was born. he pulls his fingers away and looks at you smugly as he kisses your curled lips while you frown at him.

“want more, don’t ya?” he asks—he’s too cocky for his own good sometimes. too ridiculous and annoying and troublesome, but you’re aching to feel something, anything. preferably him, so you nod.

“just hurry up,” you huff. your hips push against him, dragging your cunt over his cock—it’s throbbing in his pants, confined under the fabric and needy for the tightness of your walls. you gasp when he rubs against your clit, and he groans, guiding your movements with a tight grip on your hips.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, “c-could cum jus’ like this. see what you do to me?”

“‘s not me,” you tilt your head as he nips at your neck, hand trailing to cup the back of his head and keep him in place as he nibbles at the skin and pecks along the marks he leaves, “this is all your fault.”

“all my fault, huh?” he chuckles, “you make it sound like this is a bad thing.”

his hips buck up, rolling against yours and building the friction up until your both panting messes, his lips against yours as you drink in each other’s moans—your clit rubs along his length with every stutter of your hips, and his tip leaks with more pre cum every time you press harder against his cock. it’s desperate—the way he chokes on your name and the way you cling around his neck. it feels good, and the way this is all so wrong only makes it feel better.

“‘m close, toru,” you mewl, whining as his hand slides under your shirt to massage your tit, his eyes trained on you as he hums.

“good,” he grins, eyes dark and glinting with a sick satisfaction you don’t think you’ve ever seen on him before, “cum for me, sweetheart. right here—right on this chair,” he says lowly.

so you do—head falling back with a sharp gasp and your nails digging into his shoulder as you come undone with a loud whine. the gojo estate is big—very big. you’re sure your voice isn’t carrying through even a fraction of the place, but still, you can’t help but clamp a hand over your mouth in case anyone is nearby.

satoru doesn’t like that, though—his hand rips yours off as he ruts his hips upwards faster, harder, pressing against you closer. “no, baby,” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a breathy moan when you press harder against his cock, “make sure you let me hear how good you feel. feels good, huh?”

“yes,” you whimper, “yes, feels so good—need more, toru. please,” you pout, looking up at him with lust-blown eyes.

“here?” he mocks, raising a brow, “you want me to fuck you right here? in my father’s office? where he does his work? right on his desk?”

“yes, here,” you sob, “right here—please. want you so bad. need it.”

“see?” he laughs, “now you’re getting it—not so much of a bad idea, is it?”

that’s the thing about satoru—he’s too used to hearing what he wants. being told what he likes to hear. getting what he asks for. you say no, and he’s determined to change it to a yes. but yes is never enough—it’s more. always more, more, more. it’s like all rich people, you suppose.

they just always want more.

there’s a small, reasonable voice in your head that tells you this is a bad idea. a disrespectful one, even. sure, satoru’s father has never been kind to you, let alone polite. he looks at you like you’re an eyesore, and he’s certainly said less than appropriate things about your upbringing. but that doesn’t mean you have to stoop to his level of low and do something equally as spiteful, if not more…but you’re only human. and satoru always just fucks you so well, and cumming around nothing just isn’t enough, and…well, you think it’s just karma.

the way the world works.

the way you and satoru work.

so you grin, huff out a little snort before pulling him into a kiss and reaching to free his hard, leaky cock from its confinements. he whines a little into your mouth as you smear the arousal coating his tip along his length, stroking down and squeezing at the base.

“okay,” you whisper against his lips, “fuck me toru. right here—right on his desk.”

that, evidently, is all it takes—one second you’re comfortably sitting on his legs, pants soaked with his bulge pressed against your core, and the next second you hear his hand swipe papers off the surface to fall to the floor as your back is pressed against the cool wood. he doesn’t even bother with your clothes, just tugs both of your pants down your thighs that it’s enough. satoru has always been impatient too—doesn’t like to wait for anything when he can take it when he wants.

you can feel him close, hovering over you. he’s warm—where his cock presses against your thigh, where his breath fans over your lips, where his hands grab your wrists and pin them over your head. he’s warm, and your head spins, and you need him filling you to the brim right now.

“anything you want, you get, sweetheart,” he murmurs, grinning sickeningly sweet, “can’t say no to my baby. what kind of boyfriend would i be?” you feel him bump his tip against your clit, making you gasp before he drags the head of his cock along your folds—they’re wet and slick from your arousal, coating his tip before he’s slowly pushing in. you gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck as he groans lowly. “can never get used to this,” he breathes, “never get used to this pussy. just takes me so well. fit in like i was made just to fuck you.”

“toru, t-toru—oh,” you squeal when he slides the rest of his length to fill you, buried to the hilt as your walls flutter around him. it’s nothing new, but it’s never something you’re prepared for all the same. how thick he is, how perfectly he hits that spot in the back of your walls, how full he makes you feel. it makes your legs wrap around his waist and pull him forward, closer, deeper. “more, toru—move, please.”

“nuh uh,” he drawls, kissing your cheeks, “first you gotta tell me how much you love me.”

“satoru,” you hiss in disbelief, “are you kidding—”

“c’mon, say it,” he giggles, “love you, toru. love how you fuck me so good everywhere in your house and make me feel like a princess. you’re the best boyfriend ever and i’ll die without your cock—”

“i love you toru,” you smile sweetly, “you know what i love more, though? when you’re too busy making pretty sounds for me instead of talking so much.”

that makes him shudder—makes him curse under his breath as your walls flutter impatiently around him. he’s aching—hot and swollen in your dripping cunt, balls heavy with cum that he needs to empty into your pussy because it was made to take him. every inch of him.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathes out shakily, “know that? gonna kill me one of these days.”

“good,” you hum before rolling your hips and making his breath hitch, “now move, baby. wanna feel you.”

he does—pulls his hips back so that he’s just almost pulled out completely before he slams back into you, pressing against your sweet spot with his tip in the way only satoru knows how. only he knows you this well, only he knows your body so well. he knows where to kiss and hold and touch to make your eyes flutter shut, and your mouth fall open, wanton moans falling past your lips without a care in the world who can hear.

“so tight, baby,” he whines, “god you’re so perfect—my perfect girl.”

“so full,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders, pulling at his hair, pulling him closer and closer and closer until not even air can fill the space between you. “feel so good, toru—fuck.”

“look at you,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, “‘s a shame you can’t see what i see. then you’d know why i can’t keep my hands off’a you—’s impossible.”

you can’t speak—all you can offer him as he’s bullying his thick girth into you is a pathetic whine as his veins drag along your walls, as his navel bumps along your clit and has your head thrown back against the table. there’s slick smeared along your inner thigh, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you ringing in your ears along with his deep groans as he pants harshly against your ear. you can feel his breath against your skin, can feel the goosebumps and the flutter of your walls every time he makes a pretty little sound for you as you squeeze around him.

“love you, toru,” you mewl—you can’t help but say it, can’t help but remind him when he pushes into you like he was always meant to fit right there, like he was always meant to feel you as you feel him too. and if his rotten, greedy, stuck-up father with a receding hairline can’t see that you love satoru, maybe you’ll just have to fuck him right where he can find you just to drill the image into his mind.

“love you too,” he says between moans, face digging into your neck as your hand cradles the back of his head, keeping him right there, keeping him close against you like he should never be anywhere else, “love my perfect, perfect girl. feel me? feel what you do to me?”

you nod between sharp gasps and soft cries of his name—he looks down at you in wonder, at the way your lips look when they murmur that sweet little cry of toru!, at the way your pussy sucks him in and hugs too tightly around him, at the way you look so good with the slight sheen of sweat on your face.

his hips roll, a little sloppy in rhythm now, but still just as hard and deep as before. he can sense it—the way you’re just about to fall apart on his cock, just like you always do. so he presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing harsh circles that make you cling to him tighter as you cry out another sweet string of toru, toru—more!

“you close, sweetheart? gonna cum for me? ‘m close—gonna fill you up. want that, don’t you?”

“yeah,” you breathe, kissing him with hot, open-mouthed kisses that he returns, “yeah i wan’ you to fill me up, toru—gonna cum. ‘m so close—f-fuck, so close, baby.”

you know he is too, the way his cock twitches and the way his hips are desperate in the way they roll into you tells you he’s just as close to falling apart as you are. you push your hips up to meet his thrusts, pushing him impossibly deeper into your cunt before you feel the coil snap as you cum—hard. your walls flutter around him, spasming and squeezing around him that his bottom lip is tugged between his teeth as he inhales sharply.

“f-fuck, baby—’m gonna…” he doesn’t get to finish before you feel his cock twitch and the first drop of cum fills you. it’s hot and thick, every rope he fucks into you, leaking past his tip and painting your walls white. you can feel the mess he makes—can feel the drops leak and smear along your inner thighs as he slams into you with choked whines of your name. “g-good—’s so good, you feel so good,” he says breathlessly, face digging deeper into the crook of your neck as his arms tremble over you.

the wood is hard against you, makes your back ache slightly—but it’s not nearly as bad as satoru is good. you can’t think of anything else but the way he fucks you both through your highs until your legs are begging to press shut from the oversensitivity.

it’s silent for a bit once you’ve finished—save for the harsh, labored panting as you both calm down and catch your breaths. satoru is still buried with his nose pressed against your neck, your hand rubbing over his back slowly.

“your maids must hate us,” you mumble, “and if your mother hears? we can never show her our faces again.”

“she’s probably dead to the world and watching her reality shows,” he snorts, “we’ll be fine.”

“well, we should clean up and leave before your dad—”

“oh look, speak of the devil. he’s just in time,” satoru snickers as he cuts you off, looking over at the window as an expensive car drives up to the house, “think we can get these papers organized before he comes up here? maybe we should just leave ‘em to make him mad.”

“you’re crazy,” you say in disbelief. and then— “i think we should leave them there. make them his problem.”

you think you’ve just watched satoru fall in love with you all over again at that.

i hate this fic but hopefully i come back one week later and reread it and think wow i ate w this. sometimes i do that. but if i don’t: if all of you donate one dollar to my family they can afford my funeral for when i drink bleach

#teepods.writings #fics.#thirstee!#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you

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deebris · 7 months ago

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The Mysterious Visitor 3

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce begins to suspect that Damian is hiding something after the two of you finally see each other, and the father-son trust between them is shaken. Tim finally sees your face, and something strange happens. The meeting between siblings was not successful, and to their dismay, Bruce will need to confront Talia face to face once again.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; family discussion; maternal overprotection.

Word count: 3.6k

Note: I'm sincerely sorry if I didn't include someone on the tag list or if I made any mistakes. This part took longer because it's a bit longer.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Forgive me for not offering anything sooner, miss," Alfred said, watching you carefully pick up the hot chocolate he had given to you. He found it curious how you ignored the handle of the mug, instead holding it with both hands, making sure wouldn't spill it.

You diverted your eyes from the brown liquid and looked at the old butler, now knowing his name, licking your lips after the sip to clear the excess drink. "It's okay," you responded, unaware of the chocolate mustache that had formed.

Bruce, still in the room, watched the scene from the side while patiently awaiting Damian. He traced circles with his index finger on the rim of the whiskey glass he had poured for himself, trying to keep control of how much he drank. Bruce would never admit it, but he needed to calm down, and perhaps a bit of moderate alcohol might help. He knew it wasn't appropriate to drink in front of someone as young as you, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was caught looking at you with a suspicious gaze that didn't waver. The room was filled with a palpable discomfort, and you, embarrassed, went back to staring at your own drink again, focused on listening to the crackling of the fireplace.

"Here, take this," Alfred said gently, extending a napkin from the tray. You accepted it and wiped around your mouth, finally realizing you'd made a mess.

Your mother would have scolded you for your lack of manners, you thought to yourself. And, for the thousandth time that night, you worried about how she would react to discovering you weren't in your bed. Maybe she had already noticed and was preparing a furious speech along with your punishment.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" Alfred asked, noticing your quietness as you rested the hot chocolate mug in your lap and started staring into nothing.

You snapped out of your stupor upon hearing the question, fiddling with one of the charms on your bracelet, the "T" specifically, Bruce couldn't help but notice. His mind was in turmoil, much like yours, with a thousand different thoughts arising every second. He felt strangely betrayed, questioning how much more his son hadn't told him—important things like the fact that he had a sister.

"I was just thinking that..." you trailed off, swallowing hard as the nervousness grew. Letting out a shaky sigh and with visible tears forming in your eyes, you continued, "My mom's going to be mad at me."

"And are you afraid of your mother?" Alfred insisted, trying to sound gentle upon seeing your distress.

"It's not quite that," you replied, trying to ease the situation so he wouldn't jump to conclusions.

You weren't exactly afraid of her, but you knew that rummaging through your mother's belongings, stealing a letter, and sneaking out in the middle of the night would disappoint her. You worried about her reaction and, above all, about Damian's reaction. If he was still the same, he certainly wouldn't be happy with the circumstances.

You tried to calm yourself, convincing yourself that you had the right to be angry for the first time in your life, not them, even knowing that your family would see you differently. It was as if you were perpetually a five-year-old in their eyes, always needing to hear lectures about every dangerous step you took.

Even though you and your brother were the same age, he was more responsible, smarter, stronger, destined to be a leader. And it annoyed you so much, but no matter what you said, your mother wouldn't change her mind about your upbringing.

When Damian left, Talia had said he would spend some time in a different place to learn new things and improve himself. For the first few weeks, it was even liberating not having him on your neck all the time, but then you realized it was because of him that you could do simple things like take a walk around the neighborhood alone.

Without Damian at home, your mother had no one to contradict her decisions, and her constant protection began to suffocate you. Then came the longing, and what was supposed to be a few months turned into years, and you never saw him again. You never stopped thinking about him. Every day, every birthday, and every Christmas, you would wait near the entrance of your apartment before going to bed, hoping that he would open the door again.

"Where is your mother?" Bruce suddenly interrupted, feeling Alfred's cautious gaze on him. You hesitated to answer, after all, although Mr. Wayne was a very popular man with a good image, you didn't know him. "I don't intend to harm you, but I need to know to take you back home," he justified, looking directly at your face, but Alfred knew this was Bruce's way of telling him that he wasn't interested in Talia, but rather in ensuring your safety.

"I'm not dumb, I know how to get home by myself," you tried to defend yourself. And though the words might sound arrogant, you said it calmly, not wanting to offend him.

"The point is not that. This is Gotham City, you shouldn't have gone out alone in the middle of the night." Bruce tried to reason with you, and it seemed to have worked because you fell silent.

"You need to trust us, miss," Alfred tried to encourage you to respond, but you remained silent. Bruce turned the glass to take a big sip of his drink and both gave up, not wanting to pressure you further.

The following minutes were silent, interrupted only by the sound of you drinking the hot chocolate in a few sips. Unexpectedly, Titus, Damian's German Shepherd, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He entered the room from the kitchen and stopped by your side to smell the new scent in the house. The relatively gentle dog sniffed around you, appreciating the head pats he received while you were enchanted by the furry animal.

Bruce couldn't help but compare you to his son since he began to analyze you. Damian had his mother's cunning personality and an arrogance that Bruce couldn't deny he had too, but it was more pronounced in Talia. He clearly remembered the first meeting with Damian. The first thing the boy did was make a ridiculous joke about his height, and he never seemed shy when meeting Bruce or the other boys. Also, when he arrived at the mansion, he felt comfortable analyzing every tiny detail of the house, unconcerned if his opinions were unpleasant.

You, on the other hand, although in different circumstances, limited yourself to a small space on the couch, responding only when asked and gladly accepting the kindness of Dick and Alfred. Bruce wondered how Talia could have raised a daughter like you. She and her sister, Nyssa, were sharp women, trained to be natural-born assassins, despite having a traditional father like Ra's. It was hard to believe that you, an apparently ordinary and shy girl, could be her daughter.

"Do you like dogs?" Bruce asked, deciding to stop being grumpy.

"I do, but I think I prefer cats." You continued to stroke Titus's cheeks, who began to want to climb onto your lap. Unfortunately, he was too heavy, and you had to push him back to the floor. The animal seemed to interpret that as a game because he kept trying to climb several times. "Mom gave me one for Christmas last year."

"Titus." Bruce's voice caught the dog's attention, patting his right thigh, calling him to sit on his lap. His gesture, although meant to stop the animal from bothering you, made you a little disappointed that you couldn't pet his soft fur anymore.

"What a coincidence. It seems you and Damian share something in common." Alfred was smiling while talking to you, which was rare for him. "Last Christmas, he also brought us two stray cats. The black one lives with us, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the other one. Curiously, the cat has my name." The butler tried to make a face at you, pretending to be unhappy. A Cheshire smile spread across your face, followed by the most contagious laugh he had ever heard, and he couldn't help but widen his own smile.

"The cat's name is Alfred?" You asked incredulously, seeing him nod positively. "Mine is an orange cat. He's cute but very troublesome; he even scratched one of my ballet shoes." You commented, much more at ease in Mr. Wayne's presence.

"An orange kitten?" Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just like Alfred's.

An orange and a black cat, both mentioned on the same date. Your seemingly trivial confession revealed to both of them that Damian had indeed kept in touch with you. Perhaps not directly, but it showed that he hadn't forgotten your existence and cared enough to have given the other cat to his sister as a gift. Now, because of you, they both finally knew what had happened to the other furball.

"Your brother also raises a cow here on the property." The butler thought it would be of interest to mention the funny fact, given that Damian was too irritable to raise something like a cow. And it seemed to have worked, as you laughed with genuine surprise in your eyes.

Bruce couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh when reminded of the cow, and unlike how he had been so suspicious of you moments ago, he was now more relaxed. He wondered when was the last time he saw Alfred so cheerful with someone new here at the mansion. The butler was a man full of tenderness for the family, but he was difficult to deal with for outsiders, although he always presented himself in a polite manner.

But the pleasant moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of voices coming from the top of the stairs, making Bruce and Alfred frown. Both stood up to see better what was happening and saw Damian pushing and shouting at his three brothers while struggling to descend the steps without being hindered by them.

Jason saw that Bruce and Alfred had already noticed them, failing to prevent the boy from confronting you three, and let go of his arm. Dick and Tim followed suit, defeated. The events of the night were revealed to him by his brothers, who told him everything from you being here to the fact that you had had some sort of contact with Strange. Damian went berserk at the last part and stormed out of the room in a flash.

Seeing his son in the Robin uniform, Bruce thought of reprimanding him, knowing he had gone on patrol alone again, but decided that was a matter for later.

"Damian," Bruce called out, calming him down a bit from his excitement. "We have a visitor." There was no view of the stairs from the living room, so you couldn't grasp that Bruce was calling Robin by your brother's name.

Damian descended the steps slowly, as if it were a very difficult task for him, and then finally looked at you, then at Bruce, and back at you, completely ignoring anyone else. He took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Dick had told him that his father didn't know anything about you being his daughter, but he was sure this secret wouldn't last much longer. And honestly, he preferred that both of you knew the truth, even knowing that his mother wouldn't be happy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You slowly got up from the couch, gripping the hot chocolate mug tightly. The truth was, Damian hadn't realized he was still dressed as Robin, and that's why you didn't recognize him. You stood there, paralyzed, not understanding why he was in Bruce Wayne's house, and why would he talk to you? Or maybe this was some kind of joke, and you still hadn't figured it out.

Damian was silent for a moment, his expression serious. "You were supposed to stay with Mom. It's not safe for you here."

"Master Damian," Alfred spoke, signaling to the mask on his face. Damian quickly tore it off, feeling stupid for forgetting about it.

You almost let the mug slip when you saw him. Your brother had grown a lot since he was ten. His face was thinner, more defined, and his eyes smaller, plus his voice was deeper. That's why you didn't recognize him at first. Before, you would have known who he was just by the sound of his voice, but it wasn't the same anymore.

You were happy and surprised at the same time. That moment was shocking, and the bitterness you felt a while ago was forgotten. Your anger at discovering Damian ignored you for two years for the people in this house didn't cross your mind now, too busy trying to memorize each of his new features. The superhero world wasn't new, after all, but how could your brother be Robin? And if he was Robin, did he know Batman?

"I wanted to see you," you replied, your voice trembling. "I missed you."

Damian sighed, approaching. He wanted to argue but fought against it, knowing the last thing he should do was yell at you after so long. "I missed you too, but you shouldn't be here, S/n. Things are complicated here." He responded tensely, calculating his words and trying to find a way to get you away from Bruce as quickly as possible before something slipped.

Bruce watched your interaction, unsure of what to do. He didn't understand the depth of your relationship, wondering if he should intervene or let you talk alone. It seemed too personal to discuss in front of so many eyes.

In a brief exchange of glances with Dick, in a kind of silent conversation, Bruce signaled for him and the others to leave.

Understanding as always, Dick nodded, indicating they should leave but not before approaching Bruce with something. "Bruce, promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a clearer state of mind," he asked in a whisper, placing a piece of paper in Bruce's hand, careful to put the written part facing his palm. Dick rarely asked for promises, so Bruce reluctantly agreed.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a clue about Hugo Strange," was the simplest response he could give. "But let's leave that for another time," Dick emphasized, looking at you and Damian, who, to their surprise, were watching them.

"Let's go. This is no longer our business," Dick tried to pull Jason and Tim along, but Tim was stubborn:

"Did you give it to him?" Tim said just loud enough for Dick to hear.

"Yes, Tim," he replied, not wanting to give him more room to argue, going up the stairs two steps at a time, followed by Jason who climbed more calmly, holding onto the railing. Tim gave one last look at Bruce, then at Damian, Alfred, and then you, who was now watching the three. You already knew Dick, but the other two figures aroused your curiosity. How many more people live in the mansion?

The boy you didn't know was called Tim started staring at you with an intrigued expression. He hadn't managed to see your face closely before, but now, looking calmly, he couldn't avoid noticing how familiar you seemed. He felt he had seen you somewhere, but where? You examined him with the same perplexity, and for a moment he parted his lips to say something, maybe to ask if he knew you, but Bruce's voice made him jump:

"Tim, you should go to bed, just like your brothers." He asked in a gentle tone.

"Sorry, Bruce." He responded quickly, going up the stairs in same style as Jason.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Damian took advantage of the fact that the three had left and angrily threw it in your face, but trying to disguise it at all costs to avoid sounding too harsh. His eyes were frantic, looking at every part of your face.

He wasn't sentimental, and he refused to go through the humiliation of showing any weakness at seeing your grown-up figure, even if it caused him heartache. "Why did you disappear like that? Mom's been worried for hours."

"I already told you. I wanted to see you." Your voice rose a bit, desperately trying to justify yourself. You wanted so much to hug him but felt too embarrassed to do so, finally realizing that the intimacy you had before no longer existed. It was as if he were a stranger.

"Let's go. I'll take you back." He grabbed your wrist, wanting to disappear from his father's sight at all costs, but you pulled away, surprising him.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" You asked indignantly, trying to swallow the sob due to your wounded pride. The warmth in your heart rose to your head, finally feeling that old anger again. "I haven't seen you in years, and the first thing you do is want to keep me away again!" You were distressed, feeling rejected.

"Maybe it's because you only cause problems!" He exploded.

"I had forgotten how irritating you are!" You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to push him back as you did in childhood arguments. Back then, you two were equal in strength, but now Damian was becoming a man, and he barely moved.

You didn't notice when you dropped the mug on the floor, which luckily didn't break as the impact was cushioned by the rug. But the little liquid left had spilled and stained it, and seeing Alfred pick it up to clean made you feel awful. You should have done it, but he stopped you when you made a move to bend down, saying it was okay. Alfred felt he shouldn't participate in this conversation and used the mug situation as an excuse to go to the kitchen.

"Stop." Bruce intervened between you two, separating both and giving his son a challenging look. He knew this kind of attitude was typical of him, but seeing how loyal and obedient Damian was to Talia, he thought he would at least show some sympathy to his sister. "S/n, why don't you go sleep a bit? It's late, it would be good to rest." He offered as a truce and also as a way to interrupt your meeting, seeing how bad it was going.

"Do you realize the danger she got into? Talking to strangers, no less." Damian spoke again, his voice dangerously calm, ignoring Bruce. "Do you have any idea who that guy was, S/n? Do you have any idea?!" His voice began to rise a few octaves.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, recalling the man who had helped you on the street. At that moment, he seemed like a good person, but the way your brother was talking, apparently he wasn't. "How many times do we need to tell you not to talk to strangers? Not to leave the house without telling anyone? It's always been like this since we were kids, you never change!"

You had no reaction. That single tear had turned into two, then into several others, as you shrank into your own shame. You felt ridiculous for coming here because of him.

"Damian, who are you talking about?" Bruce held him by the shoulders to stop him from continuing to spew anger at you. His voice was much deeper than the boy's, and although it didn't intimidate him, it was enough to make him look at him at least.

"Hugo Strange, Dad! Damn Hugo Strange!" Damian lost control of his own mouth, speaking without thinking and not realizing the slip he had just made. "Because she's too stupid to have the slightest notion about anything!"

"Hugo Strange?" Mr. Wayne asked out loud. You knew exactly who Strange was, just as you knew other villains, although you might not recognize them by appearance. But that didn't matter to you now, as you spoke right after:

"Why did you call him Dad?" You looked your brother in the eyes, expecting some kind of explanation, not noticing how his body hairs stood on end.

Suddenly, a realization hit you. This was his new family now, and this man was his father. That venomous jealousy returned once more, and you didn't know if it was because Damian now had someone to call 'Dad' or because it meant how close he had become to these people. Damian swallowed hard, sweating and standing still like a statue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You apologized, deciding to completely ignore Damian from now on.

"No need to apologize." Bruce felt uneasy, and like you, he drew a wrong interpretation from it. He thought Damian hadn't told his sister who his real father was, which was possible considering he also hadn't told her he moved in with him. The fact that you two were twins was also still unknown to Bruce. The most logical idea, though not spoken or thought, was that you were Talia's daughter with another man. "I'll ask Alfred to show you a room."

You looked one last time at Damian before disappearing into some wing of the mansion. It hurt to see him watching you leave without even saying goodbye. A 'good night' would have been hopeful, even though you hated him now.

"Come, miss." You felt Alfred's hands on your back, guiding you. "I'll show you the guest room," he explained, and you looked back, seeing Bruce watching the two of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you said, trying to sound as grateful as possible, while wrapping one arm around Alfred's waist affectionately. Bruce gave you a slight smile, uncrossing his arms to wave goodbye, which you returned with your free hand.

"You and I now have a lot to talk about." Bruce's aura had become cold again. The trust he had built with Damian wasn't broken, but it definitely had a crack.

"Mom is coming," he said in a low voice "I called her as soon as Dick started told me everything," he confessed, knowing Bruce would be furious, watching him run a hand through his hair to relieve the tension.

Following his example, Damian also sat in one of the armchairs in the room, analyzing his father's movements. Whenever Talia and Bruce were in the same room, even if they didn't do it openly, they fought for some kind of dominance.

Bruce made a move to take out the card Dick had given him to see its contents and maybe pass the time while the second storm of the night was yet to come. The first had been you, of course. He ran his fingers along one of the edges of the card, without taking it completely out of his pocket, and then remembered his son's words:

'Promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a moment of clarity.'

The last thing Bruce had now was clarity. So he sighed heavily and pushed it back into his pocket, staring at the boy beside him. "Why do I feel like your sister should be a secret, Damian?"

Tag list:

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@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

@godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable

@masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage

@homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21

@kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink

@lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark

@notahappystan @nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

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yurunivo · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I'm not sure if i'm the one but can we get some more Mavuika x Creator! Reader (gender neutral) in which the creator is falling deeply in love with Mavuika and the creator is slowly getting his/hers/their memories back and awakening a little bit of power (like maybe aweking some unique element or getting better healing abilities) ?

I'm pretty sure you were the one yea. Sorry for not answering sooner I just had no motivation to write 😭

Synopsis: your time with Mavuika! (And "your" past) part 1 part 2 part 4

TW: slight angst, fluff, OOC, arguements, reader is referred to as they/them for easier use but gender is up to what you interpret as, bad writing, bad grammar, english is not my first language, slightly rushed at the end, not proofread

Characters: Mavuika x gn!creator!reader

"Please don't walk through the halls, our Archon is busy-"

"I just have a word with her, that's all."

The receptionist sighed as you glared at her and walked off. You've had a bad week, constantly getting excruciatingly painful headaches and nightmares which make you wake up in a cold sweat. What made it worse that you couldn't really remember them when you woke up, which made it all the more frustrating. That, along with the fact that your boss was giving you more work than usual was making you snappy and irritated all the time. The even more strange thing was the fact that you were seeking out Mavuika, almost as if she was a pinicle of warmth in a snowy wasteland, so you did eventually visit her.

As you reached her office door, gloved hands gently pushed it open to see her inside. Your eyes softened, and you could feel your stress slipping away. She was sleeping though, her head on a pile of documents.

"That's.. Strange. Normally she would spend a lot of time with me, did she ignore all this work just for me?" You thought to yourself. However, instead of peaking over, you decided to sit in a sofa next to her table.

Curiosity did get the better of you though.

You skipped over to her desk and found loads of papers from different nations, which was really strange considering Mavuika was more busy dealing with Natlan's problems. You picked up a few documents and read them, cringing at the insignia of the other nations.

As you kept reading, you got more confused, and certainly more angry.

"Death threats, intimidation and war threats to Natlan, and Sumeru is asking for an alliance? What the hell is going on?!" You exclaimed, not noticing how Mavuika woke up. As you were about to read more, she snatched the papers from you, and looked at you with an expression you couldn't read.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"Well I did, too bad. Now mind explaining what the hell is this?"

She didn't answer, and you felt your patience running thin. You didn't want to raise your voice at her, but the frustration of her not telling you was too much to handle. Still, you managed to control yourself, taking deep breaths.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, what is this?"

She paused, and for a moment, she contemplated whether she would tell you or not. Guilt was on her face, yet she finally told you.

"The other nations want you back for whatever reason, and they are threatening to add more to Natlan's plate by instituting a war. Sumeru is offering to help, but that's the only consolation I have," she breathed out. Your eyes softened, and your lips trembled. Seeing Mavuika like this was making you feel negative, especially since it was about you.

You picked up her hand and held it gently, but it was also firm. You didn't know what you could really do to help, considering that you were the one that they were after.

"Listen Mavuika, I am your creator, so I should have the right to know about all this, no? I may not be strong, but it's not like I'm completely useless," you held her hand against your forehead, both of you looking away from each other.

Feeling the need to lighten her pile of work, you let her go for a moment, going up to her desk and setting up the documents. You didn't look at her, nor did she look at you.

"I'll help," you spoke up.

"You don't need to."

"I insist."

She sighed, yet reluctantly went up to you to do the same. She knew that you wouldn't really change your mind, so there was really no point in arguing any further.

For the past couple of weeks, you were there to help Mavuika. You were always at her beck and call, skipping your work to help with hers. The only thing you did however was confiscate useless documents, sign the ones that she couldn't, and carry piles of work to warehouses.

As you were walking through the place, whistling to yourself, you realized that you had just passed the place that you were supposed to be in. Noticing your mistake, you ran to that place in exasperation, not noticing how a gust of wind helped you to run faster..

"Why do I keep forgetting this shit?.." You rubbed your temples, setting the box down. Looking at all the shelves, you deadpanned at the realization that the shelves were much higher than you anticipated.

"I should've brought a ladder.." You mumbled.

Then suddenly, without any explanation, a pillar of Geo helped you up, slowly rising to the shelves. The revelation almost made you scream, but you kept it in. You were really high up, and the fact that you didn't know what was happening made it even more terrifying. Was this Zhongli's doing? To taunt you before he came to hunt you again? You couldn't really tell, the only thought running in your head was how the hell would you get down.

The even stranger thing that happened was that a gust of wind separated the boxes and placed the one that you brought without you needing to use your hands. It might've been the Anemo Archon, but the fact that if it was, he would probably not help you with anything. He would most likely make you fall instead, taunting you like Zhongli. But it didn't really make any sense. How the hell would they even reach you all the way from Natlan?

As the pillar mounted you down, you were about to run to reach Mavuika, but your temperature rose uncomfortably high, which was very unusual. The sudden change made you collapse onto the ground, golden blood seeping out of your nose. You felt yourself getting light headed as you struggled to keep yourself awake.

"Not now god dammit!" You exclaimed in your head as your vision turned blank, losing your consciousness.

....

Where were you?

You held your head, groaning at the painful sensation. You got a clearer look at your surroundings, notifying you that you weren't in Natlan. No, this place was nothing like Natlan. It was more regal, the entire place being covered by intricate gold designs. You explored the place for a bit, still trying to figure out what happened.

You walked around, then suddenly, you saw a projection in front of you. Okay, it at least confirmed that you were in a dream. But when the projection finished appearing, you saw someone whom you didn't expect to see.

It was... Nahida?

"Greetings your grace," she bowed, and you just told her to stand back up.

"Kusanali? What are you doing here?" You raised an eyebrow. Seriously today was one of the most craziest days of your life, more than when you realized that you were in the Genshin world.

"I have been trying to speak with you, your grace. It was very hard, I admit, and I may or may not have caused those nightmares, I am really sorry about that." Oh, so that's why these horrible dreams happened, and why you couldn't remember them. You smiled awkwardly, knowing that you would forgive her anyway. After all, she was the first to actually help you in this world.

"What did you need to speak with me for?" You asked.

"It's about the other nations, I want to inform you that they are currently on the hunt for you, and want you back into the position of creator," she answered, and now there were even more questions in your head. What was the strange switch up for?

"But I must ask your grace, is this what you really dream of, your throne room?" She pointed at the giant throne at the back, and you quickly went to answer.

"No, I don't dream about anything like this," you replied back in confusion. Right, was this supposed to be normal?

When you turned around to ask Nahida a question again, she was gone. Was she hiding? No, she was completely gone, you couldn't feel her presence any where, almost as if she was forced out of your dream.

You looked around more and more, only to realize that there was a carbon copy of you on the throne.

They looked exactly like you, except more regal, and more intimidating than what you could ever be. However, you did notice that they were... Crying? Tears were definitely spilling out of her eyes, yet their expression stayed the same.

Yea this was weird.

You looked around again to see the Archons behind you. You flinched at the sight, however, they weren't looking at you, rather they were looking at what you could assume to be the previous creator. Their expression was one of pity, and in almost half a second, they attacked the creator. Yet that "you" didn't move a muscle, allowing them to get a hit. As you stared at the throne, there was golden blood seeping out, yet the creator was as hard as stone.

They had sealed the creator.

....

You woke up with a gasp, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. Looking at your hands, you saw they were trembling. Your throat felt dry, way too dry for your liking. As you reached out for the nearest liquid next to you, your hands landed on a cup of tea, which you picked up and drank immediately. You calmed down a bit, reminiscing on what you just experienced.

"So that's what happened, I wonder why.." You mumbled. You finally payed attention to where you were, and saw that you were back in Mavuika's office. Huh, you didn't remember being here last.

Finally paying attention to what was next to you, you saw a tray on a stool, and some food on it. The tea you drank just now was probably from that tray.

Your eyes wandered, and it stumbled upon Mavuika. She was on a chair too, yet she was sleeping, her arms crossed. As multiple ideas went through your head, it finally clicked.

"Was she taking care of me?" You thought, yet you were too much in a trance to wake her up and ask her. Your cheeks were flushed, and you felt them getting warmer.

You wondered what this feeling was, the way your heart started beating faster and how you felt all giddy inside.

"Ah whatever, I'll figure it out soon," you muttered, oblivious to your own feelings.

Sorry I didn't include the abilities part too much, I was more focused on the creator and Mavuika's relationship 😓

#reader insert #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere sagau #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau cult au #imposter sagau #sagau impostor au #sagau #mavuika x reader

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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months ago

Text

Through The Façade ~ MYG [MATURE WARNING]

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 7.2K

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ GENRE: arranged marriage, TRIGGER WARNING MENTIONS OF ABUSE FROM FATHER, BEING HIT IN ONE SCENE PLEASE DONT READ IF IT’LL TRIGGER YOU, T MINORS DNI!!! yoongi being a simp for reader, forgiveness, fluffy ending, smut,

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

The ceremony had been flawless, beautiful and absoutelyly flawless. Everythign had been planned out perfectly by your father and it was meticulously orchestrated and over the top. Done to display of wealth and elegance, the union of two powerful chaebol families, something you had begged your father not to do but, did he listen? No. You'd wanted something small, just you and Yoongi's family since th two of you didn't know each other but it was all pushed aside.

Your wants weren't important despite it being your wedding and you were mostly ignored and your mother and father planned the whole affiar. The guests were a sea of familiar faces, but none of them mattered, you hardly knew any of them by name and they mostly referred to you as "Yoongi's wife" or "Mr YLN's daughter" No one was there for you. Your hands had trembled through the entire ceremony, the weight of the vows, the cameras, and the expectations crushing you it felt like there were a million pairs of eyes focused on you. But now, behind the closed door of the changing room, you could finally breathe.

You exhaled, leaning against the vanity, your fingers gripping the edge tightly. The dress you were wearing was something your mother had picked, a huge puffy thing to display your wealth. If it was your choice you would have gone for something elegant and small, plain...simple. Nothing like this. The money would have gone to something much better.

The soft hum of the celebration continued outside, muffled by the heavy door, but the isolation here was a brief relief. You didn't want to go out there and plaster on the fake facade you'd mastered over the years, you just wanted time to yourself, time to breathe.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and you stiffened, no one was supposed to come back here and you panicked wondering if your father had come to hand out one of his speeches to you reminding you not to fuck everything up.

In the mirror, you saw Yoongi enter the room, his expression hardened, his sharp features set in a grim line. Swallowin the lump in your throat you stood up straight and brushed down the dress, trying to make it look as if you were just reaplying your make up.

Your father told you that Yoongi iked his women pretty and silent and that was exactly what you were trying to be. The perfect wife for the perfecg man. He closed the door behind him with a resounding click, the finality of the sound sending a chill down your spine.

He said nothing at first, just stood there with his arms crossed, eyes scanning over you as if appraising something he already disliked. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. How did he already hate you? You'd barely uttered a word except for the vows and you wanted things to be smooth between you both,

“Hey...Do you need something? I think I have emerency snakcs in my back if you're hungry,” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt strange—awkward—to address him, to speak to him without your father present was even weirder. You were a little stunned that your dad was even allowing it in the first place since usually he hated you speaking out of turn. But yoongi was your husband now, sooner or later you'd be left alone but even still, he felt like a stranger. Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head as he looked you up and down.

“Do I need something?” he echoed mockingly.

“I need to understand how the hell I got roped into this. But I guess that’s obvious, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for your answer before taking a step closer, his movements sharp with frustration.

“This whole thing—it’s a farce. A business deal. And you—" He gestured toward you with disdain.

“You’re the perfect little pawn, aren’t you? Just like everyone said you would be.” You frowned, trying to process his sudden hostility. You thought all of this had been planned between both of your families, that his side wanted this just as much as you,

“What are you talking about? Dad said-”

“Dad said what? Do you think I seriously want to be with you?” His voice was icy, his eyes narrowed in accusation. His gaze felt like tiny daggers in your chest as you stared back at him, you did your best to appear confident.

“You think I don’t know about you? Your reputation? The tabloids have painted a very clear picture. Daddy’s little princess, spoiled beyond belief, doing nothing but spending money and making headlines. Everyone knows you’re shallow and selfish.” His words cut deep, sharper than you expected. You had spent years ignoring the rumours, the gossip, and the false stories about your life, but hearing it from him—your husband, who didn’t know you—made it hurt in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You straightened up, keeping your tone as calm as you could manage. No one was supposed to listen to what the tabloids said, if they did you would have had six kids and been married years ago according to those liars in the media.

“You’re basing your opinion of me on tabloid gossip?” Your voice shook ever so slightly but you weren't going to back down from this. He gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Why wouldn’t I? Everything about you screams entitled. Look at this wedding! The dress, the flowers, the venue. You’re playing the role perfectly, aren’t you? The helpless daughter of a chaebol, marrying for convenience.” Your heart pounded in your chest, each word stoking a fire of resentment inside you. You had been pushed into this marriage just as much as he had, and you’d done everything to survive under the weight of your family’s demands. But now, being judged for it without a chance to defend yourself—it was too much.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” you shot back, your voice rising as anger began to seep through.

“Do you think I wanted to be paraded around like a prize horse? Do you think I enjoy being talked about like I’m just some shallow, spoiled girl? You think I wanted some big fuckin bullshit wedding?!” You slapped your hand over your mouth realising you'd overstepped a little but Yoongi’s expression remained cold, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, a little surprise.

“You don't know me,” you continued, stepping toward him, your hands trembling at your sides. You'd never stood up to anyone in your life but you were going to damned if you would let this bullshit with him continue,

“You’re judging me based on rumors. Headlines written by people who don’t know the first thing about my life.”

“Oh, I think I know enough,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp.

“People like you don’t have to try. You’ve never worked a day in your life, and you wouldn’t know what hardship looks like if it slapped you in the face.” His words were like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you felt your resolve falter. But you quickly steeled yourself, if he wanted a fight, you weren’t going to back down.

“And what about you?” you snapped, your voice louder now, almost echoing in the small room.

“You think you’re any different? You’re standing here in a tuxedo that costs more than most people make in a year, and you have the nerve to talk about hardship? You don’t know anything about my life, Yoongi.” He clenched his jaw, clearly not expecting you to defend yourself. The silence between you stretched for a long moment, filled with tension. He stared at you, his eyes hard and unreadable, as if he were trying to find some crack in your words, something to validate his preconceptions.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally said, his voice quieter now but still laced with bitterness.

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be tied down to someone who doesn’t care about anything but herself.” Your breath hitched in your throat. You knew this was an arranged marriage, but hearing him say it out loud...that he really didn’t want this. He really didn’t want you, it killed you a little inside.

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, you weren't goign to give him the satisifcation of knowing that he broke you.

“You think I wanted this either?” you whispered, refusing to look in his direction,

“You think I wanted to marry someone who hated me before even knowing me?” He didn’t respond, and for a moment, the silence between you felt unbearable. The weight of the situation pressed down on you both—two people forced into a marriage neither of you wanted, bound by family expectations and years of societal pressure.

“I don’t care what you think of me,” you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was a little stronger this time as you stared over in his direction, an iron will plastered across your face,

“But lest you suffer vertigo from your moral highground but acting like you’re any different. We’re both stuck in this, whether we like it or not.” Yoongi’s eyes flickered showing, guilt? It was impossible to tell, but he said nothing, simply standing there as if he were battling some inner turmoil.

"Photo time!" Someone called from the door and you picked up the bottom of your dress, walking past your husband and going to join the rest of the party. Falling back into the "pretty princess" routine you'd mastered over the years.

Weeks had passed since the wedding, and the tension between you and Yoongi remained thick and unresolved. The two of you shared his penthouse apartment but you made sure to avoid each other at all costs. While he was working you moved freely around the place, doing all of your hobbies and enjoying the piece but when he was home you were gone. The whole place was silently, so quiet the staff were almost scared to move around.

Yoongi wasn't stupid though, on the days he didn't work you had made a habit of disappearing from the apartment for hours, sometimes entire evenings. Every time you came back, you barely spoke to him, retreating to your own space, keeping your distance. He couldn’t tell if it was resentment or something else, but it gnawed at him. He thought he'd wanted it, the silence. The peace.

It was everything he'd known for years but it felt weird having you live there and no speaking to each other besides "goodnight" if you happened to bump into each other. Or asking if the other one had eaten yet.

One night, after you'd left without a word again, Yoongi finally had enough. His frustration had been simmering for days, and the mystery surrounding your late-night absences only fueled his suspicions. He grabbed his keys, following the trail you'd left behind.

It wasn’t difficult to follow you—he had resources, after all, and within the hour, he found himself parked outside a grand building, far from the world of nightclubs or lavish parties he'd expected. A charity auction?

His brows furrowed in confusion. He stepped out of the car, slipping inside unnoticed, staying in the shadows as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

When he saw you sneaking out he figurd you were going to meet some secret fling or friends but this wasn't what he was expecting at all...or even close to it.

The room was filled with elegantly dressed people, sipping champagne and mingling beneath chandeliers. You were at the center of it all, standing near the stage, smiling warmly as you chatted with guests. Yoongi watched, his eyes narrowing as he tried to reconcile the on the stage with the image he had of you in his mind. This wasn't anything like he'd been expecting when he saw tabloid photos of you leaving hotels.

"She's lovely, isn’t she?" A voice to his left caught him off guard. He turned to see an elderly woman, smiling fondly as she looked in your direction.

"Excuse me?" Yoongi asked, masking his confusion. The lady moved closer to him and smiled as she eaned on her zimmer frame, Yoongi offered her his arm and she gladly took it.

"The young lady running the auction,” the woman said, nodding toward you, Yoongi glanced back at you. Taking in the stunning dress you were wearing that clung to every single part of your body showing him what he was missing out on by not being friendly with you.

“She’s been organizing this event for the past six years. Always so generous with her time and donations. We’re lucky to have someone like her supporting our cause.” Yoongi’s mind went blank for a second. Siz years?

"She organized this?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. He glanced around the room, it looked as if it had been done by professonals and this lady was telling him you'd done all of this?

"Oh yes,” the woman replied, her eyes shining with admiration.

“She’s quite the visionary. She plans for weeks, sometimes months on end before we host an event together," She chuckled softly as she took Yoongi toward a table, the two of them sitting down together and looking over at you. You were smiling brightly and speaking into the mircropphone, you looked...at peace here.

Here, you looked like someone who enjoyed what you were doing, as if you didn't have a single care but this charity in the world.

"She does? I thought she was a party princess." He grumbles a little and the lady scoffs,

"She plays her part well but she hates that shit," Yoongi laughed at the crude language coming from such a sweet old lady,

"She's smart, too. She always has new ideas to help raise funds for the shelter.” The woman paused, looking at Yoongi with curiosity, noting the wedding band on his finger.

“Are you a friend of hers?” Yoongi didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was spinning as he watched you laugh softly with a group of guests, the warmth in your eyes, the genuine kindness in your smile.

"Husband," He whispered finally. Guilt gnawing at him as he realised everything he had assumed about you—your selfishness, your shallow nature—it all began to unravel in front of him. You weren’t the person the tabloids made you out to be, and certainly not the spoiled brat he had convinced himself you were.

“Excuse me,” Yoongi muttered, barely hearing the woman’s farewell as he made his way to the other side of the room, closer to where you stood. He stayed just out of sight, observing, listening to the way people spoke about you.

“She’s always been so generous,” another guest commented, her voice dripping with admiration.

“I don't know what we'd do without her... she’s so down to earth,” another person added. The guilt only further weighing him down,

“It’s rare, you know, for someone from her background to be so...genuine.” Yoongi’s chest tightened. He watched as you gracefully moved through the room, your laughter soft but infectious as you joked with the staff, thanking them for their hard work.

Maybe he could have brushed it off as you faking it but the thing was...You weren’t pretending. This was real.

He had been so quick to judge you, to believe the worst because it was easier than trying to understand. The facade you wore around him—cold, detached—wasn’t who you truly were. You had built walls around yourself, maybe because you had already sensed how much he disliked you from the start.

He hadn’t given you a chance.

After the auction wrapped up, Yoongi lingered outside, leaning against his car as he waited for you. The night was cool, the city lights flickering around him, but his mind was far from the usual chaos of his business world. He was lost in thought, contemplating every interaction the two of you had shared since the wedding.

Finally around 2 in the morning, you emerged, bidding farewell to the remaining staff, your posture relaxed but clearly exhausted. He'd heard someone talking that you stayed behind to make sure they didn't need any extra hands and he...loved...that about you.

You didn’t see him at first, not until you were halfway to your cab, your heels in your hand ready to drop into your bed but when your eyes landed on him, your steps faltered.

"Yoongi?" you asked, surprise lacing your voice. You looked around nervously, did you have a plan and not realise?

“What are you doing here?” He straightened up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his usual guarded expression still in place, but something in his eyes had softened.

“I got worried and I followed you.” You blinked, confusion crossing your face. Worried?

"Worried? You followed me?" He nodded, unsure how to explain the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He didn't even know where to start with anything he was thinking or feeling right now.

“You’ve been disappearing a lot,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders and then licking his lower lip.

“I wanted to know where you were going. I thought-”

"Thought I was cheating?" You were quick to cast a judgement on him like he had you and he didn't blame you for that. He sighed a little and you pressed your lips into a thin line, the warmth you’d shown all evening fading as your walls shot back up.

“I didn’t think you’d care about me disappearing,” you said, turning your gaze away, asking your cab to wait for you to finish talking, Yoongi felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. You had every reason to think that. He’d given you nothing but disdain since the day you met.

"I didn’t know," he said quietly, taking a step toward you. You stared at him, your eyes on him the whole time as if you were waiting for him to try something.

“I didn’t know you were doing all of this.” You glanced at him, confusion still etched on your face. If you were doing this or if you weren't shouldn't have mattered to him.

“What does it matter?” He hesitated, the weight of his assumptions pressing down on him.

"Miss?" Your cab driver asked through the window, checking to see if you were okay and you glanced at him,

"I'm fine Romano, I'll be right there." You smiled sweetly at him and he went back to waiting. Yoongi looked at you,

“I was wrong about you,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.” You didn’t respond, your eyes searching his as if trying to figure out if his words were genuine. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken feelings.

“I thought I knew who you were,” Yoongi continued, clearing his throat and sighing a little,

“but I didn’t. I’ve been... holding on to these stupid assumptions, believing the rumours, and I never gave you a chance.” You looked down at your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

"You never asked," you said softly, the vulnerability in your voice catching him off guard. You hated that you sounded like this right now, but all you'd ever wanted out of this thing was someone to talk to...Someone to be the real you with.

Yoongi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his guilt sink deeper.

"You're right. I didn’t ask. I just assumed. But tonight, seeing you like this..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You’re not who I thought you were.” You looked up at him, your expression still guarded but softer now.

“Who did you think I was?” You stared at him and watched as he exhaled slowly.

“Someone selfish. Someone shallow. I thought you were only interested in... whatever this marriage could bring you.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. “But I was wrong. I see that now.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The city hummed around you, but in that moment, the world seemed quiet. Yoongi’s heart raced as he waited for you to say something—anything.

“I didn’t want this either,” you whispered, the weight of your own exhaustion clear in your tone.

“I didn’t want to be judged before I even had a chance...I thought maybe I'd be able to finally be myself around someone...not the prim and proper princess I'm forced to be.” Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat. He had a lot to make up for, and he wasn’t sure how to do it. But standing here, watching the walls between you crack just a little, he knew he had to try.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sincere. “For everything.” You looked at him, your gaze softening, and for the first time since you’d met, you allowed a small, genuine smile to grace your lips.

"I'll make it up to you?" he suggested and you bit your lip,

"Hmm,"

"Whatever it takes." He told you once he saw you were hesitating, he would do anything to make things right with you...To get the fresh start the two of you were going to need.

"A donation to the shelter." You said, folding your arms across your chest, you weren't only going to ask for that but you wanted to see how serious he was.

"Done."

"Come to charity events...actually donate to the thigns I'm doing. Not just for show." You'd asked your father for donations many times in the past but he would only pretend to donate.

"Done." He said with a smile, stepping closer to you, your chests pressing against each other as you looked at him,

"I want a dog."

"No." He mumbled, he wasn't a dog person.

"A cat?"

"Done." He smiled again,

"A ride home?" You whispered as he nodded at you,

"Done," he smiles turning back and opening the car door for you, gesturing for you to get inside.

"Thanks for waiting Romano," You went to get some money out but Yoongi shook his head, handing Romano triple what he would have gotten for taking you home and smiling at the man.

Months had passed since Yoongi first realized he’d been wrong about you. The chilly distance that had once separated you both had melted away completely, replaced by quiet, genuine affection. You laughed more around him now, and in return, he had softened in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He found himself caring for you, watching you with admiration in ways that were foreign but undeniably real.

The two of you were always arm in arm at events, photogrpahed going to your different charities. Yoongi told you he wanted to make sure you got proper coverage for them and arranged for the two of you to be seen at events. The charities were getting more and more attention which you were as well but you hadn't minded too much.

Tonight, he had decided to come home early to surprise you, he'd been working late every single night all week and he'd finally had enough. He'd told his assistant to cancel all meetings and he was heading home for the night. It had been a long day, but the thought of seeing you, sharing a quiet dinner or even you forcing him to watch trashing shows filled him with delight.

As he entered the house, he noticed something was off. You weren't sitting on the sofa greeting him, it was silent...Back to the same silence that had filled the penthouse months ago when you first got married and his stomach sank. Moving further into the apartment he went to find you, maybe you'd crashed on the sofa asleep or in bed? But as he headed toward the living room he heard a gruff, harsh voice cut through the air. Yoongi paused, his heart sinking as he realized the voice belonged to your father.

He edged closer, keeping out of sight, and listened.

“Enough with your excuses,” your father spat, his voice low but filled with venom. You flinched back from him and tried to talk but the words refused to come out,

“You need to hurry up and produce an heir, do you understand? This marriage was supposed to save us, but all you’ve done is play the perfect little wife, and for what? We need results, not your shit charity work.” Yoongi’s stomach churned with unease as the conversation continued, your voice soft but trembling as you tried to respond.

“I’m trying,” you whispered, “but I can’t just—"

“Trying isn’t good enough!” your father barked, cutting you off. You loved Yoongi, you'd fallen in love with him and you weren't just going to force him to make you pregnant. The two of you were taking your time together.

“Do you think this is some game? We’re on the verge of losing everything. Your husband may have his own fortune, but that’s not going to save us. You need to step up!”

"I love-"

"Love is a foolish game!" He screams in your face, making you whimper at him and shake your head. You weren't going to play this anymore.

"Open your fucking legs for him, that's all he wants! Let him fuck a shitty baby into you and do your job!"

"My job is to be a good wife! To lead my charities-" There was a loud crack, the unmistakable sound of a slap, followed by a sharp intake of breath—yours. Yoongi’s blood ran cold, his hands clenching into fists as he stormed toward the room. He could hear you whimper softly, the sound of it making his heart twist with rage.

In an instant, Yoongi was at the door, throwing it open with a force that startled both you and your father. Your hand was clutching your face,

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Yoongi’s voice was ice cold, his eyes blazing with fury as he stepped between you and your father. Your father straightened, the vein in his neck popping with anger at the interruption coming in.

“This is a family matter,” he growled. “You have no right to interfere.” Yoongi ignored him, his attention focused entirely on you. He was by your side in seconds, moving your hand and scanning your face for any sign of it hurting and you wincing was enough confirmation for him. His jaw tightened, his heart pounding with the urge to protect you from any further harm.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked, his voice softening as he gently touched your arm. You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes, and Yoongi’s heart broke a little more.

“I’m fine, nothing I'm not used to,” you whispered, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. Used to?! There was no way Yoongi was going to let this asshole anywhere near you ever agian, Yoongi turned back to your father, his expression hardening again.

“Get out,” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not welcome here anymore.” Your father scoffed, stepping forward as if to challenge him, but Yoongi didn’t flinch. The cold authority in his gaze was enough to make anyone hesitate.

“This isn’t over,” your father spat, glaring between you and Yoongi. “You owe me—both of you.”

“No,” Yoongi said firmly, his hand tightening protectively around your arm. He wasn't going to let the piece of shit make you feel small,

“She doesn’t owe you anything.” Your father glared at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The echo of it reverberated through the halls, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Once he was gone, Yoongi turned to you, his eyes softening as he gently cupped your face, inspecting the damage. His thumb brushed over the spot where your father had hit you, careful not to press too hard.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. You'd done everything yo could to hide this side of your life from him,

“I didn’t want you to see that.” Yoongi shook his head, his expression filled with concern. The thought of you hiding this from him breaking his heart into a million pieces.

“You don’t have to apologize. None of this is your fault.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you leaned into his touch.

“He’s been pressuring me for months,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. You knew it was all going to come out anyway and you hated the idea of Yoongi getting caught up in the middle of it all.

“He’s trying to cover up his bankruptcy, and he thinks... he thinks if I have a child, it will fix everything.” Yoongi felt a surge of protectiveness raise in him, the thought of you being used as some pawn in your father’s schemes igniting his anger all over again.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said firmly, his hand slipping down to grip yours.

“I won’t let him treat you like that. Not anymore.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable. You wanted to believe him but how were you supposed to get away when he was your dad?

“But... he’s my father. He’s desperate. I didn’t know what else to do.” Yoongi’s heart clenched at the sight of your pain. He could see how much this had been weighing on you, how you’d been carrying this burden alone. Guilt washed over him for not noticing sooner, for not realizing the extent of what you were dealing with.

“From now on, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” Yoongi promised, his voice low but steady. “I’ll keep you safe. No one—especially your father—will hurt you again.” You stared at him, a mix of relief and disbelief in your eyes.

“You’d do that for me?” Yoongi’s expression softened, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears.

“Of course. You’re my wife, I'd do anything for you,” he said simply before looking at you, biting his lip a little. “And I... I care about you.”

It was the first time he’d openly admitted it, and the weight of those words hung between you for a moment, settling in the space where uncertainty had once been.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as you allowed yourself to finally breathe. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. And Yoongi, with his arms wrapped around you, knew that he would do whatever it took to protect you—from your father, from the world, from anything that tried to hurt you.

In that moment, it wasn’t just a promise he made out of obligation. It was a promise he made because he had fallen for you—deeply and irrevocably.

Later that night, the two of you sat on the couch in the living room, the television softly flickering in front of you. The events of the day still weighed on both of your minds, but the comfort of Yoongi’s presence soothed the tension that had lingered. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped protectively around you. It felt natural now, the closeness, as if this was always where you were meant to be—with him.

The TV played in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation with your father, the harsh words, and Yoongi’s unwavering defense of you. It had changed something between you two, bringing you even closer than before.

After a while, Yoongi shifted, turning his gaze from the screen to look down at you. His voice, low and soft, broke the comfortable silence.

“Can I ask you something?” You nodded, sensing the seriousness in his tone.

“Always." He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. He didn't know how this conversation was going to go,

“Earlier, when your father was... pressuring you about having a child,” he began, his eyes searching yours. “Is that something you actually want? I mean... a baby—not just for him or an heir, but for us?” The question hung in the air, and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was a vulnerable thing to ask, especially after everything that had happened, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. Yoongi wasn’t asking because of some external obligation; he was asking because he genuinely wanted to know how you felt.

You bit your lip, glancing away for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. Having a baby was something you'd always wanted, you wanted to raise your child to feel the love you'd wished you'd felt growing up.

“I’ve always wanted a family,” you admitted quietly. “But I didn’t want it to be because of... what my father wants. I want it to be because we want it. Because we’re ready.” Yoongi’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, turning your face back to his.

“Do you want that with me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with vulnerability. Your heart fluttered at his question, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear him ask. It wasn’t just about an heir or fulfilling some family expectation. It was about the two of you—about building something real together.

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his. “I do. I want that with you, Yoongi.” His expression shifted, a mixture of relief and lust. His thumb brushed across your cheek as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want that too,” he murmured, his voice deep and intimate.

The air between you grew heavier, charged with the intensity of the moment. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It started as a soft and gentle but quickly turned into something more urgent, more passionate. Yoongi responded instantly, pulling you closer, his hands slipping around your waist as his lips moved against yours with a newfound hunger.

You let out a soft gasp as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he drew you into his lap. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands roamed over your back—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Everything about him, the way he kissed you, the way he held you, spoke of desire, of a need that had been building between you for months.

Your hands moved to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as he trailed kisses down the side of your neck, softly whimpers left your lips.

“Yoongi,” you whispered breathlessly, your head tilting back to give him more access. He groaned softly in response, his lips trailing back up to claim yours once again, he loved that you were so responsive to him.

"We can practice baby making," He whispers before continuing the kiss but it was deeper now, more insistent, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands roamed your body, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

Yoongi pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath heavy and ragged as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I want everything with you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “A family. A future. Everything.” Your heart swelled at his words, and without hesitation, you captured his lips again, pouring every bit of your emotion into the kiss. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to him as the intensity between you grew. You had never felt this way before—so completely consumed by someone else.

"T-Take me to our room?" You whispered as he looked at you, scanning your face to make sure you were sure about this.

"You've been through a lot tonight-"

"Yoongi, please." You begged, leaning down and kissing his soft skin, biting and sucking on his neck as he groaned, grinding you down against him as he nods at you.

It wasn't long until the two of you were naked and he had you laying beneath him on the bed, his eyes drinking in every inch of your skin as he felt his cock growing harder at the sight.

"You're so beautiful," He moans, sliding his fingers inside of you gently while rubbing your clit until you were gasping against him. Yoongi smirked, nibbling your earlobe and kissing down yout throat,

"Spread those legs for me, princess." he said. You whimper a little, spreading your legs and watching as your husbamd dropped to his knees between your legs. He lowered his head and began to tease you, kissing along the inside of your thigh and licking your folds before finally touching his tongue to your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching from the bed as you whimpered at him.

"Y-yoongi," You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to eat you out. Your whole body on fire as you whimpered, grinding against his face as he smirked. He continued to push his fingers into you, curling them against that one spot that made your mind blank,

"R-Right there!" You cry out, whimpering as you chased your orgasm. It didn't take long as you called out his name as you came.

Soon he started kissing up your body, your hand moved between you as you took his cock into your hand, pumping slowly as you watched his face. His eyes rolled back and he moaned softly,

"Princess,"

"I wanna make you feel good," You pouted at him but he shook his head at you, there was no way he would last and he wanted to fuck you. Tonight.

"Later...I wanna be inside you when I cum for you the first time," He moaned not caring how needy he sounded. You nod and spread your legs once more as he pushed the head of his cock into you, your head rolling back as he pushed all the way into you,

"So fucking wet," He moaned out, sliding in and out of you as your hands clucthed onto the sheets around you. He fucked into you slowly and sweetly, your lips finding each others as you kissed him deeply.

"Y-Yoongi," You moan out as he thrusts a little harder this time,

"I'm so deep inside of you," He moaned out, his voice like sandpaper. Ripples of pleasure wavered through your boody as you whimpered,

"Feels so fucking good," you cry out, your nails digging into his skin as he continued to fuck into you. He shifted a little, his cock hitting that spot that made you scream and you whimper,

"Y-Yoongi-"

"Me too," He moaned out as he continued to fuck into you. Your heart raced and your back arched off the beg, your fingers digging into his arms as your heels dug into his ass, sinking him deeper into you. You scream out as your orgasm hits you, clenching around him tightly as you whimpered,

"S-Shit! S-Shit!" He grunted as he bucked into you, cumming into you and holding you close to him. Your foreheads rested together as you caught your breath, gigging softly at him,

"I love you." You whispered to him, stroking some of the hair out of his face,

"I love you too princess."

You smiled softly, feeling the flutter of movement beneath your hand. The little kicks were a constant reminder of the new life growing inside you, not that you could ever forget with the constant needing to pee all of the time.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you turned just as Yoongi entered the room. His eyes immediately softened when they landed on you, and he crossed the room to stand by your side, his arms wrapping around you from behind. His hand joined yours on your belly, fingers brushing over the spot where the baby had kicked moments before.

"Hey," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "How are my two favorite people doing?" You leaned back into his embrace, sighing contentedly.

"We're doing good. He’s been pretty active today." Yoongi smiled, his hand gently rubbing small circles over your stomach, kissing it softly before looking back at you.

"Already giving you a hard time, huh? Just like his mom." You laughed softly, turning your head to meet his gaze.

“Or like his dad,” you teased, earning a playful smirk from Yoongi.

For a moment, the two of you stood in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the closeness. Yoongi’s hand never left your belly, as if he was already in tune with the life growing inside you. His protectiveness, his love—it had only grown stronger with time.

“Can you believe it?” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. “In just a few months, we’re going to be parents.” Yoongi’s smile softened, his eyes brimming with excitement, he'd been over the moon when you told him you were expecting but he had baby proofed every single inch of the penthouse.

“I’ve been thinking about it every day,” he admitted, his voice low and full of affection. “It still feels a little surreal.” You turned in his arms, facing him fully.

“Are you ready for it?” His gaze met yours and he smiled at you.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” he said sincerely. “Especially with you by my side.” Tears pricked at your eyes, overwhelmed by how far you had both come. There was a time when you hadn’t been sure if things would ever feel this right. But now, standing here with Yoongi, your husband and soon-to-be father of your child, everything felt complete.

“I still think about my father sometimes,” you admitted softly, breaking the gentle silence. Since your fathers outburst Yoongi had made it clear he wasn't to be involved with anything the two of you were doing and he'd...back off. Something that had creeped you out and you'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop but he never showed up again.

“About how different things are without him in my life. It feels strange… but also freeing.” Yoongi’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening at the mention of your father. He had tabs on him at all times to make sure he wasn't going to do anything to you again,

“He lost the right to be part of your life the moment he put his hands on you. I won’t let him come anywhere near you or our family.” You nodded, comforted by his unwavering protectiveness.

“I know. And I’m glad he’s not part of this. I don’t want our baby growing up under that kind of pressure.” Yoongi’s hand slipped from your waist to cradle your face, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek.

"Our child is going to grow up surrounded by love, not expectations or obligations,” he said firmly. “That’s all that matters now.” Your heart swelled with gratitude, tears welling in your eyes.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

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robo-writing · 3 months ago

Note

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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arc-misadventures · 2 months ago

Note

NNN Coco: With you writing so much about her and Jaune it seems like the right time to do this ask.

NNN: CO

Jaune: Haa... okay, Coco what is it you wanted me to see?

Coco: T-This.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: (Whistles~!)

Jaune: Wow... I knew you could pull off the bunny girl, but I didn't think you could pull it off that well!

Coco: Oh thanks, Jaune.

Jaune: So, what's with the outfit? Proving that you could pull it off, or is it for something else?

Coco: It's... It's November...

Jaune: Yeah, I know. I've been threating, Nora's life if she even thinks about bringing, Christmas items out before, November eleventh. The twelfth is fine, but not before the eleventh!

Coco: Oh, why is that?

Jaune: Because I don't like listening to, Christmas music. I think the transition from, Halloween to, Christmas is too fast, like a minute hasn't even passed, and we're already going from Jacko lanterns to snowmen decorations. Remembrance day is on the eleventh. Things such as those.

Coco: Oh, so it has to do with the timing, Christmas comes into play.

Jaune: Precisely. I don't mind Christmas, it just comes into play too soon in my opinion. But, I don't think that has anything to do with you in that bunny suit now does it?

Coco: N-No it doesn't...

Jaune: Oh what's this? Coco Adel, being all shy, and nervous? Pray tell, pray tell what is really going on with the bunny girl, Ms. Adel?

Coco: It's November... Meaning it's, No Nut November... a-and, I want you make sure you fail...

Jaune: Oh? OH?! Oh, Coco...

Jaune's placed his hand on, Coco's cheek turning her face to look at him.

Jaune: Why are you really doing this? I know you are not doing this to get me to fail some silly little game. You would have put any other girl in a bunny suit to get me to fail. But, why are you trying to get me to fail?

Coco: B-Because I thought it would be fun to make you lose, NNN...

Jaune: Coco... Just say the word...

Coco: The word...?

Jaune: The unspoken word. The word that could make, or break our relationship. The word that we are both too scared to say, but know in our hearts that we must say it. So say the word, Coco. And, I will be yours...

Coco: ...

Coco: J-Jaune...?

Jaune: Yes...?

Coco: I-I...

Jaune: ...

Coco: I love you...

Jaune: Ahh, there it is...

Jaune leaned forward, his lips crashing upon, Coco's causing her to swoon as their kiss deepened, before they broke apart.

Jaune: I love you too, Coco. I would have told you so sooner, but... Something told me that it wasn't me who needed to be the one to say it, it needed to be you. And, I must say... It was worth the wait...

Coco: You jerk~

Coco felt her body fall into, Jaune's as she embraced the feeling of his broad chest. She hummed softly as she felt, Jaune's tender embrace wrap around her.

Coco: So...

Coco: Can I still make you fail, NNN, or is now not the time for that?

Jaune: That depends...

Coco: On?

Jaune: You have any other sexy little numbers you want to try on for me?

Coco: Oh, I can think of one, or two~!

Jaune: Perfect.

~~~

Nora: YESSSSS!!!

Velvet: Fucking finally!

Weiss: (Sniff) That was beautiful...

Yang: Since when was, Jaune such a smooth talker?! He was shit with, Weiss, but god damn that was smooth?!

Pyrrha: Told you.

Ren: I never doubted it.

Blake: Took them long enough.

Fox: I don't think we'll be able to stay at our dorm room tonight.

Yatsuhashi: Not likely...

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #coco adel #fox alistair #Yatsuhashi Daichi #velvet scarlatina #coco x jaune #jaune x coco #rwby french roast #blake bellodona

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notjustjavierpena · 28 days ago

Note

Inés just broke something in the house, what does hubby and wife say????

Mess (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Such a fun writing project, tysm. I missed them terribly!

Summary: Inés breaks a lamp. Javier has the scare of his life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Family dynamics, Javier POV, fluff, hurt/comfort, i write to fix my own trauma

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/137384134

Mess

The stack of folded clothes is growing taller whilst the laundry basket on the double bed is emptying out. Javier is enjoying a weekend with time to get housework done before midterms begin at the local college. He is nervous about guiding his students through the exams for the first time since starting his job as a teacher, feeling like he has only just begun his life as an educator and the responsibilities are overwhelming. You’ve sweetly encouraged him each time he’s voiced his concerns to you, told him that his class is lucky to have him whenever he has mumbled about nerves over dishes or during goodnight kisses.

With your support, he has found that prepping for the exams is best done accompanied by mindless work and he has gone through several tasks on the list saved in his head; groceries have been bought, gutters have been cleaned, and two full baskets of children’s clothes have been washed and dried. He doesn’t want to admit to you that he thinks about the theories behind criminal behavior while folding Sebastian’s tiny socks.

You are outside with the boys, enjoying the last months of your pregnancy with a book in your lap, laying in the hammock under the large trees. He checks on the three of you often, spotting that you have put down the book as you sway gently to substitute it with watching your children with a hand on your rounded belly. Lucas smiles brightly as he has Sebastian waddling hurriedly after him on the newly mowed grass. The soles of their feet will be green when they come inside later, marking the floorboards that he has just vacuumed but he doesn’t mind. It is evidence of fun, of love and joy. Messes equals life.

Inés is the only one who refuses to go outside. Her giggles and chatter floated up the stairs not too long again, blending with her little feet making the floorboards creak as she paced around with her hobby horse. It offers a rare kind of comfort to be able to hear her having fun while he packs clothes away into dressers and drawers.

Until he doesn’t hear it anymore. Instead, it is a sudden crash that comes from downstairs and makes Javier tense up. He freezes to listen for her voice calling for him but only silence follows the loud noise.

“Inés?” He calls. No answer. The t-shirt that he is in the middle of folding falls to the bed and his heartbeat quickens.

He walks to the open door of the bedroom, grabs the doorframe, and leans out of it to listen again. He calls her name a second time, this time a little louder and more insistently, but there’s still no response.

In his chest, his heart has started to pound enough for him to be able to hear it in his ears. Many thoughts go through his head at the sound of silence from the living room, firstly images of broken furniture but then finally the picture of his daughter who has fallen and hit her head. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention to her? Why hadn’t he checked on her sooner?

He is out the door before he even realizes that he is moving, barrelling down the stairs and taking it two steps at a time. Fuck, maybe he could have prevented disaster if he had gone downstairs the second she had gone quiet. He raises his voice without thinking, knuckles whitening as he grips the banister, “Inés? Answer me now!”

When he stumbles into the living room, he first notices the broken lamp, a shattered bulb lying beside the ceramic base on the wooden floor but with no blood on the shards. Next to it, Inés’ hobby horse lies discarded like it has been thrown in a panicked hurry. He furrows his brow, scanning the room to find her.

When he spots her through the doorway to the dining room, crouched down under the table, relief floods him. She isn’t hurt, no sign of even a scratch on her, but then he sees the way she has her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes are fixated on the broken lamp.

She’s scared not of the crash, he realizes, but of him; his shouting, his loud footsteps, the way he had said her name. She looks like she is bracing herself for trouble - more specifically the anger and disappointment in his voice - and she’s covering her ears with little, trembling hands in a way that is unsuccessful in keeping out noise. The sight of her terrified face makes Javier remember the feeling of being unfairly scolded for accidents horribly well, and his heart sinks.

He walks calmly into the dining room, not even thinking about the broken lamp anymore, and kneels on the floor. With his hands on his thighs, he takes a deep breath to steady himself, “Inés, I’m not mad at you. I just want to know if you’re okay, baby.”

His daughter lifts her gaze to meet his eyes. His chest constricts at the sight of the tears in Inés’ wide eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, still immovable.

“Are you hurt?” He asks softly.

“I didn’t mean to break it,” she answer in a whisper and shakes her head. She’s always so bold, hilarious, and mischievous but she’s so clearly hiding from him, trying to decide if it’s safe to come out or not.

“I know you didn’t, mija (my daughter),” he reassures and moves slowly until he holds both hands out to her, palms open towards the ceiling, “It’s just a lamp, okay? Come here, I’m not mad. Just let me take a look at you.”

Javier can only imagine how fast her heart is beating in her chest right now, knowing that he hurried down here with his own racing heartbeat. She must be dizzy from the anxiety just as he is disoriented by his adrenaline. He gestures gently at her, beckoning her to him.

“I didn’t mean to,” she repeats quietly.

“Lo sé (I know),” he offers her a little reassuring smile, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor instead, “Can you come out, please?”

With hesitant steps, she moves from under the table and walks straight to him. He expects that he has to ask for a hug but just as she comes to a halt in front of him, she collapses into his arms like they are a harbor in a storm. He squeezes her tightly.

“I thought you were mad at me, Papá,” she hiccups as her tears wet his shirt. He rests his chin on top of her head, his broad palm stroking her small back.

“Not at all, baby. You just scared me is all. You didn’t answer and I thought you were hurt,” he explains while pressing gentle kisses to her hair. He inhales slightly, sighing at the way his baby girl smells of love to him.

“I’m sorry,” she says and practically crawls into his lap.

“It’s okay,” he replies, cradling her in the same manner as he has done since the day she was placed in his arms for the first time, “It’s just a lamp. Mamá and I can just get a new one but we can’t get a new you.”

“Will you tell her?” She pulls back to look up at him with huge, wet eyes.

He nods, using his thumb to swipe at the tears on her face, “Yes, I will have to tell her but Mommy doesn’t care about the lamp either. I promise. We care about you. I’ll also tell her that you gave Daddy the scare of his life and made him run down the stairs like a crazy person.”

A tiny, hesitant giggle escapes her and he feels another wave of relief wash over him. She finally smiles and her voice is more steady now, “Silly.”

“Very silly,” he agrees with a smile and runs a palm over her head, threading his fingers through her hair, “But you know what’s not silly though?”

“What?”

“If anything like this ever happens again - if you break something or you get scared - I want you to call for me instead of hiding underneath the furniture. Just say ‘Papá, I need you’ and I’ll be there, okay?”

She only hesitates for a moment but then nods thoughtfully, “Okay.”

“And hey, te quiero tanto (I love you so much).”

“I love you too, Daddy,” she says, no hesitation this time.

The two of them stand up from the floor to look at the broken lamp on the floor. Inés makes an uncomfortable face, reaching for Javier’s hand. He holds her hand in his palm, “How about we tell Mom together?”

“Now?” She widens her eyes but she isn’t crying anymore.

“Yes now. Watch your feet, alright?” He waits for her to initiate the first step towards the door to the garden. Her eyes are firmly on the floor as they pass the broken ceramic shards.

Outside, Javier's face is warm in the afternoon sun. There’s a buzz in the air from the cicadas’ singing and the laughter from his two sons. He and Inés find you in the hammock, the book still discarded as you watch your children with fondness but this time, you’ve switched to sitting.

However, as they approach, your eyebrows knit together when you spot Inés' apprehensive look. You carefully plant your feet on the ground, asking, “Is everything okay?”

Javier glances at his daughter, “Inés has something she wants to tell you.”

She fidgets for a few seconds, looking down at her feet, but when she feels Javier’s hand on her shoulder, she looks up with determination. She confesses quietly but her voice doesn’t waver, “I broke the lamp. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Inés, baby,” your expression softens instantly. With a gentle touch, you brush a strand of hair out of your daughter’s face, “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

She shakes her head, “I’m okay. Daddy said you wouldn’t get mad but it is messy all over the floor.”

“You’re okay and that’s all that matters,” your gaze flickers to Javier, a look warmer than the sun in your eyes. He feels his heart nearly leap out of his chest but he catches himself in interrupting the moment between you. You continue, “Daddy and I don’t mind messes, do we? As long as everyone is okay.”

“Yes,” Inés nods in grateful understanding.

“How about you sit here with Mommy while I clean the floor?” Javier finally suggests, “Then the living room will be as good as new and you can play in there again?”

“Yes, please,” she says politely, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you chime in and kiss him softly on the mouth before he heads into the house once more.

Yes, messes mean life, and Javier is lucky enough to live in a world where life also means love.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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brilium · 1 year ago

Text

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 9. Aphrodisiac! with Nanami Kento

Summary. Nanami has been dealing with a lot of stress at the office lately, and you decided to buy him a naturalist tea that it supposed to help with the stress relief. It seems to help with stress in a very particular way...

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, vaginal sex, overstimulation, oral sex (m. receiving), breeding. No proof read, might edit later.

Word count. 2,203.

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

You bought a package of natural tea bags for stress relief. Was it suspicious? Not really. You expected them to work? Also no.

Actually, it seemed pretty normal; a simple box with small bags filled with the usual content.

You gave them to Kento when he drank in the morning before going to work. He seemed like usual; tired, with no energy and half asleep.

That was pretty much the reason why you bought them.

The tea was supposed to help him relieve stress relief, that’s why you give it to him before his stressful routine. You didn’t expect to be one of those teas.

“Fuck! S–Stay still dear!” Nanami groans, holding the headboard of the bed with one hand while the other keeps your waist firmly against the mattress as his hips slam aggressively against yours.

You look at your clothes spreader around the floor, you can't even remember when Nanami got you rid of them in the rush of kisses and make out that he put you through.

The lady at the shop gently helped you to look for a tea that would help with the stress that your husband has been having, since you’re a bit worried about his lack of words and how he skips dinner and goes to sleep. You should have suspected of her smile.

It was a damn aphrodisiac.

You cry in the pillow while he keeps thrusting with an animal fiercely, holding the sheets between your fists as his hip bone spanks against your red ass. Nanami groans fill the bedroom with the skin slapping sounds that drive you crazy.

"God— You feel so good today. I couldn't stop thinking at work about you, dear!"

And, that's fucking true, Nanami felt a weird wave of arousal as soon as he landed on his desk. Suddenly remembering how tight that shirt suited you today, he remembered how your nipples poked out softly through the fabric; and that leaded him to remember your bare body, your thighs squeezing at his sides every time he pounded on you and your sweet blush when you announced that you were about to cum—

God, he lied saying that he was sick because he needed to fuck you. It felt like ages since the last time.

When he arrived sooner, you were happy that, maybe, his boss gave him a free day. But as soon as he started kissing you as rubbing his hard erection against your stomach you knew that you’ll be the tired one today.

“P–Please! K–Kento—” You rest your cheek on the pillow to get some air, even if it’s hard to do it with his weight above yours, thrusting hard. “S–Slow down! Fuck!”

Nanami doesn’t seem to listen, actually, he does the opposite, getting a quicker peace that wins a loud scream from you. Your eyes half opened don’t let you focus clearly, although your complaints since you’re used to doing it more gently with him, you love how his tip hits constantly on your cervix like he wants to leave his mark inside you.

When you start whining against the pillow, drooling on it and starting to dig hardly your nails on your palm, you let out a small whimper of pain that startles your husband.

“D–Do you— Shit! Do you want me to stop?”

The thrusts slow down gently until stopping with some shaking from him, he doesn’t sounds like he wants to stop, even his voice shakes in need of more but his delicacy with you stays even though the way he acts right now melts a warm feeling on your chest.

You shake your head with weakness, tightening your core muscles to keep him inside. Nanami lets out a broken moan when you do it, grabbing both sides of your hips firmly and taking a deep breath.

He caresses your back from top to bottom, trying to control his need to keep slamming on you.

“This is because of that damn tea…” He scolds, going inside again more slowly even it’s a higher pain for his body needing to let out all that contained energy. "I can't even feel tiredness."

“I notice it,” You whimper, tasting how sweetly it feels his length entering again, you push your hips back a little for more and Nanami responds by unintentionally digging his nails on your skin. “Fuck— D–Don’t hold back, please...”

Nanami growls in response, he tries his best to go slow for you but even though he slowed down his thrusts, he makes sure to hit every time with enough energy to make your insides clench around his swollen dick.

You start to love this new side of him, letting out his desires to ruin you and take everything he wants. He's a gentleman, and that's perfect, but remembering that that gentleman is turning you into a mess growls a pool on your aching cunt.

When Nanami’s thrusts start to get faster and harder, you start to taste a sweet electric wave around your body as you keep hearing the headboard slamming on the wall.

“K–Kento! I’m… I’m close!” You scream, moaning his name against the sheets and grabbing them between your fists.

Nanami nods behind you, keeping his peace as he starts to feel how the knot on his stomach is about to release. He pulls you closer to him in a harsh movement and starts hitting harder, when you start crying in pleasure is when you feel a whole shiver growing along your body in the high of your orgasm. He keeps moving his hips in a messier way until he moans sharply as you feel a warmth filling your cunt.

You are breathless on the mattress as you feel the cum running down your thighs, thinking that your husband is in the same state but it takes you by surprise when he grabs you by the shoulder to make you lie on your back to look at him towering you in the bed.

He just came, a lot.

And he’s still fucking hard.

“B–But you just came!” You whine, feeling him rubbing his length along your sensitive folds. Making you roll your eyes at the sensation and having to bite your lip to not moan in response. "Kento—"

“P–Please… Fuck, you feel so warm” Nanami moans quietly between his teeths, putting his tip right on your entrance and you feel a cold chill running through your spine. “If you are still tight maybe I’ll cum sooner and the effect of the tea goes away.”

You know that he's inventing all that, you both don't know how long that effect is going to last but you’re not complaining when his tip opens your walls again.

Nanami starts to push and you throw your head back on the pillow with a pained moan, you are still really wet from the previous orgasm, but also damn sensitive. He hasn't even fully entered but yet it already has you breathing hard and biting your lip.

He grabs your thighs to spread them and has a good entrance to you when he starts stroking again, but it doesn't seem to be enough for him. Nanami does the opposite by lifting your calves to put them on his shoulders as he starts to hit again.

This new position lifts your hips a little more and gives him a good angle to hit on your cunt and turn you into a mess of moans, feeling him hitting on the cervix in such a delicious way.

His eyes travel down along your body from your parted lips crying his name; your tits being squeezed between one of your hands, trying to keep them both stimulated; and fuck, the nice view of your cunt squeezing on his fat cock around the white ring of cum around it.

You squirm on the mattress, feeling like a rag doll in the hold of his strong body.

"F–Fuck! Fuck!" You bring one of your hands between your legs to rub your swollen clit to get closer to the second orgasm. Nanami groans at the feeling of your folds hugging him tightly.

Nanami lets go of your thighs on your sides to bend closer to you, but his hips keep slamming on you like he's just started while you already started to feel your body getting sore.

You thought that he leaned closer to kiss you through the thrusts, but he stopped right in front of your breasts to start sucking on your nipples and let them go with a "Pop!". When his hard thrusts make it hard for him to reach the nipple, he just chooses to suck on the soft skin of your breasts, leaving a dark red mark on there.

His tongue drills on the tip of your sensitive bud, biting it softly between his teeths to make your back arch for more. It's when in one of those movements that your vision goes blurry as your hands fly to his back and start to scratch it with your nails.

"K–Kento! Yes, yes!" You roll your eyes, feeling his dick strokes on the right spot between your walls "Right there! Yes!"

Nanami hugs you back to keep you steady as he keeps hitting, feeling your cunt tightening around him. You cry his name repeatedly against his shoulder as he thrusts while you ride the second orgasm.

You spasm under him, trembling and feeling small tears on the border of your eyes as he calms down above you. Even your walls clench around his length at the sound of his hard breathing beside your ear.

"D–Dear… I—"

You interrupt Nanami, pushing him softly to lie on his back beside you. He opens his eyes wide when you use the last remains of your strength to straddle I'm front of his swollen dick, holding the base of it with one hand as you get closer to it.

"Gosh! You gave me two sweet orgasms and you haven't even cum once…" A pout grows in your face, holding his cock to hit it softly on your cheek, loving the way Nanami’s body jumps slightly at the touch.

"Am I that bad in bed?" You continue, passing slowly your tongue flatly from his base to his tip to taste his precum combined with the last of your fluids. "Is that so, Kento? You want me to stop?"

Nanami shakes his head, bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing sweetly as he bites his lip to not scream at the way you tease him with soft licks along his member.

"No… Don’t stop."

You smirk, licking his tip in circles with your tongue before sliding it between your lips and pull back. You enjoy his cries and pleas until you finally decide to take the most that you can, swallowing with your cheeks as he throws his head back with a growl.

It's been a while since you gave him a blow job, so you forgot how fat his cock felt inside your mouth, struggling to take it all as you jerk the rest with your hand as you lick his tip in circles before taking it all again.

But he squirms so nicely on the bed…

You laugh against his dick, sending vibrations that make him cry softly, you keep going slowly until his hands push you down to take more. You gag around him and he growls pleased, thrusting up to hit the back of your throat, making you cry softly as the sound of his guttural moans fill your ears.

"Yes, yes! You take me so well, dear!" It doesn't take longer until Nanami pulls your head back by tangling his fingers on your hair, leaving a thin thread of drool from his tip to your lip.

You look at Nanami trying to get up on his knees in front of you with your flushed cheeks and fucked out gaze. He pumps along his swollen dick in front of you a few strokes until he throws the thick lines of cum around all your face, falling down along your cheeks, mouth and some drips on your tits.

Nanami groans relieved and fall on his knees in the mattress, looking at you cleaning the rest with your thumb to suck it.

"Don’t do that, let me clean you."

"Why? Is it gross for you?" You ask, genuinely. Stopping to look around for the tissues, but Nanami’s head weight on your lap, his broken breathing hits on your thighs, giving you tickles.

"No… I'll get hard again if I see you doing it. I still feel some dizziness from that stupid tea."

You giggle, playing with his hair with one hand as you clean the last remains with the back of your hand, waiting for cleaning it properly later.

"Don’t call it stupid! You seem less stressed, actually."

Nanami groans annoyed, slapping softly on your bare thigh.

"Maybe, but I'm stressed on what medical excuse I'll have to create for my work."

"Just tell them that something in the morning hurt your tummy."

Nanami hums in response, about to fall asleep on your thighs and you smirk before leaning closer to his ear.

"Since you’re not going back to work… Do you want another tea?"

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #brilium #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

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Hi, is there any Headcanon of a Married relationship between Izuku Midoriya and the reader? Could you write based on the Canon? Although the Reader, besides being a heroine (Izuku the teacher), is a model for clothing brands, cosmetics, etc! like any celebrity.

The reader is female!

ooooo~ how fun, anon! Let's see what I got... first headcanon request, here we go!!

A/N: I've gotten several fun asks recently, and am moving those larger works to the top of my WIPs as time allows. This is so fun, and you all suggesting prompts like these make it a joy!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!reader (SFW)

MARRIED HEADCANONS!

Married!Izuku who -even though you're coming up on your third wedding anniversary- still crams love notes on index cards into your e-reader before he leaves for the day. You have it plugged into the side table of the living room and will pick it up as soon as you come home from work to wind down; so even though he will have a later arrival home than you, you'll hardly feel alone with Izuku's words of affirmation pouring out their surprise greeting.

Izuku writes in the middle of the night when he wakes before you- whether by an overactive mind or a nightmare he'd sooner forget. Rather than disturb your much needed rest, will channel reflective thoughts towards you onto paper- and sneaks their secrets around the house where you'll least expect them. Just when you think you know all his hiding spots, he picks a new one to surprise you. Once satisfied with his "journaling" tactic, he'll scoop you back up against him and settle into sleep.

Married!Izuku who chooses a travel tumbler for you every morning and fills it every time it's empty. Car ride ahead? It's crafted with your homebrewed coffee to keep you awake. Got a photoshoot ahead? Water it is, keeping his love hydrated. You are his beloved beverage goblin and though he finds your car to be a tervis graveyard, what's one more dish to wash if it makes you happy?

This man, who will hiss when your hands are too cold against his, getting ramped up far too easily when it comes to worrying over your health... meanwhile Izuku toughs through the worst of allergies himself with a hundred sniffles (and an aversion to cough medicine.) It's one of the first big arguments you had as a couple: you forcing him to take better care of himself when his self-preservation streak peeks through and nearly wears him into the ground during grad school. He'll start to defend himself, only to be caught by flashbacks to the last time he tried managing things on his own, and rightfully apologize. You are a team, and Izuku tries his hardest to let you step in and give him the same care and caution he gives you. It's a hard lesson, managing pride when it comes to taking care of someone so selflessly, and Izuku is still unused to this treatment when turned to himself. You're doing your best, armed with a world of grace to set him straight.~

Married!Izuku who is a phenomenal teacher. One of the most patient souls you've ever met, which is a large draw that led you to date him! You're encouraged to stretch your ways of thinking, listening to his alternative points of view... and find yourself marveling that a man who's so closely engrossed with training the next generation of heroes is still so happy to watch the news at the end of the day in hopes of learning more!

You've gifted him a notetaking tablet that's meant to replace his waning supply of favorite notebooks, but if you find that blue Campus brand in a shop that's selling your brand deals somewhere, you are absolutely picking it up for him. He cries every time you make him close his eyes and hold out his hands, producing your surprise in giddy silence. "They don't make this edition anymore!! H-HONEY!!"

^^^After a day of sparring with his students -giving them a run for their money- you'll be the one patching him up out of sight of Recovery Girl, everything from a lightly busted lip to each blooming bruise he's gonna feel in the morning. You're surprised he's getting hit as much as he is when he's still renowned as one of the heartiest teachers at UA- quirk or not, he is no lightweight. You may worry over him just as much, but with your honorary brother-in-law 'Kacchan' running drills on him on the weekends, you know Izuku is in tip-top shape. No one is invincible, after all.

Will gladly talk to your mom on the phone~ welcomes it, actually! Izuku wants to learn every little tidbit and creature comfort he can about you, so any nerves he had about meeting your family when you began dating dissolved once he kept that goal in mind. (This mentality won your father over well, to a comical degree once Izuku showed him the notes folder on his phone with your die-hard favorite secret pleasures only a loved one would know...) Allmight makes his trip to your dinner table every other week or so, becoming a ready and available father figure to you while yours lives hours away. It does your heart a world of good sitting in his nurturing company.

Married!Izuku will carry your luggage to and from the airport without a single grunt or complaint (That's what he continues to work out for, even as a teacher!) A few tears upon departure and arrival, sure, but will always ground himself steady in his pride over the hard work you're putting in. He's the one who calls to wish you a goodnight when you're on location for hero support, and a sends a text for every morning and lunch break. Regardless of timezone, he's going to make sure you are part of his routine like nothing's changed. You rely on this consistancy more than life. Living apart -even short term- is expected at this stage of your career where you're needed more than ever to help fund your hero ventures through sponsorships... but Izuku will forever be your biggest supporter.

///Little does he know, you are cramming in twice as many roles to help fund a certain someone's hero suit development, per Bakugou's discretion. It's the one, solitary lie of omission you keep from your husband, but one you trust is going to be worth it in the end to see him shine where he wants to once again. He'll always be your hero, but you'll help him see that realized self any way you can.///

Married!Izuku will be flooding the groupchat with every single advertisement that features your face. Every last one. And there are many. The girls will share you on each of their socials in support of whatever you are sporting, while the boys will... look respectfully and congratulate Izuku on his absolute knockout of a girl. Izuku is just insanely proud of his wife and will make it everyone's problem~

He may be operating on a teacher's salary, but is the most thoughtful gift-giver. Married!Izuku will choose experiences over 'things' when it comes to you, like vacationing to the largest library in the world where you can spend hours holed up on a loveseat somewhere, taking notes on all the old tomes you find, using those classic academia desks as if you were still at the 'study abroad' college where you met... Trip planning gives you both something to look forward to amidst your busy schedules, and takes the financial pressure off you both as well. Not that he won't still treat you to just about anything you ask for when you're giving him that sweet, small 'please' standing in the checkout line at the corner store...

Married!Izuku, who misses you adorably when you're not home. He runs a fairly typical working schedule that lines up with yours for the most part-- makes him the happiest, coming home to you! You adhere to a few sacred rules in your shared home: you always go to bed together, you can occasionally go to bed angry- but always remain in each other's corners, and you know giving him head scritches is the easiest way to make Izuku pliant enough to sleep. He'll nurse your migraines that aren't so pretty, you'll give his hands massages when the phantom pains make them ache. Whatever you can do to give your man some ease into his life, you give wholeheartedly.

You'll kiss Izuku's every trouble away; and the ones that linger, you'll tend to as gently as you can until you can replace the thoughts with something sweeter, kinder, delicately on his still-healing heart when the embers remind him of old hurts you weren't around to see. You care for Deku just as you do your darling Izuku- as they are two sides of the same coin. You polish and affirm them both, strengthening all the parts that have made your life partner the man he is today. That made him him.

Married!Izuku: your darling husband with eyes that light up when you enter a room, mist up when they see you down, and stare eternally grateful on you as you listen and take in every word he has to give and through every promise shared-- just like your vows.

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bonbonly · 3 days ago

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Maid reader who is in the kitchen cleaning, maybe on the floor scrubbing something off the tiles and Carlos makes her squirt, making a mess all over again after she’s just cleaned the floors before making her lick it up

MY JAW DROPPED READING THIS OH MY GOD?!?!

bon's thoughts (18+)

college!au carlos is in the kitchen, drinking some water when his mom tells him that she's taking his sisters to some concert that they really wanted to go to. he nods his head, telling her he'll make sure the maid does her job and she pinches his cheek, telling him he's such a sweet boy.

and no sooner is the house empty, he gives you one look and you take off your outfit, and toss them onto the couch, going back to scrubbing the floor. he cranes his neck to get a look at your pussy as you're on all fours, your arms going back and forth as you make sure this one spot in the hallway is thoroughly clean. he spills some of the water onto the ground besides you, and you throw the scrubber into the bucket and glare at him.

"you're so lucky its water, i'm not doing overtime here," you grumble, and his eyes widen as a laugh escapes his throat,

"hermosa, are you talking back?" he asks, and you begin to stutter,

"n-no... i-i'm so sorry, i was just... you see i'm... well... i'm a bit t-tired, that's all. i d-didn't mean to snap at you like that, i'll do overtime as long as y-you want!" you squeak out, hoping he doesn't decide to rip up the check he was supposed to give you last time. that was a whole mess of a day. his parents were in the house and he wanted to fuck you, but you refused since you didn't want to lose your job. his mom had given him the check to give to you and right outside, he tore it up to pieces and handed it to you before placing a kiss on your cheek and saying you didn't do your job properly in his eyes.

"you're sorry, yeah?" he kneels down onto the tiles, and you nod your head,

"i really am, i'm so sorry." you watch him spread your legs, his mouth tugging at your pretty folds as you whimper, quietly. after a few kitten licks of your cunt, he laughs at how you're such a dripping mess for him already and he has his fingers twirl inside you. you moan out loud, grinding into his hands which causes his fingers to stretch you deeper. his fingers slide in and out of you with ease, and as he adds a third, he's going faster. he brings his mouth back onto your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over your pearl as you're mewling out loud, trying to get him to stop because you had to get back to work! who knew when mrs. sainz would get back? you didn't want to explain to her that her precious son was ruining you in the middle of the tiled hallway! he keeps going, and pretty soon you're squirting all over him, screaming out loud as your liquids pool onto the ground.

"oh no!" he says in mock innocence, "another mess! tsk, tsk, tsk, princesa look what you've done. i guess you have to clean it all up now, hm?" he swats the bucket with the scrub away from you and you frown, opening your mouth to argue but he yanks you by your ankles and flips you onto your stomach. your face is inches from your juices on the ground and he grabs a fistful of your hair and brings your head back to face him,

"i want all of this clean with your tongue, mi vida, no scrubs, no water, nothing. just your tongue," and he drops your head back onto the ground, your face hitting your own cum. you grimace a bit at the wetness on your cheek, but you listen anyway hoping he'll give you some tip and you're tongue laps against the tiles. you're unaware that his clothes are gone, and he brings your ass higher into the air before thrusting into you in one go, the air in your lungs being knocked out instantly. you whine out loud about how sensitive you are, but his pace doesn't stop. instead he's going faster, and he shoves your face against the ground,

"i don't remember telling you to stop, princesa, keep going or you might not get your pay today," he smirks, and you nod your head, going back to licking the ground.

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thehealthyfearofeverything · 5 days ago

Text

The Kitchen Sink

SINOPSIS: “ No surprise family members?” you asked Mama. She laughed, light and airy and filled with genuine mirth.

“Not while I'm alive.” She said before kissing your head.

You died and were reborn into the DC universe, simple enough.

Chapter One || The View From Halfway Down.

Warnings: Death, suicide, depression, child neglect, violence, murder, untreated postpartum depression. The first part of this details a suicide please do not read this if it’s triggering, prioritize your mental health. If you want to continue but don't want to read the first part, the next scene starts here: “Death is surprisingly peaceful.”

You're standing at the edge of an incomplete bridge, a construction project that must’ve been abandoned a few years ago. Nature has reclaimed the old metal construct. The ground is still dewy and slick, and you caught yourself before you tripped when your foot slid against a particularly wet patch of moss.

It’s ironic how you caught yourself from falling considering what you’re about to do. A bitter chuckle fell from your lips. You’ve walked way past the old weathered warning signs and rusty railing that were placed there to keep people from falling.

Or jumping.

Now here you are standing at the very edge with your feet half off of the ledge. You lean over to look down, and a pang of fear bounce your gut.

Yeah, that’s a long way down. You’d probably die on impact, or get swallowed by the current and drown.

A gust of wind blows through your clothes and hair, whistling softly against the shells of your ears.

The air smells like rain and wet earth, and you can see and hear thunder clouds rolling in the distance. You breathe in a painful breath of air, filling your lungs until they ache and emptying them again. The cold evening air makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, and you still feel chilly despite the layers of clothes you’re wearing.

You swallowed thickly, peace was slowly falling over you, calming your racing heart and cooling the burning blood in your veins. The sound of the rushing river sounded a lot like white noise, or the thrum of static. It reminds you of your grandpa, that blind old man with a smoker’s voice and a failing body, of how he’d sit in front of the T.V. and just listen to it, refusing to turn it off even when the scene went white and nothing of use played.

Grandpa died in front of the T.V. and it was Mom who found him. It was mom who mourned for him.

Who would report your body? Who would mourn for you?

You know that it probably will be a few days, maybe weeks until your body washes up on the riverbed and a bit longer until someone finds it and reports it. You probably would be found sooner if you offed yourself in your apartment, but it certainly wouldn’t be by your friends.

It’d be by neighbors complaining of some smell or your landlord serving an eviction notice. You've skipped rent a few too many times. Whatever. It’s not like it mattered.

You weren't meant to live anyways, something has always been wrong with you. You were born wrong and it’s only taken 22 years to realize that you don’t fit into this world. So of course it all comes down to two choices: Live and kill yourself later, or just fucking jump and get it overwith now.

A slow breath leaves your lungs, a cloud of condensation swirling in the chilling air in front of you. The breeze carries your breath away and disburses the cloud into nothingness. You lean forward and look over the edge again, staring down into waters that you’ll be throwing yourself down. You hope it’s a long enough drop to kill you on impact.

It’d fucking suck if it didn’t.

It's probably better than going back to what you have… Maybe.

You have...had an okay job behind a counter at a local mom-and-pop store, your coworkers are kind enough and the pay isn’t so bad. You also write in your spare time and some of the stuff you make you’re proud of. You wanted to pursue a career in it, but it just didn't turn out that way.

You used to go to college. You’re still technically enrolled, but it’s been a year since you’ve stepped foot on campus and your financial aid has dropped you. Somewhere along the way you just busied yourself with a 9-5 job just to not feel useless, but you still are.

You make barely enough money to cover rent, ramen packets, coffee and on occasion fast food. When you aren't working your life away, most of it is spent just sitting at your desk staring off into space as a blank word document stares back at you.

You used to love writing, but it’s slowly become a chore to you and you find little interest in it anymore. You know that’s by-the-book depression, but what else did you have to look forward to? All you do now is go to work, sit and stare into space for hours, and drag yourself back to bed. You’re so tired. All. The. Fucking. Time.

You feel sad that you won’t be around to enjoy the things you used to, like reading or writing. But let’s be real here, the only thing you’ve written lately is the suicide letter tucked under one of the rails.

You’re going to really miss all the little things in life that you enjoyed. Sadly there aren’t enough little things to make you want to keep breathing. You wish there was, it isn’t like you hate living. You love it when it’s enjoyable, but living is just too hard for you. You should feel angry that you don’t have the will to live in this world, and that there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here, but you don’t.

You don’t feel as angry as you used to be.

You used to be so, so angry at everything. You detested the ground you walked on, cursing the planet for making you this way. You were angry at your friends, jealous of their success and happiness. You were angry at yourself for not being enough to keep up in this world. You were angry at things that happened to you. Angry for the way you were born. Angry at what you were born with.

As time went on, that anger fizzled into contempt, and then indifference. Wherever that anger went, wherever had it gone, you only know that it was replaced by a deep sadness that sits in your chest everyday. It wasn’t only anger that left you, though. It was every fiery emotion. Passion, motivation, etc. It's all gone.

That was probably the first step towards giving up. Whenever something does manage to piss you off, it doesn’t last long. It sizzles out just as fast as it happens and it leaves you feeling empty. You are used to it by now, but that doesn’t make it any less bearable.

And it’s not like you didn’t try to be happy. You did, you really did try to be happy. To make friends, to get a good job, and to finish college. You tried to fulfill the promise you made to mom, to live a good life and become something more than her, to do better.

You made a promise and you broke it.

At least it’s a nice day to let go. You always enjoyed dreary weather more so than sunshine and all that bullshit. Darker weather always felt like a break, like the world was slowed down for that day. Slow to match your pace for once. You take in a slow breath. The sky is dark with heavy rain clouds now, and the sound of wind blowing air into trees is almost as loud as the sound of your heart in your chest.

Okay. Shit.

Fuck.

Maybe you are more scared than you are letting on.

You loved the rain. You loved making a fresh pot of coffee. You loved reading a new book you found. You loved watching cheesy hallmark movies. You loved all the little things that life has to offer. But life can’t all be little things.

You would love nothing more than to just write, and read all day, and enjoy the weather, and all of the small oddities that make you happy; but you’re too weak to work for them. You’ve tried. You've tried so fucking hard.

The only thing that was keeping you going for a long while was your cat, Rukabella, and hanging out with your friends. But Rukabella passed away last December, and your friends stopped calling.

A bird flies past you and into the sky, as you watch it in peaceful silence.

It soars into the sky, swaying with the pulses of wind before it nestles itself into a nearby tree. You wonder if it’s just taking shelter from the oncoming storm, or if it’s home is there.

You’d like to think that it’s going home to wait out the rain with other birds.

God, you're scared, though. You didn't think you'd be this fucking terrified. Dying is the hard, painful part that you’ve always chickened out of.

Until now

You stare down into the deep river, clear rushing water just waiting to sweep your body away. A thrum of anxiety buzzes in your gut, but your mind feels barren of emotion.

You close your eyes and jump.

Death is surprisingly peaceful, It's warm and comforting and you never want to leave if this is the afterlife. You're free from pain and all of the nasty complex emotions that come with living.

‘It’s so hot. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why me? Why me? Why do I have to hurt? I hate this so much… mama please….’

A child’s voice cried out directly into Your head, weak, whimpering, and full of pain. What were you supposed to do about it? You were never good with distressed children, and you were out of touch with anything that had to do with empathy.

A warm darkness enveloped your body, and the child’s voice grew increasingly quiet. The child’s sobbing complaints faded into hushed pants. The moment when you realized you couldn’t hear the child’s voice anymore, the bubble-like cocoon that had surrounded you disappeared with a pop.

You felt yourself waking up, and at the same time, a painful hot fever branched throughout your body, as if you had come down with the flu.

Your eyes snapped open and you shot upwards, the image of the ground rushing to meet you melting into the plain white walls. You groaned. Eyes screwing shut against the harsh light spilling through the room. You brushed your hand against your hair, leaning forward over your legs.

The scratchy, heavy blanket that had been draped over you dropped to your lap. The fierce pounding in your head did not abate for a long minute, but as it slowly ebbed away into a dull ache, you released a deep sigh.

Your body was still hot, and there was a deep itch that made a home in your bones. You mindlessly scratched your arms.

You cracked your eyes open, mindful of the light, and stared at the room you're in.

“… A room?” You murmured, voice thick. It had been so vivid, so real. As if you had been the one to – your stomach clenched as more details from the dream solidified in your mind. you shuddered, feeling the lingering memory of ice cold water running over you. Brutal, frigid water that knew nothing of warmth.

A hollow ping of disappointment ricoshade through your body… It was only a dream.

A dream.

You had only dreamt of jumping, of killing yourself.

Shaking your head, casting the dream from your mind, and moving to pull the blanket back. You froze when you caught sight of your hand properly for the first time.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the small callus-free limb, turning it over to see the same on the other side. You held the other one up, chest heaving when you saw that it too was wrong. Thin and frail, too small to belong to an adult, it was the hand of a small malnourished child. You took an unsteady breath, dropping your arms and ripping the blanket off. Your feet were the same, and the sight of them – not your own, what was going on? – had you springing from the bed in panic.

You had nearly collapsed under your weight, your knees shook as red-hot pain ebbed its way into your chest. You found it difficult to breathe. Your breath was coming out in short sharp huffs.

There was another bed, right beside the one you were in, an old stained blanket covered it, along with sad-looking pillows.

A nightstand in between the two beds. Trunks were at the foot of the beds. The silence of the room was filled with white noise. You backed away, but you could not escape your own body. You knocked against the side table making the pitcher wobble, and then slammed into a wall, feeling something dig into your head.

You spun and realized that it was a door. You shoved it open and rushed inside, but came to an abrupt stop when you were confronted with a beautiful young woman. The woman set the tray she was holding on the ground, her eyebrows narrowed.

"what are you doing up?"

“Ah!” The moment the woman’s speech touched your ears, the mental dam burst open, and a flood of memories that wasn’t your own yet felt familiar rushed through you. You fell to Your knees, the fever growing hotter. You were an inferno burning from the inside out. The woman let out a concerned shriek. In a span of a few blinks, you were scooped up in the woman’s arms, your head pressed into her bosom.

The memories belonging to the girl, 'Birdie', crashed through your mind like a flood. You reflexively clasped the fabric of the woman’s shirt as you let out a weak whimper.

“Oh, Birdie...You’re burning up.”

no, no, no! I’m not Birdie! You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t. Every time you opened your mouth to say something all that came out was a weak half-sob-half-cough. You were overwhelmed by the sensations of the strange dirty room, the weak small hands that were becoming yours, and goosebumps formed as the thrum of something buzz under your skin.

The flood of information sent you into a panic, as everything screamed one thing: you were no longer yourself anymore, you were this sickly five-year-old girl.

“Birdie? Birdie?” The woman called out to you, aggressively stroking your back in her panic. Worried, she was worried, but she was a stranger. Or she would have been, but this body knew her. It even felt like you loved her.

The love felt gross and foreign. It wasn’t yours. You couldn’t accept that the woman holding you was your mother. Your body’s love and your mind’s repulsion fought against each other, the woman kept calling out the disgustingly comforting pet name.

“Mama”

When you looked up at the strange woman you never met before and called her ‘Mama,’ you fully became her Birdie.

“Shush, dear. All will be okay.” Her hands, warm and rough, smoothed down your hair. You didn’t want to touch your mother, who existed in your memories yet was someone you didn’t know. And so, when you were being placed down on the disgusting, hard bed, you threw yourself into the stinky pillows and rolled onto your side, closing your eyes.

“…My head hurts, I wanna sleep.”

“I’ll wake you when dinner's ready.”

You waited for Mama to leave the bedroom, and stiffened when you heard the door open again. Mama put something onto the nightstand and left the room, this time for good. You licked your lips as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, getting up in stages and groaning as you did so. Your body was still hot, but it wasn’t the raging inferno it was earlier.

You glanced around the room again, on the nightstand was a wooden tray, with a cup of something in it. Nothing stood out, it was a bare-bones room that tried to look well-lived in.

You bowed your head as you laced your hands onto the back of your neck and tried to control your breathing. Big emotions in a small body were bound to end in a tantrum; you did not want to have a tantrum.

Calm down, calm down. There’s no way what I think happened, happened. Think, all you had to do was think, there was an explanation.

You slowed your breathing, and cast your mind back; The bridge, the river, the rush of wind in her ears.

“I jumped,” You announced, astonishingly to the empty bedroom. You actually killed yourself and were brought back. Now isn’t that a cruel joke?

“Okay, no time to dwell on that. What’s next?” You muttered to yourself. This body still had memories; Mama or someone else would get suspicious if you didn’t use them to your advantage. You tried to look through your clearer second set of memories, going as far back as you could, but this body was that of a very young girl with a weak grasp of the language. She didn’t understand everything Mama had said.

Over half of these memories were useless.

“Oh God, what do I Do?”

You could determine a few things: One, your family consisted of you and your Mama, Rosetta. It seemed like you didn’t have a dad, and Mama worked as a waitress or something along those lines. Second, and the most shocking, this world isn’t your own. You were in the DCU, in Gotham

“Haaah,” There were no mirrors in this residence. No matter how much you explored your memories you couldn’t find any details on your appearance.You tugged on a lock of your hair, thick, coarse, and dry— poorly maintained Afro-textured hair. You pulled the lock in front of your eyes, black. If Mama looked pretty then you must be too. Not that it mattered, you didn’t look amazing in your past life, you could live without being cute.

It’s the little victories and all that jazz. You pressed your hands on the hard mattress when they began shaking minutely, willing the tremors to stop. Your mind was flooded with noise and you bit your lip, pushing through the confusion, fear, and many other emotions, and focused on what was important. One thing at a time.

You looked down at your hands and clenched them repeatedly. They moved on your command, without a hint of pain or any delay. You slowly started stretching, noting the lack of injuries. There was not even the slightest twinge.

You fell onto your side, what kind of isekai- reincarnation bull shit was this?

You coughed. Your fever was subsiding.

“Birdie, are you awake?” As if to purposefully interrupt your thoughts Mama stepped lightly into the room. You looked at the woman from over your shoulder. Mama looked out of breath and your lips twisted into a frown.

“Dinner's done?” You asked, your voice sore and mouth dry.

“Yeah.” She whispered, and in the quickest moment, Mama sauntered over to your bedside and sat down.

Mama’s hands were rough and calloused, her nails were short and dirty, and she had the hands of a worker but she held your smaller hands with such tender care. Mama’s thumbs traced up the bone, curving over your little pointer fingers.

You stared in uncomfortable breathless wonder. You don’t remember… Has anyone treated you so gently?

Mama curled her much larger hands over your small frail ones. You pulled your hands away and tucked them under the filthy blanket. Mama frowned, the back of her hand now flushed against your forehead.

“Your fever’s gone down, that’s good.” She said softly. Mama was always gentle with you.

"Now, let's eat, I made a hearty soup that would kill the rest of that nasty fever of yours," Mama said, picking you up. You couldn't stop yourself from burying your face into the crook of her neck breathing in her earthy scent.

Mama was nice and warm. You didn’t want to compare, but she was much more attentive than your previous mom was. Mom—not Mama—tried her best. You were aware that she never got over the ‘baby blues’, and it had gotten worse over the years. Being a single mom, working a dead-end job, and eventually taking care of her elderly smoker of a father, it was no surprise she did what she did.

And it was no surprise you followed her footsteps, despite promising not to.

Mama cradled you and kissed and hugged you without restraint, giving you affection as easily as she breathed. It took you two years to get used to the affection, you were touched starved and touched repulsed. Mama also noticed your aversion to physical contact, she didn’t force you to be affectionate, there was no manipulation or guilt tripping.

It was just you and Mama, like how it used to be just you and Mom.

You were poor in this life as well, living in the Narrows. It wasn’t much but it was enough, the rent was paid, and food was always on the table. You were twenty–two when you died, and now you were mentally twenty four, physically you were seven. You started school and now Mama could pick up more shifts, earn more money, just a little extra for holidays and emergencies.

It was fun having a mother that wouldn't lay in bed all day, or get mad when you got a little too loud.

You bounced into the apartment throwing your backpack on the floor after saying bye to Toby, a brown haired second grader that started to walk you home after school. He lived down the hall from you, he was nice, cute too with big brown doe eyes and a face full of baby fat. You didn’t know why he started to hang around you, but you didn't mind it. You needed friends and Mama was starting to worry.

A win-win so to say.

“Mama! I'm back!” You yelled, taking off your shoes and jacket. The apartment was warm, so Mama was home early. Mama was in the bedroom, sitting on her bed. Music played from the bluetooth speaker on her nightstand. She looked up from the book she was reading with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Birdie, how's school?” she asked. You hummed in response before climbing onto her bed and snuggling against her side. Mama let out an amused huff before tapping your nose with her index finger.

“ School’s fine, I have to do a family tree thing for class… And I'll need my birth certificate.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread of her sweater, a wordless jazz song drifted from the speaker.

“Why do you need your birth certificate? Aren't these assignments done with crayons and paper?” You could hear the teasing tone in her voice. Mama was acting like she was reading her book, but you knew she was watching you. Wanting to catch every little emotion.

So fucking attentive.

“It's only me and you, I don't need to make a family tree.” Mama hummed, and finally stopped pretending to read her book. She placed it on the nightstand and pulled you onto her lap. Straddling Mama you gripped the slides of her sweater and looked Mama in her eyes, warm, soft and searching.

Ever since you became Birdie Mama began to look at you differently, looking for remnants of her real daughter. It was to be expected you were mentally twenty four stuck in the body of a first grader. Of course she’d notice that her daughter had changed and would on some level miss the real Birdie.

It’s why you tried so hard to be good, to accept her affection and not draw too much attention to your little family. So far you managed to keep your depression at bay, and sure you had your bad days. Where you could barely get out of bed, barely had the energy to eat and had little to no tolerance for physical touch. And Mama handled it the best she could, accepted your mood swings with little to no questions.

A part of you thinks she might know that you're depressed, but she didn’t have the money for a diagnosis, therapy or medication. So Mama is just trying her best and you are too.

You don’t want to kill yourself, not again. You want to fulfill the promise you made to Mom, live a good life and be better than her. You want to learn to be happy again, to learn to love writing again, and find that fiery passion and motivation you had so long ago.

So you’ll try to be better for both Mom and Mama.

“ Huh, I guess I never did tell you about our family. They're all dead but I think they still deserve to be on our family tree.” Mama said before nuzzling her face against your neck, you let out a high pitched squeal. Mama blew raspberries against your skin and still giggling with laughter you wiggled out of her hold.

You rolled onto the floor before pulling yourself up and leaning against the bed frame of your bed. The rush of energy makes you feel lighter. It took a moment for you to regain your breath.

“ Who were they?” You asked. In your first life Mom never mentioned that she had any living family, you had assumed that they were all dead. It surprised you when Grandpa came to live with you. One moment it was just you and Mom the next it was you Mom and Grandpa.

“ Well there was granny May, she was my dad’s mom, but she died four months after you were born, and… How about we take this to the living room, so you can write and I can talk.” Mama asked. You nodded and moved to get up. It was only when the both of you were in the hallway that the question popped into your head.

“ No surprise family members?” You asked Mama. She laughed; it was a light and airy thing filled with genuine mirth.

“Not while I'm alive.” She said before kissing your head.

You had convinced Mama to let you have a photocopy of your birth certificate. Next, her name was Batman—not Bruce Wayne, but Batman. You had asked her if Batman was really your dad, but she just shook her head.

Batman wasn’t your dad. Thank fucking god. You had read too many fics where the reader insert was neglected by the batfam then they become obsessive and possessive. The Batman thing was something that some single mothers do, they put Batman on their child's birth certificate for their child to feel special later on in life or as a joke.

Mama however put Batman as your father because she was delirious and embarrassed that she didn’t know who your father was. You could forgive her for that, it's not like you faulted her to begin with anyways. You were a happy accident.

As it turns out two other kids in your class had Batman as a father as well, a boy and a girl. They started to say that they were siblings and you guess you were an older sister now.

Anessa and Jamie were fun, high energy and loud, but that could be forgiven since they were children. Mama was happy that you made more friends. And as Children they kept you busy, from your depression and other troubles with being an adult in the body of a child.

Birdie’s birthday is arriving soon, physically you’ll be eight, mentally you would be twenty five.

And that was fine. You’ll have Mama invite Tobey, Anessa, and Jamie, you’ll eat cake and ice cream, and then life will continue.

The Batfam isn't in this chapter but they will be in the next

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klaus-littlestwolf · 9 months ago

Text

Yan!Aemond T. NSFW A-Z

(For the multiple people who asked for a Yandere Alphabet for our favorite little War Criminal)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Aemond is a gift giver to the extreme

•From the moment you found out about your betrothal to your Uncle, you had been receiving gorgeous dresses, fantastic shoes and jewelry you could never have imagined wearing. All of the jewelry you were gifted containing large sapphires in the necklaces or earrings, staking the One Eyed Princes claim on you

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•He loves getting bloody on a normal occasion so getting bloody for you would be a joy for Aemond

•He would slaughter any and all men who dared even think they had a chance with his girl and he even killed a few women who thought it their place to ‘warn you’ about what he’s like and insist you needed to get out of the marriage proposal, even though you all knew that was impossible

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would avoid harming you as much as possible, he never liked to see pain on your face or bruises on your perfect porcelain skin but if you thought you were going to defy him then he needed to teach you a lesson

•Normally locking you in your rooms was enough after two days of isolation and eating all of your meals alone

•Only once did Aemond ever really hurt you and it was only after you had pushed him too far, something even you admitted he couldn’t ignore in public

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•Aemond is as patient as he can be with you but if you give him no other choice, then yes, he absolutely will

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Aemond talks to you about almost everything

•One of your jobs as his wife is to listen to him and you quickly find out you’re the only person that he really tells about how he feels about everything from his mother to his brother to even his father

•He is also very open in how he feels about you, making it clear from the moment you are betrothed that you are his and he is completely obsessed with you loves you dearly

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Aemond absolutely thinks it’s funny…for about 5 minutes

•You are his wife and him your husband, you will behave as a lady is expected to behave within the confines of her marriage so ‘fighting back’ isn’t really much of an option

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•You are Aemond’s everything, this is no game

•Anyone who thinks it is will get a painful wake up call sooner than they think

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•Your worst experience would be the one time you made the mistake of refusing his demands in front of the small council

•Aemond didn’t want to harm you, he was trying quite hard to get you used to being his wife and doing your duties/behaving how he expected you to but you didn’t give him much of an option before you felt his hand strike your face so painfully you briefly thought he had broken your jaw

•He apologized for hitting you so hard later in the privacy of your rooms but informed you that you shouldn’t have said anything against him in front of anyone especially the small council and even you knew how badly you had messed up as soon as the words left your mouth

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Aemond’s plan is impregnating you

•That has been his plan since the moment he insisted his mother ensure you were going to be his wife

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•When Aemond is jealous someone is going to die, he is a violent man when he thinks another man is getting close to his wife and he will often publicly punish any man who he thinks is looking at his Princess wrong

•You learned very quickly to talk to other men as little as possible

•However you also learned that if you wanted a man dead you had a sure fire way to make it happen

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•When you and Aemond are alone he is much different than he is in public

•Aemond is usually a sweet, gentle person with you when he isn’t in a bad mood or you’re not being difficult

•Even when in public he is gentler with you than most men are with their wives, he’s just far more quiet and somber

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•He made sure his mother knew he would only accept you as his wife, and that if Rhaenyra made the mistake of trying to marry you to anyone else he would steal you away before any wedding could take place and burn the Lords house to the ground, ally of the Hightowers or not

•Aemond was quite sweet to you, he always had been when you were children however he was a proper gentleman now and he ensured you were as happy as you could be…obsessively so

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•He is quiet for the most part in public, and if he must say something it is usually a snarky comment or a backhanded insult

•With you he is very attentive and often needy for your attention which is actually what makes you fall for him in the end, loving his desperation for you

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Aemond locks you in your chambers until you can’t stand being alone anymore and admit you were wrong for whatever, you never really need anything more than that

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•Rights?

•What are rights?

•You are Aemond’s wife. You will do what is expected of a highborn lady wife or be punished. Even so, Aemond tries to make you as happy as he can and doesn’t order you about as much as he could

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Aemond tries his best to be very patient and to his credit he does very well until you push too hard

•Compared to other men and even other Targaryen men, he is quite patient with you, wanting you to actually learn lessons and want to be a good wife for him in the end

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

Died: He would be a complete basket case without you and he would refuse to remarry for any reason what so ever

Escaped: He would go on a rampage until he got you back. No one would be safe until he found you and had you back in his arms

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•Aemond will Never let you go

•He would only ever regret how hard he slapped you once in a small council meeting, he hated how afraid of him you were in that moment

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•You had always been the only one in the family who was kind to Aemond, being his best friend as kids

•He knew you would be his wife from the moment you first stuck up for him during the pig prank to your brothers and uncle, that was the day he fell completely in love with you

•He decided that night that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to make you his wife, even though he knew his mother would want to marry him to another house and that Rhaenyra would never want you to be with him

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Anger

•Your tears brings out a rage in Aemond that is not often seen and he will slaughter whoever has made you so upset

•If he were the one to upset you however, he wouldn’t really know how to fix that. He would typically hold you until you either calmed down or cried yourself out and then get you a gift as an apology since “apologizing” isn’t really something he knows how to do very well

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•In the beginning of your relationship, before the wedding was set and you were staying as far from him as you could, Aemond came up with a plan to make you dependent on him and feel safe with him to ensure you wouldn’t try and run back home to Rhaenyra and Daemon (who was the only man you seemed to trust which enraged him to no end)

•Aemond had Criston Cole hire a man to sneak into the castle with the intent to kill you. He planed it out meticulously to ensure you were never in any real danger though you wouldn’t know that

•The man entered your chambers as you were getting ready to sleep and you shrieked, backing towards the window, pleading with him not to harm you and telling him that he could leave and you would forget he was ever there. Suddenly your door flew open and Aemond ran in, he was on the man before you could blink, beating his head in as he shouted about how he would never let anyone harm his wife

•It was that night that you really began giving Aemond the chance to win your love, realizing that you were truly safe with him. The entire plot was a secret that Aemond would take to his grave

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•His jealousy, 100%

•If you want someone, anyone dead, all you need to do is make it seem like they’ve been looking at you for more than a second too long, it gives you a feeling of absolute power and you love it

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Aemond would never hurt you in any kind of serious way

•If he has to he will lock you in your chambers for the rest of your life, but he won’t do you serious harm

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•He definitely has a way of making you feel like a Goddess

•Especially when you’re pregnant as he worships the ground you walk on. He is constantly getting you whatever food you’re craving, fluffing your pillows, rubbing your sore feet, anything to make his precious Princess feel better while she is carrying his baby inside of her

•You are the most precious thing in the whole world to him and even when he is upset with you Aemond never lets you forget it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Aemond has always loved you, and always had a bit of a crush on you however he has been head over heels since he was 10

•He keeps it together and hidden until he is 16 and he demands you as his bride upon hearing that Rhaenyra was considering marriage proposals for you, the idea of you being married off to someone else sending him over the edge

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Aemond doesn’t want you broken, he wants you to be his compliant little Princess and that’s exactly what you are

•You had always known what was expected of you as a women and a wife in a marriage from the time that you were a little girl (though you never expected to be married to your Uncle) but Aemond ensured that you would be exactly what he always wanted in a wife and you are absolutely Perfect to him

Aemond T. Masterlist

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