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hcneymooners · 2 months ago

Text

⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.

ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.

cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.

wc: 10.3k

PLAYLIST.

notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.

ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.

sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.

you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.

still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.

they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.

the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.

the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.

you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.

you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.

you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.

so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.

you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you found yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.

"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.

"it's more than one, no?"

"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."

the first was ambessa.

you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.

that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.

for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.

your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.

she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.

that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.

she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.

you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.

now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.

and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.

ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.

belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.

she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.

the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.

“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”

you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.

you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.

“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”

you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.

the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.

"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."

you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.

the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.

it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.

she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.

your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.

"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."

before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.

"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."

you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.

she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.

the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.

"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."

you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.

what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.

that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.

"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.

"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."

"i had a personal matter to attend to."

"as did i."

neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.

but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.

ACT II: GROWING PAINS.

“where do you go?”

you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.

she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.

the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.

“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.

“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”

the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.

“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”

“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.

“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”

sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.

“you do this with me?”

“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”

“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.

“only one.”

“and?”

“it’s good with her. one of the best.”

“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”

your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”

“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”

“submissive,” she finished for you.

you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.

“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”

sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”

her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.

she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”

then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”

the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.

for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.

“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”

“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”

ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”

sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.

“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”

sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.

she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.

my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.

looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.

me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.

sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.

you can be a little irresponsible.

oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.

i know. i don't mind. get them both.

"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.

sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.

she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.

you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.

"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."

ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”

sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”

“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.

"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"

the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.

“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”

sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”

ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”

sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”

ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”

“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”

“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”

“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”

“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”

for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.

“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”

sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa didn’t sleep that night.

not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.

the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.

her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.

“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.

“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”

ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”

“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”

the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”

“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”

ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.

“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”

they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.

you went to dinner. ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.

“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.

she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.

every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.

you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.

“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”

“bessa?” you asked, voice small.

the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.

"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."

your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."

she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.

you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.

your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.

the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.

the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.

and then you saw her.

ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.

but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.

sevika.

she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.

it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.

the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.

the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.

you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.

someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.

the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.

“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.

the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.

“how long?”

ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”

“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”

sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”

sevika tried again."baby—"

"don't." the word came out hard and cold.

you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.

"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.

"we never meant—"

"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.

the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.

"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”

"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."

when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.

"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"

"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"

"until when?"

"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.

you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”

their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.

a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.

“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”

it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.

“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.

you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.

your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.

you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?

instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.

your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.

you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.

ACT III: DEFORMATION.

ambessa hadn’t slept in days.

the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.

“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.

sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.

sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.

but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.

they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.

ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.

her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.

“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”

and you?

well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.

despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.

you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”

please send an invite.

she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.

so, you broke another lease and left the city.

ACT IV: REVIVAL.

true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.

“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.

the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.

no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.

the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.

ambessa and sevika.

they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.

your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.

it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.

sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.

“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”

sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.

“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”

“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”

“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”

ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”

your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.

“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”

you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.

“[name!]” ambessa called.

fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.

you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.

you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.

“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”

you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.

“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”

ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”

“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.

sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”

“you’re not good for me.”

ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.

“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”

you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.

“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.

sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.

“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”

“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.

“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”

“that’s not fair,” you snapped.

“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”

you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.

“fuck you, ambessa.”

“gladly,” she said with a small smile.

you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.

“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.

she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.

“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”

you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.

“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.

you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.

“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”

“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”

her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.

she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.

sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.

you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.

“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.

she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.

“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.

you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.

she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.

“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”

you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.

“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”

“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.

you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.

“you are, mommy.”

“fuck,” sevika groaned.

satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.

“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”

ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.

“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”

ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.

when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.

“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.

it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.

“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.

your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.

you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.

you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.

“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.

“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”

there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.

faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.

there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.

you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.

but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.

you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.

you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.

“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”

sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.

“baby girl, please. please.”

you thought you were the loser.

“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”

you thought you were down for the count.

“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”

but here you were, the last woman standing.

⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @baeumonde @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @sevikasllver @indigopearl96 @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @tnash-tammy @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinhos @16novvs @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @starting6over @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @ambessaswhore @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @elena0497 @powderpinkandsweeet @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt

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januaryembrs · 10 months ago

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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”

“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

Text

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

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

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Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last.

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess.

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears.

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection, like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore.

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait.

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t.

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out.

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic.

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest.

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit.

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned.

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth.

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all.

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment.

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust.

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him.

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny.

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in.

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed.

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again.

And again.

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang.

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness.

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight.

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve.

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet.

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it.

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion.

You also wanted to make him feel better.

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you.

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won.

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds.

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him.

Darkened the more you teased him.

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time.

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed.

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world.

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him.

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed.

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more.

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of.

And then the confessions began.

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you.

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him.

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it.

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you.

But you were a smart girl.

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father.

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it.

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals.

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you.

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears.

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view.

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over.

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you.

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside.

The song of fate.

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously.

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were.

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut.

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt.

You see how hard he is for you.

Good.

Now you can. Now it's yours.

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all.

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes.

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air.

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you.

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up.

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more.

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek.

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously?

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive.

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes.

A tall candle, melting.

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness.

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment.

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you.

That he can’t stay mad at you.

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you.

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.”

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew.

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it.

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you.

He’s safe with you.

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore.

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting.

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt.

He’s going to make that little girl stay.

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#divider by d-oie #bangtanwhq #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #kpop smut #jungkook fic #jungkook series #jungkook x reader

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kajibunny · 9 months ago

Text

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ we're just friends! (or are we?) w/ the wind breaker boys ✧⋆⭒˚｡

✿ featuring: hajime umemiya, jo togame, haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji ✿ fluff, mutual pining, hidden feelings (aaaa), suggestive for suo, a lil angst (with comfort) for kaji ✿ a/n: i guess by now everyone can tell that i’m very into the friends to lovers trope ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა~♡ it’s def my fav!!! and these wb bois are all perfect friend material, and ofc boyfriend material too! enjoy, cuties! ✿ wc: 2.3k

— you have a closely intimate friendship to the point that everyone around you thinks you two are dating, though you know you're not lovers (yet), but are definitely more than just friends.

ʚɞ umemiya

— sharing hello and goodbye kisses with each other.

ꕤ you and umemiya are the definition of 'affectionate', as your love languages both consist of physical touch. but maybe with each other, a little bit too much for just friends.

ꕤ the word "boundaries" did not exist to the both of you once you were within arm's reach of each other. you and umemiya give each other hello and goodbye hugs, sometimes cheek and forehead kisses, as a greeting, right? to be friendly. though he doesn't seem to do that as often to other people, or at all, even. just to you. only to you.

ꕤ he also loves cuddling up to you whenever he takes a nap on the rooftop, inviting you to join him in picking out some veggies that you two could make a meal together with.

ꕤ while you two were cooking together, you definitely gave off a 'married couple' vibe with the way you held the ladle up for umemiya to taste, the way he had pressed his palm to your back whenever he needed to pass through, the way he fed you with his own spoon and giggling while complimenting how delicious your cooking was, the way he wrapped his arms around you and hummed while he helped you wash the dishes. anyone who saw would have immediately bid their congratulations and would think you two are newlyweds.

ꕤ hiragi took one look at the both of you appearing all lovey-dovey, and the confusion of whether you two were dating or not made his stomach scrunch up in pain.

ꕤ umemiya calls you such adorable names when referring to you in conversation, too. his tiny bean, his ray of sunshine, his cherry blossom, it was always "his", as if you belonged to him. he was openly affectionate with you and was not afraid to show it.

ꕤ many guys also took a liking to you, but never attempted to even make a move or confess, because they were already under the assumption that you were umemiya's, seeing you two playing with each other's fingers and comparing hand sizes like you were made for each other. but how could that be, you and umemiya were just friends, weren't you?

ʚɞ suo

— you get a special seat (on his lap).

ꕤ suo just can't seem to keep his eyes and his hands off of you. you always have to be within his vicinity, or he's not sure how he'll be able to stand it.

ꕤ he sees you at the corner of his eye, after you have made your way back from the restroom. you and the other bofurin first years were at an izakaya, and the moment you returned, all of their eyes were glued to you and suo, as if they already knew something was going to ensue. you two have been friends for a long time, but the way you acted towards each other felt like you two have been lovers for a long time.

ꕤ suo was always up in your space, whether its pulling random pranks on you, inviting you to go out then paying for everything even though you tried to stop him (nothing can stop suo), visiting your home and leaving an endless supply of tea enough to last you a whole year - his excuse being it's there for whenever he comes over, and multiple instances which all prove that suo was no doubt a very clingy friend. not that you minded, anyway. you were used to suo and his antics.

ꕤ he had his ways of persuading you too (he is the master of negotiation, after all), and you just couldn't resist him, as you loved being around suo just as much.

ꕤ this time, he took advantage of your short absence and made himself comfortable in your chair, and wouldn't even move an inch. "hayato, that's my seat!" you exclaimed. "hm?" suo tilts his head. "you can just sit on my lap, then." he smiles, with that damn mischievous smile you know all too well. you tried to get him to move by gently pushing him back and forth but suo seemed to not have a care in the world.

ꕤ you can't tell whether suo is serious or joking sometimes, but nirei and sakura seems to have their doubts that you two are "just friends" as you both claim. "are you sure the two of you aren't dating?" nirei asks you. sakura blushes and lets you know his thoughts, too. "y-yeah...! you two are unusually close!" you always reply to them with an astounding "no!" but suo just laughs and does not affirm nor deny any of their claims.

ꕤ suo pulls you in close, making you sit on his lap regardless of your little outburst, and you weren't sure if it was hot in the izakaya, or if it's just you, but you certainly felt warmth overcome your body while it was pressed flush against his, his arms wrapped around your waist nonchalantly. "hayato!" you protested, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp, and pushing away all intrusive thoughts about his and your bottom halves being so close together, only separated by thin pieces of clothing.

ꕤ nirei, the most observant of the bunch (next to suo), points out that you even call suo by his first name, and that's another one of the reasons why you two seem like you're dating.

ꕤ with suo, everything seems to be a mystery. but in suo's perspective, it's all clear. he loves you, whether it's as a friend or as a lover, that's for him to know and for you to find out.

ʚɞ togame

— leaves everyone on read except you.

ꕤ togame just doesn't understand why people need to type out what they want to say, aren't calls more personalized? he didn't understand at all, until he met you.

ꕤ you were, to put it directly, a chatterbox in all forms. you loved to talk, regardless if it's chats, calls, or in person, you just yapped your heart out to him everytime, and he lives for it. he wouldn't miss a second of you opening your mouth and giving him a taste of your innermost thoughts. he absolutely adored talking to you, because it was you, and you were special to him.

ꕤ the shishitoren guys thought it was so funny and adorable whenever togame picks up his phone so quickly because he thought it was you calling, then scowls when he realizes it isn't, and immediately silences it and shoves it back in his pocket. this caused him to set a different ringtone just for you, so he could pick up on the very first ring.

ꕤ you were also the first reply he ever sent via sms, a simple "ok" to your long message talking about how you thought it was amazing that he won the town's annual eating contest for many consecutive years in a row and that you were totally ready to challenge him next year by stuffing your face with okonomiyaki and invited togame to join you and have some with you so you could keep an eye on the competition. he found your personality totally amusing, his face immediately lighting up with a gentle smile whenever you sent him messages.

ꕤ anyone who sees how happy he is while he rereads your texts over and over would interpret that as togame being totally, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you.

ꕤ he doesn't actually reply to anyone at all ever, but he wanted to share all his firsts with you, he just couldn't help it. you were captivating, witty in your words, and very very charismatic, bombarding him with the cutest and funniest messages everyday. of course, he doesn't mind at all and is always looking forward to them.

ꕤ you two stay on calls for longer than eight hours at a time talking about how each other's day went, and yet you wonder why people always think you two are dating. normal friends don't stay up until the break of dawn chattering for hours on end, expressing all the things they like about each other, do they? at least togame knows he wouldn't do it with anyone that wasn't you, as he valued his precious sleep time dearly, but as time went on, you became more precious and more dear to him than his sleep time ever could.

ʚɞ kaji

— play fighting like an old married couple.

ꕤ kaji is the type to never go down without a fight. needless to say, that also applies to you. but your fights with him were different, more banter adjacent, more affectionate and playful. only lasting for a few minutes.

ꕤ kaji had a huge soft spot for you, as even though you did irritate the heck out of him sometimes, somehow he still could not stay angry or annoyed at you for more than one second. he just couldn't resist the way you crossed your arms and huffed with your cute little frown. he thought you were the most adorable angry little thing he's ever seen and wanted to pinch your cheeks out of cuteness aggression and frustration, but he would never say it to your face.

ꕤ one time, you two had a heated argument because he said he could hear you just fine but wouldn't bother to take off his headphones. you argued that it was impolite and that you won't talk to him at all anymore if he does that again, and you two were at each other's throats, giving one another a piece of your mind, until kaji mutters a 'sorry', and you began to sob uncontrollably and let him hold you in his arms while he stroked your hair to comfort you because you two couldn't stand the intensity and tension of being angry at each other for long.

ꕤ you had your less serious fights too, like when you made him a bento box for lunch and you two had a picnic together with his vice captains. you fed him the food with your chopsticks, kaji teasing you by saying "it's bland." and you reasoning out that kaji was 'as salty as his tastebuds'. kaji then asked you if you wanted to have 'a taste of his fists', which ended up with kusumi and enomoto snickering in the background wishing that the both of you would just date each other already.

ꕤ whenever you two argued, your faces were so close to one another's that you were just a few centimeters shy from kissing, the tip of your noses touching. kaji had to hold himself back, a lot. like an insane amount. friends didn't want to kiss and make out with their friends, right? but kaji did. and you did too.

ꕤ his way of apologizing is by suddenly leaving a lollipop with you. he puts them in your bag, or places them in your pocket while you weren't looking. it was his little peace offering, one that you treasured and collected, accumulating dozens of them by your bedside table. kaji would gladly give up his last lollipop for you, and no one could argue otherwise.

ʚɞ sakura

— blushing wildly whenever you two are around each other.

ꕤ you and sakura always looked like you two were having a blushing competition. the littlest touches and the most minimal contact had both of your cheeks heating up in response.

ꕤ it was like sakura's blushing was contagious. ever since you two became good friends (if you could call it that, though it seemed to be more than that at times), being around him triggered a whole bunch of embarrassing and hilarious but sweet situations.

ꕤ you once dragged sakura off to his very first cherry blossom viewing in the park, and needless to say, with both of you being a chaotic (but cute) duo, it kind of felt like you were on a wild rollercoaster ride with him.

ꕤ you took a stolen photo of sakura while he was mesmerized by the falling pink petals. you thought he looked adorable, but sakura thought otherwise. he was a blushing mess and told you to delete them, but you said they were cute and that you were going to make it your wallpaper.

ꕤ sakura chased after you, and tripped over a stray cherry blossom branch, leaving you two in quite a suggestive position, sakura on top of you, pinning your wrist down with his hand. your cheeks were as pink as the cherry blossoms, and tried as you might, you couldn't keep your eyes off his lips. friends don't observe their friends with wanting eyes, do they?

ꕤ suo and nirei instantly noticed how huge of a klutz you were around sakura. they also noticed how curious sakura was about you, always (not so subtly) asking nirei how much he knew about you, or your likes and dislikes, then asked him not to tell you that he asked about you. but suo told you instead, because they were your biggest supporters and cheerleaders (and biggest shippers, of course) after all.

ꕤ on sakura's birthday, they made you hold the cake and surprise him, which was a huge mistake, because before it could even reach him, you slipped and fell over him. luckily, sakura had good reflexes and was able to catch you before you completely toppled over. some of the smushed cake ended up on his and your face, which you tried to wipe off as you apologized, but sakura dipped his finger onto the icing that got on your cheek and licked his finger. "t-the cake's not bad, i guess..." he looked away from your smiling face as you greeted him happy birthday in a sing-song tune.

ꕤ suo, being a menace, greeted sakura happy birthday as well as gave him a 'best wishes to the happy couple' greeting card, that sakura threw back at him like it had a virus on it.

ꕤ sakura definitely had a memorable birthday that year, but now that he thought about it, all of his memories that were memorable to him had one thing in common: you were in all of them. you, the greatest gift he could ever ask for on any and every occasion.

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moonlight-prose · 7 months ago

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HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

#just need a large man to cook me food when my mood dips drastically #manifesting this for all of you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #wolverine #my writing

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suunani · 1 month ago

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pretty when u cry ( song mingi )

▍ a completely stupid argument, and now mingi is crying for your attention.

content : 1.1k words, male reader, boyfriend! mingi, desperate! mingi, angst & fluff (?), mingi whine…, really suggestive at the end lol, mingi calls reader 'baby', requested here!

it was supposed to be a nice, chill night.

you and mingi were curled up on the couch, watching some random show, when the dumbest argument of your entire relationship broke out. it started with you casually mentioning how good pineapple tasted on pizza.

mingi had gone rigid.

“you like pineapple on pizza?” he had asked, turning to you so fast it was like you’d just confessed to murder.

“…yeah?”

silence. then, pure disgust settled over his face.

“you’re serious?”

you frowned. “what’s wrong with that?”

“what’s right with that?” mingi countered. “that’s, like, the worst topping ever. it’s soggy. it’s wrong.”

you scoffed. “it’s sweet and salty. it’s delicious.”

“it’s an abomination.”

“mingi, it’s not that serious—”

“it is that serious,” he pointed at you, eyes narrowing. “i don’t know if i can look at you the same way after this.”

and that? that was where he fucked up.

because now, you were annoyed.

he had been dramatic over stupid things before, but this was next-level. you had half a mind to kick him off the couch, but instead, you decided on something worse.

you ignored him. full-on silent treatment.

and mingi was not handling it well.

for the past twenty minutes, he had been trying everything to get your attention.

he had tried whining. he had tried cuddling into your side. he had even pouted — full lips jutted out, eyes wide and pleading — but you refused to acknowledge him.

at first, he had just been playfully frustrated.

but now? now, he was genuinely suffering.

“baby,” he whined, dramatically draping himself across your lap. “please, just look at me.”

you didn’t move.

he groaned, shoving his face into your stomach. “you’re really mad over this?”

more silence.

mingi sighed and pulled back, staring at you. you were still facing the tv, arms crossed, expression blank.

he swallowed. “you’re really not gonna talk to me?”

nothing.

mingi inhaled sharply. “okay.”

then, to your absolute shock, you heard a small, shaky sniffle. your brows twitched. another sniffle.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and—

oh.

oh, shit.

his eyes were glossy, his bottom lip trembling. his lashes fluttered rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that were already beginning to spill.

he sniffled again, then rubbed at his face with his sleeve.

“i just… i don’t know what i did wrong,” he muttered, voice cracking slightly.

you blinked. “mingi…”

his head snapped up, eyes wide, hopeful. “you’re talking to me again?”

you frowned. “are you crying?”

he sniffled. “i am not.”

you stared at him.

he sniffled again, rubbing at his eye with his sleeve.

“i just… i hate when you ignore me.”

your chest tightened.

but then, you noticed something else.

his lips were slightly swollen, from either biting them or pressing them together to hold back sobs. his nose was red-tipped, his expression soft, vulnerable, desperate. his wet lashes glistened under the dim lighting of the room, making his eyes look even bigger.

he looked stupidly pretty.

mingi sniffled, staring at you, waiting.

you exhaled, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb. he shivered slightly at the touch.

“you really cried over this?” you murmured.

mingi sniffled again, then nuzzled into your palm, blinking up at you like an abandoned puppy.

“i don’t like when you ignore me,” he admitted quietly.

his voice was soft, raspy, broken.

something in you snapped.

before you could think twice, you grabbed his chin and tilted his face up further. his breath caught as you ran your thumb over his lip, feeling the warmth, the slight dampness from his tears.

mingi’s lashes fluttered. “baby…”

your grip tightened.

“you look really pretty when you cry,” you muttered.

mingi froze.

a visible shudder ran through his body. his breath shuddered, eyes flickering between yours and your lips.

then—

“do you like it?” he whispered.

your fingers flexed against his jaw. “like what?”

mingi swallowed thickly. “when i cry.”

your pulse quickened.

he inhaled, shaking slightly as he leaned in. “because i’ll do it more if it means you’ll touch me like this again.”

fuck.

you clenched your jaw, gripping his face tighter, thumb pressing against his lower lip.

“you’re really pushing it,” you muttered.

mingi exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch. his hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make your skin tingle.

“is that a bad thing?” he murmured.

you didn’t answer. instead, you moved.

in one swift motion, you grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him forward, crashing your lips against his.

mingi moaned.

it was soft, breathy, but fuck, it was there.

his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. his lips were warm, needy, moving feverishly against yours as if he was trying to make up for the time you had spent ignoring him.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly — he whimpered. something dark, hungry, settled in your stomach.

you deepened the kiss, pushing him further back against the couch. mingi let out a small gasp as your tongue slid past his lips, his grip on your hips tightening.

“fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “you—”

you cut him off by biting his bottom lip.

mingi whined.

you smirked. “what was that?”

his breath shuddered. “you’re—”

another kiss. this one harder.

mingi’s head hit the armrest, his body pliant beneath yours. his chest rose and fell rapidly, his fingers trembling against your skin.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face — his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, his half-lidded, desperate eyes.

he looked wrecked.

and you weren’t even close to done.

“you’re not crying anymore,” you teased, voice low.

mingi swallowed, lips parting slightly. “maybe you should keep ignoring me, then.”

you huffed a quiet laugh. “you’re such a fucking brat.”

he smirked. “but you love it, right?”

you pressed your knee between his thighs.

mingi gasped.

his eyes flew open, cheeks burning. “oh, fuck—”

you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear.

“if you keep acting like this,” you murmured, “i might have to make you cry again.”

mingi shuddered.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice breathy. “please.”

his grip on your waist tightened.

and just like that, your forgotten argument about pineapple on pizza?

didn’t seem so important anymore.

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roosterforme · 16 days ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 38 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley works out plans for an anniversary trip, only stopping to enjoy some Halloween candy and a little milk. Everything is wonderful at home, but when you're at work, you notice Indigo in closer proximity that you'd prefer.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, DILF Roo, pregnancy, smut, lactation kink

Length: 3200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley woke up on Sunday to his phone telling him that it was November. The month of his wedding anniversary. Almost two years married to you. He smiled as you continued to sleep soundly, sprawled halfway on top of him, drooling on his shoulder. This is how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life.

Rose hadn't made a peep yet, and he wanted to let you sleep as long as possible after trick-or-treating last evening. The three, well really four, of you had traipsed all over the neighborhood, collecting candy which Bradley had eaten half of while rubbing your feet last night. His stomach was currently gurgling softly, but he wasn't going to move an inch until one of his girls woke up.

In the meantime, he used his free hand to continue his search for the perfect anniversary trip on his phone. He soon had it narrowed down to two options, but he wanted you to pick. He'd ask you when you woke up. He was just ordering a case of non-alcoholic pink champagne and some hot sauce when he felt your arm tighten around his waist.

"Roo," you moaned, arching your back before looking up at him. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight," he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose as you snuggled against him again. He tossed his phone aside in favor of letting his hand rest on your bump, desperate to feel his younger daughter.

"Rose isn't up yet?" you murmured, yawning.

"Not yet," he confirmed as you pulled up his old shirt you fell asleep in, giving him better access to your belly. "Is Nugget Part Deux moving around?"

You hummed softly as he caressed your skin, tracing a line down to your dainty rooster tattoo. "She's a little squirmy. She'll wake up more once I start moving." You yawned again. "Halloween must have wiped Rose out. She had a big night. But my boobs are starting to ache."

Bradley watched you continue to pull the shirt up over your body until your breasts were on full display. He bit his lip, whimpering softly at the sight of your milk beading on your nipple. "There was a question I wanted to ask you, but suddenly I can no longer think straight, Sweetheart," he panted.

You reached for his hand, guiding it up to your heavy breasts, eyes closing as his fingers met your milk. "Do you want to take the edge off for me?"

Bradley's cock was at attention, raring to go as he nodded. Dizzy with need, he watched you pull the shirt off and toss it to the floor before propping yourself on your elbows. "Jesus, fuck. I've never seen anything so perfect in my life."

You giggled, alerting him to the fact that he'd spoken out loud. "Come on, Daddy. Help me out here."

Milk dribbled down to the underside of your tit, and Bradley dragged his tongue through it. You made a delicious little sound as he wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked. Heaven. It tasted like heaven on his tongue. He was leaning on his hand which was planted next to your hip, and his cock rested on your thigh. You didn't stop him when he pressed his hips forward.

"Roo," you whined, running your fingers through his hair, and then gripping him at the roots when he sucked harder. "Oh!" You held him in place as he lapped up his reward. That's what this was. This was his personal treat for getting you pregnant again. A seemingly endless supply of breastmilk to enjoy. He knew it was for the babies, but you knew he loved it, too.

"God," he grunted, switching sides, rubbing his cock on your leg. "I'm fucking obsessed." His voice was muffled as he took your perfectly pert nipple in his mouth. You were tugging on his hair and simultaneously holding him closer as he tried to make sure he didn't suck you dry. But it was so hard to stop, especially when his balls tightened up.

He swallowed and released your breast, dragging his lips to yours. "I'm so fucking close, and you barely even touched me." You laughed against his kisses. "I'm not even fucking kidding." Bradley knew he was in no position to give you an orgasm until he got his out of the way, and he was almost shaking. "Can I give you a pretty creampie?" he begged.

You nodded, wrapping your hand around his cock which was grinding against your hip. "It's not like I'm not already pregnant."

"Fuck," he groaned, letting you guide him to your pussy. Bradley thrust deep as you settled against your pillow, spreading your legs further for him. You looked the part of the perfect woman, belly already swollen from how he couldn't stop fucking you full of his cum, coaxing him closer with your smile.

He came hard by the fifth thrust, hands braced on either side of your head as he panted your name, his hips fucking his cum deeper as he bucked against you. When you sweetly pushed his hair back from his forehead, everything in the whole world made sense to him.

"Oh, I know what I was going to ask you, Baby Girl."

You wrapped your legs around his hips. "Hmm?"

"Mountains or lake?"

"What?" you whispered as Bradley sat back to observe the mess he made.

"For our anniversary," he rasped. "I'm planning our trip. I just need you to answer one question, and I'll take care of the rest. Mountains or lake?" The first drop of his cum slid down to your asshole, and Bradley's brain shut down again as he stared. "Beautiful," he murmured, rubbing his mess back up to your clit.

He worked his fingers, listening to you babble about your anniversary. He let his body hover above yours, being none too gentle with his fingers when he realized that's what you needed at the moment. Your lips parted, head tipping back into the pillow, gasping until your voice was hoarse. As you eventually came around his fingers, you screamed the word, "Mountains!"

"That's all I needed to know," Bradley whispered, kissing your neck as Rose started crying in her nursery. "I'll get cleaned up and play with Rosie until you're ready to feed her. Take your time."

You waved your hand in the air, nodding wordlessly as Bradley kissed your forehead and climbed out of bed with a smile on his face.

---------------------------

The weekend had been luxurious. There was no other way to describe it. Sex and Halloween candy and Bradley cooking dinner. A beach walk with Rose and Tramp. A FaceTime call with your parents. It was perfect. You slept so soundly on Sunday night, Bradley had to wake you as your alarm blared for work on Monday morning.

"Oh, God," you groaned, reaching for your glasses while the baby kicked and Rose fussed down the hallway. You almost wet yourself on the way to the bathroom while Bradley went to hold Rose until you were ready for her. Your belly was tender, and you couldn't control your bladder. It was amazing Bradley couldn't seem to get enough of you, but you believed him. Because he'd been showing you.

Once you got yourself mostly ready for the day, you hustled to the nursery to find your husband holding your daughter. Bradley was wearing his gray sweatpants, and his hair was an absolute mess. His voice was still a little raspy from sleep as he snuggled Rose to his chest and bounced her around the room while she whined.

"Mommy's coming, Nugget. Relax. I miss her, too, but she'll be here in a minute." When you walked in, Bradley bounced her over to the chair so you could feed her. "Here's Mommy." He kissed her fuzzy head of hair before handing her over.

When you sat back in the chair, Bradley groaned, easing himself down to the floor at your feet. "What are you doing?" you asked, his arm snaking around your calf as Rose latched onto you to eat.

He kissed your bare leg; your uniform was the last thing you needed before you were ready for work. "Just want to sit here with you for a minute."

He went quiet with his cheek pressed to the side of your knee, and occasionally you ran your fingers through his hair. "I don't want to go to work," he mumbled. "This weekend was so nice."

"It was perfect," you agreed. "But your students need you there to instruct them."

Bradley shook his head, his mustache rough on your skin. "I don't know if I'm even doing a good job, Sweetheart. I don't think I am."

Oh, you hated Indigo. Hated the very thought of her. You hated that she wanted to sleep with Bradley. You hated that she made your husband feel this way. You hated that she was still lurking around North Island.

You held Rose to your chest and reached down to take Bradley's chin in your palm. His brown eyes were vulnerable. "You're a Top Gun pilot, Bradley. You're the best. Nobody else is going to be able to train younger pilots any better than you can. Now go make me breakfast and put your uniform on."

With another groan, Bradley stood, but he looked a little happier. "Whatever you say, Baby Girl," he whispered, kissing your forehead.

Now, you had your own conundrum to deal with. Normal looking yet uncomfortable uniform? Or comfy maternity tent? There was an obvious answer. You knew what it was. Your body was crying out for it. The tent was calling your name. But you couldn't. You just couldn't do it. Squeezing into your pants was a chore. So was tucking in your shirt. But you did it.

"I guess I'll just stand all day," you muttered to yourself as you ate the avocado toast and hot sauce Bradley left on the counter while he got Rose dressed. The waistband of the pants bit into your side when you tried to bend. This was probably the last day without the tent.

Somehow you managed to get into the passenger seat, and Bradley buckled you with extra care. "I'll drop Rose at the nursery," he said while he drove. "You can go ahead to your lab." He wanted an excuse to make this weekend last a little longer, so you let him leave you off at the door.

"I love you, Roo," you promised. "Love you, Rose," you told your daughter as she tried to chew on her foot. As soon as they pulled away to park, you saw Cam and Maria heading your way, so you waited.

"Oh my god, you're huge now," Cam gasped. "I haven't seen you in like a week, and you're enormous."

Maria shoved him as he reached out to touch your belly. "She is not!"

"Damn," he whispered. "What are you due? January?"

"April first!" you whined miserably, tipping your head back. "I know I'm huge."

"You aren't!" Maria argued. "You look adorable!"

"Your tits look phenomenal," Cam added, and you glared at him until he held the door open for you. "What? Lieutenant Commander Mustache is all over that shit. I just know it."

"Okay, you're probably right about that," Maria said.

Your entire body warmed as your friends reminded you of what you should have never forgotten. They didn't know about Indigo, and now wasn't the time to have a discussion.

"Let's grab lunch one day this week," Cam said as the three of you rode up the elevator.

"Sounds good," you promised, waving goodbye to them when you turned right to head to your office. But when your door came into view, you froze. Even from behind, you knew it was her, pacing back and forth like she was waiting for you.

This was insane. You had nothing to be afraid of. She couldn't hurt you. Bradley didn't want her. She'd been grounded. But you turned on your heel and rushed to your lab instead.

---------------------------------

Bradley had been having a wonderful day. He felt good about his class, and he got to see you at lunch. When you had to pop the button on your pants in order to sit comfortably, he threatened to hide your uniform if you didn't wear maternity khakis tomorrow. But other than that, it was smooth sailing. Until the end of the day when he stopped in the deserted rec room for some stale coffee.

With his cup in hand, Bradley walked past the couches just as the door swung open. Indigo strolled in like she was on a mission, and his stomach lurched as his steps came to a stop.

"Can I help you?" he asked. A slightly terrifying little smile appeared on her lips.

"I don't know, can you?" she asked, voice dripping with innocence. "Or are you still too scared to be alone with me?"

Truthfully, he kind of was, but he'd never admit that. Besides, you had no reason to doubt him now, so he simply stood there and sipped his coffee before clearing his throat. "Lieutenant Jeffries, it's not my responsibility to help you find ways to entertain yourself while you're grounded," he told her smoothly, and her bright blue eyes narrowed.

"I'll just sit in here for the rest of the afternoon. Lieutenants Trace and Seresin kicked me out earlier, claiming I shouldn't have access to the aviators' rec room if I'm not currently flying." Bradley had to fight hard not to laugh, but she kept going. "But both of their jets are in the air now, so nobody is going to stop me."

"Maybe you should listen to what your superior officers tell you," Bradley said, breezing past her toward the door.

Her sharp laughter cut into him. "Maybe you'll heed your own words when Maverick gets back and immediately ends my grounding."

Bradley hated how it always felt like she was gaining the upper hand. "Maybe you should call him Captain Mitchell," he tossed over his shoulder. "Call signs are for aviators to use, Lieutenant Jeffries."

The sound of disgust she made boosted his mood as he plowed through the door. He didn't want to linger in her presence for longer than was absolutely necessary. His quiet office was calling his name anyway. So was the mound of paperwork he needed to complete.

The hallways in his building were nearly deserted, so it came as a surprise when you were waiting by his door. "Sweetheart," he called out, jogging as quickly as he could with his coffee. He'd just been with you less than three hours ago. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you promised, tilting your perfect face up to look at him. "You missed me earlier this morning, and now I was missing you."

Bradley unlocked his door and led you inside. He spent the last forty-five minutes of his work day with you snuggled against him on his lap. His lips occasionally brushed your hair while he got through his paperwork with your arms wrapped around him.

---------------------------------

You bumped into Indigo randomly all week long. With nothing better to do, it seemed as though she made it her new mission to follow you around base more often than not. You'd taken to walking with Cat when you could, and one day Jake accompanied you to lunch. Honestly, you were a little surprised Indigo hadn't simply moved on to another hot officer older than her. Jake would have been a good candidate, which would have been hilarious. Cat would shred Indigo to bits without a second thought.

Cat was busy conducting her aircraft investigation and collecting data from Indigo's Super Hornet which left you conveniently in the lab most of the time. But when Bickel asked you to meet with a mechanic to talk about a new installation technique for a communications component, you found yourself in the busy hangar in your maternity tent.

If the mechanic thought you looked ridiculous, he didn't say a word about it. You'd decided that being comfortable was better than having marks on your sides from your regular pants when you got undressed after work. Now you had no problem breezing through your conversation and leaving the engine parts in the very capable hands of the Top Gun mechanic crew.

You headed back out onto the tarmac, glancing at the tower and Bradley's building. The November sun was glorious. It was hard to miss the east coast on a day like this when the weather in San Diego was pure perfection. But pausing to close your eyes and turn your face to the sky was a mistake.

"Hello, Lieutenant Commander." That voice gave you a chill before you even opened your eyes to see Indigo heading your way. Her face was expressionless, but her tone was cold as she stomped to a stop in front of you. "I would say it's nice to see you, but that would be a lie."

You pressed your lips together, swallowing hard as her blue eyes flashed with something that made your skin crawl. She was so beautiful and so angry, and you hated her so much. "For someone who doesn't want to see me, you sure have been following me around a lot this week," you bit back before considering your words.

"Don't flatter yourself," she replied smoothly. "The last thing I want to look at is your ridiculous uniform."

You loathed her. But now you could translate her words to their true meaning. She was devastatingly jealous of you. A smile curled along your lips as you cradled your belly. Goading her wasn't your best move, but you couldn't stop yourself. "I think I'll just go hang out in the aviators' rec room with my husband and the others. Isn't it funny that I've never piloted an aircraft, but I've also never been kicked out of their lounge?"

She ground her teeth together as you tried not to smile. When Jake told you what he and Nat had done, you'd been in stitches.

"I know you think you're hot shit around here," she snarled, prompting you to take a step back. And that's when she pounced. "But you don't have the power to ground me indefinitely."

"Actually, I do," you replied loudly, fingers curling into fists. "Your aircraft is under my jurisdiction. I'm in charge of the quality of the comms network and components. I am in control of things no matter how much you want to be. And the same goes for my husband."

You were immediately met with silence as her cheeks burned red, clashing with the color of her eyes. You couldn't remember the last time someone looked like they wanted to hit you. As long as she went for your face and not your belly, you'd welcome it. Anything to get her the fuck away from you and your friends and your family.

"As soon as Maverick comes back, you'll be history," she threatened, bumping your shoulder as she stormed away.

------------------------------

Roo loves milk with his candy. And Indigo has a lot of nerve talking to BG that way. Mav is practically family! Maybe I'll let Indigo find out exactly what happens when Mav gets back.

PART 39

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jaysng · 7 months ago

Text

post arguement — park jongseong

pairing: nonidol!boyfriend!jay x girlfriend!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 958

REBLOG if you enjoyed

it had been a tense twenty-four hours since the argument. you could still feel the heaviness of the unsaid words lingering in the air, the way jay’s eyes kept darting toward you, hoping for a sign that things were back to normal. but you weren’t quite ready to give him that satisfaction yet.

you weren’t ignoring him, not exactly. but there was a distance, a coldness that hadn’t been there before, and jay could feel it with every fiber of his being. he knew he had messed up—he was painfully aware of that—and he wanted to make it right. so, he decided to do the one thing that might soften you: cook your favorite meal.

he moved around the kitchen with purpose, gathering ingredients, chopping vegetables, and measuring spices. the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board was the only noise that filled the otherwise silent apartment. jay glanced over his shoulder, hoping you’d notice, but you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, pretending to be more interested in the screen than in him.

he sighed softly, turning his attention back to the food. “okay, let's see… a little bit of garlic, and then… what’s next?” he mumbled to himself, opening the fridge and pulling out the ingredients for your favorite dish.

“maybe some extra basil this time,” he said, as if he were consulting with someone. “she likes that, right?”

he glanced at you again, but you didn’t look up, your focus still on your phone, though he could tell by the way your fingers hesitated that you were listening. jay smiled a little to himself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to soften.

as the aroma of the food began to fill the apartment, you felt your resolve weakening. it was your favorite, after all, and jay knew exactly how you liked it—down to the last detail. you tried to stay focused on your phone, but your stomach had other ideas, grumbling softly in response to the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

you finally couldn’t resist any longer. quietly, you slipped off the couch and made your way to the kitchen, your bare feet padding softly against the floor. jay heard you coming, but he didn’t turn around, pretending not to notice as you moved closer to the stove. you leaned over the pot, inhaling the rich, savory aroma, and before you knew it, your hand was reaching for a spoon to sneak a taste.

just as you brought the spoon to your lips, the soft strumming of a guitar filled the room, followed by the familiar voice of ed sheeran singing one of his sweetest love songs. you froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth, as jay finally turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

he crossed the small space between you in just a few steps, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. his chin rested gently on your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of his body against your back. “caught you,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t lean into him either, still holding onto the last bit of your stubbornness. jay swayed gently, moving you both in time with the music, his arms tightening around you just a little bit more.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured into your ear, his voice soft and sincere. “i know i messed up, and i hate that i hurt you. please forgive me?”

you stayed silent for a moment longer, letting the words sink in, feeling the way his heart beat steadily against your back. slowly, you turned in his arms, looking up at him with a mixture of emotions in your eyes.

“you always do this,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “say things you don’t mean and then try to fix it later.”

jay’s eyes were pleading, filled with guilt and a longing to make things right. “i know. i’m trying to be better. i just… i just want us to be okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll do whatever it takes.”

you didn’t say anything, but the way you rested your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around him in return, spoke volumes. jay let out a relieved sigh, holding you close as you swayed together to the music, the tension between you finally beginning to melt away.

the song played on, and for a little while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the music and the moment say everything that words couldn’t. as the final notes faded away, jay pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his eyes searching yours for a sign of forgiveness.

and in that moment, you knew you couldn’t stay mad at him. not when he was looking at you like that, not when he had gone through all this trouble just to make you smile again.

“just… don’t let it happen again,” you said softly, the words not harsh but still carrying a weight.

jay nodded, his expression serious. “i promise.”

you leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, letting him know without words that you were ready to forgive, ready to move forward together.

“thank you,” jay whispered against your lips, his voice filled with gratitude and love.

“just don’t burn the food,” you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you rested your head against his chest once more, letting the warmth of his embrace and the sweet scent of your favorite meal fill the space between you, knowing that everything was going to be okay.

do not copy or repost my work — @/jaysng

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enha #enhypen smut #park jongseong #park jongseong fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen arguement #jay x reader #enhypen jay #jay soft hours

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egophiliac · 2 years ago

Note

Are you excited for Malleus to read us all his Fanfiction?

Malleus making a perfect dreamworld for all of us to live in like

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #it's SO CLOSE i can TASTE IT #tastes like delicious angst >:)#and this probably isn't even the RESOLUTION it's just going to end on another MASSIVE CLIFFHANGER and MURDER MY SOUL #i am not ready. i'm not.#on the other hand i am SO READY to meet ortho's puppies!#they have names now! KB-RS01 & 02!#and you can have them in your guest room?! what?! i need to get back into doing that

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koralcove · 3 months ago

Text

prompt: for 800 years, rafayel has waited for you. and now, it's your turn to get a taste of centuries of longing and frustration. but he wouldn't make you wait that long. maybe only for 800 minutes. contains: edging, begging, praising, dumb fucked, rafayel calling you various pet names, oh, and did i already mention the absolutely indescribable blue balling for the both of you?, also hint of angst if you squint reaally hard.

a/n: help, y'all be panicking and asking that "who be fucking for that long, damn?" it's a build up. so no, they have not been fucking for 13 hours long. there's a build up of it throughout the day. i just wrote the particular scene where they be fuckin, just to clarify. my dumb ass just wrote this when i listened to too much spicy audios, so i got too excited and just went out with it. (and 13 hours of sex is a different kind of marathon sex now.)

"a-ah! fayel, please-!"

"ooohhh, miss... i'll treat you so right. so good. you won't want anything else."

the snap of his hips makes your mind delirious, squirming under him, all red-faced and teary-eyed. your body magnets his as he presses himself against you, as if any lick of skin of his won't be satisfied without your full touch.

"rafayel- hah! fayel..." you beg hoarsely at him. your clit aches with every snap of his pelvis against yours, so sensitive, yet also so numb. minutes, hours, time, or even infinity pass by as he continues to pound into your pussy relentlessly. the tight ball in your core never snaps, and he keeps teasing and pistoning into you without any sign of stopping. only when he feels the tightness of your walls going snug around him with your thighs pressed desperately on his waist does he will himself to do so.

"want you so bad. want all of you. need you. need to be in you. fuck- cutie, i don't wanna leave you. need to be in you. forever... haaaaah!" he babbles into your neck, the words caressing hotly in your ear and spinning your mind into a heated and mindless frenzy. rafayel doesn't know how he's still going, doesn't know how he can still stop when your gummy insides hug him so warmly, so invitingly. and yet without fail, he does.

the heat and pressure grow impossibly fast, coming into you like a big tidal wave that's about to wash over you.

"pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, fayel-"

and then he does it again. cruelly stops just as you're about to reach that heaven that you've been craving for hours. it rips out a sob of frustration out of you, eyes glossed with mourning over the loss of your euphoria. a hand comes to gently take your arm out of your wet face, cooing so softly at you that you think he would've felt sorry for you. and he is. but his cruelty runs as deep as his love in this moment, and he revels in the perfectly pink flush of your skin, wanting to etch that colour into his mind and recreate it into a canvas.

"shhh, shhhshhhshhhshhh. pretty girl, don't cry. don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry. i know it hurts. i know it does, sweet pearl. but you're doing so good. doing so so great. didn't cum yet, just like i said."

he feels your body tremble, walls spasming so deliciously around him that it spills a raw guttural moan out of his pretty pink lips. and his cock aches hard. so hard, that he's doing the best he can to breath evenly. to not fucking come inside you like he knows you deserve, that you want. but you don't now. not yet.

"breath for me, cutie. need you to breath for me." he swipes away the stray strands clinging on your sticky forehead. though he's just as wrecked as you — pupils blown so wide that the flecks of purples are practically swallowed by it, heart racing and reverberating from his chest in rapid breaths, skin glistening with a glossy layer of sweat, and thighs quivering from the exertion of fucking into you for hours while denying himself as well.

somewhere along the throes of the heated moment, rafayel had decided to play along with holding off his own end as well. he's already had his share of his own release, his sticky essence coating your thighs and the insides of your pussy with your juices that his studio was filled with nothing but the lewd noises of your skin slapping and rubbing against one another for hours. and, god, did it hurt. it hurts so good that his abdomen strains with ache from the denial. his cock so fucking swollen inside of you that it almost hurts to even keep on pounding into you with how your velvety walls stimulate him so beautifully into madness. but the pained look of pleasure on your face eggs him, and he has to hide himself into your neck so he wouldn't end up getting off immediately just from your expressions alone.

"been so long... too long. please. wanna cum, rafa. wanna cum so bad, it hurts." you hiccup. you've been straining for hours physically and mentally. the seemingly innocent brushes and low whispered promises of earlier piling up in your body throughout the day like coal, blazing into a fiery pit of his doing. how foolish of you to think that you could withstand it, thinking he'll give in to you. but no. seeing his control and dedication to withholding through this challenge was something you've never expected from him. rafayel, who aches and seeks your touch. he, who was always so pliant under your hands from your searing caresses. but now, he was the one in control. and he was damn good at riling you up.

your back arches slightly, body strung up so tight that even just the smallest stir of his cock or the slightest shift of his mons brushing against your clit would send electric shocks through you and probably push you to the edge. and rafayel was very aware of this, fighting to keep still in you, trying so hard to keep his hands away from caressing and groping onto your skin when it practically burns for you. sometimes, it gets so hot that you think that his evol is acting up.

"shh, it's not yet time, lovely. you know how long you still have to wait."

you honestly lost track of time of how much time you still have to endure this hellish circle of your body crescendoing to a high only for you to be pulled down so roughly from it. sniffles rack your body as you taste the saltiness streaming down your face. rafayel kisses it away.

he coos gently at you, whispering soft and reassuring words like one would to a timid shaking animal that needs to be calmed. you retort back with mindless babbles of whines and cries of him being so mean, incoherent words filled with empty bitterness at the situation, of how cruel this test was to you. he only answers with a nuzzle to your neck, pressing light kisses on it, catching the salty taste of your skin and desperation. distantly, he thinks that he knows that feeling all too well. the longing and aching, the desperation and desire of having something so close only to be tugged away from your grasp the moment it becomes too good to be true when it nears you... he lives and breaths with that feeling all too well.

the soothing caress of your hair and his frustrating resilience of keeping still in you eventually calms your body. you could only sniffle as you are left powerless from his skilled hands, grounding you from the high that he so deliciously almost took you to, but also pulled away from. your face turns away from him, an image of silent defiance from a petulant child who was denied the toy they wanted. but he takes his time with you with a patience that you didn't know was capable from the bratty man-child that you know.

when the buzz of your body dies down, you only lay in silence now. rafayel's head rests on top of of your chest, the beat of your heart an instrument that soothes his own desires. he absently traces mindless shapes just above your breast, and your eyes take in the gradient hues of the sky. his eyes follow to where your gaze is, and he sighs lightly, breath fanning against your cooled skin.

he sits up slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes that are only ever full of devotion to you. you can't help but melt from the sight. he's always so expressive yet so unreadable that he becomes a mystery to you at times. but when he looks at you with those eyes, full of fondness and longing that's incomprehensible to you, you can't help but mimic the affection.

he sweeps down for a kiss, tender and sweet, before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. when he intertwines his hand into yours, you brace yourself for what's to come.

a slow, sensual gyration of his hips, making sure to not overstimulate your poor clit too much, and a few small thrusts test your sensitivity. you can't help the hitched gasp that leaves your mouth, squeezing his hand as his pace is steady. but you know it's only a matter of time before that changes.

your ears pick up his voice, but not the words of his native tongue. but they sound sweet to you, until it eventually changes into breathy gasps and desperate whispers as his hips slap hard against yours. the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours turns into a dull pain as your nails dig into his knuckles, feeling the slow heat of euphoria build into you once more.

your mind reels at the thought of him thrusting into you violently, the squelch of your fluids mingling into the dusk air. he'll take you higher again, body moving with a frenzied fashion that will mush your brain into only thinking of wanting and needing more. and then he'll stop again as you come closer to your peak, kissing your tears away. and then he'll do it again. again and again and again and again, ruining you and building you back up.

you still have 160 minutes left.

#love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #qi yu #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut

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kisshae · 3 months ago

Text

i hate fruits ──── ★ ⠀ YU JIMIN !

PREC𝒾S , loving karina feels like biting into the ripest, most forbidden fruit—deliciously sweet yet laced with danger. every glance, every touch is a temptation that lures you deeper.

🕸️ —PAR𝒾NGS , best friend!karina x lovesick!fem reader ft mark (nct), intak (p1h), manon (katseye) ★ genre , wlw friends to ??? angst uni au wc 3.2k warning(s) kissing arguments??? reader is down BAD for karina

? - now playing california, beabadoobee

"I hate fruits," you mutter under your breath, staring at the apple in your hand. the skin is shiny, almost too perfect, just like karina's smile. you know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't be this obsessed, but here you are, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

she's standing there, laughing, the carefree joy radiating from her like sunlight.

for a second, everything feels normal. but you know better. it can't be. it never will be. every laugh, every glance she sends your way—each one is a temptation you can't resist. you wish you could just walk away, cut this twisted obsession out of your life before it eats you alive.

but instead, you stay, glued to her every movement, slightly begging for the next moment to drag you deeper into this pit of sweetness.

you take a bite of the apple. it's too sweet. too perfect. like karina. and just as poisonous. you don't know why you keep doing this to yourself, why you keep letting her in.

every bite makes you want more, but you know you'll regret it the moment you finish.

you can't tell her. you can't even tell yourself the truth. that you're in too deep. that you love her in a way that's wrong, twisted even. but there's something inside you that wants it—needs it.

you wish you could hate her, even for a moment, just to break free of this suffocating feeling. but how could you? everything about her is so... perfect?

it's not like you haven't tried to ignore it—her. the crush. the obsession. the way your heart races everytime she's near. but impossible. you can't escape her, not when she's in every class, sitting just a few seats away, laughing with that same carefree smile that makes you want to scream and kiss her all at once.

you tell yourself it's fine. it's just a phase. you're best friends. that's but every time she looks at you, you swear you see something deeper in her eyes, something more.

it's like she knows. like she can see straight through you, into the mess of tangled feelings you can't make sense of. and she doesn't say a word.

but that's the problem. she doesn't need to. her silence is just as loud as her laugh. and every second you spend with her, every moment where your fingers accidentally brush, it feels you're unraveling.

"are you coming to the party tonight?" karina's voice breaks through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

you nod, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even though your insides are a storm.

"yeah, i'll be there." your voice is steadier than you feel. maybe too steady. "good," she says, glancing at you with that smile that makes your chest tighten. "I'm glad. it wouldn't be the same without you."

a flutter of something—hope, maybe—spreads through you, and you bite back a nervous laugh. "I'm not that important."

karina raises an eyebrow, her expression softening just a little. "you're not important? I don't know about that. you're always there when I need you."

you swallow, your throat suddenly dry. her words are innocent enough, but it feels like a knife twisting inside you. every word she says to you, every compliment, makes this crush harder to bury.

"i'll see you there," you manage, the words tasting like a promise you know you can't keep.

as karina walks away, you can't help but watch her go, the ache deep in your chest growing stronger with every step she takes. you want to shout it all out—to confess, to scream, to finally stop pretending. but instead, you stand there, watching her disappear into the crowd, and tell yourself that you can still walk away. that you can still hate this.

but the truth is, you can't.

the party is loud, the air thick with laughter and music, but none of it matters. you're here, but your mind is elsewhere. you keep scanning the room, trying to focus on anything but karina.

your friends, intak and manon, are talking to you, trying to pull you into the conversation, but your attention keeps slipping.

they don't see it.

they don't see that every word, every smile feels hollow when karina isn't in your line of sight. you force a laugh here and there, nodding along, pretending to care. but it's hard to concentrate when karina's across the room, talking to mark.

there she is, laughing, her blonde hair catching the light, flipping it over her shoulder as if she doesn't realize how perfectly she shines.

you feel a sudden tightness in your chest, a sour jealousy stirring deep within you. it's ridiculous. you shouldn't feel this way. you shouldn't care. but every time you see her smiling with someone else, every time someone else gets to share her attention, it's like a knife twisting in your gut.

mark's leaning in a little too close, and the way he speaks to her—soft, casual, like they've known each other forever. you want to scream, to run over and pull her away, but you just stay frozen, watching, feeling sick as you try to ignore the jealousy gnawing at you.

"hey, you okay?" intak's voice pulls you back into reality. you glance over at him, forcing a smile, but it's tight.

"yeah, i'm fine." your voice comes out a little flatter than you intended, and manon raises a brow, but she doesn't say anything. she just gives you a concerned look before turning back to the crowd.

you try to focus on them, but your gaze just keeps darting back to karina and mark.

watching as mark leans in just a little more, his hands resting on her shoulder, and it takes everything in you to not turn away. you can't stand it.

you hate how they're laughing together, how easily he's standing close to her, the way she seems so comfortable.

but you can't stop staring.

"are you sure you're okay?" intak asks again, his voice laced with concern. but he doesn't know. he can't know what it feels like to watch karina be so effortlessly close to someone else.

you just nod, forcing a smile again. "yeah, i'm good. just.. tired."

and you pray they won't notice how your gaze keeps drifting back to her, how the pit in your stomach grows deeper with every passing second. you try to shake it off, pretending to be present in the conversation with intak and manon. but it's impossible.

the room feels suffocating, your thoughts drifting back to karina and mark every few seconds. you need a break.

"i'm just gonna grab another drink," you mutter, already turning towards the kitchen. you don't wait for a reply, the words hanging in the air behind you as you make your way through the crowd.

you move quickly, pushing past people, desperate for something to occupy your mind, even if it's just the simple act of refilling your cup. the kitchen is quieter, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

you find the liquor and start pouring, the sound of the liquid hitting your glass oddly calming for a moment.

but then you hear the soft click of footsteps behind you, and you freeze. it's manon. you can tell by the way she moves that she's not buying the act.

"you're not fooling anyone," she says quietly, leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossed.

you don't look at her, focusing on the drink in your hand. "I'm fine," you mutter, but the words feel weak even to you. manon doesn't respond right away, just watches you, her eyes sharp.

"you're not fine. you're barely holding it together.' her voice is soft but firm, like she's seen through every wall you've built.

you bite your lip, but the words won't come. she's right. you can't keep pretending. the jealousy, the ache, the way you feel like you're drowning every time you see karina with someone else—it's all too much to handle. you feel like you're about to snap, and all you want is to hide, to escape this mess of emotions.

just as you open your mouth to say something, anything, the kitchen door swings open, and there she is.

karina.

she steps in, her blonde hair glowing under the light, and her eyes immediately find you. there's a slight frown on her lips, and she's moving towards you, her usual playful energy replaced by something more possessive.

"what are you two doing here?" karina asks, her voice a little too sharp, a little too curious. she looks at manon, then back at you, and before you can answer, she steps closer. "i've been looking for you."

manon raises her brows, but doesn’t say anything, stepping back and giving you both some space.

karina doesn’t wait for an invitation—she slips her arm around your waist, pulling you gently toward her. It’s sudden and clingy, almost desperate, and the shift catches you off guard.

her fingers lightly grip your sides as she leans into you, her body close in a way that makes your breath catch. “let’s go somewhere else,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, her face just inches from yours.

there’s a possessiveness in her touch, like she’s marking her territory, and you don’t know wether to pull away or pull her closer.

“karina…” you say, the words barely coming out, your heart racing faster.

she doesn’t let go. instead, she tugs you along the hallway, ignoring any protests you might have. “you’re not staying here. you’re with me tonight, okay?”

you glance over at manon over karina’s shoulder. she’s watching the two of you leave, her gaze unreadable.

karina doesn’t seem to notice, her focus solely on you, her hand still wrapped around your waist like she can’t bare to let you go.

you wonder if she feels it, too—the way the air between you shifts when she’s this close. you wonder if she knows how much you need her, how much you crave her touch. but you can’t ask her that. you can’t let her see how deep this is.

not yet.

karina doesn’t stop tugging you along until the cool air hits your face. the noise of the party fades as she pulls you onto the porch, the door clicking shut behind you.

for a moment, there’s silence.

just the two of you under the glow of string lights, the muffled bass of the music vibrating through the walls.

you try to steady your breathing, your heart still racing from the way she grabbed you, from how close she was just moments ago. but the look on her face stops you cold. she’s not smiling. she’s not laughing. there’s something sharp in her expression, something that cuts straight through you.

“what’s going on with you and manon?” she asks, her voice low but tinged with something you can’t quite place—anger? jealousy?

you blink at her, caught off guard. “what are you talking about?”

karina crosses her arms, her hair falling over her shoulder as she tilts her head, studying you like she’s waiting for you to confess to something. “you too looked… close. i didn’t like it.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first. finally, you manage, “manon’s my friend. what’s wrong with that?”

her jaw tightens, and she takes a step closer, her eyes locked on yours. “it’s not that. it’s the way she looks at you. like she wants something more.”

you let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “that’s ridiculous. she doesn’t—“

“she does,” karina interrupts, her voice rising slightly. “and you just… you let her. you don’t see it, but I do.” your chest tightens, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“why do you care, karina? she’s my friend. you can’t just pull me away and act like this everytime i talk to someone.”

her lips part like she’s about to say something, but then she hesitates. her gaze flickers, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable. but then the mask slips back into place.

“because it’s not just ‘someone’,” she says, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “it’s her. and I don’t like it. I don’t like the way she looks at you, the way you let her be so close to you.”

your heart skips a beat, the weight of her words settling in your chest. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what to feel.

“karina…” you start, but she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“i’m your best friend,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “i’m supposed to be the one who… who knows you best, who’s there for you. not her.”

the air between you feels heavy, charged with something unspoken. you want to ask her why she’s really upset, why she’s acting like this. but you’re afraid of the answer. afraid of what this might mean for both of you.

instead, you take a step back, needing to breathe, to think.

“you don’t get to decide who i’m friends with, karina.” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the storm raging inside you.

her eyes widen slightly, and for a second, you think she might argue. but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, her expression unreadable, before finally looking away.

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until she finally whispers, “i just don’t want to lose you.”

the words hang in the air, and you don’t know how to respond.

because the truth is, you’re already lost. lost in her. and she doesn’t even realize it.

you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you, your breath hitching as you take her in. the glow of the porch lights casts soft shadows over karina’s face, highlighting the blush that blooms across her cheeks and nose from the chill.

her lips are slightly parted, her breath visible in the frosty air.

your hands move before you can stop them, gently cupping her face. her skin is cool under your palms, but it sends a warmth through you that you can’t explain.

karina doesn’t pull away—she just blinks up at you, her eyes wide and searching, like she’s trying to understand what’s happening.

you let your gaze roam, tracing every detail you’ve memorized a thousand times but can never get enough of. the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes flutter uncertainly, and then—her lips. they are slick with gloss, glistening faintly in the dim light, and you can’t stop yourself from staring.

the faint scent of cherries reaches you, sweet and enticing, it’s like everything else fades away.

your heart races as your eyes meet hers again, and for a split second, you hesitate. but the longing, the ache, is too much to hold back. you lean in, closing the distance, and then your lips are on hers.

it’s soft at first, tentative.

her lips taste just like cherries—sickly sweet yet intoxicating, sending a rush through your veins that’a equal part bliss and madness.

it’s overwhelming, dizzying, like taking a bite of forbidden fruit you can’t resist, no matter how dangerous it feels.

for a moment, karina freezes, but then you feel it—her kissing you back.

her hands flutter uncertainly before finding their place, one gripping your arm, the other resting lightly on your hip, as if she’s trying to ground herself in the moment. the kiss deepens, and it’s everything you’ve held back is pouring out all at once.

for a moment, it feels perfect.

her lips moving softly against yours, hesitant but searching, and the way her hands hold onto you makes your chest ache with something too big to name.

your pour everything into the kiss—all the longing, all the frustration, every stolen glance and unspoken words.

but then it changes.

her grip on you tightens, but not in the way you expect. she tenses, pulling back slightly, and before you could fully register what’s happening, her hands push against your chest—firm, almost frantic.

you stumble back a step, your heart dropping as she stares at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “what the hell am I doing?” karina whispers, almost like she’s asking herself.

her lips are still flushed, her breath coming fast, but there’s a distance in her gaze now, like she’s retreating somewhere you can’t follow.

“karina—“ you start, reaching out instinctively, but she jerks away, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if to ward you off.

“no,” she cuts you off, her voice trembling. “this…this was a mistake.”

the words hit you like a slap, sharp and unforgiving, and all you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot.

“I shouldn’t have…” she shakes her head, her blonde hair catching the faint glow of the porch. “I don’t know what I was thinking. this can’t happen.”

her words sting, but it’s the look in her eyes that twists the the knife deeper—fear, confusion and something else you can’t quite name.

“karina, please, just listen—“

“I can’t!” she snaps, her voice breaking, and the crack in it makes your chest tighten. she takes a shaky step back, her hands trembling as she brushes hair out of her face. “I don’t know what this means, and I… I can’t deal with this right now.”

you watch helplessly as karina backs away, the distance between you growing with each step.

finally, she turns and rushes back into the house, the door slamming shut behind her. the muffled sound of the party seeps through the walls, but it feels like it's miles away.

you stand there in the cold, the taste of cherries still lingering on your lips—a sweetness that now feels unbearable. the air feels heavier, colder, and you sink onto the porch steps, burying your face in your hands.

the porch feels colder without her, the air biting against your skin as you sit there, staring blankly at the ground.

the noise of the party is a distance hum, muffled and meaningless. all you can focus on is the lingering feel of her lips, the warmth of her hands, and the way it shattered in an instant. you trace your thumb over your bottom lip absentmindedly, tasting the faint sweetness that still clings there.

cherries. so sweet it hurts. so intoxicating you can't breathe.

you lean back against the railing, closing your eyes against the ache building in your chest. "I hate fruits," you murmur, your voice a hollow echo of the chaos inside of you.

the sweetness, the temptation, the inevitability of being consumed—it's all too much. but the worst part isn't that you kissed her. it's not even that she pulled away.

the worst part is that, for a fleeting moment, she kissed you back.

because now you know. you know there's something there, something real and terrifying, and you can't take it back.

the door opens behind you, the noise of the party spilling out again for just a second before it clicks shut. you don't bother looking up. it's not her. you'd know if it were her.

instead, you sit there in the quiet, letting the cold seep into your bones, wondering if you've just lost the one person you can't live without.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, a thought blooms, sharp and persistent: 'i don't hate fruits. I hate myself for loving them.'

#aespa #yu jimin #karina #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #karina x reader #yoo jimin #wlw #kisshae #aespa karina #aespa x reader

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safetypinxtales · 1 year ago

Text

Lonely with you | Azriel

summary: it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, feelings of loneliness, thirsting over our boy az and his thighs, kind of just a drawn out drabble, some angst, generally just softness, Azriel with a book needs a warning in and of itself, very slight jealousy, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, PINING

notes: haven't written in years, and never befor for Azriel, or anyone from acotar, so bare with me. Not sure what I think of this, nor what the future might hold, but I had some time off uni and this idea that I just couldn't seem to get out of my head. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

part 2

You knew what picture was waiting for you in the living room of the House before you even rounded that corner. The distinct sound of pages turning, the hint of whiskey in the air, and him.

That scent that was just so distinctly Azriel it almost made you forget that echoing emptiness in your chest.

The sight that greeted you as you entered the room belonged in a museum, or at the very least at the front of some Day Court scribe’s lecture hall, being studied by the brightest minds in Prythian. You wanted to commission Feyre to paint it from your memories so it could be immortalized, even if just for your eyes. Because by the Gods, it was mesmerizing.

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees.

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long.

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say.

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn��t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course.

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him.

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight.

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle.

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame.

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose.

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like.

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with.

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness.

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open.

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second.

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there.

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area.

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response.

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention.

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole.

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest.

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest.

Until that void had been replaced by a vibrating, golden, glow.

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #lonely with you

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vi-tamine · 3 months ago

Note

hey!! would you write vi with childhood crush!reader and they've spent years liking each other but were too oblivious/insecure to confess, then vi gets with caitlyn in s1 leaving reader heartbroken but then they break up so vi and reader finally get together? like a angst to fluff... only if you dont mind obviously!!

after the storm (vi x reader)

words: 2,7k (oh... my god...)

genre(s): fluff and angst

warnings: kind of drunk vi, vi x childhood crush!reader

n/a: maybe I've gone a little overboard with this request but omg I had such a good time writing about my girl…. little reminder that english isnt my first language, im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes <3 hope u enjoy!

When you were younger, you frequented the famous The Last Drop in the undercity, where you became friends with a small group of somewhat brothers. You frequented that bar because, apart from the fact that they had a delicious tomato juice that you had never tasted anywhere else, there was a certain pinkhead girl who had accepted you into the group and integrated you into it as if you had always been part of it.

You both had very different personalities, while she was hard, determined and direct, you were more quiet and reserved in certain aspects. And yet, you complemented each other perfectly. You admired her a lot, or so you thought.

Little by little, you both grew to trust each other. You frequented her space, she invited you on adventures with her group and she told you things she couldn't tell her younger sister or her brothers.

You wanted to mentally beat yourself up when you realized that you no longer saw Vi as a friend, but that you were beginning to feel a certain attraction to her. They were confusing feelings for you at the age you were. You never said anything because you finally had a friend you felt you could count on and you didn't want to spoil your friendship with those silly feelings you were sure you could ignore.

One day, the subway city seemed to go to hell and was covered in mourning. Vander passed away and you never heard from the boys, Powder or Vi again.

You attended to one last customer as you escorted him to the door, said goodbye in a light whisper and closed the door as you turned the Closed sign. After your mother's passing, leaving you completely alone in the undercity, you took over your business, a humble junkyard frequented, as far as you knew, by some of Silco's henchmen.

Leaning on the counter, you noticed that one of the shelves was missing a few knick-knacks, and frowning you realized that the wretch had stolen them. You cursed to yourself as you lightly tapped the counter. Since that day had been hard days for you, you were facing the world all alone. You knew that Powder, or Jinx, as she now called herself, was “fine”, but you still knew nothing about the others, not even Ekko, with whom you had exchanged a few words.

You heard knocking at the door. “Closed, it says so on the sign” you shouted from inside the shop as you finished packing up. Still, the knocking did not stop.

Snorting, you headed for the door, opening it in complete anger. “It's closed! Don't you know how-” you shut up when you saw the person in front of you. That totally unmistakable pink hair, the freckles on her nose and her powder blue eyes staring straight at you. “Vi?” you muttered in a whisper. You felt her arms wrap around you tightly, and you still confused, it took you a little while to return her embrace.

You felt the warmth of her body against yours hit you full on, and you definitely felt like you were going to burst into tears. She was so beautiful, grown up, more grown up, stronger, more everything.

“Where were you all this time?” you mumbled asking into the crook of her neck, still not letting go of her arms. “Stillwater” she replied in a whisper, still wrapping her arms around you. You stood for a while longer holding each other, you had needed this for a long time, and to be honest, you had to hold back the urge you had to cry.

“You're... so changed” she murmured once she broke away, looking you up and down, ending up in your eyes. You let out a giggle.

“Not you, you look the same. You have the same punk face you had seven years ago” you joked with her while you gave a light tap on her arm, noticing how stiff it was. Seeing her made you feel strange, you felt the same as when you were little, you still had that feeling towards her, but it was possible that having seen her again after so many years, had increased those feelings. “How did you get out of jail? And why did they arrest you in the first place?” in Zaun the word was spreading fast, but from that day on you shut yourself away from taking care of your mother and the store, you didn't know anything about what had happened. Vi gave you a brief summary, told you everything that happened that day and how it all went. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, a piece inside you shattered as you learned of your friends' passing.

“And about how I got out...let's just say the council got me out” you arched an eyebrow at her response. What would the council want her for?

The door burst open. A girl, who looked about your age, blue hair and slanted sky coloured eyes, appeared in this one. You frowned, for she did not look like someone proper from Zaun, despite her robes.

“Vi? You got it?” the girl spoke to the girl. Confused, you looked at her.

“Have what?” you asked, looking at your once friend. She looked at you, you watched as she swallowed, and when she was about to speak, the taller one cut her off.

“Information. About Jinx” your gaze shifted to the stranger. Her gaze towards you, while trying to be neutral, you could sense a bit of distaste in it. You didn't understand anything, but what you did seem to understand was that they knew each other.

“Give me a few minutes, cupcake” you felt something inside you snap a little more. the taller one snorted and walked out of the store again, slamming the door behind her. What's wrong with her? you asked yourself, still staring at the door.

“Who is she?” you asked in a whisper.

“Caitlyn Kiramman, the officer who pulled me out of Stillwater” Vi replied as she shrugged her shoulders. You mumbled lightly. You had a lot of questions.

“Cupcake?” you asked in a mocking tone, though to be honest, you hadn't been the least bit amused. A few years ago it had been you she called in that nickname, “because you were so sweet, like a cupcake” she had once told you. “Are you with a piltoverian?” you asked, this time, raising your voice a little higher than you would have liked.

“What?” Vi shrugged. “What's your problem? It's not like you released me from prison, honey” she teased wryly as she looked directly at you. At this point, you got the feeling that Vi had forgotten her entire past, or at least a past where you belonged in her life. Years ago you thought she might reciprocate your feelings, perhaps. Now it was clear that had never been the case for her.

“Go away. I don't have any information from Jinx. Ask somewhere else” you spoke softly. You really were out of strength to fight. You didn't want to, at least not with her. Taking her by the shoulder you accompanied her to the door, and opening it, without saying goodbye, you slammed the door once she set foot on the street. You closed the door with every possible lock.

“Anything?” ”Nothing. Never mind, we'll ask at the brothel” after those murmurs on the other side of the wall, you couldn't help but feel your tears start to fall one after the other more and more abundantly. You felt a pressure in your chest, you felt full of guilt. You were alone again, with your heart hanging in your hands.

You thought maybe you had overreacted, that you shouldn't have treated Vi like that after not having seen her for so many years, but your feelings got the better of you.

And once again, you decided to disengage from the issue and whatever happened from that point on.

One more day in your routine, you closed the store once the last customer of the day had already walked through the door to go out into the street. As usual, you swore on the sign indicating that the store was closed to the public, and began to sweep and tidy up the shop to have it ready for the next day first thing in the morning.

The last six months had been an odyssey for you. You did not stop hearing everywhere you went about the return of Vi, about everything that was happening in the city above and especially what was happening with Jinx. You stayed on the sidelines, even though wherever you went you were gathering information.

You had been thinking a lot during this time, thinking about the pinkhead and how everything could have been different if only the Piltover girl had not been there. You didn't blame Vi, you knew she had every right to hang out with whomever she wanted, but you couldn't help but feel angry and jealous at the slightest thought that she would never be with you.

You heard a knock at the door. You sighed, you were not in the mood for this kind of nonsense. You ignored the knocking, the sign was clear, they would notice. Even though you kept sweeping and cleaning, the knocking didn't stop and your patience was limited. Just as you were about to say something to the person who kept insisting, the sound of the door opening startled you. You turned to complain, but you saw her.

She was significantly changed. Her pink hair was badly dyed a very dark black color, and her eyes were made up in a totally disastrous way. She was dressed in black and several bandages covered various parts of her body. You frowned at the sight of her looking like that.

“Did you fall in a puddle of oil?” you asked as you went back to your work. You heard her snort. Glancing sideways at her you noticed she was wobbling a bit, and taking a couple of steps forward, she looked like she was almost going to fall, leaning against the counter. You put the broom aside and approached her, the smell of alcohol becoming more and more present. “Have you been drinking?” you asked. She simply nodded. You snorted a little and bit your tongue.

You slipped one of her arms over your shoulder, and holding her by the waist, guided her to the back of the store to go upstairs to your apartment. She stumbled over her own feet as she walked, making your steps clumsy as you climbed the stairs. She mumbled things you couldn't understand, but she seemed hurt, for some reason.

Once you got up to the apartment, you directed her to the living room to sit her carefully on the couch. She looked at everything with curiosity, and in silence, you went to the kitchen to bring her a glass of water. You held the glass out to her and she, with a murmur of thanks, took a sip.

“It hasn't changed a bit...” she murmured still observing the humble decor of your living room. “And your mother? How is she?” he asked awkwardly. You didn't answer, didn't even look at her, just shrugged. Vi got the message right away. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't- fuck, sorry” she mumbled setting aside the glass.

“Why did you drink so much?” you asked leaning against the back of the couch. Vi did the same, settled back and let out a sigh. She even seemed to find it hard to speak. “Drink water” you took the glass again and held it out to her. She heeded and took another sip.

“Things aren't going well...” she muttered. You knew what she was talking about, nothing was right when a war between two cities was about to explode.

“Something I heard” you simply mentioned. Vi looked at you. The only thing she thought when she looked at you was that the dim light coming through the window really fell in a very angelic way on your body. She always thought you were a jewel in the rough, someone who didn't have to belong to this city, someone who deserved better from everything life had given her. “Your girlfriend? All good with her?” when she heard those words come out of your mouth she frowned and growled.

“No,” she replied. She didn't add anything else. You didn't want to ask either, you supposed that also added to things not going well.

“I'm sorry” you mumbled. You weren't sorry. If you had to be honest, you were kind of glad it hadn't worked out with that girl. The atmosphere was starting to feel tense as you weren't talking anymore. You listened to Vi take sip after sip of water. She started to sit up a bit, you took it for granted that she was starting to sober up and become more aware of the situation.

Still silent, you felt her head rest on your shoulder. “You don't know how much i've missed you all these years” she murmured. You felt her hair brush against your cheek, and you couldn't help but fall into nostalgia, letting your cheek rest against her head. “I've missed you so much too, Vi...” you felt her hand brush against yours before taking her fingers in yours. Her hand was warm, unlike yours, which always had cold fingers. You enjoyed the warmth her body emanated, closing your eyes slightly, enjoying the company you both gave each other.

For her part, Vi during her stay in Stillwater, always dreamed of a scenario similar to this, without the alcohol and tragedies in between. Just you and her sharing such a sweet moment as you were doing at that moment. Ever since she was little she had always felt a certain attraction to you, you were always so sweet and positive that she felt you two complemented each other perfectly. You could say that her heart melted a little more when, that same night, instead of kicking her out of your tent, you offered her your help and shelter.

“Thank you, for everything” she murmured still leaning against you, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb. You felt, hearing her voice so calm, your heart skip a beat.

“You don't have to give them away. I wasn't going to let you down, you're my Vi” you murmured back. The girl couldn't help but smile. Your Vi. She was yours.

“And you're my cupcake” you rolled your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

“That's not so clear to me, cutie” you joked, referencing that it was the same nickname she had used with her ex.

“You’re mine too” Vi sat up on the couch, both of them very close to each other. Her eyes connected with yours and you both became lost in each other's gaze. Placing her hand on your chin, she brought her lips to yours, leaving a small kiss on them. You felt a slight shiver run down your spine. You had just experienced what you always wanted, and in such a sweet way, that you could only think you were dreaming. But when Vi started kissing you one after another, feeling her lips on yours, you knew it was real. You reciprocated each of the kisses Vi gave you sweetly, and as you parted, you both looked at each other and laughed lightly.

“You don't know how long I wanted to do this,” Vi said leaning her head back against the back of the couch, looking directly at you as she kept smiling, her cheeks rosy.

“You don't know how long I've waited for you to do this” you leaned against her, leaving a kiss on her cheek. “I've always liked you, you know? These years have been torture...to think you could have been-” Vi stopped you when you felt her hand on your cheek, caressing it in the sweetest way possible.

“Time has passed, and I'm already here. And I'm not going to move from your side.” you smiled at the girl's words. You took it as a correspondence.

After the storm you were finally starting to see the sun.

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softaestluv · 17 days ago

Text

Sticky When Wet

Three times Ghost swore he hated honey with his tea and one time he admitted he couldn’t live without it.

Alpha! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Omega! Reader

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega stereotypical behavior, Scenting, Angst, Miscommunications, Denial, Simon is bad at feelings, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Size difference, Eventual smut

Pt. 1 of 4, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

Black Tea.

Ghost cherished black tea more than the average person. Every morning: a fresh cup to start the day. Stressed out? A cup of plain and natural black tea would bloom deliciously in his chest. Solved most of his problems, burnt away the tension in his body.

Honey.

Ghost appalled honey more than the average person. The taste, smell, and consistency, everything about it, down to the yellow color. It was too sweet; a pungent aroma of warm sugar like butterscotch and woody cedar made him turn away in disgust. Plus, it was sticky and tacky. Clung to every surface it touched. Glued his counters and fingers in layers of goop that he struggled to scrub off.

He wasn’t one for sweets; rarely was he given the privilege of a sugary treat in his childhood. Candied items were even more rare in the military, though most luxuries were in his occupation. So, he never developed a sweet tooth; he lived without it for so long.

Instead, Simon favored bold flavors; enjoyed the rich malt of black tea. Melting bitterly on his tongue, just the way he craved. He couldn’t even imagine ruining the delectable taste of his tea with honey. Diluting the strong flavor soft and sweet.

There were few things Ghost admitted to loving in his life, but a warm cup of black tea was one he would willingly sing his love for from the top of the hills.

Why would he put artificial flavoring in it? The tea already had the perfect taste.

Ghost hated honey. Hated it even more mixed into his sacred tea. Despised the way your scent radiated it. Loathed how you reeked of sage honey and sweet tangerine. Disgusted each time he smelt your sickly sweet scent, each time you served him a tray in the mess hall stained in honey and citrus.

It ruined his food, ruined his fucking black tea. The delicacy of a pure cup ripped from his grasp the moment you started working in the cafeteria. Your scent soaked into the food, the tea—the whole fucking cafeteria. Filling his senses with warm honey, pungent even through the fabric of his balaclava, melting onto his tongue with each breath. Made his tea sweet and saccharine.

The tea bags stored in the kitchen were tainted by your scent. The only place he could enjoy a cup of tea anymore was tucked away in the barracks, stored in his room where he could peacefully escape your scent.

Even now, walking down the empty corridor to the mess hall, your smell wafted through the doors. Practically suffocating him the moment he walked through them, flooding every sense with your thick aroma. Drenching him in your warmth, clinging to his skin, and making him sticky, exactly the way he hated.

“The hell is this?” A sergeant shouted at you as Ghost walked over, tray slammed loudly against the counter.

Your head snapped up, shrinking behind your shoulders from the harsh gaze of the alpha, voice shaking lightly, “I'm sorry, sir. What’s the problem?”

“Are you stupid? Foods bloody fuckin’ cold, and you didn’t give me any bread.” Belittling tone making you flinch.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make sure to fix this for you,” You stuttered, trembling hands scrambling to pick up the tray as his aggressive scent overtook yours.

Your own scent turned sharp, sweet smell diluted, washed away, and tainted from the other alpha’s condescending words. Shifting warmth and tangerine into sour malodorous. The putrid smell alarmed Ghost’s alpha, rumbling in his chest angrily, trying to claw its way out to comfort the omega in distress.

Ghost’s eyes zeroed in on the other alpha, the man who soured your scent. His eyes twitched in irritation, instincts just about ready to maul the threat to your contented smell.

“No. Do it fucking right from the beginning next time, omega,” The man barked, alpha voice curled around the edges of his words, causing you to fight the urge to present your neck in submission.

The use of his alpha voice had Ghost growling angrily, watching you struggle to keep your chin down made him seethe, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Oy,” Ghost snapped, both of your eyes flickering to his looming presence, “Is that any way you should be talkin’ to her, sergeant?”

The sergeant opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the correct words as he stared at Ghost in shock. Dumbfounded.

“Huh?” He asked dripping in anger, crossing his arms over his chest disapprovingly, waiting for a response, “I asked you a fuckin’ question. Or are you the stupid one?”

“No, Lieutenant.”

The smaller alpha stammered under Ghost’s scrutiny, arrogance since dissipating from his voice and stance. Submitting to Ghost and his demanding tone like a petulant child scolded by his father.

“This isn’t a buffet. Go eat your fuckin’ cold food with a smile.”

The sergeant nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment before scurrying off like he wasn’t just brazenly scolding you. He would deal with him later during training, make him—make everyone understand that he wouldn’t tolerate that behavior.

Ghost turned his focus to you, doe eyes since widened, staring up at him with the same shock the sergeant wore.

“Thank you, lieutenant. You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Like you were gonna fuckin’ do anything ‘bout it besides stinking the room up with distressed omega,” Simon grumbled, “Though, I guess you already do that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together, a frown deepening on your plump lips as his words settled in. Sour scent muted into confusion, melancholic. You placed his tray on the counter, mumbling quietly under your breath as you diverted your gaze.

“Sorry about that, sir.”

Simon almost laughed as he grabbed the tray and walked to an empty table. Only he could save someone from an asshole alpha just to end up leaving the situation as the asshole. Though, he wasn’t lying; he had seen countless men scrutinizing you, and you never fucking did anything about it. Just let them walk all over you, folding under their command within seconds.

It pissed him off to watch you give in so easily. Especially when it soured your scent, filling the mess hall with distressed omega. That was almost worse than the sugared honey and citrus combination that overwhelmed his senses. Instead, it made his black tea unbearable; couldn’t even drink it as it burned his throat acidicly. Let alone be in the same room when it had his alpha unsettled, tossing violently in his chest.

Ghost didn’t understand why you didn’t fight back. Why you just let it happen when they clearly spoiled your mood, spoiled your sweet scent sour. Though, he wasn’t an omega, his natural instinct wasn’t to submit. His instinct was to challenge and battle against any authority that threatened him.

It’s not like the men in the military were astoundingly gracious anyway; most of them were pricks with too much testosterone who chose to take their anger out on the weak link, the omegas, to feel powerful. To follow and satisfy the primal hierarchy built into their genes, to make up for their lack of self-esteem.

There weren’t many omegas on base, and Simon was sure you faced most of the brute backlash from alphas. So, he took matters into his own hands, shutting down and shooing away any asshole he saw berate you. It was a known fact by now to the other men on base not to; he had made it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t allow anyone to treat you that way.

However, they were always receiving recruits, and a fresh trainee served as the perfect example for the rest of them. Before whispers were mingling between them ‘not to fuck with the pretty omega or else the lieutenant will make sure your training is a living hell.’

Besides, Ghost was only doing it because he liked his black tea without a side of distressed omega—really.

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

Text

Tear In My Heart

Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.

A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred

Brother.

What was he?

The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.

No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.

Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.

Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.

Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.

He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—

"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."

Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.

You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.

"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"

Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."

He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

"What have I been but docile and serving?"

"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"

"TO YOU!"

Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.

You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"

"Don't you twist the truth for your-"

"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"

"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.

You gasp and go rigid.

"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."

You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.

You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."

"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."

You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.

In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.

You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."

"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"

You wince as you turn to him.

"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"

"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."

Aemond expression sours at your reaction.

"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.

"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."

"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"

Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.

Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.

He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.

And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.

Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.

He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?

"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.

Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.

"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.

You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."

He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."

You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."

Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."

You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."

He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"

You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"

He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.

"My burden is mine. I am his wife."

"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.

"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."

"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."

"I would," you rebut.

He freezes.

"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."

"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.

You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."

The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.

But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.

He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.

Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."

Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.

It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.

Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."

Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.

"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."

"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."

Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."

"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."

Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.

Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.

Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.

Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.

And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.

Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.

Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.

That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.

All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.

And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.

Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.

Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.

It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.

Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.

Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.

He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.

Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.

When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.

"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."

Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"

Aemond's brows furrow.

You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."

The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.

As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."

Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.

"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"

Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."

There is commotion from outside your tent.

Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.

"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.

Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"

He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.

And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.

#aemond fanfic #aegon fanfic #aemond angst #aegon angst #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond Targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #aegon fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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