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foreverdolly · 7 months ago

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࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 5 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 6.6k

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“Move.”

He was like an impenetrable wall.

You attempted yet again to step around Feyd, your outstretched hand just barely brushing against the door before the man turned his body, blocking you from the exit. He stood with his arms crossed, using his much larger frame as a barricade. After the. . . events that transpired last night, the only thing that was on your mind was freedom. You needed breathing room, if only for a few minutes. Feyd had been your shadow for the last three days. He hadn’t left your side even for a second.

You wanted to trust him, even against your better judgment, so you tried to believe that it was only because he wanted to protect you. There was still that overly cautious voice nagging at you, telling you that he was looking for weaknesses to use against you later. His all-seeing eyes could be sizing you up, making note of how many bites it would take for him to swallow you up whole. The last thing you wanted was to be consumed by this place. . . Consumed by him.

The events that had transpired in your guest bedroom four days ago had your suspicions rising, and you needed to be certain that you were just paranoid before you could even begin thinking about your fast approaching wedding ceremony.

You had feared your impending fate for the entirety of your life. That had always been the one thing that frightened you most, and yet here you were, bruised and battered. It was crazy to believe that there were people on Geidi Prime that were worse than Feyd-Rautha. . . and yet here you were, depending on him for safety. You needed answers.

How had the guard even entered your room in the first place?

“I won’t tell you again. Move.” Your jaw ached, teeth grinding together as you tried to keep yourself from striking him across that cocky face of his.

The skin between his brow bones wrinkled ever-so-slightly as he stared down at you. It was almost as though he was scolding a small child, watching them flail and cry after their punishment had been dealt. Last you had checked, you’d done nothing wrong. Why were your basic rights being revoked after the attempted murder? Why did it feel like you were the one paying the price?

“Either you come with me and train or you stay in our room until I grab you. You have two choices. Pick one.” The pale Na-Baron almost seemed bored of your antics and you couldn’t blame him.

You’d been fighting him every chance you got ever since he had forced himself on you last night. A silent vow had been made right then and there: you were going to make his life a living hell, only stopping once you deemed he had done his proper penance.

“I like neither of those options. Watching you train has done nothing for me. I want to learn-”

“You don’t need to learn how to fight. Is it not the husband’s duty to protect his wife?” He tilted his head to the side, staring down at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Why was he so obsessed with the idea of protecting you? The most he did while the two of you “trained” was block your onslaught of attacks. Gurney wasn’t afraid to hit you in the sparring ring, even if you ended up injured and butt-hurt. He was blunt and told you the ways that you could improve yourself, meanwhile Feyd had been treating you like you were made of porcelain ever since the assassination attempt. You hated it. With your vocal cords still fried from the strangulation, you were made all too aware of the fact that your fighting skills were subpar.

You’d tried goading Feyd into attacking you head on many times, but no matter what you said he still held his punches. The difference between his treatment of you and other’s was startling. Someone could look at him wrong and he was immediately jumping down their throats, ready to strike with lethal precision.

“One day you will have to leave me alone, if even for a few minutes. . . and what then? You can’t always be there-” You were trying desperately to explain, and yet he would hear none of it. He looked almost offended by what you were saying.

“I will always be here,” He was quick to interject, eyes suddenly wild. “I won’t let anything hurt you again.”

Realistically you knew that your heart shouldn’t be pounding the way that it was.

Still, there it was, hammering away in your chest. Every once in a while it was almost as though that dark veil that he had cast over himself was lifted, revealing someone entirely new to you. Someone, as much as you hated to admit it, that was entirely too likable. Loveable, even. His constant changes in personality were starting to give you whiplash. Was he someone completely different when he was around you? Or was he just trying on different faces to see which one you liked better?

You clenched your fists at your side, trying hard to calm your raging emotions. His actions last night were completely barbaric, and yet you couldn’t forget the softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth over yours had plagued your dreams and made it impossible to sleep. It was insane of you to feel this conflicted about something. You should hate everything about this man, and yet here he was, promising to be your protector. More than that, he was promising to stick around, which was arguably more terrifying.

“I’m going then. Will you not be coming with me?” He unfolded his arms, reaching a hand out for you to take.

It hung there in the space between you two, his pale fingers twitching. For a second you contemplated taking it. Regretfully you realized that you had something that you needed to look into.

“I’ll stay here,” You faltered when you saw the hint of rejection in his eyes as he let his hand fall back to his side. “My bruises are tender today, so I’ll just take a bath.”

Why were you trying to make him feel better about your refusal? This was all too confusing.

“Alright then. I’ll see you in an hour.” And with that he turned on the heel of his boot and walked through the door, careful to close it tightly behind him.

You breathed a sigh of relief, moving forward so that you could press your forehead against the cool metal. It felt good against your flushed skin.

“I won’t leave until I hear you slide the lock into place.” His deep voice was muffled behind the thick barrier between the two of you.

You closed your eyes tightly, sliding your hand against the door until you found the lock, clicking it soundly into place. It must have appeased him, as you heard his retreating footsteps just a second later.

Time ticked by as you waited to be free of your newfound guardian. The last thing you wanted was to be caught in the hallway sneaking around. Feyd would surely side with his uncle if you were to tell him all about your suspicions, so you’d rather just investigate on your own until you had solid evidence. You wanted to believe that you hadn’t been set up to die, and yet you had this intense gut feeling that this all went even deeper than that.

Why would they make good on the promised engagement if they just wanted to kill you? It’s not like you were any real threat, other than the fact that you had been blessed with your mother’s gifts. As you were now, you were basically useless, which was a very hard pill to swallow.

Slowly you unlocked the door, scared that the sound might alert someone. You had slipped the knife you had stolen during your first dinner on Giedi Prime into your belt, hiding it under the flowing black gauze of your blouse for good measure. Even if you were caught, you needed some way to protect yourself.

The cold metal bit into your skin as you slid the door open, reminding you that you were safe. You will never let anyone hurt you like that again.

This time you will be ready.

Two rights and then three lefts. You had memorized the way to go in order to get to the left wing for this very reason. The Baron’s defenses would be tight, but his office would be relatively empty around this time. It was just about lunch, and according to Feyd he would retire to his personal quarters. If you could distract the guards for long enough to slip in, riffle around for information, and then get out. . . you’d be home free.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt as you walked through the hall, training your expression to one of stony indifference. Modeling it after Feyd’s, you briskly made your way, hoping that the guards would be confused enough to let you pass without so much as a second thought.

‘I belong here.’ You lied to ourself, trying to bolster your confidence.

A few men in uniform turned to look after you, but no one stopped you. The way to the baron’s office was completely new to you. Feyd had never taken you this deep into the left wing before- only to get to the grand-hall to show you where the ceremony would be held. It was as large and foreboding as all of the other rooms on the giant estate, but the onyx floors had a certain shine to them as though there were flecks of quartz sprinkled throughout. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but it was a rather extravagant place to get married.

You’d nonchalantly asked if the Baron lived in the left wing seeing as the architecture was seemingly more grandiose. He couldn’t have known that you would try to make your way in this direction on your own because he had let it slip: the baron and his office were located very close to the grand-hall.

“What are you doing over here?” The man’s voice was deeper than Feyd’s, though he was half his size.

The guard at his side looked to be twice your age, and yet the expression in his eyes made you think that he wouldn’t think twice about ripping your head straight from your shoulders.

“The Na-Baron asked me to come and get you two.” It felt awkward using Feyd’s title, stuffy even.

The two blinked a few times in disbelief, looking you up and down as if you were an insignificant worm. It was almost like you could hear their thoughts. You were nothing but a pitiful Atreides, so what were you doing taking orders from someone as important as your soon-to-be husband? They doubted that he would ever confide in you for anything other than warming his bed.

“He told me that the two men standing in front of the Baron’s office were needed in the training room.” The sooner they were gone the better.

Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, slowly looking behind them at the large door they were currently standing in front of. How would you know that this was his uncle’s office unless you were explicitly told?

“Did he mention why we are needed?” There was still a hint of distrust in the older man’s voice, but it was far overshadowed by fear.

Feyd was unpredictable. Unpredictability and psychosis made for a dangerous combination.

“Another guard confided in him yesterday. Said that the two of you said something disrespectful recently and that he wanted to personally have a word with the both of you. I don’t know anything more than that.” You wanted them so frightened that they would completely abandon all reason. They needed to be gone long enough to give you time to properly search the place.

You watched as their pale faces went a sick shade of pale purple. The two looked like the gossiping type, and if their expressions were anything to go off of then you must be right. They were quick to bow their heads in your direction before jogging off, muttering curses under their breath.

A second. Two seconds. Three. . .

You opened the door as slowly as you possibly could, praying that it wouldn’t make a noise. You waited to see if you could hear any movement, wondering whether or not the inside was being watched as well. Thankfully you heard nothing. The room wasn’t as massive as you had been expecting. It was just about as large as the first bedroom you had been placed in was, but somehow it looked even darker. It still had the strangely textured walls and beautiful floors, same as the grand-hall, but there was something unsettling about it. The only light coming in was through the large window that was located in the middle of the room, but the world outside was a slate gray, so even that was dim. You didn’t have time to look out the large window, no matter how curious you were about your new surroundings. There was something that you had to do. Making a decision on how you should go about this whole predicament was paramount, and you refused to do it after the wedding.

There was still time to try and contact your parents back home if you had suspicions of a possible murder plot.

The Baron’s desk was neat, not a speck of dust marring it’s matte black surface. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. . . just something that would put your mind at ease. Confirmation was needed, one way or another. Either Feyd’s uncle was innocent or guilty. Of what? You weren’t quite sure yet.

You riffled through the papers that sat on the middle of the table, careful to stack them up exactly where they once were. The information in them seemed useless to you. Financial documents- most of them discussing the retrieval of spice. Never once had you stepped foot on Arrakis, so you found them slightly boring at worst and mildly interesting at best. It was then that you started tugging at the very few drawers, knowing that you would be found at any second. There were no sounds emitting from the hallway, but that didn’t mean anything. Most of the people on this planet were freaks of nature it would seem. You suddenly began to doubt that there would be any evidence here of all places.

Asking the guard that attempted to kill you and his accomplices questions would have been the best route, but your fiance had acted rashly before you even had the chance to catch your breath. The time to give up on your investigation was near. Seconds had turned into minutes. Your heart was pounding up in your throat, making it hard to breathe as you opened the last drawer.

It turned out that it wasn’t a drawer at all but a small cabinet. You had to crouch down and squint your eyes in the dark to see inside. The contents would have been useless to you in most cases, but something caught your eye. . . and terrified you in ways that you couldn’t quite put into words.

It was a cabinet filled with marked-

“Did you see his face? It looked like he was surprised to see us.” The male’s voice had you standing up so fast that a muscle in your neck twitched, resulting in a dull pain shooting up the base of your head.

You were about to be caught. Any second now they would be back at the door, and where would you hide in the hallway? The billowy skirt that the ladies in waiting had brought to Feyd’s room this morning nearly sabotaged you as you tripped by the door. They were just around the corner, only a few steps away from his office now.

What would happen if you were caught? Would the wedding be called off? Would you be punished severely?

You closed the door as quietly as you could behind you, running in the opposite direction that the two begrudged guards were coming from. You only skidded to a stop when you saw that this hallway was also heavily guarded, their backs turned to you.

This was the worst case scenario. You were running in the opposite direction where you had come, which meant that you had absolutely no clue where you were going. There was no way that you would get out of this without some sort of formal permission, and two guards were already suspicious of you. Oh, and you couldn’t use the Voice if things started going south.

If you could sink right into the floor, right in this moment, you would.

The cabinet in the baron’s office was filled with keycards, each labeled with numbers that must correspond to each room. Only two were missing- two keycards that belonged to a room that had been organized on the wall of the right side of the cabinet. Left wing and right wing. The guest rooms were located in the right.

There was no way that was a coincidence. . . not when you were staying in the right wing the night that you were injured. You had been given a keycard at the very beginning of your stay. Not even your ladies-in-waiting had a way to get into your room by themselves. They had to knock on the door and wait for you to unlock it from the inside for them.

So if you had one keycard. . . then who had the other? Had someone broken into the Baron’s room just the same as you had, perhaps?

A sudden grip on your wrist had your mouth falling open, your lungs seizing as you sucked in a breath, your body's natural reaction being to scream. A hand was quick to press to your mouth, muffling whatever sound you could make. The hand belonged to someone tall, their body hard against your back as they ushered you into a small space. They pressed a button on the wall, and all you could do was watch in horror as the door slid closed behind the two of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

It was pitch black in whatever tight space he had dragged you into. A closet, you surmised. Still, you could hear that his teeth were clenched as he spoke to you, voice deep and low as he whispered.

Feyd. You hated the fact that you were so relieved that it was him. His presence here meant that you were safe. All you had to do was come up with some sort of lie as to why you were here. Walking alongside him wouldn’t dredge up any suspicions. No one would be the wiser if they saw the Na-Baron giving his soon-to-be bride a tour around the grounds.

His chest was pressed tight against yours, and suddenly you found it hard to take in a single breath. It felt as though he might press himself straight into your ribcage. . . and maybe you really were going crazy, but you wouldn’t mind it if he did break you. The smoky, spiced scent of him was clouding your judgment.

You were no longer yourself.

“It’s none of your business.” You whispered back, trying to make your tone just as ferocious as his was. It lacked bite though, and he seemed to catch the way that your voice faltered ever so slightly.

“Getting yourself killed the second that I look the other way. . .” He scoffed, and you wished so badly that you could make out his features in the dark. His body moved ever so slightly, as though he was leaning his head back in exasperation. “Do I need to bind your hands and ankles every time I leave the room? Are you that incapable of being without me even for a second?”

“I got lost.” You hissed, the lie sweet on your honeyed tongue. You were getting better at being despicable.

“Well, that’s too bad,” His voice softened, almost as though he was speaking to a child. “Getting lost in these halls isn’t hard to do.”

His grip on your wrists tightened to the point of pain, and for a second fear flashed behind your eyes. You hadn’t feared Feyd since you first arrived on Geidi Prime, and it was as though you were being brutally reminded of just who warmed your bed at night. He could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Those strong fingers were currently immobilizing you now, leaving bruises on your wrist where he held you so ruthlessly.

“You’re a clever little mouse. What are you doing outside of my uncle’s door, hmm?” His hand freed one of your wrists, instead opting to grip your jaw so that he could move your head up.

Could. . . could he see you? The breath loosed from your lungs and all you could do was squint your eyes, begging them to adjust to the darkness. He was in his element here, lost to you in the shadows.

“If the guards caught you then they could deem you to be a spy. You would have been beheaded before I had time to get to you, and I’m sure that they wouldn’t have notified me before the killing took place. They know. . . how I am with you.” He chose his last words very carefully, faltering before he sounded the words out.

“And how are you? With me, I mean.” You regretted the words as soon as they passed your lips, and yet you were curious. Were you nothing more than a pet to him? A plaything for him to take off of the shelf whenever it suited his mood? Perhaps he saw you as nothing more than a conquest.

Your hand shook as you began digging into your side, searching your belt for the handle of the blade that you had been carrying during your explorations of this labyrinthian prison. Slowly you pulled it out, pressing it against his side.

You felt his muscles jump under his shirt as he realized you were now brandishing a weapon. His grip was still vicelike around one of your wrists, but he moved again, slowly looking down at his side to see exactly what it was that you were now threatening him with.

“I could snap your neck right now.”

“But you won’t.” That was the only thing that you were sure of. It was the only truth that you were clinging onto: Feyd Rautha would not harm you.

He moved your head to the side, the blade pressing hard into his side as he leaned forward, squeezing the breath straight from your lungs as his hard chest pressed pressed pressed into yours. Your breasts felt as though they might burst and your heart right along with it. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, causing you to jerk in surprise.

The knife dug into his side and you paled in horror as you realized what you had done. He groaned, the noise echoing in your ear due to your very forced proximity. You needed space. You needed to breathe.

“No. I wouldn’t,” His breath was hot against your cheek as he slid his nose along the expanse of your neck. “Not ever.”

It felt as though something was being pulled taught in your heart. At any second it threatened to tear free. He had galvanized a strange sort of reaction from you- one that you were wholly unfamiliar with. This was all too new and all too much.

“Let go of me.” Your voice shook pathetically, and while it was a command. . . truly, you were begging him.

“You’ve finally learned to tolerate me. Or is this developing into something that you weren’t prepared for?” There was something in his voice. . . something that you were entirely confident that he was incapable of displaying: feeling. “Is that why you haven’t been able to look at me since yesterday?”

“I-I’m angry at you. Why do you think that I would be able to even stomach looking at you after that?”

He pulled away from your neck, the blade of the knife dislodging itself by a few centimeters with the added distance. He groaned again under his breath, his hand moving your face yet again so that he could get a good look at you. Your jaw ached as his fingers dug in ever so slightly.

“No, this isn’t the face of anger.” He sounded sure of that.

And it scared you that he was right. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried desperately to see him in the darkness. Still, all you saw was black.

“Then what is it? If you know so much then tell me.”

“I don’t know. . .” And for a second you thought that you might have won this round somehow. “No one has ever looked at me the way that you do.”

Your lips parted in shock as you stared up into the darkness. Did he always have to pull the rug right out from under you? Just when you were finally starting to get your bearings, he made you feel so unstable. If both of your hands were free then you would have tangled them in your hair. The arm that gripped your weapon slackened, the blade clattering to the floor beside you.

“Then I feel sorry for you.” Your eyes pricked with tears, so you closed the useless things. Still, after all of this, you refused to let him see you cry.

“I know.” He whispered, his voice so gentle that you could weep.

“And I fear you.”

“I know.” His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t want this.”

“I know.” He nuzzled against you, his grip on your wrists finally loosening. He must have known that you wouldn’t try to get away from him.

The fucked up thing was that it felt as though your feet had grown roots, tying you to the spot. All it would take was one good shove and you would be free of him and the closet. And yet. . .

And yet. . .

“I could have sworn I saw someone over here.” The voice outside in the hallway made you jump, your eyes shooting open.

You hadn’t been as careful as you thought you had been. Feyd’s earlier statement was coming back to haunt you. They would have you killed, uncaring as to whether or not you even made it into the bastard’s room. Whatever purpose you had for being in this area would be nefarious in everyone else’s mind. What were you even doing here in the first place? Your suspicions were unfounded, and more likely than not you would have found absolutely nothing to substantiate them. Would your parents be able to retrieve your body? Or would they just burn you without even sending a letter back home?

Feyd’s hand slid up the base of your neck, gripping at your hair. Did he not understand how much danger you were in? Maybe he didn’t care afterall. His knee slid between your legs, forcing them open.

“What are you doing?” You gripped at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him away from you, hoping that there was some place in this cramped space that you could hide. The voices were getting even closer now, searching for where they thought that you might be hiding. It was only a matter of time before they found you.

“Saving your life.” He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand sliding out of your hair so that he could begin undoing the front of your blouse. You could hear the sheer fabric of your tunic ripping beneath his hands in his desperate attempt to get to you.

All you could do was grip onto him for dear life, unable to free yourself to even utter a cry. You were unsure as to how doing this would save you, but you were losing the ability to care much at all. If these were going to be your final moments then so be it.

So you gave in to the desire. You gave into the wanting and the needing. You fed the ache that had been plaguing you.

Your lips moved against his, parting so that you could fully taste him. His hands felt firm on your chest as he finally was able to tear you free of the cloth. The air was cold on your hot chest, and yet his hands were scalding against your skin. You tried to remind yourself that none of this was right, but it wasn’t working. His tongue lapped at the roof of your mouth and your own brushed up to meet his.

More. More. You needed more of him.

Your hands shook as they began pushing up at the fabric of his training gear. The breathable fabric stretched as you pressed your hand against his chest, finally allowing yourself to feel the hard planes of his muscles. You felt his stomach tighten as your fingers glided along his skin. You were unsure as to what you were searching for, but your body was acting on pure instinct. Your fingers reached up and up until they finally slid free of the fabric at his collar bones only to wrap around his throat.

He groaned into your mouth, his thumb brushing against your nipple. It hardened in response to the sudden attention it was getting. His knee pressed further against your thighs, spreading your legs out further for him until he was finally at the apex of your thighs. His hand flew from your breast to your hips, moving them for you against him. The friction caused your head to roll back against the wall behind you, disrupting the kiss as pleasure rocked through you. Never in your life had you ever felt anything quite like this.

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on your face. He was watching you intently, hell bent on doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your body. You were unsure of his goal and yet you didn’t care. Something was building inside of you- a sound, a cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain. It just felt so good. Too good.

He must have seen your lips part and was quick to press a kiss against them in an attempt to muffle the sound. Your knees felt weak beneath you, and if it wasn’t for his dutiful hands that gripped at your thighs then you were sure that you would have fallen ages ago.

You remembered how he had felt against you the other night and you wondered if that was a reaction that you had somehow unknowingly caused. You wanted to feel him again. You wanted to know whether or not he was enjoying himself, so you freed his neck and instead pressed your hand against the front of his pants. What had gotten into you? What were you even doing?

But he was hard against your hand and that was enough for you to begin rocking your hips against his knee without his prompting hands.

The feeling of your tiny palm cupping him through his pants was more than enough. His hips jerked forward, his eyes flying open at the realization that the object of his lifelong obsessions was willingly touching him like this. He was going to fuck you in this closet if the two of you weren’t found. Feyd didn’t want it to happen like this. . . but he was losing what little control he had left.

He loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you.

“I-”

The door flew open the second he opened his mouth, the bright light momentarily blinding him. His body moved on its own, Feyd’s hands moving from your hips up to your shoulders so that he could turn you, using his body to shield you from view. His chest moved up and down rapidly as he gulped down breaths, trying hard to calm himself and his pounding heart.

There was an unfamiliar man holding the door to the closet, eyes wide as he took in the site of the two of you. It took him a few seconds to really register what was going on in the small broom closet, and then another to fully grasp the fact that he had made a grave mistake.

“I-I-I had no clue it was you, sir.” The uniformed man stepped back, trying to show the Na-Baron respect.

You watched in real time as something pure and terrifying bled its way into Feyd’s expression. It had chills running up your spine.

“Turn your gaze away from her.” His voice was so low that you could barely understand what he was saying. “Now.”The other male quickly got the hint, turning his entire body to face the other direction. His back was ram-rod straight and you watched with a slack jaw as his knees began to quiver.

You wouldn’t want to turn your back on a rabid beast either.

“Just get me out of here. Please.” You spoke as quietly as you could, covering the scraps of material that used to be your blouse tight to your exposed chest.

Killing the random guard in plain sight would attract a small crowd. You watched as Feyd weighed his options, and you bet that the two blades that were still strapped to his back were calling out to him.

Silently Feyd pulled you out of the closet, holding you so tightly to his chest that your arm became uncomfortably pinned against you.

The two of you walked through the halls silently, his eyes burning holes into the faces of anyone that even glanced in your direction. The embarrassment of being so exposed in front of everyone had you crawling out of your own skin. No one had seen you naked before- aside from the women that had been tasked to take care of you over the years. All you could do to try and keep yourself from crying was stare down at the floor, watching the pale man’s black boots make their way soundlessly through the halls. Everything he did was so graceful it seemed.

The blood drained from your face as you were suddenly reminded of the fact that he had seen your chest completely exposed. He’d felt you, kissed you, and pleasured you nearly to the point of your undoing.

And you had let him. You put up no resistance at all.

Even worse, you wanted him to do all of those things to you. If you hadn’t been caught then how far would you have let things continue? In that moment you realized that you would have let him take you. You knew yourself well enough to know that you would have let him take your virginity in a broom closet.

“No one is looking at you,” He seemed to sense your sudden mortification somehow. “I promise. I’d kill them otherwise.” And you knew he was telling the truth. He was probably taking an internal tally of anyone that started for too long, only so that he could circle back for them later.

All you could do was nod your head and follow him down the hall, stopping only when he reached into his pocket and grabbed his own keycard, letting the two of you back into your room.

You kept your chest covered with your hands as the two of you broke away. You knew that it was pointless, but the moment was gone and your panic had returned tenfold.

“Now tell me,” He turned to face you and you watched as his lips turned down at the corners in slight disappointment when he noticed your sudden modesty. “What were you doing over there? Be honest.”

You couldn’t be honest and it pained you to know that. Feyd was still a Harkonnen. He was loyal to them, not an Atreides.

“Why did you kiss me?” You were answering a question with another question, but you needed to know. Urgently.

He licked his lips, as though he was being reminded of the moment. “No one would ask questions.”

Anger struck you hard in the gut. He had used the moment as a distraction? You felt like an idiot, already regretting the fact that you had allowed him to use your body like that.

“I didn’t mean to take it that far. It’s becoming harder and harder to control myself.” He must have noticed the hurt in your eyes. “I want you. Not because we are getting married. . . but because I want you.” He was being uncharacteristically emotional today.

You weren’t sure what that statement truly meant, but it seemed heavy- heavy enough that you felt the need to be more forthcoming with him.

“I was trying to make my way into the Baron’s office.” A half truth, then. It was easier than telling him everything. “But it was locked.”

Feyd’s eyes never left your face. They were much softer than they had been in the hallway, almost as though all of the hatred had melted away completely. He looked at you like he cared for you. . . and that was scary.

“I don’t know why it hurts so much. . . but it does.” His voice was flat, almost as though he was distracted while he continued to watch you. “I know you’re lying to me. My uncle’s office is only ever locked after dinner, which is for safety reasons.”

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

“Only my uncle has clearance to get into that room. The guards in the left wing only ever act on mine or the Baron’s orders. They’re all loyal to a fault. . . so tell me. Did you get into his office?”

You completely ignored his line of questioning, distracted by something he had said.

“So none of them would allow someone other than the Baron himself to enter that room?” Your voice shook with fear, your eyes widening as all the pieces started coming together.

“No,” He looked confused as your lips parted in a silent scream. “What? What is that face for?”

You felt more alone than you ever had in your entire life. He was out to kill you. . . There would be no escaping this place alive. Your parents had been set up and had given you away to murderers-

“The guard that tried to kill me. . .” You couldn’t keep your voice from shaking. “What wing did he belong to?”

Feyd’s muscles went rigid beneath his shirt, as though he was just now coming to some conclusions of his own. “The left.”

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the full weight of everything crashed into you.

You were stuck on an alien planet with no way home, Feyd Rautha was going to become your husband in just two days, you wanted Feyd so badly it hurt you. . .

And his uncle was plotting to kill you.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 1 month ago

Note

hiii <33

first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg

and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!

SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too 😬)

I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ

feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader

SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp

AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!

masterlist

“Honestly, I don't know what Slughorn’s problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I can—”

“Four days and I would die of deprivation,” Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.

“Sure, but what a way to go.”

You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.

“Should we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,” Pandora said, turning her attention to you.

“Sure, it's probably quiet this early anyways—”

“Going to dinner, are we?” Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “I'm fucking ravenous.”

Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.

“As am I,” Barty purred against the shell of your ear.

You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. “Not in the mood, Junior,” you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.

“Aw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,” he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.

“I'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,” Pandora said, rolling her eyes. “Which is not at all.”

“Oh, she needs me.” Barty grinned. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

“Give it a rest, Crouch,” Xeno cut in. “Keep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.”

“Oh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlin’s fuck, please say choking—”

“Maiming sounds about right,” you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.

“You can maim me whenever you like,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. “Will you do it now if I ask nicely?”

You ignored him, looking forward again.

Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.

You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.

“So are we eating or what?” Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.

You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.

“I'm actually going to head back to the dorm,” you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. “See you later?” You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.

“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head like an avian.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy,” you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Barty’s face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.

The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.

Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.

Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.

Barty's POV

Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.

Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.

He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.

Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlin’s sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.

You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.

It was worth it just to have you look.

After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.

Nothing made him nervous like you did.

Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.

You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.

The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.

He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.

“Who invited you?” You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.

He set the paper bundle on your chest. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetness,” he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.

Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.

You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. “You brought me food?”

He nodded, biting back ‘and dessert too’. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.

Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.

Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.

“I'm not hungry,” you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.

That was good enough for him.

You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.

The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.

Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.

Reader's POV

You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.

Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.

“Excuse the hell out of me,” Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.

Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.

“What? Like you own this table?” Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.

“Yes,” Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."

Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.

A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.

But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.

You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.

Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.

After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.

Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.

Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.

You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.

Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.

Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?

Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.

You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.

“Something wrong, y/n?” Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.

“Nothing, I—”

Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. “Rushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?” Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.

“More interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,” Evan chuckled. “We're as interesting as it gets.”

“If you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,” Barty hummed, striding up to you.

You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. “You were asleep five seconds ago,” you argued.

“Asleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.” He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.

“What are you, a fucking court jester?” You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.

“I'm whatever you want me to be,” he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.

“Will you leave her the fuck alone?” Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. “She's not interested in your act, Junior.”

“Act?” Barty quirked a brow. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don't talk about his brother that way!” Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.

“I don't give a fuck about his brother!”

“I don't give a fuck about you!”

“Oh, so you're a bitch and a liar?”

“I'm not a bitch, you cunt!”

“I'll see you guys at the party later,” you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.

If Barty sincerely liked you…did that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.

Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.

He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.

Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actions…his actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.

Was that the real Barty?

Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.

Had you been all wrong about him?

By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.

You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.

Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?

Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.

Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.

He looked like a wet fucking dream.

Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.

His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. “Look at—baby, look at you!”

You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.

You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. “Firewhisky?” You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.

Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. “What are you doing to me?” He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.

You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. “I'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,” you chastised, accepting your drink.

“And you're beautiful,” he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Fuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?” You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.

Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldn’t accept it. So you pushed him away.

“C’mon, you simpering mutt,” Evan said, hauling Barty up. “I think I saw a kegger over there.”

Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.

“You should have some mercy,” Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.

“Oh?” You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.

“Poor prick is besotted,” Dorcas supplied.

“He's full of shit,” you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.

Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. “It's true, I’ve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.”

“He's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,” Dorcas said.

“Yeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arson—”

“You guys are serious?” You asked, cutting off Xeno. “You think he actually likes me?”

They all stare at you, dumbfounded.

“You can't tell?” Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. “Babe, he's absolutely gone for you.”

“Like, gone gone,” Dorcas added.

“But it's Barty, I mean—he’s never serious—”

“Exactly, that's what makes it so obvious!” Pandora cried, exasperated. “I thought you knew!”

“Why would you think that!” You shouted back.

“Because he says it constantly!” Your friends yell in unison.

“He was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,” Xeno said, shaking his head. “It doesn't get much more devoted than that.”

Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didn’t allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.

He’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all you’d done is punish him for it.

Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?

You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.

“Barty!” You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.

He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? Are you alr—where are we going?”

You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. “Be honest with me,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“Always,” he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked.

Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. “I just wanna be yours.”

The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"

“Yours,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. “Please, let me be yours.” He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. “I promise—I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll just give me a chance too—”

You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.

You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.

His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.

“Your dorm,” you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.

“Barty!” you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didn’t flash anyone. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didn’t care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.

“Look at her ass again, see what happens!” You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.

A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldn’t seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere, darling, relax.”

He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. “Need you so bad,” he groaned. “M’sorry, can’t help myself.”

You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. “I know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?”

He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos you’d only gotten glimpses of.

“So pretty, Bat,” you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting me this whole time?”

“Yes, so badly—fuck, treasure, please—” he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. “I’m getting that tattooed,” he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. “Swear to Salazar.”

You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.

Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.

“Good boy,” you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldn’t resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re going to kill me.” His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.

“Baby,” he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.

“Say your mine,” you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.

“I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. “Bloody hell, you’re way too good at this. What the fuck—oh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.”

You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.

Barty groaned. “Never mind, I’m getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirror—”

You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. “Do you ever stop talking?” you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. “There’s one sure-fire way to shut me up,” he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. “This dress,” he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. “Wear it for anyone in particular?”

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.

“Sent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.” He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.

You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.

The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. “Fuck, Barty—please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.

“Say your mine, treasure,” he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.

“Yes, Barty! All yours! Just please—”

He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.

“So fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar f’me.” He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.

Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.

"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artist’s fingers coax you open.

Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Barty—oh God, I’m going to come—oh fuck, oh fuck!” You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.

Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.

“That’s my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,” he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. “Not so mean now, are you, sweetness?”

You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.

"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. “Better hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.”

You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me.” He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything you’d felt before. “I was fucking made for you, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.

“Fuck, B, feels so good,” you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination he’d harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higher—

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come soon,” he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. “Can feel it, tres. C’mon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, m’dying for it, please, please—”

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it—fuck!” Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.

You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. “Barty,” you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. “I’m yours.”

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.

“And I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.

“I'll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. “SHE’S FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!” He screamed down the stairs to the party.

A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.

Barty whirled around, a maniac’s grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.

Thank you for reading!

637 notes · View notes

maiamore · 27 days ago

Text

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like.

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all.

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you.

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.”

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread.

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though.

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way.

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted. His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim.

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening.

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs.

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?”

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear.

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew.

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest.

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop.

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much.

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

“Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes.

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.”

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots.

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button.

“Ya got a thing for stars?”

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left.

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard.

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.”

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug.

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore.

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled.

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise.

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position.

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome.

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum.

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit.

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer you, not at first.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you.

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you.

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning.

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs.

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent.

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different.

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling.

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out.

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled.

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it. You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this.

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help.

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself.

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered.

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move.

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away.

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up.

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you.

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble.

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip.

“Hey!”

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?” You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt.

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly.

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw.

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away.

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips.

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight.

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder.

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over.

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures.

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing.

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit.

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser.

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror.

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder.

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace.

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it.

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.”

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.”

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt.

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel the last of us

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fanaticsnail · 9 months ago

Text

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface.

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust.

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body.

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck.

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against.

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade.

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more.

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting.

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior.

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name.

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release.

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.”

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard.

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses.

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock.

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours.

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure.

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight.

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown.

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump.

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip.

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion.

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip.

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain.

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours.

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his.

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm.

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you.

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface.

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain.

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words.

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew.

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it.

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him.

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks.

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him.

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully.

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes.

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest.

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion.

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion.

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock.

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response.

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.”

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss.

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in.

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated.

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock.

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet.

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless.

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room.

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face.

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection.

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully.

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies.

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you.

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming.

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious.

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours.

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer.

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.”

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers.

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness.

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit.

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks.

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze.

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip.

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption.

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature.

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water.

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord.

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild.

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern.

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him.

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins.

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders.

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin.

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated.

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task.

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin.

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface.

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk.

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you.

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.”

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited.

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now.

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality.

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livelaughlovesubs · 3 months ago

Note

Straight up torturing Dazai by only making him cum untouched

I have this problem while writing smut that I forget the character has a dick cuz I over-focus on something else, so most of my fics start out as cumming untouched and I change it later on lol thanks for saving me the trouble

Dom!reader x sub!dazai - reader is gn

Warning: semi public (in an alley), teasing, degrading, marking, hair pulling, choking, sub-space, dacryphilia, nipple play

Edit: does this fic even make sense?

Now he’s done it, fuck, what to do- he didn’t think you’d be this angry.

Normally you weren’t up for doing stuff in public, which is why he used that chance to annoy you to his hearts content. Whenever you two were going home from a mission, wandering down the streets of Yokohama, he’d start being all unbearable and flirty, and the next second he’d run off to god-knows-where to chase after another pretty woman. You were done with all these stunts he pulled, and sadly for him you weren’t as nice as kunikida.

Which is what got him into his current situation. Pinned to the wall in some random alley, you staring at him with an obviously angry expression and the buzzing noises of unaware passengers missing out this spectacle. “Ah fuck…” dazai didn’t know what you were planning on doing, but he had a precognition that it wouldn’t end well for him, so he tried to use his silver tongue to talk you out of it, “heyyyy, y/n~ What’s got you so mad? Don’t frown— come on, how about we take a break and fill our stomachs? I know a good pla-”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on them, causing him to arch his back off the wall. It was so sudden that he had no time to prepare himself, and accidentally mewled, “ahh, god, y/n, don’t be so forceful with me.” He almost sang the last part, still bearing that annoying smile on his face. “You should have thought twice before acting up.” The grip you had on his locks tightened, making him bend forward to meet your eyes, “just because we are in public it doesn’t mean you are safe.”

That was a threat, right? That was definitely a threat. And yet- he was grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop himself from clenching his thighs together. “Whaaaat? Of course I’m safe, where is the threat huh?” The brunette chirped, and you clasped your hand over your face. “You really want this, don’t you?” You asked, glaring at him from between your fingers. He shrugged, playing dumb.

You stepped closer to him, bodies pressing against each other. “Will you behave after I punish you?” After these words left your mouth, a shiver ran down his back, and he fumbled with your clothing, “it all depends on you.” You smirked, not planning on backing down from such a challenge. And so you let go of his hair, roughly unbuttoning his blazer and shirt, but not pulling it completely off. Then you placed your hands on his hips, lips pressing against his collarbone.

Dazai grabbed a fistful of your clothes from your back and ran his other hand through his hair, panting softly while watching you trying to work him up. He felt you nibbling at his skin, leaving red bruise marks behind. “Haa-ah, haha… you are being too gentle dear.” His breathing hitched when he spoke, though otherwise he was still pretty composed. You payed him no mind, instead you moved lower to toy with a more sensitive part.

Pinching and flicking his pink buds while sucking on the other one, eating him up, watching his face flush so deliciously. “Ngh- not gonna answer me?” He teased, pulling at your hair to get your attention. You bit down as a result, to tell him to stop, yet he gripped down harder as he groaned, “mhhhm-aaahh~ fuuck.” What a nice reaction, you had to remember this. Slowly you managed to get him hard, seeing the bulge in his pants grow larger and larger. When you finally pulled back and stood straight, he was already sweating, all eager as he cursed at how long you took.

One look and you could tell he was needy, and pretty on edge. His flushed face was actually pretty cute, and his disheveled clothes hung from his shoulders like he was trying to appeal to you. Your hands didn’t stop exploring his body, like they have a mind of their own. Groping and touching his torso. “Look at you dazai, you look like a slut.” You mumbled with a smile, and his body twitched at that statement. “You are so mean y/n, in what world do I look like one?”

While saying that, he pushed his hips out and slipped his clothed further down his arm. “In every,” you answered and kissed his neck. He raised his chin to grunt and pant at the feels, head and back leaned back against the stoney wall with both hands on your shoulder. How annoying, you were still only doing the foreplay, isn’t it time to get past it? And when you sucked on a specific spot that drove him crazy, he was at his limit.

“F-fine, I guess I am a whore,” small break before he continued, “for you. So, touch me more, please?” The boy begged, looking a little embarrassed as he avoided your gaze. “I’ll think about it.” Was all you said in response, before you went back to meekly caressing him. “Uhhh.. y/n, that won’t cut it.” He tried to explain through his gasps and whines, and said, “I need more, something more extreme and lewd.”

“Hmm~? I dont know what you mean.” Using his own Methode against himself, how petty of you. He took your hand and guide you lower, muttering, “then I’ll show you how it’s done.” You shook his hand off and hummed, “I’m good, I’ll do it at my pace.” How devastated he looked, it seems he has finally realised what kind of mess he got himself into. He pouted as he slumped back, defeated, hiding his whimpers behind his palm as he kept on complaining, “how could this ever count as punishment?”

“You will see.”

He could swear he caught a glimpse of you smirking all mischievously, but before he knew it, he had been slammed further into the wall behind him. Followed by your hands squeezing around his neck. “Ah- y-y/n..?” “You are the one who wanted this.” Squeeze. With that you started applying more pressure to his neck. “HnnGh..! Ha-arghh..” He choked, eyes half lidded as he weakly pulled at your firm grip around him. A dumb grin spread across his face as his drool rolled down to his chin.

“Fu- urgh! Fuck, y/n~..!!” A wet spot formed on his pants, and his face twisted into one of raw pleasure. Tongue hanging out, eyes watery with heart shaped pupils and legs shaking, struggling to hold his own weight. “You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Then more strength was applied, then you whispered close to his face, “can you feel how your air is being cut off, and how your body is desperately trying to squirm free?” And you squeezed down even more, making him gag and choke again. “Haaa-nghhh..! K- kill me, guuUh, I dare you.”

He was still looking all competitive, though he won’t be able to hold out much longer. You pushed your body into his, leg slightly rubbing against his leaking bulge, stealing a loud groan from him. Followed by small whines of bliss, “MmnHhh..! Ah- hngG, uh-urgh.!” Such a naughty boy, enjoying all this. Your hands didn’t leave him alone while you kissed his tears away, the contrast of gentleness and ruthlessness made his head spinn. Poor little dazai was trembling so much, twitching and spasming all over.

“Are you turned on because I’m choking you, or because you want to die?” You mumbled against his skin, the vibrations of your voice tickling him, a small addition to the immense sensations he was already feeling. “Mhhff… haha- both?” He answered cheekily, his own strength leaving his body as his instinctive try to push you away failed. “I see~ well it’s time for the last course isn’t it?”

As the icing on top, you pressed down one last time, watching his eyes roll back as his consciousness slowly left him. His head was thrown back while his eyes slowly closed shut. That’s when you whispered into his ear, “cum for me, dazai.” And like a command he couldn’t disobey, his body shook heavily before a white fluid seeped through his pants, dirtying your leg, making it all sticky.

Right as he wanted to scream his lungs out, you clasped a hand over his swollen lips, reminding him how you two were still in public. He ripped his eyes open for a split second, then tightly shut them, and moaning into your forceful palm, “mnghMm, nghhmmmf…!♡♥︎♡”

Without giving him any time to calm down from his high, you pulled away, causing him to drop onto the floor. The only reason why he hadn’t fallen yet was because you were holding and pushing him up. But now his legs have finally given up. He was still unresponsive as you wiped your dirty hands on his clothes. After you were done, you took a last glance at his kneeling form, leaning against the rough wall for support. Some of his cum dripped onto the ground and he was still panting heavily.

These once fierce eyes were reduced to a melting one, full of desire and need. He wasn’t full yet huh. His clothes got dirty at the tips, and his body was marked from the top to the bottom, especially his neck bore a dark crimson ring of bruises. Some tears and other fluids were still flowing across his features, but it seems he was too tired to care right now. Judging by the state he was in, it’ll take a while before he can stand up and go home.

Though that was none of your business anymore, since this was going to be his punishment. You laughed a little before saying, “you better clean yourself up, osamu. I’ll get going first~”

All he could squeak out was a weak, soft whimper.

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thatlittlered · 3 months ago

Text

rings of power men | tropes

warning(s): light TROP spoilers, gn!reader used throughout

author's note: most of these will be turned into actual fics :)

-.-.-

Elrond + friends to lovers

GIF by @fukutomichi

As kind as summer, as gentle as the soft rays of sun upon your faces whilst you sit in each other's company and he is weaving, unbeknownst to you, tales of your wit and beauty in his mind; poems he would never dare show you. It was love long before either of you knew what to call it.

Gil-galad + opposites attract

GIF by @fukutomichi

Born and raised the son of kings, Gil-galad has known nothing but duty during his lifetime. A King neither ventures, nor tries his hand at passing affections, and yet the curse of a still beating heart inevitably finds him when his lieutenant and trusted friend Círdan is apprenticed by a lovely lowly elf.

Celebrimbor + soulmates

GIF by @dailyflicks

It is instant, absolute. As if the two of you were born a mystical creature, bearing two faces, four arms and four legs, until the Valar separated you and forced you to spend eternity searching for your other half. In the worst of times and the most unlikely of places, the search has come to cease. Alas, so has the time of peace.

Arondir + forbidden love

GIF by @lousolversons

The Silvan elf comes to respect the race of men for what they are during his time in the Southlands and whilst he dare not admit it, it does pertain with knowing you. It is hard to care for the hateful gazes of villagers when your own gaze is so tender under the moonlight, your hands cold and decisive when you touch him here where no one can hear or see. Though he has not tasted mortality, it must taste like you and the urgency you kiss him with, as if in fear the sun might never rise again.

Elendil + forbidden love, age gap

GIF by @frodo-sam

This man was born to be your dutiful protector, loyal like no other and sworn to serve you as his ruler with everything he has. Loyalty and love tend to melt into each other, merge so that it is impossible to tell them apart. It is a tormenting, silent agreement that neither of you may speak on these feelings and yet, it... overwhelms.

Valandil + childhood sweethearts

GIF by @fukutomichi

To know and love Valandil comes as easy as breathing air. You have been doing both for just as long, you think. Childish adoration blossoms in time until your souls are tethered and he will commit his life to earning rank and making it official, from the streets of Númenor to the edge of the world, where he hopes to travel with you.

Isildur + love triangle, second chance

GIF by @vidalharkness

Isildur has always held a deep admiration for you, a childish infatuation even, but your bond with Valandil always comes before all and he happily accepts things as they are for a long time. Friendship is of equal, if not grander, worth and he considers both of you his dear friends above all. Until Valandil is killed, that is. The love each of you have for him and each other perseveres until grief threatens to swallow you whole. On the precipice of desperation, a teary kiss is meant to bring comfort. Yes, of course. That is what this must be.

-.-.-

bonus:

Adar + enemies to lovers

GIF by @anthemias

Sauron saw in you every weakness, every earthly, pathetic desire to be appreciated and loved when everyone and everything has been cruelly ripped from you. To be part of something larger than the pain eating away at your chest until your days in Middle Earth are over and you can find refuge in the arms of those who unlike you, gave their lives for a greater cause. He saw and took full advantage. Adar sees it now too when he looks at you; the agony of knowing you have played into the hands of evil itself just as he has. There is always a sliver of affection in understanding another, is there not?

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thef1diary · 9 months ago

Text

Love Unwrapped | L. Norris

Summary: after mutually breaking up, you and Lando drifted apart. However, on your birthday, Lando shows up unexpectedly with a gift, reigniting old feelings.

— part of the Birthday Bash fics

warnings: angst if you squint, fluff.

pairing: lando x fem!ex!reader

wc: 1.6k

main masterlist taglist form

As you sit alone in your cozy apartment, the soft glow of the moonlight casting dancing shadows on the walls, you can't help but feel a twinge of loneliness. It's your birthday, but this year feels different somehow—empty, without the usual excitement and celebration.

Just as you resign yourself to a quiet night in, there's a sudden knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts. Surprised, you glance at the clock. Who could it be at this hour?

Opening the door reveals a familiar figure standing on your doorstep, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his lips. It's Lando, holding a small gift bag in his hand and a larger bag in the other.

"Hey," he says, his voice warm yet tentative. "Happy birthday."

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. "Lando? You remembered?"

He chuckles softly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Of course I did. I just wanted to stop by and wish you a happy birthday. Mind if I come in?"

You step aside, allowing him entry into your humble abode. "Of course, come on in."

As Lando enters, you can't help but notice the subtle changes in his appearance—the confidence in his posture, the newfound ease in his smile. It's as if he's grown in the time since you last saw him, even if it was just one month ago.

"Take a seat," you offer, gesturing towards the couch. "Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?"

Lando shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, thanks. I'm good."

You both settle onto the couch, the awkward silence hanging between you like a thick fog. It feels like it's been so long since you've been alone together like this, and the unfamiliarity of the situation is palpable.

"So, um, how have you been?" Lando finally breaks the silence, his voice hesitant.

You sigh, a mixture of relief and sadness flooding through you. "I've been okay, I guess. Just trying to keep busy with work and stuff. How about you?"

He nods, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, same here. Work's been keeping me pretty occupied."

You nod but hold back on mentioning that you have been following his season in Formula One, watching every race despite the ungodly hours it required you to wake up at.

The conversation falls into a comfortable rhythm as you catch up on each other's lives, sharing stories and laughter like old times. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, there's a sense of familiarity between you that refuses to fade.

Suddenly, Lando reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a neatly wrapped box, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I, uh, got you something."

Your eyes widen in surprise as he hands you the gift. "You didn't have to," you mumble, aching to tell him that his presence was enough.

"Open it."

With trembling hands, you carefully unwrap the gift, your heart pounding in anticipation. When you finally open the box, you're met with the sight of something you've always wanted—beautiful dainty necklace adorned with smaller diamonds, one that you'd admired countless times in the store but could never bring yourself to buy.

You've been saving up for this dainty piece for a while, but never expected that Lando would give it to you as a gift.

You're speechless, unable to find the words to express your gratitude. Lando watches you anxiously, waiting for your reaction.

Finally, you manage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "Lando, this is... It's amazing, thank you.”

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you can't quite place. "I saw you staring at it at the store a while back, so I thought this would be the right moment to get it for you."

You're overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, by the fact that he remembered something so small yet meaningful. It's a reminder of why you fell for him in the first place.

"You know," Lando begins, his voice soft but filled with sincerity, "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately... about us."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, uncertainty mingling with anticipation in the air between you. "Oh? What about us?"

He shifts slightly on the couch, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "I miss what we had," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken longing. "The late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the way we just... fit together."

You swallow hard, the memories of your time together flooding back with startling clarity. "I miss those things too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando reaches out, his hand finding yours in a gesture that feels both familiar and foreign. "I know we said we'd remain friends," he says, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, "but... I can't shake the feeling that there's still something between us. Something worth fighting for."

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken longing and uncertainty. For a moment, neither of you knows what to say, the silence stretching on uncomfortably.

He wasn't wrong, you had parted as a couple but still promised to remain friends. That promise was left unfulfilled because of your different lives taking you on different paths. It was the reason why you had broken up in the first place.

Then, you gather your courage, meeting his gaze with determination. "I feel it too," you confess, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. "But... I'm scared, Lando. Scared of our love not being enough for each other again."

Lando nods in understanding, his eyes filled with empathy as he squeezes your hand gently. "I know," he murmurs. "But maybe... maybe we can take things slow this time. See where it leads us."

The idea fills you with both excitement and trepidation, the prospect of rekindling your relationship mingling with the fear of repeating past events. But as you sit there together, the warmth of his hand in yours, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, this time things will be different.

As the night wears on, the comforting embrace of conversation wraps around you and Lando like a warm blanket, easing the tension that had lingered in the air.

The soft flicker of birthday candles illuminates the room as he holds the cake for you, waiting for you to make a wish and blow it out.

You look at him before closing your eyes, already knowing what you want to wish for before blowing out the few lit candles in one quick breath.

You say, "I can't believe you got me a cake," as you cut into the rich chocolate cake and give him a slice on a plate before taking one for yourself.

Lando chuckles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Of course I did. After all, what's a birthday without cake?"

You smile, the sweetness of the gesture warming your heart. "It's delicious. Thank you, Lan." The nickname easily slips from your tongue, as if you never stopped saying it, and his heart warms knowing the feeling of familiarity never died down.

As you continue to talk and laugh, the clock on the wall ticks closer and closer to midnight, marking the end of your birthday. But for now, in the glow of moonlight and the warmth of Lando's company, time seems to stand still.

Eventually, the inevitable moment arrives when Lando has to leave. You walk him to the door, the weight of the conversation earlier hanging heavy in the air between you.

Lando turns to face you, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "I don't want to rush things," he begins, his voice soft but determined, "but I also don't want to let this chance slip away."

You nod, meeting his gaze with hope, feeling the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "I don't either," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle smile, Lando reaches out and cups your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you. His thumb brushes against your lips, feeling the softness he desperately wants to feel against his own lips.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice still soft in fear of ruining the moment. Placing your palm on his cheek, you nod.

Without wasting another moment, he closes the gap between you, placing his lips on yours.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the middle of your apartment, joined by the shimmering moonlight. As you fall back into the familiarity of his lips on yours, you realize that this is where you belong—here, in Lando's arms.

It's a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a kiss that speaks of new beginnings and endless love.

When you finally pull away, your heart is pounding in your chest, the warmth of Lando's lips lingering on yours like a sweet memory.

"I'll give you some space to think about it," he says, his thumb brushing against your skin in a tender caress. "But just know that I'm here, whenever you're ready.”

You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. But as you watch him leave your apartment, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips—a smile filled with hope for the future, and the possibility of love rekindled.

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @landoslutmeout @barcelonaloverf1life @megudaeggu @c-losur3 @oliviah-25 @regalbanshee

#lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fluff #fic #thef1diary fic

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amoristt · 30 days ago

Text

trust i seek, and i find in you.

part 2 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // gi-hun is tooth-rottingly sweet, violence, canon thru the canon cuz idc let me live, reader is a angry wet cat a/n: this is kinda like a pilot fic cuz theres gonna be three parts to this hehehe and relationship building is hardddd this chapter is kinda mid but trust me the next two r peak

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He wasn’t part of the plan.

Your goal from the moment you’d arrived- win at any cost.

Even after the first round of Red Light, Green Light you remained determined. You slapped your palm over the glowing blue button despite the open cries and protests of the opposing side and sauntered back into your corner of the dormitory, disappearing in the sea of bodies. Being sent home was only a minor setback- you were all too quick to jump head first back into the games knowing damn well it could cost you your life.

You didn’t care. That just meant either you died, or you left richer than you could ever even fathom. A win-win in your book, and the first had been easy enough. If it truly was just simple children's games, surely, you’d have a good chance of outplaying your competitors. You grew up more often in the streets playing with the scrappy neighborhood kids than you did inside your own home. There were very few games you hadn’t played, and honestly, gotten quite good at in your youth.

So you had thought.

Truthfully, dalgona had shaken you up. Even though you’d chosen a circle by triangle, a lucky guess, you never quite had honed up your fine motor skills. Games that required decent aim, mind games, or even the more physical games like tag? Sure. Wrestling? In the bag. You were confident. But having to carve out shapes in thin sugar, and doing it timed while gunshots popped off all around you?

You remembered how bad your hands shook the entire time, your mind screaming at your lungs to just fucking breathe properly so you would stop trembling like a leaf. Distress and agitation only mounted when you noticed many of your competitors finishing, panic setting in. All you had to do, was be gentle.

But you had never been gentle a day in your life.

Sweat had gathered at your forehead and you on the precipice of losing your cool when the timer only had a mere 3 minutes left. You were definitely dead. You were sure of it. Your hands were too shaky, your pressure control was essentially nonexistent. The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your ears, beat by beat.

Then, you saw him for the first time.

A man with dark, thick hair lifting his honeycomb to the light before licking along its backside frantically. At first, you didn’t know what you were looking at. But then you realized how after every lick, he’d hover it over the light overhead again. It stunned you- how had you not fucking thought of that? You, along with most everyone who was leftover, started to do the same. The sugar was sweet on your tongue. You barely even registered it.

Your shape was free in less than 40 seconds, and you showed it to your guard for approval before you were escorted out of the room. As you went, you passed the man by, who was still hard at work. Though contradictory to your goal, you hoped he’d make it in time. Your breath left you in a sigh of relief when he’d wandered back into the dormitory afterwards, alive and well.

After everyone that had survived filled the room, you took one look around and realized how much… Larger a majority of your competitors were. Women were far and few amongst all the men. It made you nibble at your lip, anxious. Sure, you were tough enough, a little rough around the edges, but brute strength was brute strength. And already, groups were forming, with one in particular that made you squirm. A larger man with tattoos sprawled over his neck and into his face, equipped with a bad attitude, and lackeys nipping at his heels everywhere he went.

You needed to make some buddies if you were going to make it. But who would openly accept you? You’d done very little to even make contact with anyone, being liked enough to settle into a group. Who could you approach?

Then, it dawned on you.

And you knew the perfect ice breaker.

When you’d found him in the endless ocean of people, you felt a twinge of hope ring through you. His dark hair was stark under the bright lights. He was smiling, laughing, with a group of people. Though it was a team entirely composed of men, one of them was an old man, meaning that they weren’t favoring power and sheer size over all else. Maybe they’d find use in you, too. It was probably your best shot, so, you swallow down your anxiety.

Though it took a couple seconds to build your confidence, you managed to leave the comfort of your bed and cross the massive floor of the dormitory. When you stood before him, his and the eyes of three other men you’d never seen before burning holes through you, you don’t think there was a time in your life you’d truly felt that small until then. There was so much at stake.

“Um,” You started, fidgeting with your sleeve. Talking was never your strongest skill. “I just wanted to say thank you, uh, for the dalgona game. I probably wouldn’t have made it out if you hadn’t, started, y’know…”

Your voice died in your throat. Not a single one of them made a peep. It made you want to turn around and scamper back into your little cave. Fuck it. Who needed friends. And you’re about to, too, when the man suddenly erupts into a smile so boyish, so genuine it almost takes your breath away. Up close now, you could see him better. Some light facial hair, rosy cheeks, and a curl to his disheveled hair.

He was cute.

“You’re welcome, it was nothing, really!” He said, and his voice was so kind. Maybe integrating wouldn’t be as hard as you’d believed initially- this man had a warmness about him. Something inviting. But you knew that you needed an in, a reason for them to let you stick around. It wasn’t going to be strength, that was for sure. Maybe speed, but you weren't even sure if any games would require that. And though you had street smarts, your analytical skills were less than impressive.

So, you take a chance, and you decide to use some of that good-natured temperament against him.

“Um, if you don’t mind,” You’d forced out, trying to maintain an even tone. “I never really got to play games as a child, my, uh, my mother was very strict. She preferred I spent my time inside and, y’know, coloring and stuff.” You feel like a fucking idiot, word soup falling from your lips pathetically. “...I’m a bit at a loss for what’s to come. Could I, maybe… Maybe hang around you guys?”

Almost everything you had said was a bold, outright lie. But you needed an in.

There’s mixed glances all around. The curly haired man's eyes immediately flick to the man on his left, who sat proud with an intimidating glare. He didn’t bother to hide the way he sized you up, glancing up and down. The old man had seemed far away, a smile painting on his lips that you couldn’t quite understand.

Suddenly you’re 8 years old again, standing before a group of your classmates trying to kindle some forms of friendship moments before they’d shoved you in a locker.

You’re sure your plan was fried, when a darker skinned man turned towards you.

“Of course! I don’t really know the games either, myself, so…” His voice was just as kind as the curly haired mans, maybe even kinder. His eyes were warm, his expression light as the sun. “We can all help each other.”

The curly haired man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright! What’s your name?”

Once you offered your name up, albeit hesitant, everyone's names were traded. Well, more like they’d given into your request. It was a trust thing, and maybe if they’d attached a name to your face, you’d have better luck melding in. You tried to memorize them all. Cho Sang-Woo, a curt business graduate from SNU. Ali Abdul, a factory worker from Pakistan- which explained why he felt he was at a disadvantage. The elderly gentleman who didn’t really seem to be all there, couldn’t seem to recall his own name. It made this unsettling pity build its home in your belly.

And then Seong Gi-hun, who sung everyones praises except his own.

You didn’t miss the way Sang-woo sized you up as you sat among them. But, you did miss the way Gi-hun’s eyes rarely left you as you got to know your new acquaintances. Ali, in particular was more than happy to have you around. He was sweeter than you’d anticipated, asked you all sorts of questions about your life.

You lied more often than you didn’t. After all, this was all just strategy.

My parents are alive. My favorite food is bulgogi. My mom is strict, but only because she cares.

I grew up in a very loving home.

Gi-hun asked why you were competing. You felt your throat tighten.

So I can show everyone I’m not a fuck up, your mind screams. But instead, you say, “To make my parents proud.”

He seems to like your answer. So does Sang-woo, resonating. You could only assume he was doing the same. That’s when you knew you were in.

It turned out, you were just in time, too. Not even an hour later did you witness a fight break out- that scary man you’d seen earlier with his backup absolutely beating on a different man you’d never seen before, waiting any moment now for a guard to intervene, only for the man to die in his spot on the floor. They came and took his body away in a timely fashion. You remembered shrinking in on yourself. That was also the moment you realized that Sang-woo and Gi-hun were much better people than you- because while they sauntered from their spots to check on the poor man beaten to a pulp on the floor, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

You remembered the grave expression on Sang-woo’s face when there was no pulse to be felt. How Gi-hun knelt beside him and tried to call for help in vain. The guards paid him no mind despite the way he demanded they do something, anything. A man just died for god's sake at the hands of player 101- how could they just allow this to happen?

Nothing but empty stares in response.

Money dropped into the bank held high overhead. Surreal.

It made you pale in the face, the sinking reality that killing your competitors in cold blood was not only allowed, but encouraged.

You remembered your ride back to the games, watching the smoke fill the car and telling yourself, you could do this.

You’d made a serve lapse in judgement.

The rest of that evening, before lights out, was… Tense. This lingering dread that hung thick in the air and threatened to suffocate you. You fidgeted with your cuticles and the sleeve of your tracksuit, trying to ignore the way 101 and his lackeys watched you. Ripples of fear were starting to shake your reflection in the waters of your mind. You dug small lines into your fingers, picking at the skin around your nail beds until they sprouted dots of blood. As the minutes tick by, your heart rate increases.

You’re so caught up in trying to keep your breathing level that you don’t hear Sang-woo begin to speak. It’s only when Ali glances at you and holds a stare do you suddenly perk up.

“Stay close when you go to sleep. Anything could happen tonight.”

You hate his tone. It scares you- god, it’s been a long time since you’d felt scared. It’d been a long time since you felt self doubt. Sang-woo’s expression is expectant, so you nod quickly in affirmation, trying to mentally lean on the fact that he’d told you to stay nearby. You could be protected.

His eyes flicker between you and 101’s group.

“Those guys are definitely up to no good. If anyone gets attacked, we have to stick together and fight.”

Gi-hun’s line of sight found yours, his lips drawn into a frown, before he began to grab the old man's attention to let him know to keep his guard up. That poor old man. He had no idea what was coming. And, as if the size of Gi-hun’s heart wasn’t big enough, you watched him stagger to his feet and approach the woman who’d been deemed a pickpocket. You didn’t need to hear what was said, you already knew he was trying to look out for her.

He was so pure in nature you almost felt like your very presence was tainting him.

Here he was going out of his way time and time again, throwing trust in every direction, meanwhile you couldn’t even bring yourself to trust them enough to be honest about something as puny as your favorite food. Guilt made teeth gnash into skin, chewing away at the inside of your lip and cheeks.

From beside you, the old man shifted. He looked… Tired. Vacant. You lean towards him.

“Uh, sir,” You murmur. “If anything happens, I’m on the top bed. I’ll jump down.”

It takes a long while for him to answer you. Gears are turning in his mind almost visibly, but then he smiles.

“You remind me of- ah- what was her name?”

You tilt your head. “Who?”

He hums in thought. “Let’s see… Her name was… Was…”

If you felt like shit over his condition before, this was an entirely new low. Why the hell was he here? Would he be shown mercy, or would he be plucked from the herd? How could anyone be so savage?

Another bout of nerves trickles down your spine.

“Oh, nevermind.” Waving the thought away, he rests his elbows on his lap and leans towards you, voice hushed. “You remind me of someone in my youth. She was a funny girl.”

You can’t help but chuckle, raising a brow. “Funny?”

“Funny.” He sighs in thought. “Always telling stories.”

Even though his voice is far away, and even though he’s clearly not in his right mind, some weird feeling settles in your gut. Like you’d been caught, somehow. So little had been said but you stared at him, bewildered. What was he on about? Did he know you were lying? How?

“Well… Regardless, be careful tonight, yeah? We’ll come find you.”

There he goes, waving his hand again. It’s almost like he doesn't believe you. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand how dire the entire ordeal was.

You try to gag down that weird feeling, but it’s hard, uncomfortable. Instead of letting it wrack your brain, you decide to just chalk it up to him being a senile old man and leave at that. There was no way he knew anything about you. This man was a total stranger. There's movement in the corner of your eye and you’re all too relieved to focus on something else.

Gi-hun stands before you.

“Where are you sleeping?” He sits next to you and leans forward. You point to the top bed, and he sighs in relief before pointing to the highest bed neighboring yours. “I’ll be there. If you’re attacked-”

“Find you guys.”

He lingers over your face for a couple seconds, before he turns and stares forward. “Are you worried?”

“No.” Your voice leaves you too fast, too forced. Wringing hands, bleeding cuticles. You swallow it all down. The same as you’d done your entire life. “Are you?”

At first, he thinks on it. But you already know the answer. He nods once. “I think things are going to go bad, tonight.”

There’s a heavy silence that befalls you, thickening the gap between yours and his shoulders. You stare at the floor. “...I hope not.”

Then, Gi-hun blurts something out, something that’s supposed to be genuine but only in the way he would mean it.

“You can move your pillow to my bed.”

Instantly, your cheeks are warm. “E-Excuse me?”

The crazy thing is that he doesn’t even register what he’d said as anything other than innocent. He just stares at you with expectant eyes and an expression so sincere it has you second guessing your reaction. But then, those eyes widen.

“Wait- Wait, not like that. I just meant that- You know, so that way you wouldn’t have to worry!” He’s stammering and rambling. “Not next to each other, no, more like, if you slept one on one end and I’d sleep on the other.”

It’s almost alluring. You kind of want to say yes. He’s swallowing hard and his face is red by the time he lets up enough to let you actually answer. It leaves you in a gentle rejection.

“Thanks but, no thanks.”

“Of course, of course.” His expression is strained as he watches everyone climb into their beds. The nerves are getting real, now. Time was moving faster than you could keep up with.

“Lights out in five minutes.” A voice echoes from a speaker. You feel your stomach drop.

Standing up, you hide the way your hands shake, just a little.

“You know where we are.” Gi-hun murmurs.

“Thank you.” You breathe.

The climb up to your bed just before lights out felt like it took an eternity. Step after step up the stairs that suddenly seemed deadly hard, climbing onto your bed at the top bunk, observing for what could be your last time. Suddenly everything your eyes could see was dangerous. It felt like the zero hour- that any second now, all of this hush-hush would erupt into an inferno of violence. Your entire life you grew up proud of your ability to hold your own. Prided yourself that you didn’t need anyone- you didn’t need anything.

And yet, when you lay down, the very first thing you do is share glances with Gi-hun from his bunk. You feel exposed, cold. Vulnerable.

If you’re attacked, find them.

Gi-hun nods at you, a silent pact. You nod back.

The lights drop out and bathe you in darkness.

You wished you had said yes.

That night, it was a scream that set it all into motion. A scream that sliced through the darkness and had you launching up from your spot.

Your eyes frantically searched the room, seeing movement at every corner, every bed. Violence. Absolute chaos. A dozen screams echoed off the walls, shrill enough to make you cover your ears as you peeked over your bed to watch down below. Merely a few feet down laid a body, blood spilling from their throat and soaking into their clothes, their bed sheet wrapped around their head. Player’s tripped over the corpse as they fought to escape their attackers.

Before you could even move, you felt your world flip upside down.

Actually, it was your entire bed. Gravity fell through and you were sent tumbling to the floor, hitting the hard ground with a crack that sent waves of pain rippling down your sides. You gasped for air, struggling to regain your footing. You pressed your palms flat down to heave yourself up onto your knees but your right arm slipped in something wet, something warm. You smacked your chin off the floor and felt blood pill and drip down your chin from your lips. All you could taste was copper.

Flashing lights blinded you, bodies moved from every direction.

When you finally managed to bring yourself to your knees, and then to your wobbly feet, you could only vaguely get an understanding of the devastation before you.

Bodies everywhere. Blood spilling and pooling at every step. You brought your hands up and a crack of white light revealed what you had slipped in, exactly what you were afraid of. Crimson red dripped down from your palm into the ditch of your arm. You felt sick.

You were scared.

Another flicker of pulsating light allows you to take in your immediate surroundings. Other than the blood, you see beds and pillows scattered amongst the floor.

Your first thought is to hide. To crawl underneath a bed and wait it all out praying no one dragged you away kicking and screaming.

But then, you see him.

You see Gi-hun trapped between the bars of a tipped over bed frame, struggling to break free, wide eyes darting from left to right in his frenzy. Without even thinking, you dash for him. You pay no mind to the people laying at your feet, or the way that you almost slip on your way over in yet another puddle of blood. All you care about is making it to him. His knuckles are white with the force of trying to pry the frame off of him to no avail. You press your foot up against the standing frame he’s laying on and grab onto bars of those holding him in place, and then you heave with everything you’ve got in you. It lifts just enough for him to wriggle out from under its hold, ducking and crawling between the bars until he’s free and scrabbling to his feet beside you.

You take a moment to assess him, grabbing his shoulders, grabbing his arms.

He’s okay.

You don’t even think to assess yourself. But he does it for you. He touches your bleeding chin and you swat his hold away.

“I’m fi-”

In a blur, you’re ripped by your hair backwards and sent skittering on the floor. Your head cracks back and you can’t tell if the flashes are coming from behind your eyes or in front of them anymore. In a disoriented haze, you find yourself suddenly lifted.

You don’t even know what’s happening. Everythings a blur and your head is aching something awful and warmth is dripping down the backside of your neck. You manage to force your eyes open and then you see her- player 067. She’s gripping you by the collar of your shirt in one hand, the other wedged underneath your arm. Blood spatters the side of her face. Her eyes are dark and dangerous.

Initially, the first thing you can think to do is rip yourself out of her grasp. So, you try. You shove against her chest and flail until she inevitably loses grip and you barely manage to launch backwards without falling over. She’s staring at you, ready. Waiting.

Fear seizes you as you realize you can’t fight her like this- barely even conscious. Moving like a drunk and unable to comprehend the riot.

Her voice manages to reach you, however, in one shout.

”Duck!”

Okay, you comprehend that. You send yourself to your knees on the floor with your arms instinctively crossing over your head to protect yourself. There’s a zip in the air, then the unmistakable sound of metal colliding with metal. Over your shoulder, with just a glance, you see a dark figure standing behind you and raising a metal pole to try their chance at a second time. The light glints off the bar as they prepare to crack it back down over your head.

You hurl yourself out of the way from the floor, kicking the person in the shins. They fumble forward, gripping their leg with a hissing groan of pain, giving you a chance to rush to your feet. 067 grabs you by the fabric of your tracksuit and yanks you until you’re upright, and then she’s shoving something hard and metal into your grip.

Then, she’s gone, disappeared into the flashing lights and oceans of chaos. A small, broken bar sits heavy in your hands.

You don’t get the chance to think before you react when you feel yourself grabbed at the shoulder and spun around, face to face with a man twice your size. He rears a fist back.

There’s a microsecond of calm. Like you finally woke up.

You knew how to fight. You’d done it your whole life.

You dodge his swing, jumping back, before you bring the pole up and swing it directly to the side of the man's skull. He loses his balance, grabbing at his head, and you take the chance to plant the bottom of your foot on his stomach and ram your heel into his gut. He spits out a groan and stumbles but the fucker just won’t go down.

So. You hit him again.

Thwack right over the head- and that does it. He crumbles to the floor in a heap of writhing limbs. It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done.

All your senses come flooding back to you at once.

Gi-hun.

Sangwoo. Ali.

You spin on your heels in search. You can’t be alone like this.

The old man.

Where the hell were they?

You pass by bunk after bunk, ducking and sauntering. Your nerves are starting to spill into your throat. With each second, a body drops, and you can’t find a single one of your friends.

“Gi-hun!” You cry into the darkness, lost in the endless cries and pleas of a dozen others. “Sang-woo!”

You needed protection.

You find yourself in a small opening, three standing bunks and one tipped on an angle, forming a barrier. Just beyond the make-shift wall of beams, movement shifts just where your eyes struggle to reach. Two hulking figures with broad shoulders, ready to lunge at any moment, lurking, waiting for you to slip up and hop within reach from the otherside of the tipped over bunk. Another figure closes in on the opposite side of you, the only other opening. You recognize him- the man you’d kicked in the leg. A viscous grin playing over his lips as he closes in on you. You’re being circled. You ran right into a corner like a cat before snarling hounds.

If you’re attacked, find them.

“Sang-woo!” You cry, holding the bar to you, swinging every time the man steps too close. If he gets his hands on you, it’s over. “Sang-woo!”

You have to get out of here.

An arm shoots out from the barrier of bars, one of the two men swiping as you back away from the third. Your eyes can’t keep up with all of them. You’re outnumbered. You’re injured. You have to make a break for it- you have to. Your group is nowhere to be found and at this point you feel like they’re definitely dead. You have to save yourself, dash as far as you can get and pray that you’re lost in the flashing lights.

But then you realize what you’re looking at through the jungle of bars.

You realize that the bed they’re looming over is where the old man had slept. There’s a mass underneath all those tipped over crossing beams, smothered and crushed by the weight of the frames. The unmistakable fabric of the tracksuit is just barely visible underneath it all. Your breath stops.

He could be dead.

You don’t have time.

He could be injured.

You’ll die if you stay here.

They’ll kill him.

They’ll kill you. Think of yourself.

Think of yourself.

But you don’t.

You don’t think of yourself when you leap towards him.

You dive under and drag him out.

Only to discover all that remains is his mattress and pillow. His jacket crumpled in a pile, abandoned. Your stomach sinks into the bowels of your guts.

A hand shoots through the gaps of the bars and grabs you by the shoulder, yanks and rams you into the beams of the frame once, twice, until your head bounces off the metal. Your hands unclench, the bar falling from your grasp and clanging onto the floor. When you’re let go, the force sends you toppling down once more, the ground just as hard and uninviting as the first time you met it.

You don’t get a second of reprieve. The third man pounces on you.

His massive hand latches onto your ankle and rips you towards him, your belly dragging over the tiles, your arms swinging wildly, scrambling to find purchase on anything you could get. His other hand grabs your other leg, flipping you onto your back.

There’s weight so heavy on your shins and thighs you really feel like you may be crushed under it, thrashing and clawing blindly as the lights flashed and disoriented you even further. You catch your nails into something soft- hair, you realize, and you grab so tight it hurts your knuckles and you wrench to the side in a frantic attempt to pull off your attacker.

There’s a satisfying crack when his head rams into metal. For just a second, for a blink of an eye, you have hope.

But you were wrong.

He hauls your hand away from his hair, taking chunks with it before striking your shoulder until it was numb with vibrations traveling all the way down to the tips of your fingers. You cried out and punched at his shoulders, his chest, anything you possibly could with your other arm. You kicked, you writhed. All for naught.

There’s hands on your throat, squeezing. You still and grapple at his wrists as fireworks explode behind your eyes. His grip is impossibly tight- your face is hot and it feels like your eyes are going to burst right from your skull.

You can’t even scream.

He isn’t budging.

You were going to die.

Choked and wretched gasps weasel their way from your lips. Your body goes numb, starting in your toes and fingers. Drool slips down your chin. Flashing images and faces from your life fill your vision.

Your childhood friends. A teacher that actually meant something to you.

A photo of your dad that your mom often cried over.

The sounds of chaos and bloodshed seem far away.

Your childhood cat.

No one would notice you were gone. No one, except your little group. Gi-hun.

Your friend's house. The sun poking through leaves overhead.

You don’t have it in you to fight anymore. Your arms fall heavy at your sides as the last bit of your life is choked out of you.

What a lousy life you had lived.

----

When you finally get the chance to breathe again, you suck in a breath so greedy and gulping that it sends you sputtering into wet coughs. You feel again- and it’s cold and everything hurts but you can feel. Your legs are kicking uselessly at the floor, your heels slipping in blood. You claw at your throat, wheezing and gasping. A hand appears in your hair, another sliding underneath your upper back and jerking you up. That man still towers over you, toying with you. Blindly, you press your hands to his chest and you shove as hard as you could possibly manage.

It does absolutely nothing.

“No!” You bark, voice hoarse. “Get off of me!”

A third hand grabbing your wrist. You wail. When was this going to fucking end?

“No!”

There’s so many voices you can’t even comprehend it. They’re all far away and echoing like you're underwater, drowning. That’s exactly what it feels like. Drowning- sinking and suffocating and barely managing to pop your head over the surface just long enough to wheeze in a breath of life and start all over again.

You’re being touched everywhere and you just want it all to stop- every time you try to wrench yourself away it seems another grip just stops you. You’re covered in fucking hands and you can’t do anything to get them off of you. You just want this to be over with. Waves are crashing over your ears.

You think you hear your name among them.

It’s faint, but it’s there. You know the voice. You’re dreaming, you think.

You’re dying.

“It’s me!” The man is holding your face in his hands. “It’s me!”

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you expect to see the man towering over you. Evil. Unrelenting.

But it isn't. You see Gi-hun.

There’s blood on his suit, cuts on his face. Fresh bruises are already appearing along his cheeks. His face lights up when you meet his vision.

“There you are! It’s me!” He wraps himself around you like a shield. Bright light beams and shines into your eyes. There’s guards and guns as far as the eye can see.

If this was the afterlife, you’d obviously been sent to hell. But, then again, there’s arms wrapped around you, petting down your back and cupping the back of your head. You can’t recall a time in your life you’d been held so… Tenderly.

So maybe it’s heaven.

You’re still numb, buzzing. Nothing feels real anymore. From over his shoulder you can see two figures- Ali and Sang-woo you realize, both wielding pipes and guarding. Ali in particular white knuckling a pole almost the same size as you.

You’re alive.

Holy shit, you’re alive.

To your right, you see her again. 067.

She’s beaten and bruised up, but she sits back on her haunches and watches you regain whatever composure you were able to scrounge up. She gives you a single nod.

Thank you. You nod back. Your ears ring.

Oh, Gi-hun is still talking to you. He’s running his hand through your hair. It feels like you can breathe again.

It’s me. You’re okay. It’s me.

Maybe it is heaven, after all.

When he pulls back, you’re cold. Again. You don’t realize the way you chase him, arms coming out to grasp at his biceps, desperate to keep him there. You’re barely only some-what conscious, still reeling with the after effects of being mere seconds away from meeting your maker. He holds your hands in his, and then you notice the blood. It’s all over him, it’s all over you. Your hands, your arms. Down your shoulders and soaking into the collar of your track suit. There’s a metallic tang of blood on your tongue, too.

Blood, blood, blood.

“You hit your head,“ He says, noticing the way your breath sucks in sharply at the sight. “It’s just a cut And this-” His thumb swipes over your lower lip, a sharp sting in his wake. You hiss and recoil. “You’re good. See? You just bit your lip.”

You aren’t sure why he’s talking you through your own injuries, as if you can’t feel them pulsating and rocketing surges of pain up and down your spine. You aren’t even sure why you’re alive right now.

“I’m good,” You echo him. You don’t feel good. “I’m good.”

Gi-hun rests a hand on your cheek, turning your head left and right, assessing you. He drags his thumb down your cheek bones, before he gently pats you. His eyes are tender, thankful. Pretty.

“Get up.” Someone demands, their voice deep and testing. It’s a guard, you realize, standing feet away. Ali, Sang-woo, and 067 stand with their hands up, weapons discarded on the crimson splattered floors. Gi-hun hops to his feet and drags you up with him a little too fast for you to handle, your legs unable to hold the entirety of your weight. He hoists you up by the waist.

“She’s hurt.” He tells the guard, as if they’d cared. As if they’d help.

When the person steps to you, tall and brooding with a O bore onto their mask, you almost think that maybe they would. But then they simply pat your pockets and move on just as fast as they’d arrived. Bodies are being carted out in coffins. There’s so much death it’s hard to believe.

101 eyes you from the other side of the room and sneers.

You don’t even care. Your head is pounding, your neck hurts. But you’re alive, so he could kindly go fuck himself.

Along the distant wall, standing on a top bunk, you see the old man. It almost brings tears of joy to your eyes. Everyone’s alive.

And once everything settles, the bodies dragged away, the guards filtering out, the remaining competitors regrouping to their little corners, you find yourself sitting among steps with everyone else. Tired, and sore. Gi-hun is saying something that you can’t quite tune into. Something about his bed tipping. You offer little to their conversations, eyes distant and vacant, reliving the night. Surprisingly, Sang-woo is what drags your attention back to the present. He reaches over Gi-hun and pats your arm.

You’re embarrassed that you jump.

“Thank you, by the way.” He says, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look at you without this… Skepticism in them.

“For what?”

He notions towards Gi-hun. “For being on our side. I’m glad you’re not injured too badly.”

For a long, long moment you just stare at him. Your skin is warm. Maybe because your head was swimming. Maybe because now you were realizing you weren’t just sitting amongst them purely for survival.

“Well, thank you too, for,” Your fingers reach up mindlessly and graze over the sore spots on your neck. “Being on my side. I would have died.”

Over light conversations, trust building, Gi-hun calls it, you learn 067’s name. Sae-byeok.

Thank you, Sae-byeok.Even if I thought you were trying to kill me at first.

“How’s your head?” Gi-hun suddenly asks. When you fail to answer quick enough for his liking, he knocks his knee against yours. You aren’t sure what to say. It fucking hurts, but you’d make it.

Why did your chest feel so tight every time he asked? It was making your head pound even worse.

It takes you the rest of that morning to realize you’d never truly, in your life, felt cared for. The thought makes your heart seize up in your chest. Makes your blood flash hot and cold at once.

This was not the plan.

#gi hun x reader #gi-hun x reader #seong gi-hun #squid game #squid game 1 #player 456 x reader #seong gihun x reader #gihun x reader

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

Christmas Suprises

Zayne x AFAB!Reader

When I say I don't enjoy pregnancy fics or proposal fics, I NEED you to believe me cuz WHY did this fester in my brain until I put it down in a doc

Warnings: Christmas, fluff, domestic fluff, unplanned pregnancy, marriage proposal, crying, literal sleeping together, cuddling, anxiety

Word Count: 2,514

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare down at the little white stick, mouth falling open in shock. You can’t even hear the grating alarm of your phone going off anymore, or the eager knocking on the bathroom door. It’s like your mind hasn’t caught up to your body yet. You don’t think about reaching out and opening the door; your body just does it.

“Well?” Tara asks excitedly. “Yes or no?”

The world around you comes back into focus. You blindly paw at your phone screen to hit the button to shut up its alarm. You think your hand is shaking when you look up at your friend.

“It says… I’m pregnant.”

She squeals and throws her arms around your neck, bouncing on her feet, bursting with joy. “Congratulations! Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

You cling onto her. She doesn’t seem to mind, even as you wipe your eyes over her shoulder and sniffle by her ear.

You can’t believe it. You’re actually pregnant. You really, really are. You’re going to have a baby. You’re going to have a baby.

Tara pulls away with a gasp. “How are you gonna tell him?” she asks conspiratorially.

“God, I have no idea.” You stare at the two pink lines on the stick. Pregnant. “He doesn’t even know I’m late for my period, Tara. How am I-?”

“Oh, oh, I know! Tell him on Christmas!”

“On Christmas? Are you sure? I mean, what if he doesn’t want kids? We’ve never talked about it before.” You scoff, rubbing your eyes at the mounting worry welling up within you. It swirls around in your stomach, growing larger and larger as your panic bleeds into it. “We’re not even married! What’re his parents going to think? Shit, what about his career?!” You grab Tara’s shoulders, jostling her slightly with the force. “What if his reputation is ruined because he had a kid without being married?!”

Tara grabs your shoulders in turn, rubbing them sympathetically. “Calm down first, okay? You don’t have to do my idea, but I think you’re overthinking this.”

You sigh. Slowly, you let go of her. “No, no, you’re right. I- I’ll think about it. Thank you for helping me out, Tara.”

“Of course! Just keep me updated, okay?” She giggles. “I need to know how he reacts!”

Even as you’re led to her couch and offered a soothing cup of tea, the panic doesn’t untwist from your guts.

You’re awake first. This doesn’t usually happen, but it’s only fitting that the anxiety that kept you from falling asleep easily last night also wakes you up earlier than needed. You study Zayne’s face in the dim moonlight.

He looks utterly at peace. There’s no tension in his brow. His eyes are relaxed, fluttering under his eyelids to watch a dream play out. Lips slightly parted with soft breaths.

His parents called yesterday, wishing they could be here and apologizing for their gifts being sent late due to the inclement weather where they’re stationed. Zayne always got this childlike sweetness to his expression whenever they were involved, smiling without restraint and allowing himself to be more outwardly affectionate. You’d seen it before when you recorded a video of him on his birthday to send to his parents, but seeing it now, picturing that same happiness on his face with his own child… He’d caught you staring at one point. You’d smiled and tried to play it off. You’re not sure he bought it, but he didn’t say anything about it after the call ended.

You really can’t sleep now. Your heart is beating too fast, tight in your chest with worry. You slowly roll onto your back. The white ceiling stares down at you. You stare right back, chewing mindlessly on your bottom lip.

Time passes by in a blur. You’re not sure how much has gone by when a finger carefully frees your lip from your teeth’s assault. You turn your head to see a freshly-woken Zayne. His hand falls to rest on the bed between you.

“What has you so worried?” His voice has a quiet rasp to it in the morning, especially when he whispers. You could listen to it for hours.

You shift to lay on your side, facing him once again. You distract yourself by playing with his fingers. “Nothing,” you lie with a placating smile. “I’m just hoping you’ll like the gifts I got you.”

He hums, but he doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he captures your restless hand and brings it to his lips. Those pretty hazel green eyes of his close with the kiss he places on your knuckles. “I’m sure you chose the best gifts,” he says. “You know me too well to get me something I wouldn’t like.”

“True…”

He guides your hand to rest on his face. He’s warm from sleep, the barest hint of stubble starting to come in along his jaw.

“Can we open the gifts first today?” He opens his eyes to look at you again. You can feel the way he studies you. You try not to falter as you add, “I know we usually have breakfast first, but…”

A flicker of confusion, gone in a flash. “Of course. But it’s still early. You should try to get some more sleep.”

Maybe he can sense the exhaustion underneath your anxiety, or maybe he can see the bags under your eyes in the dim light. Or maybe he just knows you better than you think he does.

He reaches under the blankets to grab your hip, drawing you toward him like he has on so many restless nights before. You’re powerless to refuse the silent request. So you scoot closer, forming yourself to fit perfectly against his chest. He slips his arm under your head, letting you use his bicep as a pillow. You tuck your head under his chin and press your face against his neck.

Arms wrapped around each other, holding one another close before the breaking dawn of Christmas Day. He traces soothing shapes against your spine. You count his heartbeat as it thumbs by your ear. Somehow, you’re able to find sleep again.

Wrapping paper - neatly undone or carelessly torn - sit in a pile on the floor. Various gifts sit stacked or folded in neat piles on the coffee table, organized by Zayne. There aren’t many gifts in all. Really, you both had most everything you could ever wish for.

But now it’s time for the final gift. You jump up from the couch with a smile. “I have one more gift. Lemme go grab it.”

He shoots you a look. “And why isn’t it under the tree?” he teases.

You wish that simple question didn’t pour gasoline into the firepit of anxiety in your stomach. You wave him off, covering up your uncertainty with playfulness. “It was too important to go under there. I’ll only be a second.”

He hums, but doesn’t say anything more about it, watching silently as you retreat back into the bedroom. You pull the present out from your nightstand drawer. Is it the most secure place to keep something? Well, there’s nothing else really in there; nothing you’d need on a daily basis, anyway. And Zayne would never go in here without your permission. So, you trusted it more than your other idea of hiding it in your jacket pocket.

You hold the box tightly to your chest. God, please, please, please, let this go well.

You almost want to curse Tara for convincing you to go through with this. If the news ends up ruining Christmas and your relationship with Zayne, you’re going to unleash hellfire down on her.

With one last, steadying breath, you head back out to the living room.

Zayne is still waiting patiently, taking this opportunity to look at the cases of the games you got him. He sets them back down when you round the couch and sit down beside him once more. You hope he doesn’t notice your hands shaking when you pass it over.

The gift is small and thin, rectangular and lightweight, he turns it over to find where you’ve taped the decorative paper down to begin unwrapping it. You readjust to sit on your feet with your knees to your chest. Your body screams for you to hide, to escape all the possible outcomes of this situation you’ve forced yourself into. But you want to watch. You need to see his reaction.

He pauses in his unwrapping to look at you. “Are you alright?” he asks, frowning as he wraps a hand loosely around your ankle to rub soothing circles into the jutting bone there.

You force a smile you hope isn’t as strained as it feels and nod. “I’m okay,” you lie. You nod toward the present. “Open it.”

He doesn’t let go right away. You think for a moment he may not even continue. But, thankfully, he pulls away to finish removing the paper. He drops it onto the pile with the rest.

The box itself is a blank white. There are no marks, no labels, no details of any kind that could give away what lay inside.

You hug your legs to yourself. You can’t bear to look away from his face, not even to watch as he unfolds the tab at one end and slides the little stick out. It’s ultimately more rewarding, you think, to see the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. To see him lean forward as he flips the test over in order to read the results. To see the way his mouth falls open with a quiet breath.

He turns his whole body to face you. “You’re pregnant…?”

You nod shyly. “Are you upset?”

He sets the test on the table quickly, but as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world, before holding your face in both of his hands. “Why would I be upset?”

God, he looks at you so earnestly, so tenderly, you’re tearing up before you can stop yourself. Choking up over words that have suffocated you since you were hiding away in Tara’s bathroom.

“‘Cause we never talked about it before and-” A whimpering sob cuts through your words. You inhale shakily. “And we’re not even married or anything, and your job-”

“Hey, shhh.” He brushes away your tears with his thumbs. He leans forward to brush a soft kiss to your forehead, ducking down to stay close to you as he meets your eyes once more. “I have one last present for you, too,” he whispers. “Can I go get it?”

You sniffle and wipe your face with your sweater sleeve. You probably look like such a mess; you can’t seem to get the tears to stop now that they’ve started. “Why isn’t it under the tree?” you tease.

He smiles. “It was too special. Wait here, okay?”

You nod. He presses another kiss to your head before he gets up and disappears down the hall.

While he’s gone, you try to collect yourself. You lower your knees, wipe your eyes until they burn from the friction, and try to even your breathing. Right now, each breath comes in little hiccups, jittery and broken up and unproductive. You haven’t improved much by the time he gets back.

He sits down close to you, wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders to pull you even closer into his side. A small velveteen box rests in his hand. He offers it to you. “I didn’t expect to be giving it to you today,” he admits bashfully, resting his cheek against your head. “But I can’t think of a better time than right now.”

You don’t have to open it to know what’s inside. All the fear that suffocated you for the last couple weeks goes up in a puff of smoke. Instead, it’s like a soothing orb of light has taken its place, healing the burns left behind and filling you with immense happiness. You turn your body into his and wrap your arms tightly around him. He rubs his thumb methodically over your shoulder.

“Should we start talking about children now?” He kisses your head. “Assuming you agree to my proposal.”

A choked, relieved laugh jostles out from your chest. Your tears get on his shirt as you nod stupidly against him. “Of course I agree!” You pull away just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re really okay with this? You… want kids with me?”

He smiles warmly, openly, as if his parents have just called and he’s already given them the news of your engagement. “I couldn’t imagine a better partner to raise a family with.” He brushes the back of his fingers across your cheek, still holding the ring box. “Are you okay with it?” he asks softly, brows pinching together slightly and eyes sharpening. “We never did talk about it. Are you comfortable with carrying a child to term?”

“It’s scary,” you admit. “But… I want this. I want a family, with you.” Your smile feels sure and solid as you whisper, “I love you.”

The seriousness in his expression fades away, replaced with contented joy. This conversation isn’t over, not by a long shot. You know there are still so many things to ask about. Questions about your future together. But they can wait a few more hours.

He sets the ring aside, right next to the pregnancy test. Both hands free, he pulls you into a secure hug, head lowered to rest on your shoulder, cheek to cheek with you. He absolutely envelops you. All you can see, feel and hear is Zayne.

He presses a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. It’s not feverish and seeking. It’s soft, reverent, grateful. It pours out every emotion that wells up inside of him that can’t seem to fully escape. “I love you, too,” he whispers back.

You slide a hand along his back until you can tangle your fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head. He releases a shuddering breath, heavy with the relief that this is real.

Struck with an idea, you drag your other hand from his back down his arm, gently coaxing him to let go of you. Even in his confusion, he does what you want, slipping his hand from around your body. You guide it to rest over your belly, holding it there with your own. He buries his face further into your neck with a shaky sigh. “How long have you known?”

“If I tell you, you’re going to go into Dr. Zayne mode,” you tease. You press a sweet kiss beside his ear where you can reach.

You feel the grin that curves his lips. “Alright,” he relents quietly. “I’ll stay in fiancé Zayne mode for a bit longer.”

You release his hair in favor of wrapping your arm around his upper back, squeezing him closer, as if such a thing is even possible with how you’re already holding one another. “I’d like that.”

He squeezes you gently in return. “Me, too.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #afab reader #x afab reader #fem reader #x fem reader

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13uswntimagines · 7 months ago

Text

Rainbowfish (Leah X Alessia X child!r)

Request: R calls Leah mom for the first time.

Part of the Big Emotions universe- find more here.

Warnings: none. Cute Kid Fic.

Author's note: TBH I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, and the ending is a bit short, but I wanted to get it out. Also, I know in the UK it's Mum and not Mom, but that's a plot point I want to explore later Lol. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Your bedtime story was very important business in the Russo-Williamson household.

It was the one part of your routine that never ever changed. The one part that you would refuse to sleep without (aside from a few weeks during the World Cup).

It was your absolute favorite part of the day, being cuddled into your Mama’s side with Squirt as she read you the book of the night. She did all the little voices and gently scratched your back. it never failed to send you straight to sleep. Most of the time you didn’t even make it through the book.

Alessia treasured it.

No matter how busy your days were, she made sure she got to read you your story. In the days with Manchester United, it had been the only time she really got to spend with you regularly. Things were better with Arsenal and since you had moved in with Leah, but your routine had stuck, and Leah respected that it was your special time with your mama.

“‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’ The little blue fish bubbled playfully, as he tucked the shiny scale among his blue ones,” Alessia read, watching as your tiny fingers traced the tiny shimmering scale on the blue fish on the page, made of a different material than the rest.

It was your favorite part of The Rainbow Fish.

His scales were different from the pages, so they shimmered in the fairy lights around your room.

“Is Leah Rainbow Fish?” You asked, running your fingers over the fish.

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled together, a crinkle forming between them (identical to the one you always got). “What do you mean bug?”

“Is that why people always stop her?” You glanced up at your mama, meeting eyes that were identical to your own. “So she give them a shiny scale,”

You wondered how she hid them all under her clothes. Maybe that was why people always wanted her and your mama to take their shirts off, to see their shimmery scales.

Alessia hummed, rubbing her hand through your messy curls. “Leah is kind of like a Rainbowfish, but instead of giving away scales, she reminds people that they’re special too,”

A little crease appeared between your eyebrows as you processed the thought, and you dragged your little finger from the Rainbow fish towards the larger fish on the page. “Is Leah my mommy like Rainbow fish has mommy?”

Alessia eased another curl from in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Do you want Leah to be your mommy?”

You nodded. “She does bath time, and plays with me, And never forgets the popcorn for movie night,”

“She does,” Alessia agreed, her lips turning into a fond smile.

“And she loves us,” You continued, meeting her eyes.

They shined in the fairy lights of your room, glimmering with an innocence that Alessia would protect until the day she died.

You mama hummed. “Very very much,”

“Then that means she’s mommy because she does all the mommy things,” You said, with a sense of finality, and understanding that was far beyond what Alessia thought a 2-and-a-half-year-old could understand.

“Hmm,” She paused, brushing a curl from in front of your eyes. Her and Leah had never fully discussed titles, but she could see that you were right. That the defender had slotted perfectly into the role. That Leah had earned it. “I think Leah would be happy with whatever you decide to call her,”

You nodded like it was a done deal. “Finish story now?”

Alessia swallowed, unable to stop the fond smile from curling across her lips. “Yeah bug, well finish the story,”

She would let you be the one to tell Leah about the discussion.

She was sure the defender would appreciate it more coming from you anyway.

******

“Come on bug, the sharks are this way,” Leah said softly, adjusting the ear defenders that accompanied you on most outings as you stared at the tank of Seahorses.

These were painted with tiger sharks, sea turtles, seahorses, and jellyfish, a perfect accomplishment to the atmosphere of the aquarium, and the reason Alessia had them made.

It was probably a toss-up between the aquarium and the zoo for your favorite one-on-one activities with Leah. The carefully selected outings that weren't too loud, or overstimulating that Leah could take you on to distract you while Alessia had an obligation you couldn’t accompany her on.

The seahorse tank was just inside the entrance to the building, small and lit with a variety of colorful LEDs. It never failed to catch your attention, and you could/would stand in front of it for hours if Leah let you, listening to her read off the information plaque several times.

She would usually let you, but she spotted a school group bustling through the coral-shaped entranceway. She didn’t fancy being shoved aside by a bunch of screaming schoolchildren, and she knew you wouldn’t either.

You didn’t enjoy crowds unless there was a barrier between you and them.

You dragged your eyes away from the tank to meet hers, your head tilting as you squeezed Squirt more tightly to you.“Turtle?”

“And the turtles,” Leah agreed, catching your hand. “We can’t go through without seeing Rocky, Bella, and Culver now can we,”

You nodded seriously at the names of your favorite turtles, holding her hand tightly as she guided you past the seahorses and to the next tank.

It was smaller, filled with 20 little fish milling about, their scales glinting off of the artificial light in the tank.

“Rainbow fish?” You asked, looking up at Leah for confirmation.

Leah squinted at the familiar plaque. “It says that these guys are Flame Angelfishes. They come from Hawaii, and they like to hang out on coral reefs,”

You frowned, turning back to the tanks as one of the smaller fish swam by.

You knew they weren’t called rainbowfishes, but you still asked Leah each time, hoping for a different answer.

“No rainbow fish?” You pouted, leaning closer to the tank, but not touching it.

You knew it was important not to bang on the glass so you didn’t scare the fish. They wouldn’t be your friend if you scared them.

“We can call it a rainbow fish,” Leah said, squatting down next to you. “I don’t think they’ll mind,”

You made a low sound, your fingers creeping their way past your lips.

“Hey, none of that,” She scolded gently, pulling your fingers from your mouth. “We don’t know where those little fingers have been,”

It was a bad habit her and your mama were fighting hard to break, how everything from your fingers to your shirt collars ended up in your mouth.

“Does rainbow fish give out his scales?” You asked, looking away from the tank to briefly meet her eyes.

“Hmm,” Leah hummed at the familiar question, glancing back at the little fish curiously swimming in front of you. “I think they would share their scales if one of their needed friends needed one,”

“Like you give out your scales?” You asked, your eyes never leaving the tank.

Leah frowned. “What do you mean bug?”

“You’re mama’s Rainbowfish,” You said earnestly, turning away from the fish to meet Leah’s eyes again.

“I’m your rainbow fish too,” She said with a very soft smile, running her hand through your messy curls.

You nodded, as though her words confirmed something for you. What, Leah wasn’t entirely sure.

Several fish swam by, and you watched in wonder as they did circles around each other, and Leah felt herself fall a little more in love with you.

In the beginning, she hadn’t been entirely sure how things would go when Alessia warned her that you two were a package deal. She always wanted kids, but she didn’t know if she was mother material now.

Then she met you, and you wrapped your little hand around her finger and she knew you had her hooked.

Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without you, or Alessia. She treasured getting to see your excitement and wonder at simple things, like fish swimming circles around a tank.

She would stand here all day if that’s what you wanted.

You did for a long second before you looked back up at her. “Turtles?”

She smiled down at you. “Yep, let’s go see the turtles,”

You looked back at the tank, waving to the fish.

One of the little fish swam across the face of the tank as though he was waving goodbye to you.

You waved back at him, and Leah refrained from telling you that he probably didn’t understand what bye-bye rainbow fish meant.

You took Leah’s hand and let her lead you deeper into the aquarium.

********

Leah could tell you were getting tired as you finally made it all the way through the shark tunnel. Your little legs were dragging, and your fingers kept trying to find their way past your lips with increasing frequency.

You had skipped your nap, and she knew you had a limited amount of time before you got grumpy, even if you were at one of your favorite places. It was always a balance of letting you experience the things you wanted and keeping you from getting overtired.

“How about we see the rays and then go get some lunch?” She asked you, wiggling your hand.

“Otay,” You mumbled, leaning into Leah and letting her pull you through the shark-shaped archway and into one of your favorite parts of the aquarium, the stingray touch tank.

“Hello miss Y/n!” The peppy blonde worker smiled widely at you as soon as you rounded the corner and sent a wave to Leah.

The two of you came here often enough that she knew you quite well.

You sent her a small wave, making sure Squirt didn’t slip from under your arm. “Ello Kara,”

“Do you want to feed the stingrays today?” She asked you, gesturing towards the touch tank that you always visited. “Rocky and Dibs are in a very friendly mood,”

She knew you well enough to know that there were days when you liked to pet the rays and ones when you just wanted to watch.

You perked up, nodding excitedly, turning to Leah and holding out your stuffed turtle. “Mommy, hold squirt so he no get wet?”

Leah blinked at you, making no move to take the turtle. “Say that again my darling?”

“You hold Squirt so I feed Rocky and Dibs?” You repeated, holding out the blue and green stuffed turtle.

Leah blinked again and squatted in front of you, bringing her hands up to cup your jaw.

“No bug, what did you call me?” She asked, her thumbs brushing your cheeks softly.

“Mommy,” You said, your eyebrows furrowing. “Mama said be ok cause you my Rainbow fish,”

Leah hummed.

Of course, you had talked it over with Alessia first. She would have been more surprised if you hadn’t.

“It’s very ok,” She assured you, swallowing away the lump in her throat, and pulling you close so she could kiss your forehead. “I’m your Mummy and your rainbow fish,”

You tolerated her lips against your hairline for a very long second before you pulled away, holding your turtle out for her. “Hold squirt so he no get wet?”

It amazed her how… casual you were about all of this. How you said it as if it just made sense. She swallowed down the swelling in her chest, knowing you wouldn’t react well if she started crying, even if the tears were happy.

“Sure, bug,” She smiled gently at you, taking the offered toy and holding him close as she released you. “Do you need help washing your hands?”

You shook your little head, turning back towards the blonde Stingray keeper. “No, Kara help me,”

She watched you as you toddled towards the sink, immediately talking to Kara about how the Rays were doing.

She would watch over you forever.

She was your Mum and your Rainbow fish.

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x reader #big emotions universe

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luvf4ngz · 11 months ago

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Til Death Do We Part Brings Us Together

grim reaper! jason todd

Description: Your constant close calls with death first captures the attention of the Grim Reaper, then his heart, and lastly, his devotions.

Contents: Female Reader, Mentions Of Death/Dying, References to Greek Mythology, Possessiveness, You Watch Pretty Woman and Read Pride & Prejudice Together Bc Yeah, Mentions Of Isolation But It’s Okay I Promise, Jason Is Lowkey Lonely And Desperate, Reader Has A Death Wish? Maybe?, Praise Kink, SO MUCH PRAISE, Unprotected Sex, Religious Symbolisms, Sacrilege?, Nipple Play, Jason Calls You Princess, Obviously???, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, (Female Receiving), He’s So In Love, Jason Todd Is Touch Starved, Devotion, Jason Is A Munch, Overstimulation, Vaginal Sex, Yes Greek Gods Wear Boxers, Enthusiastic Consent, “Will it fit?” I’m Sorry Okay, Size Kink, Jason Todd Has A Big Dick, Gentle Dom Jason Todd, Intimate Sex, Slow Sex, Soft Sex, Aftercare, Cuddling

Word Count: 6081

Author’s Note: Jason is loosely based off of Thanatos from Greek Mythology/Hades (the game). It was kind of hard infusing his personality with the literal personification of Death, but I hope I did a good job! Also some details are completely made up or changed for the purpose of the fics, like how dying works in Greek Mythos. Please don’t come for me, I’m just trying to be horny on the internet. Without furthermore, please enjoy :)

Actually one more thing I have a Thanatos/Death playlist and I adore it to bits, please listen if you want.

Thank you @toruslvt for beta-reading!

He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him.

"Yet another brush with death." You heard a husky voice beside you, making you turn your head to look at the figure sheepishly.

Whether you’re extremely unlucky or just unfathomably reckless, he’s not sure. All he knows is that your soul has been on the edge of being his over and over again - whether it was narrowly missing a car or falling into a river or even just choking on a bone. You always seem to make it out of those situations just fine, which has thoroughly caught his attention.

"You should really be more careful, you know." He looked at you and sighed.

“I am! Or at least I try to be...” You murmur timidly, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s uh, it’s nice to see you again.” You give him a small smile, turning your body to face him.

As always, he’s in his dark cloak, the hood lifted to conceal some of his hair, casting a shadow over his face. The gold accents adorning his body glint due to the faint sunlight casting through your kitchen window, the same sunlight making his tan skin glow, making him look otherworldly - which he was.

He raised his eyebrow, “Is it now? Most people are terrified to see me.” He muttered, smirking a bit,

“I guess I’m used to you now.” Your grin gets a bit larger, warmer. “You don’t have your scythe.” You point out.

He lets out a slight chuckle at your observation, “Such a keen eye. I figured I wouldn’t need it, and I was right. What was it this time?”

Your face heats with embarrassment at the question. “I slipped.” You confess, pointing to the puddle of water on the ground. “Almost cracked my head open, I guess. But! I turned my body in time, so I’m fine.”

“Yes, that would explain your wet clothes.” His eyes trail down your body, catching slightly where your nipples peek out against the damp fabric, before looking back up to your face.

He clears his throat, “Haven’t you learned your lesson by now? It’s not even lunch time yet and you were on the brink of death. Aren’t you afraid of dying?” He scolds you.

“I mean, not really.”

A pause of silence.

“What? You’re joking, right? How can you be so cavalier about this?”

“I don’t know, it doesn't seem so bad. It’s a natural part of life. Should I be scared?”

“What kind of question is that?!” He raises his voice slightly, eyebrows scrunched as he looks at you. “Of course, you should be. Dying isn’t fun. You’ll be dead, trapped in the underworld for the rest of eternity. You should be trying to preserve your life while you still have it.”

“I am, though. I’m not saying I don’t like being alive, I’m just saying, when it happens, it’ll happen. There’s no use being so pre-cautious and anxious all the time.”

He lets out a huff, “You are… certainly a strange one.”

“In any case, I’d like to think my soul will go to Elysium. I'm a pretty good person, so I think the afterlife won’t be too awful for me.” You continue on, carefree.

"That isn't my point, though. Even if you're guaranteed a place in Elysium, you should still be more vigilant.”

“Why should I be? My end is already predetermined, isn’t it? Don’t the fates know when my time is up?”

“Well… yes, but-”

“Wait, then how come you visit me before I actually die?” You interrupt him, a realization suddenly taking place. “Near death experiences shouldn't summon you right?”

He hesitates a bit, caught. "You’re correct… I visit you on my own accord.”

“Why?” You tilt your head cutely, an innocent and puzzled look in your eyes.

“You��ve just caught my attention, is all.” He looks away. “I like to keep track of you, the Fates are wrong sometimes, and you basically have a death wish so I just… I like to make sure you’re okay.”

You smile slightly at his words, “You don’t want me to die?”

“Of course, I don’t. I like- I like to watch you. You’re interesting to me.” He chooses his words carefully.

“I am?” Your eyes brighten a bit at his words.

He turns back to you and nods, his hood shifting a bit with his movement, revealing a bit more of his hair. The white streak catches your attention.

“I have to confess it’s… cute the amount of trouble you manage to get yourself into. It’s entertaining to see what you get up to, how you treat others, what you desire out of life.” His eyes move to look into yours. “Your mentality is quite unique, as well. You see dying as natural and not something to be feared, but I think you've accepted it to an… abnormal degree." He paused. "...You're the first person in a very long time to not express fear of me.”

“Why would anyone be afraid? You're only doing your job... and you're quite nice."

He laughs, the deep rumble of his voice goes straight to your knees. "I think you're the first person to ever call the God of Death ‘nice’. You wouldn't believe the amount of people that fear me, even before their time is up. It's... exhausting, really. I can always hear their prayers, their cries, their pleads.”

"I mean I can’t blame them, I just can't share the same sentiment, especially with all the conversations that we've had."

He smiles at you, “You really are like a breath of fresh air. It’s nice to know that someone doesn’t hate me.” He pauses again, a soft look in his eyes. “But you should still be careful. You're not made of rubber after all. Don’t let me take you earlier than I should.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad, though.”

“What?” In such a short time, you’ve shocked him again.

“I wouldn’t mind dying knowing that you'll be the one waiting for me.” You say it so casually, continuing to smile at him, as if it wasn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever uttered to him. His heart beats a little faster as he stares down at you, stupefied.

“You can’t mean that.” He replies after a while.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He’s speechless, dumb-founded. How could he possibly begin to explain that the idea of anyone liking him enough to allow him to take them from this world so happily was absurd?

“What?” You ask, noticing his sudden silence. “Why’s that so strange? I like talking to you, and when I’m in the afterlife you would keep me company, right?”

He lets out a breath and smiles a bit, the whites of his teeth peeking out behind the pink of his lips. “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sound appealing.”

“Good.” You smile a little wider, your eyes crinkling as it makes his heart begin to race now.

“I-I should get going, there’s uh- souls I need to get to.” He stutters out.

“Yeah, that sounds important. I should clean up with water. I’ll see you around uh… Mister Grim Reaper, sir.”

He lets out an amused huff. “Jason. Just call me Jason.”

“Will do.” You jokingly salute him, and it makes him let out another chortle.

“Alright, farewell then.” He nods, before blinking out of your kitchen.

You stare at the space he used to occupy for a bit, still smiling softly, before leaving to get a mop - and maybe a change of clothes.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be here?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow as you stare at him from the couch.

“Yes.” He replies simply, his eyes and attention focus on the movie playing on your TV.

His visits have been more and more frequent lately, ever since the conversation the both of you shared in your kitchen. Now, Death, who prefers the name Jason, shows up even if you didn’t go through another life-threatening event.

And right in this moment, Jason is standing in front of your couch, entirely enraptured by Pretty Woman, of all things.

“Don’t you have to do your duty? I’m sure there’s a lot of lost, wandering souls right now.” You try again, concerned.

“What? You don’t want me here?”

“I didn’t say that!” You put your hands up in defense. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble or something. Won’t Hades or the Fates or… whoever your superior is get angry?”

“Probably.” He shrugs. “But what are they going to do? Kill me?” He casts you a glance from the corner of his eyes, before going back to the movie. “Besides, souls can’t leave the mortal body without me being there. They’ll just rest for a bit, I can always come get them after.”

“I guess that’s fine then.” You sigh out. “Could you at least sit down?”

Jason lets out a nod, before moving to the couch, taking a seat beside you but still keeping his distance.

He watches the rest of the movie in silence beside you, enjoying your company. His eyes flick over to admire you a few times, taking in your immersed gaze and noticing the way you’re clutching a plushie so close to you (cute). When you sniffle, when a few tears trail down your face, when your parted lips form a pout at the ending, his heart pumps hard in his chest.

This was a much better use of his time.

“You have so many books.” Jason states, his figure crouched so that he could properly read all the titles. His hood is off, fully revealing his soft, dark hair - the white streak a beautiful contrast.

“Who’s the observant one, now?” You chuckle from your place on the bed, eyes not leaving the novel in your hands.

He rolls his eyes, “What are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” You hum softly, eyes still scanning the page.

“What’s that about?” Jason asks, walking away from the bookshelf and towards you.

“Uh, it’s a little complicated.” You murmur, “But basically it’s two people learning to get over their, well, pride and prejudices to fall in love.”

He lets out a hum, “Read it to me?”

“Oh my Gods, you’re so lucky, I just got to the best part.” Your eyes watch him as he lays down beside you on your bed, the fabric of his black cloak pooling around his body.

“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began: ‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression.”

Jason turned to his side in order to get a better view of you. He watches how your eyes practically light up as you read, a smile gracing your face. He can’t help but think how pretty you look like this.

“She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. UGH, it’s so romantic!” You yell out, clutching the book to your chest and rolling back and forth slightly, making him let out a chuckle at your antics. “I mean at this point in the book I still hate Darcy but Gods, the way it’s written is just so good!”

He falls silent for a bit, his gaze affectionate as he watches you. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You stop your giddy reactions, looking at him curiously. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you remember when you said you wanted to be with me in the afterlife?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

He took a deep breath. "Let's say... let's just pretend for a moment, that when you die... I don't guide you to the afterlife. Instead, I take you somewhere else with me."

You sit up slightly, pushing yourself up on your arms, turning your body to face him. “Where would we go?” You set your book aside on the nightstand.

“To… my home. I have a residence on the outskirts of Tartarus. You would be safe there, I can make sure that nothing would bother you.” He sits up fully, grabbing and holding your hands gently. “Please, I want you to stay with me. I get so lonely, and I just- I like being around you.” His tone is soft, pleading and sincere as he confesses his desires to you.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling softly in that way that he’s come to adore. “I’d like that.”

“Really?” He gasps out, face mirroring yours as a bright smile overtakes his features.

“Mhm,” You hum, “It’ll take some time, though.”

He shakes his head, hands gripping yours a bit tighter, “I would wait the entire rest of eternity for you, if I had to.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to not make you wait that long.” You giggle out.

“I’d hope not. I want to have you with me, I want to keep you around until the end of time itself.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyones ever said to me, Jay.” Your tone is light, teasing.

“There’s a catch though,” He pauses, hesitant to see your reactions. “You won’t be able to leave the house or see anyone else. I can’t risk you getting found. B-but I get you anything you need, I can make you happy.”

“That sounds just fine to me.”

His eyes glisten in happiness, a bright shine in them. “Then... it's settled. I will take you to my home, and you will stay with me… forever.” His glances down to your lips for a second, before quickly looking back into your eyes.

You notice the movement, heart beating a bit faster.

“Could I kiss you?” He whispers, his voice low and warm.

“Yeah,” You mumble back.

He leans in closer, hands releasing yours as one places itself on the small of your back, pulling you closer to his body as the other gently grips your chin. He leans down, tilting your head up until he feels the soft press of his lips to yours. Warmth floods his body as he feels electricity in the air, and he feels his heart pound behind his ribcage when your own arms wrap around his neck.

Your touch, your taste, was addicting. You were tender and sweet, and Jason never wanted this moment to end. He groans when he feels your hand begin to play with his hair, and he presses himself closer to you, both hands moving to grip your waist.

His grip tightened on you as your kiss intensified, his body started to tremble as it filled with a desire so deep that it was all-consuming.

Eventually you break apart from him, needing air. He dismays at having to pull away, but allows you to do so.

"If that's what's waiting for me at the end of my life, maybe I do want to die sooner…” You joke, breathless.

He groans again, “Don’t… don’t say that. Don’t tempt me, I can’t take it.” He presses his forehead to yours, both of your breaths mingling together.

You giggle, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him again. He relents easily, his heart skipping when you hum softly against his lips, the desire in his body igniting higher and higher.

Eventually, he’s the one to pull away, his breath tickling you as he trails his nose against your neck. He can feel the soft tremor in your breath as your body shivers against his. “Can we go further?” He murmurs into the skin.

“Yeah, I want more.” You nod.

“Good, I do too. I want all of you.” He begins to press his lips to your neck, lightly leaving kisses and bites that you have squirming and gasping.

“You have me.”

“You don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “You... you don't know how much I've been longing for you. Your presence alone gives me joy. Having you touch me… it makes my heart pound and my body melt. The way you talk, the sounds you make... it’s perfect. I want to touch you. I want to hold you. I want to know everything about you. I want all of you.”

“You can have that too…” You sighed out.

“You drive me crazy.” He groans, leaning close again to kiss you deeply, caressing the sides of your body. He wasn't holding back anymore. He couldn't. He wanted you so much that it ached in his bones. His hands started sliding slowly but surely, caressing your back and waist. He couldn't get enough of you, and your body’s twitching and the sound of your heavy breaths was such a thrilling sensation that he was consumed by it entirely.

“Jason…” You pant out his name as you experimentally grind your body against his, whining when you feel his hard cock rub against your clothed cunt, your hands holding him tighter.

The sound drove him crazy with arousal, his body wracked with longing. You felt so good and he couldn't help but lean into you more, allowing you to press against him over and over and over. The feeling of heat was flooding his entire being, his cock throbbing beneath his cloak.

He worships the feeling of you grinding against him for a few more moments, his breath coming out in husky pants before he rolls you onto your back, hovering above you.

"Just be a good girl and let me do all the work, now." His voice is husky, needy, as he leaned down and kissed your neck again, his breath hot and his body trembling with anticipation.

You whine again, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the sudden ache between them. Your eagerness spurs him on, he presses a peck to your cheek before sitting back on his knees to gaze down at you.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous.” He mutters, his hand slips up your shirt a little, and he shivers at the instant warmth of your skin. “Can I take this off?”

You nod rapidly, quickly pulling off your top and tossing it aside, revealing yourself to him.

Jason responds by leaning down to litter kisses over your body, a flush on his cheeks. His lips are soft and reverent almost as they softly touch your heated skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth sucking slightly, as a hand comes up to tweak and roll the other one.

“Jay…” You call out his name, your back arching slightly, and he never wants to stop hearing your voice.

“I got you, princess.”

He lowers his mouth, trailing down your body until he reaches the hem of your bottoms. “Can I take this off, too?”

“Do anything you want, Jay.” You breathe out, head dizzy with your need.

“You sure?” He asks, fingers hooking into both your pajama pants and underwear, dragging them down your body, uncovering inch after inch of your naked body.

You look like a dream under him, eyes blown with lust, lips parted, body bare for him as you nod. He sets your clothes aside, going back to relishing you.

You look away softly from embarrassment, “You take off your clothes, too…”

Your shyness got to him and he could help but laugh softly. You were so cute. He took a step back and off the bed, pulling off his cloak. He could feel your eyes watching his every movement, could feel your eyes rake his form as you settled on the bed.

His gold adornments drop to the floor with a ‘clunk’, quickly followed by his black trousers.

“You’re so beautiful.” You softly praise. You can’t help but to stare at him, eyes lingering on every sculpted muscle or coloured scar of his frame.

He couldn't help but feel like you were the beautiful one. The way your eyes traveled over his body made his heart beat fast. He felt like he was on top of the world, knowing you admired him.

He climbs back onto the bed, taking his place between your legs as he lays on his stomach. His hands come to grip around your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“Oh.” You gasp slightly at the intimate position, gulping as your blood pumps faster through your veins.

He slides a hand down towards your cunt, already slick for him. A thumb parts your swollen lips as he gently glides it up and down, before pressing it against your sensitive bud.

“Ah-” You moan oh so sweetly for him, hips twitching as he starts rubbing your pretty clit. Your body was so responsive to him, and it makes a grin break onto his face.

He brings his thumb away, making you frown before replacing it with his mouth, lips wrapped around the nub.

“W-wait!” You cry out, hands flying into his hair as you do your best to not buck into his face. He smirked around you, starting to suck despite your call. Your reaction only added fuel to the fire burning inside him, your writhing body and shaky gasps were too much for him to handle.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just let yourself feel good.” He mumbles into your cunt before going back to sucking and lapping at you. He holds you close to his face, his grip firm to keep you as still as he could.

He groans as you tug at his roots, the sound vibrating around your needy clit. Your desperate moans and whispers drove him crazy. He liked how fast you were breathing, how much you were moving. You were a squirming, twitching mess underneath him as the sensation became too overwhelming.

“Jason, oh my Gods.” You gasp.

“I’m your only God, now, right? Just me…” His hand moves to your fluttering hole, slowly pressing two fingers inside you. They slip in easily with how wet you are, dripping your desire down his wrists. He feels you clamp down on them, slick walls sucking him in further.

“Jason, Jay!” His name slips from your lips like a chant, a prayer wrapped in shallow breaths.

“Keep saying my name just like that, pretty girl.” He loves the way you make it sound, loves the way you say it. Not Grip Reaper. Not Death. Just Jason. Your Jason.

“Oh, Jay…” You breathe out his name like you’re struggling to even think.

“You’re such a sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He coos, starting to move his fingers in and out of you. He smirks when you squeal as he curls his fingers up, pressing against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you. His arm moves to keep you down, pinning your hips to the bed as he goes back to tasting you.

“N-not there!”

“Why not? Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It’s too much!” You’re breathless, barely able to gasp out replies as he keeps abusing that spot inside you.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jason slows his pace, fingers dragging painfully slow against your aching, slick walls, making you let out a needy mewl, clenching on him.

“No! P-please don’t.” You pout, softly tugging at his head to turn his attention fully on you.

“Say my name. Tell me what you want.”

You hesitate a bit, pondering your words. “Make me feel good, Jason. Make me cum.” Your tone is so soft and pleading, it’s the best worship he’s ever heard.

The only prayers he’s ever heard were cries for his absence, beseeching his very being and purpose, but with you - he’s found a new one. You want him, you want him closer, you want him to make you feel bliss. He can do that. He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him.

He dives back down with a fervor, thick fingers working you quickly, the soft squelches increasing in volume and frequency. His tongue traces your clit, sucking and rolling and indulging in the way you writhe and whimper below him.

He keeps going as you squirm uncontrollably, as your body tenses further and further, as your eyes glaze over and your heart pounds. Your nerves are frayed and begging for relief as the soft warmth of his tongue doesn’t let up. Your grip on his hair tightens, making him grunt low and husky into you.

“Jason, m’gonna… can I please-?” You can barely make out full sentences, head fuzzy and blood searing as the dam inside you threatens to break.

“You don’t have to ask, just do it.’ He murmurs; his cock throbs in his garments, waiting for you to release on his tongue.

The feeling overtakes you, making you choke out a shaky cry as you climax. Your thighs squeezes his head, fingers buried deep into his dark locks as you tremble. You’re lightheaded and breathless and euphoria has settled in every inch of your veins.

Jason removes his fingers, gripping your thigh as his mouth slots against your leaking cunt as he engulfs his tongue into your taste. He greedily laps up your slick, moaning as it blooms over his tongue - more sweet and addictive than even ambrosia.

Your cries are so adorable as he continues to seek out every last drop of cum from you, your body pliant and weak below him as you keen and mew.

“J-Jay…” You stutter out his name as your body twitches, sensitivity kicking in.

“Yes, love?” He barely pauses to utter out those words, mind set on devouring you whole.

“C-can’t!” He frowns, giving you one last lick before pulling himself away from you.

His eyes are filled with a feral like need, mouth smeared and shiny with the aftermath of your arousal. “Did that feel good?” He husks out, “You looked so divine, cumming.’

You’re panting hard under him, mind dizzy as you process his words, nodding in reply.

“I want to make you feel that way for the rest of eternity, you’ll let me right? You’ll stay with me?” Now that he’s had you, he doesn’t think he can survive on his own anymore.

“Y-yeah, Jay.” You nod again, voice small.

He raises himself up, licking you off his hand before he crawls over your body again. His legs slot between yours, tangling the both of you together. He leans down, sighing out in satisfaction as your damp, warm skin presses into his.

His lips brush over yours, silently asking for permission to kiss you again. You accept him willingly, hands drifting to hang loose around his neck as you push your lips to his.

He groans, hand gripping your waist and the other running through your hair as he explores your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, spit mixing together as he groans into your lips.

He pulls back, both your breaths lingering in the small space between your faces. He trails his nose down to the sensitive skin of your neck, teeth dragging lightly across the flesh.

“I want all of you, so bad.” He groans. “I’ll do anything for you. Can you tell me I’m yours?”

He so desperately wants to belong to you - to know that one day you’ll accompany him in the deepest pits of Tartarus - that you’ll never let him be alone again.

“You want to be mine?” Your tone is puzzled, words ending in a lilt.

“Please.”

You smile, hands coming to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. “Who knew the God of Death would be so needy?” You tease.

“You try being alone and hated since the dawn of existence.” He sighs, melting into your touch. His eyes close, leaning into your palms.

You giggle a bit. “We can be each other's.” Your lips break out into a grin as you bring his face down to yours, pressing pecks all over.

He relishes your kisses, letting out a deep, happy sigh. His cock is still painfully hard, straining against his boxers, but he tries to ignore it. He opens his eyes and brushes your stray hair behind your ears, slightly damp with your sweat.

“Jay,” You murmur his name, pulling back to look at him, “I want more.”

“More? You want me to eat you out again?” His mouth salivates at the thought of having your taste on his tongue again. He’ll do anything you ask.

You shake your head, thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones, “I want you to fuck me, Jay.”

“You do? Are you sure?” He whispers.

His breath hitches as you nod, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

“I wanna feel you, Jay. J-just go slow, I’m still sensitive.”

“You’re sensitive?” He huffs out an amused breath, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You try to press your thighs together, getting excited by his promises and husky tone. He feels your legs shift around his, smirking as he takes in your desperate body language.

He shifts back again, tugging his boxers down. Your eyes trail to his now exposed cock, standing proud and flushed and daunting.

He’s…. big.

Your jaw drops a little as you take him in, your mind reeling with thoughts of “Will it fit?”.

“Hm? Don’t worry. I said I was going to take care of you.” Jason murmurs, voice adoring. He positions himself back between your legs, hands lifting your legs to encourage them to wrap around his waist. You willingly follow his guidance.

His hands come to hold your hips steady, hips canting forwards to rub the head of his cock through your folds. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” You reply softly, hands drifting to lay on top of his, gently grabbing his wrists.

He pushes inside of you, pace steady and measured as he tries his best to let you adapt to him.

“Ohmyfuck…” You slur, words mushing together as you feel him stretch you out. You grip him a bit tighter.

“Just relax, pretty girl.” He mutters, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down. He continues pushing himself inside you, making you feel every ridge and detail and inch. It’s slow and deliberate; he’s savoring watching the way your cunt sucks him in, the way your head tilts back, how shallow and quick your breaths have gotten. “Can you feel it? Am I too big for you?” He teases, eyes shining with both mischief and affection. He pushes forwards again.

Your pussy flutters around the girth of him, slick pouring out with every second, making the process that much smoother.

You try to take deep breaths, groaning softly as you feel the way he bullies into you, nestling deep inside.

“S’it in yet?” You hiccup.

He chuckles softly, you were just so endearing. He was taking his time, enjoying the feeling of you. “It’s not even halfway yet, baby.” He coos.

“S-still?” Your eyes widen a bit, as he laughs again.

“Just lay down and take it, princess. I’ll do everything, don’t think about a thing.” He leans down and silences your whimpers with a kiss. His lips lock onto yours as he swallows your moans, moving his hips until he feels you flushed against him.

He pulls back, body once more shadowing over yours. His eyes drift down to where the two of you connect. “Look at that, she took me all in. I told you that you didn’t need to fret, love.”

“A-ah, it’s so deep…” You mumble.

“Isn’t it?” He grins.

He starts to move back and forth, instantly groaning at the intoxicating sensation of you wrapped warm and snug around his pulsing cock.

He keeps his pace slow, staying true to his promise. He doesn’t mind though, he’s just relishing in every little detail of you, burning the memory of how you look, feel, and sound into his mind - a treasure for eons to come.

You’re moaning uncontrollably, hands moving to grip at his biceps, nails digging slightly into the skin. He grunts, liking the shark twang of pain that shoots through his body.

He can feel you clamping around him desperately, like your body needed more. You’re so wet and sloppy, he can feel your slick smearing on his thighs with every thrust.

“Feels s’good, baby.” He groans, and immediately he feels you clench on him again. “Did you like that?” He grins.

“Uh-huh,” You nod dumbly, eyes unfocused as whines spill from your throat.

“My pretty girl likes it when I praise her, huh?” The next words flow from him easily, he’s venerated you so much in his mind already that the flattery comes easy. He wants you to know exactly what you make him feel. “You’re so fucking perfect for me, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Everytime he bottoms out you can feel him in your throat.

“J-Jay…”

Your bodies blend together, waves of pleasure overtaking you both with each long stroke. You can feel every inch and vein and crevice of him pushing against your sensitive walls.

He continues speaking. “You make me fall apart so easily, my love. I want to give you my everything. I’ll be at your disposal from now on, you can do whatever you want with my body, as long as you stay by my side.” His tone is deep, dripping with lust. “Your pretty pussy takes me so well, it’s like you were made for my cock, yeah?”

A shiver of arousal runs through your body at his speech, lower body getting hotter. You feel like you’re surrounded by lava, melting and wound tight all at once.

“Your body is so beautiful, I don't want anyone else to touch you; I want you only for myself.” His hands lift your hips up a little, his cock pressing inside even deeper than before, making you let out a yelp.

He’s hitting every good spot inside you, knocking the breath from your lungs even with his sensual pace. You feel constant spurts of warmth pouring out of you, and you notice just how soaked the mattress is beneath your shivering body.

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?”

“S-so much, Jay,” You whine out, clutching him harder.

“Good, I want to be the only one that can make you feel like this.”

Each rock of his hips gets you higher and higher, dangling on the edge of release. The glide of him is so smooth and sweet as he drags against you.

“M’gonna cum, Jay.” You sigh out, voice high and whiny.

“Good girl, go on and soak my cock. Show me just how much you’re enjoying this.”

A few more more moments and you’re letting go, gripping his biceps hard as elation sinks deep into your bones. A sob of his name escapes your parted lips, body tingly and twitchy as endorphins rush through your veins. He groans as he feels your slick walls convulse around him. His grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he pulls out, his cum instantly spilling onto your stomach. Relief floods his system as he pants hard, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

The both of you bask in the afterglow of your climaxes, the soft sound of breathing drifting on the heated air. Jason thinks you look divine with your hair spread on the bed, his seed marking your skin as sweat glistens your body. You think the view of him above you, satisfaction prominent on his face, is just as sacred.

When Jason’s body settles he gently slides out of you, smiling apologetically at your small wince. He goes to your bathroom, having memorized the layout of your house from all the times he’s visited you. He returns with a damp towel, mournfully wiping his traces off of you. He throws the rag into your laundry basket, crawling beside you in bed and pulling you into his chest.

“How ya doing, princess?” He whispers into your hair.

You give him a small, happy hum in return, scooting yourself even closer into him.

"You're so soft," He mumbles, nuzzling into you. "This is where I want us to stay, for eternity. Nothing else, forever."

“That sounds perfect, Jay.” You reply, yawning slightly.

Jason’s smile grows even wider, his arms tightening around you. He looks down at you with an adoring gaze, your warm and tender body slotting perfectly against his. "There is nothing, and no one in this world that I want more than you, my dearest."

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

requested tags: @a-deadbeat-fucking-valentine @in-som-niyah

#sumi — dc.#sumi — my love.#sumi — works.#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #dc smut #dc x reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut

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kwilquib · 8 days ago

Text

On the Cliff,

Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Park Jiwon (Fromis_9) X Male reader Word Count: 10k+ Switching POV

a/n: Plot. Also some reference to Pojangmacha fic

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the dimly lit hospital room. The antiseptic scent clung to the air, thick and suffocating. You stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Your father looked smaller than you ever remembered—sunken cheeks, pale skin stretched thin over brittle bones. The man who had once loomed over you, larger than life, now lay powerless, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasping whisper, barely audible over the machines.

"It was that woman."

Your body tensed.

Your father exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching against the stark white sheets. "She played me. Played all of us. Your mother… she never recovered." His gaze shifted to you, eyes dark with something too raw to name. "I loved your mother, but I— I was weak. And that woman knew it."

You didn’t move, but inside, something twisted. You had known the story—or at least, you thought you had. You had pieced it together through hushed conversations, through your mother’s silent suffering, through the slow, agonizing decline of your family’s name. But hearing it now, spoken in the last breaths of a dying man, made it feel like a noose tightening around your ribs.

"She came to me looking like salvation," your father continued, his voice thick with regret. "She was young, beautiful. The perfect bait. And I— I was a fool. I let her in. I let her take everything." His lips curled in disgust, whether at the woman or himself, you couldn’t tell. "She made me believe she cared. I was blinded by it, convinced she was loyal to me. But she had her own ambitions, her own alliances. She turned on me the moment I was no longer useful, leaked my weaknesses to the board, let our enemies carve us apart piece by piece." A bitter chuckle rattled in his throat. "And your mother… she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear me."

The weight of those words landed like a hammer. You had spent your whole life hating that woman. And now, your father’s words only cemented that hatred.

"She destroyed our family," your father choked out, eyes burning with a desperation you had never seen before. "She pretended to be innocent. Sweet. But underneath it—she was poison. Never trust a woman like that." The beeping of the monitor slowed. Your father’s breaths grew shallower.

"Promise me." His trembling fingers gripped your wrist with surprising strength. "Promise me you’ll never let a woman like that fool you. Never fall for their lies." You stared down at him, your jaw tight, your chest burning. You swallowed hard and nodded.

"I promise."

Your father exhaled, a final, ragged breath. Then—silence.

The silence lingered, stretching far beyond the confines of that hospital room. It clung to you, heavy and suffocating, even as the memory began to fade.

"Promise me."

Your father’s words echoed in your skull, the weight of them pressing against your ribs like a vice. You had spent years honoring that promise—guarding yourself, sharpening your instincts, never allowing another woman to wield the same power over you.

Never letting yourself fall.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.

"Sir?"

You blinked, the hospital walls dissolving into the dark wood paneling of your office. The sterile scent of antiseptic was gone, replaced by the faint traces of whiskey and leather. Your hands, once clenched into fists, relaxed over the mahogany desk. The past bled away, leaving only the present.

Junho stood at the doorway, sharp-eyed and expectant, his fingers resting against the stack of files he carried. He hesitated, his usual confidence tempered by caution. "You didn’t hear me the first time." It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled, pushing a hand through your hair. "What is it?"

Junho stepped forward, placing the documents on your desk. “The arrangements for the wedding are proceeding as planned. But are you really going to marry her?” His gaze flickered, unreadable. “You haven’t met her since the dinner.”

Your fingers tapped against the desk, slow and deliberate. The dinner.

The memory surfaced instantly—the soft clink of silverware, the hushed murmur of conversation, the weight of expectation pressing against your spine. Jiwon sat across from you, wide-eyed, uncertain. But it wasn’t her you had been focused on.

No. It was her.

Jiwon’s stepmother.

The woman who destroyed your mother.

Who led your father to ruin.

Who nearly dragged your entire legacy to the ground.

And now, she sat at the same table, smiling as if none of it had happened, as if the past wasn’t soaked in betrayal and blood.

Your grip on the armrest tightened. The realization was slow, creeping like rot beneath the surface. This was too much of a coincidence. Too perfect.

Jiwon, the innocent, the naive. The girl who had walked into your life like fate itself, who had clung to you in desperation, who had let you take her apart in the dark. A woman like her stepmother wouldn’t leave things to chance.

The scandal.

The convenient fallout.

The marriage proposal wrapped in necessity.

You had walked straight into their hands.

Your stomach twisted, rage curling deep in your chest. Was she always a part of this?

Had every look, every stammer, every trembling touch been nothing but a carefully placed act? A perfect imitation of innocence—just like the woman who came before her?

Your pulse pounded in your ears. I won’t be played again.

This marriage—this whole situation—it was nothing more than a beautifully orchestrated trap. And Jiwon…

Jiwon had led you right into it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past few weeks had been nothing short of surreal.

Jiwon sat still, her hands resting lightly on her lap, fingers twisting the edge of her lace gloves as strangers filtered in and out of the room, offering polite smiles and murmured congratulations. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, the soft hum of conversation filling the space, but none of it felt real.

It was almost laughable—how quickly everything had changed.

For years, she had been invisible. A ghost in her own home. Her father barely spared her a glance, and when he did, it was with disappointment or indifference. Her stepmother had dismissed her presence altogether, treating her with a cool detachment that bordered on contempt. Jiwon had long since learned to exist quietly, to take up as little space as possible.

But now…

Now, her father greeted her with warm smiles, his voice laced with an unfamiliar fondness whenever he spoke her name. Her stepmother—who had never once held her, never once stroked her hair—now caressed her cheek, whispering about how beautiful she looked, how proud she was.

Everyone who had once ignored her suddenly saw her. Acknowledged her.

It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a carefully crafted illusion, one she had no control over.

And the man who had promised to stand by her—the man who swore she wouldn’t be alone—

He wasn’t here.

Not once had he checked on her. Not once had he appeared in the past weeks, leaving her alone to navigate this overwhelming shift in her world.

Jiwon swallowed, staring at her reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. The woman who gazed back at her was unfamiliar—dressed in layers of silk and lace, adorned with delicate jewelry that sparkled under the light. Elegant. Poised.

But beneath it all, she felt like a girl lost in the wrong story.

A flurry of voices interrupted her thoughts. More guests approached, smiling, offering their congratulations. Cameras flashed, capturing a moment she wasn’t sure belonged to her.

In just a few minutes, she would walk down the aisle.

And the man waiting for her at the end of it…

He felt further away than ever.

"Hey, Jiwon. You okay? You look… unsure."

Jiwon blinked, snapping out of her thoughts as her friend studied Jiwon with quiet concern.

She forced a smile, pushing aside the unease coiling in her stomach. "I'm fine. I'm just happy you could make it."

"You think I'd miss this?" He scoffed lightly, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Besides, you never really made new friends after coming back from abroad. Someone had to show up for you."

She huffed a small laugh, the familiarity of his presence briefly easing her nerves. "I appreciate it."

"And I still owe you that drink," he added with a smirk, though his gaze softened.

Jiwon hesitated before carefully broaching the subject. "Yunjae…” Jiwon started with his name.

“How’s… everything been? Since that night?"

Yunjae’s expression flickered—just a brief moment of reflection before he gave a small, almost sheepish chuckle. "Well, as you’ve probably heard, a lot changed. Minnie and I… we’re in a much better place now. That night—talking to you—helped me see things clearer. We just needed to actually listen to each other."

Jiwon’s lips parted in surprise before a genuine smile found its way onto her face. "I’m really glad."

"Yeah, me too," he admitted. Then, after a pause, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know this might sound funny coming from me, considering how things started, but… congratulations, Jiwon. I really hope you’ll be happy."

Something tightened in her throat. She wished she could say the same for herself with certainty.

"Thank you, Yunjae."

He gave her a small, knowing smile. "I should head inside. Minnie’s probably already waiting for me."

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, leaving Jiwon alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

Just as the silence settled, the doors swung open with a sharp thud. The sound jolted Jiwon, her heart lurching, but the sheer weight of her dress kept her rooted in place.

Her father entered first, shoulders squared, a proud smile curling his lips—too wide, too polished. The kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. Her stepmother followed closely behind, her movements smooth, calculated, as she shut the doors behind them with a soft click. That same alluring smile played on her lips, a stark contrast to the cold calculation gleaming in her eyes.

Jiwon’s fingers curled into the fabric of her gown. She had expected them, of course. But something about the way they carried themselves—like victors surveying their conquered prize—made the room feel smaller, suffocating.

Her father was the first to speak. "You look beautiful, Jiwon," he mused, his voice warm, almost doting. A mockery of affection. "It’s a proud day for our family."

Jiwon swallowed hard. "I—"

"You're securing our future, after all," her stepmother interjected smoothly, stepping closer. "A true daughter of the Park family."

Something in her tone sent a shiver down Jiwon’s spine. There was a weight behind those words, a meaning she had yet to grasp—but she could feel the edges of it pressing in on her.

Her father hummed in agreement. "And, of course, this marriage is just the beginning. The real victory comes next."

Jiwon’s hands tightened in her lap. "Next?"

Her stepmother tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "Come now, Jiwon. You must understand by now." She let out a soft laugh, as if they were discussing something amusing rather than something terrifying. "A wife’s duty is to bear an heir."

The words dropped like a stone in Jiwon’s stomach.

Her father’s smile didn’t waver. "With a child, we’ll have an unshakable claim over the family. You, Jiwon, will be the mother of the next generation. And once that happens…" He trailed off, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his wrist.

Her stepmother finished for him, voice like silk. "Once that happens, your husband’s presence in the family will no longer be… necessary."

Jiwon’s breath caught in her throat.

She knew they had their ambitions—had known all her life that her father was ruthless, that her stepmother was cunning. But this—this was something else entirely.

Her father chuckled at her silence. "Don’t look so pale. It’s not as though anything will happen to him—so long as he remains useful."

Jiwon shook her head, her voice trembling. "I won’t—"

Her stepmother tsked, stepping forward until she loomed over Jiwon, her manicured nails ghosting over the fabric of Jiwon’s sleeve. "Jiwon, darling," she murmured, "you’re not rejecting your own father’s wishes, are you? After all he’s done for you?"

Jiwon pressed her lips together, her pulse hammering in her ears.

The older woman sighed, feigning disappointment, before her expression softened into something almost gentle. "Perhaps… you need a little more motivation?"

Jiwon stiffened as her stepmother leaned down, her lips close to Jiwon’s ear.

"Your mother," she whispered. "Did you know? She’s still alive. Hospitalized. Somewhere… far away."

Jiwon’s breath hitched.

Her stepmother smiled, slow and satisfied. "Your father is the only one who knows where. He’s been taking very good care of her all these years."

Jiwon’s stomach twisted violently.

"Would be a shame," her stepmother mused, straightening, "if something were to happen to her, too."

The words weren’t loud, nor were they laced with open malice. But the meaning was as clear as day.

Jiwon’s hands trembled in her lap.

This wasn’t a request. This wasn’t something she could refuse.

Her father exhaled, pleased. "You understand now, don’t you, Jiwon?"

She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, eyes burning, as she slowly—reluctantly—nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The corridors of the estate were quiet, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and polished wood. You barely registered it, your mind occupied with the conversation you had just left behind.

"At least check on her," your grandmother had insisted, her voice laced with exasperation. "She's about to be your wife, whether you like it or not."

You had intended to avoid her—intended to keep your distance until you figured out what exactly you had walked into the night of the dinner. But even you could admit that perhaps you had been too hasty, too quick to assume the worst.

Jiwon wasn’t like her stepmother. Not at first glance, not in the way she carried herself, not in the way she had looked at you that night with startled, hesitant eyes. And yet—

You inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as you neared the room. The door was slightly ajar, the soft murmur of voices filtering through the gap. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But the moment you caught Jiwon’s father voice, low and brimming with satisfaction, you stilled.

"With a child, we’ll have an unshakable claim over the family."

A chill curled down your spine.

"Once that happens, your husband’s presence in the family will no longer be… necessary."

Your breath stilled.

"It’s not as though anything will happen to him—so long as he remains useful."

Something inside you snapped taut, the words sinking their claws deep into your chest.

You stepped back before you could stop yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. The voices continued, but you heard no more.

Your presence was temporary. You were a stepping stone. A means to an end.

And Jiwon—

A sharp, bitter laugh nearly escaped you.

Jiwon was part of it, after all.

That innocence, that wide-eyed hesitation—it had all been an act. A carefully constructed lie, just like her stepmother before her. And like a fool, you had almost believed otherwise.

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, footsteps measured, calculated, as you left.

You had been right all along.

Jiwon had trapped you. And now?

Now, she would have to live with the consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiwon remained in her seat long after the door had closed, the silence pressing in around her like a tightening noose. Her fingers curled around the hem of her dress, knuckles turning white. She had agreed.

She had agreed.

The words rang in her head, hollow and inescapable. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen it coming—the moment her father’s voice had turned cold, she had known there would be no escape. But knowing and feeling were two different things. And now, sitting alone in this unfamiliar room, the weight of her decision finally began to settle in her bones.

Her mother.

Jiwon’s throat tightened. The moment she had seen the frail woman’s trembling hands, the way her thin fingers clutched at her sleeves, she had known. Her mother had always been her weakness. Not because she was weak, but because she had once been Jiwon’s entire world. Before the stepmother, before the decline.

Before everything fell apart.

Even when their father had been cruel, even when he threw words like stones, they had each other. She could still remember the nights spent huddled together, her mother brushing her hair and whispering stories about a future where they would be free. A future that never came.

The timing had never been lost on Jiwon. Her mother’s health had started declining not long after the woman who now called herself her stepmother arrived. At first, it had been subtle—exhaustion, small lapses in memory, a persistent cough. But as the months passed, she had withered, shrinking into a shadow of the woman Jiwon once knew. By then, her father had already turned his affections elsewhere. And Jiwon, too young and too powerless, had been forced to watch as the person she loved most in the world was quietly erased.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She barely had time to compose herself before it swung open.

He stepped inside, his presence filling the room like an approaching storm. It was the first time she had seen him since the dinner, and if she had harbored any hopes of warmth, they died the moment his eyes met hers.

Cold. Distant. Unreadable.

Her fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of her dress.

The man who had decided her fate stood before her, and yet, she still couldn’t tell if he saw her as anything more than a piece in a game she didn’t understand.

He studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a blade poised to strike. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Our arrangement,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something unreadable, “will be simple.”

Jiwon remained silent, waiting.

“I won’t interfere with your life, and you won’t interfere with mine. We will play the roles required of us, but beyond that, you are nothing to me.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through her. It wasn’t a declaration; it was a challenge. As if he expected her to protest, to resist. But she didn’t.

His gaze flickered, as though he had anticipated something more from her. He took a step closer, and she forced herself not to recoil.

“You should know,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “I could have backed out at any moment.”

Jiwon’s breath hitched.

“I still could,” he added, his tone calculated, measured. “But I won’t. If your father thinks he can push me into a corner, he’s mistaken.”

The implication was clear. He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough to recognize her father’s ambitions. And yet, he had chosen to go through with it anyway.

Before she could think of how to respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle, placing it on the table between them.

“Take one every day,” he instructed. “If you miss a dose, I’ll know.”

Jiwon stared at the container, her stomach twisting. Birth control.

He was ensuring that no matter what, there would be no child between them.

“If you want to stay married to me,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “you’ll take these until the day you die.”

Jiwon swallowed. There was no room for refusal. And so, as always, she didn’t disagree.

The wedding hall was vast, lined with golden chandeliers and pristine white florals, a vision of perfection that felt strangely distant to Jiwon. The sea of guests blurred together, a collection of unfamiliar faces, their expressions unreadable. This was not a day of love or joy—it was a spectacle, a performance they were expected to play their parts in.

She walked down the aisle, each step measured, her fingers clutching the bouquet like a lifeline. Her dress trailed behind her, heavy with fabric and expectation. At the end of the aisle, he stood waiting.

The man she was to marry.

His expression was unreadable, his stance composed and indifferent. He did not offer his hand, did not look at her with warmth. There was no illusion between them, no false pretense of affection. Only an arrangement, a binding contract disguised as vows.

Their words were hollow, exchanged with a detachment that felt suffocating. Promises of forever that neither of them believed. When it came time for the kiss, she braced herself.

And then he kissed her.

It was not soft. Not hesitant. His lips pressed against hers with a force that stole the air from her lungs. There was nothing tender in the way he claimed her, nothing gentle. It was hunger—raw and unapologetic, a quiet declaration of possession rather than devotion.

When he pulled away, she barely had time to catch her breath before the ceremony continued. Applause rang in the air, meaningless and distant. The rest of the night was a blur of faces, empty smiles, and whispered congratulations that felt like a cruel joke. Jiwon drifted through it all, numb, her mind unable to process the weight of what had just happened.

By the time they arrived at their new home, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. The large estate loomed before her, unfamiliar and unwelcoming. He entered first, not sparing her a glance, not offering a single word.

Jiwon followed, struggling under the weight of her luggage. He didn’t moved to help her, didn’t acknowledged her struggle. And as she stood at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the handle of her suitcase, she realized—this was how it would be.

Alone.

She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her, sealing her fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit at the edge of the master bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. The exhaustion of the day settles deep in your bones, but the weight pressing on your chest has nothing to do with fatigue. The remnants of the wedding still cling to you—the scent of roses, the suffocating formality, the hollow vows exchanged before strangers.

Dressed in a fresh bathrobe, your damp hair cools your skin as you skim through your tablet, searching for a moment of solitude. The bed behind you remains untouched, pristine except for the rose petals carefully arranged in the shape of a heart—an unspoken expectation you refuse to acknowledge.

Then, a knock at the door.

You don’t react at first, your eyes still fixed on the screen. Silence stretches between the knocks and the inevitable click of the door unlocking. You already know who it is.

Jiwon steps inside, wrapped in a bathrobe identical to yours. The delicate scent of soap and damp skin trails after her. She hesitates, closing the door behind her with quiet deliberation, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. Uncertain. Guarded.

You lift your gaze, watching her.

The sight of her stirs something sharp in your chest. Hatred, you tell yourself. Resentment. She’s an intruder in your life, a pawn willingly placed by her father, another person trying to get too close. And yet, beneath it, there is something darker. Something possessive.

Your grip on the tablet tightens for a second before you set it aside.

“You’re here,” you say, your voice unreadable.

You knew she would come. Expected it. She had no choice but to. And yet, the fact that she approached you first—however hesitant—baffles you. It almost amuses you, the way she’s trying to be brave.

She must really be that obedient to follow her father’s scheme.

Your gaze lingers on her, unreadable. Then, with quiet authority, you break the silence.

“Why are you just standing there?” Your voice is steady, edged with something unspoken. “Come here.”

She flinches—barely—but obeys, her steps hesitant yet quick, as if afraid of hesitating too long.

Now she stands before you, close enough that you can see the way her fingers clench at her sleeves, the way her breath is measured, controlled. You remain seated on the bed, watching her.

Studying her.

Her face is calm, carefully composed, but it does little to hide the truth. She’s visibly nervous—fidgeting, hesitant—looking so vulnerable, so innocent. Almost convincing.

But you know better.

You know her goal, the schemes she’s woven with her father—the quiet ambition hidden beneath her downcast eyes. To bear your child. To secure her place.

Still, as she stands before you, fragile in the dim light, you find yourself wondering… which one is real?

You stand up, walking past her toward the bedside drawer.

Her eyes follow your every movement.

“Did you take what I gave you earlier?” Your voice is calm, measured, as you retrieve an identical container to the one you had given her before.

Behind you, her voice wavers. “I—I did.”

Hesitation. A crack in her certainty. You don’t trust her.

“Did you really?”

You turn to face her, closing the distance between you. She tilts her head back slightly, forced to meet your gaze.

“Ye—”

Before she can finish, you grip her cheeks, prying her mouth open as you shove the birth control pill inside, pressing it down with your fingers.

Her eyes widen in shock, a muffled protest escaping as her tongue instinctively fights against the intrusion. But she swallows—she has no choice.

Your fingers linger, pressing down on her tongue, feeling the warmth, the slick resistance. When you pull away, you grip her tongue briefly, tilting her chin up as you inspect her mouth. No tricks. No lies.

A thin strand of saliva clings to your fingers as you finally release her.

She coughs slightly, breath unsteady, staring at you in disbelief. “What was that?”

You sit back on the bed, meeting her gaze as you bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean with deliberate ease.

“Extra precaution.”

She stood still, accepting your answer without question.

"Strip."

The command hung in the air, firm and unquestionable. She flinched, surprise flashing across her face, but she obeyed.

With hesitant fingers, she loosened the knot at her waist. The bathrobe slipped from her shoulders, gliding down her smooth skin before pooling soundlessly at her feet.

A deep blush spread across her cheeks, her hair falling forward in a vain attempt to shield her shyness. Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, hiding the soft curves of her bare peaks.

The ambient glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm sheen over her stomach, the smooth expanse of skin taut with restrained tension. Her legs pressed together, her posture curling inward as her hand covered the last remnant of her modesty.

"Good girl."

Your praise was quiet, yet heavy with meaning.

Reaching out, you grasped her wrist, pulling her closer. She resisted—barely—but you easily moved her hand aside. Your other hand traced along her thigh, parting them ever so slightly, revealing her core, wet by her own liquid.

A smirk tugged at your lips.

"What a good wife you are," you murmur, your voice laced with a disturbing amusement. "Already so ready to please me."

Her response catches in her throat—"I—I…"—the words failing her as if the weight of expectation leaves her speechless.

Your hand slides along the curve of her folds, teasing and tracing the delicate creases of her skin. With each measured stroke, your finger becomes slick with her natural arousal. A muffled moan escapes her as her free hand flies to cover her mouth.

Gently, yet inexorably, you press your finger deeper—soaked in her arousal—until it enters her fully. A small gasp betrays her internal struggle as she adjusts to your unyielding pace.

You begin slowly, gradually increasing your movements. Her soft moans rise in hesitant tempo, each one matching the growing rhythm of your advances. Then, you introduce another finger. Her head tilts back involuntarily as you refuse to give her a moment’s reprieve.

"Ahh— no, wait..." she pleads, her voice laced with desperate uncertainty. Yet you do not relent. Instead, you curl your fingers in a deliberate arc, eliciting a sharper shriek from her. With practiced precision, you place your hand over her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

"I… can't... Nnnnggfff..." she struggles against the tide, her words a broken plea amid the mounting intensity. Her hands grip your arm, desperate to slow you down, as her back arches from the force of your intrusion. Her legs tremble, slowly giving out as her body leans on you for support.

"Ah— nnghh..." she murmurs, the sound a conflicted blend of surrender and resistance. Her hand reaches for your shoulder, seeking any anchor to stave off the overwhelming surge. Her body spasms; the tension in her inner walls tightens around your finger, and a rush of her arousal escapes in a final, quivering release.

Abruptly, you withdraw, moving swiftly to grasp her waist as her legs buckle beneath her. You catch her, steadying her as she struggles to remain upright. Her eyes lift to meet yours—wide, searching, and filled with the heavy cadence of labored breaths as she fights to reclaim control.

You watch her, admiring the way her eyes close in ecstasy, and a sudden realization washes over you.

"Haven't I been spoiling you?" you murmur, recalling every stolen moment—in the hotel, in the car—where you’ve consistently taken the lead, always giving pleasure without receiving the same in return.

"I always take the lead. You’ve yet to return the favor," you add, your tone both teasing and expectant.

Jiwon’s expression betrays a mix of understanding and uncertainty. Unsure of how to respond, she remains silent. You close the distance between you, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Your tongues meet and clash in a fervent dance, exchanging heated promises with every breath.

Abruptly, you break the kiss, gently pushing her chin aside to examine her flushed, expectant face. "Kneel," you command.

Without hesitation, she sinks slowly between your knees. Her head lifts to meet yours as you cradle her chin, holding her in place. Her hand wanders to your lap, her eyes shimmering with anticipation as if silently asking what will come next. You trace a slow, deliberate path along her lips with your thumb, savoring the soft warmth as they part slightly.

Leaning in once more, you capture her lips with another searing kiss. You deepen the kiss, then abruptly pull back—a teasing farewell that leaves her yearning for more.

"Well… it’s about time you did something," you say, guiding her hand toward the concealed promise beneath your robe. Her gaze shifts from your eyes to the unmistakable bulge, and with trembling fingers she slips aside the fabric, revealing your erection in all its evidence.

For a long moment, she stares at it, as if trying to reconcile the raw desire before her with the uncertain spark in her own eyes. Gently, you take her hand, guiding it to the sensitive flesh. Her skin is warm under your touch, and as she hesitantly grasps you, you can almost feel the electric pulse of her uncertainty mingling with burgeoning confidence. With measured strokes, you lead her hand along the length of you, the sensations building slowly into an undeniable rhythm.

"That's it... good girl," you murmur, your voice a deep, approving rumble as you watch her confidence grow with every careful stroke. You cup her cheeks, tilting her head upward so that your eyes lock in a wordless conversation of need and surrender. Her hands come to rest momentarily, leaving her lips glistening with anticipation. You trace your fingers along her parted lips, sliding them open with deliberate slowness, savoring the taste of her warm, inviting mouth.

Meeting her gaze again, you softly command, "Jiwon... I want to feel them."

Her hesitant whisper, "Y-you want me to...?" trembles in the charged air, and with a barely perceptible nod of your head, she understands. Inch by inch, she moves closer, positioning herself more deliberately between your legs. You sense the gentle quiver of her skin as she aligns herself, every inch of her body alive with a mix of trepidation and desire.

"I don't know how..." her voice quavers, uncertainty mingling with desire as she prepares herself.

"Kiss it," you instruct, your tone both commanding and gentle.

She leans in, and you feel the delicate warmth of her breath caress the sensitive tip. Her lips make contact—a tentative, feather-light tap that soon deepens as they press against you. You close your eyes for a moment, the sensation of her soft, pliant lips against your skin sending a surge of pleasure rippling through you. Her tongue, at your urging, begins a slow, deliberate exploration, its texture smooth and almost liquid as it swirls around you like a whispered promise.

Without pausing, she takes you deeper, her mouth enveloping you with a hunger that is both raw and exquisitely controlled. "You don’t have to take it all," you murmur, a playful lilt in your voice, "just take what you can. Don’t be greedy." Her movements adjust, each soft, rhythmic bob eliciting a cascade of sensations that pulse through you like electric fire. The soft, wet sounds of her ministrations blend with your own heavy breathing, creating a symphony of raw desire.

"You're a natural," you praise, urging her, "use your tongue." Her eyes lift to meet yours—a silent challenge and invitation—and her tongue resumes its languid, swirling dance.

A low groan escapes you, and you weave your fingers through her hair, feeling its silky texture, as you grip it firmly. Her hand returns to you, stroking with a confident rhythm that matches the escalating heat coursing through your veins. "Jiwon, I'm close..." you confess, the words vibrating with urgency. Instantly, her pace quickens, her motions becoming a blend of gentle precision and fervent need.

The sensations build—each movement, each taste, each whispered moan intensifies the delicious pressure that coalesces within you. With a sudden, overwhelming rush, you climax. You pull her head closer, guiding her to savor every drop of your release as it spills out in hot, heavy waves. The warmth of your essence mingles with her taste, a heady cocktail that electrifies every nerve ending. Her hand instinctively grips your legs, a desperate effort to slow the inevitable tide, tears form in her eyes, yet you hold her firmly in your embrace.

As you finally relent, you gently free her, steadying her trembling form as she staggers slightly, breath ragged and eyes wide with the aftershocks of pleasure. Her lips, still glistening with the remnants of your intensity, part in a silent, awe-filled query.

You cradle her face once more, your fingers soft yet insistent as they squeeze her cheeks and pry open her mouth. "That’s bad etiquette, your supposed to show it to me next time." you explain, your voice a low murmur of possessive satisfaction. In that charged moment, the heady blend of taste, warmth, and the lingering thrill of domination cements the unspoken pact between you—a promise of indulgence, control, and an ever-deepening exploration of every tantalizing sensation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jiwon slowly gathered herself, she could still feel the lingering warmth of his release on her skin, the taste and texture of him clinging to her fingertips as she involuntarily spat out the remnants. The cool air of the room mingled with the residual heat of their union, and she shivered—not solely from the chill, but from the tumult of emotions that surged within her.

Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, she felt his gentle touch on her cheeks. Kneeling beside her, his presence was paradoxically tender and possessive as he reached out with the soft fabric of his bathrobe to dab away the tears staining her flushed skin. The unexpected care, so unlike the harshness that usually followed, startled her into a fleeting blush.

“Tha—thank you,” she managed in a trembling whisper, her voice thick with conflicting gratitude and apprehension.

“You did a good job,” he murmured, his tone imbued with a chilling mix of praise and predation. “Now, it’s time for your reward.”

“Wha—”

Jiwon barely had time to react before he lifted her with ease, placing her back onto the bed. Her breath hitched, body still trembling from the mix of emotions left in the wake of his touch. Gentle one moment. Cruel the next. She should have expected it.

Her hips teetered at the edge of the mattress, and he stood between her parted knees, his hands firm against them, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

‘He's watching me.’

‘Studying me.’

She swallowed as his smirk deepened.

“Isn’t it the wife’s duty to bear a child?”

Jiwon’s nails pressed into the sheets. There it was. The test. The first of many, no doubt.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Her throat tightened. What she wanted? If she laughed, would he see how bitter it sounded? If she cried, would he believe it was an act?

“To be bred?”

Her stomach twisted. He was daring her to reveal herself. Daring her to slip—to prove that she was exactly what he thought she was.

But she couldn’t slip. Not now. Not ever.

‘I didn’t want this.’

‘But I can’t fight it, either.’

‘I have to stay.’

‘I have to endure.’

‘Because if I leave, I lose him completely.’

Her father’s threats still echoed in her head. She could see the cold calculation in the man standing before her, waiting for her reaction, waiting to confirm his suspicions.

So she took a slow, steady breath, willed her expression into something soft, something patient—something that might make him hesitate, just for a second.

And then, she whispered…

“If that’s what you think I want…”

She lifted her gaze to his, unblinking, unwavering.

“Then take me, husband.”

His smirk faltered. Just for a moment. But she saw it.

Without a second's pause, his throbbing cock slammed into her. The suddenness made her bite her lip hard—she gritted her teeth as his tip plunged deep, stretching her tight, yet her slick walls clamped down like they were hungry for every inch. He didn't hesitate at all; he moved inside her like a man on a mission.

“Ahh—please take me…” she moaned, voice raw and desperate.

He shifted, hoisting himself up so that his weight crashed into her hips, pounding her hard against the bed. Every thrust sent a brutal surge of pleasure through her, her mind turning to mush as he filled her up relentlessly.

“Mmngh… it feels… good…” she managed between ragged breaths.

He leaned in close, his pace only ratcheting up as he grabbed one of her breasts and sucked on it roughly. With every forceful stroke, her knuckles went white from gripping the sheets. She could feel him pulsing inside her, each burst of heat making her walls grip him tighter.

“Fuck… Jiwon, I'm cumming,” he growled, his seed erupting deep within her.

As he exploded, her body shuddered, spasming beneath his relentless pace. Her insides burned with warmth as she felt his hot liquid flood through her. Gasping for air, she lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling as the raw intensity washed over her.

Jiwon barely had time to catch her breath before he flipped her over, her legs straddling his waist, her sore, used core pressing against his still-hard cock. Her body twitched, overstimulated, slick with sweat and his release.

Her breath hitched—hot, shaky. She could still feel him inside her, the raw stretch, the pulsing heat of his cum coating her walls. It was filthy, overwhelming, and worst of all, addictive.

Her thighs trembled as she tried to adjust, but his hands gripped her hips, keeping her locked in place. Dominant. Demanding.

“You’re not done,” he murmured, voice low, rough.

A whimper caught in her throat.

Her body knew what he wanted before her mind could protest. The ache between her legs burned, but the way he stretched her, filled her—owned her—sent another pulse of heat straight to her core.

She bit her lip, dizzy, drunk on the mix of pain and pleasure.

She should resist. She should fight. But instead, her hips rolled forward, sinking down onto him again.

And just like that, she was his all over again.

You feel her soft, slick heat as her hips roll forward again, claiming you once more. Every thrust drives home that undeniable truth: she’s yours—if only for this moment. With a low, possessive growl, you murmur in her ear, "You're mine now, Jiwon. My wife. You belong to me." The words slice through the heavy air, and you see a flicker in her eyes—a mix of desire and submission that only fuels your obsession.

Each powerful thrust becomes a tease, a reminder that she’s married to you now. You hammer into her with relentless precision, your hands gripping her hips like anchors, as you whisper, "You're married to me, baby. And every time you give in, you show me you're mine." The admission is as raw as it is maddening—there’s a burning need inside you to claim her completely, even as a bitter edge lingers knowing she isn’t fully yours.

Your movements grow more intense, faster, as you savor her muffled moans and the way her body trembles beneath your control. "You're mine, all mine," you taunt, your voice rough with desire and a hint of anger at the parts of her still beyond your reach. Every time she shudders against you, it only deepens your fixation, stoking the fire of your obsession.

The rhythm builds—a brutal, primal cadence that leaves both of you teetering on the edge. You feel the mounting pressure in your core, each pulse of pleasure a desperate claim staked on her body. With a final, powerful surge, you push her to the brink, the heat of her response mingling with your own as you both climax in a searing explosion of raw, unyielding passion.

In that explosive moment, as you collapse into a ragged pant and feel her trembling around you, you remind yourself: she’s yours, even if not completely. And that thought, as addictive as it is infuriating, leaves you craving more—more of her, more of the thrill of the chase, and more of the undeniable power that comes from claiming her, if only for tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Jiwon noticed upon waking was warmth.

A steady, suffocating heat pressed against her back, an arm locked firmly around her waist, pinning her in place. For a moment, she forgot where she was, the scent of unfamiliar cologne pulling her from the haze of sleep. Then, as the memories of last night settled in, she froze.

His grip was possessive even in sleep, fingers curled against the fabric of her nightgown as if unconsciously staking his claim. His breathing was steady, deep—utterly at ease, unlike the man she had faced hours ago.

Jiwon turned her head slightly, careful not to disturb him. His face, relaxed in slumber, lacked the sharp edges of cruelty he wore so easily when awake. It would have been easy to mistake this moment as something tender, something intimate.

But she knew better.

Slowly, delicately, she moved. His hold tightened briefly before slackening, and with a patient, measured effort, she slipped from beneath his grasp. The sheets rustled as she sat up, brushing her hair back as she exhaled softly.

She had endured.

And she had won.

A quiet, wry smile played on her lips as she recalled the flicker of hesitation in his eyes last night. A test, he had called it, but wasn’t she testing him too? Every step she took, every word she spoke—each one was carefully measured, carefully placed. She would prove herself, not through grand gestures or desperate pleas, but through patience.

Through endurance.

With renewed resolve, Jiwon rose, slipping into a robe as she made her way to the kitchen.

Cooking had never been something expected of her, but she had learned in the moments she needed to. And today, she needed to.

The kitchen was unfamiliar but elegant, the kind of space meant for functionality rather than warmth. She moved quietly, tying her sleeves back as she set to work. By the time the sun fully broke past the horizon, a modest breakfast had been laid out—a bowl of warm rice, side dishes arranged neatly, and a pot of fresh tea waiting beside them.

Jiwon sat, fingers brushing the rim of her teacup, waiting.

The sound of a door opening signaled his arrival.

He emerged from the bedroom fully dressed, his presence effortlessly commanding as he adjusted his cufflinks. He didn’t spare her a glance at first, his focus entirely on the watch he fastened around his wrist.

Then, finally, his gaze flickered toward the table.

Jiwon straightened, offering a soft smile. “Good morning.”

He didn’t return it. Instead, his eyes swept over the meal before returning to her, unreadable.

“You’re eager,” he remarked, voice edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Jiwon remained composed, lifting the teapot to pour him a cup. “I thought it would be nice to eat together.”

His lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile. “You’re rather good at this, aren’t you?”

She stilled slightly, glancing up. “At what?”

“At playing the role.”

The words were sharp, cutting.

“You act like the perfect wife—cooking, smiling, waiting patiently.” He stepped past the table, reaching for his coat. “But devotion doesn’t come so easily, does it?”

Jiwon’s fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, but her smile never wavered.

He shrugged on his jacket, glancing at her one last time. “Keep pretending, Jiwon. You’re good at that.”

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

The door shut behind him with a soft but final click.

Jiwon sat there, the morning light spilling across the table, the warmth of the untouched meal cooling by the second.

She exhaled, forcing down the sting of his words.

He didn’t appreciate her effort. That much was clear.

But that was fine.

She had known from the start that this wouldn’t be easy.

So she would endure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day drags on longer than it should.

You sit in your office, drowning in paperwork, drowning in thoughts you don’t want to have. No matter how many meetings you sit through, how many reports you skim over, your mind keeps circling back to her. Jiwon. Her voice, her presence, the way she had looked at you this morning with quiet understanding despite the venom in your words.

It frustrates you. It infuriates you.

You don’t want to think about her.

And yet, as the day turns to night, as the city lights blur past the window of your car, you realize you’re anticipating the sight of her waiting at home.

By the time you step through the door, the house is silent, but not empty. The first thing you see is her—head resting on folded arms, her body slumped forward against the dining table. The soft rise and fall of her shoulders tells you she’s asleep.

Your gaze shifts. The table is set. A meal untouched, slightly cooled, waiting for someone who never arrived.

You pause. Something twists in your chest, unfamiliar and unwanted.

Then, as if sensing you, she stirs. Her lashes flutter, and she blinks sleepily, eyes meeting yours.

She doesn’t complain. Doesn’t scold. Instead, she straightens, quickly smoothing her hair, adjusting her her blouse, straightening her skirt as if she had never dozed off. A small smile finds her lips.

"You're home," she says softly, as if the hour doesn’t matter, as if she isn’t tired.

She moves to tidy the table, but you step forward. Closer than she expects.

She stills.

The space between you shrinks, suffocatingly close. You see the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch slightly, caught off guard.

"Sit," you say, voice lower than intended. "Eat with me."

She hesitates for just a second before nodding, slipping into obedience like it’s second nature. She acts perfect. Too perfect.

Not a single question about why you’re late. No complaints, no discontent, just quiet acceptance. She plays the role of a devoted wife flawlessly.

So flawlessly it’s insulting.

Her eyes hold nothing but innocence, and that alone makes you hate her.

How can she look at you like that? As if she’s pure, as if she’s untouched by the circumstances that brought you together. As if she isn’t just as tangled in the lies, in the schemes, in the things left unspoken between you.

It’s condescending.

It’s infuriating.

And before you realize it, you’re closing the distance completely, fingers curling around her wrist as you pull her toward you. She barely has time to react before your lips crash against hers.

A gasp. A shiver.

Then she melts.

Not fighting. Not pushing away.

Because of course, she wouldn’t.

You lift her with ease, carrying her toward the bedroom. A blur of heat and desperation, of control slipping through your fingers.

She lets you take her. Because she wants you to trust her.

Because she wants to.

You sit her at the edge of the bed, standing before her, watching. Her breath is uneven, her flushed face tilted up, eyes locked onto yours. There's something different now—a shift. The same hesitance lingers, but beneath it, a quiet resolve. A waiting.

You pause, searching her expression, hoping—no, daring her—to break the silence, to say something that isn’t just compliance. But before you can push, before you can test her further, she moves first.

Jiwon reaches for you, her fingers brushing your jaw, then gripping, pulling you closer with a force that surprises you. And then her lips crash into yours—clumsy, desperate, but deep.

For the first time, she takes the lead.

You stiffen, startled, but the hesitation is brief. Her kiss is unpracticed, unsteady, but there's no mistaking the hunger behind it. It’s raw, unfiltered, and it ignites something sharp in your chest. A slow-burning ache.

You let her pull you down, her body shifting back as you follow, both of you sinking into the bed. The warmth of her beneath you, the way her breath hitches as your weight presses her down—it feeds something dark and possessive inside you.

She’s yours.

But is this surrender, or something else? A game? A test?

You pull back just enough to look into her eyes, searching, challenging. She meets your gaze, lips parted, her fingers still gripping you as if afraid you'd slip away.

She’s not afraid.

She wants this.

And that realization undoes you more than it should.

You lean in, pressing your lips against her neck and trailing heated kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling her soft gasps escape as your mouth travels toward her throat. Your hands work quickly, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal the delicate line of her bra. With a swift motion, you pull it aside, exposing her supple breast, which you immediately take into your mouth, sucking on it with an eager, possessive hunger. Her low, purring “Hnnng…” vibrates against your lips.

Never pausing, your hands move to loosen the rest of her clothes. Her hips respond instinctively—lifting as her skirt slides away to pool at the bed’s edge. You trail your kisses down to her stomach, letting your lips brush softly against her skin as your hands adjust, preemptively parting her thighs to guide you toward her center.

You slide her panties aside, exposing every enticing curve of her wet folds. Breathing in her arousal, you plunge your tongue inside, tasting her heat. A soft “Ahn—” escapes her as you explore her depths, your tongue playing over her sensitive core. You flick her clit teasingly before taking it fully into your mouth, sucking with a deliberate, insistent rhythm. Her wetness mixes with your saliva as you delve into her, every movement igniting sparks of desire.

“Jiwon… you keep gushing out, no matter how much I suck,” you murmur with a husky edge, a mixture of amusement and dark satisfaction in your tone.

“Wait—” she protests, her voice tight with the mounting pleasure.

You don’t relent. “I said—wait—” you command, though your actions speak louder than any pause ever could.

“Please… I’m… cumming—” she gasps, and her body betrays her words as it surges toward climax. In an explosive moment, her release splatters across your face—hot, sticky, and all-consuming. “Ahh…” she cries out as her body arches in ecstasy, then adds with a hint of mortification, “I—told you to wait—.”

“No problem…” you reply, wiping your face casually as her body continues to convulse on the bed. “Jiwon—you’re still twitching,” you tease with a grin, your voice low and laced with possessiveness.

Gently, you shift her so that a soft pillow cradles her head, offering her a brief moment of rest as you unzip your pants and pull out your throbbing cock. She watches every movement with wide, anticipatory eyes. Positioning yourself between her spread legs, you begin to rub your length along her slick, inviting entrance.

“Don’t worry, just relax and I’ll put it in—” you whisper. You search her face for signs of nervousness, but instead find her eyes locked on your cock—not with hesitation, but with burning anticipation and a subtle, impatient squirm of her hips. You almost laugh at the transformation: the Jiwon who once carried an air of innocence now succumbs to raw lust, unable to wait any longer.

“Ah… haah…” she pants as you slowly push inside her, pausing to savor her reaction. For a moment, she looks up at you in confusion, then stammers, “You— you can move,” her embarrassment masking the depth of her desire.

Her words barely register as her moans intensify. “It’s so deep…” she murmurs through gasps, the sensation overwhelming her senses. The sound of her voice provokes you, and you grip her feet, pressing them together while your hands hold her ankles high, forcing her thighs closed around you. Her hips rise instinctively as you tease, “Do you like it deep?” ramping up your pace, every thrust a declaration of ownership.

“You fit me so well, Jiwon…” you murmur, the possessiveness in your tone unmistakable. Her hands fly to her mouth, as if to stifle her own words, but you’re far from finished. You move her hand to her lips and then guide her mouth to your ear, demanding, “Let me hear you, Jiwon—moan for me… tell me how good you feel… swear for me.”

You set aside her legs and lean in closer, folding her over you as you pump her harder, each thrust a wild rhythm that echoes through the dark room. “Fu—fuuckk… it feels so good,” she swears hesitantly, her voice raw with lust and surrender.

“Good girl,” you praise her, your tone a mix of command and satisfaction as her moans grow louder. “I’m… close…” she confesses, breath ragged as the heat and pressure push her toward her peak.

You lean in, your voice a low growl as you demand, “Whose wife are you, Jiwon?”

“Yours,” she gasps, the truth spilling out in the heat of the moment.

“Whose cock are you getting off to?”

“You… yours,” she replies without hesitation.

“Who owns you?” you press, your words a final, irresistible challenge.

Before she can complete her sentence, your own climax hits. With one final, desperate thrust, you release deep inside her, your seed marking her as undeniably yours.

“Good girl,” you murmur again, a possessive smile tugging at your lips as you gaze into her eyes—eyes that reflect satisfaction, comfort, and an undeniable, reluctant affection.

As her body slowly relaxes and her moans fade into soft breaths, you catch a whispered, unexpected question. “Do—do you want more?”

That single query ignites you anew. With a fierce grin and a burning need, you pull her close, ready to continue the savage dance of desire. The night stretches out before you—each moment a relentless, raw reclamation of her body and soul. You fuck her repeatedly as the hours melt away, every thrust, every whispered command forging an unbreakable link between you two.

With each round, your dominance and obsession deepen—a potent mix of pleasure, pain, and the undeniable thrill of claiming what is half-yours, half-her own. As the night fades into a haze of lust and sweat, you continue your brutal, passionate conquest, knowing that in this dark, endless moment, she is irrevocably and utterly yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiwon stirred awake, warmth enveloping her in the quiet of the morning. The sheets tangled around her bare skin, the lingering scent of last night still present in the air. She turned her head slightly, eyes landing on him—peaceful, unguarded in sleep. His arm was draped over her waist, his fingers curled lightly against her side, as if unconsciously holding onto her.

A small, secret smile formed on her lips.

For a moment, she allowed herself to believe. To believe that last night had meant something. That the passion he had poured into her, the way he had claimed her over and over again, was more than just a response to his own torment. That maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to let her in.

Carefully, she reached up, her fingertips ghosting over his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw. He had been different last night—less cruel, less guarded. She had whispered his name like a prayer, breathless and undone beneath him, her body surrendering completely, her voice filled with lewd, desperate pleas for more. And he had given her everything.

Last night, she had belonged to him in every possible way.

Her fingers trailed lower, brushing against his lips.

Then, his eyes opened.

For a moment, there was something soft in them—something almost like contentment. He stared at her, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if on the verge of a smile.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

His gaze darkened, his expression turning to stone. Without a word, he flicked her hand away, the contact breaking as if it burned him.

Jiwon barely had time to process the shift before he was already moving, throwing the sheets off as he sat up, his back to her. Without sparing her another glance, he stood and strode toward the bathroom, the door closing with a sharp click.

The warmth she had felt just moments ago faded, replaced with something hollow.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe. Then, slowly, she gathered herself, slipping out of bed and into her robe.

If last night had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t let this shake her.

By the time he emerged from the room, freshly dressed and ready to leave, Jiwon had already set the table, breakfast neatly arranged. She turned to greet him, her voice soft, carefully measured.

“Good morning.”

His steps faltered for the briefest second, his expression tightening as he took in the sight of her. The tension in his shoulders increased, his scowl deepening as if her very presence offended him.

Then, without a word, he walked past her, grabbing his coat on the way out. The door shut firmly behind him, the sound echoing in the empty space.

Jiwon stood still, her hands resting lightly on the back of a chair. Her gaze lingered on the untouched plates, the food now growing cold.

Last night, she had felt closer to him than ever before. The way he had touched her, the way he had whispered against her skin, the way she had surrendered to him, her voice raw with devotion—it had felt real. But now, in the light of morning, he was more distant than ever.

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening against the wood.

She had changed, hadn’t she? The innocent girl from before would have never acted the way she did last night. She would have never begged for him, never cursed in her moans, never admitted—without shame—that she was his.

He had ruined her.

Or perhaps… she had let him.

a/n: Part 4 comming....

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #Jiwon smut #fromis 9 smut #fromis 9 #park jiwon #qwilorg

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