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armpirate · 15 hours ago

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The Vows Between Us || Jungkook

pairing: JK x fem!reader || Arranged marriage

w.c.: 13.6k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected sex, teasing, edging (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 40 / 50 minutes

Summary: For Jungkook, marrying you was a calculated move -a necessary step to secure the company that was rightfully his. But also a move to know you'd be his after years of looking at you from afar. For you, it was an escape from the gilded cage your family had locked you in. What neither of you anticipated was the spark that would ignite in the ashes of your arrangement. But in a world where every touch felt like a promise and every whisper hid a secret, falling for him was your first mistake. Because just when you thought his heart might truly be yours, you uncovered the truth. Or so you thought.

MASTERLIST

The air inside Jungkook's office was warm and suffocating despite the minimalistic modern design and large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berlin's skyline. You stepped inside with measured steps, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Jungkook was already there, leaning against the edge of his grand wooden desk with his long tattooed fingers wrapping around the pen that kept swirling on his digits every few seconds, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"You're early," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something smug.

"I prefer to get unpleasant things over with quickly," you replied, your tone cool and detached as you slipped off your coat. "I assume your father told you why I'm here."

Jungkook chuckled, swirling the pen one last time before putting it down. "Oh, I know. The future Mrs. Jeon wants to 'discuss terms,' right? Sounds like a business merger already." his dark eyes gleamed with interest as he looked you up and down, deliberately slow. "But I'm curious, why did you finally agree? You seemed so determined to avoid me before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not everything is about you, Jungkook. My reasons are my own."

The smirk faltered for a split second before returning, this time tinged with something bittersweet. "Fair enough," he said, straightening up and taking a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. "But you'll have to get used to things being about us. At least, that's what everyone else will expect starting next weekend."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You kept your expression neutral, tilting your head just slightly. "Let's get one thing straight, this marriage may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jungkook smiled -slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

That sentence alone had you rolling your eyes, trying to control yourself from slipping your tongue on how disgusted you were by that whole thing.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of yourbag. "As long as you understand where we stand, this arrangement might work. We'll play the perfect couple for the public. But behind closed doors, we keep our distance until we sign the divorce papers. Simple."

Jungkook stepped closer, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath hitch. His cologne -warm and spicy- wrapped around you like an invisible trap. "Keep our distance?" he repeated, his voice low, almost amused. "Is that what you want? Because that's not what it looked like back at that business gala... when you couldn't stop staring."

As much as you wanted to deny it, your eyes were indeed on him the whole time. He was charming and captivating, it was impossible to move your eyes away from him. But that hypnosis lasted until his family came up with the idea of imposing that marriage on you. He lost all his charm just at that moment.

You narrowed your eyes. "I was staring at the disaster unfolding around me, not at you."

Jungkook smirked, tilting his head. "Right. That's why your eyes followed me the entire night." he leaned in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "You're good at playing it cold, Y/n. But I wonder how long you can keep that act up once we're married."

You refused to back down, your voice calm despite the spark of irritation in your chest. "I've dealt with men far more intimidating than you, Jungkook. Trust me, keeping you at arm's length won't be a challenge."

A flicker of something darker crossed his eyes -something almost dangerous. For a moment, the air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

"Good," Jungkook finally said, his voice a whisper. "Keep trying to resist me. It'll make it that much more fun when you fail."

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step back, reclaiming the distance. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever fall for you."

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in amused awe as he took on the challenge. "We'll see, future Mrs. Jeon. We've got a lifetime to test that theory."

You turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected you. But as you walked toward the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jungkook was right. The real challenge wasn't staying distant -it was making sure you didn't get burned by the fire between you.

"By the way, you mentioned divorce... didn't you?" your tracks stopped the second he mentioned that detail, hearing his heavy steps behind you as he approached his body.

Slowly, you turned to him, unable to back down on your stance "That's what we agreed on."

"Some deals suffer changes as they have to meet different necessities, don't you think?" the way his eyebrows arched, while his lips pursed on a mocking grin almost had you losing your patience. "Divorce was ever on the plate? Because I don't think it was one of my conditions".

"No, it was one of mine" you spat back. "Either sign those divorce papers on good terms, or I'll drag you from one trial to another" Jungkook loved the challenge, he loved the way your eyes fixed on him to make sure he understood everything you were saying.

"What if I don't want to sign them?"

"Then you'll have to find another dumbass to agree to get married to you" you rolled your eyes, thinking that would be the end of your conversation, but his fingers hooked on your elbow to stop you from walking away.

You weren't sure exactly when he got so close, but you could feel the warm air escaping his nostrils on your cheeks.

"Don't try to throw a fist at me" he stopped you. "You're so used to getting what you want, don't you? You pout a little, you act a little bitchy and daddy gives you all you want. Let me give you a spoiler: that won't work with me. The moment you're my wife, you'll do as I say. And if I say I don't want to get divorced, then you won't get those fucking papers".

Your eyes started to water: rage, sadness, frustration... All those feelings were building up as you realized you got to a no-exit stop. Your plans were crumbling down, all your ideas were getting ruined, and all you could do was tighten your lips and open your eyes as much as possible so tears wouldn't escape with a blink.

Daddy's girl? He had absolutely no idea. If you were living in such a perfect place, you wouldn't have agreed in the first place, but the fact that your parents -or people who gave you shelter when you needed it- agreed on engaging their daughter with a complete stranger for money should've given him enough of a hint of your reality.

"Your choice" you managed to get rid of his grip. "Either sign those papers, or I'll make sure to tell everyone what all of this is about".

"You won't. And you wanna know how I know?" he took one step closer to you. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do".

"With what power?"

Your mocking tone was the last straw before he moved his hand from your elbow to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and slamming your body against the wide door.

"I don't need any power for that." his eyes were dark, his threat becoming a promise "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret ever messing with me. So you better come with a pretty dress and the best of attitudes next weekend". He let go of your throat slowly, calmly placing his shirt properly "I know you'll make the best decision" he finally said.

Your eyes were fixed on him, confused at how easily he let you go. And, somehow, his words were even scarier than his actions, because you could see the threat through them.

The grand hall was filled with muted whispers and expectant gazes, the air thick with anticipation. The soft hum of violins played in the background, their melody delicate but almost haunting. The guests sat in rows beneath an arch of white roses and crystal chandeliers, their eyes flitting between the tall doors at the back of the aisle and Jungkook, who stood at the altar in his perfectly tailored black suit, waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stole a glance at the watch, sliding the sleeve of his jacket just a bit far up.

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen.

You weren't there.

He told himself you'd show up. You had to. But with each passing second, doubt sank its claws deeper into him. His heart pounded, and the polished facade he wore so well began to crack. Was this your way of backing out? A silent rebellion against a marriage neither of you had chosen? Were you actually telling the truth when you said you wouldn't show up if he didn't promise you a divorce?

The doors remained closed, and Jungkook's jaw tightened. His father, seated in the front row, shot him a warning glance -one that practically screamed "Handle this".

Then, just as his patience teetered on the edge of collapse, the heavy doors finally creaked open.

A hush fell over the crowd.

And there you were.

You stood at the entrance in your wedding dress, the long veil trailing behind you, catching the soft light like a halo. For a moment, the room seemed to blur around you, everything fading except the heavy thud of your heart. You could feel every eye on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your feet felt like concrete as you took your first step. Hesitation rooted itself deep inside you, your body caught in a battle between instinct and obligation.

Jungkook watched you with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His dark eyes flickered with a thousand questions. You couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed or how his lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

Step by step, you made your way down the aisle, but each step felt heavier than the last. Doubt whispered cruelly in your ear. "You don't have to do this" you told yourself.

Your fingers clutched the bouquet so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced yourself forward, your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet Jungkook's eyes until you stood just a breath away from him.

"Finally," Jungkook muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

There was relief in his tone, but it was wrapped in a layer of frustration.

The officiant began to speak, his words echoing in the cavernous hall. You barely registered them, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Jungkook's eyes never left yours. His expression was calm on the surface, but you could see the storm raging just beneath it: fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing.

"And now," the officiant said, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind, "if the bride and groom would like to exchange their vows."

Jungkook went first. His voice was steady, but the practiced words carried an unexpected weight, laced with sincerity that caught you off guard.

"I promise to protect you," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "To stand beside you through whatever comes next. No matter what happens... I'm yours."

There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes -just a flash- but it was enough to send your heart lurching in your chest.

Then it was your turn. The officiant turned to you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came.

A heavy silence hung in the air. It stretched long enough to make the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the soft melody of the violins seemed to falter.

Everything you had prepared so mindfully disappeared at the feeling of being so watched, as if you were under watchful eye. You were sure it'd be obvious you weren't feeling either of the words you were pronouncing.

Jungkook's fingers curled slightly at his sides, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Do you, Y/n, take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawfully wedded husband?" his tone was insistent, as if he wanted to get any words from you to get all of that over with.

The pause that followed was suffocating. You felt Jungkook's breath catch, his entire body coiled tight, ready to unravel.

Although he hoped you wouldn't humiliate him that way, he saw you completely able to do it.

Finally, you whispered the words.

"...I do."

Your voice was barely audible, a breath more than a declaration. But it was enough.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The officiant smiled, oblivious to the war waging between the two of you. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jungkook hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before leaning in. Your head immediately threw back slightly, enough for him to know you didn't want that kiss and make it seem like a shy move for the rest of the assistants. His hand found your waist -firm but not forceful- as he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, calculated for the audience, but the heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. Jungkook had been daydreaming way too long about it to waste that chance.

His lips were warm against yours, but there was something else beneath the surface. A question. A challenge.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours once more. He didn't smile. Neither did you.

The applause from the crowd felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.

As the two of you turned to face the audience, Jungkook leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"We're just getting started," he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

You kept your face neutral, your expression unreadable, but your pulse betrayed you, thudding wildly in your chest.

The reception was a spectacle of luxury and elegance, just as expected from a merger of two powerful families. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where hundreds of guests mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging polite congratulations.

You smiled and nodded your way through countless conversations, always keeping one eye on Jungkook. He was never far, and every time you saw him start toward you, you slipped between groups of guests or ducked behind another table.

You had managed to avoid him all night. At the cake-cutting ceremony, his hand had hovered near yours on the knife, holding tighter over your skin as you threatened to let the long sword slide from your fingers to his throat. And for a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, yet he only smirked and moved closer to you. You were quick to turn away, disappearing into the crowd the moment the applause broke, trying to get away from him.

Jungkook, however, was nothing if not persistent.

The moment you saw him again, his dark eyes locked onto yours from across the dance floor. This time, there was no escape. The crowd parted just enough for him to make his way toward you, his strides deliberate and confident.

"Running from me again?" he said when he reached you, his voice low, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

You lifted your chin, forcing your expression to stay composed. "I wasn't running. I was... mingling with the guests."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Right. Mingling." he offered his hand, palm open and waiting. "Well, it's time for the first dance, Mrs. Jeon. You wouldn't want to disappoint our guests, would you?"

Your stomach tightened at the weight of his words. There was no getting out of this. Not without causing a scene.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you couldn't help but notice how easily they fit together.

The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of "You Are the Reason" by Calum Scott filled the air. A sweet, tender song -one that felt far too intimate for the situation, as if it was meant for two people who loved each other.

Jungkook led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand resting gently on your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up today," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes searched yours, the teasing edge gone now, replaced by something far more serious. "You made me worried."

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a split second before meeting his again. "I was... thinking things through."

His hand tightened slightly on your waist. "Did you change your mind at the last minute?"

For a moment, you didn't answer. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. The song swelled around you, the lyrics wrapping around your heart like a bittersweet lullaby.

You knew hell would be nothing compared to your life if you didn't show up to the wedding. Not because of Jungkook or his family though, but your adoptive parents. The moment you twisted all of their plans, there would be no escape from it.

At least with Jungkook you wouldn't owe anyone anything. Instead, you'd be the one they owe something to.

Jungkook's eyes softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you had, I would've waited. I would've found another way."

Your breath hitched. His words caught you off guard -unexpected and disarming. For the first time that night, the wall you had so carefully built around yourself began to crack.

He seemed so genuine, so caring.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "That's all that matters."

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah. You're here."

The music continued, the world around you fading as you moved together in perfect synchrony. His touch was light yet grounding, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a fleeting second, you forgot about the crowd, the expectations, the tangled mess of your circumstances. It was just the two of you, swaying gently beneath the chandeliers, the lyrics of the song weaving a story neither of you was ready to admit aloud.

As the final notes faded, Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

"You can keep running all you want," he said, his breath warm on your skin. "But sooner or later, you'll stop. And when you do... I'll be right here, waiting."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smirk, no mask, just him.

The applause from the crowd broke the spell, and you quickly stepped back, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Jungkook let you go, but his eyes stayed on you, dark and unreadable, as if daring you to run again.

And maybe you would. But for the first time, a small part of you wondered if running was really what you wanted. No, you stayed by his side, answering to his challenge with the same power he was showing off.

The party blurred into a collection of clinking glasses, polite congratulations, and watchful eyes. Despite the sea of guests surrounding you, you felt like you were holding your breath the entire time. So when Jungkook leaned close and whispered, "Let's get out of here," you didn't argue. If he hadn't said it, you probably would've escaped by yourself.

Now, the two of you sat in the back of a sleek black car, the hum of the city filling the silence between you. The driver navigated the streets with ease, the warm glow of streetlights flashing across the car's interior.

Jungkook sat beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes kept drifting toward your hand -the wedding ring glinting softly on your finger. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring.

You caught him once, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, something unreadable flashed across his face. "No," he said quietly. "Just getting used to the sight."

You turned your hand slightly, the light catching on the diamond. The ring was beautiful, of course -a complex design that was probably picked out by your parents and Jungkook's father rather than by either of you. It felt foreign on your finger, a constant reminder of the deal you'd made.

Jungkook's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft, almost contemplative.

You said nothing, turning your head to watch the city rush by through the window. Jungkook simply smirked, knowing that your silence was better than a sassy response from you.

When the car finally pulled up to the luxury hotel, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. Jungkook followed close behind, his hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching.

The suite was exactly what you expected -grand and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Brandenburg Gate. A bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolates waited on the marble table, while a large king-sized bed sat at the center of the room, draped in crisp white linens.

You set your bag down and turned to Jungkook, folding your arms across your chest. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "The couch?"

"It's comfortable enough," you said, nodding toward the plush, oversized sofa near the window. "Plenty of space."

Jungkook took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "We're married now, remember? Sharing the bed won't kill us."

You scoffed lightly, crossing the room to stand by the couch. "Not happening." You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You take the bed. I'll sleep here." you rushed to say, feeling your energy consumed by the small talk you made with all the guests.

"No." his response was immediate, his tone firm. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then am I sleeping on the floor?" you arched an eyebrow "Because I won't sleep with you in the same bed".

You stared at him, daring him to argue further. But to your surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch."

His sudden surrender caught you off guard. "Just like that?"

He smirked faintly, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

You watched him for a moment, suspicious of how easily he gave in, but ultimately decided not to push it. "Good. I'll get ready for bed."

As you disappeared into the bathroom, Jungkook sank onto the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions. He glanced at the wedding ring on his own hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. For all his confidence and charm, there was something strangely grounding about the weight of the band.

As much as that wasn't the way he wanted you to be by his side, it somehow made him feel good.

When you returned, dressed in something far more comfortable than your wedding gown, Jungkook was already stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Comfortable?" you asked, standing by the bed.

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "I've had worse."

You rolled your eyes and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up around you. For a few moments, silence filled the room, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, you heard Jungkook's voice -quiet but clear in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You hesitated before responding, your voice soft. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

Neither of you said anything after that, but sleep didn't come easily. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, painfully aware of his presence just a few feet away.

The distance between you felt both vast and dangerously fragile. And as the minutes stretched into hours, you couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The morning started quietly -too quietly. You woke up, blinking against the soft morning light spilling into the room, only to find Jungkook already sitting on the couch, his phone in hand. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the night before, was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had spent the night on a couch after your wedding.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking to yours the second you stirred. His voice was calm, but there was something smug lurking just beneath the surface, as if he was already one step ahead of you.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to sound composed. "Morning."

A few beats of silence passed, too long to be comfortable.

"You were tossing and turning last night," Jungkook said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept just fine," you lied, standing and heading for your bag. You could feel his eyes on your every move, sharp and assessing.

"You sure? You sounded restless." his voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You froze, giving him a flat look. "Were you listening to me sleep?"

He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's hard not to when someone mutters 'This is a mistake' at 2 a.m."

Your face heated. "I did not..."

"You did." his smirk widened. "I thought about waking you up to ask what you meant, but I figured I'd let you dream about it instead."

You crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. "Thanks for your consideration, Jungkook."

"Anything for you, love," he said, drawing out the word with deliberate sarcasm.

"You've really mastered being annoying, haven't you?" you shot back, heading toward the closet.

"Years of practice," he said, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "You'll get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, yanking open your suitcase with unnecessary force. "God forbid."

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, walking over to lean casually against the wall beside you. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you like this."

You turned to glare at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The bickering. The back-and-forth. Admit it, it's fun."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jungkook, not everything is a game. And if you think this -whatever this is- counts as fun, then we're going to have a very long, very difficult marriage."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "A long marriage... Sounds like you're planning to stick around. It does sound really good to me."

"Oh my god," you muttered, turning on your heel. "I can't do this right now."

You stalked toward the bathroom, determined to get a moment's peace.

"You're already giving up?" he called after you. "We've been married for less than 24 hours, Y/n!"

"I'm not giving up. I'm taking a shower," you snapped, slamming the bathroom door shut.

The water was a relief, washing away some of the tension, but your frustration lingered like a storm cloud. And then, halfway through shampooing your hair, you realized something.

You forgot to bring clothes.

You let out a frustrated groan, rinsing the shampoo quickly before wrapping yourself in a towel. The last thing you wanted was to ask Jungkook for help, so you cracked the door open and peeked out.

He was still there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for your return like some smug predator.

Of course.

You squared your shoulders and stepped out, keeping your head high as you made your way toward the bag.

Jungkook's eyes found you immediately, sweeping over your damp hair and the towel wrapped tightly around you. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Forgot something?" his voice was low and teasing.

"Not a word," you warned, grabbing your clothes.

But before you could escape back to the bathroom, his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were warm, firm, and far too steady for someone who was enjoying this way too much.

"Why bother going back?" he said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that always made your pulse race. "You're already here."

You tightened your grip on your towel. "Let me go, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a slow, deliberate motion. "Why? What's the big deal? We're married now, remember?"

Your breath caught, but you forced your voice to stay steady. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."

He leaned in just slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "Then prove it. Get changed right here." His gaze dropped for a split second before meeting yours again, his voice barely a whisper. "Unless you're shy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not shy."

You weren't shy, but you didn't like the way your body was reacting to his voice, to his petition and his proximity. And you certainly didn't want him to see it so clearly either.

"Then go ahead," he said, his voice practically daring you.

You glared at him, yanking your wrist free. "Turn around."

"I'm not turning around" he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's the fun of it if I can't see you?"

He was trying to intimidate you, challenge you to do something he thought you wouldn't dare to do, so he could then tease you about it.

Two could play that game.

You placed the clothes on the bed, next to where he was. Taking one step back, your hands were placed on both edges of the towel, slowly undoing the knot to let it pool at your feet. Jungkook gulped thick at the sight, not expecting you to actually get naked in front of him, and even less that way, and it gave you a pinch of pride at how nervous he looked for a second.

You didn't need to do anything, just that stare and the sight of your body alone was enough to awaken the most primal needs. His body responded to you, even if it had been just a second he saw you. Your humid skin, the way some drops fell from your hair and rolled down the curve of your breast to get to your hardened nipple. His mouth was watering just with the need of tasting you.

Jungkook blinked, confused at the way your hand was stretched out for him, "The panties" you mentioned as if it were obvious.

His hand moved to his left, grabbing the fabric to hand it out to you. You put them on torturously slow, covering your lower half to snap your fingers and asking him for your bra. Placing the strips on your shoulders, you turned to him, your body fitting perfectly in between his semi-parted legs as you silently asked him to tie the clasp.

Shivers ran through your body at the contact of the reverse of his fingers on your skin, his touch holding on longer than necessary, just because he liked the way you felt as he touched you a little bit too much.

You didn't need to ask, because Jungkook moved to the next item the moment you stepped away.

He should've seen it coming for him when he saw you lifting your feet, placing it on his thigh -way too close to a place where he needed you like crazy. Your fingers moved calmly, sliding the tight over your leg, up the curve of your knee, moving it past your thigh. Yet Jungkook could only focus on how your warmth spread over his skin like wildfire, making him feel you were touching him in places you were not.

When you finally stepped back to put on the other side of the tight, and the rest of clothes, Jungkook felt like he could breathe again, his control coming back to him when he was able to think straight -which also happened when you were fully clothed again.

You thought he'd hesitate or act shy, but instead his cocky attitude came back as he stood up, the height difference becoming obvious again as he towered over you.

"See how it isn't that difficult to be a good girl?" he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You'd have thrown a shoe at him if he hadn't hidden inside the bathroom immediately after airing out that response.

He was insufferable.

The car ride to Jungkook's house was quiet, tense, and far too long for your liking. The morning sun bathed the streets in gold, but it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere inside the vehicle. Jungkook sat beside you, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you as you stared resolutely out the window.

He had been surprisingly well-behaved since the towel incident, keeping his teasing remarks to a minimum -though his occasional glances were enough to keep you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his house, your eyes widened slightly. House was an understatement. It was a sprawling modern estate with sleek glass panels, sharp architectural lines, and an air of quiet luxury.

"Home sweet home," Jungkook said, stepping out of the car and holding the door open for you with a half-smirk.

You stepped out, clutching your overnight bag tightly. "Big enough so we won't have to see each other for a whole day"

"Thanks for noticing," he quipped. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

You followed him up the steps, trying not to be too impressed as you took in the pristine interior-marble floors, minimalist décor, and massive windows that flooded the space with light.

"Kitchen's over there," Jungkook said, gesturing toward an open-concept area with gleaming countertops. "Dining room, living room... you know, standard rich-guy stuff."

"Right," you said dryly. "Because this is completely normal."

He glanced back at you with a grin. "You'll get used to it." the mockery on his tone, knowing damn too well you were used to all that luxury and more, shouldn't have been as funny as it seemed for you.

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to avoid his gaze. The tension from earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, replaced by an odd sense of anticipation.

"Upstairs," Jungkook said, leading you to the second floor. You followed him down a hallway lined with modern artwork and huge windows, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors.

He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway and turned to you. "This is your room."

You blinked, caught off guard. "My... room?"

Jungkook nodded, his expression unreadable. "I figured you'd want your own space."

Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had fully expected him to make some smug comment about sharing a bed -or worse, insist on it. But there he was, offering you something you hadn't dared to hope for: distance.

"Thanks," you said quietly, stepping into the room. It was beautiful -spacious, with a king-sized bed, soft cream-colored walls, and a large window that overlooked the shared garden of the building. There was even an en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

You indeed wouldn't need to get out there, except to eat.

"Your things are in the closet" he started. "You didn't bring a lot of things, so I guess you'll bring the rest later?"

"No, that's it" you whispered.

Jungkook stopped for a second, shocked about the fact that you only brought a medium suitcase and the bag you were carrying to pack up all of your things. It wasn't like he was expecting a full suitcase display from you, but certainly not something so minimal.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything," Jungkook said, lingering in the doorway. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado fading just a little. "Seriously. Anything."

For a brief second, the air between you shifted. He wasn't teasing or smug. He just looked... sincere.

You hesitated, feeling the strange urge to say something more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you gave him a small nod. "I'll be fine."

He smiled faintly, stepping back. "Alright. Settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

As he walked away, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then again, with Jungkook, nothing ever stayed calm for long.

The first month of marriage was nothing short of a battlefield.

It didn't take long for every small interaction to turn into a heated argument. Jungkook always had something to say -sharp and sarcastic, ready to push your buttons at every opportunity. You were no better, meeting his smug remarks with icy glares and curt responses. It became a game, a war of words and wills, with neither of you willing to surrender.

There were good moments, but they were fleeting. It started with you finding out Jungkook filled up your closet with different clothes and accessories, adding up to the small suitcase you first brought. And it slowly evolved into a laugh shared over breakfast when Jungkook nearly burned his toast. A surprisingly comfortable evening spent watching a movie in silence, where the tension seemed to ease just a little. But those moments were always overshadowed by the endless tug-of-war that followed.

It was exhausting, that constant dance of hostility and fleeting truce.

Every day felt like a test of who could push the other further without breaking. The house, despite its size, felt stifling. His presence lingered in every room -a constant reminder that your marriage was nothing more than a cage disguised as luxury.

And today, you'd had enough.

The argument started in the kitchen that morning, over something as trivial as a set of misplaced car keys. It escalated far too quickly, voices rising, accusations flying.

"You always think you can control everything," you snapped, crossing your arms.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, his jaw tightening. "Control? I'm trying to help you, but you treat everything I say like it's some personal attack."

"Because it always is!" you threw up your hands in frustration. "You don't know how to back off, Jungkook! You just keep pushing and pushing... Fuck, you don't let me breathe!"

"Maybe because you keep running away instead of facing things!" his voice dropped, low and sharp. "You're so obsessed with shutting me out that you can't even see when someone's trying to meet you halfway."

You stared at him, chest heaving, words caught in your throat. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence felt heavier than the argument itself.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs. You needed air, space, anything to escape that suffocating cycle.

In your room, you grabbed a coat and your purse, your hands trembling with frustration. Your eyes caught on your wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight. The sight of it only fueled the fire burning in your chest.

You slipped it off, the cool metal unfamiliar without the warmth of your skin beneath it. For a moment, you stared at the ring in your palm, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions.

Then you set it on the dresser and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back.

Jungkook was still in the kitchen when you came back down, his back to you. You didn't say a word as you grabbed your keys from the counter and headed for the front door.

The sound of your footsteps must have caught his attention because he turned around, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you said shortly, not slowing down.

"Without your ring?" his voice was calm, too calm. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused, hand on the door handle, refusing to turn around. "I need some time alone."

"And you think taking off your ring is the way to do that?" his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. "Is this your idea of freedom?"

You finally turned to face him, meeting his eyes head-on. "What does it matter? It's not like this marriage is real anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For the first time in weeks, Jungkook didn't have a quick response. He just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite place -hurt, maybe, or anger, or both.

"If you walk out that door without it," he said quietly, "don't expect me to come looking for you."

The threat was clear, but it only made your resolve stronger.

"Good," you said, voice steady. "That's exactly what I want."

And with that, you opened the door and stepped outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap.

As you walked toward your car, your heart pounded in your chest. Part of you expected him to follow, to stop you. But when you glanced back, the door was already closed.

Maybe he didn't care enough to stop you after all. Although you wouldn't think too much about it. The more he ignored you, the more freedom you'd have.

The bar was harmonized with a low hum of conversation and soft music filling the air. You had no plan when you walked in -just an overwhelming need to be anywhere but at that house. You found a spot at the bar, ordering a drink and savoring the temporary escape it promised.

The alcohol warmed your throat and dulled the frustration swirling in your chest. One drink turned into two, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

"You look like you could use some company."

You glanced up to see a man standing beside you, his smile easy and confident. His eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

"Not really," you said, turning back to your drink.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a conversation. You shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"I'm fine," you insisted, but he didn't seem to get the hint.

The air shifted before you could say anything else, a new presence filling the space behind you.

"She's not alone."

You froze at the familiar voice, low and commanding. Turning slightly, you found yourself face-to-face with Jungkook. His dark eyes were locked on the man, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating quiet danger.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And who are you?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Her husband."

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, silencing everything around you.

The man's eyes flicked between the two of you, suddenly less confident. "Right... well, my mistake." he backed away with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

Your heart was pounding, though you weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way Jungkook's eyes hadn't left you once.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice calm but laced with barely restrained frustration. "But I guess taking off your ring and disappearing without a word answers that for me."

"I needed space," you said, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened. "You're right. I don't. But I'm still your husband. If you disappear in the middle of the night, I'll come looking for you. And if some creep thinks he can hit on you, then I'm going to do something about it."

You rolled your eyes, the alcohol emboldening you. "So this is about your ego?"

He took a step closer, the tension crackling between you. "No. It's about the fact that I care, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Let's go," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "It's late."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said stubbornly, turning back toward the bar.

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Have it your way."

Before you could react, his arm looped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he threw you over his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Jungkook!" you gasped, pounding your fists against his back. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, already weaving his way through the crowd. Heads turned, curious eyes following the scene as you squirmed in his grip. "You brought this on yourself."

"Jungkook, I swear to God..."

"You can yell all you want," he said calmly. "We're leaving."

Once outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks -from anger or embarrassment, you weren't sure. Jungkook carried you all the way to his car, finally setting you down beside it.

"You're insane," you snapped, your breath coming fast as you straightened your clothes.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I thought you'd have learned to love it by now."

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a standoff.

"Get in the car," he said softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Your pride told you to refuse, to stand your ground and make this even more difficult. But something about the intensity in his eyes made you falter.

Wordlessly, you opened the car door and got in, your pulse still racing.

Jungkook slid into the driver's seat, starting the car without another word. The ride home was silent, the air between you charged with tension. You could feel his occasional glances, the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel every time your bare finger caught the light.

The ride home was silent. He didn't speak, and neither did you. But the weight of everything unsaid filled the car, pressing down on you both.

When you pulled up in front of the building, Jungkook finally broke the silence.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice low. "But if you want to leave, really leave, just say it. I'll let you go."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time you'd seen him drop his guard like this.

But instead of answering, you opened the door and stepped out, your heart pounding in your chest.

Jungkook stayed in the car for a moment before following you inside. Neither of you said a word as you climbed the stairs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When you reached your room, you paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

For once, Jungkook didn't have a clever comeback. He just nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have.

"Goodnight," he echoed, his voice rough around the edges.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you -something neither of you was ready to admit yet.

The tension between you and Jungkook had been palpable since that night. Every word, every glance, felt like a battle -a silent war that neither of you was willing to lose. And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you found yourself trapped at one of his company's lavish parties, drowning in champagne and meaningless small talk.

It wasn't your kind of crowd. Polished executives and their equally polished partners swirled around you, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs. Being the accessory of the main character of the party wasn't your thing at all. You stood near the bar, sipping your drink, counting down the minutes until you could escape.

That's when you saw him, Jungkook, standing at the center of a group of people, commanding their attention with ease. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

And then you noticed her.

She was standing beside him, too close, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. A striking woman in a sleek red dress, her eyes sparkled with something far more than professional interest.

Your grip on your glass tightened as you watched her lean in, whispering something into his ear. To your horror, Jungkook didn't pull away. Instead, he turned toward her with a slow smile, his eyes dropping deliberately to her lips before meeting hers again.

It was a calculated move -one meant for your benefit. You knew it. He knew it.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous bubbling in your chest. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

You turned your back to him, willing yourself to focus on the conversation happening nearby. It was meaningless chatter, something about stock prices, but you latched onto it, pretending you didn't notice the way your pulse was racing.

"Jealous, love?"

The voice was low and teasing, right behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hardly," you said, taking a sip of your drink without looking at him. "Do what you want. I couldn't care less."

"Is that so?" Jungkook stepped into your line of vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your drink at her."

"More like two seconds away from smacking this glass on your head" you finally sentenced.

"That does sound like someone who's jealous"

You forced a smile, meeting his gaze head-on. "Please. If I wanted to make a scene, you'd know it."

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Careful, Y/n. You might give me the wrong idea: that you actually care about me and what I do."

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let him win. "Trust me, I don't." you narrowed your eyes while looking at him "Just be careful of how you behave in front of everyone. We're still married. In private, do whatever the fuck you please".

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because I'd hate for you to get hurt playing a game you can't win."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You couldn't stop watching him: laughing, smiling, always with her by his side. Each glance felt like a deliberate push, a challenge to see how far you'd let him go.

By the time the party started winding down, you'd had enough. You grabbed your purse and made your way toward the exit, your steps quick and determined.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Running away again?" Jungkook's voice was calm, but his grip was firm.

"Let go," you said, your voice low and dangerous.

"Not until you admit it." His eyes locked onto yours, the amusement gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"Admit what?"

"That you care," he said simply.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with fury. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, here you are," Jungkook said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Still standing in front of me". You didn't know when he stepped so close that your chests were pressed together and your breaths were mixing between you two "I'm only yours, love. You just need to ask me, and I'll declare to you my love without thinking twice".

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, the party noise a distant hum. You hated how close he was, how easily he could get under your skin.

But you refused to give him what he wanted. Not tonight.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, ignoring the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

The car ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The air between you felt like a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Jungkook's hands rested on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window in stubborn silence.

The tires crunched on the gravel as the car came to a stop in front of the building. You didn't wait for him to say anything -didn't even glance his way as you pushed the door open and strode toward the front entrance.

But the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, steady and deliberate, made your pulse quicken.

You barely made it inside when Jungkook's voice cut through the silence.

"Care to explain what that little stunt at the party was all about?" his tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You spun around, glaring at him. "Are you seriously accusing me of something after what you pulled tonight? Flirting with her right in front of me?"

Jungkook smirked, stepping closer. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed!" you snapped, your voice rising. "You made sure I would."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Maybe. But you didn't have to leave the party like that, running off again like you always do. It's getting old, Y/n."

"Maybe it's because I can't stand being around you," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with the force of your anger. "Did you think of that?"

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. "No," he said quietly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "I think you left because it bothered you. Because for once, you didn't have control, and it drove you crazy."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Do I?" his voice was a whisper now, low and deliberate, each word wrapping around you like a challenge. "Then why are you shaking?"

You hated him for being right. Hated how easily he could strip away every layer of defense you had built.

"I'm not..."

"You are," he interrupted, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "And it's not because you're angry. It's because you feel something."

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before locking onto yours again. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll back off," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll stop."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

But you couldn't say it.

The words wouldn't come.

Jungkook's smile was slow and triumphant. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious, your skin still burning from his touch.

"You're insufferable," you called after him, but your voice wavered, the heat of your frustration blending with something far more dangerous.

Jungkook stopped mid-step, his back still to you. For a split second, you thought he'd ignore you, that he'd let you stew in your own whirlwind of emotions.

But then he turned, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were measured, each one bringing him closer, the air between you thick with electricity.

"You know what's really insufferable?" his voice was low, almost a growl. "The way you keep running. The way you keep fighting me when we both know exactly how this will end."

Your breath caught in your throat as he came to a stop just inches from you, his body radiating warmth, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm not running," you said, though it sounded more like a whisper than the firm declaration you intended.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of heat racing through you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips crashed against yours, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The kiss was anything but gentle -wild, desperate, and filled with every bit of frustration and desire that had built up between you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

It felt better than anything neither of you could've ever imagined. It wasn't just a kiss -it was a battle, a collision of everything you didn't say, everything you'd tried to ignore.

His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. You gasped when he sank his tongue in your mouth, quickly meeting yours at the same time he cornered you on the wall next to the door, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before moving it back to your neck.

You hated him for making you feel this way, for always knowing how to push you to the edge and catch you before you fell.

But at that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

"Say it," Jungkook whispered, his voice rough and breathless. "Say you don't feel anything."

You stayed silent, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

But the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your body leaned into his, spoke louder than any words ever could.

He took your silence as the perfect answer, smirking to himself before he linked your lips together again. His fingers sank in your hair at the back of your head, twirling them on some locks to pull from them and throw your head to the side as he kissed you down your neck.

"You're absolutely everything I've ever fucking dreamed of" he heavily whispered on your skin. "I want to admire you, worship your body and make love to you so you'd meet a devotion you had never seen in your life. But hell... when you look at me that way..." his thumb brushed over your cheekbone "I want to ruin you so bad, show you no one will fuck you so good to make your ears beep so loud you won't be hearing your own pleas when you ask me to stop".

Your kiss grew more passionate, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, when he kissed you again. His hands began to wander, tracing the curve of your back, the swell of your hips. You could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sent a thrill through you, craving for something you didn't know you were desperate for. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself against him, at the same time his hands held your hips to keep your body glued to him.

Jungkook broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arched my back, a soft sigh escaping your lips, when his fingers brushed against the little skin that was shown off through the cleavage of your dress. It frustrated you, but it also felt so good the way your body responded to his touch without a resistance, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra, your entrance clenching around nothing as you kept waiting to feel him inside you.

When he looked down at you once again, his hands moved down to the zip of your dress, his thumb brushing on your skin while his other fingers slid the material down. He didn't need to ask you, he didn't need to tell you, you helped him take off your dress.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching. You were definitely better than he could've ever imagined. No light pajamas would ever compare to the vision in front of him.

You reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling from the buttons to reveal his toned chest. Jungkook had to hold back the growl in his throat when you ran your fingers over the muscles, feeling the heat of his skin, making him sure your fingerprints were burning every inch you were moving through.

He wasn't going to let you take control so easily though.

He lowered his head all of a sudden, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth through the lace of your bra. You gasped, your hands fisting in his hair as a way to control your own self. He teased and suckled, his other hand cupping your breast before he dragged his fingers down with the fabric, exposing the flesh, his thumb rubbing against your nipple before he pinched it with his index. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body aching for more.

Jungkook slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time, exploring every inch of your body with his mouth and hands. He made you squirm beneath him, he filled your head with pleas you never thought would ever be aimed at him, your body was on fire for him.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly. He lifted his hips to help you, his jeans and boxers coming off in one swift motion. You looked down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of his hard length. He was thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips when a sudden urge to taste him overwhelmed you. Was it how sexy he actually was? Or how bad you wanted him to beg for you and finally accept you were in control? Maybe both?

You leaned down on your knees, not wasting a moment before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongue swirled around him. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down at a tortuous speed. You could feel him getting harder, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper when he pushed you lower, your nose brushing against his skin to look up to him.

And hell, if that image wasn't the best sight ever...

He pulled you up with one swift motion, your lips still parted to the size of his length when he crashed his lips against yours again. Your back slammed against the door, and your head banged against it the moment he pulled your panties down and slid two fingers in you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, slowly, which was opposite to the way his curved digits moved and rubbed against your walls.

He earned another moan from you, and his cock twitched in the air against your body once more.

"Who do you belong to, Y/n? Who owns you now?" his voice was thick and raspy as he whispered. His voice was a mix of cockiness and need to prove you always belonged to him.

The moment you tried to move your head forward to rest on his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around your throat and stuck your head against the wood to keep your eyes fixed on him.

You didn't know what to do with your arms, how to keep yourself on your feet, but you did know you had to keep your eyes fixed on him.

"My love" he almost sang when he felt the way your walls clenched around him and your clit throbbing "I've only been yours" his digits squeezed your throat tighter, unaware of how that dragged you closer to your orgasm.

Your body squirmed and folded under his grip when that hurricane hit you, yet he didn't stop. His movements were more delicate and slower, but he fingered you through your orgasm until he felt your breathing settling again.

Your lips were parted when his wet fingers slid through them, and you blindly obeyed, closing your mouth around his digits to lick every drop of his work of art. Jungkook barely gave you time to let go of them before his lips crashed against yours again, his tongue looking out for yours to taste you directly on it.

You were so addictive.

Jungkook picked you up effortlessly, humming at your legs wrapping around his waist, as he made his way to his bedroom.

When he let you down on his mattress, he couldn't help but admire the way your naked skin stood out so clearly while lying over his sheets, dying to twirl his fingers on those locks spread over his pillow. You brought in him a feral attitude he didn't know was so strong.

You looked up to him, eager for what was to come, your body ready to jump as he kneeled on the bed and crawled to you. His hands parted your legs easily, resting your calves on his thighs when he redirected his length to you.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, making your moan. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Will you let me fill you up? Hmm?" he looked up to you while still rubbing himself against you "Let me mark you now that you've finally accepted that you're mine".

His words, the idea, the look in his eyes... all of them influenced you to finally nod.

He slid into you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt big, bigger than you could've guessed when you took him in your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, until your hips met and you both moaned with relief.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the two of you time to get used to each other before he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing around you. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and wet." he rubbed his nose on yours. "It was really worth it to wait for you".

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back. "Harder," you whispered, your body aching for more.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit at the same time his lips found your mouth. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He continued to move, his own body tensing as he chased his own release. You felt him getting harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a final thrust, he groaned, his body shaking as he came deep inside you, his load hitting a deep spot.

You lay there for a moment, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths ragged. He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. And as much as that feeling felt foreign, you didn't push it away. Instead, you snuggled closer to him.

The weeks after that night were nothing like the stormy start of your marriage. Slowly, without even realizing it, you began to lower your defenses. Jungkook softened in his own way, his sharp-edged words losing their sting, replaced by warm glances and lingering touches.

It wasn't love -at least, that's what you told yourself- but it was something dangerously close. You found comfort in his presence, in the late-night conversations you shared after you agreed on sharing bed with him, the stolen moments of laughter, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

The night he was officially named the head of the company, the entire building was alive with celebration. People congratulated him left and right, raising glasses in his honor, praising his charm, his brilliance, and his unstoppable rise to power. You stood by his side, smiling softly as he greeted his investors and thanked his board.

But despite the glamour, something felt off. Jungkook was different -detached, colder than usual, like the man you first met. He didn't seem to notice your growing unease.

Later that evening, after slipping away for a moment to get some air, you made your way down a quieter hallway in the building. As you rounded a corner, voices stopped you in your tracks.

It was Jungkook's.

"You're really settling into this husband role, huh?" the voice was familiar -Eunwoo's, you realized after a second.

His tone was light and teasing, but it was what came next that made your blood run cold.

Jungkook let out a low chuckle. "Don't get carried away. This marriage means nothing. It was a deal, plain and simple. I finally got what I wanted"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass clinking.

"And the rest?" Eunwoo asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Sleeping with her?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"That's just part of the game," Jungkook said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeping her close keeps everything in control. She's predictable now. She's exactly where I need her."

Your vision blurred, your mind racing to process what you'd just heard. Every moment you'd spent with him, every touch, every whispered word in the dark -it had all been a lie. A calculated move in a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting into you like a blade.

You turned and walked away before they could notice you, your steps quick and unsteady. Your chest ached, a painful mix of anger and heartbreak constricting your lungs.

By the time you reached the main hall, the noise of the party felt like a distant hum, your surroundings spinning as you tried to catch your breath.

You thought you had started to know him. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between you.

But you were wrong.

You were nothing more than a pawn in his game -a game you never agreed to play.

The rest of the night at the party, you avoided him like the plague, your attitude a huge contrast to how you behaved when the night had started. Whenever Jungkook tried to approach you, you found an excuse to step away -chatting with guests, refreshing your drink, even pretending to admire the floral arrangements like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Y/n" his voice caught you off guard as you lingered near the exit, your hand brushing the stem of an untouched champagne flute. Jungkook's dark eyes studied you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? You've been distant all night."

"I'm just tired," you said flatly, forcing a tight smile. "It's been a long day."

His frown deepened, but he didn't press further. Not yet.

The ride home was quiet -tense in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating. Jungkook sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, as if waiting for you to explain what was wrong. But you kept your gaze fixed out the window, your thoughts swirling in chaos.

Once you were back home, you made a beeline for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to put distance between you as you closed yourself back in your room.

"Y/n" his voice was sharp now, demanding. You stopped halfway up the stairs, your hand gripping the banister tightly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The man you had once started to trust, the one who had held you so tenderly just nights ago, now felt like a stranger.

"I want a divorce."

The words fell from your lips with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

Jungkook froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "You finally got what you wanted. You're head of the company now. There's no need to keep up this farce anymore."

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Is that what you think? That this was all just some business arrangement, and now it's over?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You've gotten everything you wanted, Jungkook. There's no point in pretending anymore."

"You're unbelievable," he growled, stepping closer. "You want to throw everything away just like that? After everything we've been through?"

You laughed bitterly. "What exactly have we been through, Jungkook? Lies? Manipulation? This marriage was never real. It was just a means to an end for you."

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And what if it wasn't?"

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him sway you. "It doesn't matter. I'm done."

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You don't get to decide that impulsively."

"It's not an impulse," you snapped. "This was part of our deal since the beginning. I've made up my mind."

Jungkook's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, there was something else -something raw and unguarded. "And when exactly did you make up your mind about it, huh?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think it's better for both of us," you said, ignoring the way your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.

But Jungkook wasn't having it. His hand gripped the banister beside you, his body blocking your path. "No," he said firmly. "We're not done. Not until I say we are. And you're not leaving," Jungkook said, his voice steady but barely restrained, his body now fully blocking your path. His gaze locked onto yours, fierce and unrelenting.

"Move, Jungkook," you said through gritted teeth, trying to push past him. "I'm done having this conversation."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist -not hard, but firm enough to keep you from walking away. "No. We're going to finish this right here"

You glared at him, your pulse racing. "What's the point? You made it clear I was just a means to an end. Now that you're head of the company, what reason is there for us to stay married?"

"Because this isn't just about the company!" Jungkook snapped, his voice rising, frustration boiling over. His chest heaved with each breath, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unhinged, like he was losing control of everything he'd carefully built.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "Then what is it about? What part of this marriage was real to you? Tell me!"

His silence was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face for something -anything. But no words came.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Exactly. You can't even answer that."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his frustration tipping into something dangerously possessive. "You really want to know what's real?" he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. "You." his voice was low, his eyes burning into yours. "Every damn second with you was real"

But for some reason, those words that night felt like the most painful stab at your chest. If there was something clear to you that night, it was that Jungkook never really cared for you, but his own control over you. That idea alone made your head spin, trying to decipher if all of his words in that moment were part of the act as well.

His proximity sent a jolt of heat through you, but you refused to back down. "Words mean nothing, Jungkook. Actions do."

"Then watch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It wasn't soft or sweet -it was raw and consuming, a war between his frustration and desire. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin.

You tried to fight it, to remind yourself of everything you'd just overheard, but your body betrayed you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It felt like drowning, like falling too fast and too far, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

When he finally pulled back, your hand slapped across his face, making it turn. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he finally moved his head back up, his eyes searching yours, dark and unreadable. "You think I don't care?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're wrong."

Your heart thundered in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you believed him. You believed every word, every touch. But the sting of his earlier betrayal still lingered, refusing to let go.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not like this".

Not when you couldn't trust him, or know what he was saying was real or not. Not knowing when he was playing with you or showing off his feelings.

It was too much.

Jungkook's grip on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Yes, you can. You're not leaving."

"I don't want to be near you" you let go of his grip once again. "You disgust me. I can't even stand being near you right now. Who knows? Maybe it had always been like that and now that the reason that kept us together is gone I can be honest with the two of us. Be honest with yourself, too".

The next afternoon, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow across the marble countertops. You sat at the kitchen island, quietly picking at your lunch, your mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. Sleep had been elusive -every word, every touch, every kiss replaying in your head on an endless loop.

You were lost in thought when the sound of the front door slamming snapped you back to reality. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder until Jungkook appeared in the doorway, his expression dark and unreadable.

Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of papers. He strode over to you and threw them onto the counter in front of you, the crisp white pages fanning out across the surface.

Your heart stopped for a second as you glanced down at them: "Divorce Agreement". Signed.

"You wanted this, right?" Jungkook said, his voice cold and biting. "There. You've got it. Congratulations, you're free."

You looked up at him, stunned into silence, your fork frozen in mid-air. His eyes were like shards of ice, his usual warmth completely gone. He looked almost... victorious, but underneath it, you could sense something else, some of his vulnerability was still obvious in his eyes.

"Jungkook, I..."

"You don't need to say anything" he interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. "You made it clear last night that this marriage means nothing to you. So, I'm giving you what you want. No more pretending. No more games."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice. "You think this is what I want?" you finally said, your voice trembling.

"Isn't it?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You were the one who asked for the divorce. I'm just making it easy for you."

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. "You're unbelievable."

Jungkook crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a bitter smirk. "No, what's unbelievable is that you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you want. You're the one who pushed me away, Y/n. I'm just giving you the freedom you begged for."

"Don't you dare act like you're some kind of victim here," you snapped, rising to your feet. "You lied to me, acting like you cared, like you were into me. You said you were after me long before all of this happened... Bullshit! You used me for your business, just like you admitted to Eunwoo. But I was dumb as fuck to believe we were more than that".

His eyes flickered with something -surprise, perhaps, or regret- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating calm. "So, that's what this is about," he muttered. "You overhear one conversation, twist it in your head, and suddenly I'm the villain?"

"I didn't twist anything," you said, your voice shaking. "I heard exactly what you said. That I'm just a pawn in your game. That sleeping with me was just part of your plan. Hope you enjoyed the bit of control you had while you fucked me."

Jungkook laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Isn't it?" you challenged, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

"You already made up your mind," he said quietly. "So what's the point in convincing you otherwise?"

Your breath caught in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to tear down the walls he had so carefully built around himself in less than a few days. But instead, all you could do was stand there, your heart breaking all over again.

"Fine," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "If that's how you want it."

He nodded once, his face devoid of emotion. "It's what you wanted, remember?"

Annoyed, you reached for a pen, signing up the papers next to him, slamming it against the table before getting up and walking away, leaving the papers on the counter in front of him. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, and for the first time since the start of your marriage, you felt truly alone.

#armpirate #fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #reader insert #one shot #jungkooksmut #jksmut #jk smut #arranged marriage au

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the-ladyrae · 1 day ago

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I recently met a girl on Bumble, and I'm mad as hell about it because she lives less than half a mile away from me.

(Which I'm aware is like the opposite of a problem. RIP literally every other lesbian dealing with long distance. It is a privilege for me to be able to take a leisurely stroll to my gf's place [and there's a grocery store at the half way point of the walk so I can stop in and buy her flowers and snacks] and be there in no more than 15 minutes)

Anyway, I'm mad about it because I also loudly decry the effects dating apps have on human courting rituals. The comodification of intimacy to the degree of when people think of meeting someone now a days we don't think of going out to a bar, or dancing, or complimenting an interesting stranger in public. In most cases, we've actually begun to shun these things! The evolution of this in my mind began with the statement of "Women don't want to be approached in public." And for the most part, that holds true. We don't want to be bothered at work, where we have to be nice to you or risk getting fired. Or when we're out doing errands, grocery shopping, laundrymatt, whatever she's just trying to get some stuff done, leave her alone. Or at the gym, where the mindset is not really aligned with that activity. Or at the bar, we came together we leave together and keep an eye out someone might try to put something in your drink.

OK, wait, but back-up, I thought it was acceptable to approach women in social situations?

Well, it was, but doesn't that sound scary? You don't know that person that just came up to you and asked for your number. What if they're a serial killer, unlikely but wouldn't you rather have the opportunity to look into that first? Check their references so to speak.

I mean sure that sounds like a good thing, but how is this safer? I'm essentially doing what my parents told me not to my entire childhood, and meeting up with strangers from the internet.

Sure sure, sure, but this is different! We're providing a safe space where everyone is up front about who they are and their intentions! You can find exactly what you're looking for with all our magical filters (some might cost you a bit, but don't think about that yet). And then here's the kicker you can talk to them before you meet up in our messaging function, take an appropriate amount of time to learn everything you can and decide if this person is trustworthy enough to meet in person. That sounds nice doesn't it?

I guess I do like the idea of having a designated space where I know it's acceptable to approach an individual! And I mean how hard can it be to navigate one app?

Oh sorry I forgot to mention this part. It's not just one app there are like half a dozen major players that everyone kinda cycles through so you'll have to have all of them to play the field and increase the odds of you finding your one. And also because of the nature of us now giving you a haystack of options when you're looking for a needle you'll have to weed out like a dozen people at a time reality TV harem dating show style, while they do the same to you.

That doesn't exactly sound like a better system... But it clearly is, because of this system I met someone, didn't I? Well yes, but she lives half a mile away in the same neighborhood. We shop at the same grocery store, go to the same bars, have similar interests in general, and are both reasonably visibly distinct from a crowd (she's got bright pink hair, I'm a 6'1" femme who can't dress casual to save her life)

And we've both lived in this area for months without even noticing each other even though we're exactly each other's type. I don't know if any of that really made sense, but I think the point is that the dating apps are only fixing barriers to connection that they created. They are only solving problems they created, and we're paying them for it.

tumblr please stop showing me dating apps ads. i'll meet girls the old way; never

#dating #wlw #wlw post #social media #dating apps

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sgiandubh · 2 days ago

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Critics' Choice Awards, 2025. Let's go!

She wears Prada tonight, which is interesting and also looks like a huge relief recently hit her:

First red carpet shots:

Where is that damned ring, anyways?

That long gone light seems to be back on her face. I wonder what might have happened, in the meanwhile:

Gareth Bromell, always serviceable:

I downloaded the reel and slowed it down, at a 0.25 speed ratio. Here is what I saw, in what clearly was a rented sort of space/serviced flat, while preparing for the event.

A third person is in that room. Nope, that is clearly a blonde young woman and her sleek, black handbag:

Clearer, my God, to Thee:

Handbag and silver glasses case (?):

This is how C, a very touchy-feely person, playfully thanks/encourages her queer hairdresser. I can honestly assure you this is nowhere near what I saw at that Taylor Swift concert, with S:

The black overcoat/whatever on the far right (blue arrow) belongs, I believe, to the Blonde Young Woman, who is wearing matching pants:

Now, for the million dollar question: who is that Blonde Mystery Woman?

It's not Karla Welch, her stylist tagged by Gareth. This is Karla Welch:

We know Karla Welch was there today, working. But not on that reel, nope:

Is it Mary Wiles, her MUA?

This is Mary Wiles...

... who was also skin prepping her for the event, in that room. But not on that reel:

Is it the third person tagged by Bromell, Grace Wrightsell, stylist and self-awoved 'lover of tchotchkes'?

Clearer:

I think so, or at least, I am reasonably leaning towards it. The nose, forehead, smile and hairstyle are a very good match with Mystery Blonde Woman:

I mean, it's hard to tell, with that appalling light and no makeup, as compared to this pic of Mrs. Wrightsell in full battledress (delicious East Coast style, by the way):

She was there, too. Tagged Bromell and two other stylist friends, Caroline Ninger and Maya Heslow. None of which look like Blonde Mystery Woman (you can go check, I am done with following dead tracks, tonight):

Five stylists to prep C. Important moment, apparently and one in which *** would definitely like to be directly involved (relevant in a very short while, below).

Residual theory: could it be The Nanny and not at all the above glamorous apparition? I mean, why not, after all, but there is way too little evidence to circumstantiate that. Could it be a minder/PA? Yes, but in fact, no. Minders/PAs don't play along all the prepping process and they tend to keep to their job description (remember McGill sultrily dragging that accoutrement bag on a wet sidewalk, with no C in sight, some years ago?).

And *** was prominently there, of course:

Mrs. Allison Hoffman, President, Domestic Networks for ***. Nope, not The Mystery Blonde Woman, either. Took me a while, as both look fairly generic Anglo-Saxon.

And then, we have this weird interview, just in on YouTube:

youtube

Just two things, as I take them verbatim for our Spanish girls:

Access Hollywood Journo (AHJ)- 00:45: 'You and S have such great chemistry, talk to me about your bond off-camera, cause I know you guys really support each other...'

C: 'Yeah, I mean, look, we've been such good mates and we've sort of... we've varied (?), we've made a very conscious decision back in Season 1, like a million years ago, that we have to have each other's backs and we've kinda stuck to that, and I was texting with him yesterday, and he's great, you know, he's living his best life at the moment, so...'

AHJ: 'He kinda... I remember him (scrambled..) he's like a big outdoorsman, like he's very into the ..'

C:'Yeah, he got the whole keep fit bug, I did not. Sooo... anyway...'

Wait a minute, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and yet you ran a marathon (ah, those romantic pics with McGill... 😅😅😅😅) and allegedly prepare to run another half-marathon in Paris, shortly? Wow. I am shocked.

Also, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and you keep literature like this on your bookshelves? Blimey. I should consider buying an orthodontics treatise, then.

[ Remember how I landed here, ROFLMAO? https://sgiandubh.tumblr.com/post/720483288334090240/it-all-starts-with-a-smoke-alarm]

But sure, go ahead, treat your Stans and the Casuals with formulaic, semi-annoyed BS like this. Especially when Mrs. Hoffman is around, mind you. That contract ain't over, yet.

To save the best for last, let's draw The Husband card from that tarot deck. Always, always a success with The Masses:

AHJ: '(...) who is your biggest fan?'

C:' Who's my biggest fan? Oh... whoa...I hope my husband' [contrived laughter].

'I hope.' What?! "I HOPE'? Hello?

Just two quick notes. If her face could speak by itself, while her brain was scrambling to quickly answer something to that question, we'd probably hear Bridget Jones' most famous line ever:

Also, her Irish brogue was back at full speed. Something we know she always does when she is really, really pissed.

But wouldn't you like to know who was C's +1 at that event, after all?

Come on, I know you do. All of you, ladies. Even the people in the back who snoop in here without logging in, from a different browser and then send Anons across the street with The Scoop (ROFLMAO).

Here is who I think was C's +1 tonight:

Karolina Wydra, her best friend ever. And yes, the picture was taken on behalf of the Critics' Choice Association, unlike many of the whole lot, which makes it almost official.

We were told so.

Something is definitely going on. Enough said, this post is horribly long, but I tried my very best.

Anyways Kathy Bates won. But that was really a no brainer.

#fandom #shitshow #Critics' Choice Award 2025 #Youtube

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wonderhomeland · 3 days ago

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Part 2 of alpha!simon

He won't come near you.

The first time you actually feel him, There was a great distance between you. Not knowing how he looks like, you just guess from his scent. Even from this far, you could tell he is always the tallest in the room, not exactly hiding, but trying to not be obvious.

Just... Standing there. Observing you intensly. He's trying his best to get your attention and You could tast the mood change in the air when you finally give up and stare at him over your sholder.

God... He's so scary...

After that, he strat showing up more, follows you with a safe distans, like a ghost. never comes to you, say hi, get to know you.

Is he trying to make you uncomfortable?

Is this his way to get rid of you?

His scent is all over your room. It doesn't go off. Its been two weeks already.

There is a feeling, tells you that he comes back every night and resumption his scent.

Cus you saw him, standing and staring at your door like damn dog.

You know he's not doing it just to keep every alpha and omega and beta, every one away. They're afraid of him. All of them. You know that bc when you were introducing yourself, you saw how strangely they acted after hearing his name.

They don't dare cross the line.

They won't touch what's Simon Riley's.

Nobody does.

After that, you realized that his doing this for you. It was a message. Let you know who you belong to.

He didn't touch anything Just marked the confines of your room. At least, you hope. the only place that smelled like him was around your door.

That strong smell that makes you press your thighs together every time.

You never wanted to do this, it feels like you were selling yourself -technically, you were- but the amout of money that have been offered... no one could refuse.

You thought, amoung all of options you had, you chose the most normal one. Other fils were full of photo's, cocky notes about temselves, along with their Lifetime achievements and position.

He was the only one without anything unnecessary. Not even a picture. Only his name.

SIMON RILEY

LIEUTENANT

CODE NAME: GHOST

It was stupid to chose him. Not knowing anyting about him, till he stick his teet in the flesh of you sking, marking you as his, and then, you can strat to know who you're stuck with for the rest of your life.

But you thought about it for days, in that time he was the best option. when the other omegas find out who you're going for , they try dissuade you. Save you.

Telling you that his file has been here for years. Cus no one want's the Beast.

you thought that he's just ... not good-looking or he doesnt have a good personality, maybe a good knot.

When you think about it now, even without anything, his file sound chaotic.

Untamed. Crazy.

When you came to base to meet your soon-to-be-alpha, they give you...odd looks. Like you were a lamb leading into the wolf's mouth. But now you get it.

After the unsuccssesful chasing. You expect them to send you back.

Maybe someone else. There are planty alphas out there for you.

But no, they just smile. A sweet one. Not mad.

Make yourself usefull. You know how things go around here, right?

I'm here for that alpha not to clean the storage room...

You never say that tho.

Organizing the files wasn't hard, you were used to putting everything in its place.

"All done, and as you said I brought you all the documents related to the soldiers' leave in the last two years"

"Hmm, better than i expected , you know how to keep things clean right? All in place. Not shocking you're the one he wants ."

What-

"Sorry, captain, i don't underestand what are you talking about"

"Oh no, you know what i'm talking about. I must be concerned about your survival skills if you didn't notice your little shadow. You feel him right? Never seen him so excited, nor so distracted, leting his pheromones spread so much for an omega."

Omega, he puts it like it's an insult.

"Sir, it's not my fult that he can't cntrol his pheromones. Actually, I don't appreciate the fact that he's spreading his scent everywhere near me, especially after he ignored the courting and left me alone!"

"You know, Been years trying to find him a good mate, he is good soldier, know how to keep things clean. Like you"

amused by you reaction, He continued.

"But he is also a man, not a good one, even don't know how te be a good alpha. Hell he's a shitty one for leaving such lovey thing like you alone, but he doesn't answer any questions about his omega, No one even dares to ask questions about his omega. Every time we try to set him up with some one, he just wrinkled his nose. Telling me he is bothered by their scent. But i know he need one help him to heal his soul and i know by time he will be a great alpha for her"

He looks at you like you're the one who can help him. Ignoring your confused face, he walked past you and headed down the hallway.

"He likes you, give him a chance"

Just after he turn to the corner, you saw him. Closer than ever, standing right there, staring at your soul for a moment, and then he start following his captain.

Good lord...

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

English is not my first language so forgive me for any mistake! Tnx for reading till end!-☆

He is just a man who need someone to embrace him. :(

Taglist> @immapeppers 💖

#cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #love him

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purple-paige-purple · 20 hours ago

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my main pazzi evidence!

hey guys, people have been asking me to give me reasoning as to why i think pazzi is real so here ya go. there is A LOT more i could say and a ton more evidence but imma try to piece my basic thoughts together explain as much as i can consicely.

1. their general vibe

ok lemme say first of all, the thing that pisses me off most about pazzi deniers is that they dont acknowledge hard evidence. like hand placement, eye contact, the "is it spit" video, etc. but the thing that's the absolute kicker to me is their entire vibe around each other.

i think the animal letter/pillow video is a really good example of this. start by imagining how you would play that game with your friends, even your closest friends of ten years. would you giggle at them and smile at them the way that p + a look at/talk to each other? probably not. (and if you do, babes im gonna hold your hand when i tell you this...) the entire video was just not something you'd expect from friends AT ALL.

also. the way paige's ENTIRE demeanor changes near azzi. duuuuude its so adorable. any time she's talking to azzi, and even sometimes when azzi is within earshot, paige's voice softens SUBSTANTIALLY and she becomes more thoughtful and calm. an example of this would be kk's (second) crumbl live in the bedroom, when azzi walks in and all of a sudden paige is now giggling quietly as opposed to cracking up loudly like she was before. i think its the whole "calming presence" idea and p + a really both are each other's anchor.

also u don't go on a cruise with your best friend and act the way they acted (and posted).

2. the hard evidence

the aforementioned "is it spit" video. like bro. no matter what the fuck azzi said, what paige responded was extremely suggestive, and azzi's reaction to it just proves that. paige we know that ur faggot ass's favorite tongue movement to lets just take a chill pill on live tv (jk pls dont stop keep feeding our delulu pazzi shipper asses)

another piece of hard evidence: "happy birthday to the precious princess 💗" OK PAIGE WE KNOW SHES UR WIFE. paige wanted to say "my precious princess" so bad its so obvious

paige and azzi also have not shut down ANY rumors or even spoken on the subject of their suspected relationship. instead, i would go so far as to say they've fed into it, the posts about each other, the continuous posting of the "💗" emoji even though the entire internet has a suspicion about what it means. this also ties into the fact that they do have social media, paige is active a lot, their teammates are active, and they definitely (no matter how) seeing these pazzi edits. they are OUT THERE and even the announcers know it.

ice and kk's faces whenever p + a are flirting got me ctfu every time. ice does not try to hide it AT ALL and even though i think kk tries, once in a while she makes a face (the interview where she is in the middle of them)

3. no other relationships/their dynamic

lets be generous to the deniers and say that they've only had smth (a relationship, whether it be serious or not) since 2021. they have not been with anyone since. i will say it again. they have not been with anyone since. with their popularity and how gorgeous/attractive they both are, i feel like if they were seen close with anyone, we would know about it. fine, someone could say they are just both locking in to school and bball, but i really just think p + a work so well together and basically have the same schedule so there is pretty much no negatives to them being together, therefore no reason why it would take away from school/bball. i think they are each other's person and really just compliment each other so well (opposites attract!)

basically the way they act is not how "just friends" act. i dont make the rules 🤷🏻‍♀️

ok so thats my basic thoughts. i could LITERALLY go on for pages (and i will if you guys want!) just let me know (send me an ask or smth) and ill make more posts with more evidence and just basically debriefing it. ok thank u girlypops for listening to my ted talk

ps. thank you to @elliesglock for debriefing some of the uconn lives, pls continue bc they are so fun to read and u have such good thoughts on everything!

#paige buckets #uconn huskies #uconn women's basketball #paige x azzi #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers #pazzi #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #azzi35 #pazzi is real #pazzi crumbs #p + a #ava's evidence

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thesvnandthemooon · 2 days ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: this is a story i wrote + published on wattpad (user: thesvnandthemoon). i recently finished writing the last chapter and i love it so much i decided to post it on tumblr as well (my first fic i’m posting here hehe)

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: none! :) (i think. if you find any, let me know!)

word count: 5.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

They say one summer can change everything — you never thought it would be yours.

In hindsight, you won't be able to say when exactly it all started, but it must've been at the town's annual fun fair. Popcorn and fried dough, old carnival rides and duck ponds, neon signs and bells ringing.

You come reluctantly, dragged along by a friend who insists it'll be fun (and then proceeds to ditch you after meeting some guy at the hot dog stand). You don't expect much — just the usual: sticky cotton candy fingers, cheap thrills, and a fleeting distraction from the monotony of summer evenings. What you don't expect is her.

Green eyes and a black bomber jacket that looks way too warm for a hot summer day, her red hair in a loose braid. Bruised knuckles, painted in all shades of blue and purple, and a faint scar above her left eyebrow. She's leaning against the side of one of the booths, a cigarette dangling from her lips. For a moment, your eyes get stuck on her. But when her gaze meets yours, you turn back to the shooting gallery in front of you.

It gives her the opportunity to let her gaze linger on you, sharp and assessing. It's not the kind of look that makes you uncomfortable — if anything, it's curious, like she's trying to figure you out. Her eyes trail from the sundress you're wearing to the smudge of sunscreen on your wrist, then back up to the necklace that glints against your skin as you lean forward to aim.

Your fingers curl around the grip with a mix of hesitation and focus. In front of you are bright red and yellow circles, each one suspended on a flimsy wooden board. Some are shaped like ducks, others like stars, but they all feel impossibly far away.

The gun's plastic body feels awkward in your hands, too light to mimic the real thing, but you pull the trigger anyways. Just as expected, you miss, the dart-like projectile whizzing softly as it flies past the target.

You miss one shot. Then two. Then three.

Natasha, deciding she's had enough of seeing this pretty girl embarrass the hell out of herself, stomps her cigarette out with the heel of her boot before approaching you. She steps up next to you, the sound of her boots quiet against the pavement. You turn your head, a frustrated look on your face that doesn't waver even when she smirks. Without a word, she grabs the fake gun from your hands.

"Let me show you how it's done", she says, her voice low, just for you. She doesn't wait for your response before taking aim.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she hits the first target, then the second, then the third — each shot landing perfectly. You huff quietly as you watch her, trying to hide that you're somewhat impressed by this stranger's skill. She's not even showing off, just doing what she knows best.

It makes you wonder who she is. You don't know her, despite this town being quite small. You'd remember her, you're sure of that. She seems like the kind of person who'll float around your head like a little faded cloud until the day you die.

When she looks at you again, you quickly clear your throat and force a small, teasing smile. "Not bad", you say. "Now let's see if you can do that blindfolded."

Natasha smirks, her eyes glistening with amusement. I like her, she thinks, handing the plastic gun back to you. She feels a spark deep in her bones. She doesn't want to let it fizzle out.

"How about you let me take you on a date first? Then, maybe we'll talk about you blindfolding me."

"Wow", you muse, suppressing a small smile. This is dangerous territory, flirting so shamelessly with someone you probably aren't allowed to have. The odds would be against you. However, nobody said you can't have a little fun. "A marksman and bold. Lucky me."

"You don't know the half of it", she says, raising an eyebrow. She nods at the targets in front of you. "Come on, your turn. Let's see if you're a visual learner."

You adjust your grip on the gun and aim once more, feeling her eyes on you. There's something predatory about the way she studies others, like she's waiting for them to slip up, but there's also a hint of something softer underneath. In that moment, it's reserved for you.

Right before you pull the trigger, she leans in and whispers: "Hit the target and you're going on that date with me."

For a moment, you consider giving it your best.

You could take the shot. You could make it. But for some reason, the thought of it feels too simple.

The projectile misses the target by a wide margin. Natasha frowns, her arms crossing in front of her chest. You turn around and your eyes meet.

"Guess I'm not ready for that date yet", you say.

"I'm starting to think you're making this harder on both of us", Natasha mutters, giving you a look that's somewhere between amusement and frustration. "Good thing I'm stubborn."

"Half of this town is stubborn", you say, unimpressed but equally intrigued. This woman seems determined to take you on a date, and honestly, you like the thought of being pursued so actively. But you're convinced your family is more stubborn than whoever she is.

"If you think this is stubborn", Natasha says, her eyes glinting in the afternoon sun, "you haven't met the real me yet."

Your lips twitch into a small smile at the sheer confidence in her voice. It's attractive, in a way, but also riling you up. You can't tell her why you're so adamant about saying no, so pushing her away is your only choice. Deep down, however, you know you'd say yes in a heartbeat if you weren't such a coward. And maybe she realizes that, too.

"Let's assume I say yes", you challenge. "Then what? You think a few hours with you will change everything?"

"Maybe it won't change anything", she says, though she's convinced it will. With Natasha, it always does. "But something tells me you're the kind of person worth taking that risk for."

Her words make you hesitate. She watches your expression fall in a way that makes her frown.

"You don't know me", you start carefully.

Before either of you can say anything else, you hear your name being called. Your friend comes hurrying back, this time with a peace-offering bag of popcorn. She gives you an apologetic grin and tugs at your arm. You avoid Natasha's gaze as you let her lead you away.

You don't expect to see her so soon again, but maybe that's just your luck.

You're on the ferris wheel. Natasha spots you a few gondolas away, lost in thought, your friend talking to someone on the phone.

She's used to being reckless, but not in order to impress other people. This time, it's different.

You caught her attention. You made her ask you out on a date. You said no.

Maybe she should give up. She doesn't even know what this will be, after all — a fling? A quick flirt? A one night stand, perhaps?

It could end up being nothing. Something about the way you looked at her earlier makes her believe otherwise, though. She can't give up so soon.

As the wheel slows to let others on, Natasha stands up and carefully grips the framework on the sides of the gondola. She stands on the small seat for a moment, balancing her weight, before she begins climbing to where you are. She moves expertly, ignoring the gasps of a few onlookers.

You look up when she reaches your gondola, and your friend almost drops her phone. Gaping, you stare at her.

"Are you insane?", you finally ask, reaching out to steady her. She slides into the seat next to you, loose strands of red hair fluttering around in the wind.

"Say yes to that date", she says, "or I'll jump."

You ignore the stunned look your friend gives the two of you. Sighing, you realize that this woman has managed to chip away at your resistance with ease. You didn't want to say no before, to be fair, but you felt like you didn't have a choice.

You still don't. You just decide to ignore that fact.

"At least tell me your name."

"Natasha", she says, smiling.

You tell her your name as well. You spend the remaining ten minutes of the ferris wheel ride in uncomfortable silence, trying to escape the stares of both Natasha and your friend.

. . .

The date goes better than expected.

She takes you to a diner, where she talks the owner into letting you stay after closing hours. With the door locked and the lights dimmed, your focus is entirely on Natasha. She was charming before, but it doesn't compare to the way she's treating you now.

You twirl the rose she handed you between your fingers, noticing that someone has carefully removed all the thorns. This town doesn't have a flower shop, you quietly remind yourself.

"It's nice here", you say, your eyes scanning your surroundings very briefly. Checkered tiles, a jukebox, red vinyl booths. Chrome finishes on tables, counters and stools, and milkshakes with cherries on top. It's like a place straight out of the 1950s. "Can't believe I've never been here before."

"You're here often?", she asks, dipping the end of her straw into the whipped cream and licking it off.

"Every summer. I'm visiting my grandparents."

A hum forms in her throat. You smile faintly, catching her eye.

"I've never seen you here before", you eventually say, stealing a dollop of her whipped cream with your own straw. She doesn't complain. Her smile widens instead.

"Looks like this town does have its secrets, after all."

You soon figure out that Natasha's different from the other people you've gone on dates with before.

She makes you laugh. It spills out of you before you can stop it, surprising you.

She's all bruised knuckles and scarred hands, hinting at a grittier life — she's not polished or sheltered. Instead, she's resilient and strong and self-assured.

Her presence feels electrifying. Every brush of her fingers against yours sends shockwaves down your spine.

When you exit the diner, you pause. You don't want to leave, and neither does she. Her hand touches yours meaningfully, and she lingers — just enough to make you pause. Her eyes search yours, her confidence softening just enough to feel like a plea. It's intoxicating, the way she makes everything else disappear. The moment feels unhurried, deliberate, like a silent question.

Are we on the same page?

You should turn around and go home. Your family is probably wondering where you are.

Instead, you let her pull you into a kiss.

For Natasha, it's more thrilling than climbing a ferris wheel.

. . .

You're used to keeping secrets, but this one is your favorite so far.

Natasha is a force that keeps drawing you closer. Before you know it, you're sneaking out of windows and hiding behind corners of buildings. Her lips seem to be getting softer each time you touch them with your own.

You meet again on a Friday night, this time in the quiet of her car. An SUV, surprisingly, one that you wouldn't have assumed would be hers.

"You seem more like the pickup truck type", you tell her, a genuine smile on your face.

"That's insulting", she replies, smirking, and starts the car. "Tell me where you want to go."

You can't think of anything, so you shrug. You let her surprise you. With her, everything seems to be a surprise.

Natasha doesn't appear to be in a hurry. She handles the steering wheel with calmness, a sense that, no matter where you end up, it'll be a night to remember.

In the end, the silent streets take you to the outskirts of town. An old sign reads Sunset Drive-In. The parking lot is almost empty, save for a few cars littered across the place. The screen stands tall and cracked against the backdrop of dark trees. Neon lights, once-vibrant and now dead. It feels like a place lost in time.

"Here?", you say, trying to conceal your amusement.

"Trust me, it's better when no one else is around."

She parks the car in the middle of the lot, far from the old speakers that still dangle from rusted poles. A breeze sweeps through your hair when you step out of the car and follow her. She pops the trunk, revealing a blanket that she uses to cover the hood. Side by side, you sit down.

You both stare up at the starry sky, feeling each other's presence. Her hand touches yours.

"Not what I expected", you admit, glancing at her. She smiles.

"I told you it'd be different," Natasha replies. She leans back against the windshield, folding one arm behind her head. The soft hum of the old projector flickers in the background. "But you can't say it's not romantic."

"Never said it wasn't."

A black and white movie starts to play. Your smile widens and you laugh quietly.

"Is everything about this place old?", you ask.

"Apart from us? Probably."

You hum in acknowledgment and nod, watching the scenes in front of you slowly flesh out into a full story. Your hand slides across the blanket, fingertips touching hers. She takes your hand and holds it in her lap. Her calloused fingers trace your knuckles, one by one, repeatedly.

Occasionally, you glance at her. You shift closer to her on the hood, so your sides are flush. At some point, she wraps her arm around you and you rest your head on her chest. Her heartbeat is steady and grounding in your ear. You allow yourself to close your eyes — you haven't been focusing on the movie for a while now, anyways.

Natasha's lips brush against your hair, lazy and soft. You turn your head to press your cheek against the fabric of her shirt. She smells like leather and mowed grass, perfume and something faintly metallic. It's the trace of a life lived on edge, so very different from how you were brought up.

What you remember from your childhood are two things: the inability to choose for yourself and the knowledge that you're safe and protected.

Money was never an issue, and neither were security or stability. But with it came rules — endless, unyielding rules about how to act, what to say, who to be. Every choice predetermined, every step carefully calculated.

Who are you taking to prom? Who's taking you to prom? What dress will you wear? What will you study? What kind of life are you aspiring to have someday? Kids, no kids?

Don't drag your family's name into the mud. Don't even think about doing this your way. Your grandmother would be so disappointed. You'll ruin your future.

Quiet voices in your head, echoing past questions and letting the hollow pit in your stomach grow again.

Automatically, your head turns. You breathe Natasha in. For a moment, you dare believe she might be the freedom you've been wishing for.

The movie plays on, its lights flickering across the parking lot. Sometimes, the screen goes dark, pulling you into the darkness as well. The stars above you seem brighter than ever, twinkling sympathetically.

Then, the end credits start rolling. You glance at Natasha, realizing she's been looking at you.

"Enjoyed the movie?"

"It's old", she simply says. You smile faintly.

"Not a fan?"

Her hand starts drawing circles on your shoulder, your arm, your side. You exhale to suppress a quiet laugh.

"There's exactly one thing I liked about it", she says meaningfully. It makes you want to kiss her.

Unfortunately, the moment is ruined when some drunk guy starts yelling at his girlfriend. She yells back. Then, glass shatters. A high-pitched 'what did you do to my fucking car??' rips you out of your moment of contentment.

The shouts echo through the nearly empty parking lot, piercing through the quiet night air. Natasha's arm around your shoulder tightens when the man jumps out of his car. He's clearly drunk, standing there unsteadily and waving his arms. His girlfriend yells once more.

You sit up slowly, Natasha following in suit. Her jaw tenses as she watches the fight — she looks like she's about to spring into action. Something sharp flickers in her eyes, alert and calculating, and it sends a jolt of attraction through your body.

Again, you quietly wonder who she really is. She doesn't show much of herself. But something about her promises an escape from everything else.

"You okay?", she asks. The arm that's lazily draped over your shoulders gives you a squeeze. Her eyes, however, stay glued to the offending couple.

"Yeah", you confirm. You lean into her subconsciously. She feels like stability in a world that's falling apart.

Her gaze doesn't leave the scene until the couple's fight fizzles out. A car door slams, tires screech against the gravel, and the lot falls silent again.

Natasha exhales and her shoulders relax as she looks back at you. The intensity in her eyes softens. "Sorry about that. Not exactly the ending I had in mind."

You smile faintly, unsure what to say. The bubble you were in moments ago has popped. Instead, you're surrounded by darkness and the sound of crickets. Her green eyes search your face in the darkness.

"Do you want to head back?", she asks after a beat. You shake your head so quickly you even surprise yourself.

"No." You pause, watching her carefully. "Unless you want to?"

Her lips curve into a small smile, the tension melting away. "Not a chance." She nudges your shoulder gently, coaxing a laugh out of you. "I know a spot. If you're up for it."

You quietly decide your parents can wait a little longer.

. . .

You tell Natasha about everything.

She tells you about nothing.

You're in her car, tucked into the backseat. You're leaning against the car door and your knees are pulled to your chest. The milky moonlight bathes your features in a gentle glow. It makes it hard for Natasha to focus on what you're saying, but she tries her best.

"They're strict", you begin, absentmindedly playing with the laces of your converse. "It's hard to explain. I guess it's how they were brought up, which doesn't excuse things, but whatever. When I date someone, it's not without their approval."

Natasha trails her fingers down the length of your shin, leaving a pleasantly tingling feeling in their wake. She's grown increasingly comfortable around you.

"They're rich, too. Like, really fucking rich. It's crazy." You pause. "I don't even know. I guess I'm trying to say that this — whatever it is — won't be easy."

Her eyes find yours, green and steady. She rests her hand atop your shoe, her fingers tracing the laces.

"You're still here", she says. "Guess that says something."

You smile weakly. You haven't thought about it that way yet, but she does have a point — despite everything, you're here. In her car.

You reach out to grab her hand and intertwine your fingers. Natasha leans in closer, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Her skin is pale in the light seeping in through the window behind you.

"When do you have to go home?", she asks. Something needles at your chest as you realize how that question makes you feel. Despite being an adult, you're acting like a teenager with a curfew.

Cheeks warm, you shrug. "An hour?"

"That's not much", Natasha points out. "We'll have to make it count."

"Or you kidnap me", you suggest, half-joking but also half-wishing she'd take you up on the offer. But she just smiles and shakes her head. Her hands push your legs apart as she crawls in between them.

As your eyes meet hers, you can't help but wonder how you ended up here — how everything in your life seemed to collide with this moment, with her.

"Can't imagine you being on the run, if I'm honest." She leaves a quick kiss on your lips. "You'd miss the AC and the fancy espresso machine."

You cup her cheek with one hand. You coax her into another kiss, a firmer one this time. Her hand, resting on your hip, slowly slides under your shirt. Her warm palm feels electrifying against your skin.

"You don't know me that well", you mumble yet again. You dive into another kiss. "Maybe you will one day."

Natasha looks at you. Something unspoken passes between the two of you. Your thumb grazes the faint scar below her jawline.

"I'd be thrilled", she replies, her voice softer, then kisses you deeply. Her tongue pushes past your lips. Her hand moves higher until her fingertips brush under the fabric of your bra. Rain starts pattering against the fogged up windows, quiet and steady, but you don't notice it happen.

Instead, you cradle Natasha's face. You taste the beer you had earlier on her tongue. It's mixed with something uniquely hers. You let her in, completely, and you suddenly find that you don't care about the consequences anymore.

. . .

She takes you to a small house by a lake.

It's afternoon when she suddenly shows up. You're not entirely sure how she managed to find your grandparents' house, but she did — she's right here, leaning against the gate with her back turned to you. Her red braid is a pattern against the smooth fabric of her black leather jacket.

You'd be thrilled to see her if it weren't for your grandfather walking past the kitchen window.

Your heart leaps into your throat. With one swift movement, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

"Be back soon!", you call out as you rush through the door, letting it slam shut behind you. You don't wait for a response — you don't want to risk it. Instead, you hurry to the gate and push it open with a quiet creaking sound. Natasha glances at you and smiles.

"You're insane", you whisper harshly, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the gate. You glance back at the house. The kitchen window is empty for now, but it won't stay that way for long.

"Nice to see you, too", she says, a smirk on her face. She lets you drag her along without protesting. "What are you so worked up about?"

"Are you being serious? You were supposed to pick me up at the diner, not here! They could've seen you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Natasha frees her arm from your grip to take your hand. She's so utterly at ease that it makes your chest tighten.

What's it like, not caring about anything or anyone?

It's a thought you don't dwell on. Natasha spins you toward her, her free arm encircling your waist. Before you can process what's happening, her lips are pressed to yours. Firm but soft, a lingering taste of mint on them.

You let out a soft noise and wrap your arms around her neck, momentarily forgetting about the looming risk of being caught. She smiles against your lips and slowly pulls away.

"Now", she says, leading you down the sidewalk and toward her car, "let me take you somewhere."

"Where?", you ask as she unlocks the car. She doesn't answer, so you sit down and buckle up, the scent of her leather jacket surrounding you. The engine of the car hums to life. You reach out to tap the back of her hand. "Nat, where are we going?"

"I thought you liked surprises."

"I do", you reply and glance out the window. The winding road, shaded by towering oak trees, takes you past lush gardens and monotonous picket fences. A neighborhood that screams uniformity, but to you, it's nostalgia in its purest form. "I'd still like to know. Finally taking me up on that kidnapping-offer, maybe?"

Natasha smiles. Her hand moves to yours thigh, just barely brushing under the hem of your skirt. "Just be patient. You'll like it, I promise."

Her skin on yours makes you feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the summer heat. You put your hand on hers, squeezing lightly to distract yourself. It doesn't work.

"I'm curious", you say. The pad of your thumb finds a scar on the side of her hand and you start tracing it.

"Patience", she repeats. She looks at you and smirks. "How much time do we have this time?"

You hesitate before eventually telling her the truth. "A few days. I told my parents I'm staying at a friend's house."

"Lying to your parents for me already?"

A red flush blooms on your cheeks. "Don't let it go to your head."

You drive past the slow life of the town you're in. A post office with a fading American flag fluttering outside, a little café where locals sip coffee, a general store. You spent years exploring everything on your bike and getting to know every nook and cranny.

Eventually, you reach the more rural part of town. Natasha drives down a hill and brings the car to a stop. Grass brushes against your bare ankles as you step out of the car.

In front of you, you spot a small house that's nestled into the landscape like it belongs there. It's surrounded by swaying trees and green grass, the summer sun making everything look like straight out of a children's picture book.

Your breath hitches for a moment. Your hand touches the hood of the car for a moment, grounding you.

"Is this...?"

"It's mine", Natasha confirms. She grabs a suitcase and joins you. A few strands of hair have escaped her braid, curling slightly. "I bought it a while ago. Just, you know. For someday."

You inspect the house. It's small, unassuming. Completely unlike the modern apartment you'd imagined her retreating to whenever she wasn't with you.

You love it.

"Someday?", you ask, glancing at her.

She smiles and averts her eyes. There's something vulnerable to her. "I just thought...maybe one day, I'll need a place like this. Away from everything. Away with someone."

You're not sure how to respond to that, so you don't. Every word you consider seems to fall short.

You fall into step with her, following her up the creaking wooden steps of the porch. The door swings open quietly. Natasha, red-cheeked for the first time since you've met her, quietly admits that she oiled the hinges.

You barely hear what she says. The house, albeit minimal and almost spartan inside, feels like a memory.

A mattress on the floor. A table with mismatched chairs in the kitchen space. A few boxes, some overflowing with blankets.

You absently adjust a few books on the bookshelf, pushing them backwards so their spines are aligned. Natasha's silent, not daring to disrupt the silence.

She doesn't tell you that you're the first person she's ever brought here. She doesn't have to.

"It's cozy", you murmur. You faintly hear the gentle thump of the suitcase as Natasha sets it down. "You've been here before?"

"A few times." She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans and watches you explore. "Don't expect too much. There's no WIFI, no cable. Not exactly a five-star getaway."

"No WIFI?", you tease, picking up a ceramic mug that's sitting next to the sink. It's patterned, chipped at the top — so ordinary it makes you smile. "How will I survive?"

Natasha smirks. Her hand finds yours and she leads you to the back of the house. Through a sliding glass door, you reach a small porch. Beyond it, a lake stretches out, its surface shimmering in the sun. A hammock swings between two trees, a bed of wildflowers underneath. It smells like grass and cedar.

The warm breeze washes over you. You breathe in the air and let it seep into your system. Out here, the rest of the world seems very far away.

"It's beautiful", you finally say.

"It is", she says quietly, her gaze never leaving you. You look at her when you feel her fingers intertwine with yours. The sunlight softens her sharp features into something gentle and fragile.

You reach out and brush some hair behind her ear. The light touch of your fingertips against her skin is enough to make her relax.

Natasha puts her hand on yours, keeping it pressed against her cheek for a moment. Then, she nods at the hammock.

"Come on", she says. "Let's see if that thing still holds."

. . .

The days are a blur.

You sleep on the mattress on the floor, one with a dip in the middle that pulls you together by dawn. The bedsheets, soft and worn, have a faded floral pattern on them. Morning light streams through the windows.

You wake slowly when the warmth of the sunlight hits your face. Natasha's arm is draped over your waist, her breath hitting your neck. Sometimes, she wakes before you. She kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer.

You eat sitting on the table, legs idly swinging over the edge. The table wobbles slightly, but it's nothing a folded napkin can't fix. Natasha stands next to you, her hair unbrushed and falling over her shoulders in auburn waves. Her voice is quiet and raspy when she speaks. The faintest hint of a Russian accent is present, making you wonder about her more than ever.

You still don't know much about her. She's a mystery you can't solve, but you're dangerously close to promising yourself you'll spend your entire life trying to.

You share your coffee from the chipped mug that you found sitting next to the sink. You steal bites of food from her plate. You bask in the warmth that's ever present in this little house.

The rest of the day, you're mostly outside. Staying indoors doesn't seem to be an option in a place like this. You enjoy the butterflies, the sun, the lapping of the lake far too much.

Natasha finds a canoe behind the shed that's next to the lake. It's old and doesn't look like it'll keep you above the water, but Natasha insists it's still seaworthy. To your surprise, she's right — the canoe, paint peeling and wood scuffed, stays afloat.

She rows you to the middle of the lake. Her muscles flex under her shirt as she pulls the oar. You sit behind her, legs dangling over the side, and enjoy the view.

When she suggests you go swimming, you give her a skeptical look. But the redhead has gotten up already, her shirt peeled off to reveal a black bra underneath. Scars crisscross her skin in a startling blend of old and new — some pale and softened with time, others pink and raw. A past she's never spoken of. You know better than to ask.

Her jeans follow. The canoe rocks precariously as she jumps. When she comes back to the surface, her hair is slicked back and water drips from her face. Natasha looks happy, unbothered, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

You ignore the plea of your body to stay warm and dry. Instead, you take your clothes off as well and join her in the lake. Water, cold and refreshing, envelops you. Her hands find your waist and you meet her lips with yours.

After this, you start bathing in the lake every day. You run around the house naked, lake water dripping on the floor and Natasha's laughter trailing after you.

Corners and hallways offer little moments of intimacy. Her body feels warm against yours. You let your hands run over her sun-kissed skin, her lips pressing against the side of your face. Natasha's hand trails down your front and dips between your legs. You're hers entirely.

At night, you curl up on the mattress. Hair damp and skin sunburnt, you feel like the season has claimed you. You've soaked up the joy of summer, and from now on, nothing will be able to compare to this.

Not everything is perfect. As you spend so much time with her, you realize that Natasha and you clash like fire and ice — two forces that shouldn't mix but somehow do.

It's the little things and it's the bigger things. Jackets left in random places, or arguments caused by different ideas of what comes next. Somehow, you're both curious about the future — but you also avoid that topic as much as you can.

You try bringing it up. Gently, carefully, as if not trying to scare away a wild animal. Your head on her chest, the pads of your feet pressed against her calves. Her heartbeat is steady in your ear. You close your eyes and speak, asking her what she thinks.

Natasha is not one to hesitate. This time, she does.

You have no clue why. You don't know that her job requires her to be able to up and go at any given time. You don't know that her life, unlike yours, is fragile and unstable. You don't know that she doesn't want to drag another person into this mess.

There's just one issue: Natasha has fallen in love with you.

It was meant to be a fling. A quick summer flirt. Just a pretty girl to make her days less lonely in this strange, unfamiliar town.

She couldn't have possibly known you'd end up meaning so much to her, but here you are — all messy hair and sweet smiles, burrowing your way into her chest as if you were always meant to be there.

This transition from casual to everything but happened way back. She never noticed it happen. And now, she's in love.

It's the kind of love that takes root deep inside you. It doesn't always fit into neat plans or pretentious families, and it's not always easy, but you both try. Some days, trying is easier than on others.

The days are a blur, and they're a dream as well. But dreams don't last forever.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #wlw #lesbian #the notebook #fanfic #x reader #marvel mcu #marvel #fluff

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noctiva · 1 day ago

Text

Flesh + Blood

toby rogers x f!reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 10.1k

Summary: toby usually tries to keep the more violent aspects of his life out of your line of sight, but after a mission gone awry you get a taste of his true self. literally.

CW: 18+ content, filthy dirty nasty shit, descriptions of violence and gore, rough handling, masochistic tendencies + just masochism in general, heavy sadism, biting, blood kink!!!, marking, dead dove don’t come at me, explicit sexual content, unsafe sex, creampie, hair pulling, degradation but also praise (kinky ver. of hurt/comfort), rough oral sex, dirty talk, dacryphilia, CNC if you squint, toby being mean in a hot way, reader is a fuhREAK

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Some of the acts written here are definitely not recommended to imitate. Be safe!

[also, if you can speak german I’m sorry lmao I used google translate ε-(´∀｀; ) if you can’t speak it just highlight then hit translate!]

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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You had known Toby had a bad day before he even walked through the door.

The morning, had been like any other. Your boyfriend waking you up with soft, sleepy kisses against your neck, your limbs tangled with his beneath the covers. His soft hair tickled your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin as the morning sun shone through the window of the cabin you called home.

"Gotta g-go out today." He had murmured, voice thick with sleep and gravelly - his stubble scratching gently against your jaw. "Boss's orders."

His hands had slid up your body, under the loose t-shirt you had worn to bed - his calloused palms a soothing abrasiveness that quickly smoothed over any disgruntled thoughts about him leaving for the day. Up your stomach, over your ribs, resting just under the swell of your breast to feel your heart beat beneath his touch. "Don't worry, it's an e-easy job. Should only be gone f-for an hour or two."

You had reached up, threading your fingers through his messy, chestnut brown hair - knotted with bedhead, but still so soft as the strands slipped through the gaps. You nodded softly, pulling him in closer, murmuring a gentle 'be safe' next to his ear before pressing a kiss to the lobe.

And Toby had laughed, a sweet, honey-like sound before he lifted his head to look at you proper through his half-lidded eyes. "You-You're sayin' that t-to me?" He had chuckled, a cocky, yet boyish grin stretching across his lips.

God, that smile. It did something to you every single time. How his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and that one dimple that sunk into his unmarred cheek. His teeth, crooked and chipped from too many blows to the face, had a unique quality to them that left you charmed. Every imperfection on Toby, was perfection to you. Even the left half of his face, mangled and scarred, flesh torn from gums to leave his back molars on display at all times.

Grotesque, to most, but to you it was simply captivating. Just another special quirk in the sea of things that made up the man you loved. "You fuh- forget who you're t-talkin' to?" He had chastised you lightly, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, I am the danger. You- You know that."

You did know. But it was so easy to forget, when he was so sweet on you.

"Yeah, I know." You had hummed back to him. "I just forget sometimes, because you're so nice to me."

A little snort of a laugh left Toby, and he rolled his eyes, just before leaning down again to press a gentle kiss between your eyebrows.

"Remind me to j-jog your memory sometime." He had huffed softly. "I'm p-plenty scary."

That had been at just past eleven this morning, and now as you stood in the kitchen - with one of Toby's shirts hanging oversized over your body - it was nearly six. The mid-October sun has already started dipping under the horizon line, filtering in streaks of pink and gold through the window while you busied yourself.

If you didn't, you knew you'd just start to worry - despite the fact that you knew Toby would just make fun of you for doing so.

A paring knife in your hands, you were peeling potatoes whilst humming softly to yourself, a pot of stew simmering on the stove next to you. If he had been out this long, you were sure he must've worked up an appetite, and needed something warm to ward off the chill accumulated in his bones.

Besides, you liked doting on Toby. Liked to see the way his eyes shone when you did something for him just out of the good or your heart - because you loved him. You wanted him to always know that fact, never doubt the love you kept harboured in your heart just for him and him alone. It was more little gestures than big ones; scrubbing bloodstains out of his clothes and patching up holes, tending to wounds he didn't notice he acquired, or cooking dinner like right now.

None of these things felt like chores, they were almost therapeutic. And so as you stood by the stove, chopping potatoes into little cubes, you were blissfully calm despite your boyfriend's extended absence. The television was on in the living room, playing some old rerun movie you had only picked for background noise. The fireplace below it crackled, though it was dying because it had been a little too long since you had thrown in a new log.

Was this domestic bliss? It sure felt like it. Maybe as close to it as you would come, with a literal axe murderer as your chosen partner.

And like a tulpa born straight from your thoughts, the moment your mind wandered back to Toby - the man himself was making an entrance like a freight train.

The front door burst open, so quickly slicing through the soft and cozy atmosphere you had been shrouded in. You couldn't see him, not yet, because the entryway to your home was behind a rounded corner - but you should sure as hell hear him.

The door creaking before it slammed shut. Heavy boots knocking against wood floor. The metallic clang of something hitting the ground (presumably his hatchets), and soft grumbled curses spilling from his lips.

You had been right. You knew there was something off about today.

"Toby?" You call to him, your voice soft and gentle. Not wanting to poke the bear even more than it already had been. Setting the knife down on the cutting board, you quickly shut off the stove and move the pot to a cold burner. Then, with your feet moving faster than your mind was, you make your way out of the kitchen and through the living room. "Are you o-"

The words die on your tongue the moment you round the corner. Now, you were well aware of what Toby did when he left home. Though he hid the gory details from you more often than not, his stained clothes were all of the confirmation you really needed. He was a killer, a good one at that, judging from the little snippets of what he had told you.

But right now, he looked like more than that. He looked like a butcher.

The amount of blood almost didn't look real. Like something out of some gorefest slasher film rather than the authentic remains of a real human being. Toby was coated in it. It was matting in his hair, smeared across the goggles that were pushed up onto his forehead. It was clinging to his eyelashes, dripping down his cheeks and off of his chin. His sweater was drenched, splattered with crimson and torn at the hems - like the fabric had been snagged by the forest brush as he trudged through it.

There was a handprint on his chest, just below his shoulder - smeared and frantic, like someone had been trying to shove him off of them, clawing at the fabric in vain.

Then your eyes trail up again, and god. The look in his eyes.. Dark, somehow both simultaneously dead hollow and wildly crazed. It was almost hard to believe this was the same man who had left the house this morning.

"B-Bitch got away." Snapping you out of your stunned stupor, is Toby's voice - gravelly and strained, sounding almost like he had spent the last hour just screaming his lungs out. You blink a few times, feeling as though his very presence has given you whiplash, before squeaking out;

"What?" Your gaze drops down, eyeing the pool of red accumulating beneath his boots, and you have to ask yourself if at least some of it is his, because there's just so much. Also, you're suddenly very happy you chose hardwood over carpets.

"She- fuck! -She got a-away." Toby repeats himself, his shoulders jerking as an involuntary tic wracks his body. You could hear his joints crack and pop as it happened, a noise that you really never got used to, no matter how much you loved him. He takes a step closer, then another, his boots producing a sickening squelch against the floor. "I fuh- fuckin' gutted her like a damn fish, and she g-got away!"

He's looking down at you, wild eyes glinting in the low light of the entryway, and you can't help but shrink a little. You had never seen him like this. Bloodied and bruised, sure, but never drenched in it - body shaking with unspent adrenaline as he recounted what he had done in graphic detail. "Cut her from here-" He poked your belly button through your shirt with a stained finger, the touch making your whole body tense up. "Up to 'er tits, a-and she still got away. F-Fuckin' scooping up her own guts with her hands as she ran." You look up to meet his eyes, and he's already staring dead straight into yours. "C-Can you believe that?"

He goes silent, looking at you expectantly, and it takes you a few moments to realize that he's actually waiting for an answer. You give him a small, jerky shake of your head, and clear your throat.

"No." You manage out, your voice coming out much softer and shakier than you had meant it to. "That... That doesn't make any sense."

Toby lets out a bark of a laugh, hollow and dry - nothing like the warm and soft chuckle that had graced your ears just this morning. It's a chilling sound, almost maniacal in the way he takes in a wheezing breath afterwards, his head tilting backwards as a warped version of a smile stretches across his lips.

"Yeah, n-no shit." He snorts, before stepping around you and stalking into the living room. You follow, because what the hell else are you supposed to do, collecting blood on the soles of your socked feet as you adhere to the gruesome trail he leaves behind. Toby, pays no mind to any of the mess he's creating, too caught up in his own tumultuous mind to realize that it's starting to look like the murder (or, attempted one, you guess) played out here. "Her friends were easy, maybe t-too easy, but I had expected that! S-She wanted to act like she was t-the fuckin' final girl."

He shrugged off the coat he had been wearing over top of his hoodie, the material falling to the ground with a heavy thump before he started trudging over to the couch. You have to bite your tongue. God, was he going to stain that too? "B-But it might be my fault. The first two were so a-agonizingly easy. So buh-boring. Wanted to have a bit of fun with the last one." He flopped back against the couch and, yup, now your sofa is now smeared with blood as well. "Shoulda just lodged my axe between 'er f-fuckin' eyes."

Something about the way he's speaking, so detached from the acts he committed, made your blood run ice cold in your veins. There's a pit in your stomach, and your chest feels tight every time you take in a quivering breath.

His eyes lift to meet yours from where he's sitting on the sofa, and that's when you realize it.

You're scared of him.

Your palms feel clammy, your heart thudding so hard in your chest that it feels like it's bruising your ribs from the inside. You were scared of him. Of Toby. Never, not once in the years you had been by his side, had you ever felt fear run through your veins while in his presence.

Not when you wiped a few little speckles of blood from his face, not when you sat beside him outside as he sharpened his hatchets, not even on one of his bad days when he would get snappy and snide with you.

But right now? Oh, there was no denying the feeling swirling through your veins like a toxin. You were damn near petrified, and oddly - it was exhilarating.

It was hard to explain exactly what avenue your mind went down, but you were pretty sure it went a little something like this: Toby was always so sweet to you, almost sickeningly so, barely letting you get more than a peek into what he did when those orange goggles of his came down over his eyes. He was hardly ever harsh with you, like you were an angel, and he was scared to sully your spotless white wings with his stained hands. Right now, as he sat before you, eyes cold and his skin growing sticky with drying blood, he was the exact opposite of that. Finally, finally, letting you see every part of who he really is, right down to the gory details.

It made something in you stir. Excitement? Awe? You weren't quite sure. All you knew was that the lead in your stomach was moulding into butterflies.

"Well, she's got to be dead." You murmur, approaching him slowly, eyes locked on him as he settles into the couch - legs spread and his head tilting back against the cushions. Fuck. Were you crazy? Why has he never looked hotter? "If what you said is true, she probably didn't make it far before collapsing. Probably died from blood loss, or shock."

You come to stand before him, right between his knees, and the way he stares up at you has your own nearly buckling under the weight of his gaze. "There's no way she lived."

"Y-You'd think, right?" He hums back to you, his voice low as he leans forwards and rests his elbows on his thighs. "And yet I never found her f-fuckin' corpse. She got away after s-socking me in the nose and I just... Never saw her again. Combed that forest for hours." He reached up, pointing a finger at you. "And you know. You know t-that I know those woods like the b-back of my hand. I looked everywhere." You swallow thickly. "Nothin'. No corpse, no blood trail to lead me to her. The bitch went g-ghost."

"She's dead, Toby. She's got to be. There's just no way." You reassure him. Then, slowly, you sink downwards, folding into a kneel on the ground between his thighs. Wanting to be eye-level, but also, wanting to be closer. Despite the blood - because of the blood - you weren't sure. Your mind was a tangled mix of emotions, and all of them were volatile. Toby watches you, his eyes unreadable as his gaze tracks you moving downwards in his line of sight. "I'm sure you got her."

"Yeah, well." He had noticed your shift in demeanour immediately. Through his clouded mind, there was a shred of guilt that had been prodding at him when he caught sight of the fear in your eyes - so sweet and lovely compared to him, like a scared little rabbit cowering before a pack wolf. It was still there, that anxiety, but it was bordered with something else. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. Or maybe, something he just didn't think was plausible. "I-It's not a job done unless there's a-a body to show for it." He reaches up, wiping away some of the blood that had begun to drip into his eye, smearing it across his skin in consequence. Your heart leaps. "Brian and Tim are pissed. T-Told 'em I could do this one on my own and look what h-happened."

“Well it’s not your fault.” You breathe back to him, holding his gaze as you place a reassuring hand on his knee - looking up at him through your eyelashes. “How were you supposed to know she would practically be immortal?”

Toby laughs dryly and shakes his head, watching you for a moment before he reaches down and pinches your chin between his fingers. You can feel it as the blood smears against your face, and you can smell it - sickly metallic, almost sour. It made your stomach churn.

“Not immortal, just way t-too determined.” His thumb smooths against your cheek, dark brown eyes watching with interest at the stark red mark he leaves against your soft skin. Pretty. He thinks to himself. Real fucking pretty. He really can’t help it when he tightens his grip a little bit, just to feel how soft you are. How fragile you are.

Your eyes widen minutely, and he lets out a soft hum before dragging his hand up the side of your face - painting the canvas that was his pretty girl’s skin. Might even be prettier if it was your own blood. It takes a lot of willpower on his end to squash that thought down.

Toby would never hurt you, he had sworn that to himself on the first day you had met eyes, but he’d be damned if he said he didn’t think about it sometimes. About how your eyes may look, glassy with tears while your face scrunches up in agony. What specific shade of red your blood is. How it tastes. Smells. How it would look smeared across your perfect tits.

Leaving scarlet handprints on your ass, hips, neck, all just to lick you clean afterwards.

He wouldn’t though. He couldn’t. You were far too lovely for that. Far too gentle to be tainted by the likes of someone like him. It was a miracle you hadn’t been already.

It was getting a little difficult to restrain himself though, when you were kneeled before him looking like something pulled straight from a wet dream. So decadently pure, with trails of his sin streaked across your face.

He could fucking eat you whole if you’d let him.

“Toby?” Your voice, soft like spun silk, pulls his thoughts out of the depravity they had been falling into. He tears his eyes away from where his hand met your cheek, and sinks into your irises instead - which might just be a more dangerous route. Wide, like a deer in the headlights you look up at him, with a slight tremble to your bottom lip that makes his stomach feel hot. Makes his whole body feel hot, like you had set him alight with one look.

He doesn’t respond at first, instead just holding your gaze as his hand slips down. Then his eyes are flickering towards the sight of his fingers instead as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. He swipes across it, smearing blood on your lip like some grotesque form of lipstick - his breathing stuttering when you’re left with the most decadent shade of red against the soft plushness.

“P-Pretty.” Toby can’t stop himself from saying, his voice just above a whisper. As if in a trance, he pushes his thumb past your lips without a second thought, hooking into your jaw and prying your mouth open. You sputter, face immediately scrunching up at the action.

You can taste it, the blood. Somebody else’s blood, drained from some poor victim Toby had incapacitated. It was pungently metallic, just a tad bitter, and it immediately made your stomach twist when it hit your tastebuds. With eyebrows furrowed you pull away from him, watching how a pink-tinged line of spit connects your mouth to his finger before it breaks.

You spit onto the floor beside you, not caring about the mess because there was already so much to clean up. You just needed the taste out of your mouth. Toby though, he had other plans.

There’s still drool dribbling down your chin when his hand seizes your jaw again, tilting your head back to look at him with a force that made goosebumps prickle your skin. “You d-don’t like it?” He asks as he leans forwards a little, wild eyes boring into yours. His fingers dig into your jaw, with a strength he’s never shown on you before, and suddenly you’re wondering just how much he’s been holding back all of this time.

You shake your head once, before clearing your throat.

“Don’t like the taste.” You murmur, trying to ignore the fact that your body was so easily conceding to him. Scared, but still so willing, still so eager. You could feel your skin heating up more and more with each second that ticked by.

Why? You should be pushing him away, right? Shoving him towards the shower and throwing his bloody clothes in the wash. For some reason though, you just couldn’t. You were disgusted by the taste on your tongue, shaking where you kneeled because of the man before you, and yet you couldn’t force yourself to move. Not even out of fear anymore, out of something worse. Something sick and twisted that had been sleeping for a long time, now clawing its way to the surface with jagged nails.

“No?” Toby presses his fingers to your lips again, this time his pointer and middle finger both - watching you with an intensity that made you squeeze your thighs together. You knew what he was doing. He was testing you. Seeing whether you’d take the bait and give in, or stick to your morals and shove him away for the second time.

Right then, you remember what he had said to you earlier that day. ‘Remind me to jog your memory sometime. I’m plenty scary.’

You wanted more proof of that.

And so you meet his eyes, then slowly part your lips. His pupils practically swallow his irises whole, eyes going damn near black before he’s slipping his blood soaked fingers into your mouth.

Again, you get the acrid taste or blood on your tongue, and it makes your stomach turn just like it did the first time. But you don’t push him off this time, you let him push further, further - until you’re gagging when the tips of his fingers hit the back of your throat. “Lügnerin.” He murmurs darkly, watching with a keen interest as you sputter on his fingers - drool pooling at the corners of your lips. “You d-do like it.”

You whimper around the digits, a sound that even you would admit was pathetic, and it just makes Toby’s lips twist into a wicked grin. The rasp of his mother tongue always did something to you, he knew that and he found it so adorable how you just melted for him when he spoke it - even if you didn’t have the slightest clue what he was saying.

This was just like - no, better than - his wildest dreams. You looked so pretty and pitiful. His sweet girl. His angel. Kneeling before him, just begging to be ruined.

How could he ever deny you? “Y-You’re not as innocent as I thought, huh?” He taps his fingers against your tongue, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Lick ‘em clean.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment you completely freeze up - aghast by the command he’d just given you. You couldn’t deny how the low drawl of his voice sent tingles straight down to your gut, leaving you shifting where you sat before him. It was a humiliating thing to realize, but the evidence was there, already dampening your panties.

You were incredibly turned on.

You breathe in a breath through your nose, before closing your lips around his fingers - suctioning to them as you began to gently suck. It was filthy. Your mouth coated with a metallic tang, your tongue scrubbing against his rough callouses. It nearly made you gag, and yet you didn’t stop, you kept going - swirling your tongue around the digits until they were spotless, and you were releasing them with a soft ‘pop’.

“Scheiße..” Toby breathes out, his voice rougher than before as he stares down at you. At his two fingers, now starkly cleaner than the rest of his hand. Your lips are stained even more now, and it’s smeared across your chin and cheek, making you look like such a bloody little mess for him. If you let him go this far, you’d let him push more, right?

He wanted you coated in it. Wanted some of it to be your own. Needed to see what face you made when he broke skin. He knew it would be lovely, every part of you was. “S-Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He murmurs, reaching out to cup the side of your face and squeezing softly. “You really d-do like this.” Toby’s voice sounds almost awestruck, and for good reason. Who would’ve ever guessed you wouldn’t mind, scratch that, you liked seeing him like this? A lot more than you were saying, if the way you keep squirming was anything to go by.

Were you already wet? Dripping slick into your panties just from sucking blood off of his hand? His heart thuds like a drum beat in his chest, and he could feel his cock stir in his jeans just from the thought alone. How much could he push you? Just how far would you let him go?

Hell, even if you stopped him here he thinks he’d be satisfied, because what he had just witnessed was prime jerk off material for fucking years to come - but he couldn’t help but want to push his luck, and see how much he could get from you. “You like s-seeing me like this?” He asks softly. “Like seeing proof of w-what I do?”

His hand trails downwards, tracing the line of your jaw before circling your throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, making its presence known. “Makes y-you realize just how fuh-fuckin’ nice I am to you, hm? C-Could kill you so easy i-if I really wanted to.” Now he squeezes, a gentle yet firm pressure against your throat that has your pulse kicking up a notch. “You’d be d-dead before you even knew w-what happened, baby.”

He tightens his grip a little, enough for you to really feel it, and your breathing stutters because it’s already getting hard to breathe and you know he’s still holding back by a lot. “Or maybe, I’d go slow. J-Just to hear your pretty screams.”

He leans down, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fan against your face, and then he’s asking; “Would you l-let me?” It’s a question that has your heart rate spiking, making goosebumps rise over the entire surface of your skin. It’s enough to render you speechless, and so when you don’t respond, he continues. “Would you let me h-hurt you? I’d never really k-kill you, darlin’. Just wanna see you b-bleed.”

And, fuck. Fuck. Those words seemed to be armed with the intention to go straight to your cunt, and that’s exactly what they do. You can feel it as you just grow wetter, your neglected clit throbbing within the confines of your panties. It was a thin pair, something lacy and sheer (just how Toby liked them) but they still felt like too much. Restrictive. Irritating in the way they were a barrier between you and his bare touch.

Had you always been this much of a freak? Maybe. Maybe that’s why you looked past Toby’s profession so easily. Secretly indulging in the thrill, the danger of sharing a bed with someone like him.

Someone who, as he had just made clear, could end your life on a moment’s notice if he really wanted to. The constant uncertainty of another promised day, the silent wonder of if he’d ever snap on you instead.

You had been wanting this. You just hadn’t fully known it until it was staring you right in the face.

“Yeah.” You end up choking out, the last remnants of your self-respect completely flying out the window. If he wouldn’t actually kill you, maybe this was the safest way to dive into the dark desires growing within you. Maybe you wanted to experience every last thing he had been holding back over the years. What would he do to you? What had he been fantasizing about, unbeknownst to you? The uncertainty of it all, is what was making your blood hot. “If… If you really want to.”

“Oh, I want t-to.” Toby murmured softly as he drags his hand back up to your face, before sliding behind your head and pulling you closer by the nape of your neck. Closer to the crotch of his jeans, which - you had noticed but not commented on - had grown a tent in it since you had begun speaking. He really was into this just as much as you were. You suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. “D-Do you know?” Closer he draws you in, until your chin is brushing against his fly. “Do you know how many t-times I’ve thought about it? D-Dreamt about it? You screaming for me? Really screaming?”

You swallow down a lump in your throat, and you’re still trembling. Haven’t stopped, ever since you knelt before him. It was intoxicating, how he set your mind and body alight. “Y-You’re just so p-precious. So sweet to me. I never wanted to actually d-do it…” His fingers curl into your hair, gripping the strands tight enough for you to wince. “But if you’re asking me to? I won’t want to stop until you’re b-begging. And even then, I-I might not.”

You might just fucking drool from that warning alone. God, how had you not known he had been restraining himself so heavily around you? You had thought it was in his nature to be gentle and sweet, the acts he committed for the entity he served just being something he had to do. But no. He had been craving this for longer than you could imagine. Probably since the first day you met. Had he always viewed you as prey? “Y-You really want that? I don’t wanna buh-break you.”

He smiles, an expression so sweet it almost feels uncanny for the circumstances. “I love you t-too much for that.”

“I want it.” You say before you can really mill over the thought, pure impulse taking over - the craving too strong. “I want it, Toby. I do.”

He hums softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them as he looks you over. You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Bloodied, begging, just centimetres away from his clothed cock. Probably like a feast, and his eyes were flickering like he was just itching to dig in.

“D-Du spielst ein gefährliches spiel, meine Liebe.” And it doesn’t even matter that you don’t know what he’s saying, you can just tell it’s a warning. By the look on his face, how his grip on you tightens to the point of near painful. You know it’s just a taste. He could give you so much more. “Prove it th-then.” He hums softly, finally releasing his hold on you in favour of settling back into the couch cushions once more. He crosses his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow as he watches you with an expectant gaze. “Prove that y-you want it, and maybe I-I’ll humour you.”

It was the nonchalance that had you squirming, it was what had your heart racing from the moment you stepped through the door. He wanted this just as much as you did - hell, definitely more than you did - and yet he wasn’t easily cracking like you would’ve expected. It was like he enjoyed the performance of it all, the joy of seeing you sink lower and lower all just to please him. Having his favourite girl beg on her knees for him to paint her crimson? Now isn’t that just a treat.

It takes a moment for you to will your body to move, feeling paralyzed by the sheer potency of dominance radiating off of him. Toby had always been a bit on the commanding side with you in the bedroom, but in a more gentle way.

‘I know you c-can do it for me’.

‘You look so puh-pretty on your knees. Stay just like th-that, okay?”

‘Just a l-little more. You feel so good.”

Tender coaxing. Husky words of encouragement and soft touches to move you how he wanted. You’re realizing though, that may have been a watered down version of how he really wanted to treat you.

You move slowly, your shaking hands raising from your lap to reach for his belt buckle instead. His hips twitch at the action. Eager. Impatient. Your eyes lift to meet his as you start to pull his belt loose, and you feel it as goosebumps raise on the back of your neck - sparking up a chill that travelled all the way down your spine.

Toby was watching you like a hawk, like a predator, tracking each and every movement of yours with a keen interest. It was chilling, really, but the fear just went straight to your core. His belt comes undone, and you don��t even bother pulling it from the loops before you’re popping the button of his jeans.

The fire has died out by now, and the movie you had been playing had finished the ending credits, so it was incredibly silent in the room with him. So much so, that you could hear his every breath. The sound of his zipper being pulled down sounds so incredibly loud. “D-Du bist ein k-krankes kleines ding, nicht wahr?” He’s murmuring right as you’re beginning to tug his briefs down his narrow hips, and he’s normally so cold to the touch - but he’s burning up beneath you right now. “C-Come home c-covered in filth and you j-just drop straight to your knees.”

His cock springs free just inches from your face, and you can’t help but gasp softly. You always felt like you had been blessed when it came to what your boyfriend was endowed with. Long, but not enough to hurt. Thick enough to really feel the stretch. Curved just the right amount, with a vein running up the side and flushed pink at the tip. “Schlampe.” Toby mutters under his breath, right as you feel your mouth start to water.

And you know what that word means. Your eyes dart back up to him immediately, face flushing a deep shade of pink - so perfectly complimenting the blood smeared across your skin.

“I’m not.” You murmur softly as your eyebrows scrunch together, but you close a fist around the base of his length anyway. You hear it when his breathing stutters, and you feel it when his cock jumps at the touch.

“I-I’m not convinced.” He snorts, his eyelids drooping as you pull your hand away to spit into your palm, before returning it to him nice and lubed up. He’s so warm in your hand, already so hard you can feel him throb against your palm. His words make your ears burn, because you know that you’re just proving him right as you lean your head down to lick at the tip.

Toby’s eyes flutter, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest as you flatten your tongue against him - lapping up all the salty precum that he had already accumulated. God, he tasted good, he always did. Always left you craving more. “D-Du bist eine d-dreckige schlampe.” You’re circling your lips around the head of his cock. “Ich wusste es.”

He’s being mean and you know it, but it just makes you burn hotter as you sink your mouth down onto his length. The drawl to his voice, low and sultry as he spits germanic insults down at you - you can’t help but moan around him as you try to take in more. He’s bumping against the constrictive muscles of your throat, but you can take him if you really put your mind to it. You’ve done it before.

You’re trying to get your throat to relax, breathing in through your nose and getting comfortable - when you suddenly feel a hand on the back of your head. It’s sticky, smearing blood into your soft hair, and then it’s pushing you down.

Immediately your eyes blow open wide as you’re shoved down onto his cock, your throat burning and hot tears immediately springing to your eyes. You gag around him, fingers flying down to dig into his thighs. Your gaze darts up towards him, equal parts bewildered and frantic as you try and blink back the tears. “You were t-taking too long.” He chuckles, his grin wicked and lacking any semblance of remorse. His fingers curl into a fist in your hair, gripping the strands with enough force to make your scalp burn as he pushes you down further - until your nose is bumping against his pelvis. “You wanted this, baby. D-Don’t forget that.”

You can barely breathe, your throat practically convulsing around him as it tries and fails to adjust to the intrusion. Tears cling to your eyelashes before they’re dripping down and landing against Toby’s skin. “Ich liebe es, wenn du weinst.” Even if you squirmed you couldn’t try and get away, the strength of which he’s pushing you down being something you could only dream to fight against. “D-Du siehst so hübsch aus.”

Then he’s yanking you back upwards until just the tip remains between your lips, giving you a second to take in a few gasping breaths through your nose. You try to fill your lungs as much as you can, but it still doesn’t feel like enough when he pulling you down onto him again.

He keeps like that, grip tight on your hair as he bobs your head up and down on his cock, making you taking him to the base each and every time. Your throat feels raw, your ears are fucking ringing, and you can’t see a damn thing through the tears blurring your vision. He’s merciless with it, only giving you seconds at a time to greedily take in air before he’s filling up your throat again.

And yet somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten wetter. Your pussy is throbbing, soaking through your panties and making the fabric cling to your folds. Rubbing your thighs together isn’t even helping, you’re so worked up that it’s nowhere near enough to placate you.

So, as Toby switches to holding your head in place as he bucks his hips up into your drooling mouth, you snake a hand down between your own legs.

Toby, of course, tracks the movement immediately. “Oh, poor baby.” He drawls, his tone dripping with mockery and oh so cruel. “Pussy’s g-gettin’ wet because I’m t-treating you like a wh-whore?” He huffs out, fucking up into your mouth with more vigour and making you let out a strangled whimper. “Du bist so erbärmlich. It’s c-cute.”

You whine around his cock as your fingers slip into your panties, and you waste no time finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against the slick nub. A moan leaves you immediately, vibrating through Toby’s length. He hisses out a curse, his hips stuttering a little at the sensation.

You looked so lovely. Lips stretched around his cock, drool seeping out of the corners of your mouth. Tears streaking your blood smeared skin. Your face flushed a pretty pink shade as you touch yourself almost frantically, brows pinched together in pleasure. It was an image that Toby was sure would be burned into the back of his eyelids for a long time to come.

You were just perfect.

His breathing has grown ragged, heavy huffs of breath leaving his lips each time he fucks deep into your throat. With a hand on each side of your head, your hearing is muffled - the echo chamber of your skull filled with nothing but the obscene ‘schlick, schlick’ of his dick dragging against your tongue.

You’re such a mess that it’s pitiful. There’s a growing pool of your liquids accumulating at the base of his cock and dripping between his thighs - your drool, tears, and even a bit of snot from how brutally he’s been treating your poor face. It’s so filthy, as is the slurping sound you make everytime his length leaves your mouth.

Your fingers pick up the pace - faster, more pressure - chasing the heat brewing low in your gut. Your thighs are shaking, knees aching from kneeling against the hardwood flooring, and it’s so good. So good that you can barely even think anymore, your brain reduced to a puddle of thoughtless mush that sloshed around with each buck of his hips.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before - just a bundle of desperation and need. Shaking from discomfort with an aching jaw, and yet it’s exactly where you wanted to be.

Then suddenly, you’re yanked off of his cock, which hits his stomach with a wet slap. And you’re blinking up at him, fingers stilling as you silently question him on why on earth he’s stopping. You could keep going for hours if he wanted you to, the aches and pains just something that fuelled your desire even more. “G-Get up here.” He huffs out, reaching down to grab at you before you can even process what he’s said. “Ich muss d-dich spüren.”

Your legs are shaky and sore when you rise, but lucky for you, you’re not standing for long. Toby tugs you onto his lap without hesitation, impatient hands clawing at the fabric of the loose shorts hugging your hips. “Ich werde dich zum Schreien b-bringen.” You shift, making it easier for him to tug the shorts off of you along with your soaked panties. With how he’s being, you’re pretty sure he would’ve just ripped them off if you didn’t. “Ich werde dich z-zum Weinen bringen.”

He slides a hand between your legs, a soft growl rumbling from his chest when he feels just how slick and ready you are for him already. “You’re fuh-fuckin’ dripping.” He hisses out, giving no warning before sliding two fingers (the ones you had already sucked clean) into your leaking cunt. You gasp, your pussy fluttering around the digits at the sudden intrusion - hands flying up to grip at the bloodied fabric of his hoodie.

He’s far from gentle, just like how he warned you he’d be, but at least he was stretching you out a little bit. Pumping his fingers into you, curling them in the way he knows you like. Scissoring them wide, impatiently getting you ready to take him all.

And with how you had already gotten yourself so close, it’s a piece of cake for him to finish the job. You let out a whine, eyes screwing shut as the pads of his fingers rub against your gspot, taking you higher and higher until-

“Toby-“ You moan, your head dropping low to rest against his shoulder, the drying blood feeling cold as it smears against your face. You can feel the knot in your gut tying tighter, and when his thumb comes up to play with your already swollen clit - you know you’re done for. “I can’t- I’m gonna-“

“Y-You gonna cum for me?” He rasps out, just doubling his efforts as your lips part in pleasure. His gaze drops down, catching on the way his thumb smears blood against your folds, and his abandoned cock jumps at the sight. “Wunderschön.” He’s breathless when he speaks, even more so when you start to shake in his hold.

Your hips twitch, thighs tremble, and then you’re melting against him as you cum - pressing your face into his neck as a wave of pleasure washes over you from head to toe. It’s so intense that stars dance behind your eyelids, your breath catching in your throat as you choke out a moan against his skin. “T-That’s it.” Toby murmurs. “Schönes Mädchen.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you whimpering at the loss - but it’s not for long. He grabs you by the waist, tugging you close until you’re positioned right over his leaking cock. “Y-You’re so p-perfect for me.” He murmurs as he reaches down to take hold of himself, swiping the tip through your slick and getting it nice and wet. “Ich liebe dich.”

You know that one too. “I love you more.” You breathe back to him, and then your brows are pinching together as he slowly lowers you down onto him. Even with the small amount of prep he’s given you, it’s still a stretch, making your breathing stutter as you sink down inch by inch - swallowing him up with your sopping wet pussy.

“S-So tight.” He hisses out, grip like a vice on your hips as you take everything he gives you. “F-Fuck, you’re a d-dream.”

You squirm a little once you’re fully seated, your thighs meeting his. He’s pressed right up against your gspot, a constant pressure that sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. He’s so perfect, everything you could ever need and then some. You feel filled to the brim, your walls pulsing around him to the time of your heart beat, eyes glazed over as you raise your head from his neck to look at him.

He smiles. Bloody, crooked, and yet somehow so incredibly charming. Toby gives the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen him produce, as if he wasn’t six inches deep in your blood smeared body. “You look so g-good like this.” He hums, trailing his hands up your sides and bringing your shirt with it, before tugging it off of you completely. Braless, your nipples perk up once they’re exposed to the cold air, and it just makes his grin widen before he’s bringing his palms to your chest.

He kneads the soft flesh, leaving streaks and bloody fingerprints against them, and just like that - he thinks he’s fallen in love all over again. “My girl.” He murmurs as he rolls his hips up, pressing into you more. “My baby.”

Calloused palms slide down the expanse of your abdomen, then settling on your hips again and giving a squeeze. You were so soft. So soft, warm, and pretty. And your pussy - so wet and hot around him, your walls clinging to him like they’ve been molded to the shape of his cock. He could drown in you if you’d let him. “Lettin’ me g-get you all buh-bloody.” He drags against your sensitive core as he pulls you upwards, eyes locked on you face - watching each little change of your expression. “Gonna l-let me give you mo-more? I-Ich möchte dich s-schmecken.”

“More, Toby.” You whimper, voice trembling. Whatever he’s willing to give you, you want. Screaming, crying, breathless - you don’t care. You’ll give it all to him.

“D-Du bist reizend.” He breathes out, just seconds before dropping you onto his length. He fills you up again in such a swift movement it nearly knocks the wind out of you completely, but you don’t even have time to catch your breath. The pace he picks up is just as ruthless as the treatment he had given your throat.

Fast snaps of his hips, deep thrusts, fucking up into you like it’s his only mission in life. It feels like he’s punching the moans out of your lungs, hitting so deep on every stroke that it makes your vision blur around the edges. You can do nothing but take it, your cunt drooling all over him as he bounces you on his lap like a doll.

Toby, is absolutely captivated. You are everything right now. Better than his wildest dreams. The most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Mouth dropped open as you cry out and gasp for breath, skin glistening with sweat and streaks of scarlet. Tits bouncing with each thrust, skin rippling in the most enticing way.

He needs to sink his teeth in, and so he does.

With your eyes squeezed shut from pleasure, you don’t even get a warning before he leans forwards and bites down on your neck. Hard.

Immediately, the pain that blossoms from his teeth is something that has your eyes snapping open - momentarily sobering you up and clearing your mind. When he breaks skin, you scream.

A real, genuine, straight from the soul scream. It’s ripped from you, your cunt tightening around him as your whole body tenses up. The feeling of his blunt teeth biting so hard that they tear skin, is something you don’t think you’ll ever forget. It’s a searing pain. The kind that makes your mouth go dry as all the air leaves your lungs.

Instinctively, you reach your hands up to push at his shoulders to free yourself, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he just bites down harder. Toby moans against you with a mouthful of flesh, snapping his hips up into you harder, his grip tight to keep you right where he wanted you. No amount of struggle or pushback was fazing him. He was so drunk on the taste of you, and the sound of your screams, that every protest was falling on deaf ears.

His jaw finally relaxes, and then he’s pulling away - slowly pulling his teeth from the stark puncture wound now standing out against your previously unmarred neck. He watches as the blood pools in the deepest parts of the wound, then beads up before it drips down - down, over your collarbone, across your chest, sliding down the slope of your breast. Fuck, this is so much better than his dreams.

“Toby-“ You cry as fresh tears well up in your eyes - salty and hot, just like the blood staining Toby’s tongue. Your neck was throbbing, and with how he just kept impaling you on his dick over and over despite your cries, you were beginning to feel a little dizzy. It was a lot for your body to handle, maybe too much. But you’d be damned if you backed down now.

Toby looked feral. You catch his gaze and you swear your heart stops. You’ve seen him in the heat of the moment more times than you could count, but never like this. He looked… Deranged. Absolutely intoxicated by you, and fully sinking into that fact. His pupils were blown wide behind drooping lids, lips smeared with your blood as they stretch into a satisfied smile.

“D-Du schmeckst so s-süß.” His right hand slides downwards, meeting your clit once again with ease. Giving you a few, soothing circles. “I-Ich könnte dich l-lebendig essen.”

Toby seats you back on his dick fully, and then your worldview flips. It’s only once your back hits the couch cushions, that you realize he’s picked you up and pinned you down. “Y-You know how puh-pretty you sound when you scream?” He asks as he shimmies off his jeans fully, staying pressed as deep as possible the entire time. “And those t-tears.. Fuck, y-you’re gorgeous.”

He nuzzles against your neck as he gets comfortable between your legs again, putting a pressure against the bite mark that made you wince. It had just started to settle down from a blinding pain to a dull throb, but it feels like he’s reignited it all over again. “Ich glaube, ich ha-habe vorhin gelogen.” With one hand on your stomach and one on your waist, he’s got your trapped beneath him. “Ich möchte d-dich wirklich b-brechen.”

You feel a tongue against your neck as he begins to rock his hips once more. Gentler this time, finally giving your body a chance to relax. Toby laps up the blood from your neck as he fucks you with slow, shallow strokes, muffling his moans against your skin. Your body arches up into him, your chest meeting his, and you’re gasping right next to his ear. It’s the strangest feeling, having his tongue dip into the pits of the wound he had just made, but the sharp sting is almost welcome. It just feels so… Comforting. Intimate.

Like you’ve never been closer.

Toby pulls his head back, fluffy strands of hair falling against his forehead as he watches you from above. You look like a damn work of art, a sight that makes his breath catch. His gaze travels down to focus on the image of your pretty pussy swallowing him up over and over. Stretching around him. Leaving him glistening with slick everytime he pulled out. Then, his eyes lift, and he’s focusing on the blood smearing your stomach and chest. Higher, his eyes trace the shape of the mark he left on you. Finally, they stop at your face - contorted in pleasure and streaked with tears. “Y-You’re so b-beautiful.” He gasps out, nails sinking into your skin as he starts pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

Your body shifts and slides against the couch cushions, already damp with sweat and blood. He’s got you taking his whole length again, making sure to bury himself to the hilt on every single stroke - his pelvis bumping against your clit. “I love you.” He moans softly to the melody of his skin hitting yours. His voice is so sweet and gentle, just like in the morning. A reminder that he was still the exact same man.

“I-I love you, Toby.” You choke out, just barely getting the words out between gasps and moans. You were nearing another peak. Could feel it brewing and growing hotter with each snap of Toby’s hips. His hands slip down and around to your ass, large palms splaying against each cheek and keeping you nice and spread open while he gets lost in your heat.

You just barely see it through your hazy vision as he leans down once more, but you notice his lips parting. At least this time, you’re getting a bit of a heads-up.

His teeth meet your skin again, this time your shoulder, and he bites down so quick it takes a moment for the pain to even register. But once it does, it’s even worse than the last one. Again, you yelp, crying and squirming beneath him hopelessly as he sinks his canines deeper into your flesh. Right into the muscle, it feels like, when his jaw locks into you harder.

It’s excruciating. A blinding pain that makes your head feel fuzzy. What you were feeling right now, with Toby latched onto your shoulder while he pounded into you, was something you couldn’t quite understand. Did you hate this, or love it? Did you want to push him away, or draw him in closer? Was it pain or pleasure?

The answer to each question, was a resounding ‘I don’t know’.

Your body seemed to decide before your mind did though, because you find yourself reaching up for him with a trembling hand. Into his hair your fingers thread - not tugging or pulling, just cupping the back of his head. Holding him there as he tears at your flesh. You think you would do the exact same thing even if he started pulling meat from bone.

You feel like you’re melding into him, becoming one as the warmth of your blood drips down into his throat. The pain started to do something funny as he released your shoulder before biting down again just a few inches below. It wasn’t distracting from the pleasure anymore, it was heightening it. Two opposites swirling together to form something new and exhilarating.

Toby notices the moment it happens, feeling how you relaxed so sweetly into his brutal hold. His nails bite into your hips, surely leaving scratches and bruises behind - just a few more marks to add to the collection he’s already given you.

“P-Perfect.” He breathes once he pulls back again, mouth smeared with blood and his teeth stained with it. Toby looked like a rabid beast in your eyes, and you were his willing victim. He wasn’t all violence and ferocity though, you could tell as you looked into his eyes through your blurry vision. His gaze was teeming with nothing but love. A tad obsessive, a little warped, but love nonetheless.

It makes your heart swell. “Y-You’re everything t-to me, you know that?” He tells you softly, rolling his hips deeper as he feels your walls start to flutter around him. Your blood drips down his jaw, glinting in the low light of the living room. You don’t think he’s ever looked more handsome.

Without a thought in your mind, you pull him in with the hand you still have placed on the back of his head - pressing your lips to his in a messy kiss. You can taste your own blood, even more so when he slips his tongue past your parted lips with a groan. It’s sloppy and crude, blood and drool smearing against both of your faces as you drink each other in. “Wenn ich ein b-besserer Mann wäre, würde ich d-dich heiraten.” He gasps against you after pulling away minutely, such filthy noises spilling from his lips and falling straight into yours. “Du verdienst alles.”

Your fingers fist into his hair, now gripping hard enough that you know it would hurt him if he could feel it. But he couldn’t, so you just tug harder as his length slides against your convulsing core.

“Toby-“ You cry in an attempt to warn him of your impending release, but he doesn’t even need you to.

“I-I know, baby. I know.” Toby groans, then leaning in just a little closer again to catch your bottom lip between his teeth. You’re expecting it now before he even spilts it with his canines. You can’t even taste it when blood gushes into your mouth, your tastebuds already completely coated in that metallic tang. “G-Give it to me.” He rasps out once he tears his teeth from the supple flesh.

And you do, you give him everything. One hand pulling his hair until his scalp went raw, and the other one clawing at his bicep - you tumble over the edge for the second time in a flurry of gasps and moans. Your legs lock around his hips, squeezing him tight as your cunt just squeezes harder - pulsing around him, sucking him in like you never wanted to let him go.

You didn’t. You could die like this and be a happy woman. “A-Ah, fuck.” Toby groans out, head dropping low as he fucks into you with even more vigour. Chasing his own release while prolonging yours. With stars in your eyes and ears ringing, your body trembles beneath him as his hips begin to stutter.

And you suppose you should’ve predicted what he did next. Right as you feel him start to throb inside you, he reaches for your hand and yanks it from where it had been gripping his shoulder. Toby seizes your wrist, letting out a gravelly moan just before he presses his lips to your forearm.

Teeth break skin again right as you feel him spill inside you. Hot ropes of his release, pulled in deep by your still convulsing body. Even hotter waves of painful pleasure washing over you like he had cast a spell.

His thrusts go lazy, still pumping into you as his spend gushes out around his softening cock - just adding to the mess you’re already coated in. He pulls out of your body first, then tugs his teeth from your arm second.

When he looks back to you, you feel your joints go gooey. His eyes are so warm and satisfied as he parts his lips, holding your gaze as his tongue darts out to lick at your newest wound. It’s comforting in the strangest way, and it’s the sickest form of sweetness when he’s pressing kisses to it just moments later.

He does that for every single one. Peppering kisses against each tooth shaped indentation, lapping at the blood until you’re left (relatively) clean. Raw, red puncture wounds that had already begun to swell, but each kiss makes the throbbing dull.

“S-Sorry.” He murmurs softly, lips brushing against your sensitive skin. “Y-You don’t even ha-have to say it. I know I-I went too far.”

Your body feels like it’s been drained of all of its energy, weak and sore all over, but you still force yourself to shake your head. Your arms feel like they’re made of lead when you lift them, pain rippling from your neck downwards - but you wrap them around him anyway.

“No you didn’t.” You whisper back, with a throat so raw that your voice comes out hoarse. “I’m alright.”

Toby relaxes a little at your gentle reassurance, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and letting out a shaky sigh.

“Y-You sure?” He asks, just to be certain. You were still trembling, muscles sore and stiff as you held him close. “I-If you hate me now, I wouldn’t buh-blame you.”

You let out a short breath through your nose and shake your head again.

“I could never hate you.”

—————————————————————————☆

the toby brainworms were eating me alive so I started writing this and then just kept writing and writing and ended up with 10k words of pure filth

if my invite request ever gets accepted on ao3 I’ll post it there too but for now this is a tumblr exclusive lols

thanks for reading! ♡

#toby rogers x reader #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x you #ticci toby smut #toby rogers smut #creepypasta #ticci toby #toby rogers

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cannibalmouse · 2 days ago

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*raises hand*

obvious spam and porn bots should be reported as spam of course but if you want to have them kinda pre-filtered (you have to use the search bar for your tag of choice, not use the hashtag page) by filtering the common shared tags on these bot posts. this catches both link posts (this is what i filter for when actively searching for bots to report and block, it does not find all of them, also gets lots of ao3 links) and posted pictures, by making them more noticeable. If i am say, looking for batman related stuff I'm not looking for skincare folk music or stranger things (usually, the one exception to the spammed tags rule is someone looking for friends to talk with, also there are people who use popular and trending tags to look for support.)

gonna use some screen caps as examples

I have a lot of examples

these are old too but you can see what i mean by the way these are tagged, whenever something hits the top ten on the trending page it gets picked up and used in the creation of these kinds of bots, same with the ones that are just advertising.

heres my tip, if there are frequent bots in whatever tag you're looking for when you use the search bar, block one of the other tags if its something you don't like. Or don't care about. If you filter the tag (filtered post content hides the post all together) you can check for yourself if it's a bot and report it.

For those who’ve migrated from TikTok: there’s no reward for harassment on Tumblr. You won’t gain a heavy amount of likes, reblogs, and followers for leading harassment campaigns; if anything, it’ll make people block you.

On Tumblr, there’s no popularity contest because many don’t care about the amount of followers, likes, and reblogs you have. A lot of users even hide their likes and who they're following. Users heavily encourage blocking people and filtering out tags. This is why online discourse is more confined to its bubble instead of being so widespread on this website: because people curate their experiences.

If you want to have an enjoyable experience on Tumblr, then you need to use the block button and filtering system. If you don't, then you're going to be extremely miserable.

EDIT: Interesting additions to the post-

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queenshelby · 3 days ago

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The Peaky Role (Part 20)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Smut

Just as you had finally found a casual dress to wear and were about to put on some make-up, there was a knock at the door that jolted you from your thoughts.

"Y/N?" Cillian's voice broke through from the other side of the door, laced with an urgency that sent your heart racing. You swallowed hard, glancing at the mirror one last time before you opened the door.

"Yes?" you asked as you saw Cillian standing there, tension radiating from him, his brow furrowed.

"I need to talk to you," he declared, his voice low but firm.

You opened the door wider, letting him inside, the warmth of your apartment contrasting with the storm brewing in his eyes.

"What's up?" you asked as soon as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a resolute click.

"I heard about your dinner with Barry tonight," he cut straight to the point, his jaw tightening. "And I think that you shouldn't be going out with him."

A sharp breath caught in your throat.

"And why not?" you asked as you crossed your arms, defiance sparking within as you took a step back, the heat of the moment igniting an argument.

Cillian ran a hand through his hair, frustration visible in the tight lines of his face. "He's not right for you and I don't want you to screw up your career by hooking up with him or another actor on set."

"Well, for starters, I wasn't going to hook up with him but, even if I was going to, what business is it of yours?" you asked him with your arms still crossed tightly, daring him to challenge you.

"I am a producer of the movie and it is my business when...," Cillian began but you cut him off.

"Don't even start this conversation as though you actually care about the rules, Cillian," you retorted, fire flashing in your eyes. "You broke them yourself by sleeping with me, didn't you?" you said, anger simmering in your chest, eyes locked on his. It was a low blow, you knew it, but you couldn't help it. The words tumbled out, fueled by a mix of frustration and the raw, exposed emotions that had been building up inside you.

"That's different and you know it," Cillian countered, his voice tight, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something else—pain, perhaps.

You scoffed, the sound bitter and harsh. "How is it different Cillian?" you challenged, your voice rising despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "You slept with me while we were already working together, so how is that any less of a mess than me going out with Barry? You're a hypocrite, Cillian. You can't tell me what to do when you're doing the same thing."

Cillian's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Alright, he said, his voice low and controlled. "You're right. I did break the rules, and I shouldn't be lecturing you about them. But this is different, Y/N. Barry is... he's not good for you. He's got a reputation," Cillian tried to argue but you knew what the real issue was. He was jealous. You could see it in the way his eyes flashed, in the tight set of his jaw. He was jealous, and it sent a thrill through you, a dangerous, exhilarating sensation that made your heart race.

You took a step closer, your voice softening as you challenged him. "You know what I think the problem is here?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you stepped closer to him, your eyes locked onto his. "I think you're jealous."

Cillian's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, but the heat in his voice betrayed him.

You smirked, taking another step closer, your voice a low purr. "Am I? Because it sure seems like it to me. You're not worried about my career, Cillian. You're worried about me being with someone else."

Cillian's jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

When he looked back at you, his eyes were stormy, a mix of frustration and something else—something darker, more primal. "Fine, maybe I am," he admitted, his voice low and gruff. "But that doesn't change the fact that Barry is bad news. He's a great actor and a nice guy, but he is also player, Y/N. He'll use you and toss you aside. I don't want to see you get hurt."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. "And what about you then? Didn't you use me and toss me aside?" you asked, your voice soft but laced with a challenge. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and his guilt over the situation.

"You know I had no choice and you know very well that we can't actually be together, right?" Cillian's voice was low, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I have a family, Y/N. I have responsibilities. This... what we have, it's complicated and messy, and I cannot promise you anything," Cillian said, his voice heavy with regret and longing. "But I also can't stand the thought of you with someone else, either. It's selfish, I know. But I can't help it."

You took a deep breath, your heart aching at his words. You knew he was right—this was complicated, messy, and ultimately doomed. But you also knew that you couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop wanting him. And seeing him like this, vulnerable and honest, only made it worse.

"I never asked you to make me any promises Cillian," you whispered, your voice soft and gentle, your fingers trailing down his arm. "I never expected anything from you. I knew what I was getting into. I knew the risks. I knew the consequences. I just... I don't like you pushing me away and that's exactly what you have been doing this past week," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you stepped even closer, your breath mingling with his. "I know this is complicated, and I know it's messy. But I also know what I feel when I'm with you, Cillian. And I can't just turn that off because it's convenient or because it's what's expected of us."

Cillian's eyes softened, the storm in them slowly dissipating, replaced by a warmth that made your heart flutter. He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. "Y/N, I—" he started. "I can't turn that off either," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we are playing with fire here and both know that. And eventually, someone is going to get burned."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew he was right, but you also knew that you couldn't walk away. Not yet. Not until you had to.

Cillian's hand dropped from your cheek, his fingers tangling with yours as he took a step closer, his breath warm on your skin. "I can't promise you anything, Y/N. I can't promise you a future, or a happily ever after. It's just not on the cards," Cillian said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Then don't. Just don't promise me anything," you whispered, your voice barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat of his body, the electricity that sparked between you, and you knew that you were playing with fire. But you also knew that you couldn't resist him, not anymore. "I can't promise you a future either, Cillian, but I still want to be with you, and I think there is nothing wrong with living in the moment if we are smart about it," you added, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

"Y/N," Cillian objected , his voice barely a whisper, his eyes searching yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart race. "You're too young to be involved in this mess. You deserve better than this."

You scoffed softly, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Better than what, Cillian? Better than being with someone who makes me feel alive?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "I mean, I know it's fucked up because you are my best friend's father, but I like being with you and, even if nothing ever comes of this, I want to experience it while I can. I want to feel this," you added, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a step closer, your eyes locked onto his. "I want to feel everything with you, Cillian. I don't want to miss out on this because we're too scared of what might happen," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

Cillian's eyes searched yours, a mix of emotions flickering in their depths.

You could see the struggle within him, the battle between his desires and his responsibilities. He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke, "Fuck Y/N. You know I can't stay away from you."

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest, the air between you thick with tension. "Yeah, I have noticed," you said, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes locked onto his and, as you did, Cillian's eyes darkened, the storm within him brewing and, before you knew it, he had grabbed you by the hips and pulled you against him, his lips crashing down onto yours in a fierce, hungry kiss.

You gasped , your body melting against his as his tongue invaded your mouth, exploring and claiming, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"I want you so much Y/N, you have no fucking idea ," he growled into your mouth, his voice low and primal, his body pressing against yours.

You moaned into his kiss, your body responding to his touch, your nipples hardening against his chest. "I think I have some idea," you breathed, your voice husky with desire as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands slid from your hips to your ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling you tighter against him, his cock hard and insistent against your stomach already now, which surely did not take long.

"If we are going to do this, no one can know," he whispered against your mouth, his voice rough with lust and desperation. "We have to be careful, Y/N. We can't let anyone find out about us for a very long time."

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as you ran your hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt. "I know," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "I know we have to be careful."

Cillian's hands gripped your ass tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried you to the bed, his mouth never leaving yours, his kiss hungry and desperate.

You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his cock pressing against you, and you knew that you were in for a wild ride. As he laid you down on the bed, his body covering yours, you could feel the weight of him, the strength in his muscles, and you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Cillian's hands roamed your body, his touch firm and possessive as he explored every curve, every inch of your skin. You moaned into his kiss, your body arching against his, seeking more of his touch.

"You need to tell Barry that you aren't coming to dinner," Cillian growled, his voice low and demanding as he trailed hot, wet kisses down your neck, his stubble rough against your skin.

"Oh shit, I had forgotten about him already," you gasped, your head falling back to give him better access, your body already aching with need.

"Just tell him you're busy," he insisted, his teeth grazing your collarbone, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"Fine," you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "I'll text him. Just don't stop," you gasped, your body writhing beneath him, your hips grinding against his cock, the thick, hard length of him pressing against your clit through the layers of our clothes.

While you reached for your phone to message Barry, Cillian's fingers found the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts, barely contained in your lace bra.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his voice low and primal as he leaned down, his mouth capturing one of your nipples through the lace, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core while you tried to text Barry.

After you sent the message, the phone fell out of your hands and landed on the bed and you did not care. He was too busy kissing and sucking your breasts, his hands roaming over your body.

"Oh god, Cillian," you gasped, your body arching off the bed, pressing against him while he tried to take off his t-shirt. "I need you to fuck me , please," you begged, your voice breathless and desperate as you watched him take off his t-shirt.

Cillian's eyes darkened with lust, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he quickly unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers, his cock springing free, hard and thick, the head glistening with pre-cum. You reached out, your fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking him gently, feeling the velvety softness of his skin, the hardness beneath.

"Take off your panties," he ordered, his voice a low growl as he ripped the lace bra off you, tossing it aside.

You quickly complied, shimmying out of your underwear, your body aching with need. Cillian's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, bare and exposed, your legs spread wide for him. He groaned, his cock twitching in your hand, a drop of pre-cum beading at the tip.

"Fuck, you're so wet already," he growled, his fingers trailing down your stomach, his thumb circling your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You moaned, your hips bucking against his touch, your body aching for more.

"Cillian, please," you begged, your voice breathless and desperate. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you."

Cillian's eyes darkened with lust, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your wet folds. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice low and gruff, his eyes locked onto yours, a challenge in his gaze.

"God, yes," you moaned, your body trembling with anticipation. "I want you to fuck me, Cillian. I want you to fuck me hard," you demanded, your voice laced with desperation and need. "I want to feel every inch of you inside me."

Cillian's eyes flashed with hunger, his jaw clenching as he slowly pushed into you, the head of his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, your body accommodating his size, the sensation of being filled by him again overwhelming and intense.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groaned, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your tightness.

"So do you ," you gasped, your nails digging into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder, Cillian. Fuck me harder."

Cillian's eyes darkened, a low growl escaping his throat as he complied, his hips snapping against yours, his cock pounding into you with a force that stole your breath. The bed creaked and groaned beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall with each brutal thrust. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a raw, primal symphony that sent shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Cillian's body was slick with sweat, his muscles tensed and flexing with each powerful thrust. You could feel every inch of him, the thick, hard length of his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that made your toes curl and your vision blur.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian grunted, his voice low and strained, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze sending a thrill through you.

You moaned, your body writhing beneath him, your hips meeting his thrusts with equal force.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, your voice breathless and desperate. "Just like that, Cillian. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

Cillian's eyes were wild, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you, his muscles tensed and flexing. "I won't stop," he grunted, his voice low and primal. "I can't stop. You feel too fucking good."

You reached up, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him down to you, your lips crashing against his in a fierce, hungry kiss.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue invading your mouth, exploring, claiming. You could taste the salt of his sweat, the faint hint of mint on his breath, and it only served to heighten your arousal. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you in place as he pounded into you, his cock sliding in and out of your wet, eager pussy with ease.

The room was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wet, obscene sounds of sex, the low, primal grunts and moans that escaped from both of your throats.

It didn't last long. It was as if the room had been set on fire and the two of you were the flames. You could feel it in the way his body moved against yours, the way his muscles tensed and flexed with each powerful thrust. You could see it in the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his jaw clenched with each grunt of pleasure. You could hear it in the way his voice grew hoarse, the way his words became more and more desperate, more and more filthy.

Him fucking you like this, raw and primal, made you cum hard and fast. You could feel your orgasm building, a coil of tension deep in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

"That's it, Y/N," Cillian grunted, his voice low and strained, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze sending a thrill through you. "Cum for me," he demanded, his voice a low growl as he pounded into you, his cock sliding in and out of your wet, eager pussy with ease.

You moaned, your body writhing beneath him, your hips meeting his thrusts with equal force. "I'm close," you gasped, your voice breathless and desperate. "So close, Cillian. Just a little more." You panted, your body trembling with the force of your impending orgasm until, after ten minutes or so, you came.

It was explosive, your body convulsing around him, your inner walls clenching tightly around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. You screamed his name, your voice raw and desperate, your body arching off the bed, pressing against him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. "Cillian! Fuck, Cillian, I'm cumming!" you cried out, your voice hoarse with exertion, your body shaking with the force of your release.

Cillian's eyes darkened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched you cum, his cock still pounding into you, his hips moving faster, his body tensing as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted, his voice low and strained. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum. I can't get enough of you," he groaned just before, he too, climaxed. His body tensed, his muscles flexing as he drove into you one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. You could feel every jet of it, the warmth spreading inside you, marking you as his.

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted, his voice low and strained, his body shaking with the force of his release. "You feel so fucking good."

You moaned, your body milking him, your inner walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing out every last drop of his cum.

Cillian collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, the steady rhythm a soothing lullaby after the storm of your passion. His cock was still hard inside you, pulsing with the remnants of his release, and you couldn't help but clench around him again, drawing a low groan from his throat.

"You're going to fucking kill me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and husky, his lips brushing against your ear and you knew that this was just the first of many times that night.

As you were up to your third time however, there was another knock on the door to your tiny studio apartment.

It was a light tap, but it was enough to make you both freeze, your bodies still entwined, hearts pounding in sync. Cillian's eyes widened, and he quickly pulled out of you, his cock still glistening with your combined releases. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Cillian, on the other hand, looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"Y/N, it's Barry," came the voice from the other side of the door. It was soft and gentle, but it cut through the air like a knife.

Cillian's eyes widened as he looked at you, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Did you text him?" he asked, his voice low and desperate, his eyes searching yours. "I thought you had texted him."

"I did," you whispered back, your voice barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest. "I swear, I did. He shouldn't be here."

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glitter-stained · 2 days ago

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Damasio, The Trolley Problem and Batman: Under the Hood

Okay so @bestangelofall asked me to elaborate on what I meant by "Damasio's theories on emotions in moral decision-making add another level of depth to the analysis of UTH as a moral dilemma" and I thought this deserved its own post so let's talk about this.

So, idk where everyone is at here (philosophy was mandatory in highschool in my country but apparently that's not the case everywhere so i genuinely have no clue what's common knowledge here, i don't want to like state the obvious but also we should recap some stuff. Also if I'm mentioning a philosopher's or scientist's name without detailing, that means it's just a passing thought/recommendation if you want to read more on the topic.)

First thing first is I've seen said, about jason and the no killing rule, that "killing is always bad that's not up for debate". And I would like to say, that's factually untrue. Like, no matter which side of the debate you are on, there is very much a debate. Historically a big thing even. So if that's not something you're open to hear about, if you're convinced your position is the only correct one and even considering other options is wrong and/or a waste of time... I recommend stopping here, because this only going to make you upset, and you have better stuff to do with your life than getting upset over an essay. In any case please stay civil and remember that this post is not about me debating ethics with the whole bat-tumblr, it's me describing a debate other people have been voicing for a long time, explaining the position Damasio's neuropsychology and philosophy holds in this debate, and analyzing the ethics discussed in Batman: Under the Red Hood in that light. So while I might talk about my personal position in here (because I have an opinion in this debate), this isn't a philosophy post; this is a literature analysis that just so happens to exist within the context of a neuropsychological position on a philosophical debate. Do not try to convince me that my philosophy of ethics is wrong, because that's not the point, that's not what the post is about, I find it very frustrating and you will be blocked. I don't have the energy to defend my personal opinions against everybody who disagrees with me.

Now, let's start with Bruce. Bruce, in Under The Hood and wrt the no kill rule (not necessarily all of his ethics, i'm talking specifically about the no kill rule), is defending a deontological position. Deontology is a philosophy of ethics coined by christian🧷 18th century German philosopher Immanuel Kant. The philosophy of ethics asks this question: what does it mean to do a good action? And deontology answers "it means to do things following a set of principles". Basically Kant describes what are "absolute imperatives" which are rules that hold inherent moral values: some things are fundamentally wrong and others are bad. Batman's no-kill rule is thus a categorical imperative: "Though Shall not Kill"🧷, it is always wrong to kill. (Note that I am not saying Bruce is kantian just because he has a deontology: Kant explained the concept of deontological ethics, and then went up to theorize his own very specific and odd brand of deontology, which banned anything that if generalized would cause the collapse of society as well as, inexplicably, masturbation. Bruce is not Kantian, he's just, regarding the no kill rule, deontological. Batman is still allowed to wank, don't worry.)

In this debate, deontological ethics are often pit up against teleological ethics, the most famous group of which being consequentialism, the most famous of consequentialisms being utilitarism. As the name indicates, consequentialist theories posit that the intended consequences of your actions determine if those actions were good or not. Utilitarism claims that to do good, your actions should aim to maximise happiness for the most people possible. So Jason, when he says "one should kill the Joker to prevent the thousands of victims he is going to harm if one does not kill him", is holding a utilitarian position.

The debate between deontology and utilitarism has held many forms, some fantastical and some with more realistic approaches to real life like "say you're hiding from soldiers and you're holding a baby that's gonna start crying, alerting the soldiers and getting everyone in your hideout massacred. Do you muffle the baby, knowing it will suffocate and kill it?" or "say there's a plague going on and people are dying and the hospital does not have enough ventilators, do you take the one off of the comatose patient with under 0.01% chance of ever waking up to give it to another patient? What about 1%?", etc, etc. The most famous derivative of this dilemma, of course, being the infamous trolley problem.

This is what is meant when we say "the UTH confrontation is a trolley problem." The final confrontation at the warehouse is a variation, a derivative of the utilitarian dilemma that goes as follows: "if someone was trying to kill someone in front of you, and that murder would prevent the murder of thousands, should you try to stop that murder or let it happen?"

Now, here's a question: why are there so many derivatives of the trolley problem? Why do philosophers spend time pondering different versions of the same question instead of solving it?

My opinion (and the one of much, much smarter people whose name i forgot oops) is that both systems fail at giving us a satisfying, clean-cut reply. Now, most people have a clean-cut answer to the trolley problem as presented here: me personally, I lean more towards utilitarianism, and I found it logical to pull the lever. But altering the exact situation makes me change my answer, and there is very often a point where people, no matter their deontological or utilitarian velleities, change their answer. And that's interesting to examine.

So let's talk about deontology. Now my first gripe with deontology it's that it posits a set of rules as absolute and I find that often quite arbitrary. 🧷 Like, it feels a little like mathematical axioms, you know? We build a whole worldview on the assumption that these rules are inherently correct and the best configuration because it feels like it makes sense, and accidentally close our mind to the world of non-euclidian ethics. In practice, here are some situations in which a deontologist might change their mind: self-defense killing, for example, is often cited as "an exception to the rule", making that rule de facto non-universal; and disqualifying it as an absolute imperative. Strangely enough, people will often try to solve the trolley problem by deciding to kill themselves by jumping on the tracks 🧷 which is actually a utilitarian solution: whether you're pulling the lever or you're jumping on the tracks, you are choosing to kill one person to stop the people from being run over. Why does it matter if it's you or someone else you're killing? You're still killing someone. Another situation where people may change their answer would be, like "what if you needed to save your children but to do so you had to kill the ceo of united healthcare?" Note that these are only examples for killing, but the biggest issue is that deontology preaches actions are always either good or wrong, and the issue with that lack of nuance is best illustrated with the kantian problem regarding the morality of lying: let's say it's the holocaust and a family of jews is hiding in your house. Let's say a nazi knocks on your door and asks if there are people hiding in your house. You know if you tell the truth, the jews in your house will be deported. In that situation, is it morally correct to lie? Now, Kant lived before the Holocaust, but in his time there was a similar version of this problem that had been verbalised (this formulation is the best-known derivative of this problem btw, I didn't invent it) and Kant's answer, I kid you not, was still "no it is not morally acceptable to lie in that situation".

And of course, there are variations of that problem that play with the definition of killing- what defines the act of killing and can the other circumstances (like if there's a person you need to save) alter that definition? => Conclusion: there is a lot more nuance to moral actions than what a purely deontological frame claims, and pushing deontology to its limits leads to situations that would feel absurd to us.

Now let's take utilitarianism to its own limits. Say you live in a world where healthcare has never been better. Now say this system is so because there is a whole small caste of people who have been cloned and genetically optimized and conditioned since birth so that their organs could be harvested at any given moment to heal someone. Let's say this system is so performant it has optimised this world's humanity's general well-being and health, leading to an undeniable, unparalleled positive net-worth for humanity. Here's the question: is this world a utopia or a dystopia? Aka, is raising a caste of people as organ cattle morally acceptable in that situation? (Note: Because people's limits on utilitarianism vary greatly from one person to another, I chose the most extreme example I could remember, but of course there are far more nuanced ones. Again, I wasn't the one to come up with this example. If you're looking for examples of this in fiction, i think the limits of utilitarianism are explored pretty interestingly in the videogame The Last of Us).

=> Conclusion: there is a lot more nuance to moral actions than what a purely utilitarian frame claims, and pushing utilitarism to its limits leads to situations that would feel absurd to us.

This leads us back to Under the Hood. Now because UTH includes a scathing criticism of Batman's no kill rule deontology, but Jason is also presented as a villain in this one, my analysis of the whole comic is based on the confrontation between both of these philosophies and their failures, culminating in a trolley dilemma type situation. So this is why it makes sense to have Bruce get mad at Jason for killing Captain Nazi in self-defense: rejecting self-defense, even against nazis, is the logical absurd conclusion of deontology. Winick is simply taking Bruce's no-kill rule to the limit.

And that's part of what gets me about Jason killing goons (aside from the willis todd thing that should definitely have been addressed in such a plot point.) It's that it feels to me like Jason's philosophy is presented as wrong because it leads to unacceptable decisions, but killing goons is not the logical absurd conclusion of utilitarianism. It's a. a side-effect of Jason's plot against Bruce and/or, depending on how charitable you are to either Jason's intelligence or his morals, b. a miscalculation. Assuming Jason's actions in killing goons are a reflection of his moral code (which is already a great assumption, because people not following their own morals is actually the norm, we are not paragons of virtue), then this means that 1) he has calculated that those goons dying would induce an increase in general global human happiness and thus 2) based on this premise, he follows the utilitarian framework and thus believes it's moral to kill the goons. It's the association of (1) and (2) that leads to an absurd and blatantly immoral consequence, but since the premise (1) is a clear miscalculation, the fact that (1) & (2) leads to something wrong does not count as a valid criticism of (2): to put it differently, since the premise is wrong, the conclusion being wrong does not give me any additional info on the value of the reasoning. This is a little like saying "Since 1+ 3= 5 and 2+2=4, then 1+3+2+2 = 9". The conclusion is wrong, but because the first part (1+3=5) is false, the conclusion being wrong does not mean that the second part (2+2 =4) is wrong. So that's what frustrates me so much when people bring up Jason killing goons as a gotcha for criticizing his utilitarian philosophy, because it is not!! It looks like it from afar but it isn't, which is so frustrating because, as stated previously, there are indeed real limits to utilitarianism that could have been explored instead to truly level the moral playing field between Jason and Bruce.

Now that all of this is said and done, let's talk about what in utilitarianism and deontology makes them flawed and, you guessed it, talk some about neuropsychology (and how that leads to what's imo maybe the most interesting thing about the philosophy in Under the Hood.)

In Green Arrow (2001), in an arc also written by Judd Winick, Mia Dearden meets a tortured man who begs her to kill him to save Star City (which is being massacred), and she kills him, then starts to cry and begs Ollie for confirmation that this was the right thing to do. Does this make Mia a utilitarian? If so, then why did she doubt and cry? Is she instead a deontologist, who made a mistake?

In any case, the reason why Mia's decision was so difficult for her to make and live with, and the reason why all of these trolley-adjacent dilemmas are so hard, is pretty clear. Mia's actions were driven by fear and empathy. It's harder to tolerate sacrificing our own child to avoid killing, it's harder to decide to sacrifice a child than an adult, a world where people are raised to harvest their organs feels horrible because these are real humans we can have empathy towards and putting ourselves in their shoes is terrifying... So we have two "perfectly logical" rational systems toppled by our emotions. But which is wrong: should we try to shut down our empathy and emotions so as to always be righteous? Are they a parasite stopping us from being true moral beings?

Classically, we (at least in my culture in western civilization) have historically separated emotions from cognition (cognition being the domain of thought, reasoning, intelligence, etc.) Descartes, for example, was a philosopher who highlighted a dualist separation of emotion and rationality. For a long time this was the position in psychology, with even nowadays some people who think normal psychologists are for helping with emotions and neuropsychologists are for helping with cognition.(I will fight these people with a stick.) Anyway, that position was the predominant one in psychology up until Damasio (not the famous writer, the neuropsychologist) wrote a book named Descartes' Error. (A fundamental of neuropsychology and a classic that conjugates neurology, psychology and philosophy: what more could you ask for?)

Damasio's book's title speaks for itself: you cannot separate emotion from intelligence. For centuries we have considered emotions to be parasitic towards reasoning, (which even had implications on social themes and constructs through the centuries 📌): you're being emotional, you're letting emotions cloud your judgement, you're emotionally compromised, you're not thinking clearly... (Which is pretty pertinent to consider from the angle of A Death in the Family, because this is literally the reproach Bruce makes to Jason). Damasio based the book on the Damasio couple's (him and his wife) study of Phineas Gage, a very, very famous case of frontal syndrome (damage to the part of the brain just behind the forehead associated with executive functions issues, behavioural issues and emotional regulation). The couple's research on Gage lead Damasio, in his book, to this conclusion: emotions are as much of a part of reasoning and moral decision-making as "cold cognition" (non emotional functioning). Think of it differently: emotional intelligence is a skill. Emotions are tools. On an evolutionary level, it is good that we as people have this skill to try and figure out what others might think and do. That's useful. Of course, that doesn't mean that struggling with empathy makes you immoral, but we people who struggle with empathy have stories of moments where that issue has made us hurt someone's feelings on accident, and it made us sad, because we didn't want to hurt their feelings. On an evolutionary level (and this is where social Darwinism fundamentally fails) humanity has been able to evolve in group and in a transgenerational group (passing knowledge from our ancestors long after their death, belonging to a community spread over a time longer than our lifetime) thanks to social cognition (see Tomasello's position on the evolution of language for more detail on that), and emotions, and "emotional intelligence" is a fundamental part of how that great system works across the ages.

And that's what makes Batman: Under the Hood brilliant on that regard. If I have to make a hypothesis on the state of Winick's knowledge on that stuff, I would say I'm pretty sure he knew about the utilitarism vs deontology issue; much harder to say about the Damasio part, but whether he's well-read in neuropsychology classics or just followed a similar line of reasoning, this is a phenomenally fun framework to consider UTH under.

Because UTH, and Jason's character for the matter, refuse to disregard emotions. Bruce says "we mustn't let ourselves get clouded by our emotions" and Jason, says "maybe you should." I don't necessarily think he has an ethical philosophy framework for that, I still do believe he's a utilitarian, but he's very emotion-driven and struggling to understand a mindframe that doesn't give the same space to emotions in decision-making. And as such, Jason says "it should matter. If the emotion was there, if you loved me so much, then it should matter in your decision of whether or not to let the Joker die, that it wasn't just a random person that he killed, but that he killed your son."

And Bruce is very much doubling down on this mindset of "I must be stronger than my feelings". He is an emotionally repressed character. He says "You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood", and it's true, Jason can't seem to understand Bruce's position, there's something very "if that person doesn't show love in my perspective and understanding of what love is then they do not love me" about his character that I really appreciate. But Bruce certainly doesn't understand either, because while Jason is constantly asking Bruce for an explanation, for a "why do you not see things the way I do" that could never satisfy him, Bruce doesn't necessarily try to see things the way Jason does. And that's logical, since Jason is a 16 years old having a mental breakdown, and Bruce is a grown man carrying on the mission he has devoted himself to for years, the foundation he has built his life over. He can't allow himself to doubt, and why would he? He's the adult, he's the hero, he is, honestly, a pretty stubborn and set-in-his-ways character. So, instead of rising to the demand of emotional decision-making, Bruce doubles down on trying to ignore his feelings. And Jason, and the story doesn't let him. Bludheaven explodes. This induces extremely intense feelings in Bruce (his son just got exploded), which Jason didn't allow him to deal with, to handle with action or do anything about; Jason says no you stay right there, with me, with those emotions you're living right now, and you're making a decision. And there's the fact Bruce had a mini-heart attack just before thinking Jason was dead again. And there's the fact he mourned Jason for so long, and Stephanie just died, and Tim, Cass and Oracle all left, and the Joker is right there, and Jason puts a gun in his hands (like the gun that killed his parents)... All of that makes it impossible for Bruce to disregard his emotions. The same way Jason, who was spilling utilitarian rhetoric the whole time, is suddenly not talking about the Joker's mass murder victims but about he himself. The same way Jason acts against his own morals in Lost Days by sparing the Joker so they can have this confrontation later. That's part of why it's so important to me that Jason is crying in that confrontation.

Bruce's action at the end of the story can be understood two ways:

-he decides to maim/kill Jason to stop the insupportable influx of emotions, and him turning around is his refusal to look at his decision (looking away as a symbol of shame): Bruce has lost, in so that he cannot escape the dilemma, he succumbs to his emotions and acts against his morals.

-the batarang slicing Jason's throat is an accident: he is trying to find a way out of the dilemma, a solution that lets him save his principles, but his emotions cloud his judgement (maybe his hand trembles? Maybe his vision is blurry?). In any case, he kills his son, and it being an accident doesn't absolve him: his emotions hold more weight than his decision and he ends up acting against his morals anyway.

It's a very old story: a deontologist and a utilitarian try to solve the trolley problem, and everyone still loses. And who's laughing? The nihilist, of course. To him, nothing has sense, and so nothing matters. He's wrong though, always has been. That's the lesson I'm taking from Damasio's work. That's the prism through which I'm comparing empathy to ethics in Levinas' work and agape in Compté-Sponsville's intro to philosophy through.

It should matter. It's so essential that it matters. Love, emotions, empathy: those are fundamental in moral evaluation and decision making. They are a feature, not a bug. And the tragedy is when we try to force ourselves to make them not matter.

Anyway so that was my analysis of why Damasio's position on ethics is so fun to take in account when analysing UTH, hope you found this fun!

#dc #jason todd #dc comics #red hood #under the red hood #anti batman #anti bruce wayne #(< for filtering)#jason todd meta #neuropsychology meta #now with the philosophy extension!!#once again having very intense thoughts about Under The Hood #me talking about the “killing goons” part: this comic is so infuriating #me talking about the final confrontation: this is the greatest comic ever 😭😭#winick stop toying with my emotions challenge #anyway I put a couple of pins on some of the ideas in there don't worry about it #also i was told that color coding helped with clarity so hopefully that's still the case!

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