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seraphicsentences · 5 months ago

Text

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

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sasheemo · 27 days ago

Text

Knock Knot

Pairing: Alpha!Agatha x Omega!Reader

Summary: In the height of your heat, you find yourself at the mercy of the one Alpha you could never resist.

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega Dynamics, Smut, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Porn Without Plot, First Omegaverse Attempt

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Well ngl, this is a twist I didn’t see coming. Up until two weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined myself writing Omegaverse smut, but apparently, the universe (aka all the lovely humans that voted in the poll) had other plans. So, here I am, delivering what you asked for!

This is my first attempt at the genre, so I’d love to hear your thoughts! Be nice, though—or don’t, I can take it. If this goes over well, who knows? I might just write more. Enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

You had underestimated your heat.

You should have known better. This isn’t your first time, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever endured. The faint hum in your belly started four days ago, a subtle, manageable thrum—or so you thought.

By the second day, the ache became unbearable. The suppressants you decided to rely on seem to be useless, failing to dull the relentless fire spreading through your core. Your scent has saturated your home, thick and cloying, clinging to every surface. No amount of pacing or distraction able to smother the inferno roaring inside you.

You’ve done everything to stay hidden—locked every door, shut every window tight, and isolated yourself in the living room, far from prying eyes. But the ache isn’t a dull pulse anymore. It’s a living, breathing thing, clawing at you with every passing moment. It’s not just release your body craves. It’s an Alpha.

And not just any Alpha.

The thought alone sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. Her scent haunts your senses, rich and spiced, lingering even in memory. Agatha Harkness isn’t just commanding, she’s overwhelming, the kind of Alpha who can ruin you with a single glance. You’ve crossed paths at coven meetings and social gatherings, but you’ve always avoided her sharp, knowing eyes.

She has a way of looking at you that makes you feel stripped bare, vulnerable. And you hate her for it. You hate how small she makes you feel. But now, with your body betraying you, she’s all you can think about.

The knock comes softly at first, almost hesitant, but it slices through the quiet house like a thunderclap. You stop mid-step, your frantic pacing halted as the sound reverberates through the air. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the oppressive silence that had been your only companion for days.

Another knock follows, firmer this time. “Open the door.” a voice calls, equally smooth and firm, its authority impossible to ignore.

Agatha.

Your breath catches, panic blooming in your chest as her scent seeps through the door, heady and intoxicating even from outside. You press your back against the wall, trying to ground yourself, but it’s no use.

“I know you’re in there, Omega.” she calls again, her tone silk-wrapped steel. “Don’t make me break this door down.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, your hands trembling as instinct overpowers logic. Before you can stop yourself, you’re gripping the handle, the cool metal slick under your palm. The door creaks open, and there she is.

Agatha stands in the doorway, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. Her presence fills the space instantly, her scent flooding your senses with an unbearable intensity. Her lips curl into an alluring smile, dark and confident.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?” she asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You step back instinctively, your pulse hammering in your chest.

“I… I didn’t—” The words stick in your throat, faltering under the weight of her gaze.

“You didn’t what?” she cuts in, kicking the door shut behind her with a resounding thud. “Didn’t think I’d notice?” Her eyes rake over you, lingering on your flushed cheeks and trembling thighs. “Your scent’s been calling to me for hours, Omega. I could smell you from down the street.”

Your knees wobble, heat pooling low in your belly as her words sink in. “You shouldn’t be here…” you say, though your voice holds no conviction.

Her smirk widens as she takes another step forward, deliberate and unhurried.

“Oh, but I should.” she murmurs, her tone laced with amusement. “Look at you. You’re drowning in your own heat. Did you really think you could handle this on your own?”

“I just—I didn’t think you would—” you stammer shaking your head, retreating another step as her scent wraps around you like a vice.

“But I do.” she interjects, tilting her head slightly as she studies you. Her eyes gleam with something dark, something that makes your stomach twist in knots. “I’ve been waiting for this. And now, you’re mine to handle.”

You swallow hard, panic and desperation clawing at your chest. “I don’t… Agatha, I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” she cuts in once again, the sound of her steps making your heart stutter as she closes the distance between you. “Admit you need me? Tell me, little Omega, should I leave?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The truth feels uncomfortable, but so does the thought of her walking away.

“That’s what I thought.” she says, her smirk sharpening as she her presence presses against you, her scent overwhelming, and you stumble backward.

Your thighs hit the edge of the couch, and the sudden shift in balance forces you to sink onto the cushions, your hands instinctively clutching the armrest to steady yourself. The air between you thickens as Agatha steps closer, her legs brushing against yours.

Her gaze sweeps over you, dark and assessing, the weight of it alone making your breath hitch. Slowly, she leans in, saturating every corner of your awareness. Her hand rises to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing the curve of your jaw with an almost maddening slowness.

“You’re such a mess, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, just above a whisper. Her fingers trace the line of your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck. “So soft. So warm. Just sitting here, waiting for me to make it better.”

Your breath stutters as her other hand settles firmly on your thigh, her grip possessive. Her thumb starts to draw slow, soothing circles, the sensation igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. You whimper despite yourself, and her lips curl into a satisfied grin.

She leans closer, her nose brushing against your temple, then lower, tracing the line of your cheek as her fingers tighten their hold.

“This is where you belong.” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. “Right here. Under me.”

Your thighs tremble beneath her touch, your body betraying you completely as her knee presses between your legs with unrelenting firmness, urging them wider, allowing her to take her rightful place between them.

Her closeness makes your instincts take over, and your head tilts back, exposing the delicate, vulnerable curve of your throat to her predatory gaze.

She doesn’t waste the invitation. Her teeth graze your earlobe first, then drag lower, scraping against your pulse point as you shudder. Her grip tightens on your thigh, grounding you, holding you exactly where she wants you. When her lips finally press against the curve of your neck, the sensation sends a jolt through you, your gasp echoing softly in the still air.

“Fuck, you smell divine.” she murmurs against your skin, her voice tinged with reverence. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on your skin, and you whimper, the sound breaking into soft, frustrated whines that only seem to spur her on.

“Say it.” she commands, her voice firm, dripping with authority. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches as both her hands come to rest on your hips, her grip firm and unrelenting, sending a clear message that resistance is not an option.

“I can’t do this alone, Agatha…” you gasp, your voice cracking as your head falls back against the couch.

Her eyes roam over your features, their intensity pinning you in place.

“That’s not enough.” she scoffs, her fingers digging into your hips with a possessive pressure that makes your breath hitch. “If you want me, Omega, you’re going to have to beg like you mean it.”

Shame flares hot in your cheeks, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the smoldering heat coiling deep within you. Your body trembles as the words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

“Please, Agatha, fill me.” you gasp, your voice cracking as your hips shift against her grip, desperate for relief. “I need you to fuck me until I can’t think, until I can’t even stand.”

Her smirk falters, her pupils dilating as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your lips.

“Keep going.” she murmurs, her voice rough and dripping with hunger. “Let me hear how desperate you really are.”

Your body arches into her as the heat claws at your senses.

“I want you to knot me so hard I feel it for days.” you sob, your hands clutching at her shirt as the words rush out of you, like a river surging past its banks, drowning everything in its path. “I want to feel every inch of you, every thrust. I want you to fill me so completely it drips out of me every time I move.”

Her growl comes immediately, vibrating deep in her chest as her lips skim along your jaw, hot and possessive. One hand slides lower, her touch purposeful, searing.

“Fuck, Omega.” she hisses. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. Her words fuel you, each one stoking the fire in your core, her need blending seamlessly with your own, leaving no room for restraint.

“Please, breed me.” you plead, your voice trembling as tears begin to blur your vision. “I want you to keep going until I’m so full of you I can’t take it anymore.”

Her grip on your hips tightens instantly at your words, her nails carving crescent marks into your skin as her chest rises and falls in ragged, heaving breaths.

“You want me to breed you?” she snarls, her voice low and feral. “You want everyone to know that pretty cunt of yours belongs to me? That you belong to me?”

“Yes!” you cry, your gaze locking onto hers with unflinching intensity. Desire blazes in your eyes, bold and shameless now, challenging her to claim everything you’re offering. “I’ll take everything, Agatha. All of you. I’ll be yours.”

The last shred of her control snaps.

“Prove it to me, Omega. Every. Last. Word.” she growls against your lips, her voice shaking with the weight of her need.

You don’t even have time to process her words before her lips crash against yours, fierce and unyielding. Her tongue claims yours immediately, delving deep as if she’s devouring every ounce of your desperation. The kiss is all hunger and possession, leaving no room for gentleness. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her teeth graze your lower lip before sinking in just enough to draw a sharp gasp from you. The sting sends a shiver racing down your spine, your breath hitching as her hands begin to roam your body with deliberate intent. One slips beneath your top, her fingers brushing against heated skin as she drags the fabric upward.

“Arms up.” she commands, her voice velvety, demanding obedience without question.

You obey instinctively, trembling as she pulls the fabric over your head and tosses it aside without a second thought.

Her eyes take on an even deeper shade as they sweep over your exposed skin, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your breasts. Her lips part slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them as if savoring the sight, and the way her gaze tracks your every breath makes your chest heave even harder under her scrutiny.

“You’re just… perfect.” she murmurs, her voice a hushed reverence laced with hunger.

One hand ghosts over your skin before pinching a sensitive nipple between her fingers, catching you off guard with the sharp jolt of sensation. The other trails downward with intent, her fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants as a wicked smirk tugs at her lips.

“Agatha” you whimper, your voice trembling as your hands pull more insistently at the fabric of her shirt. “Please, I—”

The words die in your throat as her hand slips lower, cupping you through the damp fabric of your underwear. The pressure makes you cry out, your hips bucking against her palm.

“Look at you…” she murmurs, her voice thick with smug satisfaction, the edge of mockery sharpening her words as her fingers press harder, the friction sending sparks through your body. “So wet, so needy… you’ve been aching for this for days, haven’t you?”

You nod frantically, your teeth sinking into your trembling lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle the lustful sounds spilling from your throat. Your eyes are glassy with unspoken pleas, the sheer effort to contain yourself only makes your surrender all the more obvious.

She chuckles darkly, her lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone.

“Poor little Omega.” she murmurs against your skin, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. “But I’m here now, and you’re finally going to get what you need.”

Her hands move quickly, tugging your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, leaving you completely bare beneath her. The cool air against your heated skin makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the intensity of her gaze as she takes you in.

“You have no idea what you do to me…” she says softly, her voice filled with quiet awe as her hands slide up your thighs, spreading them apart.

A loud moan tears from your lips, your cheeks burning as her fingers trail boldly against your slick heat, exploring your folds with an almost cruel precision, testing and teasing until your breath comes in shallow, broken pants.

“Gods” she groans, her voice rough and strained as she pushes two fingers inside you. The stretch pulls a sharp gasp from your lips, the burn of it melting into a rush of pleasure that has your thighs trembling. Your body clenches around her instinctively, and the sound she makes is a primal, dangerous growl.

She sets a slow, unrelenting rhythm, each thrust dragging a broken moan from your throat as pressure builds deep in your core.

“Your body’s screaming for me to fill you.” she whispers, her words dripping with anticipation, almost lost in thought, as if she’s speaking more to herself than to you. There’s a raw wonder in her eyes as her fingers curl deeper, savoring the way your walls tighten around her, imagining how much more you’ll give her.

“F-fuck, Agatha! Please, please I can’t take it anymore!” you cry, your hips bucking against her hand.

Agatha doesn’t waste another second. She pulls her fingers away suddenly, leaving you whining and gasping for relief. With feral growl, she grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, dragging your hips to the very edge of the couch. Her strength leaves you breathless, the suddenness of her movements forcing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to take every inch of me.” she snarls, her voice rough and dripping with authority. “Every inch, every thrust, until you can’t think about anything but how good it feels to be mine.”

Her words make you shudder, your head tipping back as your eyes flutter shut, her fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs with a bruising grip that promises vivid reminders on your skin for days to come.

“Look at me.” she orders, her grip tightening further as if daring you to disobey.

Your eyes snap open, meeting hers, dark and wild with need. It doesn’t look like she’s going to let you get away with anything less than complete submission.

“That’s better.” she growls, her voice edged with control as her lips curl into predatory grin. “Now, keep your eyes on me while I ruin you.”

She doesn’t bother undressing fully, her movements urgent and almost frantic as her fingers fumble with the clasp of her pants. She impatiently tugs them down just enough to free herself, the fabric pooling loosely around her hips. The sheer tension in her body is palpable, every motion speaking to a need barely held in check.

The sight of her hard cock steals the air from your lungs. Thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistens at the tip, catching the dim light as she wraps a firm hand around herself, stroking once to spread the slickness.

The way she towers over you, every part of her commanding and unapologetically Alpha, leaves you trembling in anticipation.

“Spread those legs wider.” she orders, her tone resolute, demanding. “I want to see all of you. Don’t you dare hide from me.”

You obey, trembling as her tip brushes against your entrance, teasingly sliding through the slickness that coats you. Her cock glides up and down your folds, unhurried, pausing just long enough to make you ache for more. She taps it lightly against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, before sliding lower, the head pressing briefly against your entrance only to retreat again, trailing back up with maddening slowness.

The deliberate rhythm has you squirming beneath her, every teasing stroke sending shivers through your body. Her cock catches on every ridge, every sensitive spot, heightening the unbearable tension with each pass.

When she finally aligns herself, her tip presses firmly, and with one slow, unyielding push, she begins to sink in, the stretch immediate and all-consuming, setting every nerve in your body alight.

“Fuck” she groans, her voice thick as her hips roll forward, driving herself deeper. “So warm… so fucking tight. You were made for this, made for me.”

You cry out, your nails digging into the couch cushions as she fills you completely, the heat overwhelming as your body struggles to accommodate her.

“That’s it.” she growls, her hands sliding up to grip your hips. “Take all of it. I want you to feel how deep I am, how fucking good it feels to be full of me.”

She picks up her pace, and the sound of her hips colliding with yours echoes through the room, harsh and rhythmic, mingling with the wet, obscene noises that accompany every thrust.

“You hear that?” she asks, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her nails bite into your skin. “That sound—that’s what it means to belong to me.”

“Ag—oh, fuck!” you whimper, your voice cracking as your head falls back, your body trembling under her assault.

“Say it!” she snaps, her teeth grazing your jaw before biting down hard enough to make you gasp. “Say my fucking name.”

“Agatha!” you cry, your voice pitching higher as her hips drive forward with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air. Each thrust buries her deeper, the growing swell of her knot pressing insistently against your entrance, stretching you further with every punishing movement.

The sheer intensity of it sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs, the undeniable slickness amplifying the pleasure that teeters dangerously on the edge of unbearable.

“Scream it louder, Omega! I want the whole fucking street to hear who owns you.” she growls, her voice a low rumble as her lips find your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You sob her name, your nails clawing at her back as she shifts her angle, the new position sending a jolt of pleasure so intense that stars dance behind your eyes.

“You’re taking me so well, like you were made for my cock. Like you were made to be mine.” she groans, her thrusts becoming messier, rougher. Her hips slam into yours mercilessly as her hands slide to the back of your knees, pinning you in place.

“I’m yours, Agatha. Only yours.” you cry, your body arching into hers, chasing the heat that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

Her left hand slides between your bodies, her fingers finding the most sensitive part of you as she circles it with brutal precision. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, the sound mixing with your cries and her deep, guttural groans.

The added pressure on your throbbing clit sends a jolt through your entire body, making your walls flutter and clench around her cock. Her rhythm starts to falter, thrusts turning erratic as her groans deepen into primal, animalistic grunts, vibrating against your neck as her need consumes her.

The knot at her base swells even more, pressing insistently at your entrance, stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation is overwhelming, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, and you can’t take it anymore.

Your voice, breathless and desperate, breaks through her haze, each word drenched in urgency.

“Oh fuck, yes! Give it to me, Agatha.” you plead, your hands clutching at her shoulders as your gaze locks onto hers, unflinching and shameless. “I need you to fill me up, please.”

The words obliterate the last fragile threads of her restraint. Agatha’s body seizes above you, her hips snapping forward in one final, devastating thrust that buries her completely inside you.

The knot locks into place, stretching you to your limit as she comes with a deep, feral growl. Her cock pulses inside you, thick and hot, each wave of her release filling you so completely it feels like it could spill over.

And the sudden fullness, combined with the steady friction on your clit, triggers something deep inside you. The sensation is intoxicating, unbearable in its intensity, and it sends your body spiraling out of control. You cry out as your climax washes over you, violent and unrestrained, your walls squeezing around her, greedily milking her until there’s nothing left to give.

“Fuck!” Agatha snarls, her voice shaking as your body reacts to her. Her hands grip your waist tightly, her fingers digging into your skin as she rides out the intensity of her own release, her hips jerking involuntarily with each pulse. “That’s it. That’s my good Omega.”

Your hips roll instinctively against hers, desperate to take everything she’s giving you. Her cock, her knot, her cum, her words, her growls—it’s all so overwhelming, you feel like you might pass out from the sheer intensity of it.

“You feel that?” she murmurs against your ear, her voice weak and wrecked, yet still dripping with dominance. “That’s me, filling you. Breeding you. And you’re taking it so perfectly.

Her words push you even higher. Your moans break into breathless cries, and your vision blurs, a single tear slipping down your cheek as the overwhelming sensation consumes you entirely, leaving you trembling and undone beneath her.

Agatha keens softly, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as her body finally stills.

“You’re mine.” she whispers, her voice gentler now as her knot remains locked inside you, keeping her warmth exactly where it belongs.

The aftershocks ripple through you both, your body still clenching around her knot as you collapse back against the couch. Her hands roam over your thighs, soothing and grounding, as her lips press a lingering kiss to your temple.

You remain still for a few minutes, basking in the lingering haze of passion as the intensity of the moment refuses to fade. Agatha’s knot starts to soften, each slow shift of her hips pulling a satisfied whine from her lips as she moves, her careful withdrawal drawing a wince from you at the residual stretch.

The slick, wet sensation of her release slipping free leaves you shivering, a warm gush spilling from your core and pooling beneath you in a sinful mess.

Agatha leans back slightly, her gaze sharp and intense as she takes in the sight of you—completely wrecked, your chest heaving, your skin flushed, and her cum dripping from you. A satisfied smirk curls her lips, and she reaches out, her fingers dragging lazily through the mess she’s made.

“Look at you.” she murmurs, her voice rough with satisfaction. “So pretty. So fucking full.”

You flinch at the overstimulation, your body twitching under her touch, but you’re too spent to move away. Despite yourself, your thighs clench involuntarily, a traitorous reaction that doesn’t escape her notice. She chuckles darkly, an indulgent sound dripping with pride, as if savoring the proof of how thoroughly she’s unraveled you.

Her fingers glide higher, smearing the evidence of her claim over your inner thighs. Her half-lidded eyes lock onto yours, and the insatiable lust simmering just beneath the surface makes your throat go dry.

“That’s mine, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and reverent, each word rolling over you like a caress. “Every single drop.”

Her hand lingers, tracing the sticky trail she’s left behind, and she leans down, her lips brushing a firm kiss to the curve of your hip.

“Could watch you like this all night.” she purrs, her tone dripping with admiration. “My perfect, ruined little Omega.”

A soft, pleading sound escapes your throat as your hand snakes down to grip her wrist. The longing in your gaze is undeniable, your swollen lips parting as if to say something, but no words come. Instead, you tug her toward you with surprising force, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s nothing short of a necessity. It’s gentle, yet fervent, your teeth grazing her bottom lip as your nails dig into her skin.

For a moment, Agatha freezes, her surprise palpable. Then, as if spurred by instinct, she returns the kiss with equal fervor, her tongue sweeping past your lips to claim you all over again.

Her hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, angling you deeper into the kiss as she presses her body closer, her dominance bleeding through even in her response.

When she finally pulls back, her mouth remains slightly parted, her breath coming in shallow, uneven draws as she gazes down at you. Her eyes glint with wicked promise, and her lips glisten with the remnants of your kiss.

“Rest now.” she mutters, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, yet still carrying the weight of her authority. “You’ll need your strength… I’m nowhere near done with you.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x y/n #agatha x you #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic #aaa #aaa fanfic #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness fanfic #alpha agatha harkness #omegaverse

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hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

Text

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.

“An hour, huh?”

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.

And you do.

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”

“Sit.”

That half of you wins. That easily.

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. For your mother.”

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.

For your dream.

For your children.

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”

Our hotel.

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”

“That’s my nice girl.”

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.

And so you squeeze his throat.

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.

“What plans?”

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”

Oh, he’s a myriad of things.

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.

Anything.

Anything for your husband.

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.

Most strangely, it heightens the experience.

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction.

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.

“I was your bad little wife.”

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“I choked you.”

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”

You nod. “I do, Daddy.”

A hum. “Will you do it again?”

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.

And another thing.

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.

That, too, will ring in your veins.

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.

“Take this off. Now.”

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.

And so you give him your consent.

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.

“Ready?”

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.

Groundedness is what you’re missing.

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.

Another thing for him to tame.

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”

An inhale of breath. “Paris.”

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.

“Can’t. Gonna come.”

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.

“I love you.”

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.

You trust him.

Forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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nhaaauyen · 4 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART V: ‘CAUSE I CAN’T TAKE THIS PAIN FOREVER

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part IV

wc: 8.3k cw: smut (MINORS DNI!!!) author's note: thank you to everyone who read/comments + i see your tags on the reposts you guys make me gay and sappy with all your support tysm 💗 (also im so sorry if the smut is so mid I’m not a smut writer and it’s my second time writing smut ever smhhh)

Fifteen died. Including Grayson.

Daylight is spent in a daze of cleaning up, tending to the wounded, and trying to process the magnitude of what's happened. People are trying to piece together what little they can salvage, but the damage is more than just physical.

As night falls, the community gathers for a final farewell. The loss is too great, too much to be exposed under the harsh light of day. The night offers a semblance of protection, a cloak under which everyone can mourn and where grief can be private.

Candles flicker in the hands of those gathered and the atmosphere is thick with sorrow. Families huddle together, some on their knees beside makeshift crosses, others standing in silent clusters. The candles illuminate their tears, turning them into tiny rivers of gold that glisten in the darkness.

You stand by Grayson’s cross, surrounded by those who knew and loved her. Vander, his broad shoulders tense and Ekko clutches his candle so tightly that the wax has begun to drip onto his fingers. Powder leans into Vi, who wraps a protective arm around her sister. Caitlyn stands close, her face a mask of composed grief, but her eyes are red-rimmed and distant. Ren holds onto your hand tightly, her small fingers interlaced with yours.

Your gaze keeps drifting to the shadows, searching for one face in particular.

Then, as if conjured by your thoughts, you spot her. She’s standing under a tree, half-hidden in the shadows. The candlelight doesn’t reach her, leaving her face partially obscured, but you can tell it’s her. She's motionless, almost statuesque, her expression unreadable.

There’s something in the way she’s watching the scene before her that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s almost as if she’s already a ghost herself, a spirit haunting the edge of the gathering. There’s an emptiness to her, as if the life has been drained out of her and what remains is only a shell, a figure standing over a world she no longer belongs to.

A heaviness resides in your chest, a deep, aching sadness that mirrors the grief of those around you. Grayson’s loss is a wound that cuts deep. She was the heart of this community, the one who held everyone together. And now she’s gone, leaving behind a legacy that feels too big, too important to carry on without her.

The vigil continues, but you feel a shift in the air, a quiet, unspoken understanding that it’s time to go, that there’s nothing more to be done here tonight. Slowly, people begin to leave, one by one, their footsteps soft on the grass. You hesitate, your gaze lingering on Sevika one last time. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t acknowledged your presence or anyone else’s.

As your family and Ren head to a neighbor’s house, seeking comfort in numbers, you seek solace in solitude instead.

The silence is almost deafening in your room. You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. But then it comes again, and you push yourself away from the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for the handle.

When you open the door, Sevika is standing there, but she’s not the woman you remember. There’s a hollow look in her eyes, a deep exhaustion etched into every line of her face. She’s hunched over slightly as if the weight of everything has finally broken through her defenses.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, neither of you knowing what to say.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without a word, she steps into the room, her movements slow and almost hesitant.

"Sevika..." you start, but the words die in your throat as she looks at you. Her eyes, usually so guarded, are now pools of raw emotion.

"I could have lost you yesterday," she says, her voice cracking. "I almost did."

You step back and fall onto the edge of your bed, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze, the weight of her words.

Sevika falls to her knees before you, burying her face in your lap. Her body shakes, hands clutching desperately at your clothes. The sight of her kneeling before you sends a shockwave through your system. This is Sevika, the woman who’s always stood tall, who’s never shown weakness.

“Please…” The word escapes her lips in a raw, broken whisper, her voice laced with a desperation you’ve never heard from her before. “Please… I can’t take this pain forever.”

Your hands hover uncertainly over her. She’s seeking you, but you find yourself instinctively pushing back, your fingers gripping her shoulders to keep some distance between you. The urge to comfort her wars with the part of you that’s terrified—terrified that if you let her in again, she’ll leave, and you’ll be left with nothing but this overwhelming pain.

Why now? your eyes ask, the ache in your chest tightening. Why now, when I don’t even know if I can trust you not to leave again?

Sevika looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with vulnerability. She reaches for you, but you flinch away, your body betraying your inner turmoil. I won’t, her eyes seem to respond. her hands clinging to you as if you’re the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

The push and pull become physical - Sevika's hands grasping at your clothes, trying to draw you in, while you resist, your grip on her arms keeping her at bay. You see the realization dawn in Sevika's eyes as she understands your hesitation. She doesn't speak, doesn't try to persuade you with words. Instead, she simply holds your gaze, her hands loosening their grip but not letting go entirely.

The tension between you is palpable, a living thing that fills the space between your bodies. You can feel it gnawing at you - the fear that she’ll pull away, that this moment will shatter like glass.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sevika's resistance fades. She doesn't try to pull you closer anymore, but she doesn't move away either. She simply kneels there, her head bowed, waiting.

It's this surrender that finally breaks through your defenses. Your hands, which were pushing her away, now tremble as they cup her face. You tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze fully for the first time.

What you see there takes your breath away - it’s a steadfast devotion that silences your doubts. At that moment, you understand that she's not going anywhere.

Your hands finally move, your fingers threading through her hair and letting it fall from its ponytail. The moment you touch her, she lets out a shuddering breath, her body sagging against you as if the weight she’s been carrying has finally become too much.

Sevika sees the hesitation in your gaze, the lingering fear, and something shifts inside her. She surges up, pulling you into a desperate kiss—a plea for you to trust her. The kiss is messy, frantic, filled with the need to feel, to connect, to hold onto something real amidst all this.

You respond immediately, your hands drawing her near—even though parts of you want to stop and shield yourself from the possibility of losing her again, you can’t bring yourself to let go.

Her lips are pressing against yours with a need that makes your heart ache, and you both finally give in to the emotions you’ve been holding back for so long. It’s not like the kiss you’ve shared before—this is different. It’s a commitment to each other that you’ve both been too scared to acknowledge until now.

You both fall back onto the bed, your bodies tangling together as you lose yourselves in each other.

Your hands are never leaving her, your lips never straying too far from hers. Her bionic hand presses into your back gently, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you and you can feel the steady beat of her heart against your chest.

She suddenly pulls you onto her lap. One hand slides under your shirt, causing a shiver to run down your spine, while the other lingers on the small of your back. With a swift movement, she removes your shirt, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the moonlight cascading through the window.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at the sudden exposure.

"You're beautiful." The moonlight dances in her eyes and her voice is filled with sincerity and adoration.

Your breath hitches as she leans in and presses a kiss onto your chest, her lips travel lower and lower until she forces a nipple out of your bra. Your gasp quickly turns into a moan as her lips wrap around it and her tongue is swirling, her teeth teasing and biting at the sensitive bud.

Your hands find their way into her hair and shoulders, grasping at something to stabilize a desire that feels like it could push you over the edge. As her lips dance across your neck, her tongue tracing the curve of your jaw, you feel your hips surge forward, seeking the friction that will bring you relief. Your hands, still fisted in her clothes, tug her closer, the fabric straining against the pressure. Sevika's fingers, still tangled in your hair, pull your head back further, exposing your throat to her hungry mouth. Her breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers coursing through your veins. You grind into her fingers, a low, desperate moan builds in your throat, and you hear yourself repeating her name like a mantra.

"Sevika, Sevika, Sevika please."

Your legs tremble as you press into her, the thin fabric of your panties rubbing against her fingers, which are still wrapped around you. The pressure builds, a crescendo of need threatening to consume you whole.

She teases you, her fingers occasionally dipping inside you before pulling back out to rub against your sensitive nub. Each time you’re on the brink of release, she stops and kisses you deeply, driving you crazy with need.

But finally, when you can’t take it any longer, she plunges two fingers inside you. Your fingers dig deep into her shoulder as she sets a steady pace with her fingers, hitting just the right spot inside you that has you writhing in ecstasy.

You’re panting at her touch, your hips bucking into her hand as she moves her fingers in and out of you, her thumb rubbing circles over your clit. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you crave more and more. She whispers sweet words in your ear along with wicked promises that make you wetter than you could imagine.

You grasp the edge of Sevika's shawl, the delicate fabric slipping through your fingers as you slowly pull it away, exposing her bionic arm to you. The shimmering metal catches the dim light of the room, contrasting beautifully with your warm hands. You can’t help but admire the way it seems to glow, each curve and joint blending seamlessly into her skin.

Sevika’s breath hitches at the sight of her exposed arm, and a flicker of vulnerability passes over her face. The vulnerability in her eyes makes you want to show her how incredible she is, and how every part of her makes you feel alive.

You lean closer, your lips brushing softly against her bionic arm, feeling the coolness against your mouth as you press gentle kisses along the sleek surface. It’s smooth, almost soothing, and you feel her relax into your touch. Your breath quickens, merging anticipation and a hunger to worship every part of her.

She changes your positions, laying you down gently on your bed till your head sinks into a plush pillow. You can feel the heat radiating off of her body as she begins to kiss down your body. Her lips leave a trail of fire as they make their way down your stomach until they reach the waistband of your panties. She easily removes them and throws them aside. She starts by lightly kissing and licking your inner thighs, slowly making her way towards your center. You can already feel the heat pooling between your legs as she gets closer and closer to where you want her most. Her gaze locks onto yours as her head hovers over your soaked folds.

“Just focus on me,” her voice comes out hoarse and commanding.

Sevika buries her face between your legs and you gasp at the sudden sensation, gripping the sheets tightly. She flicks and sucks on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, matching the rhythm of her tongue. There’s a sense of urgency in the way she looks at you – a primal need that mirrors yours perfectly.

Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you down firmly. You feel yourself getting close, but before you can reach your peak, she stops abruptly.

You whimper in frustration, but it’s quickly replaced with adoration as she climbs up to kiss you, tasting yourself on her lips.

“You got such a pretty body,” She bites teasingly at your ear. “Prettier when it’s a mess for me.”

A course of desire jolts through you at hearing her low and raspy voice whisper those words. Your fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, moving down her arm until you reach her hand. You intertwine your fingers with hers, feeling the coolness of her bionic hand. Sevika blows a hot breath over your glistening mound and you instinctively close your legs around her head.

The room immediately fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft, wet noises of skin against skin. Her finger curls inside you, causing your back to arch off the bed in pleasure.

With each thrust and lap of her tongue, she pushes you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling within you—she intensifies her rhythm, sucking and teasing in perfect harmony with your body's responses. The sensations build higher and higher until they finally explode within you.

You release with a loud cry, shuddering in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed in bliss.

When you finally break apart, it’s only to catch your breath. Your bodies are still tangled together, a sticky, wet mess, but neither of you cares. Sevika holds you tightly, her face buried in the crook of your neck.

The room is bathed in soft, silvery moonlight filtering in through the window. The sounds of your soft breathing fill the space, mingling with the faint rustle of the sheets. Everything feels tender, and fragile, like you’re both holding on to something delicate and precious, something that could shatter with the slightest misstep.

Your fingers trace the scar on Sevika’s cheek, the roughened skin contrasting the softness of her lips. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours as if she’s trying to read the thoughts that you’re too scared to say aloud.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You won’t,” she whispers back, her lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses.

“Promise me..” Your voice falters, struggling to grasp the idea of not being able to feel her, see her, or touch her like this again. “I don’t know how to exist without you.”

“I’d spend the rest of my days searching,” Sevika replies quietly, her gaze unwavering. “Even just for the chance of seeing you again.”

She cups your face with one hand, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

You rest your head on her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart, the sound soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. Your fingers trace gentle patterns on her skin and a quiet peace settles over you, a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in what seems like forever.

As you lie there, holding each other in the darkness, the world outside seems to fade into insignificance. You close your eyes, letting yourself finally rest, knowing that she’s here with you, that you’re both in this together. It’s a fragile peace, but it’s yours, and in this moment, it’s more than enough.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

One Year Later…

The kitchen glows in the warm light, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the marble countertops. The sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as you stir a pot of rice pudding on the stove.

Ren bursts into the kitchen, twirling in her new outfit - a pretty blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair. "Look!" she exclaims, eyes shining with excitement.

You smile warmly. "You look beautiful, honey. Are you ready for dinner at Vander's?"

Ren nods enthusiastically. "Can I go over early? Please?"

"Of course," you reply, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you there in a bit."

You watch her go, a fond smile lingering on your lips. Ren has become such a central part of your life, switching between living with you and Sevika, and some nights, staying over at Vander’s with the rest of your family. Dinners at Vander’s have also become a tradition, starting as a semblance of normality for the kids until you realize that sometimes everyone just needed a family meal too.

You turn back to your work, carefully measuring out the sugar to add to the pudding. You’re so focused on getting everything just right that you don’t notice when Sevika slips into the kitchen. She moves quietly, her steps almost soundless as she approaches the stove. It’s only when you glance up and see her broad back that you realize she’s there, her figure blocking the light from the window.

"Hey, you're home," you start to say, but then you spot the spoon in her mouth. "Sev!" you exclaim. "I'm not done with that!"

Sevika turns, the spoon still between her lips. "Tastes good," she mumbles around it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s supposed to taste good when it’s finished,” you retort, gently pushing her away from the stove.

Suddenly, you feel Sevika's arms encircle your waist, her body warm against your back. She nuzzles into your neck, placing a soft kiss just below your ear. "Mmm," she hums, "doesn’t taste as good as you, though."

“Don’t think you can sweet-talk me into letting you try more,” you say, trying to stay focused despite the distraction she’s providing.

She chuckles again, her deep voice rumbling against your back. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

You smile, the familiar banter easing you into a comfortable lull. The gentle pressure of her arms around you, the way she’s so casually affectionate now, fills you with warmth.

"Hey, did you bring home any fruit for the pudding?" you ask, turning in Sevika's arms.

You feel her tense slightly, her smile faltering. "We’re having a bit of a dry season," she says, her tone careful.

The words hang heavy in the air. You know the reality - supplies have been tight lately, with produce struggling to grow and the scavenging teams venturing further each time.

Before you can dwell on it further, Sevika leans in to kiss you, clearly trying to change the subject. But as she does, you catch a whiff of something less than pleasant, and you instinctively pull back, wrinkling your nose.

"Babe, you fucking stink," you blurt out.

Sevika's eyes goes wide in shock, then narrows playfully. "Oh, really?" she growls, trying to pull you closer.

You dance out of her grasp.“Go start a bath,” you say between giggles. “I’ll join you in a bit, okay?”

She lets out a noise of disapproval but obeys regardless. “I wasn’t that bad,” she mutters as she turns toward the bathroom.

“Yes, you were,” you call after her, still grinning as you watch her go. “Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

With Sevika finally convinced, you head to your bedroom to grab some towels.

The bedroom has changed over the past year, becoming more of a shared space than it ever was before. Sevika's red shawl drapes over the back of a chair, while your jewelry glitters on the dresser. The wall above the bed is adorned with colorful drawings - Ren's artwork, depicting your entire makeshift family, the sight of it never failing to warm your heart.

It had started casually enough - a few items of clothing left behind after hurried encounters, a toothbrush appearing in the bathroom. You and Sevika were sneaking around, stealing moments together whenever you could.

When you finally told your family about your relationship, they celebrated, of course. It wasn’t a surprise to them—they had seen the way you and Sevika gravitated toward each other, the looks you reserved solely for one another. You found yourself practically living at Sevika's, though neither of you had officially acknowledged the change.

Then came the day you noticed the difference in her dresser. The already sparse drawers had been reorganized, creating a dedicated space just for you. Your scattered belongings were neatly arranged, claiming their place in Sevika's life.

You remember standing there, staring at that drawer, your heart swelling with emotion. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Sevika, always more comfortable with actions than words, had found her way of saying "stay".

A small smile forms on your lips at the memory as you close the closet. Gathering the towels, you head towards the sound of running water.

You settle onto the stool beside the bathtub, watching Sevika relax in the warm, soapy water. Her broad shoulders peek out from the bubbles, her head tilted back slightly as she rests, eyes half-closed in contentment. The sight of her—this tough, unbreakable woman— soaking in the bath like she has nowhere else to be, makes you giggle.

"You look adorable."

Sevika cracks one eye open, giving you a playful glare that’s nowhere near as intimidating as she probably hopes it’ll be. "I’m not adorable," she grumbles.

You reach for a washcloth, gently running it over her back. Your fingers work out the knots in her muscles, and you feel her relax under your touch. The bathroom is quiet except for the soft lapping of water and Sevika's contented sighs.

"Don't get me wet, Sev," you warn as she shifts in the tub.

“I thought I always did,” she shoots back with a sly grin, and before you can react, she splashes a handful of water at you.

The warm water hits you square in the chest, soaking your shirt. You let out a small gasp, and Sevika just laughs, clearly pleased with herself.

“Now I’ve got no choice but to join you, huh?” you say, feigning annoyance as you peel off your damp clothes.

Sevika's arms wrap around you as you settle between her legs, your back pressed against her chest. "No funny business," you remind her. "We've got dinner later."

She groans, burying her face in your neck. "Do we have to do that?"

You intertwine your fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "Yes, we all need it. Even you, Miss Grumpy."

Sevika huffs, but doesn't argue further. It's rare to see her act so petulant, and you can't help but find it endearing. You lean back further into her embrace, savoring the warmth of her skin against yours.

A chuckle escapes you as a memory surfaces.

"What's so funny?" Sevika murmurs against your ear.

"I'm thinking about us," you reply, still grinning. "Remember the first time you came to family dinner?"

Sevika groans again, this time in embarrassment. That first dinner had been spectacularly awkward. Sevika, sitting at Vander’s table, towering over everyone, her presence so imposing that no one knew how to break the ice. You could feel the discomfort radiating from the others as they tried and failed to strike up conversation. Sevika, never much of a talker herself, hadn’t made it any easier.

"I thought Caitlyn was going to have an aneurysm trying to make conversation," you laugh.

"She kept asking about the weather," Sevika recalls. "As if we don't all live in the same damn place."

“But my family loves you now.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow. “They’re still nervous around me though.”

“True,” you admit, chuckling. “But now they know you’re not going to kill them if they say the wrong thing. Well, most of them know that, anyway.”

”I like to keep them on their toes.” Sevika smirks, her lips brushing against your neck. “Can’t let them forget who I am.”

You turn in her arms, facing her now. "I don’t think they would be as afraid if they saw you in a bubble bath right now."

She narrows her eyes at you. "I’m still scary."

"Is that so?" you challenge, your faces inches apart.

Instead of answering, Sevika closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh into it, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

You're nestled against Sevika, the warm water lulling you into a peaceful state when a sharp knock shatters the moment.

"Who the hell..." She's about to call out, likely with some choice words, when a familiar voice filters through the door.

"Sevika? You in there?"

It's Ran. Sevika's expression immediately hardens.

She gives you an apologetic look as she carefully extracts herself from the tub, wrapping a towel around her body. You remain in the bath, straining to hear the muffled conversation. Snippets reach your ears—"Silco... needs to see you... scouts..."

By the time you've dried off and dressed, Sevika is already changed, her face grim. She's heading for the door, and you follow.

Out on the streets, the usual bustle of Zaun seems subdued. Sevika turns to you, her eyes softening slightly.

"It's just a quick meeting," she assures you, though her tone lacks conviction. "I'll be back, okay?"

You look at her, worry evident in your gaze. She must see it because she adds, "Family dinner is still on. I promise."

You watch Sevika disappear down the street, her words echoing in your mind. Despite her assurances, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles in your chest. Instead of heading home, your feet carry you to a familiar path.

The old target practice area comes into view, untouched since Grayson's passing. The targets are weathered now, the paint faded and peeling. You moved the practice area after... after everything, but this place still holds a piece of history you can’t forget.

You settle onto the worn bench, you could almost hear Grayson's patient voice, the sound of gunfire. Now it's quiet, a ghost of what it used to be.

Lost in thought, you barely notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow falls across you.

"Quite the view from up here, isn't it?"

A man’s voice cuts through your reverie. You look up to see him, his usual sly smile in place.

"Mind if I join you?" He doesn't wait for an answer before settling onto the bench beside you.

“What do you want, Finn?” you ask, your guard instantly up.

“Just wanted a place to admire Zaun,” he replies. "It’s getting a bit crowded down there.”

You remain silent, wary of engaging. Instead, you’re both gazing out over Zaun—The community sprawls below, a patchwork of light and shadow.

"You know," Finn begins, his voice casual, "I used to come up here sometimes, watch Grayson train the new recruits. She had a way about her, didn't she? A real vision for what Zaun could be."

You nod, unsure where he's going with this.

Finn continues, his tone thoughtful. "Things have changed a lot since then. More people, less space. Resources getting tighter." He glances at you sideways. "Makes you wonder what Grayson would think of it all."

There's something in his voice that puts you on edge, a subtle challenge. You choose your words carefully. "Grayson always believed in Zaun's potential."

"Ah, but potential for what?" Finn leans in conspiratorially. "It looks like things are starting to fray at the edges. People are getting restless, hungry. And when that happens… well, who knows what might come next?"

You feel a surge of anger, but you keep it in check, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Zaun’s strong,” you say firmly. “So if you’re trying to stir up trouble, you can take it somewhere else.”

Finn holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course, of course. I'm just thinking about the future, you know? But hey, I'm sure Silco's got it all figured out."

Finn stands, brushing off his pants. "Give my regards to Sevika," he says lightly.

"Tell her... we're all counting on her to keep us safe."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You and Sevika walk side by side through the bustling streets of Zaun, the rice pudding cradled carefully in Sevika’s arms. As you approach the door, you can already hear the sounds of laughter and chatter from inside. Before you can even step over the threshold, a blur of blue barrels into view.

Just as Powder rounds the corner, she nearly collides with you, her eyes wide as she skids to a halt. “Oops, sorry!” she exclaims, a sheepish grin spreading across her face as she steadies herself. “Sorry, double for last time,” she adds with a knowing look.

It had been a few weeks ago, when Sevika was trying to grow out her hair, a fact she was oddly self-conscious about. You guys were standing in the courtyard, watching as Powder excitedly showed off her new contraption, a slime trap shooter she cobbled together from spare parts.

The demonstration started off well enough, but suddenly a glob of viscous slime shot out wildly, landing with a wet splat right in Sevika's hair.

Powder's enthusiasm instantly turned into fear as she realized what she's done.The look on Sevika’s face had been priceless—a mix of surprise and horror as she reached up to touch the mess clinging to her hair.

“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Sevika grumbled, her voice low and menacing. “My hair looks like shit.”

You’d barely managed to suppress your laughter when it first happened, but now in Vander’s bathroom you couldn’t hide your amusement.

“So, that’s a no on having kids, then?” you joked as you reached for a pair of scissors to help trim the slime-covered strands.

Sevika had turned to look at you, her expression one of shock and something else—something deeper that neither of you had wanted to confront. It was just a small joke, but it carried the weight of a conversation you hadn’t yet had, and might never have. Sometimes, you couldn’t avoid the fact that this was it for you two.

But you quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. As you carefully trimmed the damaged hair, you leaned in close, whispering in Sevika’s ear, “You’re sexy already. No amount of slime will change that.”

That had earned you a reluctant smile from her in that moment.

"No harm done.” You tell Powder, inconspicuously kicking Sevika’s feet to agree.

“Yeah.” She grunts, and you hold in a snicker at the obvious grudge she held.

As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Vander attempting to wrangle a massive pot of stew.

“There you two are,” Vander says, looking up from his cooking. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way here.”

“Not a chance,” Sevika replies, setting the rice pudding down on the counter with a grin. “This one would never forgive me if I missed dinner.”

“Damn right,” you reply. “You need any help, Vander?”

“Nah, we’re about done here,” Vander says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Just need to get everything into the living room. You know how these animals are when they’re hungry.”

You laugh, grabbing a tray of bread rolls while Sevika grabs a platter of roasted vegetables. She follows you out into the living room, where the rest of the group is already making themselves comfortable. Ekko is lounging on the floor, watching Powder and Ren as they buzz around him. Caitlyn and Vi are chatting quietly in one corner, Vi’s arm casually draped over the back of Caitlyn’s chair.

“Hey you two,” you greet, setting the tray down on a table near the center of the room. “Food’s here.”

Vi reaches for a roll, and Caitlyn swats her hand. "Wait for everyone, you brute," she says affectionately.

"Come on, cupcake, I'm starving!" Vi whines dramatically.

Soon, everyone settles in various spots around the room, grabbing plates and piling on food. Vander passes around mugs of ale, the rich, amber liquid sloshing slightly as he hands it to the adults.

Sevika sits down beside you on the floor, her back against the couch, and you hand her a plate, watching as she loads it up with a bit of everything. Powder's regaling everyone with a tale of her latest explosive experiment, complete with dramatic reenactments.

"You guys won't believe what I made today!" She exclaims, barely touching her food as she launches into her story. "So I took some wires from that old TV we found, and I connected them to a car battery. Then I rigged up this pressure plate..."

"And then - BOOM!" she exclaims, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over Ekko's plate.

"Watch it, Pow," Ekko grumbles, but there's no real annoyance in his voice.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the room around you. As the meal winds down, Powder's eyes light up with a new idea. She bounds over to you and Sevika.

"Hey, hey! You guys wanna play Nerf guns with us?" she asks, her eyes wide and pleading.

Sevika raises an eyebrow.

"I modified them. They shoot further now, and I added a cool light-up feature, and-"

"Modified?" Sevika interrupts, looking slightly alarmed, she was already thinking about the last mishap with Powder’s “modifications”.

You laugh at the expression on Sevika's face, she couldn’t hide the suspicion and concern written all over it. "Come on, Sev," you nudge. "Could be fun."

Powder's practically bouncing now. "Please? Pretty please? I promise there’s no slime this time!"

Sevika sighs. "Fine." she concedes.

"Yes!" Powder cheers. "You won't regret it!"

Powder herds you, Sevika, Ekko, and Ren onto the couch, squishing you all together as she stands before you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Alright, listen up!” Powder announces, pulling out a set of nerf guns. The colorful plastic weapons are covered in stickers and doodles, clearly customized to her liking. She hands one to each of you.

Sevika takes hers with a skeptical look, turning it over in her hands. “You can’t shoot shit with this,” she mutters, the derision clear in her voice.

“Oh, yeah?” Powder smirks, clearly prepared for this. She whirls around, aims at a water bottle perched on the windowsill, and fires. The nerf dart flies across the room and smacks the bottle dead center, sending it tumbling to the floor with a satisfying thud.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

“Now that we’ve established these aren’t toys for babies,” Powder continues, pacing in front of the couch. “here’s the game: upstairs, there’s a crown stashed somewhere by Vi. The goal is to retrieve the crown and bring it to Vander downstairs. Upstairs is a no-shoot zone, but downstairs, if you’re hit with a dart, you’re out.”

She claps her hands together, clearly relishing her role as the game master. "Now, we need to split into teams," Powder continues. "Sevika and Ekko, you're one team. And-"

You all glance at Ren, the youngest of the group at just eight years old. There's a moment of awkward silence as everyone tries to figure out how to handle this diplomatically.

"You should take her," you say sweetly.

Sevika’s eyes narrow playfully, already sensing where this is going. “The kid likes you more." Despite being dubious of the game at first, you could tell Sevika’s competitiveness was taking over.

“I thought this was just a kids’ game?” you tease, leaning in slightly with a raised eyebrow.

Sevika gives you a sheepish look, clearly caught between her competitive streak and her soft spot for Ren.

Feeling a bit guilty, you suggest, "Why don't we let Ren pick?"

Ren beams up at both of you, clearly delighted to have the choice. "I wanna be on your team!" she exclaims, pointing at you and Powder.

“You’re gonna be our secret weapon,” you whisper, wrapping an arm around Ren’s shoulders.

“Alright then,” Ekko chimes in, finally managing to free himself from the couch. “Let’s do this.”

Everyone grabs their nerf guns and heads outside. You can't help but chuckle at the sight of Sevika, usually so intimidating, clutching a bright orange plastic gun with a determined look on her face.

"Alright, teams start at opposite ends of the house," Powder instructs. "When I give the signal, the hunt begins!"

You crouch behind a bush with Powder and Ren, all of you trying (and failing) to look serious with your toy weapons.

"Ready?" Powder calls out. "Set... GO!"

And with that, you all come barreling into the house. Powder darts ahead, her movements quick and erratic. You follow, trying to keep an eye on Ren while scanning for potential ambush spots.

As you round a corner, you come face to face with Sevika. For a moment, you both freeze, nerf guns pointed at each other.

"Sorry, babe," you say, not sorry at all as you pull the trigger.

But Sevika's reflexes are faster. She ducks, the foam dart whizzing over her head, and returns fire. You barely dodge, and you take the moment to sneak onto the stairs.

Upstairs, you quickly begin your search, darting in and out of rooms, peeking under beds and behind curtains for any sign of the hidden crown. Ren’s small size gives her an advantage as she slips into tight spots that you and Powder can’t quite reach.

But despite your efforts, it was nowhere to be found. "How?" you mutter, bewildered.

Powder's eyes narrow, scanning the area. "Ekko," she hisses, pointing to an open window. "He must've climbed up from outside!"

Quickly, you formulate a plan. Ren is dispatched to keep watch with Vander, ensuring Ekko can't make a sneaky victory while you and Powder hunt down Sevika and Ekko.

With that, you guys head back downstairs, moving quietly as you scan the house for any signs of the other team. As you move through the house, you and Powder eventually decide to split up, hoping to cover more ground.

It doesn’t take long before you spot Sevika, her broad frame moving stealthily through the hallway. She hasn’t seen you yet, and you quickly close the distance, pressing yourself against the wall to remain hidden. When she finally turns the corner, you’re right there, catching her off guard.

“Drop the gun,” you command, your voice low and teasing as you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers. Sevika’s eyes widen in surprise, her hands instinctively going up in mock surrender, though there’s a glint of amusement in her gaze.

“And what if I don’t?” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Then I’ll have to make you,” you reply, your tone equally flirtatious as you lean in closer, the game momentarily forgotten.

"Ewww, get a room!" Ekko's voice breaks the spell. You spin around to find Ekko aiming at you, the crown tucked under his arm.

But before you can react, Powder emerges from a doorway behind Ekko, her nerf gun raised and ready. Without missing a beat, she fires a dart that hits Ekko square in the back. “Gotcha!” she shouts triumphantly.

Ekko’s eyes widen in shock as he instinctively drops the crown, clutching his back where the dart hit. “Hey, what the fuck, Powder?!” he exclaims, his tone incredulous.

“Language, Ekko!” Vander’s voice booms from the kitchen, echoing through the house.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Sevika quickly knocks the nerf gun out of your hand. But before she can fully capitalize on her victory, you kick the crown down the hallway, sending it skittering toward the kitchen.

“Move kid!” Sevika barks as she grabs Ekko by the arm, dragging him behind a couch. Ekko, still nursing his mock wound, yells out dramatically, “Man down! Man down!”

There's a moment of tense silence, then Ekko's voice pipes up again. "I'm getting healed by a health kit!"

“What the hell?” Powder says with a look of utter disbelief. “There’s no health kit in this game!”

"Yeah, 'cause I took it!" Ekko retorts, popping up from behind the couch and unleashing a barrage of foam darts.

The living room erupts into chaos. You dive behind an armchair, Powder taking cover behind another couch. Foam darts fly in every direction, peppering the air with colorful streaks.

You peek out, catching Sevika's eye across the room. She winks at you before ducking to avoid a well-aimed shot from Powder.

"Cover me!" you shout to Powder, making a dash for the hallway where the crown disappeared.

Ekko leaps over the couch, trying to intercept you. "Oh no, you don't!" he yells, unleashing a volley of darts in your direction.

You slide across the hardwood floor, narrowly avoiding his attack. Sevika provides covering fire for Ekko, keeping Powder pinned down.

As you scramble to your feet at the kitchen entrance, ready to grab the crown and make a triumphant dash to Vander, you freeze. The crown is gone.

A throat clears behind you. You turn to see Vander, sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Beside him stands Ren, a victorious grin on her face and the crown placed neatly on Vander's head.

The chaos in the living room dies down as everyone realizes what's happened. Ren's giggles fill the sudden silence.

"I believe," Vander says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "that we have a winner."

For a moment, you're all too stunned to speak. Then Powder bursts out laughing, followed quickly by Ekko. Soon, you're all in stitches, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

As you catch your breath, you feel Sevika's arm wrap around your waist. "Can’t believe we were outsmarted by an eight-year-old," she murmurs in your ear.

You lean into her, watching as Vander lifts Ren onto his shoulders, parading her around the kitchen as the victor. Ekko and Powder are already arguing about a rematch and new teammates for next time.

As the excitement of the game winds down, Vander glances at the clock. "It's getting late."

You nod in agreement, glancing over at Ren. “Do you want to stay at Powder’s or with us tonight?”

Ren's eyes light up. "Stay with Powder!" she exclaims without hesitation.

Before you can even respond, Powder and Ekko are already shepherding Ren up the stairs, their voices a jumble of excited plans for a sleepover.

Caitlyn and Vi exchange a knowing look. "Ooh, you two are finally getting some alone time," Vi teases with a wink.

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Sevika seems unfazed.

"So, how are those new recruits doing on the walls? Getting the hang of things?" You ask, trying to get the attention off you.

Caitlyn's face does a complicated dance between diplomacy and honesty. "Well, they're... enthusiastic."

Vi snorts, unable to contain herself. "Come on, cupcake. Tell 'em the truth."

Caitlyn's facade cracks. "Alright, fine. Their aim is absolutely atrocious. I've never seen so many missed targets in my life. We had one recruit who managed to shoot his own hat off."

You all burst out laughing, the mental image too ridiculous to resist.

Vander shakes his head. "Everyday I’m thankful that’s not me, I'm getting too old for that kind of headache."

Sevika raises an eyebrow at him. "Not too old to keep experimenting with your homebrews though, are you?"

You all laugh at that. It's true - besides overseeing the community's agriculture, Vander's taken to crafting various meads and ales in his spare time.

"I'll have you know that my brewing skills only improve with age, unlike my patience," Vander puffs up his chest in mock indignation. “And I'm taking back the ale from tonight, can't have you lot disparaging my other talents.”

Vi grins. "C'mon, Vander. You know the community needs that alcohol. How else are we supposed to cope with Powder's 'experiments'?"

This sets off another round of laughter, but your conversation is suddenly interrupted when Ren comes downstairs, looking shy and hesitant.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Sevika seems to understand before you do, her voice softening as she reaches out to Ren. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you tucked in.”

The three of you make your way upstairs, the house now quiet as the night settles in. Ren leads you to the bedroom she’s sharing with Powder and Ekko.

Sevika moves to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping Ren climb in. Ren looks up at you both, her eyes wide and a little sad, as Sevika tucks the blankets around her snugly. “Can you get it?” Ren asks quietly.

You follow her gaze to the small play tent in the corner of the room, where she likes to spend her time during the day. You walk over, crouching down to peer inside, and that’s when you see it—peeking out from under a pile of toys. Your breath hitches as you recognize it instantly: Grayson’s yellow armband.

You carefully pull it out, the fabric worn but still vibrant, and bring it over to Ren. She takes it from you, her small hands wrapping around the band as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “I miss her,” she whispers.

Your heart breaks at the sight of her holding onto that small piece of Grayson. You kneel beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I know, honey,” you say softly. “We all miss her. But she’s always with us, in here.” You gently place a hand over Ren’s heart, offering her a comforting smile.

Ren nods and she clutches the armband tightly, her grip strong for someone so small. Sevika’s expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions flashing across her face as she watches the scene unfold.

After a few moments, Ren’s eyelids start to droop, exhaustion finally taking over. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ren’s forehead. “Goodnight sweetie,” you whisper.

You and Sevika quietly bid Ekko and Powder goodnight as well, sharing a few last words before heading back downstairs. The house is much quieter now, the energy from earlier having dissipated into a peaceful calm. You say your goodbyes to Vander, Caitlyn, and Vi, thanking them for the evening.

As you step out into the cool night air, the streets of Zaun are mostly quiet. Sevika’s hand finds yours, her grip warm and comforting. “You okay?” she asks.

You nod, though your mind is still on Ren and the armband. “Yeah,” you say softly, squeezing her hand. “It’s just… it’s hard sometimes, you know? Seeing how much she misses Grayson.”

Sevika doesn’t respond right away, but you feel her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, a silent gesture of understanding. “She’s a tough kid,” she finally says. “She’s more resilient than we think.”

You wordlessly agree, falling into a comfortable silence as you guys listen to the hum of the surrounding houses and your footsteps on the pavement. For a while, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the quiet together.

You find yourself stealing glances at Sevika, admiring her profile in the dim light. She catches you looking and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. You playfully bump your shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture, a bit harder.

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you bump her again, just to see what she’ll do.

Sevika doesn’t say anything, but you can see the corner of her mouth twitching upward, that almost-smile that she gets when she’s trying to keep her cool but failing just a bit. She bumps you back, a little more firmly this time, and you laugh, the sound light and carefree in the stillness of the night.

You nudge her again, and this time, she stops walking altogether. Before you can react, she grabs your hand, pulling you toward her with a gentle but firm tug. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble slightly, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself.

But Sevika’s already there, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. There’s a brief moment where you just look at each other, the playful teasing of earlier fading into something softer, more intimate. The distance between you disappears, and you feel the warmth of her body against yours, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, the way she’s holding you, it says it all.

Without a word, she leans down, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, and it fills you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, making you feel like you could stay here forever, wrapped up in this simple, perfect moment.

You melt into the kiss, your hand sliding from her shoulder to the nape of her neck.

When she finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, her forehead resting against yours as she breathes out a soft sigh. You can't resist leaning in to place another quick kiss on her lips, delighting in the way it makes her smile.

"What was that for?" you ask softly, not that you're complaining.

"Do I need a reason?" she asks, her voice husky but tender.

You shake your head, smiling. "Definitely not. Feel free to do that anytime."

She chuckles softly, pulling you close as you resume your walk home. Her arm wraps securely around your waist, and you lean into her, feeling safe and cherished.

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scarletttries · 9 days ago

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When Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Fall in Love...(Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: It's been a while! I haven't posted in a while but I've got some time at the moment and I'm just finishing a first playthrough of BG3 so wanted to write some headcanons for our charming companions. Consider me open for any BG3 request too, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Travelling with you makes Astarion feel grateful he's had hundreds of years to perfect his flirting technique. He knows exactly how to let you know what he's thinking without ever giving away too much of himself, how to flash his smile without ever lowering his guard. He thinks once again he knows exactly how to capture your attention, and possibly your body, without losing an ounce of control. That is until you say something that catches him completely off guard...

- "I'm really sorry to hear that." You should have laughed at his expense, his self-deprecating humour and haunted tales from his past worn like the toughest armour over silky open shirts. But you hadn't laughed, or scoffed, or replied with some equivalently sarcastic tone. Instead you'd offered empathy, a warm look and an extended hand that somehow didn't feel like pity to Astarion either.

"Well that's enough self-pity for tonight my dear." He quickly excused himself from the campfire, turning his back as he entered his tent to hide any visible blush his cheeks may muster from the way you said good night. Of course his blood didn't circulate that way any more, but he was almost sure he could feel his heart rising in his chest as it had when he was still a mortal man. No, this didn't feel right at all.

- It would be easy for Astarion to pretend he was only interested in a night of carnal pleasures with you because of all the beauty you possess, and he'll let everyone else think him a shallow man just the same. But when he lets his mind wander freely it's your kindness he finds himself dwelling on, or your firm but fair moral code that seems to carry you through these intrepid lands without doubt or tribulation. He almost wishes he had met you sooner, so sure that his life (and after-life) could have turned out quite different with you by his side at those strange early steps.

- Suddenly all his effortless flirting feels a lot more challenging and he can't decide if he should risk a small amount of sincerity to let you know how we feels, or just to double down on letting you know one night with him would ruin you for any other lover. Luckily both approaches are met with the affection he craves, and slowly but surely Astarion starts to feel like he might be able to have something real for once.

Wyll:

- Ever the hopeless romantic, Wyll was already a firm believer in love at first sight by the time he ran into you and experienced it firsthand. He fears he cannot be too bold, his staunch commitment to his duties governing his life in a way that does not leave much room for any other kind of commitment. He tries to let his feelings settle at the back of his mind, in the hopes that in time they will become nothing but a dull ache he can learn to live with.

- That could not be less of the case for poor Wyll though, your face filling his every nightly dream and your voice echoing through his mind in every moment of silence. His heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing day you travel together and soon it feels almost inevitable that he will be yours, even if he can't quite bring himself to admit it yet. Once he has accepted that thought he must wrestle with the possibility that you might not feel the same and you will be added to his list of those he cares for most that have rejected him with scorn.

- Still he lets the lighter thoughts carry him through the toughest of times; what it might be like to hear you offer your own feelings back, how it would feel to see you smile only for him, what kind of life the two of you might be able to build in a simpler times, what he could finally do if you agreed to a wedding night together. He lets himself ruminate on that more often that he'd like to admit, all gentlemanly efforts banished from his mind when he sees you walk around his camp.

- While he builds up the courage to make his feelings known, you might catch him practicing the steps of an intricate dance one night when he thinks everyone is fast asleep.

Gale:

- Gale has known love and loss before, the intensity of his past life making him consider keeping his heart closed off from others forevermore. But the gods have a funny way of keeping Gale on his toes, and introducing him to you certainly did that.

- At first you are just the warmest of friends to him: an ever-willing audience for his lifetime of tales and knowledge, a reliable companion for the throes of battle, a selfless treasure seeker who helps him fend off hunger. But over time he finds himself desperately scanning his mind for more and more facts that it would be worth waking you up to share, more tales to capture your attention, anything the two of you might do together to keep your focus on him and no one else.

- It's about when he wonders if the two of you might just camp in one tent together, that he realises he no longer views you as simply his closest friend. No, you have long passed that threshold into an entirely new realm of love. It feels so different to anything he has felt before, like your company is the warmest summer breeze after decades of stormy lightning in his heart. It feels safe and easy to be with you, like he could be content with almost nothing as long as you were by his side, looking at him with your near endless appreciation. Gale can't be sure exactly what to do about it, but he hopes the next time you draw back the opening on your tent and usher him in for another night of exchanging tales, that you might permit him to never leave.

Shadowheart:

- It's hard to know love when you barely know yourself. That's what Shadowheart tells herself when she finds her mind wandering back to you after your memorable first impression. She has so much to learn about herself, and while she's grateful for the reliable company and kind sounding-board you provide, there's simply no room in her life for anything more.

- And yet the more she uncovers about herself, the more important it seems to have you by her side. It's like she cannot exist in this new fully realised version of herself if she doesn't know you. If she doesn't get to see herself through your eyes, to hear what you think, to have your presence beside her as he continues to take more and more steps forward down this path home.

- Without ever trying you have become the other half of Shadowheart, and by the time she realises it, she knows you must have the same awareness. There could be no way that you aren't as in tune to the depth of your bond as she is, leaving her only one question. Not if to address it. But when.

Karlach:

- Though Karlach may not have a traditional heart anymore, she is more than capable of falling for the travelling companion that seems to bring out the best in her at every step. After years spent working for the devil and his underlings, having someone in her life that strives to make the world better and put her strength to good use is like the first sip of water after countless nights in the arid desert of the hells.

- Karlach knows she's as strong as they come, so she finds her eyes frantically searching you out in battle, pushing herself on and raging forwards to always keep you safe, to get you behind her, to make sure you go on to keep her company another day.

- Her time in this plane of existence may be more limited than some of the other characters, but that only means Karlach knows how important it is to truly 'live.' While the other companions may bide their time and carefully deliberate how best to inform you of their inconvenient feelings, when Karlach knows your heart is true, she's going to let you know she is all yours at the earliest, and steamiest, opportunity.

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pascaloverx · 21 days ago

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HAUNTED (+18)

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction. Minors should not interact with this chapter, be warned.

THREE

FOUR (+18)

Days passed, with you avoiding Charlie as if he were a disease. The truth was that his mere presence already unsettled your mind. You needed these days to reflect, allowing yourself to leave the guest room only when he was at work, taking your meals in secret. Mary helped you avoid your husband, though she always advised you to talk to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, here you were—facing Dr. Charlie Mayhew while he used an exercise bike, wearing a tank top that revealed his strong arms. Sweat glistened on his body, an almost provocative scene. "What are you plotting, Dr. Mayhew?" you said aloud, watching him exercise in the middle of the house. He was doing it on purpose—obviously.

"I see you've returned to calling me Doctor—such progress. If you must know, I’m simply enjoying my day off. Exercising to keep my body in shape, the very same body that once greatly satisfied my wife. You know, the one who now seems to prefer ignoring me over taking advantage of it..." he says playfully, as if trying to seduce you while also grumbling.

"Your body? Is that how you plan to get my attention?" you say, feigning indifference, as though his attempt to distract you with his physique is failing—though, in truth, it’s working all too well. You remain standing in front of the guest room door, dressed in your nightgown, noticing that neither Mary nor Ed is anywhere to be seen. Charlie, still pedaling on the exercise bike, has his back to you, his posture emphasizing his toned rear, which you can’t help but eye almost hungrily.

"It used to work, I’ll admit I’m resorting to extremes. And just so you know, Mary and Ed are off today. It’ll be just you and me the entire day. In case you were planning to hide away like a frightened little mouse," Charlie says as he steps off the bike, approaching you while using a small towel to wipe the sweat from his body.

"You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Is our marriage now about disrespecting each other’s personal space?" you ask, slightly irritated, nearly pouncing on him in your frustration.

"What marriage, mi amor? You see me as an enemy, as the villain in your story, not as your husband." Suddenly, the air grows heavier as you stand mere inches apart, your eyes locked on each other, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Are you asking for a divorce, dear husband?" you ask softly, your voice calm. Charlie's breath brushes against your face, the scent of his sweat acting like an aphrodisiac, stirring something deep within you.

"What other option do we have? Stay married while playing cat and mouse? You avoid me, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking your husband is a monster and hiding from him? All of these options are a waste of time and emotional energy," Charlie speaks so rationally, though his expression betrays his words. It’s as if he’s daring you to consider the possibility of ending it all.

"It feels like we’re just going in circles around each other," you murmur, exhaling a heavy breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You close your eyes slowly, feeling the weight of what ending your marriage would truly mean. It’s a thought that has crossed your mind before, yet there’s an ache in your chest at the idea of stepping out of Charlie’s life for good.

"Tell me honestly, would you feel at peace if I left? If I were no longer your husband?" he asks, stepping closer, his tongue slowly wetting his lips. It’s almost as if he’s testing your reaction to his proximity, studying your every move.

"There will be no peace for me until I truly know who I am," you reply, locking eyes with him, though now with a growing desire stirring within you. Your hand grazes his muscled arm, sending a visible shiver through him. He leans in closer, tilting his head as if seeking permission in your gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he tugs down the neckline of your nightgown just enough to bare your shoulder, his eyes darkening as he watches your response.

"And until you remember who you are, will I need to quit my job and dismiss Mary and Ed just to have a proper conversation with you?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his gaze flicking to you from the corner of his eye as if gauging your reaction. A shiver courses through you, but your fingers find their way to his damp hair, gently caressing it.

Charlie's kisses trail from your shoulder to your neck, his warm breath brushing against your skin, sending a cascade of sensations through you. "So you admit you orchestrated this to force me to interact with you?" you manage to ask, though your focus falters with every brush of his lips. When his mouth lingers near your jawline, you realize rational thought is slipping away, overtaken by the pull of what you're feeling.

"I admit it—I wanted you with no distractions, no escape. I was desperate," he confesses, his voice low and laced with vulnerability. His lips travel softly over your cheek, grazing the bridge of your nose and the corners of your eyes, each kiss more tender than the last. His hands, warm and deliberate, trace the curve of your body, sliding your nightgown higher with a slow, intoxicating purpose, as if savoring every inch of contact.

His hands grip your thighs tightly as he slowly pulls them away from your face as if he's analyzing your reactions. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamed about this exact moment the entire time you were unconscious. However, if you're not comfortable, we can call it a day. As long as you don't ignore me again, that will be enough for me," Charlie speaks as if he were holding himself back from exploding with desperate to have you. He rests his head on your shoulder, looking up, his expression seemed like the perfect mix of lust and insecurity. At that moment something awakened in you, the notion that he might actually be sincere, at least about his desire to have you.

"You settle for so little," you mutter, waiting for a reaction from him. Charlie then lifts his head, staring at you for a few moments. His fingers caress your face with a certain firmness, passing his fingers under your lips. At some point his thumb slipped between your lips and you bit it lightly, then sucked on Charlie's finger as you stared at him.

"You're playing with fire, mi amor," Charlie says, kissing the corner of your mouth, as if he were teasing you. You turn off any inhibitions that would keep you from attacking Charlie's lips. Honestly, whether or not he is who Detective Lois is looking for doesn't really matter at this point. Your soul seems to be thirsting for Charlie Mayhew's presence, not just near you but within you.

"Burn me with your fire, Dr. Mayhew," you whisper. Charlie's eyes grow dark, his lips attack yours in a fervent, messy kiss. He sucks on your tongue as he tightens his arms around your waist. The kiss almost takes your breath away but leaves you so hot. You use your hands to grope his chest, while you cling to him. The kiss breaks as Charlie starts to kiss your neck passionately, nibbling your skin while his hands start to caress your breasts through your nightgown. At first, the gentle way his fingers played with your nipples through your nightgown sent a shiver down your spine. He seemed to grow impatient, as if he wanted to feel your skin against his immediately. Then he lifted you up with his arms, making you put your legs around his waist and hold on tight to his shoulders so you wouldn't fall. He placed you under the kitchen counter, placing his body between your legs. Quickly, he began to take off the nightgown you were wearing.

"See my beautiful wife, naked beneath her nightgown as if she knew I would be extremely pleased to see her like that," Charlie speaks as he runs his fingers over your naked body, ending up holding your ass with both of his hands, squeezing it tightly as he brings you closer to him. You who are studying every detail to memorize Charlie Mayhew's touch and taste. You pull his hair back, holding the strands firmly, going hungrily to Charlie's lips and kissing him. He bites your lip as he tries to match your pace during the kiss. You take your hands out of his hair, and start to pull down his shorts and underwear.

"I see that my wonderful husband was really right when he said I should take advantage of his body," you teases him as she watches his cock spring out of his underwear. Charlie gives you a kiss, as he moves towards you, using his hands that are no longer on your ass, to spread your legs wider. As his tongue explores not only your mouth but also your neck, his fingers enter you without hesitation. His fingers, going in and out quite quickly while your pussy squeezed them, you ended up moaning from the pleasure of feeling the pressure of his fingers in your pussy.

"An eternity could pass, but being inside you will still be the best feeling of my life," he murmurs, gently biting your ear while talking against it, giving you goosebumps. You then grab his hand before he can put his fingers inside you again, and with a thirsty look, you try to tell him that you want his cock. He then holds your thighs firmly, separating your legs with precision and then thrusts his erect cock inside you. You let out a loud moan, the feeling of him fucking you is something you weren't prepared to feel. He kisses your lips softly as he slowly thrusts his cock in your pussy that is already wet. You hold on to him as you feel him move in and out of you faster and faster.

For a moment it was as if an animalistic instinct took over him. You close your eyes tightly, reveling in the feeling of being taken by him, while your nails scratch every possible part of his body. For a moment, you drag your ass forward to increase the proximity of your body to Charlie's. He seems to want to see your face, moving your hair away from your face and pulling your face with his hand, kissing your lips once more. However, his hand goes down to your neck and and hold it there firmly. For some reason, the feeling of being lightly suffocated by him feels extremely satisfying. The more he pressed his hand against your neck, the more horny you became for him.

You were so wet that his cock was fitting perfectly inside your pussy, the synchronization of your bodies was almost surreal. Your only regret was not ripping off the damn tank top Charlie is wearing. With each thrust you feel yourself getting close to cumming, feeling your breath leaving you as he squeezes your neck in a strong way, taking you to the limit. You grind on Charlie's cock, making him groan heavily as he cums inside you. Even so, he continues to thrust his cock inside you while your pussy is sensitive from feeling him cum hard, until you cum too.

You two are a mess, dirtying the kitchen counter. Charlie lifts your head slowly, kissing every part of your face gently. "I think we should go take a shower wife. What we just did here certainly made us sweaty," Charlie says as he catches his breath after the sex you had. "You'll have to carry me," you inform him, feeling loose in your legs. He kisses your neck and then carries you to the bathroom in your room, where you bathe and have a second round.

Afterward, everything seemed normal. Charlie and you shared your bed again, following a day spent together during his time off, complete with him preparing dinner for the two of you. The next morning, he woke early for work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and informing you that Mary and Ed would be at your service.

You woke up feeling invigorated, determined to seek answers while also embracing the peace that being with Charlie seemed to bring. A few hours later, after getting ready, you set out to visit Detective Tryon. Ed accompanied you there, and you felt no fear of Charlie discovering your visit to Lois, as you had resolved to extend a measure of trust to both of them.

"Mrs. Mayhew, to what do I owe the honor of your visit to my workplace?" Lois asks, lighting a cigarette as she settles into her chair. You find yourself in her office, surrounded by officers, inmates, and suspicious individuals.

"I came here to understand why I am considered a suspect in your investigation," you reply quickly, remaining standing. Detective Tryon looks you up and down before exhaling a puff of smoke, seemingly pondering your words.

"You’ll need to follow me to a room where I can show you the answer to your question," Lois says as she stands, gesturing for you to follow. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you trail behind her as she leads the way to a room at the back of the precinct.

Upon entering the room, you are met with paintings depicting crime scenes, eerily similar to those you had once seen in Charlie Mayhew's office. Each artwork bears the same hauntingly realistic and morbid tone, sending chills down your spine.

"What do these paintings have to do with your suspicions?" you ask, bewildered by the connection between yourself and these brutally realistic depictions of crime.

"Well, Mrs. Mayhew," Detective Tryon begins, her tone grave, "I must inform you that these paintings are of your authorship. Not only that, but you need to understand that they depict actual, unsolved homicide cases. And you painted these works before the murders depicted in them occurred. This has made you a suspect. Moreover, all the victims were, at some point, connected to the hospital where your husband works. Many were even his patients."

Her piercing gaze settles on you, and the weight of her words sends your mind spiraling. You glance at the paintings again, confusion thickening as fragmented memories resurface. Images of your past flit through your mind—your quiet painting room, where you used to work with calm precision. Suddenly, you recall painting the image of one of the murdered women, her lifeless form rendered in vivid detail.

What strikes you as bizarre is that your reference seemed to be a photograph—one that was pinned to a bulletin board in front of you. The realization stirs something deep within, but a sharp pain in your head interrupts your thoughts, slicing through the memory like a blade. Dizzy and disoriented, you close your eyes tightly, the room spinning around you. Detective Tryon calls your name, her cigarette dropping forgotten to the floor as she rushes toward you. But it is too late. Your body goes limp, and you collapse to the ground, succumbing to unconsciousness.

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crows-in-the-house · 4 months ago

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Bill Cipher x Reader possesion hc's

tw: harm to reader, violence and blood?

i think he would posses you in your sleep, making sure you are deep in nightmare realm, getting in only when he's sure you won't wake up :

he will start his fun with drawing eyes on your eyelids and your forehead, maybe whole body if he's in the mood,

and the best part? It's going to be with a the pernament marker sucker!

if he gets bored he might start drawing triangles or riddles, sometimes just in places you won't see, like "Bill's property" on your nape (ha! you still have that you fool!)

oooh, and maybe he will tattoo that if you've been ignoring him lately

just so you know haha

will try to see if he can bite of ur fingers

will eat spiders (his fav human must be well feed)

will bath you in nailpolish so you're "well preserved"

will prank call random people hoping he finds any of the Pines numbers (so you two can go on a murder date!!)

will make a fashion show!

but don't hope it will turn out well, he will cut out "clothes" out of your curtains, make a shawl out of toilet paper and use a grater as a bracelet. Later you may just find yourself half naked cuz he bearly knew how to put back normal clothes on you (he will defend himself saying that real clothes are boring and out of style)

on the other hand he will also put on lots of jewelry and accesories - so you may also wake up with three hats, old winter glove, two bowties (which you didn't own earlier?) and 6 rings on your toes. enjoy!

sometimes Bill will just watch tv. Maybe he will comment on "my little ponny" or other shows, what else can he do? He has to talk to somebody, you know, while waiting for his lazy human. The next day you can feel ur throat burning and eyes itching

"what about building a portal?" - you would ask. Well no, he obviously does that. It's just that it's not so enjoyable when you don't have anyone to boss around! So he gets bored quickly and nags you about it later. Or send you more nightmares about it, cuz how dare you be so sloppy with your work!?

he will also draw himslef on all your mirrors so you can look at him every time u try to look at ur relfection (if you try to clean that off, he will just scratch it with something sharp the next day, so better be cearful, theres going to be lots of glass shards everywhere)

prolly will just throw brokade everywhere cuz its pretty

if he's feeling lonely or desperate he will start rewiring your brain, maybe adding a few fake memories where he's your hero, or putting himself in a place of somebody that helped you in hard sytuation. Remember that one time you got sick and somebody was next to your bed 24/7? Yeah it was Bill, do thank him.

will read all your thoughts about him

will drink a soup made of energy drinks and candy

will write his name on ur brain. or heart. or lungs, maybe just everywhere, why not?

will act like you in front of the mirror and compliment himself!

will try making a piercing. if he fails with your ears he will just practice on your tights! And neck!

will haunt down your friends, you better tell them you were just playing tag with them. Yes, with a knife, who doesn't?

will try to lick your eyeball

and elbow

also will hurt your body in weird ways but that obvious

(buuuut maybe, just maybe, he will make you not feel all the pain the next day. If he likes you that enough, that is)

#bill cipher x reader #yandere bill cipher x reader #yandere x reader #bill cipher x you #gravity falls #thetalkingcrow #bill cipher headcanons

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woozinhos · 10 days ago

Note

hi!!! congrats on 400<3. may i request a make up sex with mingi from ateez with the 12th quote, pls?

merry Christmas anon I decided to choose yours to write for Christmas I hope you enjoy this make up sex with mingi <333

The argument had been intense, the tension between you and Mingi reaching a boiling point.

You'd both said things you didn't mean, the words cutting deep and leaving wounds that felt like they might never heal. But now, as you stand there facing each other, the anger has faded and all that's left is an aching need to be close to one another. Mingi's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense as he takes a step closer to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean what I said. I was angry and hurt and I lashed out at you."

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you hear the sincerity in his words.

"I'm sorry too," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "I said some awful things as well. I didn't mean them, Mingi. I was just so frustrated."

Mingi takes another step closer, closing the distance between you until there's only a few inches separating your bodies. He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he looks down at you with a mixture of regret and desire.

"I know," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I know you didn't mean it. But I can't stop thinking about what you said. The way you looked at me, the words that came out of your mouth... they've been haunting me all day."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes burning with a desperate need.

"I need to hear you say something else," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I need to hear you scream my name when you cum."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the desire in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Mingi's eyes darken with hunger, his hand sliding from your cheek to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"I want to make you forget everything but my name," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to erase every other thought from your mind until all that's left is me."

Mingi's grip on your chin tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. His body presses against yours, his muscular frame pinning you against the wall behind you. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue immediately plunging into your mouth as he claims you as his own.

The kiss is fierce and passionate, full of all the pent-up emotions and desire that have been building between you for hours. Mingi's hands roam over your body, his touch possessive and hungry as he claims every inch of you. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake.

He nips at your skin, leaving behind marks that are sure to linger for days, marking you as his. Mingi's anger and frustration from the argument come out in the way he touches you, his movements rough and desperate. He bites down hard on your collarbone, making you gasp in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"You're mine," he growls against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he grinds against you. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget that again."

Mingi's mouth continues to explore your body, his lips and teeth marking you in all the places he knows are most sensitive. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over your exposed skin as he takes in the sight of you.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze darkening with desire. "And all mine."

Mingi lifts you up with ease, his strong arms wrapping around your body as he carries you towards the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as he gazes down at you with a possessive glint in his eyes.

"You're so perfect like this," he murmurs, his hands trailing up your thighs and under your skirt. "Spread out beneath me, waiting for me to take what's mine."

Mingi looks down at you, his eyes burning with a primal need.

"Can we skip the foreplay?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "I need you, now. I need to feel you around me, I need to be inside you."

Mingi lets out a low growl at your nod, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hands immediately going to the waistband of your skirt.

He pulls it off in one swift motion, leaving you completely bare beneath him. Mingi's eyes rake over your body, his gaze devouring every inch of your skin.

"So beautiful," he repeats, his voice thick with desire. "So perfect for me."

He runs his hands up your thighs, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips before moving to grip your waist.

"I'm going to make you scream," he promises, his thumbs digging into your skin. "I'm going to make you beg for more."

Mingi quickly sheds his own clothes, his body exposed to your hungry gaze.

He stands at the edge of the bed, towering over you with an air of dominance and control. His muscles ripple as he moves, the sight of him completely naked and aroused making your heart race with anticipation. Mingi looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he asks the question.

"Can we skip the condom this time?" he asks, his voice low and serious. "I want to feel all of you, I want to fill you up and claim you in every way possible."

Mingi grins at your nod, a mix of relief and excitement crossing his face.

"Good," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body once more. "I've been dreaming of this for so long."

He moves onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he gazes down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. Mingi enters you in one smooth thrust, his body slotting perfectly against yours as he fills you completely. He lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he savors the feeling of being inside you without a barrier.

"God, you feel amazing," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he holds himself still for a moment.

Mingi takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he adjusts to the sensation of being inside you.

"So tight," he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. "You're so tight and hot around me, it's driving me crazy."

He slowly pulls out, before thrusting back in again, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

Mingi sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours as he begins to move with increasing intensity. He pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust hard and deep, hitting all the right spots and making you see stars. His hands roam over your body, gripping and squeezing your flesh as he claims you as his own. Mingi grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees with a growl.

He positions himself behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he covers your body with his own. He grips your hair, tugging your head back and exposing your neck to him as he continues to pound into you from behind. Mingi's anger from the argument comes out in every snap of his hips, his body driving into you with a brutal intensity that makes you cry out.

He grips your hips tightly, pulling you back against him with each thrust as he buries himself deep inside you over and over again. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and biting at your flesh as he marks you as his in every way possible. Mingi's breath is hot against your ear as he speaks, his voice low and rough with desire.

"You're mine," he growls, his hips slamming against yours with each word. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

He lets go of your hair, his hand trailing down your body to find your clit.

He begins to rub it in time with his thrusts, his fingers expertly working your sensitive flesh as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The added stimulation of his fingers on your clit makes you moan loudly, your body arching back against his as pleasure courses through you. Mingi grins against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how good I'm making you feel."

You gasp out his name, the word a breathless moan on your lips.

"Mingi... please..." you whimper, your body trembling beneath his touch as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

Mingi's grin widens at the sound of his name on your lips, his pace becoming even more frantic as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"Please what, baby?" he teases, his fingers continuing to work your clit with a relentless rhythm. "Tell me what you want."

"Come for me," he growls, his own climax drawing near as he feels your body tightening around him.

He quickens his pace even further, his hips snapping against yours with a desperate urgency as he chases both of your releases. With a few more thrusts, Mingi finally sends you over the edge, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you. He lets out a guttural moan as he feels you clenching around him, his own release following closely behind as he spills himself deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he holds you close. Mingi nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he comes down from his high. He presses soft kisses to your skin, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and tenderness as he speaks.

"Promise me," he murmurs, his arms tightening around you. "Promise me we'll never fight like that again."

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #mingi hard hours #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi #mingi #mingi hard thoughts #mingi x you #ateez scenarios #ateez

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idontcaboose · 4 months ago

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Haunted car Au part 14

So, it has been a week, and it feels like when you wake up from an unplanned 30 minute nap and have to ask 'What year is it?' While feeling like you have been run over by a whole procession of clowns, clown cars, and maybe a camel for good measure. Granted, that may be from the ragweed that is pollinating like crazy, but oh well... new part!

THIS IS YOUR WARNING! SWEAR WORDS! Plenty of cursing ahead! You have been warned!

Previous. Masterpost

It had been over 24 hours since Jason saw Danny. The most troubling thing was, there were no whispers of a trafficking group in that area. He couldn't fathom what had happened to the kid. Barbara couldn't find the kid on her cameras either, so he might need to go to the cave and look at the Batmobile himself. The footage Babs pulled were just as corrupted as the ally cameras were. Maybe the kid built himself a little jamming device, wouldn't be his first strangely useful creation. Whether or not he had a jamming device, he was still missing and none of the other street kids had seen him. He knew they were probably not harboring him with the bounty for finding Danny being as lucrative as it was. Jason knew offering to cook 3 meals a day for a week would get all of his street kids looking, some adults too.

Jason was a little surprised to see Duke looking at the Batmobile's underside when he drove in. Normally only Bruce and Jason worked on the cars since they had the most hands-on experience with them. Case in point, Duke had the car up on the lift with the front doors open. Did he have to sit Duke down and go through safety in maintenance 101? Maybe he could borrow little Timmy's version “The importance of Maintenance Safety: Or why you don't let Megan write safety plans.” It would hit all the important bits and sear the information in with neon yellow and blue comic sans font.

“So, Glowstick, mind telling me why the fuck you are trying to get yourself crushed?” Jason growled at the kid, the helmet making it even more menacing.

Duke gave Jason an unimpressed look. “B got a stick up his ass and thinks I somehow was involved with the Batmobile running weirdly." Duke sneered as he continued. "Last night when Red Robin activated his emergency beacon, the lead goon got in it and ran over some of his goons. The fail safes for theft didn't activate. Somehow, it was my fault. Perks to being the closest non-injured, I guess.”

Jason was surprised at the bitterness the usually sunshine-y kid had.

“Well, good news, we can swap for a bit, and I can teach you properly how to maintain this beast.” Jason offered.

“Why are you so interested?”

“I can't be nice?”

“You are here willingly, and no, you usually are not ‘nice’. So what is it?”

Jason was not expecting such hostility from Duke, but if Bruce had his panties in a twist and took it out on Duke, he could forgive some of the bite. Couldn't hurt to get Duke in on his hunt for Danny anyway.

“I… need help. One of my guys mentioned they bet a kid, named Danny, some money to put a sticker on the Batmobile. No one has seen the kid after entering the alley where the car was parked. Oracle said the cameras were corrupted at the time the kid was there with it. Figured I would check the car for clues.”

“Oh…. Sure.”

They both looked at the undercarriage of the car in silence before Jason gave a snort.

“The kid really did put a sticker on the oil pan. That is hilarious.”

Sure enough there was a Green Arrow sticker, one where he had his arms crossed and looking smug as all hell, positioned in such a way that eluded that when the oil was drained it would look like Green Arrow was pissing.

“That is amazing, if you find the kid let me give them a high-five for that. What does he look like anyway?”

“Adoption bait, pretty much a mini me with a more ‘polite’ mouth.” Jason was sure Duke could hear his smile when talking about the kid.

“No shit? You with manners? I don't think I can imagine that from a Alley Rat.” Duke teased.

“Watch it Narrows, us Alley Rats are all a little rabid.” Jason found himself teasing back before sniffing. “Besides, Alfie would have my head if I didn't have some manners.”

They went back into a more comfortable silence while working, Jason took to looking through the center, hoping to find some sort of clue of a struggle if Danny got nabbed. Duke was focusing on the engine compartment and any wirings that he could follow. It was rather relaxing until Duke went to move some rubber piping to get a closer look at a relay.

Neither person expected the car to shudder and produce a kind of creepy giggle. Duke froze and Jason reacted by tackling him away from the car and pulling one of his guns at the Batmobile.

“What in the ever loving fuck?” Jason screamed, the Batmobile responded with its own car alarm going off.

“Don't shoot! I'm sorry, I didn't expect that to happen, we are still trying to figure things out!” Duke had jumped back up and put himself in front of Jason, waving his hands and trying to keep attention on him.

“We? What the fuck Narrows?!”

“Just, both of you, stop! Hood, gun down, Car dude, stop the alarm. Please.” Duke all but whined the last word in desperation.

Jason took a Very deep breath, and growled out in the now silent cave.

“Car. Dude?”

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism @thespacedragons @atinygracie @okami-love @lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #Haunted car au #Jason is now in the loop #kinda #he is not impressed #he also thinks it his fault....#poor Jason #at least Duke has help now?#I wish I was Tim rn #under Alferd arrest #getting sleep and food made for me #that is my heaven

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mountainsandmayhem · 1 year ago

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You’re Mine, Little Dove

(Joel Miller x Female!Reader) 18+

Summary: You’ve always loved walking at night, but an unexpected visitor goes from the most terrifying to most erotic night of your life.

TW: predator/prey dynamics, ropes, blindfolding, gagging, non consent, consensual non consent, oral, fingering, unprotected P in V, dirty talk, pet names (little dove, baby girl etc.)

A/N: I can’t say much without giving anything away, but this scene has been so fun for me to write. I’m tagging @untamedheart81 @beboldbebravethings @rav3n-pascal22 and @spookyxsam since you 4 wonderful people had such amazing support for my last story. And because delulu is the solulu, I’m also tagging @swiftispunk and @thetriumphantpanda because they’re both incredible creators and I truly admire their work.

🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍 •• 🤍🕊️🤍

You’ve always loved the night, and since getting promoted at work walking in the dark has become your way of winding down. Your friends think you’re crazy, blabbing on about how it’s dangerous and you shouldn’t be out there alone. One even suggested buying really dark sunglasses and walking during the day. You all laughed at that as you sipped rosé, but it’s not the same. For one, the summer sun in Texas is way too hot most days, but it’s also too “peopley” during the day. You want the solitude and quiet that comes with the dark.

All day you’re interrupted and expected to do things outside of your lane. Take work for example, today you were asked to take meeting minutes for a meeting that the team you lead isn’t even a part of. You lead a team, and have an assistant of your own who takes meeting notes, doesn’t that team lead have an assistant who can do that?

Probably not. He’s an arrogant prick, you think to yourself. But he’s the boss's son so he gets away with it. And because of that, you agree. You always fucking agree. Always happy to help, never saying no.

Here in the night though, it’s just you. The night doesn’t ask you to do anything but sleep, which you will do after enjoying the cooler summer air on your skin as you wander through the park behind your house.

There’s also a slight edge of danger to it that entices you. The park is well-lit, but who knows what could happen in the darkness between the casts of yellow light from lamppost to lamppost. Those darker spots might be your favourite, just a few steps away from the safety of the light.

You stop in one of those dark spots, closing your eyes and tilting your head up to the sky, taking a big cleansing breath in.

Silence. Calm. Peace.

You hold your breath for a few seconds, silence ringing in your ears before you slowly exhale. Just before you open your eyes, two strong arms wrap around you. A hand clamps over your mouth, the other arm other snakes tightly around your waist, pinning your arms down with it.

Silence, calm, and peace, were quickly replaced with fear, terror, and panic.

A solid wall of a person leads you to the grassy, non-lit areas of the park and you realize you have never known fear before. The fun fear of a roller coaster or haunted house, yes; but never true heart-stopping fear. Your stomach drops and everything inside you is yelling to fight.

“Don’t scream, little dove.” A deep voice rumbles through you. If it wasn’t for his massive form holding you up, you’re sure you’d fall over.

This doesn’t happen here. This is a safe neighbourhood where you know all your neighbours. For a second you think it’s a joke, someone sneaking up on you that you know, but it’s almost midnight on a Wednesday. Who would be up at this point?

As he pulls you along your fear evolves into terror. You’re frantically trying to catch your breath through your nose as every happy memory floods through you. The sparkly pink bike you got when you were six. The first time you saw white sand and crystal clear blue waters. Watching your best friend get engaged. How proud your parents looked when you got promoted last year. What was the last thing you even said to your parents?

His strong frame forces you to the grass. He places a knee on your back, holding you down as he ties your hands with a scratchy rope. Your mouth is free as your forehead rests on the grass.

Scream. Now.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Why can’t you scream or at least look back at him to see who he is so you can describe him to the police?

Oh god, what if he doesn’t let you go?

Just as you open your mouth to try to scream again he gags you and then blindfolds you. You’re pretty sure it’s done with silk ties, but you really can’t be sure.

“Good job, little dove.” He coos in your ear as he helps you up. “You’ll be rewarded for keeping quiet.”

He leads you through more of the grassy fields. You try to map out which house you’re headed toward in your mind’s eye until you’re interrupted by the sound of crunching gravel under your shoes. You assume you’re in an alley or street as you hear the clicking of a car door.

Your overly conservative father's voice comes into your head. “You can’t go out dressed like that. Boys will get the wrong idea. You’re inviting them to take advantage of you.”

That was years ago. You’re an adult woman now, with a degree and a mortgage. You know your clothing isn’t an excuse for this man’s abhorrent behaviour, but maybe you should have changed from your denim skirt and tight black top.

As you hear the vehicle door open the panic begins. Your breath comes in shorter and shallower, and it feels like your heart is thumping in your throat. You’re sure your captor can hear it, or at least feel it through the skin of your bicep that he’s gripping so tightly. A whimper escapes you as he hoists you into a back seat and slams the door.

“Don’t cry, little dove.” He says from the front as he starts the engine. “It’ll only entice me.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’re dead. Or trafficked. How could you not have screamed?! You let him take you, but did you stand a chance either way? You could feel his chest on the back of your head when he grabbed you, he was probably a foot taller than you. His strong hand was large enough to practically cover your whole face. He was the predator…you were the prey.

You calm your breathing and focus on the turns the vehicle takes as it pulls out of your neighbourhood, not letting the tears fall, you refuse to give him that sort of satisfaction.

It feels like you’ve been driving for hours before you finally come to a stop. He hasn’t said anything from the front seat. No music played. As he turns off the car you can hear the sound of a garage door closing. You’re royally fucked.

The door near your feet opens and you scramble to the other side of the vehicle as your instincts to fight ignite. A strong hand grabs your ankle and pulls you forward. You kick blindly with your other leg, screaming through the silk that’s wedged between your teeth. He catches your other ankle, squeezing them both together with one hand and binds them together.

He hoists you over his shoulder and lays a hard spank across your ass, eliciting a squeal as the walls of your pussy clench a little. “Behave, little dove,” he says cockily. You can’t see him, but you know he’s smirking over how easily he overpowered you.

You try to say ‘fuck you’ through your gag.

“Oh, I intend to.” He says as he takes you inside and up the stairs.

He drops you down on a bed and undoes the gag. “Tell me your name.”

“Touch me again and I’ll rip your dick off.” You spit.

He chuckles a little while straddling you and lifting the hem of your shift, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. “I love it when my little doves talk dirty to me.”

He places light kisses along your skin and you squirm to try to get free, but his large frame has you trapped and your arms and legs are useless if they’re bound. A deep moan from his chest shoots straight to your core, sending a new wave of arousal as your body starts to betray you.

“You’re a fucking coward,” you say with as much hate as you can muster, trying to ignore the want that’s spreading through your traitorous body.

He lifts your shirt higher, exposing all the skin between your bra and denim skirt, continuing to place soft kisses and light nibbles along your skin.

“I only want to make you feel good, little dove.” He says in a husky whisper, “How does that make me a coward?”

God dammit he feels so warm against you. You push his soft lips and deep soothing voice out of your mind and focus back on the fear, terror and panic you felt earlier.

“Capturing someone in the night. Binding them. Real men aren’t afraid of the fight.” Taunting him is incredibly risky, but if you entice him enough he might untie you and you can fight like hell to get free. He couldn’t have taken you far.

His kisses cease. You almost let out a whimper of protest at him stopping. Are you this desperate for touch? You have a boyfriend.

“Is that what you think, little dove?” He shifts to be straddling your hips, leaning forward with both forearms on either side of your face. He brushes away some hair that has stuck to your lips. “That I’m not a real man?”

You can feel the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach as you try to squirm free. “Yes, you’re fucking pathetic.”

His lips move to your neck. Wet kisses moving from your ear to your collarbone. You’ve always been a sucker for neck kisses and with sight being taken away, your sense of touch seems heightened. Shit, his lips feel good and at this proximity, you catch a faint smell of leather and cedar. He trails his tongue back up before gently biting your earlobe.

Fuck, a small shiver runs down your back and your breath hitches as you squeeze your thighs together.

“I’ll make you a deal, little dove,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “If you can keep your breathing steady for the next 5 minutes, I’ll untie you and remove the blindfold.”

You feel dizzy by the closeness and gentleness of him. “And if I can’t?” You breathe.

“If you can’t…I’ll untie your ankles and remove the blindfold. I have a feeling you have beautiful eyes.”

You swallow hard, contemplating your options. He kidnapped you. He doesn’t have your consent to any of this, but based on the wetness that is now coating your thighs, your body doesn’t seem to get the same message.

You take a deep breath before saying, “Deal.”

Before the word has fully left your lips, he’s ripped your tank top completely open. His fingers work the front clasp on your bra as he whispers that he’s sorry about your shirt and starts placing hungry kisses down your neck. Your breasts are completely exposed to him, the cool air turning your nipples into stiff peaks.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He says as he cups both your breasts. His tongue swipes along the left nipple as his thumb caresses the smooth skin underside of the right one.

You remind yourself that he kidnapped you and try not to let your body and breathing betray you, but your thighs squeeze tighter for relief and your mind is swimming.

His tongue swipes harder before he moves over to the right one, sucking it into his mouth and rolling the other between his fingers.

He’s playing you like a fiddle. How does he seem to know exactly what you like?

He releases your nipple with a pop before gently blowing cool air on it. He latches back onto the left one, swirling with his tongue and your hips involuntarily buck forward as your breath stutters.

“Good girl, little dove.” He says with a low growl, coming back up to be face to face. “Looks like I win. Your hands stay tied, but I’ll free your ankles and take off the blindfold.”

His minty breath hits your nostrils. Fuck, my hands!! How could you have forgotten about your hands? Shit. You can’t believe you let this monster make you feel good.

He slips the blindfold off and you blink a few times, adjusting to the dimly lit room and taking in the man on top of you. Fuck, monster he is not. His curly dark hair is pushed back and you can see some salt and pepper around the temples. He has patchy facial that you couldn’t even feel when he was kissing you, he was being much more gentle than you thought. He’s handsome and rugged…if anything, this man is your type.

“I was right,” he says, his deep brown eyes staring right into you. “You do have beautiful eyes.”

Now that he sees you as a person, you might be able to elicit some sympathy.

“P-please let me go.” You say, holding in tears.

He tilts his head to one side, a small smile revealing a dimple that makes you melt a little. “Let you go? We’ve only just started, little dove.”

The fear starts to come back again as he shifts to untie your ankles. “Please don’t do this.”

He kisses up your thighs and speaks between kisses. “Sshhhh…let me make you feel good and then you can go home.”

You should kick or flail or do something, you had your best chance just seconds ago, but his warm, soft kisses had you too distracted. You start to think this man wouldn’t actually hurt you. But he is hurting you by forcing you to be here in the first place, isn’t he?

You look down at him to see him lying beside you, head propped in one hand near your hip as the other trails up and down your legs. His features are soft, eyes wholly focused on the tiny goosebumps he’s leaving on his skin. His hand slips between your thighs and tries to part your legs, you’re suddenly unsure if you’re squeezing them together to ease the throbbing of your clit or out of fear.

“Open your legs for me, little dove.” He says as he kisses the tops of your thighs.

You shake your head as the tears you were holding in roll down your cheeks. He’s right near your knees now, you could draw one up into his jaw, but those big chocolate eyes are looking up at you so lovingly.

He get up, walks towards the end of the bed and grabs your ankles. Like the flip of a switch, his look turns harsh and angry before he pulls you to the edge of the bed. Your skirt hikes up around your waist from the motion and he licks his lips as he wedges his body between your knees, spreading you apart enough for him to see you glistening for him.

“Tsk, tsk.” He says while shaking his head and lowering himself slowly between your legs. “Walking alone at night, in this little skirt with no panties?”

He lowers himself between your thighs and you begin to realize just how broad he is as your leg muscles cry out from the stretch. The rest of the room comes into view. There are handcuffs and ropes, along with paddles and whips hanging on the wall. There was no escaping this man, and your curiosity is peaked by the ropes you notice around the bed frame.

“Perhaps you’re not a little dove after all.” He taunts, looking at your wide eyes as they take in the room. He’s going to take what he wants from you and you barely fought it. You’re enjoying his words and touches, even more so now that you see how incredibly handsome he is.

“Please.” You whimper, making eye contact with your captor. Though you aren’t sure if it’s a plea to stop or keep going.

“You look even more gorgeous spread out for me like this. So wet. And warm.” He’s looking at your cunt like it’s the newest wonder of the world. “Doesn’t look like she has gotten the attention she needs lately. Does your boyfriend not know what he’s doing?”

His warm breath hits your core as he speaks, sending waves of warmth from the base of your spine out to your fingertips.

“He….” you aren’t sure what to say. You love your boyfriend, “he does. He just isn’t…skilled.”

A gentle kiss is placed on your mound, right above the spot that’s aching for attention. “Poor baby. Do you need me to take care of it, little dove?”

You clamp your eyes shut. You shouldn’t. This is wrong. But your traitorous pussy has other plans and you very quietly whisper yes.

His mouth is on your before you can even process what you just agreed to. A flat, wet tongue laps from your entrance to your clit a few times before he sucks your clit into his mouth. He groans deeply as he tastes you, sending a rumble straight through you. You cry out loudly and arch your back, pushing yourself into him.

“Good girl.” He says before doing it again. “I want to hear you enjoy it.”

His mouth continues to keep you on edge. Rotating between licking and sucking, adding pressure until you start breathing heavily and then easing up. You’re right on the edge, but he’s not letting you over.

“Please. Please let me come.” You beg.

He stops, looking at you with a cocky smirk, revealing that fucking dimple again. “That boyfriend of yours has been mistreating you, little dove. So worked up.”

You let a whine when he stops and begs some more. “Please. You feel so good.”

He slams two fingers deep inside of you. You’re so wet that it happens with ease and when he curls his fingers forward, right to that spongy part, you start to feel like your bones are dissolving.

“F-fuuuuuck,” you gasp.

His tongue begins to flick against your clit again, gently at first as he works you with his fingers. You can feel your arousal dripping down his hand and pooling under your ass. He starts applying more pressure with his tongue and you know that he’s going to make you come. Hard. And with your hands still tied behind your back you won’t be able to push him away when you become too sensitive. Too overly stimulated.

“Come on my little dove,” he says between licks. “Show me how good this feels.”

Your orgasm hits with a force you have never felt before. Electricity feels like it courses through your entire body and you scream out to the room, legs shaking as you cover his hand and mouth with your arousal. He doesn’t let up, sucking and licking as your orgasm feels like it lasts forever. Finally, you can’t take it anymore and you try to roll away.

“S-Stop. S’too much,” you gasp. “Please.”

He pulls his fingers from you, pinning your hips down with his forearm making you a prisoner to his tongue. He’s going to make you come again.

“I can’t,” you huff as you try to escape.

“Ssh, little dove. You can take it.” He keeps sucking and licking your swollen bundle of nerves.

Your body starts to shake, the word no escaping your lips over and over. You mean yes, but this man is overwhelming you with pleasure in a way no one ever has before, and you don’t know if you can take it.

He moans against you as he sucks, that same rumble from earlier, it consumes you and that’s what does it. You come again, grinding shamelessly against his face as he smiles up at you.

“Good girl. Fuck, I am going to ruin you for every other man. No one is going to make you come as hard, or as much as I will. Roll over.”

The fact that he’s taken you against your will is not even in your mind as you slide back into the bed to roll over. He pulls you up so your knees are resting right on the edge, fully on display for him.

“Such a perfect little pussy. And a perfect girl. Being so good for me.” You hear his belt and jeans hit the floor. Glancing back you see him naked from the waist down, pumping his cock in his hand. Your eyes widen at the size of him.

“No. It’s not gonna….I can’t do it.” You crawl up the bed to get away, laying flat on your stomach.

He climbs up behind you and hitches one of your legs up before aligning himself with your soaked entrance.

“Relax, little dove,” he whispers in your ear before gently kissing your neck. He pushes himself into you and you tense up at the size of him.

“You need to relax, baby girl.” He says deeply, “Take a deep breath. You can do this.”

You do as he says, looking over your shoulder at him and breathing deeply.

He pushes into you more, not breaking eye contact. “Good girl. Make room for me.”

He’s stretching you almost to the point of pain but you listen and breathe. The more relaxed you are the better it feels. There can’t be much more left for him to get inside of you.

“Almost there. You’re such a good little dove. One more breath baby.” Finally, you feel his hips pressed against your ass. He stays still for a second and you grind back into him.

“Fuck, stay still for a second. You’re so tight.” He gasps. Pride fills you that this big man can be brought to pieces by just the tiniest wiggle of your ass.

He takes a few breaths this time before he starts to move. He starts slow. Moving halfway out and then back in a few times. You need more.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Please. Ruin me for other men like you promised.”

A hard smack lands on your ass cheek before he pumps in and out of you. He’s rough with you now, grabbing your hair and pounding as deep as he can after pulling out to the tip.

“You won’t be able to walk for a week.” He grunts before releasing your hair and spanking you again.

It’s euphoric. The perfect mix of pleasure and pain. You arch your back more and he lays another slap across your ass.

“You’re not a little dove are you?” He growls as he fucks you.

“No,” you breathe. Barely able to form a thought.

“Tell me what you are.” He says, slapping your ass again.

“I’m yours. I’m your desperate, cock loving little dove.” It comes out as a whine, your orgasm growing closer.

He doesn’t stop pounding into you. “Fuck. That’s my good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

You can feel your arousal soaking the sheets below you, and hear the squelching as he fucks into you. You arch your back again so he can brush against that spot you love so much. He reaches under you, rubbing tight little circles on your clit.

“Oh….f-fuck.” You coo.

“Yea?” He taunts, “You like that? My rough fingers on your beautiful little cunt?”

His words send another rush of arousal to your core, this is wrong. You shouldn’t like this, but you’re not sure you’ll survive if he stops what he’s doing.

“N-no. Fuck you.” You try to sound mad but it hits his ears in breathy moans.

“My perfect girl.” He taunts, “Come on my big cock. Squeeze me with that tightly little pussy.”

Your vision blurs as you start to gush all over him. Your whole body tenses as wave after wave of pleasure consumes you, moaning and squealing like a woman possessed. Your legs shake so hard that you feel like you’re in the middle of an intense gym session. Slowly you gain control of your body again and he’s right, you’re ruined for all other men.

“Good fucking girl,” he says as he pulls out and climbs up the bed. “You’re so hot. Open your mouth for me, little dove.”

He pumps himself over you as you roll on your back and open your mouth. His strokes and breathing become erratic as warm ropes of come hit your tongue and face. He lets out a deep moan as he covers you.

He leans in a kisses your lips, not caring about the come on your chin or cheeks, the biggest smile crossing his face.

“Let me get you a face cloth, babe.” He says with a little laugh.

“Thank you, Joel.” You say with a wink. “And please untie me, my hands are asleep.”

He laughs, “I would, but I’m just your unskilled boyfriend now.”

He gently wipes off your face before reaching back and untying your wrists. He kisses them gently before laying back on the bed. “Was that ok?”

You curl into his arms. “It was perfect, baby.”

“Are you sure?” He squeezes you reassuringly. “You seemed genuinely scared a few times.”

“I told you I was in theatre in high school.” You laugh to yourself.

He chuckles deeply as he rubs your back. “I don’t think all of that was acting…”

You glance up to see him smiling at the ceiling, clearly very proud of himself for making you come so hard. “True, I think we need to change the sheets.”

Another gentle kiss lands on your forehead. “I love you.”

“You too, Joel. Very much.”

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Tags: @wannab-urs

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedrohub #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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beenbaanbuun · 4 months ago

Text

tears - opposites attract

this is kind of short but i was thinking about jongho and i had to write something about him. i’m working on requests and i should be finished with a few of them soon 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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mingi…

that bastard has stolen your werewolf from you. it’s just for today and hongjoong promised seonghwa that the two of them—and probably mingi as well—would be back in time for dinner. he promised he’d let san know to make dinner as usual, but as of yet he hasn’t stepped out of his greenhouse once. something about being on the ‘precipice of a breakthrough!’ is what he told you that morning when he slipped out of bed far earlier than you or hongjoong, although a breakthrough of what, you’re unsure.

the first part of the morning was spent with san, trailing him around the house as he tidied and cleaned. you’d asked him what he’d be doing on his day off the following week; he told you he didn’t know but it’s almost certain that he wouldn’t be going home. he mentioned the price of train tickets being too expensive, but with the way he bowed his head to hide his expression, you could tell there was something more going on. you didn’t push, just like you wouldn’t want san to push. instead you stand there in a sad silence as san dusts the mantle piece in the living room.

“did you know this house is haunted?” you break the silence as you cast your gaze across the rug in the centre of the room. you can almost hear the crying that comes hand in hand with your ghost, the sound becoming almost comforting the more you hear it. it sounds strange to say that; to admit that you take comfort from someone else’s misery, but it’s the truth. the sound of his quiet sniffles has become synonymous with friendship and love and affection.

san turns to you with an eyebrow raised.

“well i’d have to assume so,” he takes a moment to look around the room, gesturing to all the antiquities and grandiose, “all this shit is bound to carry a few spirits, right?” the dust cloth he carries brushes past your arm as he takes it back to the mantle; you brush the filthy residue away with a grumble. “i don’t really care as long as they don’t come into my room. i’m far too tired to be dealing with ghosts whenever i try to sleep.”

you giggle at the image of the tearful man standing at the foot of san’s bed, staring at the butler with wet eyes and a frown. if san could see him, you have no doubt he’d take pity on the poor creature. as it stands, the idea is simply that; an idea.

“he might be,” you shrug, “but you wouldn’t know. the further he gets from his pelt, the less visible he becomes.”

the thought breaks your heart a little now that you dwell on it. he could be anywhere at any time and you just wouldn’t know it; does he ever feel ignored? or trapped? to have the only love you’ve ever received confined to a single room must be tough. it’s like an ultimatum that neither of you had a say in. a cruel trick from the universe to punish him for his spirit remaining here so long after his death. perhaps he yearns to move on, to find reprieve from the loneliness that haunts the walls of this house just as he does. the very house that has become your freedom must feel like a prison for him.

you wonder for a moment how long he’s been dead for, but the thought seems to manifest itself as a lump in your throat. he told you in his own words that he’d never known love before, just as hongjoong said the rug had been a family heirloom. you dread to think how many generations it has been passed through, each of them bringing even more loneliness and sorrow to the bear.

it makes sense now, why he cries. at first you figured it might be pain, that perhaps he still feels the weapon that led to his death lodged in his heart. in a way you suppose it is pain, and you have no doubt that it’s in his heart, but just not in the way you expected.

with a sigh, you leave the butler’s side to take a seat on the rug. you want to be close to him right now, for your own benefit as much as his. even though you can’t see him right know, you know he’s right there beside you. the shiver that runs up your arm is enough to confirm that fact. you don’t wipe it away or hide from in, instead basking in that icy cold feeling that makes your goosebumps blossom like the flowers in seonghwa’s greenhouse. you hope he can see them and know that even when he can’t be seen, he can still be felt.

you hope he knows you could never ignore him.

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #opposites attract universe #jongho x reader

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 5 months ago

Note

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING. Its so comforting but also quite accurate to the character’s personality.

I wondered if u could make a part 2 of Drunk, with Adrian and the reader.

Be free with your imagination i am sure it will turn out great!

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hi anon, sorry it took me so long to answer but I had no ideas what to write for this request. 😳

My writing has changed a little since I wrote part 1 of this. Hopefully, it'll be still up to standard.

Days after the incident, Adrian was still haunted by the things he had said and might have said while inebriated. It seemed rather silly, considering you haven't mentioned anything about that night, kind as you were. However, the son of Dracula was shaken after exposing himself to you, in more ways than one.

At the memory of him practically showing his naked chest in your face whilst rambling drunkenly about his loneliness, he could feel his face warming up. He undoubtedly has that unflattering shade of pink on his right now. Adrian lifted his chin from his steepled fingers, pressing his forehead against them instead. Instead of moping behind the wooden table, he should be making dinner as he watched bits of dust dancing in the last rays of evening sun streaming through the Tudor windows.

At this moment, you're probably getting both their beds ready for the night. Pulling back the bedspread and making a fire in the fireplace. You made a habit of slipping a stem of lavender from the garden and putting it under the pillows. He can hear you fussing about it, even though you're one floor higher. The dhampir's senses were finely attuned to your every breath and every movement. It came to the point where it was torturous. He wasn't just trying to dull away the pain of his past, but these pressing feelings as well.

Damn him, again and again, he's becoming attached to people only to be left every time. No doubt you will leave too, once you're able to. He'll be nothing but a fond memory...

"How's the dinner? I hope there'll be someplace left on the stove for teap-"

He's dragged away from his gloomy thoughts by the sudden sound of your voice nearing the door. You stopped mid-sentenced when you saw him sitting at the kitchen table, instead of working at the stove. He felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"Apologies I've seem to be a bit addle-brained today."

Adrian offered an apology as he started pulling the cutlery from its hooks. Hopefully with his back turned and his hands occupied, you won't notice his rather obvious fluster.

"Ah, it's alright," you waved him off in a placating manner as you rounded the table towards him. "Head still spinning from the vine, I see." you teased him as he made a fire in the stove, almost making him set his brows on fire.

As you walked past him, you gently put your hand on his back to make him step away. A whisper of a touch, yet he was tingling all over, his heart beating irregularly.

He clutched the edges of the stove, ignoring the rising heat. It can't go on like this. He has to do something.

You prepared the dinner in relative silence. You chopped mushrooms as he prepared pastry into small pans. Soon, bulky savory tarts were pulled out of the stove. He watched you wolf down four tarts in the row, while his plate was left neglected, safe for the few pokings with the fork.

"Adrian?"

His head snapped to you at the sound of your voice. He noticed you were looking at him in concern.

"What is it? You've been spaced out for days now." It was your turn to study your plate as you mumbled, "Is it...about the kiss?"

He was definitely blushing now. Adrian took a generous gulp of water from his chalice as he contemplated his answer.

"Yes and no."

You looked at him in confusion and he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry...my friend. The thing is..." He caressed the grooves in the ground glass. Would she even understand? What kiss meant to him?

"There have been several attempts in my life. There have been people who stayed in this castle pretending to be my friend and then turning on me as soon as I became vulnerable."

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily, chasing away the tainted memory of their hands coiling around him like vines of a poisonous plant. The pleasure, and the pain. So, so much pain... He opened his eyes and there were your eyes, filled with some much tenderness he had to suppress the urge to look away again.

"But last night, you didn't... and you could, easily so."

"I'd never-"

"I know, I know," he gently cut you off by putting his hand over yours. Your palm was much warmer than his, dainty fingers covered completely by his long ones.

"Believe it or not, but you singlehandedly restored a great deal of my hope in humanity. What once had been destroyed..."

He hasn't allowed his mind to wander to dark places, not this time.

"I don't mean to bring up such depressing subjects. But when one leads a life such as mine, you tend to... figure some things out."

"Things?" You carefully prompted, pity overrun by curiosity at last.

Adrian smiled in a self-deprecating fashion. "Well, for example, I have now discovered that in this entire world, I only have one close friend. You are my only solace, the only person that I can talk to regularly."

There was Trevor and Sypha, of course, but they found solace in one another, something deeper than friendship. Adrian understood now, what those feelings meant. His next words were full of emotion.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if more demons will come and I'll be forced to fight them off. I don't know if the world will end tomorrow... and that used to not bother me. I used to not mind the idea of death. To slip into the quiet sleep..."

He trailed off, and you squeezed his fingers in encouragement. He squeezed yours right back, so you know he's not spiraling again.

"However, whatever courage I have towards that cause always sours at the thought of what comes after. What does come after do you think?"

You looked over his shoulder in contemplation, you traveled places far away from here, no doubt. Thankful you're entertaining his silly musings, Adrian patiently awaits your response.

"I'd like to think it's a place where I meet all my loved ones once more." You gave him a warm smile.

He chuckles at that. "Interesting response."

"What about you? What do you think?"

Adrian shook his head, golden locks tumbling over his shoulders, "As I said, the fear of not knowing that is the only thing that kept me alive for quite some time. But now, now that I've spent some time with you, it allowed me to clear my mind of that sort of dangerous thought. I think I may have an answer, maybe not a very good one but..."

He gingerly trails his hand from yours to the curve of your elbow and you let him. He leans closer, tone bordering on a soft whisper as he looks into your eyes.

"It doesn't matter what comes next, that shouldn't dictate our actions while we are still here. If you want something, chase it." He puts the other hand on your cheek, making his intentions clear with his actions and his words. Carefully, so you can pull away at any time.

Please don't.

"You have allowed me, to come to this mindset," he sighs. "The thought that what I want is worthwhile to pursue. So I will pursue that which I want. I will pursue... you."

It is evident that his words left you speechless. You stare at him with your mouth slightly parted. Adrian lets out a small breathless chuckle.

Is it really that shocking? After our lips have already become acquainted?

"I know...I know that I'm... half human, half vampire, so at the very least I know it can work, but it's up to you, really." His thumb caressed your cheekbone, "I will continue to pursue you for as long as you allow me."

He can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and he hoped his words touched the part of your soul he wanted them to. However you still haven't said a word and Adrian needs you to voice your desires, or lack thereof, directly.

"I bid you command me now. My devotion is solely placed at your feet. I truly cherish you. Every step you take and breath you breathe."

You close your eyes and choke back a sob as he places one small kiss on your forehead.

With a voice clogged up with emotion, you finally release him from his torment.

"I... would love... nothing more... than to be pursued by you." You say as you give him a watery smile.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Then pursue you I shall."

It takes only a moment for the atmosphere to change around you. With hunger, you never saw in his eyes, he whispers to you hoarsely.

"Come here, you..."

The kiss is devoid of any sweetness the first one had. This one is full of fire and blood and passion that takes your breath away. You don't have time to react as he pulls you to his lap. His kiss goes down your throat and settles in your belly like a fine liquor.

#adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #castlevania alucard #alucard #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #castlevania #adrian tepes fanfic #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania romance #mushroom pastries are original medieval recipe from France #if someone even cares #adrian likes to mope too much #needs someone to pull him away from it

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peggyao3 · 5 months ago

Text

Relic - Pt. 4 "O God!"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: Fluff meets oh God help us 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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Night 100

"Do you know that tonight marks our hundredth night together?" Feyd purrs, blue eyes glittering like little seas, shoulders rolling as he sways her in his lap.

"Is that why I get to be on top tonight?" Mirth laces her tone, rocking herself up and down with the aid of his hands. This barely counts as being on top when he does all the heavy lifting for her.

"You get to be wherever you want, my sweet."

She lets out a sultry moan, holding herself at the lowest point of Feyd's lap, relishing how deep he reaches, how completely he fills her when she has fully sank down on him, feeling the smoothness of his thighs against her behind. Feyd moans with her, suckling on her neck which is so beautifully bared to him.

"Really, you've been keeping count?" She mewls when Feyd begins to rock her anew, only little thrusts that make her walls flutter with growing anticipation.

"I have. I've made a tally chart."

That is so endearing to her that she laughs brightly and asks: "With chalk on the walls of your prison cell? I'm so sorry for holding your dreams hostage." She doesn't know how right she is, though it’s not the dream that is the prison. On second thought, what would happen if left through that door over there? They've never tried, because the things to be discovered within each other are of much greater interest.

She adds: "I haven't made a tally chart, but I did write in my diary after our first night. I was so certain I'd never have a dream like that again, I never wanted to forget it."

"What did you write?" Feyd inquires with sparkling eyes, now suckling on her collarbones and then her breasts, rendering her breath shaky and thick with lust when she replies.

"I wrote that I encountered the most wondrous man in my dreams last night and that I could touch him and it felt so real. I wrote that you have pretty eyes and a silly name. I may have also written that I've never come so hard in my life."

That lights a fire in Feyd's eyes and chest and he clutches her body to his tightly, rutting up into her cunt with his feet propped up on the bed. She seeks purchase on his shoulders, clinging to him. Feyd seems intent on exceeding their first night, and with the way her core coils, she thinks he just might.

"And what do you write nowadays?" He inquires with husky voice.

"That's a, haahhh, secret. It's a diary for a reason."

That doesn't quite please Feyd, but he is very pleased by her tone of voice on the edge of despair, spine arching, teeth gritted. His balls feel taut and ready to burst and he keeps his composure only for her. "Well, I want you to write about this night when you wake up, can you do that for me?"

"Yes! Yeees, haaaahhh~ Feyd!" She falls into the mindless embrace of climax, mewling his name, riding him with stuttering hips. It is less the feeling of her fluttering walls that makes him spill himself with a guttural sound, more the sight of his woman so disheveled, features painted in bliss.

When they've both calmed down from their highs, she sinks limply into Feyd's embrace, hearts thundering against each other. Feyd peppers her shoulder with kisses and she does the same to his. She likes his shoulders. After a minute, when her breath is a little calmer, she kisses his neck and jaws.

"That tickles," Feyd complains, scrunching his nose.

"You have a birthmark right here, did you know that?"

"You think I don't know my own body?" In fact, Feyd wasn't fully aware of the birthmark there, just at the underside of his jaw. He avoids looking at himself all too much and all too close, especially outside of the dream.

"It's very pretty. You don't have many birthmarks at all. So smooth." She drags her nose across his neck, blowing softly on him and Feyd flinches, cursing her lightly. That fucking tickles! Eventually, she finds something of interest, touching a spot at his neck with tender fingertips.

"What have you got there, another birthmark?" His voice comes as a light, raspy chuckle.

"No… A scar," she tentatively admits, tracing the blemished skin at the side of his neck. A small sickle moon whose tip brushes against his collar bone. Immediately, she regrets pointing it out, because only one thing comes to mind.

"A scar?" A scar he would remember. Feyd's hand joins hers on his neck, feeling the slightly marred flesh, a scar that's barely an inch long. "I don't have that when I'm awake," he pensively admits. The Baron never hurts him so far up.

Night 168

If only she had the resources and the time, she would have spent every waking hour trying to solve the enigma of her and the man named Feyd, would have done more than writing fondly in her diary, would have wired her body and brain up in a sleep lab and studied how their connection works, but she might never get the chance. No, she will never get the chance. How could that not devastate her?

She hasn't told anyone in her waking life about him. He is her wondrous companion at night, her best friend from a dream with whom she can run away, into whose embrace she can crawl to hide from everything and everyone, with whom she doesn't need to think.

Feyd hasn't failed to notice how restless she has been for the past week, her shoulders always tight, her gaze faraway and a look of guilt and pain plastered into her eyes so deep, not even his touch could melt her anymore.

Presently, his hands curl around the nape of her neck, entangling his fingers in her hair, nose sliding against hers as he slots his lips against hers in a desperate attempt to stifle his own bubbling inquiry. But she cups his cheeks and merely presses their foreheads together, cradling him like he's the most precious thing she's ever held.

Good manners might dictate that he doesn't pressure her, like she had never pressured him to bare his heart to her, but by all the Gods and all the galaxies, he cannot take it any longer and he will pressure her, because the growing unease and the lump in his throat are unbearable.

Surprisingly, she breaks under just a whiff of pressure, like a dam breaking from the removal of a single log. Feys cups her cheeks like she cups his, exhaling a heavy breath against her mouth, blue eyes open and inquisitive. She knows that they're open, so she opens hers and immediately feels stinging wetness spill over her waterline.

"Tell me?" Half a question, half a demand. Feyd's thumbs rub over the tears that dampen the soft skin beneath her eyes.

"It's gotten s-so so much worse," she removes one hand from his cheek, twists her head to cry into her palm, though Feyd's thumbs remain on her face.

"The… war?"

"Of course, the war! I'm scared that we won't make it out alive, Feyd." She gnaws her lip, closing her eyes. She's lying. She's lying and Feyd must never know her horrible lie.

"Are you still safe?"

"Relatively, yes." She shakes her head, swallowing. Feyd calms his own heart and breathing. That is the most important thing, but he doesn't feel all too well about that 'relatively'.

"Is that really true? You've been so tense. No, don't cry. Of course I noticed." Feyd releases her face, embraces her instead so she may sob into his shoulder.

"Yes, it is. I really am relatively safe. I mean… A few days ago, there was an airstrike a few kilometers to the north and a breach in, uh, in our bunker. But we found and fixed it quickly enough. I was only feeling sick for a day or two."

To describe the place as a mere bunker is such an offense, she feels her own heart shrivel. She needs to tell him, but she can't. Such a fucking coward, pathetic!

Meanwhile, Feyd soaks up every word. He so rarely gets to hear details about her waking life, details that he craves more and more but simultaneously loathes. A heavy frown forms on his forehead, mulling over her words until he only tastes bitter rot and fear on his tongue. If this is relatively safe, how could he accept that?

"I don't know if I can dream while I- while I-"

"While what?!" Feyd snaps when she stops before the crucial part. "Stop speaking in riddles, woman, tell me what's wrong!"

She cannot tell him, or he will despise her for her privilege. It is unfair. There is a reason why people like her are envied, despised and pitied. They are privileged cowards.

"I wish we were together," she swerves but confesses truthfully. But the rules are strict, so it can't be.

Feyd senses his woman slipping out of his fingers metaphorically, no matter how tightly he squeezes her dream-bound body.

"And if I came to save you?" Madly, his heart beats against his ribs and his palms grow clammy with anxiety. She laugh-sobs, like she thinks that's an endearing proposition. Obviously, she doesn't know the power Feyd holds in the same hands that are holding her right now.

"The air space is tight and the land routes are sealed. We, oh God, we… went to orbit yesterday. Even if you had a suitable craft, you would be blown to bits on the way."

Feyd's frown thickens and blue eyes flicker questioningly over his woman's back and shoulder, as her face remains hidden in his neck, clinging onto him with raw fear of judgment.

She adds: "But I c-can't deny, I wish I could have seen you with my own eyes and touched you with my own hands. Even if it's only once." She cries harder and wetness slips down Feyd's shoulder. He cannot bear to see her suffer for a second longer.

He is ready for the singularity to break out of the black hole. To know her personally, intimately and emotionally in the flesh, outside of their dreamland cocoon. He will find her. He will see her in real life and hold her in his real arms. She will love him, it won't matter to her who he is, not to his sweet woman who has learned so much about him, more than any human alive.

"Where are you from?" Softly and calmly he asks her and the lump in his throat dissolves at once. Liberation. He's finally made his decision and never felt better.

Sobbing softly, she names him a place followed by a second place he's never heard of. Maybe a country, maybe a city.

Feyd shakes his head. "No… My sweet, from which world are you? I will get you out of there. Believe me, I can."

Her sniffling abates and she raises her head, tear-streaked face knitted with confusion. "What do you mean, which world?"

"Are you toying with me?!" Feyd is not in the mood for jest, because every minute counts. As soon as he awakes, he will order her rescue, and if he has to pay House Harkonnen's entire fortune to the Guild to provide a heighliner to the most distant world. "What's the name of your planet, my darling, I'll come and get you, just tell me the name!"

"Earth?" The corners of her mouth quiver. "I think you're toying with me." And she can't blame him. Everything is already horrible enough.

"From which earth?" Feyd is growing annoyed with her. Does his woman not want to be found by him? What does she fear?! Has he not proven over and over how he craves her, how he loves her? Would she rather be reaped away by some planetal war than be with him?

"I don't understand you," she meekly admits with a tightness in her chest. "From which world are you?" She laughs a little, but her features are warped into horror, like something is knocking at her own house of cards.

"From Giedi Prime, of course! I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, na-Baron of Giedi Prime!" Feyd slams his fist against the mattress. There, he's finally said it. He expects her to pull away from him with fear now and look at him the way every foreigner looks at him, envious and disdainful.

"I don't know what that means," she admits, voice warbled. Perhaps his darling is confused out of her mind, perhaps she didn't hear him correctly. So, Feyd cups her face firmly.

"That means I'll come and get you. Did you hear me? I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." All those months he had feared her reaction if she ever found out his full name. Now he wants nothing more than what he had so feared, that spark of recognition, disdain or not.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen," she whispers tearfully, trying to giggle like she did when she first heard his forename. "I like that silly name." Tenderly, she traces the shape of his jaw, smiling through the tears.

"You like…? No, listen to me closely. You said you're in orbit. Is there a heighliner near?" She squints her eyes, a flicker of a frown, and fresh tears well. She isn't listening to him!

"I-, I changed my mind, I'm not going. I'll go back down and find you. Tell me where you live!"

"No, no, no you won't go back down, you'll stay where you're safe and I'll come and get you." Feyd is repeating himself, frantic by now, clutching her face with his thumbs rubbing over her cheeks with increasing pace. "Just tell me where you are, please."

"Stop, stop!" She pleads. Feyd sounds out of his mind, confused. Bless his heart, but he can't come and get her. "Tell me, are you safe?" Aside from the obvious, his uncle…

"Yes, I am-" Feyd doesn't get to finish his sentence because she sobs with relief, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I hope I can dream, I pray." How nice that would be. How comforting. She wants to believe it with her whole heart. "Will you be with me?"

"I will always be with you."

How wrong he is.

"Can you hold me please? I am so sorry."

Feyd holds her, holds her so tight that he almost convinces himself her flesh, skin and bones are real, her beating heart is real, her soft voice is real. "Tell me where you are," he cries into her hair. "Tell me where you are, tell me where you are, tell me where you are."

Consciousness' meandering tendrils weave into the dream, dissolving it slowly like ink in water, gently, gently… Neither of them realizes as the other fades into mist among the stars.

After this night, Feyd-Rautha never dreams of his beloved again.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand – How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? - A dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe, 1850

Tag list: @nostalgichoya, @sebastianswallows, @forgedfromthestars

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

A/N: All I can say is I'M SORRY 😩🤭 And - P.S. - There are at least 9 more chapters left to go, so be not afraid 🫂

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