#this is peak content i say through tears

[grave-bride]

Deeply embarrassed by how easily I cry thinking about the ideas for my own story that I haven't written yet

[7kh]

༉ how greedy she is.

cw — wlw. fem!reader. riding (r!receiving). belly bulge. praise. slight praise kink if you squint a little… vi being a little greedy freak /aff. (i managed to push this out b4 her bday ended!! happy birthday, violet <3.)

giving in to your temptations of sitting on vi’s lap has gotten you to a… very salacious position.

it started off simple—‘innocent’. you sat on her lap as your arms wrapped around her neck, resting on her shoulder cuddling while she read some book. you should’ve known you were in trouble the minute she put it down without saying nothing. it started with not-so-subtle rubs and caresses on your waist and stomach. then her greedy hands went down to your thighs and squeezed the supple flesh, her brain going numb by the way it pillowed on her fingers. then her hips bucked into yours, earning her a small gasp from you. it didn’t take you two long at all to start full on fucking.

you moaned into her mouth, feeling all of your intelligence and common sense being thrown away as you felt her hands guiding your hips to fuck you stupid. you didn’t even need to do anything. a part of you felt bad, that she was doing all of the work and you were just… passive. but any protests melted away in your mind because she was just fucking you so good.

you babbled nonsense into her ear, lips trembling as her cock kissed all of the right places, places vi knew would make you spill more of your rich essence on her dick and her lap. her hips craned into yours, a throaty sound coming from you as a bulge peaked through your tummy. “look at that..” she cooed, making you pulse on her cock.

“violet— fuck, vi,” your vision went blurry, ears blocking out everything but her voice. that damned stupid, beautiful voice. so gentle yet firm and assertive when she has to be. she leaned over to give you searing hot kisses on your neck, appreciating the way your throat moved to let out a string of expletives caused by a very calculated move of her hips. the way she doesn’t have to do much with her muscular frame yet could still make you a broken, wet, and whiney mess turned the both of you on immensely.

“it’s okay, i got you. so beautiful, so fuckin’ good f’me…” tears threatened to spill from her praise. your pretty moans prodded her more, long, deep strokes pushing you further and further to the edge. “mmnnfuckkk, vi! gonna make me cum, gonna, gonna—“ vi didn’t say anything else, just letting you surrender to her as you came impossibly hard. you sobbed on her shoulder, heart feeling like it was beating out of your chest as you sat on her cock, squirming a little at the feeling. she let one of her hands reach up to your chin, licking the fallen tears and placing soft kisses on your cheek as you rode out your orgasm.

she let you stay like that for a while, letting you catch your breath on your shoulders as she whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“you’re the worst..” you whispered playfully, your body feeling her laugh against you. “and we’re going for another.”

© 7KH 2024, all rights reserved — do not claim, modify, copy or translate my content.

[sombrashe]

period pains

includes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ vi, viktor, sevika

content 𐙚˙⋆.˚ gender neutral reader, chubby reader, your period is putting you through the ringer

note 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i started my period and have been suffering and all i want is to be pampered

Vi inexplicably started her period at the same time.

The only time growing up near the fissures has been a blessing and it's when she can hear your curses from the bathroom. She simply sat still on the sofa, barely spotting. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches the door handle. Once it starts jiggling she jumps up and bundles a blanket into her arms. Acting casually she medium speed turns and feigns surprise at you being in front of her.

"Wow, peach. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

You frown and shake a box at her, two loose tampons shake around. You needed tampons.

"Say please."

"No. You used them for your fucking nosebleeds. I told you only light but you just had to stuff your nose with my supers. How do they even fit up there."

Her face instantaneously falls as she clears her throat. Yeah, she definitely meant to replace those. Apologizing she immediately starts making her way towards the front door. Giving you a wide berth, she maintains eye contact the entire way. Narrowing your eyes, you watch in silent wrath as she grabs her jacket off the hook. Hurrying out the front door she doesn't come back until she's stopped and gotten you more than you need. Kicking open the door, it bounces off the doorstop and closes with a click behind her.

"P, peach?"

She straightens her back and tries to wave the lingering fear at the base of her neck. She watches you come around the corner, your gaze somehow angrier. You were able to shower in the time it took for her to shop which left you bleeding and alone. Walking towards her, you tear your eyes away slowly before settling them on the mini haul she got for you. Opening the bags she explains why she chose each item.

"So first, I got those tampons. I bought myself two packs of that nose stuffing that that academy student created. The one who always got into fights. I don't know how he didn't get kicked out. Next, I got you something from Jericho. You haven't eaten today. I also went to that shop you're always going to. The one that you buy all the face masks from. Yeah, I stopped there and got you one of each flavor. Watermelon said it helps with hydration. I also chose this banana one, good for dull skin. Not that you have dull skin. I think your skin looks great, just a little acne. Wait."

Your eyebrows soften as you listen to her go on. Once she pulls out those masks your face softens completely and you take a tentative step to your left. She continues on. You simply listen to her speak about the twenty or so masks she bought, you stopped counting after strawberry. Reaching forward you grab two masks at random and hand her one of them.

"Thank you."

She smiles a slings an arm over your shoulder. Her smile is wide as she gives you a sloppy temple kiss. You huff and shoulder yourself against her, her laugh infectious.

Viktor was always working.

You storm out, your moisturized hands clutching another ruined pair of underwear. Kicking out your leg, you make contact with the door frame. The noise echoes down the hallway and your partner peaks around the corner. Getting up from his desk, he makes his way towards you. His speed slows as he assesses your anger.

"Can you make a machine that tears my ovaries from my body?"

Poor thing. He closes the space between you and gently takes the blood-soaked underwear from your hands and mumbles to himself. Moving around the dorm he mixes and matches things until he throws them onto the bathroom curtain to dry. You watch him once again move around the kitchen. Washing hands, peeling fruit, boiling water. All steps in his plan of taking care of you. You curl into the armchair taking up a corner of the room. It was worn by nights fallen asleep in it waiting for Viktor to come home. Pulling a fluffy blanket over your lap you get comfortable as you wait. He comes over a little while later holding a plate out for you. Mangos and strawberries litter the place and you happily take the plate from him. Next is a cup of hot tea that he gently sets to the side of you. Thanking him ever so sweetly, you start munching on the fruit as he goes to retrieve more items. A warm water bottle is positioned against your lower back and you blink lazily as heat overtakes the pain. While finishing off the last of your fruit, you get to work sipping on your tea. He offers to spend time with you in the living room, but you shake your head.

"I'm getting tired, anyways. You can go back to work."

Giving him a tired smile he leans down and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. Squeezing his bicep softly, you let him go with a yawn before settling down to the sounds of pencil against paper.

Sevika was never around when you needed her.

Tears break over your waterline and drip down the fullness of your cheeks. Cramps rack your body in pain as you stay curled on the couch. She never came home last night, council meetings taking over most of her time. A low groan is ripped from your throat as a particularly tight feeling squeezes your abdomen. Hugging a pillow close to your chest, you bury your face into it and hope that the pain reliever takes over soon. Not soon enough you feel your limbs relax as the pain slowly lessens until it finally stops. The sudden relief has your mind stuttering and it takes mere seconds before you're lulled into sleep.

"Rabbit?"

The low drawl of your girlfriend's voice wakes you from your hazy sleep. Blinking, you raise your head and look around. Your eyes land on her and you waste no time in rising to your feet. Letting the blanket fall halfway on the floor you gather yourself into her arm.

"I started."

You're muffled against her chest, feeling comfortable between the raised flesh. She clicks her tongue and soothes her hand down your back.

"You took something? Did you eat?"

You nod into her chest, you had a sandwich and that was more than enough with pain taking over most of the space in your stomach. Now you stand there stomach growling, pain having left to make room for your appetite to come crawling back. Looking up she gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Go lay down, I'll make you something."

You squeeze her waist before pulling away and padding back onto the couch. Curling up, you take some more pain medicine and watch from your warm nest as she gets to work making you something hearty. You can feel yourself start to doze off and before long you're being shaken awake. Blinking you take in the bowl in her hands. Steam wafts in the air and the smell of meat and cream fills your nose. With a watering mouth, you thank her and greedily take the bowl from her. Wasting no time you gulp down some of the broth despite the insane burn that overtakes the grooves of your mouth.

[alilobsessive]

The Terrible Crow

All your life you desired recognition from your father, well you got it! But not from your bio dad, things only grow worse from there. For the Bats, not for you.

All your life you have longed for one thing, you’re Father’s recognition. At first it was simple things, like getting good grades, school awards. Anything for him to tell you how good of a job you’re doing. When he brought in Dick that changed, the escalation was quick. If he could be Robin, if he could fight with your Father why couldn’t you? Eventually after years of begging he agreed, then not even a week later he took in Jason and he became the new Robin. Your Father told you it was because he was older then you, already making it safer for him to go then you. When you brought up the fact that you’re the same age as Dick when he started, your father countered that Dick already had years more training with his parents than you.

After that you reluctantly didn’t argue, scared of seeming like nothing more than a spoiled kid. Jason in you began training together, although the two of you grew a bond it never felt right. Everyone called you close and although you liked him a part of you was resentful. You’re Father was always tougher on your training then Dick or Jason, always finding a flaw no matter how long you practice. In a way it helped you perfect your skills to the last detail. But he never told you “good job” not like Dick or Jason, it was always moving right on to the next thing. After Jason’s death the training got worse, he was somehow harder and stricter than before. You went to bed sore with aching bones and bruises from training, if you went to bed at all that is. Sometimes your sleep schedule was what was being trained, he would make you stay up for days at I time, rarely doing anything more than a nap. He told you this was similar to the training he went through, that it would make you stronger.

You never got the chance to prove it though, not even a half a year since Jason died a new boy was brought in. Tim’s the same age as you, highly intelligent and good at stealth but completely untrained. “SO WHY IS HE ROBIN!” You screeched at the man you call Father, Tim stands there glaring at you. He has a red mark on his cheek from where you slapped him when you were told he would be Robin. You were instantly yelled at and reprimanded by your Father for this, which started this argument in the first place. “I HAVE TRAINED FOR MOST OF MY LIFE FOR THIS, I HAVE DONE ALMOST EVERYTHING YOU WANTED ME TO! I FOLLOWED YOUR ORDERS I DEDICATED MY LIFE TO THIS” You scream at him, tears filling your eyes and falling down your cheeks. He just stares at you, expression blank and unchanging “what made you think I’d ever make you Robin?” Is all he says. Freezing you just stare at him crushed. “You’re dismissed” you feel like he spits it out, he doesn’t but it feels like he does “don’t ever train here again, nor even think about being a vigilante” you’ve never felt so much rage and sorrow before. You turn around to leave pushing Tim to the ground as you do “you’re grounded!” He calls out. Without even looking back you flip him off “fuck you Bruce!”.

After that things were never the same, you never wanted to try at anything anymore. What was the point in constantly studying if it meant nothing? So you did whatever you wanted, there were barely any consequences. Bruce didn’t give a shit about you, he never truly did. Alfred always sided with Bruce, sure he called him out when he was in the wrong, but that rarely changed anything with you. Dick was as absent in your life as ever. Finally you and Tim’s relationship was shit, it would never recover, at least you didn’t care if it did or not.

Eventually though you stumbled across a niche that peaked your interest. It started small, quick one minute videos about animal biology you finished the nearly 10 year old channel's entire library of content in 2 days. Then it evolved into animal psychology and finally to humans, what made them tick. It was fascinating every last detail interested you, from the mating habits of raccoons to the study that showed most humans could pick out snakes in extremely pixelated and blurry images. Even the more questionable experiments that would never pass today, like the wire and cloth mothers, and the monster study. Things that would have been difficult to prove or research if it wasn’t for the unethicalness of it all. Hell, even the bullshit study with gorillas learning sign language was interesting, even if the whole thing was completely pointless and awfully mismanaged. It was just so interesting to learn about.

Then you stumbled across it, a familiar name, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. All his published studies were almost 2 decades old, but that didn’t stop how interesting they were. Both as a glimpse into the mind of a madman who long had his license revoked and as a study in how the mind understood fear in general. Sure you were made to memorize his habits, his usual schemes, hell you even helped reverse engineer and make a cure for several of his fear toxin strands. But you never learned about his studies, never learned about the person behind the mask. But now you wanted to, desperately, of course you couldn’t just go to Arkham. Bruce would learn about it and who knows what he would do once he learns of your little…. curiosity.

No, you didn’t want that, so you lied in wait for the perfect time. But while you did so you studied, falling back into old habits. Day and night you obsessively researched human psychology, several studies both bullshit and true. You memorized everything, dates, names, places, what effects they had, any changes or new revelations in the study, what they were studying and in some cases what they ended up actually studying. You even ended up dabbing deeper into chemistry. All of this to impress someone, but you enjoyed learning these things. All of this was fun, unlike dealing with Bruce.

Then finally the day came, Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. Using the skills Bruce ground into your brain you found him. It was pretty easy, you're shocked he didn’t find Scarecrow sooner. Of course you ended up captured, tied to a chair in one of his labs. Oh also a gun pointed at your head, neat! “What are you doing here?” Scarecrow says suspiciously, a wide grin forms on your face as you happily say “I want you to teach me!” The man just looked at you strangely. Then he laughed, “this isn’t a very funny joke kid” the man sneered at you. “But I’m not! I’ve read your work Mr. Crane! It’s absolutely fascinating! I want to learn more, especially about your newer unpublished stuff!” He just stares at you, “really?” He asks, pointing the gun down. Although he doesn’t look like he believes you, “then prove it” before you can even react the gun is back at your head and he shoots.

The bullet barely misses but you don’t move, don’t even flinch, you just smile. You know how manic you look, but you don’t care. Scarecrow just stares at you surprised, he completely lowered the gun and put it away. “Well..” he mumbles, “I guess I can give you a test” that made you feel nothing but pure glee.

The costume you were put in started out simple, a almost completely black suit with blue gloves and a mask vaguely resembling a plague doctor. You thought you looked like a rip off emperor's coven member but that’s not that important. As Crow as his apprentice you were first given grunt work, helping and leading his henchman in getting supplies for whatever project he was working on. That was when you weren’t doing homework, taking notes, organizing documents. The Bat’s were completely unaware of what you were doing, sure they knew you had something after school. The one time they asked you told them you got an internship. They didn’t even bother to verify if that was true or not. Alfred was the only one who even slightly cared and even then he was just proud that you finally found a calling away from the vigilante life. Boy was he only slightly correct.

Things started ramping up after you defeated Tim, Robin in combat. The pure smug joy you felt at that moment is indescribable. The rejected Robin, who's rusty, proving that they're stronger, faster, smarter, better than the current? You were so excited you almost went into hysterics, and the fear on his face as you brutally kicked his ass? Priceless! They didn’t even realize it was you, but Scarecrow did, he recognized how similar your fighting style are instantly. At first you were worried, scared even about what he’d do now that he knew. Truthfully he was suspicious at first, but once you told him your story, how you were rejected from being Robin in favor of the second and third. How cruel they were to you before and after, even said you would tell him the secret identities of the bat’s and everyone you know is affiliated with them. Both publicly and privately, although he rejected your offer he saw your desperation. How much you want, no needed to stay, to keep this. Scarecrow accepted your loyalty and at that moment you truly became Crow.

To commemorate this occasion you got an outfit change. It became more padded, the mask looking more like a helmet then anything, and boots that increase your height by several inches. You were also made to train in a different combat style with both the added height and change of vision it was a necessity. But also to help cover your tracks as Crow from the Bat’s. So you grow, you changed, you trained and trained and they never noticed. Not when you came back injured from work, with new bruises and scars. Not when you came home with gifts, or when you brought your assignments back with you. They were completely ignorant as Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, he became your family, your father.

Eventually though Bruce got suspicious, he never figured out who you were, not until much later. But he realized you're doing something shady, the man never put in the effort to figure out what exactly. So he sent you off to a college far from the city, of course he let you pick the field you wanted. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what to do, psychology was already your passion after all and you were being trained by the best. The only issue was Crow, how to excuse there absence. So faking an extreme injury a week before you left easily fixed that. Afterwards you packed up and went to school, a school you would never return from, not to the manor at least.

There you continued your studies, your training in all forms and your contacts with Scarecrow. The only real difficult thing was not getting caught in your less ethical studies. You spent from the age of 18 to 24 studying as much as possible in your field getting both a bachelor’s and master’s. The plan was to go for a PHD too, but sadly things were interrupted and you quickly returned home. Your dad, Scarecrow was extremely injured during a fight and was in the hospital. Someone needed to step up, that person was you.

This time your outfit changed once more, it made you look even bigger and bulkier then you were. A cloak with a feathered collar, iron gloves with clawed ends, the faceless bird helmet looking even more imposing. Everything in your power to make you look as menacing as possible, large and imposing, a night to rival the knight. As you were making your return known you discovered something interesting, a new Robin, a baby brother. Dispute your issue with your family something about this was exciting. You felt so happy and you didn’t know why, but the fact he’s a Robin? Well, the kid needed to be taught a very important lesson before he learned it the hard way.

It wasn’t hard leading him to Wayne tower by himself. Kid had the skills but no discipline, reckless and willing to do anything to prove himself worthy. You can relate, which is way it has to be you who dose this. You approach the 10 year old boy from the shadows “you came alone hatchling?” You say in a soft voice. He jumps away and wipes his head around to face you eyes wide, he pulls out his sword and points it at you. “How-“ “a magician never reveals there secrets” you say playfully “now put the sword down baby bird” he doesn’t just glares at you. He then lunges forward aiming for your throat, but it wasn’t hard to grab the blade and rip it from his hand. He stares at you wide eyed as you throw it to the other side of the building, he quickly reorganize himself and throw a punch. But you dodge it, each kick and punch he sent was easily avoided.

As he moved to kick your head you grabbed his leg, and pulled him away. “You know” you begin walking to the edge tone not changing, “in nature Crows and Robins have an interest relationship. Crows are an omnivorous creature, they don’t just eat seeds and nuts like some people will have you believe. They’ve even been reported to peck out the eyes and tongues of lambs. Robins are no exception,” you hold him over the edge and watch as his eyes widen. He squirms and yells, “Crows will actually protect the nests of Robins, for a fee of course.” Batman should appear any minute now. “There young, they take and feast on the eggs and hatchlings. They basically farm them, it’s fascinating really. Crows are one of the smartest birds, about as intelligent as a 7 year old human. We’re watching the first signs of the evolution of a society!” You say almost giddy, “little mafias! It’s adorable and fascinating!” “We’re are you going with this” you just stare down at him, your mask making it nothing more then a dark void. You can practically feel his presence close to you, “it’s simple really! I’ve never been payed my dues! And you’re just a hatchling that doesn’t know better” and you drop him.

Batman catches him of course, but by the time he does and gets back up the tower you’re already long gone.

——————

Sorry if it takes a while for me to post things! I haven’t been feeling great both physically and mentally lately.

[thef1diary]

Dirtbag!Daniel overstimulating you just because he heard you say he can’t make a woman cum

— hurting a man’s ego? Eh. Hurting dirtbag!danny’s ego? yeah… you’re in for a wild ride. 18+ content below

You didn’t even see it coming. One offhand comment, said half-jokingly to a friend while Daniel was within earshot, and now here you were—spread out on his bed, thighs trembling, body utterly wrecked as he hovered over you with a smug, infuriating grin.

“You said what now?” he taunted, dragging two fingers lazily through your soaked folds before pressing them back inside you, curling just right to make you gasp. “Can’t make a woman cum? Baby, you’ve lost count.”

“Danny—oh, God—” Your protest turned into a breathless moan as his thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. He kept his eyes locked on yours, the heat in his gaze making your stomach twist deliciously.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked mockingly, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Can’t even keep still, can you? And you had the nerve to run your mouth. That’s, what… four now? Five?”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows, fingers clutching at the sheets. Your body was hypersensitive, every touch unbearable yet addicting. He didn’t stop—not when your thighs tried to close around his hand, not when tears spilled down your cheeks.

He worked you over with ruthless efficiency, each stroke of his fingers pushing you closer to the edge. The sound of your wetness filled the room, obscene and utterly mortifying, but the way he looked at you—so smug, so sure of himself—only made it worse.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his breath ghosted over your neck. “Let me hear it. Let me hear you beg.”

You whimpered, your body trembling as his movements sped up. “Danny, please—”

“You want to cum?” he taunted, biting down on your shoulder just hard enough to leave a mark. “Say it. Say you need me to make you cum.”

“I need you,” you gasped, your head falling back as your walls clenched around his fingers. “Danny, I need you to make me cum.”

“There we go, that’s my good girl,” he murmured, voice dripping with mock praise as he kissed along your jawline. “So pretty when you’re a mess. Bet your friend would love to see you like this,” he added, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Soaked and shaking, crying my name. Think she’d still believe you after this?”

You could barely form words, your nails digging into his shoulders as your sixth orgasm barreled through you.

“Fuck, pleasepleaseplease—”

“Please what? Don’t stop?”

Before you could catch your breath, he was sliding his cock inside you, thrusting deep, his pace instantly becoming relentless. Your back arched as the overstimulation hit its peak, your nails dragging down his back. “I don’t plan on stopping, sweetheart.”

“Daniel, I can’t—”

“Oh, you can,” he interrupted, his teeth grazing your jaw as he pounded into you. “And you will. You’re gonna cum for me again, and you’re gonna thank me for proving you wrong.”

Your body immediately gave in to his relentless pace, your vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you. He stilled for a moment, his cock buried deep inside you, before pulling out at the last second. He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking lazily as his cum splattered across your skin. “Look at you, all wrecked and trembling. Next time you want to talk shit, remember this.”

You could barely move, your body boneless and spent, but his smugness didn’t waver. He reached for his pants, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of your ruined, flushed form.

“Proof,” he said with a wink, before tucking it away.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[lanabuckybarnes]

Might have re-watched Captain America: Winter Soldier again 🫣....and it's just something about the way he says "You're my misson." All I know is this gives off HUGE smutty vibes. I love your written so I just knew I had to ask you!

Ohh nonnie the way he growls it as well (panties soaked)

18+ MINORS DNI, DUB/NON CON THEMES AHEAD

His metal hand pressed against your throat, you should’ve passed out ages ago but he wasn’t squeezing enough to hurt. He was keeping you in place.

You don’t know how you ended up on Hydra’s watchlist. You were a regular person, a security expert who woke up at 6am every morning, showered and got ready for the long hours at the office.

Your boss had some new clientele. They were in the market for top-notch security and they’d chosen the company you worked for, and your boss had chosen you to be part of the team. You learned quickly that they were a very secretive group, you only ever met the messengers and even then they blanked every other word you spoke besides a polite hello.

It was one boring day, completely uneventful, the usual in your office. You were working on the can’t security side of the project when your screen went black, then a logo appeared—an octopus? Weird.

“Hey Jim come look at this” you notified your cubicle neighbour who peaked over the barrier. Just as he did mountains of files filtered onto your screen, many of them in Russian it looked like but one thing was for certain. You definitely shouldn’t have seen it.

That night after packing up and heading downstairs you noticed Jim still at the revolving doors.

“Hey, you alright?” You asked, he looked pale, if you were in an old house you were sure you would’ve mistook him for a ghost.

“T-the—“ he cleared his throat before his brown eyes bore into yours. They looked dead, it shook you to your core. “The logo, on your computer…I searched it up and…”

Your jaw dropped to the floor when you digested the content on his phone. Hydra. Your new clients were Hydra and you’d accidentally seen all their files.

—

You jumped from your dreamless sleep at the sound of your landline. Checking your clock lets you know it was well past midnight, who on earth would be calling at this time?

“H-hello?” You rasped, eyes shutting by the second.

The frantic voice spoke your name. It was Jim and by his tone, he was panicking.

“Jim? Jim, are you alright?” You pressed, holding the phone closer to your ear.

“T-they’re here, listen to me whatever you do, do not open your door. Find a weapon and hide…oh god…Do not op—“ BANG!!

You let out a shriek at the sound, Jim’s side turning eerily quiet. Then your door knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Your door was gone before it could be knocked for a third time. Kicked so hard it hit the opposite wall, you screamed, dropping the phone from your ear and falling to the ground like you were made of jelly.

Tears flowed freely down your face as the huge body stalked forth, his arm glistening under the dim light you kept on at all times. A mask sat upon his face obscuring his emotions from you but you were certain he was enjoying the torture he was putting you through.

His heavy boots stopped just in front of your knees, his metal hand grasped at your throat squeezing until your vision spotted, until you garbled pleas up at him. Only then did he pull you up, your toes pointing to reach the floor, you were trying desperately to relieve some of the pressure around your throat.

You should’ve died a long time ago, his brain screamed at him to fulfil his mission, put a bullet in your skull and be done. But the more he looked at you the more he wanted.

The spaghetti straps of your nightgown had slipped down off your shoulders, catching in the crooks of your elbows but not before giving him a delicious tease of your bust.

He wanted more.

He raised his flesh hand, hooking a long thick index finger into the material before ripping it from your body in one fell swoop. You yelled and struggled against his grasp but a harsh squeeze of your trachea had any fight dying quickly.

He let his knuckles trace the swell of your tits, pinching a nipple in between his fingers, smirking darkly under the mask as you squirmed.

You look cute all scared of him; wide-eyed and chest heaving, your tummy sucking in to get away from his hand as it trailed down to your cotton panties.

A dark chuckle escaped him as he felt along your gusset.

“You’re wet”

You shook your head, eyes darting anywhere but him, your thighs squeezing his hand and keeping it pressed firmly against your mound.

He ripped the panties from your body as well, running two fingers through your folds and bringing them up to your face. Absolutely soaked.

“Wet” he spoke matter-of-factly before pushing his hand back down there; fingers plucking your hard little clit effortlessly until you were crying out.

“W-why are you doing this” you moaned, head hitting off the wall with a bang as you sucked in air greedily.

“You’re my mission” he growled back, fingers stretching you out until your brain turned to mush.

He coaxed four orgasms out of you that night. His mask, thrown to the floor so he could kiss you sloppily before leaving.

He returned night after night, Hydra sending him to complete his task but he’d do the same again, play with you, eat you out until you were a writhing mess—all dumb and thinking of nothing but him.

You were his mission. For days, months, years. You were his.

—

I pulled this outta my ass but I hope it was up to your standard nonnie 🤭🤭

Also thank you so much, it’s nice to know some people enjoy reading the poo I write.

Likes, Reblogs and Asks are always appreciated ❤️❤️

[haechanniessgirl]

pretty when you cry *ੈ✩‧₊˚ y.jw

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

summary: you were always sensitive growing up, crying and weeping in your mother's arms over things in a way that few understood, until you met a boy, whose only true goal was to protect you, but failed in doing so as he got overwhelmed by his high school teenage years and left you behind

pairing ✧˚ · . yang jungwon x reader ( some enha members are mentioned )

genre ! established friendship, fluff and angst, arguments friends to lovers! word count: 3044

AUTHORS NOTE:: lowk hate this rip

italic text: flashbacks ( in case of confusion )

you cried a lot, as a child, often seen roaming around with tear stained cheeks, a soft red hue that circled your eyes, and a hefty pack of tissues stuffed away in your pocket. you never really understood why, but you just cried a lot. you were sensitive to the world in a way that few understood. you cried during happy moments, overwhelmed by joy, and during sad ones, consumed by empathy. kittens and flowers brought tears to your eyes, their beauty and fragility touching something deep within you for example.

your parents were often worried, constantly watching your every move, unsure why you seemed so fragile. they took you to doctors and counselors, searching for answers that never came. "she's just very sensitive," they would say, their concern evident. "there's nothing wrong with that."

but your sensitivity made it hard to make friends. other children found your tears annoying, not understanding why you cried so easily. birthday parties, school events, and even simple playdates often ended with you feeling isolated and misunderstood.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you met jungwon on a bright summer day when you were both six years old. the playground was bustling with children, but you were content playing on your own, until a misstep on the jungle gym sent you tumbling to the ground, scraping your knee. ultimately tears welled up in your eyes, and you sat there frozen, feeling the sting of the cut and the embarrassment of falling. looking around you as you saw children eyeing you, your mother busy talking to another parent.

but a gentle hand tapped your shoulder, your mind reeling with emotions, until a soft voice called out for you "hi? can you hear me?", glancing up, a boy stood over you, expression concerned, but a warm smile appeared when you finally looked at him " are you okay? " he asked as he crouched down beside you, he looked about your age, he gently smiled at him despite the tears rolling freely down your face as you shook your head no. on cue, he pulled out the crumpled tissue that was peaking from your pocket and patted your scraped knee, shying away from your wandering eyes.

"you're pretty when you cry," he said timidly, as an attempt to cheer you up. you sniffled, managing a small laugh through your tears.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

from that moment, you and jungwon became inseparable. he had always appreciated your sensitive side, often finding it endearing. whenever you cried over a beautiful sunset, a touching movie scene, or even a kind gesture from a stranger, jungwon was there, standinf by your side, smiling softly and comforting you.

he promised himself that he'd never be the one to cause those tears, at least not the sad ones. he prided himself on being your protector, your steadfast rock in a world that often felt overwhelming.

" you know im not going anywhere right?" jungwon glanced over at you, giggling as he handed you a glass of water as you were preparing cup noodles together at your family home " you can hold me at gun point and i wont budge " , you rolled you eyes " yeah yeah i know, thank you" you replied as you gently grabbed the glass of water, taking a quick sip. " i promise i wont leave you either "

however, as you both grew older, you began to feel the weight of your sensitivity more acutely. you didn’t want to be seen as fragile or overly emotional. you yearned for a future where you felt confident in what you do, grow independent and become capable of handling your own emotions without relying on someone, that someone being jungwon. this, to you, meant distancing yourself from the past where you relied so heavily on jungwon’s comfort.

it wasn't that you didn’t need him; in fact, you needed him more than ever, constantly calling out for him in moments of distress whether he was present or not. but your need had transformed into something deeper, something more complex. you had simply fallen in love with jungwon, your best friend, and that love made you feel vulnerable. you were terrified of becoming a burden to him, of your emotions being too much to handle.

but you couldn't do it, you could never walk away from him, not when he had your heart in this grip of his hands. so you decided to deal with it. get over it and move on.

but he walked away from you.

as high school rolled around, the dynamic between you and jungwon began to shift. jungwon found new friends, often seen partying and going on every so often on social media, a large group of friends by his side most of the time. his natural charm and athletic abilities , he even made it on the football team, thus making him a favorite among students. despite this, you tried to maintain your bond, even as you focused on your studies.

you found out he made the football team about a month into the new school year, and despite the urge to walk up to him to congratulate him yourself like you usually do, you bit your tongue, watching him from afar, as his friends cheered, his smile so big, dimples so prominent, you havent seen him smile like this in a while, was it because of you? because of your constant saddened mood? because you're so sensitive it brings people down with you?

you opted to calling him that night, messages from you often left on delivered by him, so you refrained from that being your first option, and unlocked your phone and looked for his contact, you dialed his number, anxiously tapping your fingers on the back of your phone, waiting for him to pick up, again. beep..beep...beep... the number you dialed is currently not available, please leave a message after this beep. with a deep sigh, you tossed your phone beside you, he's busy again, you wondered, your heart ached slightly, was this it? has he finally left you? , you looked at your ceiling for a moment, fiddling the skin around your nails and cuticles, and opted to send him a message.

to wonie : hey won, i just wanted to congratulate you for making the football team! we havent talked since the try outs, please call me back whenever you can to catch up <3

as you tapped send, your gut feeling knew he was gonna take a while to answer, like he's been doing for the past month or so ever since school started. you knew you were being replaced, and part of you felt relieved that jungwon is finally taking a step back and letting you do things on your own, but this isnt what you wanted afterall, you didnt want him to completely disappear from you like the way he is now. you yearned so much for his presence, but these days its almost impossible to get a text back within the day or sometimes, within the week.

your eyes welled up with tears, fighting the urge to let them spill, the comforter that wrapped warmly around your body seemed to not comfort you anymore, the cold seeped in front within and you cried, wailed and sobbed for your friend, the promise jungwon, you promised to never make me cry.

but it wasnt officially over though right? you thought so, you needed to know, so desperately for an answer, was your friendship finally over? you werent so sure, it felt like it, but you wanted to ask him.

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to jungwon, his life took a new turn. after a particularly thrilling football game, he caught the attention of jake, one of the star players on the team. jake and some of his friends saw potential in jungwon and invited him to try out for the team. excited by the prospect of joining their ranks and eager to prove himself, jungwon accepted the invitation without hesitation.

from the moment he joined the team, jungwon's schedule became busier. he spent countless hours practicing, hanging out with the team, and participating in social events. the camaraderie and thrill of being part of the football team were exhilarating. he felt like he was finally becoming someone important, someone recognized and admired by his peers.

unfortunately, this newfound popularity came at a cost. jungwon found himself prioritizing the football team and his new found friends over you. he didnt mean to really, he often missed plans, stood you up, or simply forgot about the time you were supposed to spend together. each time he let you down, he felt a pang of guilt, but he reassured himself that he could make it up to you later. but he never did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

shit, you were gonna be late for class, quickly walking over to your first class of the day, stupid alarm you thought, however, as you were so focused on looking at your phone, watching as time moved faster in the moment, you bumped into someone, dropping your phone in the process. cursing out quietly, and apologizing, you knelt down to collect your belonging, a quiet voice pulled you out of your wandering thoughts, the warmth that you held onto so dearly, but havent heard from in so long, stood before you " y/n?" jungwon titled his head, trying to get your attention " sorry i was in a hurry.. what are you doing? arent you supposed to be in class too?" you glanced at him, and then your phone, time was ticking, and you needed to get to class right now, but here he was, standing before you, for the first time in a week, " uh yeah i actually have football try outs in about 10 mins ...so i wont be in class today "

"oh thats true, i know you'll do well, uhm by the way.. i know you've been busy with training and all, but we missed our plans the other day, we can reschedule, i really i dont mind" you hummed, class soon became a second priority, you didnt mind being late anymore, now that you got to talk to jungwon face to face after a while. but unbeknownst to you, this might been the last time.

" im sorry y/n... i swear ill make it up to you, ive just been really busy, ill call you after school yeah? we can plan something then" he smiled, as he readjusted his bag that was lazily swung over his shoulder, " yeah, definietly, ive got to go, good luck wonie!" you smiled back, walking away, happy and joyful.

but that promised call never came, and that night you stared at your phone for hours, waiting for his name to pop up, and it never did. but you were okay with it, you can wait.

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jungwon's thoughts often drifted to you. he had always loved you, which was why he made all those promises and stood by your side through thick and thin. but with the overwhelming joy and busyness of his new life, he started to neglect your friendship. It wasn't intentional, but it happened all the same. He never meant to put you second; he just mindlessly went on with his days, you always in the back of his mind.

jungwon knew he was screwing up. He saw the disappointment in your eyes each time he missed plans or stood you up. but each time, you forgave him, and he foolishly took that forgiveness for granted. he was stressed with schoolwork and football training, and so he put you aside for now, waiting for the right moment to swoop you back into his arms and make it all up to you.

but that moment never came. he kept forgetting to text or call you back. He barely saw you at school, except in class, but even then, the distance was palpable. jungwon knew it was partly his fault, but he kept telling himself he would fix things soon. He knew he loved you, he was just stupid, overwhelmed, and lost in the whirlwind of high school life.

the more time jungwon spent with his new friends, the more he felt the pangs of guilt gnawing at him. every time he saw you in the hallways, your eyes catching his for a fleeting moment before you looked away, he felt a knot tighten in his chest. he missed the late-night conversations, the shared laughter, and the comfortable silence that only you can provide.

but as weeks turned into a month, the pressures of high school only intensified. football games, practice sessions, team outings, and the ever-present demands of academics left him little time to breathe, let alone rekindle a friendship that was slowly slipping through his fingers. jungwon told himself that he would find the right moment to make things right, but that moment always seemed just out of reach.

he was at a breaking point, and you swooped in, at the worst time.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

god were you scared, you woke up with a knot of anxiety in your stomach. the skin around your nails was raw and bitten off from a night of nervous fretting. you had replayed the conversation in your head countless times, dreading his reaction but knowing it had to be done. you couldn’t let this drift continue; it was eating away at you, and you missed your best friend too much to stay silent any longer. you decided today was the day you'd confront him.

you got ready for school, your hands trembling as you pulled on your clothes and brushed your hair. every glance in the mirror showed a face etched with worry. You barely touched your breakfast, unable to stomach anything, your parents glanced over at each other for the nth time that morning, worry evident " honey you need to eat" you mother hummed sweetly " im okay, thank you for breakfast, im heading out", and with that you walked over to your parents, planting a kiss on their foreheads and made your way out. the walk to school made you almost vomit, the familiar route felt strange and daunting, each step closer to the confrontation making your heart pound harder, and dread started to settle in.

at school, you found jungwon surrounded by some of his friends in the hallway, jungwon resting his back on the lockers mounted behind him, a soft smile on his face as the morning sun shined brightly through the hallway windows. the atmosphere was light for him, he was softly giggling at a banter between his jake and jay. you felt a pang of longing and hurt seeing him so immersed in their world, a world that had pushed you out. summoning all your courage, you walked up to them, your heart in your throat.

"jungwon," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Can we talk?"

his friends fell silent, turning to look at you with confusion. none of them knew about the history you shared with jungwon, and their curiosity was evident in their faces. jungwon hesitated, glancing between you and his friends. for a moment, you thought he might brush you off, but then he nodded reluctantly and stepped away from the group.

you quickly led him to an empty classroom, the silence between you two thick with unspoken words. once inside, shutting the door behind you, you finally turned to face him, your nerves on edge. "jungwon, are we okay?" you began, your voice trembling. "i mean, are you okay? youve been so busy i barely get to see you anymore."

jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "i've been really busy with football and school. it's not that I don't care, it's just... everything's been so overwhelming."

"but we promised," you said, tears welling up in your eyes, you tried so hard to not let them pour out, let vulnerbility show in this moment, you needed to stand your ground. "we promised each other, i get that things are getting harder for you, but you cant be the only one complaining, please jungwon, why are you pushing me away? i never see you anymore, i never hear from you, and when i do, its days or even weeks after contact! why are you leaving me? why did you lie to me! ."

with his head in his hands, rubbing his face to wake up from the early morning drowsiness, jungwon's frustration boiled over. "I can't be everywhere at once!" he snapped, glaring over at you. "do you think it's easy balancing everything? i'm doing the best I can, and you're constantly blowing up my phone, calls after calls, texts after texts. i can't handle you and everything else at the same time, and maybe if you weren't so sensitive about everything, we wouldn't be having this conversation!, find someone else to bother"

the words cut deep, and you felt the sting of tears, using your own insecurities against you, was a new low for jungwon and he knew, but in that moment he didnt want to back down, he was hurt, that you accused him of being the villain, but he knew he was, he was most definietly the bad guy. "i just miss you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "i need you, jungwon and you know that too"

" i cant handle you anymore " he shot back, not realizing the full impact of his words until they hung in the air between you.

the tears you had been holding back flowed freely now, and you couldn’t bear to stay any longer. you turned and fled from the classroom.

jungwon ran after you, but you disappeared by the time he reached the end of the hallway, students peering out of classrooms to see what was going on, only to find jungwon stood, shoulders slumped, chest heaving and slowly he crumbled.

he had hurt you, deeply, he realized just how badly he had been treating you. the guilt and regret hit him like a tidal wave, and he knew in that moment that he was the worst person ever.

in that moment, he wished so bad, to turn back time, to tell you it was all a mistake, his mistakes, leading up to this moment, and tell you how much he loves you, the whole you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part 2 coming soon!

[bedsyandco]

୨୧ ⋅ 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍﹙⠀LH43⠀﹚

𐙚 ─── pairing: fem!reader x luke hughes

𐙚 ─── summary: in which your bf loves giving you head. . .

𐙚 ─── content: oral f!receiving, overstumulation. i think that's it? lmk if there's more!

𐙚 ─── word count: 0.6K

𐙚 ─── a/n: my first attempt at writing a longer smut piece, it’ll get better the more I do it <3

“luke,” his name falls from your lips on a sob, your back arching from the bed as you push at his head, fingers tugging on his curls. his arms were wrapped around your thighs, one hand gripping your hip and the other pushing on your lower stomach, trying to keep you still. Luke turns his head and runs his tongue over the purple bruise on your inner thigh. you let out a whine when he turns his attention back to your clit. “please lu, it’s too much”

you woke up this morning with the sun on your face, a light breeze trailing through the open window, and luke’s head between your thighs. you’ve lost track of how long he’s been down there. how many times he’s made you cum. It was a good thing Jack agreed to an early morning workout with Nico, you were grateful you and luke had the apartment to yourself, knowing you couldn’t keep quiet.

there were few things luke loved more than eating you out. hearing the moans spill from your lips. the way your legs closed around his head. the way you didn’t know if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away. the way you tasted. he could spend all day between your thighs. luke has no doubt that he gets more pleasure out of this than you do. it’s his favourite thing in the whole world.

he presses his tongue into you, nose bumping your clit and smirks when he feels your hands clench in his hair. “luke,” you moan again, voice hoarse and breath hitching. that was his favourite sound ever. whenever he’s on roadies, this is the moment he replays in his head over and over again. this moment. that sound. he’s obsessed with it. with you. so obsessed he just needs to hear it again. and again. and again.

“please,” you beg, pushing at his head. Luke makes a noise at the back of his throat, tongue softly flicking over your clit as he tries to build you back up again. his eyes were glassed over, staring at the mess you’ve made. focused on the task at hand. seeing that expression you knew he wasn’t going to stop until you said that magic little word.

“you’re okay baby. you’re doing so good.” he mumbles, lips brushing against your pussy and you whimper. when he lifts his head and looks up at you, your stomach clenches at the sight. the wild look in his eye. his swollen lips. your release all over his face.

“you okay?” he asks, gently rubbing your thigh and you nod.

“good, you can give me one more.” luke says, dropping his head again.

“But-”

“shh baby. just one more, promise.” he mutters, already preoccupied again.

“you said that before the last one” you protest

“I know sweetheart. I just can’t get enough of you. just one more, I promise. please?” he begs. actually begging and you nod, agreeing before you could even really think about it. your head drops back against the pillow as Luke stares down at you, using his thumbs to spread you open a little more. he lets spit drop from his mouth onto your clit before bending his head and taking it into his mouth again.

after a few minutes, you reach that peak again, tears falling from the overstimulation and luke gently presses kisses on your stomach.

“think you can go again?” he asks, grinning up at you and laughs when you use your whole hand to push his face away, and snap your legs closed.

[elliee3e]

‘sweet lovin’’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x f! reader

summary ;

just being held in logan’s arms as he takes care of you.

content warnings ;

age gap, size kink, dirty talk but it’s slight, slight overstimulation (?) implied ddlg

author’s note ;

hey so um.. this was actually supposed to be deeper than it sounds😭 i did NOT mean to write plain smut like this there was supposed to be a whole hurt / comfort trope & stuff but clearly my horniness got the best of me. anywho i might make a fluff aftercare version but here’s this for now. veryyy short drabble btw because i have no motivation help

being held in logan’s arms as his hands toy with your body to the point where you’re trembling, and he has to hold you flush to him so you don’t crash out just yet. “shh, baby. i gotcha.” his voice would ring in your ears, keeping you grounded, as your smaller hands would grip at the hard muscles of his arms.

“i can’t, lo.” you’d manage to mumble out shakily, warm breath panting against his neck, as your little thighs trembled around his big hand — threatening to close — as he brought his other one down to prevent that from happening. “yeah you can, darlin’. look at that. you’re doin’ so good for me right now, you have been this whole time. don’t tell me you can’t handle it now.” each word said into your hair as he gently pressed little kisses to the soft locks, his scruff rubbing the warm skin of your forehead: a contrast to the way his fingers were working in tight circles on your over sensitive clit. a hiccup and gasp bubbled up in your throat as the feeling started to stir up a burning feeling in your lower belly.

logan chuckled as he heard this, bringing his face down to yours. he knew you were close. he always did. he pressed his forehead against yours, hands still pressed on your thigh as the other rubbed you a little faster: hearing your pathetic whimpers.

“fuck, you’re just adorable, aren’t ya?” he’d whisper against your forehead, the hand that was on your thigh moving up to grab a small fistful of your soft hair that he had been nuzzling moments before — to make you look up at him, the sight of your eyes all glazed over with tears making him even more desperate to finish you off, give you the pleasure you craved.

“m’ so close— lo—“ you hiccuped, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment with a gasp as his thick fingers slipped through your folds, gliding in and out of the tight, slick warm heat of your hole. it’s making your body tingle and go numb all at the same time, thick fingers spreading you open: and they way they speed up. you feel your little hole fluttering around the intrusion, holding onto it as the feeling of your impending orgasm starts to overwhelm you.

logan lets out a low groan as he feels how tight you’re squeezing just his two fingers, his thumb still working over your puffy clit. he brings your head back up to kiss you, letting all your moans pour into his mouth; before your hands start scratching at his arm.

“fuck, you’re really worked up tonight, ain’ya?” he’d chuckle in disbelief, hearing your whines as he pulled away from the kiss — the way you squirmed under him. “come on, baby. let go. wanna feel your pretty pussy gushing all over my fingers.” he says, proving his words by slightly curling his fingers deep inside you, wanting to hit that soft spot that his cock always did when he would be inside you. the feeling was too much, and with a whine that was muffled by pressing your face into logan’s neck, your high reached it’s peak — spilling all over his thick fingers.

logan groaned as he felt the sticky warmth, keeping his fingers inside you till you were panting and squirming away from him. without hesitation, he brought them up to his mouth, tasting the sweet tang of your essence on his tongue. a taste he’d never get tired of.

“tastes fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart. did so good too,” he praised, watching your flushed face as you leaned back against the pillows: still trying to come down from that high as it reached an end.

once his words registered into your mind, he was already shifting closer to you and pulling your little panties up and over your pretty hips, the feeling making you flutter as you sighed. “felt good, lo.” you mumbled contentedly, and logan couldn’t help but scoop your body up into his bigger arms, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

“mm, yeah. ‘m sure it did, angel. glad i could make you feel better.”

[ivypos-writes]

i have often dreamed of those fires

— aemond targaryen

summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.

Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.

warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut

word count: 7.5k

notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

MASTERLIST

She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.

The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.

Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.

He seems to fear her, though.

They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.

Later came silence.

It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.

Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.

Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.

How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?

“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.

He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.

Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.

“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”

His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.

She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.

The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.

She is alone.

And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.

Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.

Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.

Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.

She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.

When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.

Solitude is all she knows.

Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.

It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.

In truth, she isn’t even that.

Her marriage is not a marriage at all���not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.

“My prince.”

She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.

He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.

He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”

Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”

The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.

It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.

“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”

He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.

Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.

Prince Aemond says nothing.

She picks her next words carefully.

“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”

Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.

She cannot so easily yield.

Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”

And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.

The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.

He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.

But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.

She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.

“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”

There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.

When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.

“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”

He is gone before she can retaliate.

There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.

Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.

They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.

Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.

He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.

Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.

Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.

It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.

He takes a hesitant step forward.

She freezes.

They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.

Never like this.

There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.

She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.

Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.

Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.

It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.

His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.

She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.

When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.

It is the first time that he has touched her.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?

When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.

“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.

Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.

She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.

Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.

Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?

Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.

Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.

Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.

Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.

Her breasts peak from the foamy water.

Her skin tints red.

“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.

The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.

He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.

She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.

As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.

Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.

Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.

The silence is heavy.

“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.

The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”

This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.

But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.

“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”

The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.

Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.

She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.

Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”

“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”

Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.

“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”

It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.

The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.

She won’t.

“So a part of her lives inside you?”

He turns, and now they are facing one another.

Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?

No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.

“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”

One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?

It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.

“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”

Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.

But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.

“Scoot over,” he instructs.

Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.

She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.

Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.

The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.

When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.

He is washing her hair.

Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.

“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”

They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.

Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.

“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”

She straightens her spine.

Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.

She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.

Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.

He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.

She is possessed by a surge of boldness.

The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.

Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.

He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.

Each day, she waits for him to act.

There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.

She is tired of surviving on moments alone.

With her breath unsteady, she waits.

Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.

“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.

His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.

The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.

Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.

With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.

Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.

The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.

Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.

When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.

Their noses brush.

The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.

It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.

She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.

He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.

But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.

She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.

She senses his gaze on her skin.

An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.

And now he’s standing there. Watching.

“Am I not worthy of your affection?”

She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.

Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.

“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”

She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.

“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”

“I never wished for it.”

“I never wished for it, either!”

There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.

She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.

But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.

“You won’t even let me close.”

Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.

“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”

Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.

They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.

As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.

She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.

Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.

He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.

She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.

The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.

A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.

“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”

Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.

Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.

“How could something so gentle ruin?”

He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.

Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.

He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.

“Look at me, husband.”

It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.

Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.

Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”

The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.

The mattress dips behind her.

There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.

It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.

“Husband,” she breathes into the night.

A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”

Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.

He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.

“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.

“You have.”

“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”

Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.

Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.

Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.

“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”

A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.

Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.

When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.

She clamps her legs together.

“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”

Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.

“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.

Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.

“You said you were chained to me.”

“And it was the truth.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”

Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.

Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.

Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.

“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”

She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.

“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”

She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.

Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.

It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.

His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—

And then his mouth is on hers.

It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.

Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.

She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.

They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.

“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.

“Do you?” she teases.

Aemond is not in a mood for her games.

She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—

He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.

“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”

His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.

His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.

One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.

“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”

He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.

She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.

His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.

She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.

“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.

Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.

He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.

She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.

Her hands come up to cup his face.

With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.

Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.

“You do want me.”

She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—

Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.

His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.

A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.

Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.

She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.

It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.

He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.

“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.

Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.

“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.

He’s softer than she ever imagined.

The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.

He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.

Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”

She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.

When he enters her, she is finally whole.

It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.

His next thrust renders her dazed.

Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.

Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.

She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.

Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.

Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.

“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”

This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.

When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.

“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”

“Fuck.”

It sends him over the edge.

Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.

There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.

He smothers the words with his lips on hers.

She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.

Their foreheads are pressed together.

All she knows is the colour of his eye.

Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.

[ninikrumbs]

Somewhere in the multiverse

jjk men x fem reader. Suguru. Satoru. Kento. Hiromi.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And you're r sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your bedroom. Your hands reach to the side, - searching, hoping, wishing -heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion as you barely held back your sobs.

Your lips trembles, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running though the back of your head, "You're such a liar, you big dummy."

Suguru. Satoru. Kento. Hiromi.

a/n: should I make a happy part 2?

[k-n-e-o]

Happy place || Myung Jaehyun

Genre: fluff, angst, idol!Jaehyun x non-idol!gnReader

Words: 1,279

Content: crying, comforting jaehyun, cuddling, sitting on a lap, I think that's it?

Summary: In light of recent events, Jaehyun finds solace in your arms, a place where he doesn't feel the need to pretend he's okay anymore.

A|n: This is a small thing I whipped up quickly because I can’t stop thinking about how jaehyun must be feeling with all of the crap about him on social media right now. I hope you enjoy this little jaehyun comfort post.

Songs: Happy place - SAINT PHNX, Thank god I do - Lauren Daigle

Ding!

The movie you were watching was left to run in the background as you looked at your phone. You read the message from Jaehyun that you hadn’t expected to get for another four hours when his schedule ended. 

Can I stay at urs 2nite? Need 2 b w/ u  

Your brows furrow at the message, this didn’t sound like your bubbly jaehyun. You’d seen what people had been saying about him on social media. You were hoping he hadn’t seen any of it, but his message's tone seemed to say otherwise. You respond with an ‘Of course, you have my spare key right?’ before putting your phone down, knowing that Jaehyun is probably still quite busy and wouldn’t respond right away. 

----------

It was around 2 am when Jaehyun, worn down from the day's activities and the emotional turmoil, trudged through your front door. You had decided to stay on the couch so you were right there when he arrived. Although you had dozed off while you waited, the sound of jaehyun removing his shoes slowly brought you out of your slumber, your eyes fluttering open. You didn’t need to see his face to know how he was feeling as he shuffled over to you.

Grabbing the edge of the blanket you lift it and beckon for him to lay down with you. Instantly he curls into you, his head nuzzled as far into your neck as it will possibly go, his limbs secured around your waist. You take no time in wrapping your arms around him, one hand on his back and the other running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t need to look at him to know the tears had started. His chest hiccuped now and then as his shoulders shook with sobs. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, every one dipped in comfort and dripping with love but you knew in this moment all he needed was to let it out.

You both lay there like that for a while as his sobs ebbed and flowed. Eventually, his breathing evened out and his trembling softened. You kiss the top of his head and whisper into his hair- 

“You are so loved Myung,” another kiss,” You are so so so loved and nothing will change that,” 

You hear him sniffle and tighten his hold on you but he doesn’t say anything so you continue. 

“You bring so much laughter and happiness to so many people just by being who you are,” His shoulders tremble, “You are the light in so many people's lives. I don’t want you to change no matter what people say, okay?” you place three more kisses on his head before smoothing out his hair gently. He hiccups and nods softly into your neck. You open your mouth to say more but then the emotion of it all starts to choke you up. Tears fill your eyes when you realize no amount of words would accurately explain just how special Jaehyun is, how much he means to you, and how safe he makes you feel. So you stick to just whispering ‘I love you’s’ into his hair as he begins to cry again. 

—-------

Your eyes blink open at the sunrays peaking through the window. You groan as you feel a dull acne start-up in your neck. You rub the dried tears from your eyes and do your best to stretch with Jaehyun’s arms still wrapped tightly around you. Looking down at him, his face relaxed as he continues to sleep, you’re thankful that he has these quiet moments where he isn’t consumed with sorrow. You softly move a strand of hair out of his beautiful face. You caress his cheek and coo at how he subconsciously leans into your touch. He groans and leans his forehead on your chest refusing to open his eyes even though you knew he was waking up. You cup the back of his head and scrunch his hair a bit. 

“Morning my love” Jaehyun just nuzzles into you more in response, “I need to get up to make breakfast, I’m hungry” Jaehyun only shakes his head, but you knew he was hungry too by the way his stomach grumbled at the sound of food. You laugh when he ultimately sighs and loosens his hold just enough for you to sit up. Getting off the couch was a bit more of a feat, however, as Jaehyun decided to continue to hang off you, absolutely refusing to let go when you asked him nicely. You sigh dramatically but ultimately you don’t mind, finding peace in the feeling of having him right by your side. You practically waddle into the kitchen as Jaehyun makes himself your own personal backpack. Standing at the stove, jaehyun watches you cook silently, his chin resting on your shoulder and his arms still folded around your waist. Now and again you bring the spoon to his mouth to feed him while you cook. He hums to let you know it tastes good but doesn’t say much else which you attribute to him still being sleepy. When you finished cooking you carried both bowls of food to the table, shuffling with a clingy jaehyun still attached to your back. 

“You need to let go so we can eat you know” You cross your arms, unimpressed. You feel him shake his head from his spot in the crook of your neck, “But Myung-” At your whine, you feel his arms slip off your waist for the first time since 2 that morning and you watch as he plops himself down in the chair you had pulled out for him. Nodding in approval you grab your chair and start to pull it out only for it to be stopped by Jaehyun’s foot placed on top of it as if he were saving it for someone. You laugh and step back thinking he wanted to pull it out for you but you watch as he does the exact opposite, using his foot to push the chair as far from the table as possible. You blink a couple of times and look at him with a questioning raise of your eyebrows. You’re met with a completely innocent looking jaehyun patting his lap with determination. After figuring out what he wanted, you shook your head. Jaehyun only continues to stare you down, patting his lap more aggressively as time goes on. Eventually, you give in, deciding you are far too hungry to continue to fight with your stubborn boyfriend. Jaehyun makes a happy noise as you place yourself on his lap, his arms again finding their place around you and his chin perching once again on your shoulder. You spend the rest of the morning slowly eating as you feed yourself and him the food you cooked. When the last bit was fed to him you put the spoon back in the now empty bowl and gently lean back against him. You feel him settle as you melt into his touch. You sit in silence for a while, feeling his heartbeat against your back and the soft fanning of his breath against your neck. 

“Do you feel a little better?” you quietly ask, unsure of whether you should just in case your words trigger his tears again. But he remains calm behind you. 

“Yeah, I feel much better now that I’m with you” You can’t help but smile, feeling happy that in some way you're able to help him. 

“I love you Myung” You lean your head back and tilt it so you're resting it on top of his. His arms tighten as he returns the gesture. 

“I love you too.”

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

I hope you enjoyed 💙

[taegularities]

colour me in: photograph (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: With both your and Jungkook's careers seemingly peaking, the future feels promising and bright. Yet, amidst the glowing hope, one single phone call dims the light in the rooms of your shared home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: [redacted spoiler that shall drop with the chapter], tears, sadness/grief, doubts, tender moments, talk of jk's future and his art, support, jk's dad, surprises, (talk of) a break up oop, mention of children (i guess that's a warning lol), explicit sexual content: let-out-some-steam-sex, dom!jk, big dick!jk, he's actually insane. more details shall be added on drop day; the ending.. <3 ➳ word count: around 760 for the teaser; 25-30k for the chapter ➳ a/n: get ready, it's gonna hurt for a whiiile now :') as always, come n talk to me about this 🤍 ➳ listen to: holo by leehi | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

“You do know that we’re supposed to meet up with them in like,” you drop your eyes to your wrist, pulling back the sweater to unveil your watch, “forty minutes, right?”

“And you think they’ll complain about some extra time alone?”

You deliver a blank stare, not a single blink as you watch him shrug a shoulder. He sports a smirk that you would’ve clenched your jaw to months ago, but today, even if you won’t admit it right this second, it amuses you.

He laughs when you stand there unmoving, like a stick figure silently reprimanding a lethargic boyfriend. You hate to break, but when the contagious chuckle infects you, too, you feel a light wave of relief and serotonin ripple through you violently.

Jungkook hasn’t left vacation mode just yet; while the work for the gallery is still ongoing and he diligent, you catch him slouching ever so often, doodling away at times. You’ll confess, the grey outside is tiring; different from the sunnier countryside you left behind.

There’s a sort of post-bliss blues that even you can hardly shake off.

“You can’t deny that, can you?” he utters amidst his melodious laugh, and you roll your eyes, taking two big steps towards him — much like two days ago.

“I don’t have to deny it to still teach you the importance of punctuality, right? Get up,” you say, smacking his hip — and he uses the opportunity to lift his arm from under his head, reaching for you, but… failing. “Uh-uh. Enough with your tricks. Get up.”

Last night still wasn’t enough — is it ever? You’re not surprised; neither by his thirst nor by your own inner, involuntary reactions. But no time. It’s rude to let people wait.

And you know exactly what Jimin would say — tease — if the two of you arrived at the double lunch date with him and Yoongi too late again.

Jungkook’s voice turns half into a yawn, half into a sigh, tired when he responds, “Yes, ma’am.”

This should do.

But since everything good comes in three, and just for good measure, you add another laser-glance, shooting at him in warning to lift his ass and meet you ready once you are, too. A playfully sigh breathed, you amble to the bathroom, make up awaiting on the sink from when you put it there this morning.

This shouldn’t take long; you’re opting for the minimalistic approach today.

As the hues colour your lips and fill your lashes, you hum a random melody you can’t quite identify. It’s quiet in the apartment until it isn’t — and when Jungkook’s voice chimes, your hand halts mid-mascara-stroke, assuming he’s calling for you.

He’s not; you understand this much when he greets the person on the other end in his liveliest tone at first, volume decreasing as the conversation continues. He’s soon hushed enough for you to not really make out proper words anymore. Hums here and there — Jungkook doesn’t seem to say much at all.

Perhaps it’s Yoongi, or Tae, telling a story. Narrating recent occurrences, the joys and pains that emerged and shrivelled on the vacation that you weren’t part of anymore.

You don’t ask just yet, decide not to disturb.

You finish up whatever is left of your routine, setting the make up and ruffling through your hair, adding volume. When the talk he’s indulging in still remains when you deem yourself ready, you let out a breather and step back into the bedroom.

Still in the same clothes and with the untamed hair as his crown, Jungkook’s gaze is lowered, fingers barely curled into the sheets. He’s sat up now; you see his Adam’s apple bob when you walk in. Instinctively and immediately, you blurt, “Now what did I tell you just a moment ago—”

But the jest dries in your throat and then fades, as dead as Jungkook’s eyes when he looks up at you. Or maybe… maybe they’re not dead.

More so — in disbelief. As if he hasn’t really fathomed what he’s just heard, mind sprinting in circles, attempting to understand.

His chest isn’t moving as it should, and just in general, his body emits inner trouble. Distress. When he lifts his pupils and shifts them towards you, it looks as if he’s hoping that your presence could reverse reality, as if you’re pulling him out of the inevitable quicksand.

But you can’t. You get it; see it right away.

Because the watery gaze and the gap between his lips, this expression, are new to you, no matter how many of his aches you’ve mended. And you guess it has something to do with what his conversation partner just said.

Something that certainly wasn’t part of today’s agenda at all.

the way i even had to change the banner bc it'd be such a spoiler lmaoooo but yeah anyways, what do we think? y'all's thought always help immensely, and life has been so busy that writing took a backseat – getting back into it is hard. but you guys offer so many theories as well as love and always motivate me, so come and let's talk <3

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.80)

(Sneak Peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: none of your pack ever expected your heat to come with so many biological changes but now that your mate has a knot...you have but one thing on your mind.

Tags: Groupsex, fivesome? threesome? exhibitionism, voyeurism, praise kink, Knotfucking, dumbification, mindbreak, omegaspace sex, Mating cycles/in heat, lactation kink, false pregnancy, some good ol' tiddy sucking, omega x omega content, scissoring? pussy spanking, jungkook x m/c, mommy kink, daddy kink, trans charecters, discussion of girl knot/cock, girl on top, feral sex, biting, humor, this is soft and horny and funny,

W/c: 11.0k

A/n: Ahhhh i'm sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter- the good thing is the next one won't be that far off! Until then if you like this story and want to read a different version of the beginning that has like 5+ additional chapters of how yoongi and the m/c got together you can read it here

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

~-~

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Seokjin asks, carefully. Pillow over his bare lap. Namjoon has the good sense to at least put on some shorts. Jimin looks at Tae quickly and Tae does not return his gaze. Some secret soulmate conversation going on between them that you can’t read.

When you look up at Hobi- he’s watching your face. He doesn’t look away but after a moment- he does shrug as if to say ‘our beta has a knot- so what?’

“I’ve never heard of a beta popping a knot. I’m not sure. I think this might just be us.”

You groan, hiding your face under Yoongi’s chin. His breath heaves, and he turns back to you, nuzzling back.

“Is it my slick? Or the mating mark? Did I do this to him-” your eyes are wet, tears already threatening. You are already generally sensitive, and even more so in heat. Yoongi eases away your worries with a quick kiss to the side of your face. Cutting off your guilt before it has a chance to build.

“None of that now, if I had to change for anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

The pack is quiet around you, all in varying states of nudity. Quiet at the truth of what he says, how suddenly deep this has gotten. But he's right, you'd change for any of them. You wouldn't mind either.  Yoongi rubs your cheek and you pull yourself half into his lap for a cuddle. Needy, too worn down to let it go. Yoongi’s hands go around your waist keeping you close. You melt into his arms, still sniffling.

"Your dick was perfect before though-"

"Sweetheart " he groans.

"What? I'm just saying-"

Hoseok chokes back a laugh and tries to keep it in, but before you can help it everyone's laughing and covering their faces with their hands to keep from smiling. 

“You didn’t cum at all. Did you?" Namjoon asks, eyes dark. Yoongi starts to lift the hem of the shirt you wear, showing. “No, I didn’t.” Yoongi can feel a bit of skin at the base of his cock, still loose, still half popped. If you weren’t more preoccupied with holding your mate and shaking through a bit of weepiness, you’d be more curious about the knot pressed between your legs.

Maybe this is just resource-guarding. Classic omega in heat, of course, the most valuable resource is your mate. 

“You know” Namjoon hesitates, looking from Yoongi to Jin. “Popping a knot without ejaculating sperm is kind of medically dangerous-”

“Namjoon-” Jin scolds.

“Sorry, without Cuming is actually kind of dangerous, especially because it’s like, not typical for you to have a knot.”

You don’t know if it’s hornyness or just Namjoon being concerned for Yoongi’s health (probably a little bit of both) but you perk up. Blinking at the pack alpha who looks a little strained. A little like he’s trying not to look too much.

Across the nest, Jungkook shuffles forward, blatantly eyeing Yoongi’s knot like he’s just found his new favorite toy. But no sooner is he putting his hand on the beta’s tight before Jin is pulling him back the collar. "no no no pup, that's not yours yet."

He lets out a little bereft whimper, but you hardly notice. Eyes bright, directed up at Namjoon. Like it honestly hadn’t occurred to you that now that your mate has a knot that means he can use it.

Yoongi can knot you now. Pack alpha is so smart! you don't know how it didn't occur to you yet but.

oh, you really want that. You really want Yoongi to knot you.

Coming saturday Jan 25th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below).

[littlefireball]

WY|Shower S*x (F/M)

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ|ɴᴏ ᴘʟᴏᴛ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴡᴀʟʟ ꜱᴇx|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴀᴅ|ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 770~

"Wooyoung?" You heard the toilet door creak open and turned to see Wooyoung removing his clothes, a frown etched on his face.

"What's wrong, Wooyoung?" you asked, concerned. Without a word, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around your naked waist, resting his head on your shoulder. "Everything sucks" he whispered softly.

You gently stroked his head in response, offering him the comfort of your touch in the midst of his silent distress. He tenderly kissed your nape, savoring the droplets and softly caressing your skin. His hand slid down to your clit, gently tapping, silently seeking permission. "Can you give me that, Y/N?" You turned to him, meeting his lips in a tender kiss, guiding his hand to pleasure you.

Your lips met like a gentle breeze through petals, conveying a deep sense of love and tenderness that touched your souls like the softest thread, soothing the wounds in Wooyoung's heart. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, his warm chest pressing against your back.

The noise of the shower faded, leaving only the sounds of kisses and soft moans. This kiss was different, not fueled by lust, but by a mutual need for comfort. His kiss held unspoken emotions of sadness and longing, but your tenderness and love enveloped him, providing warmth and solace.

He swiftly turned you around, pressing your back against the wall, the water from the shower cascading over both of you. A soft moan escaped your lips as his lips met yours, his arm encircling your waist as he buried his head in the curve of your neck. His hardened length nestled between your thighs, teasing your entrance and igniting a fiery desire within you.

With no hesitation, and without breaking the passionate kiss, he entered you, the water aiding in the slickness of the intimate connection. Your body reacted with a mixture of pleasure and surprise, a whimper escaping your lips as you arched against him. He withdrew slightly, only to plunge back in with a forceful thrust, sending waves of ecstasy through you.

The symphony of skin meeting skin, the rush of water, and the intoxicating sounds of your shared desire filled the air. His lips left a trail of kisses from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a trail of crimson marks on your damp skin.

"I need more," he declared as he flipped you over once again, his words punctuated by the force of his entry. Your screams of pleasure filled the room as he pinned your hands above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. There was no mercy in his thrusts, only raw passion and intensity.

Each thrust drove you to new heights of ecstasy, his every movement hitting that perfect spot deep within you. Your knees grew weak, your energy draining with each powerful motion.

Gone was the sadness and loss from before, replaced entirely by a primal desire. Your moans were like a symphony to his ears, stirring something deep within his soul. Your warmth enveloped him, bringing him a sense of peace and contentment. You were his everything, his perfect paradise.

"I'm cumming," he gasped, increasing his pace and gripping your waist tightly. His head fell back as he reached his peak, his loud moans filling the air. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach, your heart racing as you both reached the pinnacle of pleasure. As you climaxed together, his release mixed with your own, filling you completely and leaving a trail of ecstasy in its wake.

The sound of the shower ceased, leaving only the echo of your breathing in the bathroom. He moved forward twice before withdrawing. Leaning his head against the nape of your neck, he whispered, "Thank you, babe... I don't deserve you..." "Why do you say that?" You turned to face him, gently cupping his face, and met his red eyes that seemed to have shed tears for hours.

"You're amazing, you know? You did so well. I'm always proud of you." Those simple words touched him deeply. He embraced you tightly, resting his head on your chest like a child seeking comfort. "Let's clean up and cuddle, okay?" You said softly, and he nodded in agreement.

He slowly drifted off to sleep in your arms, feeling all his worries melt away in that moment. Having you by his side was his greatest joy.

[decaffeinatedwriter101]

Basement fun

(This isn't my usual content btw just a test)

“Quiet sweetheart, we don't want anyone to hear us now, do we?” Norton whispered in a cocky tone as he continued to pound himself into you, the sound of skin against skin and the desperate moaning and whimpering coming from the basement echoed against the walls.

“N-no, I don't!.” you say through moans, digging your nails into his shoulders as tears begin to form and blur your vision from the over-stimulation, you're trying your hardest to stay somewhat quiet so none of your teammates try to come and assist you in your ‘kite’, the thought of someone coming down to the basement and finding you getting fucked by the hunter sent shivers down your spine, the feeling of humiliation and anxiety sinking into your nerves even though you knew that wasn't going to happen.

“Or do you want your friends to find you down here? getting fucked stupid, all because you're desperate for a win?” Norton asks you with a shit-eating grin on his lips while his hands begin to move away from your hips and begin to grope and squeeze at your ass, the feeling of him hitting that sweet spot over and over again had you struggling to answer him with a coherent sentence without moaning.

“FUUuuucK, no, i- Ah don't want them to” you finally mustered out as you threw your head back from him rubbing that little bundle of nerves in a fast circle-like motion, the feeling of him thrusting himself in and out so rough and fast made it feel like your brain was going to melt your whole body felt like it was on fire, Norton moved both of his hands down to your thighs ultimately putting you into a mating press, he grabbed you by the cheeks and made you look him in the eye. 

“What the matter huh? Are you scared that someone will come here and see us like this?” He groaned out as he got closer to your face pressing his lips up against yours for a kiss, one of his hands moved up to the back of your head to gently tug at your hair, you were getting close, and the familiar feeling of that coil slowly getting ready to pop.

“Norton, please, do- on't stop” you beg through messy kisses as he pounds himself into you even rougher and harder than before, he pulls his face away from yours and cups your face, moving strands of hair out of your eyes a soft yet still somewhat cocky smile on his face.

“You gettin' close huh?” he huffs out as he keeps pounding into you, his thrusts beginning to falter as he is close to his peak, you two holding eye contact the whole time, the feeling of his tip vigorously pounding into your sweet spot got you seeing stars, tears streaming down your face as your legs begin to shake, nortons thrust stammer a bit as he feels you tightening around him his breath hitches in his throat as he quickens his pace tightening his grip on your hair,

  “Ooh god I'm close y/n, I know you are too I can feel you tightening around me,” he says through huffs and groans, his thrusting Increasing in speed.

“Norton I'm so close,” you say through moans, The coil in your stomach tightens with every thrust, getting closer to popping, As you struggle to keep your eyes open, your eyelids flutter, trying to maintain eye contact with the hunter on top of you rearranging your guts, When the coil snaps, it sends your head flying back, causing your eyes to flutter with surprise and intensity, the feeling of warmth envelops the insides of your thighs, Norton leaned back with a contented sigh, surveying the mess he had created with a sense of pride.

“Well look at that, such a mess y/n,” With a confident smirk, he helped you up as the final cipher unlocked. The blaring alarm echoed across the map. As you made your way towards the open exit gate, you glanced back and saw Notion standing there, looking as cocky as ever. At least in the end, you secured your four-man win, and he got his favor.

A/N: hey guys this is my first fanfic, as you can probably tell, also this is a really and I mean really old fools gold fanfic I wrote back when he was released but never finished it until now, I hope you enjoy, I will of course practice on my writing more in the meantime,

Decaff out!