#to full-on violent and cruel and fucked-up in the head

[cosmogyros]

.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[dmitriene]

based on the request from my inbox.

cw: size kink, reader mostly described as petite.

könig is so obsessed with the size difference between you both it's almost laughable, through you don't have time to tease him about it, not with the way he almost clings to you and uses every opportunity of your admiring words about his body to show how much bigger than you he really is, so you better hold back from talking about it at all, liebling, even if it doesn't really help.

he's acutely aware of how much bigger than any average men his body are, with his brawny chest and the pumped lines of his body filled with coiled, hard muscles, his meaty thighs, the height that helps him tower over the people easily, even through often his head knocks against the jamb of the doors, leaving occasionally growing bumps on his forehead.

but it's nothing, tiny nuances that cannot be compared with the all fulfilling excitement that courses through könig at the knowledge that he can so easily manhandle you, scoop your dainty body up and seat you on his forearm, it's not important at all what your height is, how much you weight, for him, you're small like a pretty bunny and light as a feather, made to sit in his arms with your legs swinging around, as you decorate his rugged, smug grinning face with light pecks from your pouty lips.

könig often does that silly thing of comparing, as if trying to brag, holding your palm against his, enormous, calloused and scarred, able to encompass the entirety of your diminutive, soft hands, carrying you all around like you're some kind of not independent, lap pet, sometimes cruel, too, slapping his engorged, fat cock over your sensitive, weepy pussy, cooing at the way your folds flutter beneath, making your whole body seize and shudder, twitching violently with a wet, needy whimper.

you kick your legs in his chest, whining at the boyish, bursting laughter könig let's out, nudging his leaking, bulbous tip against your clenching, gaping little hole, watching the way you tilt your hips, chasing the feel of his cockhead rubbing up and down, catching on your slick soaked, parting lips, breaching in inch by inch, leaving your throat seizing around a loud, crying keen as he plunges you full with throbbing heaviness of him, fingers fanned out along the curve of your pulling tummy, impaling you in rhythm of his rough, pummeling thrusts.

könig is absolutely impossible to endure, he can't behave, not with how absolutely struck he is by you, by how adorable you are, sweet like a hilfloses, kleines tier, and even through it's sounds not as attractive he hoped to, his words still make your chest tighten, all fluttering inside, so you forgive his sneaking, mapping hands all around your curves, digging in your hips, kneading at your perky ass, tucking you beneath his heavy, draping hand.

you're neither can expect him to act properly when your parents invite you for a dinner in their house, dying to meet your boyfriend, not knowing that this seemingly charming, polite man with brightest, innocent cerulean eyes would take you apart in your childhood bedroom, he's been utterly respectful during the dinner, until you decided to show him upstairs, which led to your cunt being split open by his pounding cock.

each strained, blabbering mewl and gasp silenced by the pillows you burrow in, könig's gravelly voice whispering salacious, cooing praises, he's just so smitten for you, and you can't complain, not when he fucks all your protests out of your mind, enough so you'll be just a pliant, petite thing in his arms.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

[abbotjack]

Godless Things

content/warnings: 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, rough sex with emotional intimacy, size kink, creampie, emotionally repressed male character, canon-typical violence references, possessiveness, praise kink. no one asked for this but yolo

summary : After a violent job leaves Pope simmering in guilt and emotional chaos, you show up uninvited—knowing full well what he is, and wanting him anyway.

word count : 1,429

You shouldn’t be in his house tonight.

Not after what went down.

But that’s the thing about Pope Cody—you never show up when things are good. You come when it’s bad. You come when he’s bleeding.

And tonight, he is.

Not in the literal sense—he’s showered, scrubbed the blood off his hands. But you can feel it radiating off him the moment he opens the door, tension coiled tight behind those tired eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says flatly.

You step inside anyway. Let the door fall shut behind you.

“I know,” you answer. “But I am.”

He stares at you for a long time, unmoving. Then exhales through his nose and walks back toward the kitchen without another word. That’s your invitation.

You follow.

The house is too quiet. The way all Cody houses get when something’s gone wrong and no one wants to talk about it. There’s a bottle on the table—something cheap, half-drunk, and untouched for at least an hour. He isn’t drinking anymore. Not really. He just keeps the bottle there. Like a warning to himself.

You watch him lean back against the counter. He crosses his arms. His eyes drop to your throat, then your hips, then back up. Calculated. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to react.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

His voice is low. Tired. Hoarse from shouting, maybe. You don’t ask what happened out there tonight. You don’t need to.

You walk to him slowly, unzipping your jacket.

“You.”

His breath stutters—barely. But you catch it.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

He laughs, dry and bitter. “You have no idea what kind of man I am.”

“I know exactly what kind of man you are.” You reach for him, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “And I want you anyway.”

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He grabs you.

Not gentle. Not cruel. Just urgent. Like he’s been starving for weeks and you’re the first real thing he’s touched in days.

He presses you back against the wall, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. His mouth doesn’t ask. It takes—a bruising kiss that tastes like guilt and need and everything he’ll never say out loud.

“You should be afraid of me,” he growls against your mouth.

“I’m not.”

“You should be,” he says again, and there’s something in his voice this time. Not anger. Not even warning. Begging. Like he wants you to run so he won’t have to do this.

But he’s already pulling your shirt over your head.

You tug his hoodie off, feel the heat of his body beneath it—lean, scarred, hard with muscle earned from years of running, fighting, lifting, breaking. This is a man who’s never known softness that didn’t turn on him. Who flinches when you’re gentle and falls apart when you’re not.

You strip for him. Slowly. Deliberately. His jaw tightens the more skin you reveal, like he can’t decide whether to fall to his knees or shove you against the wall and fuck you until the pain makes sense.

He steps closer.

And when he touches you—really touches you—it’s with both hands. One palm across your ribs, the other sliding down your spine, warm and firm and reverent in the most godless way.

“Go to the bedroom,” he murmurs. “Now.”

Your breath catches, but you obey. The bedroom is quiet. Sheets still rumpled from nights he pretended to sleep. He follows you in slowly, watching you with that sharp, analytical look he always wears before a job.

Because this is a job now.

Making you his. Marking you in a way that’ll outlast whatever sins he racks up next.

He strips in the doorway—shirt, jeans, boxers. You look at him and it hits you how ruined he is. Not just his body—though the scars there tell their own story—but the way he stands. Ready for violence. Ready for rejection.

But you don’t flinch. You open your legs.

And fuck, the noise he makes.

He’s on you in seconds. His cock is heavy and hot against your thigh as he shifts over you. You’ve never seen him like this—undone but still trying to hold it in. His whole body is tight with restraint, the kind that aches more than it satisfies.

He lines himself up and drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, slow, almost reverent—just once. Testing. Tasting. Marking you with it.

“Fucking soaked,” he mutters. “You want this?”

You nod, breath catching. “Yes.”

He doesn’t push in right away.

Not yet.

Instead, he leans in, voice low against your ear.

“You want me to fuck you, knowing what I did tonight? Knowing I’ll probably do worse tomorrow?”

You turn your face to his, eyes wide open. “I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s the edge.

He grabs the back of your thigh, shoves it up toward your chest, and thrusts in with a single, brutal motion.

You scream—half pleasure, half shock. The stretch is too much, nearly splitting, and you feel the air leave your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. Every inch of him fills you, thick and heavy and real in a way that drowns out everything else.

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t say that,” he growls, teeth gritted. “Say my name.”

You cling to him, barely able to breathe. “Andrew—fuck—Andrew—”

He groans like it hurts. Like hearing his real name in your mouth is worse than anything that happened out on the job. He starts to move—deep, punishing strokes, grinding down with each one like he wants to live in your body, like this is the only time he ever lets himself feel good.

You can’t even think. You’re gasping, grabbing at him, nails raking down his back, legs trembling with every thrust.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Taking me so fucking good—like you were made for it.”

“Harder,” you beg, eyes glazed, hips already chasing his. “Please—don’t hold back—”

He loses it.

He lifts your hips, changes the angle, and fucks into you with a brutal rhythm, hard enough that the headboard thuds the wall. Sweat drips from his temple onto your chest. His hands grip your thighs like he’s bracing himself from falling off the edge entirely.

“Fuck,” he pants, staring down at where he disappears into you. “Look at that. Look at you taking all of me.”

You’re shaking now. Drenched. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and frantic, but all you hear is him. His breathing. His grunts. His voice—low, unsteady, reverent like prayer.

He slides a hand between you, rubs slow circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb, and your back arches.

“Andrew—I’m gonna—fuck—I can’t—”

“Come on,” he growls, teeth at your neck. “Come for me. I want to feel it. I want you to fucking lose it around me.”

And you do.

It slams into you like fire. Your thighs clamp around him, your vision whites out, and you scream his name, loud and raw and real. Your pussy flutters around him, dragging a deep, guttural moan from his chest as he fucks you through it, not stopping, not slowing.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Just like that. That’s it.”

You’re still coming when he pulls out just far enough to slam back in again, harder, deeper, then stills. His whole body stiffens.

He groans into your neck—something primal, almost broken—and you feel him spill inside you, thick and hot, as his hips jerk with each wave. His hands are on either side of your face now, holding you like he might disappear if he lets go.

Neither of you move. Not for a long time.

He stays inside you. Head on your chest. Hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself to shore.

You run a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He whispers, barely audible:

“You make me feel clean.”

You press your lips to his temple. “You are.”

“You shouldn’t let me do this to you.”

You hold his face in both hands. “Then why do you treat me like I’m the only thing that’s real?”

He stares down at you like he’s trying to memorize your answer. Then, without a word, he lays back down—still inside you, still holding you—and closes his eyes.

Like this is the only time he ever sleeps.

[kiwriteswords]

She Gets the Job Done [Aaron Hotchner x Bratty!Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: IF YALL KNOW ME YOU KNOW I DONT LOVE WRITING SMUT. BUT I'M OVULATING AND BEEN THINKING A LITTLE TOO HARD ABOUT HOTCH. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, no talk about protecting (just assume they've got this established!), fingering, brat tamer!Hotch, possessive!hotch, brat!reader, like no "after" scene really because I did not feel like it--lol. office sex!!, seducing an unsub in an interrogation, reader has hair Summary: When you decide to use an Unsub's weakness of being seduced by women to your advantage, it really pisses your boyfriend off.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, muscles strained beneath clenched teeth as he stood rigidly behind the one-way glass. The low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed overly loud in the silent observation room, amplifying the palpable tension that had settled thickly in the air. 

Aaron Hotchner was rarely a man to lose his cool, but right now, he felt like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

Through the glass, he watched you closely, noticing the slight, intentional sway of your hips as you circled the interrogation table. 

The unsub's eyes were fixated on you, tracking your every movement hungrily, the intensity in his gaze revolting yet exactly what you intended. 

You had unbuttoned your blouse just enough to draw attention, something that had not gone unnoticed by anyone on the team. 

Certainly not by Hotch.

The way your skirt rose up just a little too high. Or how you pressed your arms closer together, so your breasts stood right in the line of sight for the unsub. Your hair touseled in a way that only Hotch had seen--

In a way where you looked fulled fucked. 

You leaned forward slowly, palms flat against the cool metal surface, eyes locked onto the unsubs with a sultry, playful challenge. 

"Come on," you murmured, voice dripping honey, the seductive undertone unmistakable. "Don't you want to impress me? It'd be our little secret."

Hotch felt his chest tighten, his knuckles white as he squeezed his hands into fists. Rossi glanced sideways, clearing his throat uncomfortably, sensing the impending eruption.

"Hotch," Rossi began cautiously, "maybe we should—"

"No," Hotch cut him off sharply, eyes never leaving your form. He felt a fierce surge of possessiveness clawing at his throat, anger burning hot in his veins. He had agreed reluctantly to your tactic, trusting you implicitly, but this—

This was beyond the pale.

You laughed softly, a delicate sound that danced dangerously around the unsub. The man visibly shivered, eyes wide with anticipation, lips parted in silent surrender. "I'll tell you," the unsub breathed shakily, eyes greedily drinking in your appearance. "But what do I get in return?"

You tilted your head, gaze smoldering beneath lowered lashes. "You tell me first," you purred, leaning closer, deliberately letting your hair brush across his trembling fingers. 

Hotch’s heart hammered violently in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as the unsub hungrily eyed you.

"He's going to break," Reid muttered quietly, visibly uneasy as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Hotch didn't respond. 

He couldn’t. 

His entire being was transfixed, paralyzed between the overwhelming urge to storm into the interrogation room and drag you away, and the knowledge that your tactics were working.

The unsub exhaled roughly, eyes glazed with desperation. "Fine," he gasped, chest heaving. "The body's behind the old warehouse on Elm—buried shallow."

A cruel smirk curled at the corners of your lips, eyes suddenly cold as you pulled away, straightening your posture and buttoning your blouse calmly as if nothing had transpired. 

"Thanks for the cooperation," you said coolly, every trace of seduction vanishing instantly.

Hotch felt a wave of relief, immediately drowned by a surge of anger-- 

Raw and primal. 

He turned sharply, stalking out of the observation room without a word. 

The sound of his shoes pounding harshly against the linoleum matched the racing of his heart.

Moments later, you stepped confidently from the interrogation room, smug satisfaction evident on your face until you caught sight of Hotch’s furious gaze pinned firmly upon you from down the hall. The arrogant smirk faltered briefly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as you squared your shoulders and approached him.

"My office. Now." His voice was dangerously soft, controlled with a rigid effort that barely concealed his simmering rage.

You lifted your chin defiantly, a hint of mischief playing in your eyes even now. "Is there a problem, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch moved closer, invading your space, his presence dominating and overwhelming. His voice dropped lower, vibrating with intensity. "You know exactly what the problem is."

He turned sharply, leaving you standing in the hall, the air between you charged and crackling dangerously as he stalked toward his office, knowing you’d follow, knowing the line had just been irrevocably crossed.

Hotch’s jaw remained tightly set, his anger simmering beneath a mask of forced calm as he stalked into his office, the door closing behind him with a sharp click. 

He turned, arms crossed rigidly over his chest, watching you enter a moment later, defiance radiating from your posture. You stood before him, eyes flashing with an audacious mix of arrogance and curiosity, clearly unfazed by his obvious displeasure.

He moved forward deliberately, narrowing the distance until you were forced to tilt your chin upward to maintain eye contact. 

The air around you both crackled with charged intensity, tension thick enough to choke on. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" His voice was low, edged with barely restrained fury.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes dancing mischievously as you shrugged casually, playing off his anger. "I got results, didn't I? Isn’t that what matters most?"

Hotch leaned closer, his eyes dark and stormy. "What matters most is that you stay safe and professional. You compromised yourself—and us."

"I handled it," you replied boldly, leaning into him ever so slightly, the provocative gleam in your eyes unmistakable. "Maybe you're just jealous."

Hotch inhaled sharply, the vein in his neck visibly pulsing as he fought for control. His voice dropped lower, becoming dangerously quiet. "Jealouus? You deliberately let that monster think he had a chance with you."

You laughed softly, a wicked, bratty sound that tugged at something primal deep within him. Your voice dripped honeyed sarcasm, pushing every button he had. "Maybe you're just upset because he liked what he saw. Jealous someone else enjoyed the show?"

Hotch snapped, his large hand darting out swiftly to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body with a force that drew a startled gasp from your lips. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered harshly, voice trembling with intensity, "Say that again. I dare you."

You smirked, eyes blazing defiantly as you pressed closer, your voice dropping into a taunting whisper that brushed his skin like a forbidden caress. "Why don't you bend me over your desk and show me who I belong to?

He felt something snap inside him at your words, a powerful surge of possessiveness and raw desire flooding through his veins. He spun you around abruptly, pinning you against the edge of his desk, chest pressing firmly against your back, one strong arm holding your hips firmly in place. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice ragged and rough. "You think you can provoke me without consequences?"

Your breath hitched audibly, the arrogance melting into something softer, breathless anticipation trembling in your voice. "Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you."

Hotch's grip tightened possessively, voice thick with barely contained passion. "Then prepare yourself," he growled lowly, his control unraveling as he gave in to the powerful tension that had ignited between you both, fully intent on reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

His hands quickly found the edge of your skirt, pulling it up roughly to your waist. He felt your body shiver beneath his touch, your breathing quickening as he leaned closer, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck. 

His voice was a husky murmur, every word laced with possessive intensity. "You're mine. Never forget that."

You whimpered softly, leaning back into his touch, all traces of defiance giving way to desperate need. His hand slipped down your hips, fingers teasingly brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You arched against him instinctively, desperate for more--

The tension between you reaching an explosive peak.

Hotch groaned lowly against your skin, guiding you firmly into position against his desk, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other reached to loosen his belt impatiently. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps--

Anticipation nearly unbearable as he pressed himself against you, his voice commanding and darkly seductive as he whispered roughly, "I'll make sure you never doubt again who you belong to."

Had he locked the door? He wasn’t sure. But one moment he was pulling you into his office--

Filled with rage. Anger. Honestly, jealousy--

And now, he was stroking himself, pulling your lace panties to the side, finding you wet and ready after this little episode. 

He knew you liked to poke his buttons--

He knew this. 

He knew being a brat--

Being his brat…turned you on.

But what turned you on more was his visual reaction. And your actions sure as hell lead to a reaction from him.

He never thought of himself as a reactive man. His proud ability to remain stoic within even some of the most trying situations was a strength of his. But you? You with your whits and your body and your pure…pure seduction without even so much trying--

It had him whipped. Whipped in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Whipped in a way that has him fisting his cock with one hand and parting your wet, ready folds with the other. He slid his index finger in you--

Stretching you for him. The tight, wet, warm heat closed around the length of his finger. Practically sucking him in. 

He felt your hips stutter against his wrist.

Needy, needy girl, he thought. 

You mumbled something--

He thought it might be his name, but his heartbeat thud so heavily within his ears, he’s not sure what you said, if anything at all. 

It could have just been a whimper--

A sound he’d come to love so much.

Sure, he’d love you not always having to be such a defiant brat to get here. Yet, here you were. And as he stroked himself. Once. Twice. Three times more, he wasn’t complaining.

Not really. 

Removing his finger from you, he reached around to where your face layed pressed against the cool wooden desk. Papers sprawled out. Case files and budget reports mixed around. 

A clerical mess.

A human resource disaster. 

But pure nirvana to him as you knew to open your lips and taste yourself off his finger. 

Watching that, he bit back a groan as he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock. Up and down, teasing you. He planned to tease and use you. 

Just in the way you did with him today.

He entered you with a deep, assertive thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Hotch’s movements were powerful and controlled, every stroke filled with possessive intent. 

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back gently to expose your neck fully to his hot, demanding mouth. 

Every touch, every thrust, reinforced the undeniable truth of his words—

You belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded roughly, breath warm against your skin, his pace relentless and passionate. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you breathed out shakily, your voice breaking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. "Only you, Aaron."

"Good girl," he growled approvingly, his grip tightening as his movements quickened, driving you both toward a powerful climax, sealing his claim unmistakably and completely.

As the intensity peaked, your body trembled against his, both of you gasping as waves of pleasure crashedover you. Hotch held you tightly as you both gradually came down from the euphoric high, pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder, murmuring soothing words against your skin.

Slowly, he withdrew, carefully adjusting, reaching for a tissue--

Cleaning you with reverence and respect, then fixing your clothes with unexpected tenderness. 

He turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands, eyes filled with warmth and a fierce protectiveness. "Never again," he whispered softly, a plea and promise intertwined. "You mean too much to me."

You met his gaze, your defiance fully melted into sincerity and affection, nodding softly as you leaned into his gentle kiss, knowing you'd finally found your boundaries—

And exactly where you belonged.

[madamechrissy]

♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Dirty talk, Satoru calls reader 'slut, whore' etc during sex, smacking (ass, titties, pussy and face lol) mentions of past cheating, lil bit of angst but mostly cute and fluffy (believe it or NOT) Oral (m and f recieving) teasing, mentions of jealousy- Gojo don't know shit abt asthma BUT HE TRIES lol

♔ Word count: this chap: 11k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N- I go into Gojo's pov but don't divide them! I hope the style if that is okay. <3 Comments and Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyyy

Part Twelve ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

♔ Part Thirteen ♔

“What is wrong?” King Sukuna asks you, holding you far too tightly, as your head starts to spin, Satoru breaks away his look to see you, terrified now.

“Her asthma, fuck… she…”

“Fetch the physician and tell him her condition.” The King picks you up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ll carry her to a room.”

“I can carry her-”

“No need.” Sukuna walks in quick long strides as you feel your breaths more and more shallow, as the castle spins right above you, you can’t even hear Satoru anymore, or see him, though he is frantic. Soon King Sukuna has you laid on a bed, sitting right on it with you, as the physician rushes through the halls.

Satoru’s pulling you against him, cupping your face gently. “Please, please be all right, Princess.” He whispers, and you feel your own tears, wanting to stroke his cheek, but your hands are numb, your arms are limp as you try to speak. “I’ll give you all of my oxygen, baby.”

Satoru blows into your mouth gently, clinging to your body so tight, when Sukuna pulls you off him. “The physician is here, he knows how to handle this, that won’t help her any.”

“Can you sit up, your grace?” The doctor comes in now, holding a blue and white little ceramic pot, you try to nod, you think you do? Sukuna helps you up, holding you by the waist as you put your lips to the tube now. Satoru’s rubbing your back, the two men on either side of you holding you, as you inhale.

You feel the vapors in your lungs, and begin coughing violently into your hand, leaning towards Satoru as you do. He begins to stroke your hair, your ears are ringing, so dizzy and weak, he’s cupping your face gently. “Inhale again, please Princess.”

You inhale once more, coughing again, finally starting to register the room full of various faces, blinking them into focus. “What is this?” You whisper weakly, to Satoru’s exhale of relief.

“A mudge inhaler, your Grace. You have asthma and don’t have one?” The doctor said, and you frown then, shaking your head.

“My parents never really did anything- ahem- for it.” Your voice is hoarse, Satoru’s hatred of your mother grows, but also of himself.

“Take another.” The King orders, and you do, coughing much less this time, as the vapors have started to clear your airways, you gulp air greedily. “And you, Duke Gojo, never thought to have it checked?”

“I… we…” He trails off then, the words shattering him, highlighting all the inadequacies he already feels as a husband towards you, seeing Sukuna’s hand brush up and down your back, seeing you all pale and weak like this.

Why didn’t he do it? Why didn’t he make sure a doctor looked into this? He knows he loves you, fuck he loves you more than anything, so why has he not made sure you’re taken care of? He feels like a fucking idiot, as Sukuna helps you, a whole King who barely knows you, doing more than your husband, and as his ex smirks over at you both, her presence making it worse.

Got he wants to smack the smile off her, if he could he would, he ignores her completely, she makes him so sick to his stomach, focusing on you as you take your shaky little breaths. You look up at him, lidded eyes emotional, then your gaze goes to Adelia, and he sees it, the worry there. Of course you’re worried, after what he has put you through.

Satoru doesn’t know how you deal with what he’s done and still trust him at all, he would never betray that trust, but he marvels at it. At your resolve to forgive him, to let your past go. You chose him, you chose Satoru Gojo, over a man he could so clearly see adored you, loved you with all his fucking heart. A good man, perhaps better than Satoru in many ways.

But you chose him.

Satoru can never make you regret giving him such a chance, a chance he doesn’t deserve but he wants to earn it, to make you see it was the right one. But he’s so entranced with you, with your body, your giggles, your fiery little attitude, kissing and hugging and making love to you. So entranced he hasn’t thought about other things, like your frail health at times.

“I did not know much about it, this is my fault for not researching.” Satoru says, you go to open your mouth, but he stops you. “It is.”

“Never fear, she can have this and take it home. I’ll have our physician let her lady’s maid know how to use it.”

“Please do, I’ve only known of coffee as a help.” Nan says now, you look to her, seeing her blinking tears and sniffling. “My King, you're a lifesaver.”

“Tch, it’s a trifle.” Sukuna says now, Satoru sees your Nan, who rightfully hates him, practically fawn over the arrogant fucking King, who still has a hand on his wife’s narrow back, hand taking it over entirely, a hand he wants to cut off.

He should be only focusing on your health, not the fact that he wants to commit regicide currently. He shuts his eyes now, pulling you against his chest, seeing your color come back. He feels so ignorant, blowing into your mouth, he needs to learn more, to do more. But you just lean up now and kiss him, lips barely able to make pressure, breaking him into pieces.

“It’s all right, Satoru. You didn’t know.” You whisper, trying to console him, you always do that, comfort him, help him, when you should be furious.

“I’ll learn more, I promise.” You nod and snuggle against him, so small in his embrace, as he brushes back your hair.

“You both should rest before dinner, you may stay the night so we can monitor the Duchess.” Sukuna says now, clearing his throat.

You look at Sukuna now, smiling and sitting up, putting a hand on his as the air starts filling your lungs more freely. “Thank you, your Majesty, you have truly been so kind to me. I cannot stay and impose.”

“Nonsense, have a room set.” His staff curtseys and steps out in formation, Sukuna goes to help you up but Satoru is on you in a flash, possessive arm wrapped around your waist, to Sukuna’s amused smirk.

“We do appreciate it, don’t we Satoru?” You look up at him, his sullen face, pouty lips and lidded blue eyes.

“Helping with your asthma? Yes we do.” He agrees, tersely, you gasp then as Sukuna pulls you by your hand, having you fall into step against him.

“Some fresh air will do you well Duchess.” Before you can think he’s taking you out of the room, you peer back at Satoru and Adelia, stomach flipping, feeling fucking sick as you do.

“Don’t say a fucking word.” Satoru says to her once he watches the King of England with his damn wife, left with this evil woman he’d love to forget.

Now that he looks at her, all he sees is her and not you. Despite the insane resemblance, her jaw is harder, her eyes narrowed and colder, her entire presence is completely different. And not just that, because of her, he chose to be so cruel to you, she is a walking, talking reminder of all he’s done.

“Oh, Satoru, it’s been so long.” She murmurs, brushing a hand on his chest, tilting her head back and batting her lashes at him.

He yanks her hand off, shivering with disgust. “Do not presume to call me by that ever again.” He glares down at her, at your copy, not understanding how he can be so in love with you but hate her so very much.

“Don’t miss me? You married my twin it seems.”

“She’s a better woman than you could ever be, in every way. How the fuck are you even here?”

“A king can outrank a Duke you know.” She smiles, nasty and mean, and even at your most cruel, your sweetness and kind nature shone through, and that is truly where you both were completely different.

“Having fun fucking the King? At least he’s not old like my dad.”

Adelia glares now. “Oh Jesus, you think I wanted to!?”

“You were moaning pretty loud.” Satoru shivers at the memory of the ‘love of his life’ riding his father’s dick, the traumatic memories make him want to vomit, in fact just any memory of her makes him want to. She pouts now, putting on those fake eyes, the ones that used to play him so well.

“He was a powerful man, and he resented you. It was his idea-”

“You were on top moaning and laughing.”

“Well, like father like-”

“I swear I’m itching to slap you across this fucking room. Cease speaking to me, I’m not above hitting you, do not mistake me for the boy you know. Though I would prefer my wife get a whack first.” Satoru says, smirking now and turning.

“Oh, and you think you’re good enough for her? When Sukuna has intentions to make her his royal mistress?”

“What now!?” Satoru turns back and scowls, Adelia is snickering, sauntering up to him, trying to touch his hip, but he shoves off her hands.

“You’re awfully faithful for someone with so many rumors. I heard you paraded women around your ball and everything, you think she’ll forget all that?”

“It’s none of your damned affair.” Satoru looks at the windows facing the gardens now, seeing you walking next to the King.

“And you think she’s loyal to someone like you?”

Satoru steps to her now, arms barring her on either side of the wall. “What game do you fucking play?”

“I could play lots of games.” She leans close, excitement in her eyes, the eyes the color of yours but just nothing like you, how could he not have seen you all this time before?

Her hands trailing up his chest make his skin crawl, how did he ever want other women, was it because he didn’t have you yet? Was it because he was a fucking idiot, a horrible person, who you’ve somehow found yourself in love with? How could you love someone like him?

“I’ll find whatever it is you’re playing at, and ruin it for you. Go sleep with the King all you want, leave my Duchess the fuck alone.”

She blinks as he steps back. “You’re all pathetic in love again, aren’t you? Gonna let her walk all over you?”

“Difference is, she won’t.”

You wonder at what they’re thinking, what they are speaking of, as the King is showing you around the gardens. You catch a glimpse of Satoru furiously stomping through one of the beveled windows, as Sukuna’s hand rests on your waist still, making you heat up at the contact.

“I am stable now, your Majesty.” You murmur, his full lips turn up, he lets his hand drift down precariously before letting it fall.

“Perhaps I enjoyed holding you.”

You sigh, looking away. “You are too bold.”

“Am I?” He puts his hands in his pockets, leaning low. “I can have whatever I want, you know.”

“I am sure you can, my King. Shall we… head back inside? I do feel much, much better now.

“Let us.” With the tension in the air, you’re just dying to be back in Satoru’s arms, to make sure he is all right.

That knot of worry in your stomach is there, what if he still has feelings for her, what if it makes him hate you again? It’s eating at you, until you see him in the bedroom that a servant leads you to, your heart falters at the pain on his face, at the sadness in his pretty blue gaze, he whispers your name, shutting the door behind you both, cupping your face.

“I hate this, I hate her, I hate him already. I hate that you had to go through this and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Shh, you did nothing wrong.” You try to soothe him, but he shakes his head.

“I did everything wrong, these are just reminders.”

“Satoru, stop it. Now.” You hate the swirling storm in his beautiful eyes, he clings to your wrists, wrapping them with his long fingers, breaths coming faster and faster.

“She is right about me.”

“What!? What did she say!”

“That I’m not enough.”

“Coming from her? She is not right. She is nothing. You have… you have me.” You whisper, stepping even closer towards him, feeling him tremble slightly, tears just sitting on those long white lashes, shattering your heart.

“Look at what I did to you. What if you… I couldn’t blame you if you go for a damn King of all people.” You shake your head, Satoru takes his hands off your wrists, they find your waist, pressing you against his hard body. “What if I lose you now? I could not go on.”

“I’m not going anywhere. She’s filling your head with lies.” Satoru Gojo leans down, breath sweet and hot against your lips, you feel it, the beat of his heart steady against your breasts.

“Are they lies? I see him, he wants you. Do you think a baker makes up for all the whores I slept with!?” His voice breaks, as it breaks you apart, you feel your own emotions swirling in your soul.

“It’s not a game of getting even, my heart can’t take that again. I only want you, can you understand!? If I did not I would not have chosen you, to stay with you, it does not come with your past.”

“You so easily forgive me.” He scoffs then, stepping closer and closer towards the burgundy wall, barring you with one arm, while the other wraps your waist, fingers stroking your back up and down.

“I will not continue to seek some revenge upon you. As… I know you will not be with her, yes?” He glares, leaning even closer, you ache for his lips upon yours, needing that reassurance.

“Of course I will not. Despite being nearly your copy, you are nothing like her, your heart, your soul. Your…” He drifts a hand down, cupping you then over your muslin gown, you moan softly, having been in this palace and now staying here tonight, knowing the woman that destroyed Satoru is here, you two have been on edge. “Your perfect little cunt.”

“Mmm, is it so much better?” You tease, voice breathy when he presses his palm up, you feel your pussy throb around nothing, your tummy clenching with the desire pooling for him.

“God yes, everything about you is better, your mouth, your cunt, your moans, you are so much better than she could be.” He continues applying pressure, lips just a breath away. “I hate how he looks at you, I want to kill him.”

“I only see you, broody man that you are.” He moans now, slamming his lips on yours, drinking in your every cry.

“Next time he sees you, my cum will be dripping down between your thighs.” You gasp as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, lips devouring yours, hot, messy, tongues dancing and fighting while teeth click. His kiss bruises your lips when you cling to him, legs wrapped around slender hips, feeling his length press on you.

“Then guess what I want?” You breathe out between kisses, when Satoru carries you to the bed, turning you to your stomach to unlace your bodice, nipping and biting your skin as he does, leaving bruises from his mouth.

“My cock in you, hmm? To be all mine?” You gasp in pleasure, head falling back for his dominant bites, he rips apart your bodice now, dragging the gown off you with frantic movements.

“I am yours, but no, I want to make you mine.” You turn, cupping his face, looking right at his hungry eyes and parted lips.

“I am yours, pretty Princess. All yours.”

“If I’m dripping your cum, you’ll have mine all over your lips.” You earn his groan, he’s got you completely stripped, hands gripping your ass, smacking it so hard it makes you soaking wet, you’re shaking with need.

“Need to coat my face with your slutty little cunt?” You gasp out as he runs his fingers on your slick folds, you arch your ass up for more.

“Please.” His breath is hot on your lips, he pulls them apart to reveal your little hole, drooling arousal out of it.

“Mine.” Satoru speaks against you, already soaked, when the tip of his tongue laps you up, making your hips twitch, his big hands keep your thighs apart as your body tries to close them. “Open.”

“Fuck…” He’s fucking your velvety walls with his tongue, over and over, drinking all your juices that pour into his mouth, dripping down his face. Your eyes roll back into your skull, jerking when his tongue slips up, licking you from your clit to your ass, fingering you now, biting your ass cheek. “Satoru!”

“All mine. Say it, Princess.” His voice just makes you ache even more, fingers curling in your velvety slick walls, you hear the sound of it, echoing in the elegant room, finding yourself falling apart all over them now. “Ah- ah. No cumming if you don’t.”

“Yours, Satoru, yours.” You manage to whine out the words, Satoru presses up on that spot, you’re blinded now, cumming so hard you would collapse if he wasn’t holding you around your hips. He has you flipped so fast you’re dizzy, you hastily unbutton his dress shirt with the shakiest hands, heaving breaths as you reveal his perfect body.

You’re slipping down his trousers as he reveals his chiseled body, every inch sculpted like the finest statue, you lean up on your elbows, hungrily pecking kisses on his pale skin, gripping his cock when it’s springing out. Precum dots along the slit of his pink tip, you swirl your thumb along it, pressing in, finding him so sensitive he cries out for you.

“Yours, all yours.” You say again, watching his eyes get darker, his movements rough when he grips your thigh, sinking deep, stuffing you so full so fast.

“I am, all yours. Slutty fucking Princess of mine, my slutty girl. No one- ah- else! No one, f-fuck…” He’s pumping you so full, pressing you down, a hand on your throat as the other braces himself over you, you cling to his back, nails pressing in, so full you feel him all over.

“Y-yes, s’all yours- ah!” Satoru’s fucking you so hard you feel him slamming against your cervix, hand on your throat pressing into delicate flesh, thumb brushing your pulse point, pressing, taking your oxygen.

You don’t need oxygen with him, you’ll gladly give him your every breath, when he leans over you, slamming his lips back upon yours, squeezing harder while he sinks his cock in long, slow strokes. You’re cumming before you can think to give any signal, gasping out pathetically under him.

“That’s it, fuckin feel her. Making a mess, huh Duchess?” He’s fucking your squishing cunt, the wetness pouring as you’re cumming, orgasm washing over you while you try to catch a breath, heightening it. You pant when he releases your throat, thighs squeezing around him, walls pulsating.

Satoru’s rolling his hips, eliciting a soft whimper, breath ragged now, feeling the grip that’s pressed so deep bruising and sore. You yank him by his soft white hair, dragging his mouth back on yours, he bites your lower lip, teeth sinking in, cock soaked in you as it works you, as he fucks every thought and worry out of your head, you’re only aware of him.

“L-love you.” You mewl weakly, Satoru leans back, placing your leg over his shoulder, slowly stroking inside your walls, watching you intently, biting at the thin skin of your ankle. “Ngh!”

“Want you to have all of me.” You blink back tears at that, sniffling, nodding now, when he slows and lets out a groan.

“W-want it, all of you, Toru.” The use of that name drives him crazy, he pulls open your mouth with two fingers, you open eagerly, while his saliva spits down into your eager mouth, hot and sticky.

“Perfect, pretty whore f’me, hmm?” His words along with his throbbing cock inside you are your downfall.

“Your pretty whore, Duke.” Your strangled whisper after you swallow his spit ends him, he gets frantic, his eyes so bright they’re insane, shoving your thighs up and bending you in half now.

“Gonna fill you s’good, everyone will fucking know you’re mine.” He huffs, pounding your cunt, making the most lewd noises as he does, over and over, his eyes never leaving yours. You drown in them, in him, nodding as he keeps mumbling, as he whimpers damn near, feeling your cunt constricting him while he pushes you both over the edge.

You can feel your orgasm rising again, and then he’s slamming in, harder than you’re used to, so hard and deep you feel like he’s splitting you in half, but you’re desperate for it, for all of his madness. You scream out, eyes rolling back in your head, then he follows, groaning and gasping, filling you up with hot sticky cum, making your walls flutter as your dripping wetness gushes.

When he’s done he keeps pumping, leaning low and cupping your face, big hands taking you over, you taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you, still pumping, making both of you oversensitive. “F-fuck… S-satoru…”

“I know, Princess, I know. Fuck.” He exhales now, finally pulling out, letting your legs fall to the side, your body is completely limp, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, erratic as you try to gain any of your senses.

Satoru pulls away, looking at you with a soft smile and lazy eyes, the rare smile that always breaks your fucking heart. His hand is stroking your cheek as you blink up at him, and for these blissful moments, you have forgotten the world outside of this room, this bed, his touch.

There is no Adelia.

There are no issues.

There is no troubled past.

It’s just you and Satoru.

“You’re crying?” He murmurs, dilated eyes looking your face over, thumbs stroking your cheeks gently.

“For a moment it’s just us.” You whisper, he gulps then, resting his forehead on yours, lashes so long they tickle your face, heart beating so fast you feel it against overheated skin.

“I know, it is just us, just you. Everything…”

“Faded away.”

“Yes.” He exhales now, kissing your forehead, a gesture so rare and sweet you find your emotions even more heightened, hands clinging to his shoulders.

“If the world would fade away, we could be happy, you think?”

“I am happier with you than I have ever been.” He kisses you so deeply, his seed is trickling out of your abused hole now, you feel it aching and throbbing, wincing a bit and shifting. He snorts. “Too rough, brat?”

“Oh fuck you, moment over.” He laughs then, making you melt, as you giggle through your tears. “We can get through this.”

“Of course-”

There is a resounding knock on the door, he glares as he looks back, the voice breaking through the barriers. “King Sukuna has asked you both to prepare for dinner, he has a gift for the Duchess.”

“I’ll fucking kill-”

“Satoru.” You both get dressed quickly, Satoru is fuming, his cheeks are bright red and his eyes are deadly, you finally go to open the door to see the servant holding an elegant box. “Oh, tell his Majesty thank you.”

The servant bows their head. “Of course, your Grace. Dinner will be promptly at seven.”

You shut the door, taking the box and setting it on the side table, opening it and gasping as you see a brilliant amethyst tiara nestled on top of tissue wrapped clothing. Satoru is visibly shaking behind you, while you take the tiara carefully with both of your hands, admiring the delicate gold wiring. It's not huge or pretentious, but it is clearly expensive and fine work.

“Is he serious? You are married.” Satoru scoffs now, you set the tiara aside, opening the tissue paper to reveal the gown, it’s all white and purple gossamer, beautiful lacy decolletage, far lower than usual for you. “I’ll kill him.”

“Satoru it’s just one more day that we are here, surely he is being kind?”

“Kind!? No. He plays a game, perhaps with her, I do not trust him despite him being our king. If he wants you, he can have you, even married to me.” Satoru’s voice sounds strangled, you hear his panic set in. “I cannot lose you.”

“You will not!” You turn then, taking his hand now. “You’re letting the fear eat at you, like me earlier.”

“How he held you… I…”

“Shh.” You kiss his plump lips, over and over.

“Do not wear it.”

“Satoru, how rude would it be to refuse this?” He sighs, rolling his eyes, before pulling out the dress, raising a brow as he holds it against you.

“God if you won’t have your tits out in this. I’ll-”

“Satoru!” You’re giggling now, earning his further glare. “Who knew you would be so jealous, hmm?”

Satoru sets the dress back down, pulling you against him by your waist. “You are everything to me, I will not let anything else happen to us. I have so much to make up for you know.”

You nod, letting him hold you, resting your head upon his chest, eye catching a note then. “Hmm.” You unfold it, and it’s the King’s writing.

Meet me before dinner, so I may give you a proper tour of the throne room.

“I swear to god, the audacity of this man.”

You peer at your husband curiously, tilting your head just a bit. “He reminds me of you just a bit-”

“Excuse me!?” Your giggle is gone when Satoru has you bent over the dresser now, lifting your skirts, smacking your ass so hard you yelp. “Bratty mouth, should occupy it.”

“Mmm, you should.” He’s shoving two fingers in your cunt now, making you cry out at how much it burns.

“You’re wasting all my cum, that won’t do.” He leans over you, breathing against your ear. “Should I teach you a lesson in wasting it?”

“=sSensitive.” You whine now, head falling back for his kisses across your neck, until his teeth sink in, biting the fuck out of you, the pain and pleasure pricing your skin, you scream out at it weakly, while you hear the sounds of his cum and your fresh arousal drooling down his long fingers.

“You’re mine.” His words, his hands, his lips, they’re too much with how sensitive you are, you feel dizzy. “Think about that when you’re with him.”

Satoru pulls away, leaving you breathless, you scowl back at him now. “You are extremely jealous, dear god Satoru.”

“Not jealous, just I know what is mine.” He kisses you again, hands tight in your hair, you exhale into his lips.

“Shh, insane man.” Another knock on the door, Satoru grabs it in long strides, letting a maid in.

“I’m here to help you dress, your Grace.”

“I certainly can do it for her-”

“It’s his Majesty’s orders.” Satoru’s blue eyes narrow, you both share a look before he stomps out angrily.

What was tonight going to be like?

You walk out now, donned in the gown that King Sukuna has sent you, it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve worn, rivaling your wedding gown. It fits you so well it’s rather concerning, how could he know such a thing, you consider perhaps Adelia, but she’s taller than you and built a bit different, also how would he know you look the same as her?

Why he isn’t trying to get with her, presumably single, concerns you to no end, but you try to brush it off as you approach the handsome King, who smirks at you, cocky and condescending to no end. There were the tiny similarities with Satoru, you think to yourself, how he has absolutely no issue devouring so shamelessly the lines and curves of your body with his eyes.

They glint ruby as the pupils shrink slightly, the light streaming in the elegant room now, he sits there on his throne as if he owns it, and you suppose he does. He rests a chin on his hand, leaning forward, long legs spread wide, you step closer now, satin swishing against the floor, your heels gently clicking on the marble beneath you, echoing in the chamber.

“I knew it would look good on you, but this good. Fuck.” He sounds nothing like a king, you think, as you step before him, and he stands, looming so tall over you. King Sukuna makes everything seem small in his presence.

“It is a beautiful dress and tiara, I thank you kindly, your Majesty.” You do a little curtsy, but Sukuna stops you, hands on yours now, swallowing them, his hands are rough and brutal, you’ve heard of his military exploits, but feeling them is an entirely different thing.

“No need to be so formal now. Let me look at you.” He tilts your chin up, exhaling, grinning with sharp white teeth. “I thought Adelia was beautiful, but you’re something else entirely.”

“We do look very much alike.” You murmur. “But I do not think she or I are more beautiful than-”

“No, she’s a bitch.” You giggle out of nowhere.

“Sorry!”

“No, she is though. God she’s annoying, I only put up with her because she’s superb in bed. But you. Delicate, elegant, perfect… yet there’s something fiery in your eyes.”

“Your Majesty-”

“Sukuna.”

You feel your cheeks heat as he steps around you, chuckling and then whistling a bit. “You have no shame?”

“I’m a fucking King, who needs that. Boring.” He’s running his fingertips across your back, just barely, eyeing you from all angles. “I must have you.”

“What now!?” You turn angrily, crossing your arms, drawing his lewd gaze to your breasts.

“Royal mistress. I could give you things your Duke never could, fuck I’d give you  whole country if you wished it.” He brushes his fingertips across your cheek, you smack his hand away, only enhancing his grin.

“I am married, there are many women who would die for such an honor I’m sure, but I would never.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, dark with three odd slits in it, only making him more intimidating. Your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths, your indignation. “And your Duke, so loyal hmm?”

“He is.” You say firmly, King Sukuna snickers again.

“Even with his old lover, you think?”

“How do you-”

He leans close, lips a breath from yours. “Sweetheart, I know fucking everything, I’m a King, did you forget?”

“N-no. Why not do kingly duties and leave idle gossip alone?” You demand, hissing the words out through your teeth.

He runs a rough thumb over your lower lip. “Is it idle gossip? Many know in every circle that your husband paraded mistresses around, it was said you two did not even share a bed.”

“Well couldn’t be more wrong, because we just shared a bed.” You smirk at him, now, he glares at you for just a moment, before going back to his laughter, hand falling but brushing down a bare shoulder.

“Ah, to show you a real man, Duchess.”

“I know a real man, thank you.” You step back, his eyes devour you entirely, to where it’s like a physical touch.

“He does all that, and you’re so loyal?”

“Is it time for dinner, your Majesty?” He tilts his head, running a hand through the pastel locks of his, inclining it then and holding out an arm.

“Let us go take a turn about, Duchess, it is time soon.” He says teasingly, you try not to roll your eyes at the audacity of him, nestling your hand in the crook of his elbow, you both walk through the throne room now, it’s certainly brilliant, silvers and golds, myriads of prisms reflecting from the chandeliers above.

“It is beautiful, surely.” You murmur, walking alongside him, his long strides agonizingly slow.

“So, tell me, Duchess, how is your marriage?” Sukuna’s question is so casual, so off-handed, you want to laugh, but instead, you keep a straight face, looking up at him and blinking at his audacity.

“It’s wonderful, thank you for asking, your majesty.” You say with a bright smile, Sukuna chuckles then.

“Wonderful?” His voice draws those words out.

“Yes, it has been wonderful. Though arranged as most marriages are, we are very much in love.”

You speak the very truth, you are madly in love with your husband, despite the past consistently trying to tear at you both. There are so many moments of peace snuggled next to him in the morning, giggling as he teases you during breakfast, then of course the passion at night. Until today, things had been going perfect for just a bit.

“Ah, but what of your needs? Do you not feel neglected?” His voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I assure you, my needs are exceeded.” The memories of Satoru just a half hour ago fill your head, making it swirl.

“But what of your desires?”

You feel your cheeks heat, glaring at him as you all finally arrive at the doors to the hall. “I dare say, my desires are more than met, my husband and I are very similar.” Freaky, in fact you think back on his hand around your throat, him shoving cum back in your cunt, overheating.

“Do the thoughts make you blush?” He teases.

“It is not your place to question that.”

Sukuna laughs, the sound echoing. “Fiery, I like that.”

“Fiery?” You roll your eyes, walking and hearing her voice then, Adelia, she’s tugging on Satoru’s tie, he scowls and smacks her hand, to her anger and your little smile as you peer at them.

“The fuck off me, walking plague.” He brightens when he sees you, but then his glare is back and darker, when Sukuna’s hand comes over yours, his blue eyes glittering angrily across the expanse of hall.

Adelia is scowling at him, then at you, before she steps even closer, leaning up and whispering something in Satoru’s ear, you watch his face fall and pause now. “Something wrong, Duchess?” Sukuna asks.

“Excuse me, my King.” You step away from him, walking right up to Satoru and Adelia, Satoru quickly snatches you by the waist, much to Adelia’s irritation. “Keep your grimy little hands off my husband.”

She eyes you up and down. “As if you’ll keep your hands off the King? I doubt that.”

You smile, cold and nasty at her. “I only want Satoru. I’ll leave all the sleeping around to you, I hear you’re quite good at it.” Satoru snorts next to you, as does Sukuna, who has just walked up.

Adelia scowls, mouth wide open. “Excuse me? As if Satoru hasn’t-”

“Do not call him by his first name. He is your grace to you, considering you have no title I’m aware of?”

“Snobby little thing aren’t you Duchess? Well, do not worry, I can call him whatever I want to. After all, it was I who took his virginity, taught him all he knows.” You blink then, Sukuna snorts once more, Satoru is flushed bright pink on his cheeks, at such an intimate detail.

“So? What do I care if you did, I did not know him. You have no claim over him because of it, dear god. You’re like a dog.” She gasps, Sukuna seems to be cracking the fuck up. Satoru even joins in the laughter for a moment.

“A dog!?”

“Let’s have dinner?” Sukuna snatches your arm back up, leaving Satoru to stomp after you all, and Adelia to rush and follow.

What a fucking mess this is.

And of course King Sukuna has requested you sit next to him, his big hand brushing your thigh under the table, you feel the urge to smack it but you try to remember the consequences to such a thing. Satoru’s on the other side of him, Adelia is not fit to have dinner at your table so thank god you both didn’t have to sit with her, and Princess Urame is seated next to Satoru.

She is very quiet and only speaks here and there, a complete opposite to her highly annoying brother. You cannot stand the pretentious man truly, of course, Satoru is fuming, and Sukuna’s hand is slipping under your skirts. You snatch his hand up in a grip, batting your lashes and smiling pretty, leaning close.

“Just because you are a king does not mean I may not accidentally break your fingers.” You whisper, he snorts then, eyeing you even more hungrily, especially your decolletage, which reveals far too much of your breasts for his view.

“You break my fingers? You’re a delicate little thing, I doubt you could even leave a scratch on my back.” He teases, hot sultry breath against your ear.

“You will not find out about any scratches on your back unless you ask my husband. He has a few.” Sukuna raises a brow at you, as Adelia comes to serve Satoru a drink, ‘accidentally’ spilling it.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” Her voice grates on your last nerve, you watch your husband completely snap, like a bow strung too tightly.

“You little-”

“Satoru.” You murmur, he stands then, laughing madly, hand raking through his snow white hair, you can tell he has absolutely lost it, when he laughs he is truly done for.

“I’ll help you clean it-”

“The fuck you will, Adelia. I’ve had quite enough of whatever this is. Oh, your Majesty, care to take your hand off my wife’s leg?” Sukuna leans back in his seat, like he owns the damn room, but again, he does.

He is now gazing at Satoru amusedly. “You should let her help you, catch up, you know.” Sukuna’s infuriating both of you, amusing Adelia.

Just what is it with them!?

“Fuck that, fuck you. Excuse me Princess, for my shitty language.” Urame just nods a bit. “I think we are fine to leave tonight, no need to stay.”

“But after your wife passed out? You must let her rest, would you be such a selfish husband?”

“Oh I’m selfish.”

“Have a seat, Duke.” Satoru slumps back down, you ache to hold him, to caress his cheek, to let him know it will be alright, feeling the lump in your throat. “Now, we have a ball here this week. I would love it if you would be my guests, if you must go home tonight.”

“We will be delighted.” You say, putting on a fake smile now, and later that evening Satoru and you are finally headed back, it’s dark and late at night, it’s quiet for a time, you’re still in this ridiculous dress, the tiara on your head. Satoru is sullen and clearly affected, making you ache for him.

“I hated that I couldn’t do anything.” He says finally, you put your hand on his, shaking your head.

“What could you do in that situation, Satoru? Let’s just be glad we can go home tonight. I could not stand another moment there.” He exhales, nodding, dragging you onto his lap now.

“I just want us to be able to be happy.” Your heart breaks at his vulnerable words now, words you feel in your very soul. “I don’t want to see her again, I don’t want to go to some stupid ball, it makes me sick to think of it at all.”

“I feel the same, but we will make it through, yes? We have each other.” He nods quietly, clinging to you tightly, the more time you both spend, the more open and vulnerable he becomes.

What once was a very harsh, brooding and serious man, is a light hearted, sweet, caring man. He is thoughtful and funny, he is also very emotional, so different from the cold, calculated man on your wedding night. You wish so badly you could have known him like this from the beginning.

And fear so badly what more damage Adelia can do to his progress.

“Talk to me about something, anything, I must get my mind off his fucking hands on your perfect body.” You shift now, brushing back his hair softly.

“The only hands I desire are already here.”

“Are they rough enough?” He teases, and you glare. “I’m kidding!”

“I like them soft and elegant.” You hold out his long fingers now, swamping your little hand. “I love these piano fingers of yours.”

“Piano fingers, hmm? And I love your stubby little-”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts in laughter, and you break into a giggle yourself, letting him hold you against his chest as the carriage gently rocks you, lulling you along with his steady heartbeat. “Sleepy, brat?”

“Mmm, I am.” You yawn again, eyes fluttering shut, you cling to his jacket, as he brushes his hands up and down your arms.

“I can’t lose you.” His soft words make you look at him in the dark, he cups your face, bringing his lips to yours.

“You will not lose me. I can’t lose you, either.”

“Would you be better off-”

“I’ll smack you.” He sighs. “I hate what she’s already fucking doing to you, where’s my cocky ass of a husband?”

“Somewhere.” He grumbles. “Just rest.”

“Satoru…”

“Rest, I’ll wake you when we are there. You went through a lot today.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” You kiss him again, hating Adelia with every bit of your fucking body and soul for what she can do to the love of your life in moments. “I can stay up.”

“I like to hold you while you sleep.” You kiss him slowly, drinking in his soft moan, before burying your face against the warm crook of his neck again, wrapping your arms under his coat around his waist.

“Just for a minute.” You blink then when Satoru is carrying you in his arms, into the dark halls of your home, you yawn and snuggle against him more. “Satoru, you could have woken me up.”

“I really need you in my arms right now. Yes, it’s fucking-”

“Sweet.”

“Ugh.” You giggle at him, he helps undress you, until you’re slipping on your nightgown, letting out another yawn as he helps you up into his bed, pulling you against his bare chest now. “I could get used to this treatment.”

“Princess treatment, hmm.” You nod, kissing his lips, brushing snowy hair back, feeling such bliss you cannot quite describe it, can’t put it into words, mixed with the pit in your stomach.

“Am I really related to that bitch?” You whisper, Satoru snorts.

“Your mouth, so dirty.”

“Oh whatever term should I use!?

“It fits well, you must be related, if not, what the hell is this resemblance? But she’s not from nobility as far as I ever knew.”

“Hmm, perhaps my father… no, she looks like my mother. Dear God should we do some investigating into this?”

“Only if you want to, matters naught to me. Do you think your mother would even allow such questions?”

“Not her, but the staff loves me, and they know everything. Perhaps I’ll get a little information, since she and the King seem so interested in our lives.”

“I love you, sneaky little brat.”

“I love you, broody man.” You lean up, kissing him gently. “I will make some inquiries, you know Shoko and Suguru are coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, now I have to watch my best friends together, it's disgusting.” You roll your eyes at him, soon you’re laying back against him in the quiet night, safe in his arms.

“I do not want this happiness to end either, I’m so terrified, Satoru.”

“Even a King and a royal bitch will not fuck this up for me.”

“The King!? Holy shit I need a drink.” Shoko holds out her wine glass for more, Suguru whistles and leans back, holding his glass out for a whiskey pour, little Satoru the puppy is happily in Satoru- the husband’s- lap, panting happily much to Satoru’s dismay. You scratch him behind the ears as you sip your own wine.

“Yes the King wants her as his ‘royal mistress’.” Satoru tosses back his glass, now holding his up for a pour, the puppy hops down and starts running around you all, as he wipes off his lap. “Damned deformed bunny sheds so bad.”

“You love him.” Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes, dragging your chair closer, an arm wrapped around you, much to the pleasure of Suguru and Shoko.

“If the King wants her…” Suguru trails off with a sigh.

“Fuck do I know.”

“It will not happen. Now, how are you two?”

“Much better now that my friend isn’t being a piece of shit.” Suguru says, an arm around Shoko’s waist, she snickers.

“Same, actually, took the thoughts from my mouth.” They both stick their tongues out at Satoru.

“Yes well, I’m sure the person most happy is her.” He pecks a kiss on your cheek, making them heat up.

“So you all were to explain things somewhat? She was absolutely going to leave you, and I was honestly happy.” Shoko says, lighting a cigarette on her gold cigarette holder, Satoru glares. “What?”

“I was for it as well. Why the change?”

“Well…” You look at him now, he nods. “I was going to leave him, I had a man who… wanted to marry me.”

“Who wouldn’t.” Shoko winks at you.

“I love your friends.”

“Fuck you all.”

You all snort in laughter, and you take a breath now, leaning your head against Satoru’s shoulder. “He brought up me helping with the villages and the towns, his… father seemed to raise everything to an insane rate.”

“Your father was shit for finances. And in general.” Suguru swipes back some of his dark hair now.

“Understatement of the century.” Satoru says.

“Needless to say, I agreed, and the feelings I’d been shoving down due to how awful he was being came full force. I could not stop everything I felt, despite my efforts to hold back.”

“My tongue is that good.”

You smack his shoulder, Suguru and Shoko roll their eyes. “That is not the reason, insolent man.”

He leans close with a bright white grin. “Didn’t hurt though, did it?”

“The whoring was good for something.” You retort, his eyes narrow.

“You little bratty-”

“No foreplay at the dinner table.” Shoko says.

“As if Suguru’s not slipping his hand up your thigh under that tablecloth, yes I know the look.” Suguru clears his throat, blushing, Shoko just grins.

“You’re an ass Satoru.”

“You can be with us if you want to leave him again, Duchess.” Shoko says with a wink, Satoru scowls, crumbling a napkin and throwing it at her.

“You’re such a-”

“It’s a good offer.”

“I’ll beat your ass tonight.” Satoru whispers in your ear, but if you’re being honest it thrills you, as does him pressed against you, hard body, heat emitting and enticing you further.

It’s lovely to relax, just enjoy a dinner with friends, with no insane tactics, back and forths or dramatic surprises. You know the ball will have plenty of that, but to relax and laugh and enjoy yourselves? It feels like everything you were always supposed to have, supposed to feel.

Shoko and Satoru are the last two in a wicked card game, you and Suguru watch them amusedly, when Suguru leans close. “Walk in the gardens?”

“Not a scandalous one again!” He grins, and you both step out into the cool night air, you shiver just a bit despite the alcohol in your blood, Suguru slips his coat over your shoulders. “Ever the gentleman.”

“I try, Duchess. I am so very happy to see him like this.” He looks back, Satoru slams his cards down, waving his arms around wildly.

“I didn't even know he could be this way.” You muse softly, continuing to walk now, until you both sit by the fountain.

“Can I ask you something?” Suguru says softly.

“No more kisses, Sir!” He pouts before smirking a bit. “No, go ahead.”

“How did you forgive him for it? I only saw a little bit, but fuck… I am glad you did, please do not take it so, but it was horrible. Watching you waste away so quickly from being around him.” You look down, snuggling closer with his coat, taking a breath to gather your thoughts.

“It was horrible, he was cruel absolutely, not even the women that bothered me, but his words. Feeling so unwanted, so hated, for something I truly did not understand. It was not an easy task.” You exhale and look up at his warm chocolate eyes, he wraps an arm around your shoulders comfortingly.

“I admire your forgiveness, I do not know if I could have. It’s hard to forgive him for you and he’s like a brother to me.”

“I just love him, Sugu.”

“Sugu hmm?”

“It’s what he calls you.” You smile up at him, he chuckles a bit.

“I’m so special I see. But I do admire you.”

“Thank you, I am never sure if I’m making a terrible decision on any given day, but nothing feels more right than being in his arms.”

“Ah the mush.”

“Hush! I see you and Shoko getting closer.” You wiggle your brows with a grin, Suguru chuckles again.

“It’s lovely to see you happy too, you know.”

“It’s nice to be happy, for a moment. I just wish the world would let us be, but I fear we both have more work cut out for us.”

“Yes, that girl… so odd I never met her, him so in love. I was away doing university at the time but he just quit communicating. I did not know he dealt with such pain, any of it.” You sigh, nodding, Satoru and Shoko walk out now, you both hear them in the distance shouting at each other.

“It was horrible.”

“But no excuse. So forgiving it… I don’t know. I’m impressed.”

“I’m rather impressive at times. Or a disaster.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Quick, fake kiss me, we’ll anger them.” He leans close and you giggle, shoving at him.

“Why did you kiss me, Sugu?”

“You’re beautiful of course, but I felt such tenderness toward you. I hated you feeling that way, it was terrible to witness. As I said, you forgiving him is hard to understand, but I am glad he has you.”

“I am glad he has you two, you’re good for him. He’s so broody you know.”

“Broody? Snuggling, huh?” Satoru crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, you take off Suguru’s coat now, scooching and patting the bench.

“Come sit.” Shoko scooches in between you both, you throw Suguru’s coat on her shoulders now, leaving you to shiver just a bit. “Why don’t you two stay the night? I fear perhaps… Lady Shoko is perhaps feeling ill.”

“She is ill.” Satoru agrees, and Suguru pulls her against him now.

“So sick, look at the color on her cheeks.”

“I am indeed feeling sick.” You stand now, Satoru pulls you against him, your arms slipping under his coat.

“Separate rooms of course but we are going to be too busy to check.” Satoru’s winking at Suguru, you get with your Nan now, who prepares ‘two rooms’ for both of them.

“You’re glowing, Duchess.” Nan says softly, you get a little flustered then, peeking back at Satoru now.

“I’m happy, Nan.” She sighs now, your puppy is running in circles around her ankles, she picks him up and nuzzles him.

“I’m happy if you are, but it’s hard to forget.” You nod quietly, Satoru comes up now, prepared for Nan’s typical glare, but she gives him a little smile before she turns away, leaving Satoru with his mouth open.

“Did she just…”

“She did, I saw it!”

“Maybe she won’t hate me one day?” He takes you by the waist, pulling you flush against him now, pecking kisses on your cheeks.

“She does not hate you, really. She just loves me a lot.”

“I love you more than anyone.” His husky words make a heat pool in your stomach, you tremble now in his hold, needy for his touch, his kiss, his everything.

“And I love you more than anyone.” He moans softly, kissing you deeply. “I want to keep this happiness.”

“We will. If I have to kill a whole king and a bitch ex I will.” You grin, shaking your head at how ridiculous he is. “You so doubt me, brat?”

“Hmm, you’ll have to show me this prowess.” You giggle and run up the stairs, leaving Shoko and Suguru kissing and walking towards one of the rooms, but they look up at you two and smile when both of you aren’t looking.

When the door shuts everything changes, Satoru’s devouring your mouth now, you’re hastily unbuttoning his dress shirt, exposing the smooth expanse of his perfect marble skin. You kiss and lick down his throat, his collarbone, his chest, his hands yank out your bobby pins, they clatter to the floor. He pauses at your little tiara, silver and blue, humming to himself.

“We will keep this on.” He says, turning you around, unlacing you with deft, eager hands, as soon as you’re bare to him he picks you up in his arms, kissing you and pressing you against the burgundy walls, hard length pressing on you.

“Keep my tiara on hmm?” You whisper against his lips, he nods then.

“You’re my slutty princess, you know.” You whine out when his hand slips down, sinking a finger inside your entrance, already slick with want. “So slutty.”

“Maybe Suguru turned me-ah!” You laugh breathlessly when he turns you, smacking your ass so hard it stings.

“Trying to make me jealous, brat?”

“You’re sexy when you- fuck!” Satoru smacks your other ass cheek, smacking you over and over, you’re shaking at how fucking good it feels.

“You are trying to make me angry then? Your slutty cunt gets off on it, doesn’t she?” He fingers you once more, your head falls back in pleasure, gasping as his fingers scissor in and out of your soppy little pussy now.

“Maybe she d-does- ngh!” You’re smacked again, harder this time, it feels so good your eyes damn near roll back.

“You’ve got a bratty mouth tonight, hmm? Should I occupy it?” At your weak little nod he sinks you onto your knees, you eagerly open your mouth for him, as he watches his pretty Princess take his cock so good, tiara and all, like some fucking endless fantasy he’s had for so long.

Your hot wet mouth enwraps him,  your tongue sliding around the tip, feeling him throb and pulse in your mouth. You tongue the yummy precum, letting it coat your tongue as he watches you hungrily, your knees hurt, your ass throbbing, jaw adjusting, but it all serves to make you more soaking wet. You feel your cunt clenching with need as your hands drift up his thighs.

“Will I have to do this every time I want some- ah- peace and quiet? From my loud mouth- f-fuck… brat?” You would giggle if not sucking Satoru deeper, watching those snowy lashes flutter, his abdomen tense and flex.

 You suck him harder and faster, his hands in your hair, pulling and guiding you, groaning with every suck and swirl of your tongue. His breath starts coming in sharp gasps as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock, teasing the slit before you suck him deep, taking as much of him as you can, nose against the soft white hair above his cock.

“Fuck baby… fuck you’re so-” He groans, his hips jerking slightly, pushing you down more, his eyes never leaving yours, watching as you take all of him, your throat tight around his length, your cheeks hollowed out. “Beautiful like this, taking me s’fucking g-good.”

Satoru’s whimpering now, head against the wall as he fucks your throat, god nothing could feel better aside from your perfect pussy wrapping him. You’re gagging on him, breathing through your nose, your nails pressing into his skin as you cling to him, moaning around him, the vibrations wrecking him, his fingers tighten in your hair, tugging you closer.

“You want this cock, don’t you Princess?” He asks breathlessly now, pulling your greedy mouth off him, you have saliva dripping down your lips, tears trickling down your cheeks, but you nod eagerly. “Then how do we ask?”

“Please.” He loves you like this, when his feisty little Duchess submits so sweetly, but it’s truly he who submits to you, picking you up off your knees, carrying you to his bed, your bed… both of you sleep here every night now.

His lips kiss his taste off of you, swapping saliva so messy now, backing you until you’re against the bed, he gets you on all fours, smacking your pussy now, you scream out at it, shaking. “Look at you, covered in my handprints.”

You cannot see what Satoru sees, your ass arched so pretty, hips so inviting, he smacks your puffy cunt again, making you twitch and jerk, head falling back, tiara falling just to the side of your now messy hair. “Please…”

“Please what, Princess?”

“Smack me more.” He moans now, smacking you again and again, pulling you up to your knees, grinding his cock between your sticky inner thighs, pressing between your folds and against your neglected clit. You whine and shake at the sensation, hips arching back and forth as you cry out.

“Smack you where?” He nips down your neck now, hot hard length slipping easier and easier against you, tip nudging your clit.

“Fucking everywhere, please.” He turns you now, laying you on your back, smacking your breasts, you arch your hips up, cunt glistening with your arousal.

“Everywhere, hmm? Pretty little whore.” He smacks each tit again, watching them jiggle and marks forming from his fingers. “Here?”

“Y-yes. There. Satoru!” He’s smacking your face now, it hurts so bad you almost fucking cum then and there, so oversensitive and ready, he laughs at you, sexy and overwhelming, eyes dilated and lidded.

“Smack your pretty face?” He smacks your other cheek, you whimper out. “Pathetic f’me, huh?”

“F-fuck you. Yes.” He kisses your cheeks, each one, where he’s smacked you now, hand slipping under your chin and pressing up on your pulse point, feeling it race and flutter like a butterfly as his tip presses on your entrance.

“Fuck me?”

“Fuck me.”

“How do we say-”

“Satoru, fuck me now, I swear you-” Satoru sinks in your cunt now in one stroke, stretching and filling you full, he leans low over you, your thighs shaking, breasts heaving with your erratic breaths as his eyes drink you in.

“Something to say?” He slides out then back in, grabbing your thighs as he does, you scream out weakly, he laughs softly against your ear, arms sinking to their elbows over you. “That’s what I thought.”

You’re moaning as an answer, when he finally moves, stroking in and out with his thick cock, as your arousal pools and slips down the veins of it, you hear it, the sounds of him fucking into you, mixing with both of your gasps. Satoru cups your face so tightly, squeezing hard, as he pounds your pussy harder, your head sinks against the silk of his pillows, hips pulling back.

“Ah-ah, do not run Princess.” Satoru yanks your hips back, making you scream out when he shoves his cock so deep it’s breaking you.

“T-too deep!” You whine out, but you’re clinging to him, nails pressing into his skin, eyes locked with his while he works you, until his lips are slammed against yours, sucking every bit of oxygen, you gladly give it, screaming into his mouth while he’s thrusting over and over.

Satoru groans, flipping you then, you’ve only been on him once, so you flush just a bit before rolling your hips, head falling back. He moans, grabbing your tits as they bounce and you’re working over him, taking his length as good as you can. He grabs your hips, licking his glossy lower lip, your hands bracing on his strong chest while you sink down.

“That’s it, pretty slut. Look at you, taking cock so fuckin’ good.” His words urge you on, he fixes your tiara before taking your hips, pressing his thumbs against your pelvis, urging you, his head falling back.

“Feel s’good, Toru.” You whine, leaning down now, he’s fucking up into you while you fall apart over him, hair gently falling against his chest, you cup his face, pressing your lips against them, whining into them while he wrecks you utterly, your mind, your body, your heart. “S’all you.”

“S’all you P-Princess.” He whines, so vulnerable then, pulling you in so he can sink deeper in your cunt, stretching you so good while you kiss him over and over, sobbing at how good it feels, him filling you.

“Lemme try.” You pull back, halting his movements, rolling your hips and rising and falling against him, thighs squeezing narrow hips as you work, grinding his tip against your cervix, creamy ring of your cum pooling on the base of his cock.

“That’s it, take my cock, Princess. Fuckin use me.” He urges, his words edging you along with the fullness, so full, too full. But you cannot get enough, rolling your hips and riding him, as he feels your tight walls gripping him like a vise, feels you soaking his length so good he groans out loud, cheeks flushed, pretty skin covered in slick sweat just like yours.

“T-Toru… m’weak.” You whine, he moans now, lifting your hips, your lips are a breath against his as you brace yourself on either side of his head.

“Lemme use you, huh Princess?” You weakly nod, then Satoru uses you utterly, fucking up into your pussy as he holds your hips hostage, suspending them up while his feet are flat on the enormous bed. “That’s it, good girl.”

“Toru!” You cry out when he fucks you into an orgasm, hitting so hard your mouth is wide open, drooling pathetic, he huffs at it, at the slutty O your mouth is in, fucking you so hard you hear the slaps in the room. You feel him ruining your pussy, you know how sore you’ll be, but you want- “More!”

“Want all this cum in you, hmm?” You nod eagerly, Satoru moans now, flipping you on your back, shoving your thighs up and bending you in half. “Beg for it.”

“Oh f-fuck you. Ah!” He pulls out now, smacking his cock on your beat up, sore little cunt, you whine pathetically again. “Please!”

“Should make you swallow it, not fill you at all. Brat.” He shoves back in you though, your body is twitching as he works over you, dripping sweat from his perfect body down all over yours, when he’s pulsing, thickening, you whine weakly.

“Please cum in me. Toru. Please.”

“Need a baby? So greedy?” He demands, and you nod.

“Need a b-baby. Please, p-put it- please!” You’re helpless under him, his heavy weight pressing on you as he fucks all sense out of your brain, leaving you with this primal instinct.

“A baby huh? Fill you up? Gonna get so fucking round with me.” When he brushes a hand on your tummy you begin to cum, pulsing all over him, and he falls apart over you, desperately kissing and crying into your mouth.

Satoru pumps you so full it’s inanity, cum pouring and pulsing, as your cunt milks it all, she wants it as bad as you do. You convulse, cumming from the hot sticky white seed pooling in your pussy, coating all your walls, that continue to spasm as Satoru pumps slower and slower. He lets your legs fall to the sides, kissing you over and over, sloppy as your cunt drooling down on him.

He eases out of you now, watching you pour out, moaning. “Look at her, wasting it all again. Tsk.” Satoru shoves two long fingers in your sore pussy, eyes insane and glowing bright blue, your tears are pouring down your pretty face, making his cock fill with blood again. “Just look at you, crying, huh?”

“Sh-shut up.” You pull him down for a kiss, while he’s pushing his cum back in you, you hear the lewd squishing and clicking, struggling to come to, to take several breaths, consumed by him. “Toru…”

“I know, baby.” He eases finally, sucking both of you off his fingers, moaning as his cheeks hollow. “Taste us together.”

“Please.” He shoves his fingers back in your cunt, then back in your mouth, and your tongue swirls, grabbing his huge hand with your two little ones as you do.

“God I need you again.” Satoru has your lips back in his, turning you onto your tummy, kissing down your spine, nipping your skin, groaning as he sees all the marks on your body, before chuckling deeply.

“What? Y-you’re laughing?” You demand, angrily looking back over your shoulder, he grins so big it melts you.

“Your tiara, still fucking on.” He murmurs, you both laugh then, breathless and shaky, you go to take it off, but he stops you. “Hah, not yet, Princess.”

We are at the end almost AHHHH- two to four more parts. Thanks for everyone who's stuck with our Duke and Duchess. Reblogs and comments SO appreciated, what are you all thinking of these two and the progressionnn!?!?

Taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur @bunheadusa @7thsthings @disilluzions  @antisocialinlw @Sukunassfinger @lelsforlino @heeknow @muvasuperior @prince-wyiilder @lavender-hvze @ssetsuka  @labelt-san  @sadmonke @philiatothephobia @ambiguouslady42 @stromynight @dreamygirli3 @jjknanamin @jazlenekasi @victoriaaaa00 @wuvnada @valleydoli @nanasukii28 @sw3etnena @dark-agate @tamaki-simp @yuuuumii @givluv2tyy @airandyeah @peppertoastuniverse @sw3etnena @murayamayoshiki-lovergurl @blue-musingss @huuuhwhaat @makingtimemine (tagging the rest in comments!)

Part Fourteen

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven (Bruce Wayne x f!reader) Part 1

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. It'll be into 2 parts, except if you ask for more. <3

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activities, language, neglecting husband and father, kinda angst/comfort

Imagine Bruce Wayne with no child, no wife (you), no friends and no more Alfred. He was all alone, making his life even harder, more cruel, more violent.

He didn’t adopt any child - not even Dick - because Alfred died quickly after Bruce became an adult. Thus, Bruce needed to take care of himself, and he didn't feel like he could look after a child. He was too tired and too depressed. He didn't want to bring any child into such a dark life.

His hands were full with Wayne Enterprises and his Batman way of life, so he also didn't make time for the Justice League. He sometimes helped them when it was about Gotham but nothing else.

And he never succeeded in getting you. He knew you. Oh yes, he knew you. He always thought that Batman would be his sole obsession, destroying him and his body. But then he met you, and he grew half insane. He needed you in his life so badly; he didn't care about anyone else. You were such a ray of sunshine in his dark existence. But you didn't want him. He was too desperate for you. You were scared of the darkness surrounding him, and you hated that rich man who wasn't trying hard enough for Gotham's poor people. He would have loved to cover you in affection and gifts, but you always escaped him.

Imagine this same Bruce Wayne being switched from places with another Bruce Wayne from another universe. This other Bruce had children, was married to you, and was friends with the Justice League. Alfred was still around. But this Bruce was neglecting everyone a little bit. This man thought he was entitled to get everything. His relationships were just alright with everyone. You more than once thought about getting a divorce actually, but you loved your life too much to let it go, even if Bruce could be a disappointment.

Imagine the lonely and desperate Bruce Wayne waking up one morning with you in the same bed as him.

At first, he believed it was all a dream, so he happily pulled you against his chest and snuggled up against you. He kissed the top of your head. When his alarm sounded out, he simply turned it off and hugged you tighter. He felt good and warm for the first time since his parents died. He completely melted in pure joy when you gently kissed his chest and neck, stroking his scarred stomach. He leaned into all your touch. He had no idea when he was going to wake up, so he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible. He didn’t want to think of the cold and empty bed that was going to greet him soon enough. He just wanted to stay there forever, cherished by you. Your scent was bringing him such comfort. He was relaxed, feeling safe and at home. This was what heaven must look like, he thought.

"Not running to work already?" You softly asked, a little bit surprised you didn't have to beg your husband for morning cuddles

"I'm good here," Bruce mumbled into your hair, his eyes closed in bliss

"What have you done to my husband?" You laughed as you straddled the man, looking down at him.

Husband? Fuck, it sounded so sweet to his ears. Bruce opened his eyes, drinking into your form. He loved how the sun was softly shining against your skin. He moved his hands on your thighs and stroked your skin. You were a goddess to him

“You’re beautiful” He whispered

You hummed and leaned to hungrily kiss him. He almost moaned against your lips. He had dreamt so many times of the feel of your mouth against his. But it was different than usual, it was better than he expected. He felt so whole. You were his soulmate. He always believed it. And feeling you like that… He promised himself that once he would be back to reality, he would find a way to seduce you. He needed you. You teasingly bit his bottom lip, and he smiled. Bruce's hands greedily moved around your body before settling on your ass. He gently squeezed it.

“Naughty” Ypu giggled, and he smiled even more

“Not my fault. You’re a goddess of love and light” He whispered

You didn’t reply. You weren’t too used to your husband talking to you like that. Your Bruce was good to you, but he never called you such things. He never watched you with such devotion in the eyes.

You sightly moved away to remove your nightgown under his watch. This Bruce had no idea how gorgeous you were naked, on top of him. He realised it was his favourite sight from now on. Gosh, what he wouldn’t do to be allowed to be greeted like that every morning of his life? He had dreamt so many times to be allowed to see you like this, to touch you like a lover and to take care of you. He was happy he was shirtless when you leaned back against him so he could feel your skin against his. He gently switched positions with you so he could get down on you. He kissed your neck, breasts, stomach, and inner thighs before settling in between your legs. He would have taken the time to kiss your legs and feet if he hadn’t been so hungry for you. It was such a vivid and nice dream. And he wanted you so badly. The way your fingers moved into his hair and tightened their hold whenever he was making you moan in pleasure became his favourite sensation. After the second orgasm he gave you this morning, he started to wonder if he truly was dreaming. You felt so real. 

He didn't have time to think more about it as you brought him closer to you. You were softly panting, as he was happily kissing and stroking your skin. You were made to be worshipped, he thought. And he would love to be your most obedient and caring servant.

A soft knock at the door startled the two of you.

"Master Bruce, do I need to cancel all the meetings you had this morning?" Alfred's voice sounded out.

Bruce froze for a few fractions of seconds before regaining his composure. Was it truly Alfred? His dream was getting nicer and nicer. However, it was hard to think when you were affectionately kissing his skin and playing with his hair, looking at him with such tenderness in your beautiful eyes. He needed all his willpower to answer Alfred back.

"I'm on my way to Wayne Enterprises, Alfred," He finally replied, and you laughed because he really didn't look like he was. 

The sound of your laughter made his chest blow with a warm feeling he didn't know. He was so deeply in love with you. He was so happy. And yet, the word “happy” didn’t feel strong enough to describe how he felt in this instant. He leaned to kiss you with pure affection before getting up, even though he would have loved to stay in bed with you.

You decided to be a good wife who cared about your husband’s work and duty, so you didn't follow in the shower, knowing Alfred would indeed need to cancel all of the meetings. You wondered what you did last night for Bruce to treat you with such passion and love this morning. You wished things would be more often like that. 

You were still lying in bed when Bruce came out of the shower. Before looking for some clothes, he went back to you, like a magnet attracted to you. He kissed your naked back before kissing your lips.

"Time for some lunch with me, hon?" you asked, clearly pushing your luck, but Bruce seemed in a very good mood today.

You were ready for him to say no, though, like he always did.

"Of course, anything you want," He whispered, smiling.

He was excited you seemed to want to spend more time with him.

You didn’t add anything, truly wondering what you did last night. He kissed you again before dressing up. You enjoyed the view from the bed. Bruce loved the warm feeling of your eyes on him. He couldn’t get enough of your attention.

He reluctantly left the room after having stolen another kiss from you. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He properly greeted Alfred and thanked him for having checked on him.

Bruce was a little bit surprised to discover so many young adults and teenagers eating breakfast in his living room, but it was giving some life to his old manor. And in a dream, you couldn’t expect everything to make sense, right? So he simply greeted everyone and asked if they all slept well, like his father did when he was a child. They all seemed stunned by the question, but they still answered. What amazed them even more was that Bruce actually listened to their answers. He waved them all goodbye, wished them a good day, and went to work.

It was time for lunch, and Bruce hadn't woken up yet. His meetings were now done, and he could take some time to think. Everything felt so real so far. Usually, in dreams, when you read something, lines are blurry or the words mean nothing or the words change all the time... But it didn't happen. Apart from the people he didn’t know in his living room, everything seemed to make sense?

He typed away his name on his Internet browser and started to read about how he was dealing with Wayne Enterprises, how he was married to you, how he adopted or took under his roof many children. Bruce Wayne seemed quite… popular. He looked for Batman's work as well. It seemed he was often with the Justice League, and he had some vigilantes under his lead. He started to think about what happened last night - before he woke up with you in his arms.

He could now remember a very bright light engulfing him while he was fighting off some criminals.

"Where are we going for lunch?" You texted him, and the notification brought him back to the present

"That Italian restaurant near Wayne Enterprises?" He offered.

He always wished he could invite you there because he quite enjoyed this place. He hoped the place existed here, but with your answer it seemed it did.

"Oh yes, it's been a while!" You quickly replied. "I'll meet you there in a few. Love you <3" You added

"Love you too, wife" Bruce sent back.

Gosh, he never thought he would be allowed to send you such words and it was making his head spin.

But Bruce was a smart man, so he started to understand that he must have taken the place of the Bruce Wayne of this world. It couldn’t be a dream because it was too detailed and realistic. It couldn’t be an illusion, because something would have felt off to him. It wouldn't have been the first time he was trapped in an illusion, he would have been able to feel it. This place... everything felt true, real.

There were only two possibilities: someone brought him to a parallel universe or he died and went to heaven. 

He hurt one of his fingers to draw blood. He couldn’t be dead if he was still bleeding, could he? So if he was going with the parallel universe, it meant… It meant that the other Bruce Wayne had this perfect little life. Fuck, he felt a deep and raw jealousy stabbing his heart: why didn't this Bruce suffer like he did? Why did this version of himself get everything he ever wished for himself? Alfred, children, you? Even Batman seemed to be doing better here. Wayne Enterprises were thriving, the biggest and most powerful firm of Gotham. 

He needed to understand what happened... So he could forever stay here. There was no way he was going back to the Hell that used to be his life. He would kill himself at the instant he would get back. How could he survive being alone again? The other Bruce was a problem because if he was alive, he would want to get back here. But fuck him. Everyone seemed so surprised by how he was acting, so he was certain that the Bruce of this world didn’t deserve their love. And he would do anything to deserve it. It was his chance to finally be happy and he wasn’t going to fuck this up.

--

Part 2

[eccentricallygothic]

Coy

Pairing: Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You.

Description: Steve makes his shy girl call him Daddy <3

Warning(s): Stevie is lowkey a lil mean, m!dom, f!sub, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, missionary, doggy style, dick riding towards the end, spanking, hair pulling, age gap bc it's me, slight bondage idk, choking, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk. MDNI.

Type: Request for my lovely @chxrryhansen, here. 

MASTERLIST

❤️

“C'mon, just say it, baby” Steve wasn't sure if the annoyance in his voice was unclear or if you were just that stupid. 

“Nooo, Stevie!” You giggled even though you had been whining just a few seconds ago because of how much strength he had had to use and the endurance that had been required of you to withstand the entering of his monstrous cock in your tight little pussy. Yes, Steve had indeed fingered you before that. And yes, it still hadn't been enough to open up your tiny hole. 

Not for Steve, anyway.

“Oh—” he stopped to keep himself from saying something hurtful because you were too sensitive for your own good. “Just… fuck!” He abruptly cursed as your pussy responded to the twitching of his dick by clenching around it just when he was balls deep inside you. “Just say it for me, yeah, baby?” You were choking his dick out and his dick was in pain too. 

Only, your tightness and his girth made up a pain too nice for either of you to want to stop. 

Your face was flush and your heavy breaths were labored, the weight of his massive body pressing yours down into the mattress. “B- But it's wrong, S- Stevie…” It took him all his strength to not scoff at your words so he took his ire out on your poor little nipple that was trapped between his cruel fingertips. 

“Why?” Steve's hips nearly collided with yours when he gave you yet another heavy but speedy thrust. 

“B- Because you're not actually my Daddy, S- Steve— hnng!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt his breach intensify, the pangs that were being caused by the vicious jabbing of his hard, thick tip against your innermost spot on the brink of reaching your cervix. 

Steve's nose flared and his blue eyes suddenly flashed you an icy look. “Yeah?” His eyebrows went flat but the violent rocking of his body against yours didn't. The room was full of the gut-wrenchingly obscene sounds of skin slapping against flesh. “Who do you think I am, then?” 

It was getting harder to form proper words the more his cock caused for the burning knot to tighten between your hips. “Y- You… You're… AH!” Your arms that were coiled around his broad shoulders tightened against his neck to withstand how his huge hand rudely was squeezing your boob. “You're… b- bofi…” Steve's strength was no joke.

“And who says bofis can't be Daddies?” The golden haired man expectantly peered down at you for an answer but you were too busy moaning and rocking yourself against his cock as much as his heavy body allowed you to do so. 

“B- But…” Your small protest told him all he needed to know.

Steve didn't have time for this nonsense. 

A loud plop! sounded in the air and you blushed a deep shade of red despite your worked up state. Before you could word your complaint about why Steve had suddenly pulled out of your weepy cunt, the older flipped you onto your chest and roughly pushed what remained of your shirt -the beast had a thing for ripping your clothes off, good thing he made up for it by buying you prettier compensations- up your arms and around your wrists until they were bound above your head. 

New slick bubbled out of your opening as you whimpered and felt your hole blink in sensitive realization of the fact that now he wanted you to lay your face down and keep your ass up. Fuck. When he took you like that, there was absolutely nothing he couldn't make you do or say. 

After that, Steve had your throat in one hand and your boobs in the other, his muscular thighs fished their way under your trembling legs to collect them out of his way. His tip that had cooled down a bit made you jump when he entered you again and though the penetration was somewhat easier this time around, you couldn't help but whine from the stretch again. 

And then, Steve went into a crazed jackhammer mode. Your throat tickled and ached from the deep groans that crawled up your vocal cavity, ones that your position was forcing you to stifle into the mattress. The temperature of his cock easily returned back to its previous warmth. 

“Say it” he demanded as he squeezed your windpipe. 

All you could let out was a humiliating, breathless and incoherent guttural ‘aaaaah~’ as your body began to slide off his due to the force of his brutal fucking. The tip of your nose hurt from how it rubbed up and down the bedding.

“Tsk, messy little kiddie brat” his hand abandoned your boob to firmly claw around one of your thighs to hold you in place to ensure a smooth pounding. “Needs Daddy for everything but acts like she doesn't” you could deny it to your heart's content and be as shy and ‘innocent’ as you pleased, but the way you moaned, messed yourself up and clenched when he said the dirtiest things was not lost on him.

Steve knew you liked it all just as much as he did. 

“Oh, my God—!” Steve squeezed your throat again because he did not like what he was hearing. Your lungs ached from the strain he was putting them under.

“Now that's a bit far, baby” before he shook in mirth and the vibration of his body shook your squishy walls, the sensation causing your eyes to roll until their undersides burnt. “But I guess that's okay too” your fucked out mind felt somewhat relieved. Maybe this would satiate him and you would not have to— “But that's not what I want to hear you call me tonight” your chest ached from the wheeze you let out when he finally let your throat go to smack your ass and you could breathe again. “Come on, now. Chop, chop” you cried out from the frustration. 

He was so mean.

“After all, Daddies take care of their kids. And I take care of you, don't I?” There was something in the way he worded it. You moaned out loud. His balls began to penetrate your stubborn opening. 

And then he crept his fingers between your legs and against your cunt. The grainy digits stroked your hardened flesh. And you knew at once, you had lost. 

It was impossible to hold back now. The taut dam of your building orgasm came undone and your toes curled as bittersweet relief exploded between your hips and down your legs.

“DADDY! OH, DADDY! OH!” You began to chant uncontrollably, feeling your knees shake as cold sweat trickled down the back of your thighs. 

“Now that's more like the dirty little slut that I've raised on this cock” when Steve really got into chasing his own orgasm, and he always did that after yours, the most obscene and sodomous things came out of his mouth. “Tell me, brat” since you were going through a mind melt, Steve smacked your ass to redirect your attention to him. “Will you ever try to deny your Daddy again?” His hand wrapped your hair around it and your body curved in a humiliating angle as he pulled you up to bounce on his cock now.

“N- No, no, Daddy, no! Never!” Your orgasm was turning into overstimulation and there was not a damn thing you could do about it.  

“Really?” You broke into a fit of cries when Steve began to pat-slap your clit. “Doesn't sound very convincing to me…”

“No! No, Daddy! I promise! I promise! I promise I won't, Daddy!” You were curved so far out that your head collapsed on one of his hard shoulders. Your chest ached from how violently your tits bounced up and down.

“That's my girl” The baritone of Steve's voice drilled into your mind as he looked down at you before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, one tyrannical paw settling on your chest to keep you from falling down, hips springing you up and down like a mindless little toy.

❤️

Everything tag 🩷: @rosecentury

I know it sucks, I am sorry. I have a very bad creative block these days but I am trying my best to clear out all requests <3 

[maddie0101]

『 chapter one 』

꧁ summary: dean and the reader get thrown back to the 1920s, stuck in a time where they don’t belong. with no clue how to get home, their best bet is to blend in, fast.

꧁ warnings: cussing, protective!dean, slight fluff, pinning, Dean in suspenders looking hot as ever, men in the 1920s, lmk if I missed anything?

꧁ word count: 4.3k

꧁ note: omg, I finally posted the first chapter! schedule has been set to chapters being released on mondays! lmk what you guys think!

series masterlist next chapter

The hunt had been routine. A simple case of cursed objects, an old mansion filled with junk that shouldn’t have been disturbed. Dean had been griping about how easy it was, how “even Sam could’ve handled this one over the phone,” right up until the moment the two of you touched the wrong damn thing.

At the time, though, nothing had happened.

You’d found the object, a small, gold watch tossed it in a cloth bag, and finished clearing the house. No sudden flashes of light, no eerie whispers, no instant consequences. Just another weird relic, probably cursed, definitely something to lock up in the bunker’s storage room and forget about.

Or so you thought.

By the time you got back to the bunker, exhaustion had settled deep in your bones. You dumped your gear on the war room table, letting out a sigh. Dean followed suit, tossing his duffel down with a thud before stretching his arms over his head.

“Well, that was a whole lotta nothin’,” he said, voice laced with boredom. “Could’ve wrapped that up in half the time if you weren’t so damn careful about everything.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want to get cursed?”

Dean scoffed. “Please. If that thing was gonna do something, it would’ve done it already.”

And because fate was a cruel, ironic bitch, that was the exact moment the watch, forgotten inside the bag, began to hum. The sound was low at first, almost imperceptible, but then the whole room seemed to shift. The air grew thick, the overhead lights flickered, and a deep, unnatural pull wrapped around your gut.

“Uh, Dean—”

Before you could move, the watch pulsed with energy. A violent force yanked at you like a ripcord being pulled and the world tilted.

And then—The bunker was gone. The scent of gun oil and old books vanished, replaced by thick cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of gasoline. Instead of cool concrete floors, your boots scuffed against pavement.

Dean had grabbed your arm immediately, his grip solid and grounding, his body tensed like he was expecting a fight. “Tell me you’re seein’ what I’m seein’,” he muttered, his voice tight.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. The people around you were dressed like they’d walked straight out of The Great Gatsby—men in suits and fedoras, women in beaded dresses, their lips painted a deep red. A streetcar rattled past, kicking up dust, and a newspaper boy hollered from the corner, “Extra, extra! Read all about it—Prohibition raids downtown!”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean muttered.

You turned to him, your own panic reflected in his wide green eyes. “Dean… I think we just got zapped into the 1920s.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me.”

People were already starting to stare. Not just quick glances, but full-on, lingering what the hell are they wearing? stares. A few passersby even whispered to each other, their eyes flicking from your boots to Dean’s flannel like you’d just stepped off a spaceship.

It took you a second to realize why. Your clothes.

Jeans, t-shirts, boots, the normal, comfortable, modern look you always went for. But in the middle of a street filled with suspenders, pressed slacks, and actual fucking fedoras, you and Dean might as well have been wearing neon signs that read: Not From Around Here.

Dean noticed it, too. His entire body tensed, his shoulders going rigid as he muttered, “Shit.”

“Yeah, okay, we gotta move,” he said, grabbing your wrist in that no-nonsense, don’t argue with me way and tugging you into motion. His pace was quick but controlled, his boots clicking against the pavement as he steered you down the sidewalk. You passed shop windows filled with fancy hats, silk gloves, and glass perfume bottles, their golden price tags glinting under the electric lights.

Dean was already muttering to himself, running through a plan. “We need to lay low, figure out where the hell we are, and—”

“—find clothes that don’t make us look like time travelers?” you cut in, glancing down at your boots. “Because we are definitely getting stared at.”

Dean exhaled through his nose, irritated but resigned. “Damn haunted antiques,” he grumbled. “Just once, I’d like to go on a case where we don’t get zapped, cursed, or thrown into some parallel dimension.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, guess we’re not that lucky.”

“No shit.” Dean’s grip tightened on your wrist. “We need to get off the street. Now.”

The moment you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a man stepping out of a shop. You gasped, stumbling back as he caught himself with a smooth step, barely fazed.

“Whoa—easy there, doll,” the stranger drawled, his voice slow and syrupy, like he had all the time in the world. He tipped his fedora at you, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You barely had a second to process the sweetheart before his gaze flickered over you and Dean, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “You two get caught in the rain or somethin’?” he asked, head tilting. “You look a little… out of place.”

Dean stiffened beside you, his entire body coiled tight like a spring. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his grip still firm around your wrist. He didn’t say anything, but you could practically hear the son of a bitch forming in his head.

So, you jumped in first, forcing what you hoped was an easy smile. “Uh, yeah,” you said quickly, heart hammering. “Long story. We, um… lost our luggage.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn’t press. “Tough luck,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You might wanna check out Miss Ruby’s dress shop down the way—she’ll fix you up real nice.” Then his gaze slid to Dean, taking in the flannel, the jeans, the decidedly not 1920s-approved boots, and his smirk deepened. “And, uh… maybe get your fella a proper suit before someone thinks he’s lost.”

Dean’s entire face twitched. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his grip on you tightening like he was this close to decking the guy just for existing. Instead, he forced what might’ve been the most painful smile of his life and muttered, “Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

The man gave a polite tip of his hat before strolling away, casual as ever, leaving you and Dean standing there in awkward silence.

“C’mon, Winchester,” you teased, stepping ahead of him, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. “Let’s get you looking respectable.”

Dean let out a low grumble behind you, but he followed.

Miss Ruby’s shop was small but elegant, nestled between a bakery and a hat store, its window display showcasing delicate lace gloves, silk scarves, and dresses that looked like they belonged in an old hollywood film. The moment you stepped inside, the scent of lavender and perfume wrapped around you like a thick, flowery embrace, mingling with the faint hint of dust and aged fabric. The place was warm, cozy in that old-money kind of way—polished wood floors, gold-framed mirrors lining the walls, and soft jazz crackling from a radio in the corner.

Miss Ruby herself was a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties, dressed to the nines in a dark burgundy dress with matching lipstick, her hair pinned into neat curls. The moment her gaze landed on you and Dean—your modern clothes standing out like a sore thumb—her thin brows lifted. She didn’t even hesitate before declaring, “Well, aren’t you two in a pickle?”

Dean huffed under his breath, shifting uncomfortably, but you stepped forward, plastering on a polite smile. “We, um… ran into some bad luck. We need outfits.”

Miss Ruby gave you a long, scrutinizing once-over, eyes narrowing slightly. “A couple in need of a wardrobe refresh, huh?”

Dean tensed beside you. “We’re not—”

“Yes,” you cut in quickly, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough that he let out a soft grunt. The last thing you needed was more questions, more suspicion. If blending in meant letting some random 1920s lady think you and Dean were a couple, then so be it.

Dean shot you a seriously? look but kept his mouth shut.

Miss Ruby didn’t look entirely convinced, but she just waved a hand. “Ladies’ section is in the back. Gents, you’ll be up front.” Then, with a smirk, she eyed Dean’s flannel like it personally offended her. “And maybe something that doesn’t look like it crawled out of a barn.”

Dean bristled, muttering something about perfectly good flannel and what the hell is wrong with barns? as you grinned and followed Miss Ruby deeper into the shop. The fabric of the dresses brushed against your fingertips as you passed—silks, velvets, delicate beading that caught the light. Everything here felt rich, out of place in your hands.

And for the first time since being thrown into this mess, the weight of it really hit you. You were stuck in another time, trying to fit into a world that wasn’t yours. But as your fingers skimmed the soft fabric of a midnight-blue dress, one thought grounded you.

At least you weren’t alone.

Ten minutes later…

You ran your hands down the beaded fabric of your dress, feeling the intricate embroidery beneath your fingertips, still struggling to believe you were actually wearing something so elegant. The midnight-blue silk clung to your figure in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating, the delicate stitching shimmering under the soft glow of the shop’s lights.

Every movement sent a ripple through the fringe at the hem, making it swish around your legs like liquid silver. Your arms were bare except for the smooth embrace of long silk gloves that stretched up past your elbows, the fabric whispering against your skin. A delicate headband, adorned with tiny pearls and a single dark feather, sat nestled in your hair, completing the transformation. You caught your reflection in a nearby mirror and barely recognized the person staring back at you—like you’d stepped right out of an old photograph, a ghost of another time.

You weren’t sure how you felt about the dress--until you stepped out and saw Dean.

And oh, fuck.

He was standing near the shop’s front mirror, rolling his sleeves up just a little before adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. The vest fit like it had been made for him, the suit hugging every inch of his broad frame in a way that was downright sinful. And then there were the suspenders, peeking out from beneath the vest, stretched taut over his chest. Jesus. Dean Winchester in suspenders should’ve been illegal.

Your brain stalled, your breath hitched, and for a second, you forgot what the hell you were even doing.

Dean turned at the sound of your footsteps, his mouth already opening—probably to complain about something—only for the words to die on his tongue the second he saw you.

He fucking froze. His lips parted slightly, green eyes dragging over you in a slow, deliberate sweep that left your skin burning in its wake. His gaze lingered on the curve of your waist, the way the fabric hugged every inch of you just right, the delicate feather in your hair. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and you swore you saw his fingers twitch at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach out.

For once in his life, Dean Winchester had nothing to say.

The silence stretched between you, thick and crackling, charged with something electric. Your heart pounded so damn hard you were sure he could hear it.

Finally, Dean let out a breath, a little unsteady, and muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

You raised a brow, fighting a smirk. “That a good son of a bitch or a bad one?”

His jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. “You look…” He exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

Warmth spread through your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was from the compliment or the way he was looking at you—like you were the only damn thing in the world.

But two could play at that game.

You stepped closer, letting your eyes drift over him, slow and deliberate. “Not so bad yourself, Winchester.” You tilted your head. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you in suspenders.”

Dean cleared his throat, tugging at them like they personally offended him. “Yeah, well. They’re tryin’ to kill me.”

You grinned. “Shame. They’re kinda workin’ for you.”

Dean blinked. A faint flush crept up his neck. “Yeah?”

You hummed, your lips curving. “Yeah.”

Miss Ruby, who had been watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, finally clapped her hands. “Well, aren’t you two just a sight? Like something straight out of a picture show.”

Dean tore his eyes away from you and cleared his throat again. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Miss Ruby handed you a small clutch and turned toward the register. “Go on and take a look at yourselves. Make sure everything fits.”

You turned to the mirror, expecting to feel a little ridiculous, but… you didn’t. Instead, you saw something else entirely—two people who looked like they belonged in this era. A sharp-dressed man and an elegant woman standing side by side, just like any other couple in the 1920s.

A couple.

Your breath caught in your throat, pulse hammering in your ears. Because for a second—just a damn second—it didn’t feel like you were on a hunt. Didn’t feel like you were trapped in the wrong time, wearing borrowed clothes, pretending to fit into a world that wasn’t yours.

It felt like something else. Something dangerous. Something that made your skin prickle and your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with fear. And Dean felt it too—you could see it clear as day. His reflection met yours in the mirror, his green eyes dark and unreadable, something flickering behind them that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers twitched at his sides, the same way they always did when he was holding himself back. Like he wanted to reach for you. Like he wanted to close the space between you, wanted to grab your waist and pull you flush against him—but didn’t dare.

The weight of it settled between you, thick as the summer air outside, humming like a live wire ready to snap.

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To give in. To step forward, to press your palm against his chest, feel the heat of him through all those damn layers. To tilt your chin up just a little, and—

Dean tore his eyes away first. Cleared his throat, shifted his stance like he was shaking off a punch. “We should, uh… get moving,” he muttered, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves.

You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, trying to ignore the heat still crawling up your neck. “Yeah. Right.”

Dean made a noise somewhere between agreement and frustration, rubbing a hand over his mouth before turning toward the counter. He tossed a few crumpled bills—borrowed from a less-than-honest game of poker—onto the counter and gave Miss Ruby a tight-lipped smile. “Appreciate it.”

Miss Ruby arched a perfectly shaped brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you, lingering just a little too long. “Mhm. You kids have fun now.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath and made a beeline for the door, pushing it open a little harder than necessary. You followed, stepping back out into the warm night air, the scent of cigarette smoke and distant perfume hitting you instantly.

The street had settled a bit since earlier, the crowds thinning, the glow of streetlights casting long, hazy shadows across the sidewalk. You glanced over at Dean, who was adjusting his vest, his jaw set tight. He still looked too damn good in that suit, and it was doing absolutely nothing to help you get your head on straight.

Dean, for his part, looked as uncomfortable as ever. He tugged at his tie like it was choking the life out of him, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Damn thing’s tryin’ to strangle me.”

You smirked, arms crossed as you watched him fumble with the knot. “You look good, Winchester. Try not to die over it.”

Dean shot you a look, equally annoyed and flustered but didn’t argue. Instead, he huffed and gave the tie one last, aggressive tug. “So what’s the plan, Miss I-Read-The-Great-Gatsby?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “First, we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Second, we figure out where the hell we are. Third, we find a way to get home.”

Dean grunted, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “And if we’re stuck?”

You swallowed hard. “We’re not stuck.”

Dean must’ve caught the flicker of doubt in your voice, because his jaw tightened. His eyes softened—just for a second but his voice was steady when he said, “Damn right, we’re not.”

Before you could respond, the sound of lighthearted laughter pulled your attention to a couple passing by. They were well-dressed, hands entwined as they strolled toward a neon-lit building tucked between a tailor shop and a dimly lit alleyway. The low thrum of music and lively conversation spilled onto the street, mingling with the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke.

A speakeasy.

Dean followed your gaze, and a slow smirk crept onto his face. “Well, ain’t that convenient.”

You hesitated. “Dean, I don’t think—”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupted smoothly, extending his arm to you like a gentleman, “when in Rome.”

Your breath caught. It wasn’t fair, the way he could look at you like that, smirking, confident, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in all of this. The glow of the streetlamp cast shadows across his sharp features, the crisp lines of his suit making him look like he belonged here, like he was meant to be leaning in close, waiting for you to take his arm.

Goddamn it.

You exhaled, leveling him with a warning glance. “Fine. But if we get arrested, I’m blaming you.”

Dean’s grin widened. “That’s fair.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you slid your hand into the crook of his arm, trying not to notice the warmth radiating through the fabric. The smirk he shot you told you he definitely noticed. “Let’s go raise some hell”

The second you stepped inside, the air wrapped around you—thick with cigarette smoke, the rich scent of whiskey, and the underlying hum of something electric. The jazz band onstage was in full swing, the brass section wailing as a sultry-voiced singer leaned into the mic, crooning lyrics that melted into the haze of conversation and clinking glasses.

On the dance floor, flappers twirled, skirts flaring as men in sharp suits spun them effortlessly. Laughter and shouts of delight filled the room, and for a second, it didn’t feel like you were stuck in the wrong decade—it felt like you’d stepped into a dream, something dazzling and dangerous all at once.

Dean led you through the crowd, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. It should’ve been nothing—just instinct, just him keeping you close, but his touch seared through the silk of your dress like a brand. Every nerve in your body stood at attention.

“Looks like we fit right in,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm as it brushed against the shell of your ear.

A shiver threatened to race down your spine. You swallowed hard. “Guess so.”

The bar was a polished stretch of mahogany, manned by a broad-shouldered bartender in rolled-up sleeves and suspenders. He was wiping down a glass, his sharp gaze flicking up as you approached.

Dean leaned against the counter with that easy, practiced charm of his, flashing the bartender a lopsided grin. “Hey, pal. We’re new in town—just passin’ through. Know anywhere a couple of folks can get some work?”

The bartender’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his smirk slow and knowing. “Newlyweds?”

Dean choked on absolutely nothing.

You nearly did the same. “Uh—what?”

The bartender chuckled, clearly amused. “You two got the look. Lovebirds, fresh in the city.” He winked at you. “Don’t worry, doll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Dean was still recovering, clearing his throat as he muttered, “Yeah. Great.”

Your heart flipped, an unwelcome warmth creeping up your neck at the thought of you and Dean looking like newlyweds. Which was ridiculous. Completely absurd. But then, as if he could feel the flustered mess brewing inside you, Dean slung an arm around your waist and pulled you against him.

You froze.

His voice, when he spoke, was smooth, easy. “Well, you got us all figured out, huh?”

The bartender grinned. “Hard to miss.”

Dean’s fingers flexed slightly at your waist, his grip firm, possessive. You had to remind yourself to breathe.

The bartender turned to grab a bottle of whiskey, and you seized the opportunity to lean in, lowering your voice to a harsh whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dean didn’t loosen his hold. “Makin’ sure we don’t look suspicious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Uh-huh.”

But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. His jaw was tight, his eyes trained on the bartender like he was waiting for something, calculating, already planning the next move. He was protecting you. And God help you because you didn’t want him to let go.

The bartender slid two glasses of whiskey across the counter, still smirking like he knew something you didn’t. You could still feel Dean’s arm draped around your waist, his fingers resting against your hip like they belonged there.

You swallowed hard, grabbed your drink, and downed half of it in one go. The burn in your throat was easier to deal with than the warmth curling in your stomach from Dean’s touch.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Easy there, sweetheart. Ain’t gotta drink me pretty.”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks burning. “I’d have to drink a lot more for that.”

Dean grinned like he knew you were lying. Before you could throw another retort at him, a man slid onto the stool beside you. He was tall, lean, with sharp features and a cocky air about him. His suit was a little too nice, his smile a little too polished. Something about him set your hunter instincts on edge.

“Well, well,” the man drawled, looking between you and Dean. “You two are new around here.”

Dean’s hold on you tightened just slightly. “Just passin’ through.”

The man smiled like that amused him. “That so? Because a couple like you—” he gestured between the two of you, “—new in town, lookin’ for work? That makes people curious.”

You stiffened. “And what kind of people are we talkin’ about?”

His smile didn’t falter. “The kind who like to know who they’re dealing with.”

Dean let out a slow breath, his body tensing beside you. “Yeah? And what if we’re just here to enjoy a drink?”

The man tilted his head. “Then you’re in the wrong place.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Dean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That so?”

The man smirked. “That’s so.” Then, as if this whole conversation was just so amusing, he slid a card across the counter. “If you’re looking for real work, I suggest you come find me.”

Dean didn’t pick up the card.

But you did. It was small, worn at the edges, with nothing but an address printed in bold, ink-black lettering. No name. No instructions. Just a destination, as if that was all you needed to know.

Your fingers tightened around it as you glanced up, searching for the man who had slipped it to you—but he was already gone, swallowed by the crowd like a ghost. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

Dean shifted beside you, his body coiled tight. “I already hate this guy,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with something sharp.

You exhaled through your nose, staring down at the card as your stomach twisted. “He knows something.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Yeah, well. I got a bad feelin’ about this.”

You tapped the card against the bar, your pulse thudding a little too fast. “You think we should go?”

Dean turned his head so slowly you almost laughed. Almost. The look he gave you could’ve curdled whiskey. “Do I want to? No. Do I think we should? Hell no.”

You sighed. “Dean.”

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking. You could see the war happening behind those green eyes—every instinct telling him to walk the hell away, to trust his gut, to drag you out of here and find another way. But you both knew that wasn’t an option.

Finally, he let out a heavy breath. “Fine. But I swear, if this turns into some Al Capone meets monster-of-the-week situation, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

You smirked, leaning in just enough to make it worse. “I think you’d look good in a fedora.”

Dean huffed, unimpressed, and threw back the rest of his whiskey like he needed the liquid courage to put up with your shit. He set the glass down with a decisive clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

But as the two of you stepped away from the bar, Dean’s arm still solid around your waist, the weight of the card in your palm felt heavier than it should have.

And deep down, you knew—this was just the beginning.

author’s note:

surprise!! here’s the first chapter!

omg, I’m so excited to finally share the first chapter with y’all! not gonna lie I’ve been kinda lazy with editing and writing lately, lmfao. the schedule has finally been set though!

every monday a new chapter will be released! the series will contain six chapters in total! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I had fun writing it! ❤︎

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @pressedwater @ladysparkles78 @waynes-multiverse @exansation @darkrose064 @fallingforfictionalmen @jollyhunter (lmk if I missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[makimaglazertilldeath]

Yan!Mizuki x gender neutral reader

warning: forced breeding, dubcon, porn without plot, ooc, kinda dark. reader has a cock, sadism(?)

You’re pinned to the bed, arms bound above your head, silk restraints digging into your wrists. The fabric is soft, but the way Mizuki tied them? Unyielding.

She sits on top of you, straddling your hips, her small body trembling from the sheer size of your cock stretching her open. Her skin is flushed, slick with sweat, her breath shaky as she presses down to take you to the hilt.

She shudders, one hand pressing against her lower belly, feeling the way you bulge inside her.

"Ahh~" she sighs, a lazy, satisfied smile curling her lips. "So deep… so full… you’re finally where you belong."

Your body twitches, overstimulated, exhausted. Mizuki has already milked you dry twice, forcing you to cum inside her, making sure not a single drop is wasted. But she’s not done.

Not until she’s sure it takes.

"M-Mizuki," you pant, your voice hoarse. "I can’t—"

"Shh." She tightens around you, her walls pulsing, making your entire body jolt in raw sensitivity. "You’re not empty yet. I can still feel you twitching inside me."

She rolls her hips, slow, deliberate, cruel. The way she moves is torture, overstimulating you to the point of madness.

"But you’re so sensitive, aren’t you?" she giggled, nails scraping down your chest. "Look at you. You’re shaking. Are you going to cry?"

Her mocking sweetness makes your face burn. You turn your head, trying to escape her gaze, but she grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Eyes on me." Her voice, soft, yet somehow demanding and dark. "You don’t get to hide."

Her lilac eyes gleam with something dangerous.

"You’re going to watch while I break you."

She slams down hard, making your breath hitch, your cock twitching violently inside her.

"Ahh~" she gasps, shivering as her walls clamp down. "Mmm, I love that. I love the way you react when I use you properly."

You groan, struggling against the restraints, but you’re completely at her mercy.

She starts moving again, grinding, rolling, bouncing—forcing you to fill her even though you’re already spent.

Each movement sends a fresh wave of overload through your nerves, your body twitching, muscles seizing, mind blanking.

But Mizuki doesn’t stop.

She leans down, licking the sweat from your throat, whispering against your skin.

"Cum again."

You shake your head weakly. "I—can’t—"

She tightens around you again, her heat suffocating, relentless.

"You will."

Her hands slide down your chest, nails digging in just enough to sting. She loves seeing you unravel, seeing you too sensitive to handle it but unable to stop.

She sits up, placing her hands on your stomach for leverage, and starts riding you harder.

Fast. Deep. Unforgiving.

"Yes—yes—fuck, it’s so deep—! "

Your body tenses, pleasure and pain blurring together, your nerves on fire. Mizuki’s tiny body takes you so perfectly, every movement forcing you deeper into her tight, soaking heat.

You don’t even realize you’re close again until she speaks.

"Give it to me," she gasps, moaning your name. "You’re going to fill me again. Right now."

You shake beneath her, your body fighting against the impossible.

But Mizuki knows your body better than you do.

She leans forward, pressing her forehead to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze as she completely overwhelms your senses.

"Cum," she commands.

Her voice sinks into your brain, her scent, her heat, her everything suffocating you, consuming you.

She forces you past the breaking point, past exhaustion, past overstimulation—until you snap.

Your vision goes white as you spill inside her again, pumping her full, your body convulsing, completely ruined.

Mizuki gasps in ecstasy, her walls tightening desperately to milk you for every last drop.

When you collapse, shaking, breathless, spent, she collapses onto your chest, sighing dreamily.

She traces lazy circles over your skin, her breath warm against your throat.

"You did so well," she hums. "But… I think you can give me one more."

Your stomach drops.

You whimper, trembling under her, and Mizuki smiles against your skin, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Shh~ it’s okay," she whispers. "I’ll make sure you don’t waste a single drop."

Her hips shift again.

And the cycle begins anew.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: In the spirit of Christmas hehe

Masterlist, Prologue

He didn’t believe that you were gone no matter what anyone said.

Everyone was saying the same thing. You were gone and there was nothing anyone could do to bring you back. However, Min Yoongi didn’t like their answer and anyone who said that you had already passed on from this earth was met with his wrath that was communicated through his fists and weapons. No one could even tell him that he now couldn’t physically follow where you were. In his twisted mind, he thought that he could follow you because you never left this earth. Of course, he could follow. You did promise, after all, that you would never go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking follow. His angel would never lie to him, he thought. But your absence was saying otherwise. Your absence was too loud.

The days following the moment he opened his eyes and learned of your demise were bloody and dark. Everyone was on edge, and the traitors went to hell here on earth. They did wish they had died instead, but death was never quick when it came to them, nor was it painless. Min Yoongi made sure that they felt every ounce of pain he felt when you were taken away from him. His brothers could not even reason with the man. They didn’t know how to handle this Min Yoongi. It was as though he died there with you, and what was left of him was only his darkness. Agustd was already ruthless, but now he was just outright cruel, burning everything and everyone that crossed his path.

No one could even say their piece to him-well, all except Kim Seokjin. Despite Jin choosing the less violent life and despite him spending his days treating people in the hospital, no one could deny the power he naturally excluded. It was the power that was inherent to him when he was unfortunate enough to be born to a father that was the previous mafia king. Kim Seokjin may possessed the face of an angel, but he was the most dangerous of them all. It was just that he had a patience of a saint, and everyone fret the day someone snapped his patience. He was a dangerous, eccentric man. And he was a ticking time bomb in comparison to Taehyung who just kept on exploding without an end in sight. Min Yoongi, though, was known to be a reasonable man, his calm nature was never broken. It took losing you to break the calmness in him. The days after he woke up, he was seen back where he was the happiest. Day after day, Yoongi could be found there, leaning against the tree with cigarette in between his lips as he looked at the ruins of your house. The fire took everything from him. It was angry as it smoldered what once was his latibule to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Yoongi thought that the world was simply too cruel to him to strip away the only place he had of you. He couldn’t even smell you anymore, couldn’t even go to the place that was full of your presence.

How cruel was it to have you once and never again? How cruel was it for him to finally have found the warmth, to finally have basked in it for a moment too short, only for him to live in a winter forever after you? He would never admit to anyone that each time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was the moment you fell as the bullet pierced your skin. So, he had not been sleeping well. If you were here, he thought, you would chase away all the demons in his head. If you were here, you would put your arms around him, rub your hands on his shoulder in a soothing way only you knew how, and you would silently tell him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. Yoongi couldn’t do anything. All he did was to go to the place where he found and lost you.

He was always there, Jimin noted. He made this place your temple, mural and shrine. However, never once did he visit where you were finally laid to rest. Never once did he even acknowledge your death. It was like not seeing it would make your death untrue. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the man could be found there as though he was waiting on a miracle, as though if he waited long enough then you would return, as though if he stayed long enough, you would walk back and smile at him, all while calling him a fool for looking too sad.

But you never did.  

And after a whole year, Min Yoongi never uttered your name again.

---

“Y-you’re supposed to be the good one! W-what is the Chief of Police doing here?!”

Yoongi watched in boredom as Jungkook pushed a man to kneel in front of him. The warehouse was quiet, well, save for the screaming of the traitors. The other brothers were busy with torturing the remaining traitors they kept alive. And today, he was faced with the last remaining traitor they had yet to kill. See, this asshole was so below the rank that he didn’t know that the Chief of Police was also the same Agustd, the leader of the mafia.

He was nothing, Yoongi thought. And yet, he was the one who blew up your house. He could almost laugh if he still knew how.  “T-the public will know! I’ll tell them that you’re the d-devil!”

Yoongi blew the smoke on his face emotionlessly, a strand of his dark hair falling on his face. “You’re not an intelligent man, are you?” he asked evenly before pulling the cigarette in between his lips and onto the idiot’s eyelid. He heeded his screams no mind as he removed his jacket with his badge on it. Someone from his right stepped in to carefully fold his jacket. Yoongi folded his sleeves to his elbows and without any warning, punched the man on his face.

The man proved to be an even greater fool as he laughed in false bravado, blood a stark contrast against his crooked teeth, “Is that all you can do? You don’t have it in you to kill. You’re a civil servant!”

“Is that so?” he asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a knife, putting it up over the light to inspect it before turning to the buffoon. “Which hand burned the house?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook and the latter manhandled the man near the table, flatting both his hand on it. “Which hand should I cut?” He walked nearer to them as though he had all the time in the world. “This one,” he stabbed the table, missing the man’s hand by a centimeter. “Or this one?” he repeated the action for the right hand, except that this time he intentionally stabbed the knife through his thumb, severely cutting it. “Oh no,” he said in a deadpanned voice before looking directly at him. “Guess my aim got bad.”

“W-who are y-you?!”

He smiled at him; his eyes remained emotionless. “Hi, I’m Agustd. Nice to meet you. So which hand?”

“N-No! No, please! I’ll give you what you want-“

Yoongi sighed, already losing his patience. “You do have to choose. We won’t stop until you only have one hand. Or do you want me to choose?”

“L-lef-“

Before the traitor could even finish sputtering what Yoongi deemed was bullshit, he buried the hilt of the knife into his hand. He didn’t even blink when he felt resistance from his bones, Yoongi merely kept on pushing, uncaring of the wailing man. He never stopped until he the knife finally touched the surface of the table.

And after that, he stabbed his hand again. He never ceased, not until the hand was completely mutilated. He never stopped, not even when the blood kept sputtering on his face from the man’s open wound, a stark contrast on his pale white complexion. He never stopped even when the man lost consciousness.

“He’s going to die, Yoongi,” Seokjin noted lightly from his seat. From outside looking in, he looked like a perfect image of peace, yet the hold he had on his phone was a telltale sign that he was far from pleased. He was not even phased by the violence around him, his focus merely on the whereabouts of his runaway sunshine. “I do not have the patience required to revive a dying man tonight.”

Yoongi paused, leering at the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness, before heeding his hyung’s statement. He did not want to test Jin’s patience tonight when it was apparent that he was barely holding on to his control.

He didn’t want to kill this man tonight. No. He planned on keeping him alive for years and years to come. He planned to give him hope, only for him to squash it away like he did his. As long as Yoongi shall live, then he shall suffer with him. As long as he was living in this fucked-up nightmare where you weren’t by his side, then so should he lived his very own crafted nightmare.

If he wasn’t happy, then why should anyone be?

---

“That phone looks like it wants to rest,” Jimin observed lightly as he and his hyung visited another crime scene that was definitely not because of them. It was three hours away from Seoul, the travel time giving him headache, similar to what Jimin was giving him. He watched as Yoongi ended the call before glaring at him.

“What about my phone, Jimin?”

“It looks like it wants to retire. Please, for the love of all that’s good, let me buy you a phone.”

“No.” It was the only thing he had of you.

“Whyyyyy do you love that phone so much, hyung? Our enemies would think our business is not doing good that you cannot even buy yourself a phone!”

Yoongi just shrugged his broad shoulders before walking out of the police line and through the busy market. He nodded at the policemen as they acknowledged him. His watchful eyes observed the chipper attitude of the marketgoers, chatting among themselves. He wondered how people could wake up this early and yet looked so alive. He hadn’t felt alive since that night. However, he thought that had you been here, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He would wake up at an ungodly hour for you.

He could hear Jimin chatter beside him as they navigated their way out of the busy street when it happened. Until it all turned into a white noise when it happened.

When he saw you.

He halted his brisk walk, his eyes following as you walked away yet again from him.

 For a brief moment, he believed your eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt his heart beat again. Yet, your eyes seemed to hold no recognition for him as it only passed through him. You didn’t even stop. It was as though he was merely a stranger.

On the other hand, he thought that you looked different, but he knew in his dead heart that it was you.

Or was it his mind finally crumbling on him, reveling on his insanity?

He blinked once and you were gone.

Jimin, suffice to say, was shocked as his hyung ran back. He never saw him moved that fast, uncaring of the people who he would runover from his haste. His dark coat trailed behind him as he moved, a touch of desperation evident, compelling Jimin to reluctantly trail after him. Yoongi forcefully cleared a path, parting the crowd with determined strides. His singular focus was on reaching you, leaving his mind devoid of any other thoughts.

It was you, he was sure. It was his angel.

He was almost sure.

But when he reached where he saw you last, you weren’t there.

Jimin was breathless when he finally reached his hyung who was looking around the crowd like a lost child. His hands were on his waist as his desperate eyes searched for…who, exactly?

“What happened, hyu-“

“It was her, Jimin-ah. I saw her.”

He blinked, following his hyung’s shifting gaze. “Who?”

“My angel. She’s alive."

Latibule 2.II

[purinbunnii]

Reckless (Part 4 )

Suguru Geto didn’t just fuck.

He took.

And right now?

Right now, he was taking you apart.

⸻

You didn’t know how long you’d been pinned to the infirmary’s exam table, but at this point, time didn’t exist—only him.

His weight caged you in, his body overwhelming, his cock splitting you open so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“S-Suguru—”

“Shhh, sugar,” he mocked, voice thick with amusement. “Ain’t no use fightin’ it now.”

You weren’t fighting—at least, not anymore.

You had tried.

Tried to push at his chest, tried to close your thighs, tried to ignore the way your body betrayed you every time he buried himself inside you, his cock stretching you wide, filling you too full, pressing so deep your mind could barely keep up.

But he wouldn’t let you run.

Wouldn’t let you hide from the way he ruined you.

You whimpered as he bottomed out, your legs trembling from sheer exhaustion.

“F-fuck—”

Suguru growled, his palm pressing firm against your lower belly, feeling the way his cock bulged against your insides.

“Feel that, sugar?” His voice was gravel and smoke, thick with possession. “So deep inside you. Right where I belong.”

You clenched around him hard, and he snarled, hips snapping forward so fast it sent a sharp, helpless moan spilling from your lips.

“Shit,” he hissed, his voice wrecked. “You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?”

You could barely breathe.

Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, tears blurring your vision as his cock pounded into you, slow and punishing, like he wanted to burn his shape into your body.

Like he wanted to make damn sure you’d never take another man after this.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, almost to himself, one hand curling around your throat, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him.

You had seen Suguru Geto angry before.

Had seen him ruthless, had seen him cruel—a man with nothing to lose and a gun to prove it.

But this?

This wasn’t anger.

This was obsession.

The kind that destroyed.

The kind that wouldn’t let you breathe without his permission.

“You been runnin’ from me all this time,” he rasped, thumb dragging over your wet, parted lips. “Actin’ like you don’t wanna be mine.”

His other hand squeezed your hip, dragging you further onto his cock, forcing you to take him deeper, until your back arched off the table.

You cried out, legs shaking.

He groaned, his grip on your throat tightening, just enough to make your head spin.

“Ain’t no runnin’ now, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips.

Then—

He slapped your cheek.

Not enough to hurt—just enough to startle, enough to send a jolt straight through you, enough to make you clench around him so tight he cursed.

Your eyes widened.

“Ohh, you liked that, huh?” His smirk was lethal, his fingers tilting your chin up. “My dirty little thing.”

You wanted to fight it.

Wanted to shove him off, tell him to fuck off, cowboy—but all that came out was a broken moan, your thighs trembling as he pressed another stingingly soft slap to your other cheek.

“Dumb little thing,” he crooned. “Takin’ me so good.”

You whimpered.

And Suguru lost it.

He snapped his hips forward, spearing you so deep you felt it in your lungs, his hand sliding from your throat to your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

“Keep that pretty mouth open, sugar.”

You barely had time to gasp before he spat directly onto your tongue, hot and dirty, and you whimpered, body tightening so hard it sent you over the edge instantly.

“Oh, fuck—look at you.”

You came violently, back bowing, your cunt squeezing around him in desperate, convulsing waves.

And Suguru?

Suguru moaned.

Long, drawn out, wrecked.

Then—

He came.

Hard.

His hips stuttered, his grip bruising, his body shaking as he emptied himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing so thick, so hot, filling you to the brim.

“That’s it, sugar,” he groaned, panting, his forehead pressing to yours. “Take all that cum. Take every fuckin’ drop.”

You were boneless, wrecked, ruined.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

⸻

You didn’t know how long it went on.

Suguru was insatiable.

Aching. Desperate. Obsessive.

He wouldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop thrusting, wouldn’t stop whispering filth in your ear, wouldn’t stop chasing another load—each orgasm worse than the last, harder, deeper, more desperate.

At some point, he had you folded in half, pressing his palm against your stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock inside you, forcing you to take it.

“S-Suguru—t-too much—”

“Shh, baby, just one more.”

(You didn’t know how many times he’d already said that.)

Your body was numb, your mind white static, your cunt dripping with his cum, but he still wasn’t satisfied.

Not until you were crying.

Not until he had bred you full, until his scent was all over you, until his fingers pushed his own cum back inside you, a filthy, ruined mess.

“You ain’t ever leavin’ me now, sugar,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, his voice rough with pure, satisfied exhaustion. “Ain’t no man ever gonna fuck you like this again.”

You whimpered, head lolling, brain gone.

And Suguru—

Suguru just grinned, pressing a final, lazy kiss to your bruised lips.

“Mine now, darlin’.”

Then—

He spat into your mouth again.

And you swallowed.

Because you were too ruined to resist.

His. Forever.

5(later today)

[cleoluvrr]

high school sweethearts (rafe cameron x reader) - prologue

these are the requirements, if you think you can be my one true love

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, domestic violence, substance abuse & addiction, coercion, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, attempted suicide, kook!reader

masterlist

series masterlist

“get the hell out of my house, rafe! i don’t care!” your voice was raspy with anger and frustration as you yelled in rafe’s face. your skin was damp with fresh tears, neck covered in the salty trail leaking from your eyes. “i’m not doing this shit with you anymore!”

your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, was at the foot of your bed, burning eyes glaring down at your seated frame. you know why he came over, but seeing as the two of you ended on bad terms just a couple weeks ago, you were less than pleased to see him. it wasn’t really a mutual separation–it was more one of force. you told him you were leaving him–and you did–but in rafe’s head, he never left you.

rafe wasn’t a nice guy most of the time, not even to you. you knew that when he pursued you, but you still gave him the benefit of the doubt. you told yourself that it was just a defense mechanism, that he would get nicer the longer you two were together. when the cruel behavior continued well into your relationship, you realized just how wrong you were.

the name-calling, the violent behavior directed towards both you and others, the raging cocaine addiction that he wasn’t even trying to overcome; it was all too much for you. hence, why you broke it off after years of trying to find a more sympathetic side of him. he had one, you knew that for a fact, but it wasn’t enough to ignore all of his shortcomings.

“that’s not how that works, y/n. are you fucking stupid, or something?” rafe looked at you incredulously, top lip flipped up in an almost disgusted snarl. 

“what do you mean ‘that’s not how it works?’” the frustration you felt was only amplified, face screwed up from being unable to process the gall he possessed to let those words leave his mouth. “i said that we’re done. over, finished. i explained to you why we’re finished very simply–you’re a piece of shit, rafe. and until you’re not, we’re going to stay finished.”

the chance that he would ever stop being a terrible person was minimal. it had to run in his dna–maybe it skipped sarah and wheezie, but the trait definitely passed from ward unto his son. 

you’d seen the way his father spoke to him. you were the one he came to late at night when he’d storm off after an argument, drunk, high, or crossed out of his mind. you nursed his bruises, bloody noses, and sore knuckles after their physical altercations. he never had someone truly care for him growing up, and being raised by a monster only turned him into one.

it was easy to look at the broken boy and have your heart ache for him. how could someone be mad at him for lashing out when that was the only way he was taught to express his feelings? it was even harder to nurse your own bruises that resulted in his unhealed, internal ones. which is why you had to put an end to it in the first place.

“there’s no way you think i’m letting you leave me, y/n,” he says dryly. “after all the investments i made in you? you might be crazier than me.” the taller man lets out a humorless laugh as he rakes his nimble fingers through the blonde locks atop his head.

“what fucking investments, rafe? the jewelry?” 

you push yourself off your bed and shove past him, the dresser behind him becoming the new target of your rage. yanking open the jewelry box neatly sitting atop the piece of furniture, you ravage it for every ring, necklace, and pair of earrings rafe ever gifted you. turning around to face him, you toss it at his feet in a messy pile, the metal scattering around the floor and knocking against his shoes noisily.

“there you go, rafe! do you want the clothes, too?” you go to your closet door and rip it open, the box full of clothes that rafe bought you sitting neatly in the corner where you left it a week ago after packing it all away. the box scrapes against the hardwood floor as you pull it out of its hiding spot. “here! take it! take all your ‘investments’ back! ”

“y/n-” rafe tries to speak but he’s cut off by the sound of your phone hitting him square in the jaw. he bought that too, and he could take it for all you cared.

“there’s your phone, too.” it took everything in you not to smirk in satisfaction at seeing him wince in pain from the heavy object hitting him directly in the face, but it only lasted a second before you realized it was a bad idea. escalating to physical violence was never a thing you did. “now take your shit and leave.”

a few months ago, you would have never thought of doing anything like that. in fact a few months ago you were too scared to even raise your voice at him, let alone throw your phone at him with intentions to harm him.

it took you two months to even find the courage to break things off with him. you feared what was to come if you were to do something as drastic as that, but you knew that it had to happen eventually. even then you weren’t this bold, and the way rafe remained deathly still in front you stood as a reminder why you never were.

“i know you didn’t mean to do that…” rafe trails off, eyes closed as his tongue pokes though the side of his cheek in poorly hidden vexation. “you’re just angry, so i’m gonna pretend you didn't do that.” he squats down slowly to examine the jewelry laid out at his feet.

he pokes around wordlessly, the sound of the collection softing scraping against the floor taking over the silence of the room. you observe as he picks up a familiar silver piece, blinking rapidly as he rises back to his full height with it pinched between his fingers.

the square-shaped mark on his face where the phone made contact with him appears to be a deeper red as he approaches you, the few feet between you crossed in seconds with his long legs. you swallow the saliva collecting in your mouth, breath hitching nervously when he reaches for you. the feeling of the cool metal of the necklace falling into the dip of your clavicle makes you flinch instinctively as rafe clasps it behind your neck.

“you are my shit, y/n.” the taller man hums as his fingers adjust the pendant resting against your chest. “i invested my time, money, and energy into you not only because i love you, but because i expect a return on it. so, unless i’m leaving here with you, i’m not going anywhere.”

rafe’s hand so close to your neck had you frozen in place, unsure of what his next move would be. even after years of being with him, he was still far too unpredictable and unstable to feel easy around when you could feel the agitation dripping from his pores. 

“on our first anniversary, i told you i couldn’t see myself with anyone else. on our second anniversary, i gave you a promise ring–” his free hand reaches down for the hand still adorned by the diamond studded ring he gifted you almost a year ago. you never took it off, but right now you wish that you had the strength to. “and i promised that i was going to marry you one day. you were going to be my beautiful wife, you would have my beautiful children, and everyone would wish they were us.”

“why are you–” you abruptly go silent when you catch the look he gives you, blue eyes dark with a calm rage that you’d learned to fear the most over everything. you shut your mouth immediately at the wordless instruction.

“you promised to love me.” he holds up his hand to show the matching promise ring wrapped around his own finger. “you promised to accept that i was fucked up. you promised that you would be there to wipe my tears, and that you could handle all my shit, even if it hurt you. if you think i’m gonna sit here and let you fuck me over–let you waste my time? let you just–just leave?”

he shakes his head at you, both of his hands reaching up to plant themselves on the sides of your face. his palms are warm against your skin, the feeling of his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. you blinked up at him, eyes wide as your heart pounds against your chest. his own eyes were still dark and angry, but you could see the pure love pouring out of them though the seam between his blown out pupils and the blue of his iris. 

you inhaled deeply when the blonde leaned in to place a gentle kiss to your mouth. it was hard to remain stoic in your reaction, especially when he pulled away with your sticky, pink gloss coating his plush lips.

“you’re not leaving me that easy.” he whispers softly into the little space between your faces. it was instinctive to gulp out of fear–the barely contained, frightened whimper pushed back down your throat with the action. “if i lose you, it will be by my own hands. it won’t be because you get a little scared when shit gets real.”

rafe is granted silence as you continue to stare up at him with your lips drawn together tightly. he sighs heavily, sensing the fear radiating off of your body. you feel his hands pull you into his chest, one of them dropping to your waist to hug you close to him as he rests his head on top of yours. 

“i will fucking kill you before i ever let you leave, y/n. do you understand that?” you say nothing in response, sure that your voice will tremble more than you want it to. you believed every word that came out of his mouth deep down, and the seriousness of his demeanor only justified your sense of foreboding. “answer me. do you understand?”

you remain silent for a heavy second, mouth completely devoid of moisture and heart pumping too rapidly to speak steadily.

“yes, rafe.” you nodded against his chest and you felt him exhale, almost in a way that resembled relief. “i understand. i’m sorry…” you weren’t sure what you were even apologizing for, but it was something you were so used to doing to save your own ass.

“it’s okay, baby, i know.” he plants his lips to your scalp sweetly before pulling away just a couple centimeters. “i know it gets hard sometimes– i know i’m hard, and i’m sorry for that. i’m really trying.”

“i know.” you say weakly, the words all but muffled by the shirt your face was buried into.

you felt him nod above you before he placed another kiss on your head. 

“i love you so, so much.” rafe whispers into your hair, the air of his words against your scalp sending chills down your back.

you nod in response, submitting to the silence that weighs heavy on your tongue.

[crguang]

HI HELLO SHALOM INTERRO ??? THOUGHTS ??? HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT CHIEF BEING THE PERSON TO BREAK THE PARADEISOS LOBOTOMY

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING INSANEEEEEEEEEEE. UNBELIEVABLE. WHAT????????! they are intrinsically linked together. at once by the shackles, paradeisos, loss of self, mutual liberation and their inevitable end perceived by others. they’re literally the same. shalom pre-lobotomy is chief pre-awakening; refusing to be controlled, full of vitality, hatred and defiance (as defined by having freedom). i have so many thoughts in my head and it’s hard to concretize them all but the language shalom used to talk about how chief opened the door for doubt in her mind stroke me, it’s so violent. “rift” “corrupting” “shattering” “beast/monster” “tore me apart”… it really conveyed how shocking of a transition it must have been for her to suddenly feel those “unnecessary emotions” that had been taken from her for 8 years. even more, it must be so surreal to understand that you’ve been dissected in two, dehumanized and objectified while simultaneously being able to gaze upon that part of yourself that cries in indignation. if she was truly emotionless it wouldn’t mean a thing, but she’s not… she’s so incredibly self-aware. i think this is what makes it so sad for me, knowing you have an expiration date based on your usefulness because you were “made” for one purpose while being able to feel pleasure and have desires, etc— to understand the weight of what has been snatched from you by people who think themselves righteous when they’re really just a bunch of fear-stricken cowards would have anybody go crazy. seeing what paradeisos did to her made me so sick. the apathy with which they treat every threat to themselves is shocking but straight up mocking her will to live for herself by calling the monster they’ve made using (a part of) her Rebel made my stomach churn like that is so disgusting… shalom is aware of the severity of what paradeisos did to her and it’s sick that she has to risk everything just for less than a 1% chance of success that doesn’t even include her survival mind you. im just SICKK

to think she was so full of life and fighting spirit and is now reduced to “resigned” looks and smiles, compared to an instrument and a doll— oh my god sev it made me so uncomfortable. i know that during the loyalty test in the consciousness observatory or whatever, she was essentially embodying paradeisos but reading her being described as “doll-like” “void” and such was so tough… for chief to get that impression of her being an empty shell, expression that shalom uses again in the end to describe herself, then for shalom wonder if she’s even human afterwards made me so sadddd 😭 i do like these two excerpts though because i feel like it describes the duality of her character well, the surface level at least. the fact that she is capable of being genuine and has mastered the art of “embodying paradeisos” so that they wouldn’t notice that flaw makes her impossible to figure her out without diving into her psyche. even chief couldn’t understand her fully, she wont be able to now that she’s forgotten her. she’s so wonderfully complex and her interrogation portrayed that concept super well.

ive talked about shalom and her smiles before but another thing that’s always struck me as odd was that she kinda laughed too much for an unfeeling robot. im not talking about her cute little chuckles either, yeah sometimes it’s only to add to her manipulation but at the end of flora unfurl, when all of her plans were coming to fruition and in the face of coquelic’s rage, she was laughing then still. her laughs and smiles are sometimes so inappropriate but her laughter especially stood out to me and i didnt really know why until this one scene… it takes more effort to fake a laugh than to fake a smile like she does all the time; from what i remember she wasn’t mocking coquelic or being unnecessarily cruel, but when she burst out laughing i was so confused exactly because it felt unnecessary and out of place, like what happened in that scene. laughter is often accompanied by emotion and during a time where rationality couldn’t explain the motive behind her action, schorl immediately scanned her for defects like that’s insane. the level of scrutiny she’s constantly under is impossibly oppressive— “try to rectify such purposeless physicalities”?! cant even laugh anymore because of woke. can’t voice her thoughts, can’t be fully genuine with the person who freed her from rationality, she literally cannot do shit omg. all of herself has to be available to paradeisos’ sterile gaze every second of every day… she’s used to that scrutiny but ughhh it’s not fair and it’s not how human beings are treated. shalom i will save you from this prison if it’s the last thing i do

despite it all, she has her small pleasures and it makes me want to scream and die. the way she “plays” with schorl by having it scan her meaninglessly, how she enjoys catching people off guard and observing their reactions, the way she’s always making fucking jokes?! so important to me. shes so unserious. shalom making jokes that fall flat because they’re in the middle of a heavy topic or issue is so important to me. “haha your garden’s better off with me than dead right? kidding, heh” and “why should i give a fuck about humanity?… just kidding! love these people” is so 😭😭😭 i genuinely find her hilarious because she doesn’t relieve any tension at all, she is NOT meant to be comedic relief 😭

back to her and chief tho…… is it not absolutely crazy how she was acting like they were once married with three kids before chief got amnesia. mind you they met ONCE before, officially. ONE TIME. and she was like “you made a lasting impression on me” “we’re friends” “i wanted to see you/my own subtle yearning to see you again” “we held hands like this once before… i still remember the touch” “being apart from you, i cant help but worry” SLOW DOWWWWWWN. MY GOODNESS. i know chief changed her life but shalom was so intense from the get go like she wants that cookie so effing bad. they used the words “tender” “intimate” and “gently” too often for me to believe they dont want each other like. and why was the hand holding written like a fanfiction— matter of fact, this whole thing was written like a fanfiction because why am i reading about the exposed skin of shalom’s collarbone, her pushing chief onto her bed then essentially climbing into it as well to whisper in her ear WHILE encouraging her to choke her?!?!?!?! what was even happening. lesbians make me sick. what a freak. i actually dont know how many times ive called shalom a freak while playing the first 2 interro phases

wish i could add all the screenshots from the choking scene but tumblr’s a BITCH. but this whole thing was insane. LIKE INSANE. this is gayer than 000 kissing chief. this is gayer than being a housewife for the assassin that kidnapped you. reconnecting with an old “friend” you cant remember yet feel an undeniable familiarity and connection towards and allowing yourself to be vulnerable and exposed in front of her regardless of ulterior motives… soulmates across space and time and circumstance idkkk, at the end of the day the one who can understand shalom the best if given a real chance is chief idc they’re mirror images of each other. shalom was so genuine in the interrogation room despite chief being suspicious of her like im sure of it now. the fact that they freed each other is forever ingrained in my heart, that is the most precious gift they could’ve given to each other even if it was done unconsciously from chief’s part. ALSO the fact that the one moment we hear the most emotion from shalom is when she’s at chief’s bedside telling her to come back? yeah. exactly.

let me stop yapping but there are many things that are escaping me that made me go “holy fuck”, i have a hundred screenshots and recordings just from her interro like it really blew my mind. shalom’s character is a bit clearer to me now and it really does put everything into perspective aaaaaa im aching to write for her properly this time

[laurasimonsdaughter]

It took a full minute of struggling before the vampire finally gave up and held still, going mostly limp under the tangle of briars.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes at them. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” they asked menacingly. “Because that’s what I thought last time.”

He looked up at them. “Oh come on—”

“I told you,” they snapped, “that if I tested one more giggly person with inexplicably low haemoglobin, I would fucking find you.”

The park was badly lit, but they could see the vampire’s face well enough to see that he wasn’t taking this anywhere near as seriously as he should be. Ballsy, considering they had him fully immobilized at the moment.

“Clearly you can’t actually be trusted,” they added. “So now you’re stuck with me.”

Dull light glinted of the vampire’s teeth as the corners of this mouth twitched. “That really isn’t the punishment you think it is.”

They stared down at him, baffled. “What—?”

The red shine in his eyes was almost amused. “You’re the only person around here who knows what I am, who I don’t have to pretend for. You know how tiring it is never to smile?”

The cool night air suddenly didn’t seem as cool anymore and they bristled with indignation. “There’s plenty of slayers in town all of a sudden who seem to know exactly what you are,” they replied sourly. That pissed them off too. Slayers were a brutish, self-absorbed lot. They had one or two violent encounters and suddenly felt entitled to harass innocent people just because they had a bit of trouble around the full moon.

The vampire grimaced. “Correction,” he said smoothly. “The only person who knows and is nice to me.”

“Nice to you,” they choked.

“Come on,” he grinned, fangs sparkling. “I could be lying here choking on garlic, or burning with silver! But instead...roses?” He gave a half-hearted tug on the bloom and thorn covered branches. “You could have done far worse…”

A loud, thoughtless rushing filled their ears, their face flushing with confusion. That was not—

“On that note,” he continued conversationally. “Why are you still here?” He gave them a curious look. “Why not just leave me here?”

“I—”

His grin returned. “You don’t want the slayers to find me, do you.”

“Shut your fanged face.”

“Ouch,” he winced, but not in a way that anyone could possibly interpret as painful.

They were too annoyed – too angry – to think straight. “I could be asking you the same fucking thing,” they snapped, recollecting themself. “Just passing through, you said last time. So why the hell are you still here?”

His expression changed, just a fraction, and for a moment it looked like he had an answer for them. Then he shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the grass, and looked away.

That, at least, was better. Slightly. Probably. “Well,” they said after a brief silence, folding their arms. “If you’re sticking around, you better keep your fangs off my patients. You can go right back to stealing the lab’s medical waste.”

The vampire made a dismayed noise, his gaze snapping back to their face. “You expect me to survive on nothing but dead blood?” he cried.

“I expect you not to trick innocent humans!” they glared.

A sly look passed across his face. “So the slayers…?”

Well, if they kept bothering Mrs. Lupus… They gave a sharp shake of their head. “No! No biting any humans!”

“Unreasonably cruel,” he muttered sulkily.

“You—” They raised their head with a start, glancing in the direction of a sudden sound.

“Speak of the devil,” the vampire breathed, eyes darting in the same direction.

Damn slayers. They grimaced through their frustration and drew their pocket knife. It glinted in the dull twilight and the vampire’s eyes were on it instantly.

“Now hold on, there’s no need for that!” he protested nervously. “I agree— I agree to your terms.”

“You better,” they hissed, kneeling beside him with the knife. It wasn’t silver, but he couldn’t have seen that immediately they supposed. They deftly snipped through the briars and cut him loose. “Go on, get out. And I better not have reason to bother with you again.”

The moment he was free all the vampire’s speed and grace returned. He was on his feet in a moment and smiling brilliantly down at them the next. “Well, that’s highly unlikely,” he grinned ominously. “You’ve just turned your place of work into the only place in town where I can get a bite to eat.” He winked, and fled.

They watched him disappear, their hackles raised as high as their heartbeat, and swore into the dark.