#you just have to take the first step / the first breath / and begin.

[chososcutie]

♡dilf!nanami♡

warnings: baby fever, mating press, unprotected sex, cumming inside

art creds to @hercaptain and @narutoss.ramen

dilf!nanami who is the girl dad ever.

in fact, when dilf!nanami heard you were expecting girl twins, he was already ordering the matching pink strollers and cribs and little newborn baby onesies.

dilf!nanami who throughout your entire pregnancy, was plastered to your side, making sure your every need was meet, and constantly with a hand on your tummy, feeling for the little baby kicks.

dilf!nanami who when the babies were first born, was with you every step of the way, getting up out of bed at three in the morning if it meant his tired wife could get a few extra hours of sleep, feeding bottles to both of them if your breasts were too sore, rocking them in his big beefy arms and whispering how “daddy’s here”, and even strapping them to his chest in baby slings while he ran errands.

dilf!nanami who you can find cooing at your baby girls, making them giggle as he bounces them on his lap, blowing raspberries on their tummies and tickling them as he keeps them entertained for you.

and not only is dilf!nanami the best father, but he’s also the best husband.

dilf!nanami who after tucking in the babies to bed, tiptoes away to your bedroom.

because while he has to make sure the babies are tended to, he also needs to tend to his baby.

dilf!nanami who takes quick strides to your shared bedroom, wasting no time in sprawling his buff frame over you, pinning you easily down as he huffs hoarsely in your ear, “kids are asleep” while his bulge presses into your soft tummy.

dilf!nanami who is already half-hard at just seeing your chubbed belly and plush hips, your post-pregnancy body was just so tantalizing to him.

dilf!nanami whose hands roam your body with a desperate kind of need, squeezing and kneading tenderly as he places kisses all along your neck and jaw.

dilf!nanami who grunts lowly as your grabby hands reach for his cock, hastily pulling down his boxers until his length slaps against his stomach, spilling pearlescent beads of oozing precum across himself.

dilf!nanami who is huuung, swollen balls and thickened base all leading up to a perfectly symmetrical cock, the tip flushed an angry red and twitching wildly at your gaze.

dilf!nanami who quickly hooks a finger into your panties, shoving them aside before lining himself up, so heavy between your legs you can't help the small moan of anticipation you let out, wriggling your hips up impatiently.

dilf!nanami who only chuckles at his wife's eagerness, too quick to oblige as he begins to push in, past that first tight ring of muscle while you suck him in deeper.

dilf!nanami who groans at the greediness of your slobbering pussy, already trying to milk him for all he's worth as you clamp on tight around him.

"f-fuck, m'.. hah.. gonna cum if you don't stop sucking me in like that sweetie."

dilf!nanami who begins to roll his hips forward, filling you up inch by inch as your moans slur together, tongue lolling out dumbly.

he was just so big, you couldn't help it if you were already cock-drunk!

dilf!nanami who watches as your eyes roll back in your head when he starts up a mean pace, hips snapping into yours ferally while your spit-glossed lips hang open helplessly.

dilf!nanami whose hand comes down between your legs to stroke your twitching clit, the cool metal of his silver wedding band making you jolt with pleasure as you squirm under him.

dilf!nanami's baritone rumble of your name brings you back, as he suddenly throws your legs over his broad-framed shoulders, candied pink lips crashing onto yours in a craze as he folds you into a nasty mating press.

"wan' .. hah.. make ya a pretty mama again.."

"what?" you're gasping for breath, eyelashes fluttering as a familiar coiling heat begins to pool low in your tummy, winding closer with every harsh smack! of his hips into yours.

"can you do that f'me, my love?" dilf!nanami's words have begun to slur, eyes glossy as his throat bobs, pushing your legs up higher 'n higher. "have my babies again?"

drool has begun to seep out of the corners of your lips and with a mindless nod, you find dilf!nanami's hips bucking sloppily as he gets closer.

"say it."

you feel your tummy knotting achingly tight and with a hoarse cry you practically scream out, "k-ken' make me a mommy again! please!" before you're cumming, and cumming hard, creaming all over his cock until it's forming a little ring at his base.

dilf!nanami who is cumming seconds after you, your filthy words sending him over the edge with a soft groan as ribbons 'n' ribbons of hot, milky cum are shooting into you, filling you endlessly up until you're clawing at his back and crying with how stuffed you feel.

dilf!nanami who shudders and jerks over you, whispering small praises as the last wispy remnants of his seed empty into you, fingers coming to stuff the glossy dredges beginning to seep out of your ruined pussy back in.

you hiccup softly, whilst dilf!nanami shushes and coos at you to take it all, lovingly stroking your cheek and placing small kisses on your face while you recover.

dilf!nanami who after giving you a couple more orgasms and tiring you out, hears the babies begin to wail from the other room, tucking you in snugly before whispering “i’ll do it, you get some rest my pretty mama..”

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @stickyyyv4mp @iluvgogurt445

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o suggesting going raw for the first time

Request: May I request something a little spicy SVT reaction to their partner tell them they are on birth control now and suggested on using no condoms for the first time. (if they both agree) P.S You have such good writing!

A/N: I'm not sure if I did this justice, but my writing style shifts depending on my mood and the request. This time, it just felt right to make most of them take the lead—so here we are. And ofc, they’d be thrilled to finally experience this without any barriers, but y’all, be smart and stay safe, alright? NOT PROOFREAD!

Content: MDNI ! reader is on birth control, heavy implications, mild degradation & possessiveness, several members take on dominant/assertive roles, mature language, grip-tightening, caging, and restraint, raw/unprotected sex implication, loss of control themes. Lmk if I missed anything

Seungcheol: His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of surprise and something primal. "Are you sure?" His voice is low, just above a whisper, almost a growl as he steps closer, his hand cupping your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You've got to know this means something,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. There's an intensity in his stare is deeper than lust. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw before tilting your chin up, "We can take it slow, but I trust you." His lips press to your forehead, lingering for a moment, as if he's grounding himself of what's about to happen. His hands find your waist, his grip firm. "Tell me if you're ready,” he whispers, his voice laced with restraint, as if he's holding himself back. But you see it_the simmering desire in his eyes, the hunger behind his control.

Jeonghan: The moment you speak, Jeonghan's expression falters, his eyes darkening with a barely contained desire. His fingers reach up to trace along your jaw, slow, sending shivers through you. "Are you sure, angel?" he murmurs, yes he'll angel you in this moment his voice softer now, thoughtful, but there's an edge to it. "Because once we do this, there's no way we can go back to how things were, I'll love it." His lips brush against yours, feather-light at first, teasing. "I want you to be all in," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, "to feel every sensation with me." Then, without warning, he closes the distance, capturing your lips fully, deeply, drawing a gasp from you. His hands skim down your sides, a slow, lazy exploration. But you can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding himself back, waiting for you to pull him closer, to give in completely to him.

Joshua: Joshua steps toward you, his gentle eyes now filled with dark clouds, with lust, love and longing. His fingers brush against your cheek, his touch too soft for the way his smirk is beginning to form. "If you're sure..." his voice trails off, as if giving you one last chance to reconsider, but the glint in his eyes tells you he already knows your answer. Then, before you can react, he's pushing you back onto the bed, hovering over you in an instant, caging you in beneath him. His lips crash onto yours, slow but demanding, as his teeth graze your lower lip, a light bite before he deepens the kiss. His hands slide under your blouse, fingertips tracing over your skin exploring every little definition. "You feel so warm," he murmurs, his lips now trailing down your jaw, your neck. "I've been waiting for this." His voice is smooth, restrained but utterly consuming.

Jun: Jun's lips curl into a teasing smile, but there's a pretty undeniable sharpness in his gaze. "Is that what you want?" His voice is smooth, almost playful, but there’s a darkness underneath—to say the least, it’s possessive. You nod, barely breathing as he steps closer, your bodies now only inches apart. He watches you carefully, like a predator watching its prey. "Say it," he demands, his fingers gripping your waist. "I want to hear you say it" Once the words leave your lips, the atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes fades into more serious. Then, in one swift move, he pushes you back against the wall, his hand tilting your chin up before his lips crash into yours. His kisses are intense, his other hand sliding down, unbuttoning your shirt one-handed with an ease that makes your breath hitch. "You make it too easy for me" he murmurs against your lips, before pressing another deep kiss to them, his grip tightening ever so slightly, just enough to make you shiver.

Hoshi: His grin shifts into something raw immediately. His fingers brush against your arm before trailing up to your collarbone, his touch feather-light but burning all the same. "You want that, huh?" His voice is teasing, but there's a weight behind it. His smirk grows as he watches you, waiting, savoring your reaction. You barely have time to respond before he's stepping forward, walking you back until the back of your legs hit the bed. "Sit," he instructs, voice low. You obey, heart hammering as he crawls onto the mattress, kneeling before you. He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips but not quite kissing you yet. His hands slide over your thighs, slow, deliberate. Then, with a smirk, he says, "Take it off." When you hesitate slightly flustered cause of his so forward reaction, his fingers tilt your chin up. "Oh, come on," he coaxes. "Don't get shy on me now," he says as a low chuckle escapes him, his fingers trail down your arm. "I want to see you," his lips brushing against your ear, gaze never wavers, as he leans in just a little closer, his warmth pulling you in like gravity.

Wonwoo: His face remains impassive at first, but there's a shift in the air. His fingers graze your arm, soft yet searing. "If we do this, it's not just a step... it's a leap," he says, his voice a quiet storm. He leans in, lips hovering just over your skin, breath warm and intoxicating. "You sure you want to cross that line with me?" There's something about the way he says it—low, deliberate, a dare wrapped in restraint that makes you want him even more. His grip on your wrist tightens slightly, just enough to make you gasp. But then you nod. And suddenly, there's no hesitation. His mouth crashes onto yours, ferocity unraveling between you both in waves. He lifts you effortlessly, pressing you against the nearest surface as his lips trail down your neck, fingers tracing paths of fire along your skin. "You have no idea what you've just started," he whispers, voice thick with lust and danger. Your breath hitches as his grip tightens, anchoring you against him. His teeth graze your pulse point, a teasing scrape before his tongue soothes the sting, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His hands roam lower, fingers pressing into your hips with just enough force to make you shiver. "You still have time to change your mind," he murmurs, though the way his body molds against yours tells a different story. His eyes lock onto yours, waiting for the final word that will unravel everything between you.

Woozi: Woozi doesn't react immediately, but the way his body stills speaks volumes. His eyes flicker with something intimate yet laced with danger. Slowly, he steps forward, erasing the space between you until your breaths are mingling. "You sure?" His voice carries a weight that sinks into your skin. His fingers brush against your waist, tentative at first, but when you don't pull away, his grip tightens. "I'll be gentle... but you'll feel every bit of me." It's a promise that makes your pulse stutter. Then, with no warning, he moves. His hands find your hips as he pushes you down onto the mattress, hovering over you, his smirk barely visible in the dim light. "You knew what you were doing when you said that," he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. His body presses against yours, liquid seeping through the fabric of your underwear. "No going back now." His fingers trail along the hem of your shirt, teasing, testing, before slipping beneath the material, his touch searing against your skin. His lips follow the path of his hands, leaving ghostly kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, marking every inch as his own. The heat between you coils tighter, your heartbeat matching his as he meets your gaze and in the next second, the last barrier on you is gone.

Dokyeom: Kyeom blinks, as if processing your words, and for a split second, you see flashes in his eyes—excitement, hesitation and hunger beneath it all. His hands find your shoulders, grounding both of you, as he exhales slowly. "If we do this..." he swallows, his voice dropping an octave, "...I won't ever go back." His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch. "I trust you, but I want to make sure you trust me too." His lips brush against your ear, his voice a whisper, soft yet laced that makes your stomach coil. The moment you give him the green light, the hesitation vanishes. In one swift movement, he throws himself at you, knocking you onto the bed with a breathless laugh that quickly turns into something more heavier. His hands explore, his touch reverent but eager. "You don't even realize what you've done to me," he murmurs against your skin before his mouth captures yours completely.

Mingyu: Mingyu's smile falters—not in hesitation, but in something else entirely. The puppy boyishness drains away, replaced by something raw. His fingers find the curve of your neck, trailing down slowly, deliberately, as he tilts his head. "You sure you're not playing around, are you?" His voice is softer than expected, but there's a warning. He steps closer, so close that your bodies almost touch, and the air between you grows heavier. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip before he leans in, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss. His hands grip your waist, firm yet careful. "I'll make sure you're okay," he breathes against your lips, "but once we do this... it's just us. No second thoughts." His body presses against yours, his warmth intoxicating. "I'm not going back." Then, with a smirk that's nothing short of sinful, he adds, "And if you think I'm stopping anytime soon... you're sorely mistaken." Before you can react, he moves swiftly and unrelenting, pinning you beneath him that steals your breath. His lips find yours again, demanding and feverish, his hands roaming memorizing every inch of you. "You started this," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a husky whisper. "Now, let me finish it."

Minghao: Minghao's eyes darken, his composed exterior cracking just enough to let something else slip through. He tilts his head, watching you carefully, calculating every flicker of emotion in your face, "Sure." His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, almost possessive. He lets the silence stretch, watching your reaction, waiting for that final confirmation. Then, when he sees the resolve in your eyes, his lips curve into a slow smirk. "You sure you're ready for this?" His voice drops lower, softer, but it sends a shiver down your spine. "Because I don't do things halfway." His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls you flush against him, his mouth ghosting over yours before finally claiming it in a kiss that leaves no room for hesitation. "Guess we're doing this raw," he mutters against your lips, and the sheer confidence in his tone makes your breath hitch. He draws back slightly, eyes dark with lust and a hint of playful mischief. "Hope your pill work, sweetheart. Because pulling out isn't exactly my strong suit." He punctuates his words with a sharp nip at your bottom lip, followed by a sensual swipe of his tongue.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan's expression shifts from surprise to darkness, his brightness dimming into something far more intense. His eyes narrow, a slow smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "So, you really want this?" His voice is teasing, but laced with an intensity that mirrors the dark undercurrent of the situation. He steps forward, crowding into your space, his fingers skimming over your waist with a feather-light touch that makes you shiver. "You know there's no going back once I start indulging, right?" His voice dips lower as he presses his lips to yours, slow at first, teasing until his grip tightens, pulling you flush against him. His breath is hot against your skin when he speaks again, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides. "Don't look at me like that unless you're ready to take everything I'm about to give you."

Vernon: For a moment, Vernon just looks at you, his eyes searching for yours, as if giving you one last chance to take it back. But then, something shifts—his gaze softens, but the flicker of danger remains, a smoldering heat beneath the surface. "So... we're doing this for real?" His voice is low, yet it reverberates through you. His fingers brush against your cheek, barely touching, before sliding down to tilt your chin up toward him. "I won't rush you. But if this happens..." He pauses, leaning in so his lips ghost over yours, his breath warm against your skin. "You're not going to forget it." He seals his promise with a kiss, His lips move against yours slowly at first, teasing, testing, like he’s savoring the anticipation crackling between you. But then, his grip tightens on your hips, pulling you flush against him, and all restraint shatters. The kiss deepens, turning hungrier, more demanding, his tongue sweeping against yours. His hands roam, tracing over your back, slipping under your shirt, fingertips grazing heated skin. "You have no idea what you’ve just started," he murmurs against your lips. Then, in one swift motion, he guides you back, your body sinking into the mattress as he hovers over you. His gaze locks onto yours, "Last chance," he says, his fingers trailing down your arm, his weight pressing just enough to keep you beneath him. "Tell me you want this." His breath fans over your lips, waiting. But the moment you whisper yes, everything else disappears.

Dino: For once, Dino hesitates. His energy is tempered. His eyes search yours, his hands settling at your sides. "Are you sure?" His voice is quieter than usual, lacking its playfulness, yet there's an undeniable intensity there. You nod, and the hesitation melts away, replaced by hunger. His grip tightens as he pulls you in, his forehead resting against yours for just a second like he's holding onto the last thread of control he has. "If we do this..." He swallows, his voice husky now, "It changes everything. You get that?" But the second you whisper yes, it's over. The restraint snaps, and he's on you. His lips capturing yours in a kiss that's all consuming, his hands exploring, pressing, claiming. "Too late to back out now," he mutters against your lips before pushing you down, his body following right after. He pins your wrists above your head, one hand holding them together while his other trails down. "Fuck, you're sexy when you look at me like that..." His voice trails off as he leans in, kissing along your jawline, then nipping at your earlobe. He releases one of your wrists to unbuckle his belt, smirking wickedly as he slowly unzips his pants and freeing his large, hard erection. He grips it firmly, giving it a slow stroke as he looks down at you with pure hunger and lust. "Last chance to back out, baby. After I'm inside you, there's no turning back."

[drewswife]

summary: Rafe Cameron takes y/n golfing for the first time

warnings: fluff, s3 Rafe, y/n is lowkey ditzy in this

"Okay, okay, I think I've got this," you say, adjusting the tiny pink visor Rafe insisted you wear. You grip the golf club like it's a foreign object, which, honestly, it kind of is.

Rafe stands behind you, his hands gently covering yours. "Relax, sweetheart. It's just a swing. Don't think too much."

"Easy for you to say," you mutter, eyeing the golf ball with suspicion. "You've been doing this since you were in diapers."

"Alright, alright," he chuckles, stepping away slightly. "Just remember what I told you. Feet shoulder-width apart, bend your knees a little, and keep your eye on the ball."

You try to mimic his stance, but end up wobbling precariously. "Are you sure this is how humans are supposed to stand?"

Rafe laughs, his arm snaking around your waist to steady you. "You're adorable," he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. "Now, focus."

Taking a deep breath, you try to remember his instructions. You swing the club back, but lose your balance and end up flailing wildly. Instead of a satisfying thwack, there's a pathetic thud as the club connects with the ground.

"Oops," you say sheepishly, offering Rafe an apologetic smile.

He bursts out laughing, but there's fondness in his eyes. "Don't worry, you'll get it eventually."

"I don't know," you sigh, feeling a bit discouraged. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for golfing."

"Nonsense," Rafe says, taking the club from you. "Here, let me show you something."

He demonstrates a perfect swing, the club connecting with the ball in a resounding crack. The ball soars through the air, landing impressively close to the hole.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed. "That was amazing."

"See?" Rafe says, grinning at you. "It's not that hard."

"Yeah, but you're a pro," you point out. "I'm just a beginner."

"Then let me teach you," he says, stepping closer. He places his hands on your waist, gently guiding you into the correct position. His touch sends shivers down your spine. "Just relax and feel the swing."

With his help, you manage to make contact with the ball, sending it flying a few yards down the fairway. It's not the most impressive shot, but it's a start.

"See? You're a natural," Rafe says, beaming at you.

"Maybe with a lot more practice," you admit, grinning back.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a similar fashion. You shank a few shots, whiff completely a couple of times, but with Rafe's patient guidance, you start to improve. More importantly, you're having fun.

As the sun begins to set, you and Rafe walk hand-in-hand back to the clubhouse.

"Thanks for taking me golfing," you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I had a really great time."

"Anytime, baby," he says, kissing the top of your head. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing."

"I'd like that," you reply, smiling to yourself. Maybe golf wasn't so bad after all

a/n: for @chrissweetheart' and if there are spelling mistakes lmk!

taglist: @chrislilcumslvt @chrepsi

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 10

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda loses her virginity to the most eligible bachelorette in America.

content warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Natasha is still. Too still. And quiet. 

With her heart pounding, Wanda sets her wine glass down, her stomach dropping. Her fingers shakily trace the edge of her plate, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way to take back the words she just uttered.

“I apologize,” Natasha begins, and Wanda’s head shoots up so quickly that she feels a muscle in her neck strain from the force. “For my silence. I’m just… surprised.”

Those dark green eyes are focused on her, and Wanda practically holds her breath, her mind racing. “Surprised?”

“Well yes,” Natasha smiles slightly, her eyes slowly trailing down Wanda’s top, lingering slightly before her eyes snap back up. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Wanda.”

She doesn’t elaborate, simply draining the last of her wine before standing. Her steps are confident, her hand outstretched as she walks around the table to stand at Wanda’s side. When Wanda looks up, she notices the way Natasha’s pupils have dilated, the barest hint of dark green around them. 

Taking the older woman’s hand, a brave move that Wanda barely even had the wits to think about, she stands. 

“I would be honored to be your first,” Natasha murmurs.

Oh god, it's so sweet and so cliche, but Wanda doesn’t really care. This feels like a scene straight out of one of Kate’s raunchy romance books that Wanda secretly likes to read. Normally, she would have to imagine that the handsome, older man with a dark past in the book is actually a woman, but now the scene is playing out before her very eyes. She doesn’t quite know how to react. 

“I would like that,” Wanda whispers, feeling Natasha’s hand squeeze hers gently before the older woman turns and starts walking down the hallway. This one is a different one, not leading towards the playroom, like Wanda had been expecting. She focuses on the hand wrapped around hers, the strong fingers guiding her as they walk in silence. 

Natasha stops in front of a door, the dark mahogany framing her red hair as she turns and faces Wanda. Timidly, Wanda looks up, finding nothing but softness in those eyes as Natasha brings a hand up to cup her face. 

“You can leave at any time, alright? I want you to feel comfortable with me, so tell me if you don’t like something or want me to stop.”

Smiling, Wanda feels relief course through her. She would say that Natasha is adorable, with her slightly rambling sentences and the way her eyes are earnest and kind. But, the slightly possessive grip of the older woman's fingers against her cheek says otherwise. Wanda doesn’t mind, her brain turning to mush as she feels her body relax, her heart rate quickening again, but this time, not from nervousness. 

“I understand,” Wanda murmurs, stepping forward into the woman’s space, loving the way her cinnamon scent wraps fully around her. She hears Natasha’s breath hitch and smiles slightly, emboldened. “I want this. I… I want you.”

Wanda never understood what authors meant when they said that a character’s eyes darkened. But in every sense of the word, Natasha’s did. Her pupils dilated even further as she took a steadying breath, her other hand coming up to wrap around Wanda’s waist. The look in her eyes was intent, and Wanda felt as though a spotlight had just been thrust upon her, the woman’s attention solely focused on her.

“By the end of the night,” Natasha muttered, leaning in close enough that Wanda could feel her breath on her neck. Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and she shuddered as she felt Natasha’s teeth lightly bite down on her ear. “I will have you moaning my name until your voice gives out.”

Biting her lip, Wanda pulled back slightly to look at Natasha’s face. She pretended that she wasn’t affected, but her flushed cheeks were not fooling anybody. “So confident.” 

“I know what I want. And I always get it.”

“Open the door,” Wanda said, her voice breathy and full of want. She didn’t care. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, her mind emptying until the only thing she could think about was Natasha. She craved to have those hands wrapped around her waist, her throat, tangled in her hair. She needed her mouth on her skin, that wicked tongue gliding over her neck and down her chest until-

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, her voice low and raspy. The hand around Wanda’s waist shifted until her fingers grasped the waist of her pants, pulling her inside the bedroom. 

Wanda didn’t have the chance to look around, the dim lighting hitting her eyes for a moment before the door shut solidly behind her, and strong hands pushed her against it. Her own limbs failed to respond, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides for a moment, before she came to her senses, reaching up and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s toned shoulders, pulling her in. 

Warm lips caressed hers, and Wanda didn’t think twice before she parted her lips slightly, letting Natasha’s tongue in. She focused on the woman, loving the way her hands wrapped around her waist, her body pressing against hers until Wanda was fully against the door. The older woman’s chest pressed into hers, her hips trapping Wanda’s as her thigh pressed solidify between her legs, and a soft whimper escaped Wanda as she sucked desperately on Natasha’s soft lips. 

“I’m trying to be gentle with you,” Natasha rasped out, breaking the kiss and moving her lips to Wanda’s neck. “But you’re not making that easy.”

Wanda attempts to respond, but the only thing her mouth does is let out a low whine. She’s never felt like this before. It feels like all her nerves have been set aflame, and she’s throbbing with need as Natasha sucks a hickey into her neck. The strong fingers pinning her waist against the door are driving her insane, and she lets out a pathetic-sounding gasp as she ruts her hips forward, the friction against Natasha’s thigh making her head spin.

“Do you want to be mine?”

Oh, what a question. Wanda nods with every ounce of strength that she has left, her eyes intent as she locks her gaze with Natasha’s.

“Say the words, Wanda.” Natasha’s tone is serious, her eyes glancing between Wanda’s blown pupils and her swollen, parted lips. Her fingers dig into the younger woman’s waist, holding her hips in place as she waits for a response. 

“Yes, please,” Wanda manages, her words breathy as she looks up at Natasha. She looks utterly ruined, her eyes half-lidded and her hips attempting to thrust against the strong thigh flexing between them. “I want to be yours, make me yours, Ms. Romanoff.”

A half-growl and half-moan claws its way from Natasha’s throat, and she grasps Wanda around the waist before spinning her around and pushing her towards the bed. The younger woman is easy to move, her body pliant and soft beneath Natasha’s strong fingers. A small gasp leaves her lips as the back of her knees hits the bed, and Natasha wastes no time capturing them in a searing kiss. 

Fuck, the woman is everywhere. Wanda can’t escape her, and she doesn’t really want to. Somehow, she’s moved to the center of the bed, her hips straddled by firm thighs as Natasha’s hands explore her body. Every touch is electrifying, adding to the fuzzy waves of pleasure clouding her mind. The lips on hers are somehow both gentle and aggressive, sharp teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with a strong tongue. The scent of cinnamon mixes with the thick scent of arousal that stifles the air around them, and Wanda can’t remember the last time she felt this desperate. 

“Please,” she manages, her voice a broken whimper. 

Natasha lets out a low groan, her lips moving from Wanda’s swollen lips to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking harshly. “You should beg more often, it suits you.”

Wanda doesn’t really have a response to that, her mind turning to mush at the low, raspy quality of Natasha’s voice. She settles for a desperate sort of nod, thrusting her hips up slightly to relieve the pressure growing between her thighs. Her actions are stopped by Natasha’s body weight resting fully on her hips, but she doesn’t quite mind. 

Actually, she was quite enjoying the feeling of being trapped. 

“Are you really?” Natasha asks, and Wanda flushes. Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The woman on top of her continues, her eyes glinting slightly, “We can explore that later, Wanda, for now, I’m intent on making your first time memorable.”

Wanda lets out something that sounds like “Oh!” and then promptly forgets how to speak as Natasha places a steady hand on her sternum, pushing her down until her back hits the soft mattress. The older woman's figure above her makes her head spin, arousal coursing through her as strong hands find her wrists and pin them next to her head. 

“Try to stay still for me, can you do that?”

Goddamn, if that isn’t the hottest thing Wanda’s ever been asked. She manages a nod, sure that her face is flushed and her eyes wide, but she doesn’t quite care. The feeling of Natasha Romanoff on top of her is overwhelming in the best way, and she’ll do anything to please the woman.

“Anything, hm?”

Fuck. 

Wanda starts to speak, to defend the words that have slipped out of her traitorous mouth, but a hand covers her mouth and muffles any attempted words. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just gives her a stern look. Wanda quiets, blinking up at the woman as she focuses on remaining still, her fingers twitching as her eyes lock on the fabric that Natasha is slowly pulling up to reveal a smooth stomach and chiseled abs. 

To say that Natasha Romanoff is beautiful would be an understatement. Wanda can’t stop looking at her, every inch of skin that’s revealed sending arousal flooding through her. She practically feels her heart stop when Natasha pulls her shirt fully off, the sight of her breasts underneath a lacy black bra sending Wanda’s mind straight into a fuzzy headspace of need and pure lust. 

She doesn’t even register her own hands moving until she’s cupping the woman’s chest, her thumbs caressing the fabric of Natasha’s bra in an almost reverent manner. It only lasts a brief, glorious moment, before her wrists are firmly grasped and slammed back onto the mattress. 

“Ah ah,” Natasha tuts, her fingers squeezing harder for a moment. Her eyes are dark, and Wanda feels a spark of terror and arousal run through her. “What did I say?”

“To stay still,” Wanda answers, the words spilling out of her. She feels almost compelled to answer the woman, obedience thrumming in her veins. She doesn’t fight the tight grip on her wrists, but the feeling of being restrained sends her senses into overdrive in the best way possible.  

“Then be a good girl and obey,” Natasha says, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

Wanda nods, biting her lip as Natasha squeezes her wrists one last time before releasing them, her hands trailing down her body while her muscles tense from the electrifying touch. She has to remind herself to breathe, the sensation of Natasha’s fingers against her stomach and hips making her lightheaded with need. 

Those long fingers flex as the hem of her shirt slowly slides up her stomach, revealing her muscles clenching with need as her hips try to move under Natasha’s firm thighs. She would be embarrassed, but the heat within her is rising to an unbearable level.

The look in Natasha’s eyes when she finally pulls Wanda’s shirt free is nothing short of lustful and wanting, her movements becoming slightly rough as she palms the younger woman’s breasts, squeezing gently as she coaxes pretty whines and moans from Wanda’s mouth. 

It’s intoxicating, to feel and hear the woman below her reacting to every movement. Wanda’s hips are still futilely rutting against her thighs, the barest sensation against her throbbing clit driving her mad. 

Wanda can barely think, Natasha’s hands on her breasts sending warm arousal flooding through her. She can’t control the movements of her hips, her body reacting to the older woman’s touch as soft moans sound out. 

“Oh, please,” she whines, her voice barely above a whisper. It causes the hands around her breasts to squeeze, strong fingers finding her nipples through the fabric of her bra and toying with them. 

“Fuck,” Natasha breathes, her tongue wetting her lips slightly as she looks down at Wanda. “How could I refuse when you beg so prettily for me?”

The slightly possessive words send Wanda’s mind into a soft, fuzzy mess. She finds herself longing to hear more words come out of the older woman’s mouth, a need rising within her to obey every command that slips out of those sinful lips. 

She doesn’t get the chance to ask, Natasha’s fingers sliding over her body and working every nerve until she can feel electricity shooting beneath her skin. Her clit is throbbing, her underwear damp as she bucks her hips desperately up against Natasha’s strong thighs. 

“Tell me what you want.”

Wanda makes a noise of protest at the words. She doesn’t know what she wants. She wants Natasha’s hands to never leave her body, and she wants her tongue to keep licking up the side of her neck, and she wants the woman to fuck her and get rid of the throbbing between her legs. But, she can’t quite find the words, so she just whines and gasps out, “Touch me.”

With a low chuckle, Natasha softly nips Wanda’s neck and finally moves her fingers to break Wanda’s waistband.

Long fingers softly cup her, the pressure driving Wanda mad. She bucks her hips, but Natasha simply adjusts her position, laying halfway on top of the woman and pinning one of her legs between her own. 

“Let me take this off,” Natasha murmurs, pressing soft kisses on Wanda’s sternum before lightly biting the fabric of her bra that cups her chest. She pulls it away with her teeth, waiting for Wanda’s permission.

“Mhmm,” Wanda murmurs, regaining some of her breath. The sensations against her heating body and the intense look in Natasha’s eyes make her head spin, so she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of strong fingers undoing her bra. A small groan sounds out as the fabric falls away from her chest, and Wanda can’t help but smile, something in her soaring with happiness at the reaction. 

Teeth scrape lightly against her hard nipple, bolts of firey hot pleasure shooting through her body and pooling at her core. The woman seems enamored by her breasts, her tongue flicking over her nipples and sucking the tight nubs into her mouth, alternating every few minutes.

Wanda can barely stand it. She thinks she could cum from Natasha’s mouth and fingers working her breasts. Honestly, she’d never paid her chest much attention before, instead, she furiously worked sticky fingers over her clit while under the sheets, reading some trashy romance novel that was basically 130 pages of pure porn. Today was all about learning new things, she thought, her brain going blank again as Natasha teasingly bit into her nipple.

“Fuck,” Wanda moaned, not caring what she sounds like. “I need you to touch me, Natasha. Now.” 

“Oh, do you?”

The teasing tone set Wanda’s nerves aflame, her mind riddled with need as her clit throbbed desperately against the confines of her damp underwear. She was already close, the imminent orgasm drawing closer with each swipe of Natasha’s tongue and every twist of her fingers around Wanda’s sensitive nipples.

Something must have showed on her face, because Natasha quickly moved down, pressing quick kisses down Wanda’s stomach. She still took her time, removing Wanda’s pants and underwear from her wriggling hips, and kissing her inner thighs as she spread her legs. 

“You smell divine,” Natasha murmurs. Before Wanda can say anything in return, most likely some snarky remark about how the woman needed to start moving quicker, her tongue dragging through her folds. 

Oh. God. 

Wanda cums the second Natasha’s strong, hot tongue passes over her clit. The older woman makes a surprised sound, which is quickly followed by a throaty moan, her hands moving to wrap around Wanda’s thighs. 

“Keep going,” Wanda gasps out, her hips grinding against Natasha’s face, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her. Warm pleasure grows, her clit almost painfully overstimulated, but she can feel Natasha’s tongue slowly working her towards another orgasm.

Two long fingers prod at her soaked entrance, circling and gathering the slick wetness before smoothly sliding in. Wanda can barely feel them, her pussy so wet the sensation barely registers. That is until Natasha curls them perfectly against her g-spot, a wave of pleasure sweeping through her violently.

“You… I-” Wanda manages, her tongue feeling thick as she pants. Low, muffled moans sound out from where Natasha is licking her clit, her fingers pumping in and out of Wanda. The vibrations add to the pleasure, her orgasm drawing near again.

“Are you going to cum?” Natasha asks, detaching her lips for a moment to ask. Her face is slightly flushed, her lips glistening as she looks at Wanda with blown pupils. She slows her fingers as she waits for a response, a slight smirk on her face.

“Yes.”

“Beg for permission.”

Wanda blinks, her mouth falling open at the command. That was… hotter than she would like to admit. She feels her pussy clench around Natasha’s fingers, and she feels herself flush at the knowing look in the older woman’s eyes.

“Um, please?”

Natasha makes a tutting sound, shaking her head slightly as an intense look appears in her eyes. “You can do better than that,” she murmurs, watching Wanda’s face as she moves her fingers quickly. She curls them with each rough thrust, coaxing her orgasm closer. “Go on, Wanda. I know you can do it.”

“God, please, Natasha,” Wanda bursts out, the words spewing as she desperately chases her orgasm. “I’ve wanted you ever since that first day I stumbled into your office. I wanted you to bend me over your desk right then, and I need you to keep moving your fingers. Please, let me cum, I’ve been horny practically nonstop since our first meeting, I need you to just please-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, Natasha’s lips crashing down over hers and she murmurs her permission. Wanda can taste herself on the woman’s lips and tongue, and her mind goes blissfully blank as Natasha pumps rough and deep, bringing her orgasm to the surface quickly.

Pleasure washes over her, her pussy clamping down around Natasha’s fingers as she cums. It’s a full-body orgasm, her muscles clenching and releasing as she feels herself tremble from the force of it. Her legs are tight around Natasha’s waist, her fingers moving to tangle with the woman’s hair. Wanda can feel her eyes rolling back, her back arching as she feels her body convulse with pleasure, gibberish words, and moans streaming from her lips and into Natasha’s kiss. 

Those long fingers coax out every last drop of pleasure, Wanda’s slit giving one last pulse before she feels herself go boneless. Sinking into the mattress, she catches her breath, turning her head to look at Natasha. 

Dark green eyes gaze back at her, something intense about her gaze. Wanda doesn’t have the energy to think too hard about it, and her mind goes fuzzy again as Natasha slowly pulls her fingers out and brings them up to her lips.

“Suck,” she whispers, coating Wanda’s bottom lip with her own juices as she runs her fingers over it. 

Obeying, Wanda shamelessly sucks her arousal off Natasha’s fingers. She swirls her tongue around them and sucks, enjoying the hitch in the older woman’s breath when she does so. 

Pulling her fingers from Wanda’s mouth, Natasha reclaims her lips in a gentle kiss. It’s not as rough as before, but no less intense. She moves as they kiss, maneuvering Wanda until her head is propped up by pillows, laying half on top of Natasha as her hand rests on the woman’s stomach. The kiss ends slowly, Wanda’s eyes beginning to close of their own accord. 

“Do you want me to-” Wanda weakly gestures toward Natasha’s waistband.

The older woman chuckles, pressing a kiss against the top of Wanda’s head. “No, Wanda. Tonight was solely about you. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to make me feel good.”

Smiling, Wanda feels her body relax completely, practically melting against the older woman’s comforting heat. She feels a pleasant buzz throughout her body, her face still flushed even as her heart rate slows. She tries to say something, her lips moving silently against the soft skin of Natasha’s collarbone. 

“Sleep, Wanda,” Natasha murmurs, pulling a thin sheet over them. Her fingers brush over Wanda’s cheek, tucking auburn hair behind her ear. “You were amazing, and I loved every second of tonight. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

Wanda doesn’t hear much after that, her tired body finally succumbing as she drifts off. 

—

When Wanda wakes, the room is dark, a soft, warm glow of light creeping through the crack underneath the bedroom door. She blinks, her mind still fuzzy and content as the afterglow lingers. She has no idea how long she’s slept, her fingers grabbing the thick fabric of a bathrobe conveniently placed at the foot of the bed. Through the crack in the curtains, Wanda can see the barest hint of light, a sign that dawn is approaching.

The soft sounds of piano soar through the air, the notes almost melancholic in nature. Wanda tilts her head, tying the bathrobe securely around her waist before gently pushing the door open and padding down the hall.

Natasha is bent over the piano, a single, dim lamp softly illuminating her red hair. Wanda can just barely see the curve of her jaw, her attention captured by the steady fingers flying across the keyboard. 

Somehow, they manage to draw emotion out with each note. Sadness lingers in the corners of the room, amplified with each note Natasha plays, her keys performing a somber dance. Wanda wonders what exactly the woman is thinking about as she plays, not a single sheet of music in front of her, only the smooth expanse of mahogany wood and ivory keys. 

The music stops, and Wanda jolts as she realizes her presence has been noticed.

“Sorry,” she whispers, seeing the barest hint of a frown flit across Natasha’s tired features. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Perhaps I should be the one saying that to you,” Natasha responds, a wry smile gracing her features as she wipes her hands on her soft sweatpants. She stands, every movement graceful as she does so. Wanda can’t help but notice the way her pants hang slightly off her hips, a hint of her smooth stomach and abs showing as she walks towards her. 

“Are you… alright?” Natasha asks, concern softening the sharp features of her face as she walks towards her.

Wanda flushes, thinking about the bone-deep ache making its way through her body, evidence of their activities earlier that evening. She finds herself nodding, her fingers running nervously over the tie of her bathrobe.

“Are you sure that you…” Wanda trails off, biting her lips momentarily before she sees the hungry look appear in Natasha’s eyes at the action. “Did you have a good time?”

A small smile makes its way onto Natasha’s face, and she reaches out an arm to wrap around Wanda’s waist as she nears. “Yes, Wanda. I had a good time,” she whispers, pulling the younger woman close. Her fingers cup Wanda’s waist, her other hand tangling with Wanda’s, their fingers intertwined as she kisses her knuckles. “It was everything I imagined you’d be like, and more. I can’t fathom ever tiring of you.”

Well. That’s the most romantic thing Wanda has ever heard in her life, and she blushes hotly, her words jumbling together as she attempts to form a sentence. 

Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against her lips. “Come,” she murmurs, pulling Wanda back down the hallway, her thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “How about we cuddle until morning, and then I’ll make you whatever breakfast you’d like.”

“You can cook?” Wanda asks, mid-yawn. Her comment earns a light jab in her side, and she fails at hiding her smirk at the reaction from the normally composed woman.

“I can do many things, Wanda,” Natasha says, a slight smirk on her lips that tells Wanda exactly what the older woman is implying. She takes a deep breath, fighting her rising blush as they walk back into the bedroom, Natasha pulling her into her side as they slide under the sheets. Their limbs entangle, their bodies pressed close together as Natasha presses a soft kiss against Wanda’s head, the younger woman’s eyes already closing again, drifting off to sleep as she feels Natasha’s lips move against her.

“I could get used to this.”

---

Dm or comment to be added!

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[synvil]

Do you think that Rafe would act differently if the reader were having excruciating period cramps? As if she's having a hard time talking and is sobbing into her pillow. She first tries to oppose Rafe's attempts to calm and reassure her, so he has to be a little direct and use his tough voice to get her to listen.

hello anonnie !! <3

short answer : yes. but i do think it also depends on what season rafe we’re talking about. like s1 rafe i think would grow pretty aggravated bc he doesn’t quite understand just how painful the cramps are and gets annoyed with reader. but if we’re talking s3-4 rafe, then i think he would be more assertive but not aggressive and then comforts her afterwards. maybe feeling bad for being so commanding yk?

thought i’d do a little blurb (⸝⸝⍢⸝⸝) ෆ comfort time.

synopsis : bf! rafe trying to comfort you when you’re having severe cramps.

“baby, how’re you feelin’?”

the lack of response and the curling of your figure on his bed makes him sigh as he quietly steps inside the room and shuts the door. “baby, come on. you need to get up..”

it’s been a couple hours since you’ve been curled up like this, hugging a pillow tightly and finding yourself unable to move. every shift creates a sharp pain into your abdomen and you can feel the tears well up in your eyes.

rafe felt terrible at what you’re going through, even if he didn’t quite understand the length of it. he went out and bought some items for you but you couldn’t enjoy any of it if you couldn’t move.

“[name], i bought some snacks for you. i also bought a heating pad for you.” rafe takes a small seat on the edge of the bed and sets the bag down as he pulls out some items. “you need to get up now, it’s not going to help if you stay in that position all day.”

you only groan in response, hugging a pillow tightly. “c-can’t..” you meekly whisper, your breathing a bit heavy as you whimper and moan from the cramping.

rafe frowns as he sighs. “come on, i know it hurts a lot but i’ll help you. you’ve been laying like this so you haven’t changed your pad, which you should. i know you’re going to regret it if you bleed through so let me help you to the restroom and i’ll set up a warm bath as well, okay?”

“no..” even though you knew he was right, you had to refuse. you couldn’t even think about moving, wanting to just bare the pain in bed forever.

standing up, rafe exhales out at your persistent refusal and leans down, tucking his arms under your body, successfully surprising you as you gasp sharply and drop the pillow.

now carrying you bridal style, rafe narrows his eyes down at you and his once soft voice becomes firm. “i’m not going to say it again, [name]. let’s go get you into a warm bath to soothe your stomach and a fresh change of clothes. after that,” he begins to bring you to the bathroom as he continues to speak. “we’ll cuddle up together with a movie and you can enjoy your new snacks and the heating pad, and if you’d like, i’ll rub your stomach to ease the pain too.”

once inside the restroom, he sets you down on the closed toilet seat and kneels down to set up the bath for you.

you feel tears brim your eyes as you clutch your stomach and listen to him, imagining the heat of the water doing wonders for your pain. you can’t help but feel your chest warm as well from how sweet rafe was being, and feeling bad how difficult you were..

rafe notices the look on your face and smiles lightly, turning to you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, rubbing your stomach with his hand over yours on your abdomen.

“I’m sorry for being a little assertive, but i promise it’s going to be okay. i’m here for you, baby. i love you.”

a/n : this might not be what you were expecting but this made me feel better :) especially as someone with bad cramps.

[nmhdreamscape]

pillow prince ✧ l.jn

pairing | idol!jeno x fem!reader word count | 2.5k synopsis | late night recordings and rehearsals had been doing a number on jeno, what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try and help him relax a little? content | whiny!jeno, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, praise, marking

the sound of the front door opening and closing catches your attention. you were stood in the kitchen finishing up dinner for the night when jeno crosses into your line of sight. the first thing that caught your attention was the lack of fabric decorating his arms, having a very strong weakness for the sight of your boyfriend in a tank top. the way that the black material contrasted against his pale skin. the sight of his muscular biceps and protruding veins. it was enough to drive you silently insane, stirring a sense of want inside of you.

however, those thoughts were soon interrupted by the fact that jeno simply walked right by you and straight into your shared bedroom. that’s how you knew something was off. you quickly turned off the stove, opting to follow him. standing in the doorway, you watched in amusement as he flopped onto the bed with a groan. jeno turned his head to look at you with an apologetic smile.

“hey baby. sorry, they threw in a last minute recording session on top of us learning an entirely new routine.” he sighed, rolling over and stretching with a yawn. you walked toward the bed, your boyfriend moving back to sit up against the headboard. you climbed onto the mattress beside him, studying his figure carefully. you carefully climbed into his lap, something you often did after spending the day apart.

“it’s okay! are you feeling okay though?” you reassured him, stroking his cheek. he quickly leaned into the touch, feeling some of the tension leaving his body purely due to your presence. you secretly adored when he got like this. the sleepiness seemed to only amplify his affections, jeno becoming a bit clingy and somewhat pliant.

“just a bit stressed and a little tense.” he mumbled into your palm, before kissing it softly. the earlier thoughts from when he had first come into your shared apartment quickly came front of mind as you absentmindedly tranced patterns along his bare arms. he seemed to watch with bated breath as your fingers trailed up higher. a smirk begins to grace your lips as you heard a sharp intake of breath come from your boyfriend when you traced across his jawline, tilting his head up to look you in the eyes.

“want some help with that?” you asked quietly, moving forward so that he could feel your breath against his lips. jeno stared up at you with eyes slightly glazed over, somewhat out of it, before coming back down to earth and nodding rapidly. he hurriedly pressed his lips against yours in a kiss, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. any control you had over him before seemed to be slipping as you melted into his grasp.

his movements were more needy, sloppier, desperate. he let out an audible groan when your tongue finally slipped into his mouth, hands clinging to your hips harshly. you could still sense an air of hesitation surrounding jeno, still sat up straight, muscles still overly tense. he seemed to have trouble with fully letting go. it was natural for him to step up and take the lead, and this went very much against that. you could practically hear his brain whirring around, overanalysing every movement, every touch.

jeno needed reassurance, you could tell that much. you pulled away from his lips slowly, the strand of saliva connecting the two of you showing just how messy things had gotten. your boyfriend surged forward to kiss you again, only for you to move back again. he began to pout, pulling you even closer. he was still trying to take control, letting out a noise of confusion as you continued to maintain the distance between you.

“baby, just relax. let me take care of you, please.” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. you watched as everything seemed to click into place in his mind, his body visibly relaxing at the realisation of your intentions. jeno mumbled a quiet okay before looking up at you expectantly.

you smiled down at him before ducking down to begin pressing kisses against his neck. they felt light across his skin, barely giving him time to register they were there before you shifted to another spot. jeno knew why, you didn’t want to risk leaving any evidence behind. you had learned that lesson the hard way in the beginning of your relationship, when jeno had come home one night looking like a sad puppy after being scolded by stylists all day. it wasn’t enough, he wanted more. his eyes fluttered closed as he tilted his head up to bare his neck to you, fighting the urge to grip you in place to ensure he got what he wanted.

“you can leave marks… you know if you want to.” he muttered quietly, pink beginning to dust his cheeks. you let out a breathless laugh against his skin, very amused at how easily he was following along with everything now. against your better judgement, you gave into his request. he let out a whine as your movements became harsher, lasting longer, relishing in the feeling of your lips against his skin starting from his jaw all the way down to his collarbones.

you moved back for a moment to assess what you had just done, watching as colour began to bloom on his pale skin. he looked so pretty like this, blissed out and content, body free from the worries of the day. it made all the work you had to do in the morning to cover it all up worth it if he was enjoying it this much. your gaze soon shifted down once again to that damn tank top and just how good he looked in it. you gripped the hem and begin hastily lifting it up his torso.

“fuck, you always look so good in these.” you moaned as you finally managed to get the black fabric over his head. your eyes remained locked on his expression as you threw it to the side, watching how his cheeks went from a light pink to a brighter red. his breath seemed to stop at your comment, eyes darting elsewhere as he bit his lip.

oh. oh. that was new. you knew he liked to praise you, that was very much obvious. but you didn’t think it went both ways. sure, you had jokingly called him a good boy before, and you sure as hell complimented him all the time. you had just dismissed his reactions as shyness, not that he had like the comments like that. you certainly weren’t complaining.

you resumed kissing at your boyfriends neck, beginning to trail your lips down his collarbones and onto his chest. you conjured your assault downward, mumbling sweet praises into his skin. you studied his demeanour carefully as he became increasing flustered and needy. jeno’s hips were now bucking upward with each of your movements. your lips now firmly sucking marks into his hip bones while playing with the drawstring of the sweatpants that rested just below. your eyes remained locked on his, savouring each other noises you managed to pull from him in anticipation.

jeno let out a sigh of relief as your hands finally gripped at his sweatpants with the intention of pulling them down. he eagerly lifted his hips up to help you remove them along with his boxers. the mumbling of “good boy” caught him off guard, a high-pitched whine escaping from the back of his throat. jeno let out a hiss as his cock was finally freed from his boxers. you returned to kissing down his body from where you had left off, fingers now tracing patterns on his thighs. you could tell this was driving him insane, your hands and mouth being so close and yet so far away from where he actually needed them.

a quiet whine of “please” caught your attention immediately, your teasing ceasing. you had started this to help him relax, not to rile him up. that was something you could save for another time. jeno could have thanked every god above when your hand finally wrapped itself around his cock, carefully moving up and down to ease him into the feeling. a smirk graced your lips at how easily he was getting lost in the pleasure, slow strokes being enough for him at that moment.

but you wanted to spoil him, reward him for a hard day at work. that’s when you leaned forward to lick a long stripe upwards from the base all the way to the tip, collecting the precum that had pooled there on your tongue. you watched on in amusement as your small licks against his head drove him mad, head falling back against the headboard in pleasure as he muttered various curses. you tested the waters by slipping the tip between your lips and sucking, earning a whine from the lips of the boy now staring down at you.

you had now decided that enough was enough. your hands reached up, one to grip at his thigh and the other to grip at the base of his cock, before you took more of him into your mouth. you watched on in amazement at how vocal your boyfriend was being, making a mental note of this moment for use later. when you reached halfway, you started to bob your head, your hand working the other half of his cock as your eyes fell closed. you quickly found a rhythm that he enjoyed, occasionally breaking it to spending sometime kissing and lapping at the head.

jeno watched on in amazement as you worked, stress well and truly forgotten about as he focused on keeping his hips still as you worked. your boyfriend didn’t really know what to do with himself at that moment. he really wanted to grip your hair to help you along. thrust his cock further into your mouth to get that feeling of being completely swallowed by you. however, you were controlling everything, and he didn’t want to do something that you didn’t want him to do. as if sneaking his apprehension, your eyes opened to stare into his. your eyes shifted downward, and that’s when you noticed his hands curled into fists beside him. you pulled off of him with a downright sinful pop, spit dripping down your chin, and your chest heaved from the lack of air.

“you can hold on, i don’t mind. want to make sure you get the most out of this.” you asked, eyes locked with his as you pressed kisses along his length. you then reached up to grab one of his hands and placed it in your hair, giving him an encouraging nod before swallowing down again. it took him a few moments to realise why you weren’t moving before he sprung into action. only when he grabbed onto your hair did you resume your movements, enjoying the slight sting that came as his grip tightened in pleasure.

you continued your ministrations, hands and mouth working together as you slowly eased yourself down further along his cock. at the feeling of you going further, he accidentally thrust further into your mouth, causing you to swallow him entirely. you felt your gag reflex kick in, the sensation feeling heavenly around his length. you pulled off entirely, watching as he muttered out apologies in between curses and moans. you let out a small giggle before swallowing down on him again, stroking his hip to indicate he was all good and to continue. and that was all the indication he needed. he began to thrust needily into your mouth, matching the pace you had set, as your grip on his hip tightened.

you continued to work your hand in conjunction with his movements, eyes snapping up to take everything in. the sight of jeno with his head thrown back, eyes screwed shut with his lips parted in pleasure was enough to earn a moan from you. the vibrations drove him mad and caused a particularly harsh thrust, which only elicited further noises from you. his moans had begun to get whinier now and more frequent, hips beginning to fall out of line with your own movements. you could tell he was close. jeno’s mind was completely fogged with pleasure at this point, his only focus being on his release. that didn’t stop you from being surprised when you heard his voice from above you.

“please let me cum. i’ve been a good boy for you. please.” he whined. you momentarily based to look up at him in wonder, you would definitely have to revisit this later. jeno began to squirm as he waited for you to move again, shallowly thrusting into your mouth. when you snapped out of your daze, you nodded as best you could with his cock in your mouth, before resuming your movements.

all it took was a few more bobs of your head and a few more thrusts, and jeno was cumming down the back of your throat with a whine. you gripped onto his hips for dear life as he rode out his orgasm, a broken whine hanging in the air as he came down from his height of pleasure. you pull off of his length carefully, knowing he would be sensitive. a trail of spit follows you as you move away, lips puffy from being used. your boyfriend’s head fell forward with a blissed out smile, eyes creasing up into crescents as he looked at you. you giggled at his expression, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against his lips. before you could get away, he pulls you into his lap once again, lips pressing against yours harshly as his hands came to cup your ass. realising where he was going with this, you grabbed his shoulder to help push the two of you apart. jeno simply looks up at you, confused.

“is it not your turn?” jeno quizzed, landing a light smack on your ass. you let out a yelp, looking down at him with a smile.

“are you not tired?” you dismissed, moving to hop off of his lap and get ready for bed. jeno seemed to have other ideas though, shifting his hand to rest on your waist to lock you in place. any tiredness that your boyfriend may have had when he entered your apartment was long gone.

“not even in the slightest.” he smiled before moving to begin pressing kisses against your neck. you let out a small whine, attempting meekly to push him off, to no avail.

“tonight was about you though.” you pouted as your grip tightened on his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself get lost in the feeling of jeno finally showing you some attention.

“well now i want to watch my girlfriend as she cums around my fingers. think you can help with that?” he teased, snapping the fabric of your shorts back against your skin, eliciting a gasp from you. you simply nod in response before your swiftly pushed back down into the mattress. if it helps him relax, who are you to say no?

masterlist

requests and asks are open!

[novaursa]

Legacy (shadow of war)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: This is the last chapter.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: daybreak

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The air inside Casterly Rock was thick with silence—a silence so heavy, so suffocating, that it pressed upon every soul who still lived.

Jon Snow stepped through the gates, his boots echoing against the cold stone floor. He was flanked by Tormund and Davos, their faces grim, their eyes set ahead as they marched through the ruined stronghold. Behind them, the survivors of the battle followed—men of the North, soldiers of the Westerlands, all moving with the same heavy gait, their bodies battered and their spirits spent.

But no one spoke.

No one dared to speak.

It was as if the very walls of Casterly Rock mourned—the torches flickering in their iron sconces, casting long, jagged specters over the stone, the corridors stretching into endless darkness.

Jon had known grief. He had felt loss so many times before, yet something about this was different—something about the air, the weight of the silence, the way the survivors carried themselves as if they were already ghosts.

When they reached the great hall, Jon found them.

A dozen Lannister guards stood stationed, their armor dented, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Kevan Lannister was among them, his posture rigid, his eyes rimmed red.

And at the center of it all—Damon.

The boy sat on the steps of the dais, his small frame hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees. His silver-gold hair fell over his face, but Jon could see his eyes—distant, vacant, staring at something that was no longer there.

Jon had seen that look before.

He had worn it himself.

Slowly, carefully, Jon approached.

The closer he got, the more he could see the scars—the fresh burns that still marred one side of Damon’s face, the skin raw and newly healed, the mark of dragonfire and tragedy.

Jon knelt down beside him, resting his forearm on his knee, keeping his voice low.

“I’m sorry.”

Damon didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe for a moment.

And then—

“I want to see them.”

Jon’s chest tightened.

Damon’s voice was flat, empty, lacking the innocence of a child his age. There was no trembling, no weeping—only a distant numbness, a void that threatened to swallow him whole.

Kevan shifted uncomfortably, but he said nothing. The guards behind them lowered their gazes, some looking toward Jon as if hoping he might say no.

Jon didn’t.

Because he knew what it meant to be denied the truth.

He exhaled softly, glancing toward Davos and Tormund. They said nothing, only watching with solemn eyes.

Jon turned back to Damon, his voice steady.

“I’ll take you to them.”

For the first time since Jon entered the hall, Damon looked at him.

His eyes were not entirely his father’s—they were Targaryen eyes, mostly violet, just like his mother’s. But they were hollow, as if a part of him had already gone beyond the veil, lost in a grief so deep that it had yet to fully surface.

Jon stood first, offering his hand.

Damon stared at it for a long moment—then, wordlessly, he took it.

The hall remained silent as Jon led the boy out, the flickering torchlight casting long, sorrowful shadows over them.

Kevan followed. So did a handful of Lannister guards. Davos and Tormund remained at their backs, their presence a silent show of strength.

But Jon knew—there was no strength to be found here.

Only ashes.

Only loss.

Only the unforgiving truth that no child should ever have to face.

And yet—Damon walked beside him.

No tears.

No words.

Just silence.

And Jon—who had lost everything once—knew that this was only the beginning of the boy’s grief.

The true mourning had yet to come.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of charred flesh and smoke, the last remnants of dragonfire clinging to the ruins of what had been the final battlefield. The earth beneath their boots was scorched black, the snow melted away in streaks, revealing the ashen bones that remained. The dawn had come, thin and pale against the lingering darkness of the Long Night, but there was no warmth to be found.

Viserion stood like a stone sentinel, her armored form unmoving, the golden plating that once gleamed bright now tarnished with soot and battle scars. The great she-dragon had not moved since she had breathed her last fire upon her rider and her mate. She was watching—as if she could still see the souls of the fallen lingering in the smoke.

And beside her, Drogon and Rhaegal loomed, their massive black and green forms restless, wings twitching, as if they too felt something was wrong in the air.

Daenerys stood at the foot of the remains, her silver hair unbound, the wind tugging it across her face as she stared at the blackened bones of the woman she had never truly known. She had fought for a throne neither of them had ever sat upon, and now only one remained.

She had come too late.

The crunch of footsteps in the dirt made her turn.

Kevan Lannister led Damon forward, the boy’s small frame looking impossibly frail beneath his thick cloak, his scars visible in the morning light. He moved with purpose, his eyes never once shifting from where his parents’ bodies had been burned.

Jon walked at Damon’s side, his face hollow, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as though he were forcing himself to breathe. His gloved hands were shaking, though whether from exhaustion or grief, it was impossible to say.

Damon stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Then he knelt.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Viserion lowered her head, her golden eyes soft as she pressed her massive snout against the boy’s shoulder. He did not flinch, did not move—just sat in silence as she nuzzled him, the last piece of his mother still tethered to this world.

Jon turned away.

He couldn’t look at it any longer—the sight of the charred ground, the dragon mourning her rider, the child who had lost everything in one night.

His heart felt like it was splitting apart, torn between anger, sorrow, and failure. He had fought so hard, and yet—it was not enough.

A heavy sigh passed Daenerys’ lips as she turned her gaze to Damon, stepping forward carefully, her boots pressing into the blackened earth.

“You don’t have to stay here.” Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You can come with me. You don’t have to be alone.”

Kevan Lannister stiffened immediately.

“His place is here.” His voice was firm, his stance unyielding. “Damon is Lord of Casterly Rock now. He will rule. This is his home.”

Daenerys turned her gaze to Kevan, her expression hardened.

“He is my blood.” She took another step, her hands open, placating. “He is a Targaryen. And he should not be left to fend for himself among men in lion’s clothing. I would make him my heir—”

“His duty is here.” Kevan’s tone was sharper now. “We must think of the Westerlands, of the line of succession—”

“And we must think of his brother.”

The words cut through the cold like a blade.

Damon, who had remained silent for so long, finally spoke.

And his voice was like steel.

“Maelor is no longer my brother.”

The wind howled through the battlefield, but no one spoke.

Damon lifted his head, his eyes unblinking, his jaw clenched.

“Next time we meet… I will have to kill him.”

The words were spoken with such certainty, such finality, that even Kevan hesitated.

Daenerys knelt beside him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Come with me, sweet one. You don’t have to fight this alone. You can come home with me, to Dragonstone. We can take back what is ours.”

Damon did not look at her.

His small fingers clenched into fists.

“The dragon has three heads.”

Daenerys drew back slightly, staring at him, realization flickering across her face.

Then, slowly, Damon rose to his feet.

He did not take her hand.

He did not look back.

He turned, walking away from the remains of his parents, Kevan following closely behind, and as he passed Jon, he did not stop.

Jon did not either.

He could not bear to look at what remained of his mother.

And as Daenerys stood in the ashes of her sister, Rhaegal watched Jon, his great head shifting slightly as if he too was meant to follow—as if something unseen was calling to him.

But he did not move.

He stayed behind.

And as Damon left his mother and father behind forever, Viserion rose, her enormous golden wings stretching toward the dawn.

Even after death, they would watch over him.

The Years After the Long Night: An Account of the Realm

(As recorded by various sources: Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Beric Dondarrion, Tyrion Lannister, and Lord Kevan Lannister)

The Aftermath of the Long Night

Ser Davos Seaworth, in his recollections written years later, would say:

"The war was won, but at a terrible cost. The sun rose over a kingdom that had barely survived, its people broken, its rulers dead, and its lands in ruin. Those who did not prepare perished in the first year. The rest of us carried on, but we carried scars—on our bodies, in our minds, and in our very souls."

The Westerlands were left in Damon Lannister’s hands, though at the time of the war’s end, he was still but a boy. Lord Kevan Lannister ruled as regent in his nephew’s name, holding Casterly Rock as the last surviving adult of his family. Ser Jaime Lannister had returned from King’s Landing, having been present for its slow collapse, and stood by his nephew’s side.

Yet succession was not as simple as it should have been.

King Tommen Baratheon had succumbed to shivers mere days before the Long Night reached its peak. His queen, Margaery Tyrell, fled back to Highgarden, where she remained, childless and unwilling to return to court. Princess Myrcella Baratheon, wed into House Martell, ruled alongside her husband in Dorne, a kingdom that had suffered its own horrors during the war.

Thus, when the question of the Iron Throne arose, the realm found itself leaderless once more.

A Question of Succession

It was Daenerys Stormborn who made the first move.

Having survived the Long Night alongside her dragons, she pressed her claim to the Iron Throne. Yet the lords of Westeros, having suffered too long under foreign invasion, war, and death, refused her outright.

"The Iron Throne was stolen from my family," she declared in Dragonstone, as recorded by Tyrion Lannister in his letters. "It is my birthright."

But Lord Kevan Lannister countered her claim with one of his own.

"The throne was stolen, yes. But not from you."

The Lords of Westeros had no wish for another foreign war, and Daenerys, despite her survival, was still seen as an outsider, raised in Essos, returning with armies of Dothraki and Unsullied who had already begun to dwindle in number.

Meanwhile, Damon Lannister stood as the undeniable heir of both House Targaryen and House Lannister—a son of the last true dragon princess of the realm.

"He carries the blood of Kings, the blood of Conquerors. The dragon within him was hatched in fire and raised in war. If the throne is to be claimed by blood, it is his by right before hers." — Ser Jaime Lannister, when speaking before the assembled lords of the realm.

And so the realm was split once more.

The Kingsmoot of the Lords

A great council was called at Riverrun, for King’s Landing had been left in ruin, abandoned by all but the desperate. The lords of Westeros gathered to discuss who should rule them.

The North, led by Jon Snow, made no claim to the throne. Jon, though named Lord of Winterfell, refused any title, retreating to the Wall alongside what remained of the Free Folk.

House Arryn, under Lord Robert Arryn, sided with Damon’s claim.

House Tully, under Ser Edmure Tully, did the same.

House Baratheon had been wiped out entirely.

House Martell, with Myrcella ruling alongside her Dornish husband, took no side, wanting only to rebuild.

House Greyjoy, with what remained of their fleets, offered their swords to whoever would give them lands—but none wished to deal with them.

The Reach, under Margaery, refused Daenerys as well, having lost too much to the war.

And so, in the end, Damon Lannister was declared King of the Seven Kingdoms, but with a stipulation.

"He is but a boy. A regent must rule until he comes of age."

That regent was Kevan Lannister, but Tyrion Lannister returned to claim a place on the council, replacing Mace Tyrell as Hand of the King.

Daenerys Stormborn, the last adult of House Targaryen, was cast aside once more.

Her dragons were strong, but her claim was not.

The Rule of the Dragonlord

Damon Lannister grew into his role with Viserion at his side.

When he came of age, he took the throne in King’s Landing, but not before ensuring Casterly Rock remained as his second stronghold. He did not trust the capital, nor its history.

His rule was marked by steel and fire, for though the Long Night had ended, another war always threatened to begin.

Daenerys never forgave him for taking what she saw as hers.

But Westeros had chosen.

"The boy had his mother’s silver hair and his father’s sharp gaze. He did not speak like a Lannister nor a Targaryen, but something in between—a creature born of war, raised by steel, and crowned by fire. He was neither the ruler the realm wanted nor the one they expected. But he was what remained." — Ser Jaime Lannister, reflecting on Damon’s coronation.

Thus, the Seven Kingdoms crowned Damon of House Lannister, the Dragon of the West, the last true king of a realm that had nearly been swallowed by the night.

The War of the Last Dragon

(As recorded by Ser Beric Dondarrion, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyn in "The Dragon of the West")

The Last Attempt of Daenerys Stormborn

Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Nothing, did not forget nor forgive.

For years, she had bided her time, gathering what few followers remained to her cause. The Unsullied, now scattered and weary of war, still marched at her command. The Dothraki, broken and reduced, still rode for her. But the lords of Westeros had turned their backs on her entirely.

When she sailed from Dragonstone, it was not as a conqueror, but as a desperate woman clinging to a birthright that had never been hers.

"She came with dragons, but not with strength. She came with fire, but no claim. And when she came, she came to burn, not to rule." — Ser Jaime Lannister, when recounting Daenerys’ final war.

The Civil War began with her attack on Storm’s End, a desperate attempt to secure a stronghold for her failing cause. But Damon Lannister—now a man grown, a dragon-rider, a warrior king—met her before she could rally support.

Viserion, now a beast of terrifying size, clad in gold-forged Lannister armor, took to the skies against Drogon, who had been his mother’s shield for too long.

It was not a battle.

It was a massacre.

"She was once the Mother of Dragons. But even dragons grow old, and even dragons can be killed. Drogon fought, but he fought alone." — Grand Maester Orwyn, "The Fall of the Last Targaryen"

With Daemon on Viserion and Jaime leading the charge below, Daenerys’ army crumbled in days.

The Dothraki were slaughtered on the plains, their great khalasar shattered. The Unsullied fought to the last man, refusing to surrender. Rhaegal, the last of her dragons, was struck down by scorpions, pierced by Lannister steel before he could reach King’s Landing.

And Daenerys Stormborn—the last Targaryen, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons—was captured outside the ruins of Summerhall, where once a Targaryen king had burned in his own madness.

She was brought before Damon, bound in chains, her silver hair stained red with the blood of her fallen dreams.

"She looked at him, and she saw her father. She looked at him, and she saw her brother. She looked at him, and she saw the throne she would never sit upon." — Ser Beric Dondarrion, recounting Daenerys’ trial.

Damon did not order her death.

She was sent to exile, where she would never rise again.

The Mysterious Death of Cersei Lannister

In the midst of the war, another death shook Westeros—but this one came not by sword or dragonfire.

Cersei Lannister, Queen Dowager, was found dead in her chambers in Casterly Rock.

The cause?

Poison.

"Some say she took her own life, knowing her cause was lost. Others say she was murdered, for she had made too many enemies. And still, there are whispers that it was Tyrion’s revenge at last, though he swore it was not his doing." — Grand Maester Orwyn, The Lannister Succession

With Jaime Lannister’s loyalty unwavering to Damon, Cersei had been isolated, abandoned, a queen with no crown, a mother with no living sons.

When her body was found cold, the realm did not mourn.

Her death was a whisper in the storm, a footnote in a history already drenched in blood.

The King Who Waits for Darkness

Damon’s rule was one of fire and steel.

He was no soft ruler.

He rebuilt Westeros, but always trained for war.

He spent years upon years preparing, forging alliances, raising armies. He honed his skill with the sword, he strengthened his bond with Viserion, and he watched the North with wary eyes.

For the Others had taken his brother.

"The Long Night was over, but it was not the final one. The creatures took what they came for. They left because they had won something we do not yet understand. And one day, they will return to finish what they started." — Ser Beric Dondarrion, his final words before his death.

Damon knew this.

He trained not for peace, but for the next war.

He trained to face his brother, Maelor, now lost to the darkness, now the prince of the dead.

And Westeros, for all its victories, was left waiting once more for the storm to come.

The North Remembers

(As recorded by Ser Davos Seaworth, Tormund Giantsbane, and Maester Eddrick in The Chronicles of the North)

The Ghost of Y/N

Though the Long Night had passed, the North was never the same again.

Winterfell, once the heart of the Stark legacy, was a place of silence and waiting.

Jon Snow had gone beyond the Wall, leading the remnants of the Free Folk into the untamed lands of eternal winter. He never returned.

Yet, those left behind still spoke of him.

"He left because he could not bear it. He left because his grief was greater than all of ours. He left because he had lost his mother, the only one who had ever truly called him son." — Ser Davos Seaworth, The Man Who Left

Even so, Y/N’s presence lingered in Winterfell—not as a ghost, but as a memory that refused to fade.

Bran Stark, now a man grown, now a seer of things beyond mortal sight, claimed that he could still feel her.

"She is not gone. Not completely. The flames that took her did not consume all that she was." — Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven

But what unnerved them most was that Bran also claimed to sense Maelor.

"He is lost, but he is still dragon blood. He walks among them, but he remembers what he was." — Bran Stark, speaking of Maelor Lannister

The North grew quiet at that.

Some, like Arya, dismissed it.

"That thing is no longer her son. When we meet him again, it will not be as kin. It will be as enemies." — Arya Stark

But Sansa did not speak of it at all.

Instead, she did what the North had always done: she remembered.

The Lady of Fire and Stone

In the cold heart of the crypts, beneath the looming statues of the Kings of Winter, stood a new monument.

It was not of Ned Stark, nor of any Stark before him.

It was of her.

The woman who had raised Jon Snow, the dragon who had burned for Westeros, the queen who had never worn a crown but had ruled over hearts nonetheless.

Y/N.

"She deserved a place among the dead of Winterfell, for she was of us, even if she never bore the name Stark." — Sansa Stark, upon commissioning the statue

It was Arya’s blade that carved the details of the face.

It was Sansa’s hands that ensured the robes and dragon’s wings were sculpted perfectly.

It was Bran’s words that made them place a small direwolf at her feet, for she had been a mother to one just as she had been a mother to Jon.

And when the work was done, Jon Snow was not there to see it.

For he was beyond the Wall, mourning in the only way he knew how.

The Egg of Viserion

It was on a night of deep cold, long after Jon had lost count of the days, that the raven came.

It bore no message, but a gift.

From Damon Lannister, the Dragon of the West, to Jon Snow.

A dragon egg, black as the midnight sky, flecked with red and gold, its shell still warm, as if carrying the last breath of summer.

"A gift from one brother to another. If you ever wish to come home, let this be your guide." — Damon’s message, as told by Maester Eddrick

Jon did not know what to do.

He stared at the egg, feeling the weight of it in his hands.

"You have a choice, Snow," Tormund had said. "Raise it, bring it back to the world, or leave it here to be forgotten."

But it was not Jon’s hands that kept it warm.

It was Ghost’s.

The great direwolf, his fur now touched with silver, curled around the egg each night, his warmth keeping it safe, guarding it as he once guarded Jon himself.

"Even out here, life still fights to survive." — Jon Snow, speaking of the egg

But Jon never left the North.

Not for Damon.

Not for the egg.

Not even for the memory of the mother he had lost.

For some wounds never heal.

Some wounds fester in the cold.

And for Jon Snow, there was no home left to return to.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Finding You

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Summary - The night that You and Bruce first laid eyes on one another.

Warnings - Pre-Relationship, First Meetings, Dancing, Alcohol, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger Woman.

A/N - Same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine and Morning Glory. As always, this fic is a standalone and does not require any previous fics to be read in order to be enjoyed.

Word Count - 2.2k

From the second that you entered the room, Bruce has been unable to take his eyes off of you. It’s not the half a million dollar jewels hanging from around your throat or the matching set of earrings. Nor the designer dress that is way too scandalise for an event like this that has him staring. 

Sure, they drew his eye to you to begin with, but that’s true of the whole room. While most people have returned their attention back to what had hold of it before, his eyes keep coming back to you and he’s really doing his best to not appear like a leering old man.

In all honestly, he couldn’t care less about the jewels or the dress. He can certainly appreciate an attractive woman, but it’s not the sole reason he’s watching you. What has him enchanted is the way that you carry yourself. 

You’re what? Half his age? At the very least? Yet you don’t bat an eye at the gossiping or the remarks that everyone has about you or your dress. One too many people bringing up one of those playboy shoots you’ve done in the past, rather loudly at that, but you don’t care. In fact, you’re smiling about it. Thriving off of it even, but not in a narcissistic way.

Bruce isn’t a betting man, but if he was he would be willing to bet half of his fortune that his was the sort of rise that you wanted out of these people tonight. 

The only thing he can’t figure out is why. What do you get from all of the negative attention you’re drawing toward yourself? Most people try to avoid that, but here you are embracing it. 

And there’s the way that you hold yourself with such grace. A grace that most of his own kids still haven’t learned, but not for the lack of trying on Alfred’s part.

The woman in front of you has no idea that you tuned her out ages ago. Your ability to keep up the look that you’re listening, with a nod here and an “oh I know what you mean,” there is impressive. Your smile is perfect. It’s practised and one that Barbie would be jealous off. Not an ounce of boredom to be seen anywhere on your face or in your posture. You know every step to this boring dance and you haven’t drunk a single thing. At least nothing alcoholic. Even Bruce, every once in a while, finds that he needs a drink to deal with it all, but you appear to be completely unaffected.

There’s two ways how he knows you’re feining interest with the woman. 

The first one being because, unbeknownst to everyone here, he’s the World’s Greatest Detective. Noticing such things is second nature to him. The second one is because, more than once, you have met his gaze. You’re not glaring daggers at him like you have at every other man here tonight. No. The look you have for him is one of curiosity.

One of the men he’s talking to starts to laugh, snapping Bruce’s attention away from you and back toward him. The rest of the men are either smirking or looking at him like they’re all in on a joke that he isn’t. It has his skin pricking with irritation.

“Oh, I wouldn’t look her way, Wayne,” he says. “Girl’s more frigid than that man in the icebox! You would have an easier time getting into the Queen of England’s bed!” 

All of the men around him laugh loudly. As if it’s the funniest thing that they have ever heard. While Bruce has to take a deep breath and remind himself not to cause a scene by clocking someone. That doesn’t stop his tongue from lashing them, weaponised with the things that he had observed from these men early on in the evening.

“Or, perhaps, she just isn’t interested in lecherous men that touch women without their consent.”

It’s satisfying to watch as as their faces drop and they all fall silent at his response. Eyes filling with realisation that he’s not one of them as their stomachs drop because he’s heard and seen the things they have said and done tonight. Bruce could truly ruin them. Have their names and companies’ reputations smeared for all time and make sure that no one ever does business with any of them ever again. He is a Wayne after all and when he speaks the world holds its breath and listens. 

Hell, he will do exactly that. Perhaps even throw Batman into the mix. Right now though that’s a matter for another time. One for when he isn’t in the middle of a ballroom.

Bruce doesn’t stick around to hear any of their retorts. If there are any retorts to be had to begin with.

He downs the rest of the champagne as he walks away and places the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. He decides that he needs something stronger than the champagne being served. Batman’s off duty tonight, his responsibilities entrusted to his eldest son and youngest daughter so he can afford to have a stronger drink. 

If he’s standing by the bar, it might also make him more approachable than being surrounded by a group of men that you have a very clear distaste for.

As he crosses the room, Bruce can’t stop himself from looking in your direction. Once more, your eyes meet his. You’re still looking at him with that same look. Like you’re not quite sure what his game is at. You’re trying to read him like he’s trying his best to read you. He quirks an eyebrow at you, a small yet genuine smile playing on his lips. He only holds your gaze for a moment before he’s turning away again. 

Once the bartender has poured him a glass of whiskey, he decides to stay at the end of the bar. It’s quieter and he has had enough of mind numbing conversations with men whose names he can’t fully remember no matter how many times he meets them.

He really is hoping that this will make him more approachable. Anything so he can have a conversation with you.

It’s strange. He hasn’t wanted anyone’s attention like this in a very long time. Not since Selina… 

Yet, here he is. Hoping like a schoolboy that this works.

As he sips on his drink, he’s all too aware of the women and men around him. All of them desperately trying to get his attention. They’re batting their eyelashes and trying to lean close to him to strike up a conversation. Some even going as far as to grab ahold of him and calling out “Brucie!”.

Bruce pretends that they aren’t there. His eyes glued to the dark amber liquid in the crystal glass. Fortunately they all give up quickly, some muttering under their breaths about him being stuck up, as they walk away. 

The sound of heels approaching him catches his attention and he perks up. Suddenly his drink is no longer as interesting as all of his focus now zeroes in on you. The sound of your heels is quickly followed by your voice.

“Mr Wayne, right?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Bruce replies. He turns to face you, pleased that his plan has worked. “You can just call me Bruce.”

“Well, Bruce, did you know you’re the only person who hasn’t once stared at my boobs tonight?” you ask. An older woman nearby chokes on her drink at what you ask.

He chuckles softly. “Well, that would be rude. I don’t even know your name.” 

For a moment he wonders if he has misread things and has gone a little too far because you fall quiet. That quiet doesn’t last long though as, before he knows it,  you’re laughing. Even going as far as to step into his space briefly, your hand gently gripping his arm. Which, for the first time tonight, he doesn’t mind. 

Already he can see the articles and hear the shit the vultures will have to say about tonight. Even from this one small interaction, but since when has he ever cared what they think? 

“I’ve heard a lot of one liners, but not one that has actually made me laugh.” Your eyes shine with amusement, like it’s the funniest thing you have heard.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he returns your smile. You introduce yourself to him and he repeats your name, testing it out on his tongue.

“That’s a pretty name,” he tells you. “And I have a bunch more one liners that you’ve likely never heard.”

“But?” 

“You’ll have to agree to go on a date with me.”

He, honestly, doesn’t even know why he wants a date with you so badly. He had sworn off dating anyone ever again. Happy to spend the rest of his life alone, considering what he had lost. But here he is. Doing his best to get a date with you. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s it? All I have to do is agree to go out with you?” 

He laughs softly. You’re good at this. “I mean, I would like it if you did go out with me, but you don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I won’t hold it against you.”

You look at him for a moment. The gears in your mind turning. At the same time the music in the room changes. It’s the sort of tune that’s perfect for dancing. Something that you don’t miss as you look away from him for a moment, your eyes searching for something in the room. 

You hum softly, looking back at him. “How about this instead. You dance with me and I give you a date?”

A quick glance to toward what should be the dance floor shows no one dancing, but you don’t seem to care about that. You want all eyes on the two of you and he’s happy to oblige.

Bruce sets his drink aside and takes you by the hand, leading you toward the dance floor. Your eyes light up at him actually taking you up on your counter offer.

You already know the steps, easily settling into rhyme with him as he moves you around the dance floor. All eyes are on the two of you, but he honestly doesn’t even notice them. You don’t appear to either.

All of his focus is on you and all of your focus is on him.

As you dance, the dancefloor doesn’t remain empty for long. Other couples join in. After all, if dancing is good enough for him, why shouldn’t it be good enough for them?

Even with the dance floor filling up, the two of you remain the focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see women, both older and younger, leaning in close and gossiping as they watch you and him glide across the dance floor. 

You and Bruce are going to be the talk of the world and he hasn’t even taken you out yet.

Has that been your plan all along? To get him out in the open with you? You want the attention, that much he’s figured out already. And this is going to come with a lot of that. A lot of it negative from the journalists that hate his guts.  The rest of it, he can’t figure out. You are completely unreadable to him. It’s a good thing he has always enjoyed a good challenge. 

The music ends far too soon for his liking and you are stepping away from him. 

“Can I have your phone?” you ask him. “I want to give you my number.” 

“Of course.” Bruce doesn’t hesitate as he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his cell. He unlocks it and hands it over to you.

"You'll text me the time and place?” you ask him, your fingers moving like lightning on the keyboard.

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m looking forward to it.” And he really is. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually looking forward to a date.

“As am I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very early start tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.”

“It was nice to meet you, as well.” 

He expects you to just walk away. Leaving him waiting and wanting more. 

Instead you step back into his space and press a kiss to his cheek. As quickly as you entered his space, you’re gone again, this time turning around and walking away. He can feel himself blush and he’s sure that there’s lipstick staining his cheek now. 

The men that he had been talking to early are looking in his direction, their jaws almost on the floor. It really wasn’t the aim, but Bruce can’t help feeling a little smug over it. Since he wil likely make more of mess trying to wipe it off, he leaves the mark there and returns to the bar for a fresh drink. 

He can’t wait until the next time that he gets to see you.

[glowettee]

the secret to taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖°

hey lovelies! mindy heree <3

for this post i'm superrr excited to share a guide on taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖° trust me, i know how overwhelming it can get when it feels like you're stuck in the middle of endless textbooks and dry lecture slides (honestly, we all have those days). so, let's transform your note taking into something delightful, empowering, and totally reflective of your unique self.

✧ finding your vibe first things first, bestie: the key here is to make your notes feel personal and inspiring. rather than sticking to a rigid system, i suggest mixing a little structure with a whole lot of creativity. here are some steps to help you set up your perfect note taking vibe:

choose your medium: even if it’s a cute pastel notebook, sticky notes, or a digital app with fun themes, pick something that sparks joy and invites you to open it up. i personally love notion + remnote + coda

establish sections: break your notes into clear sections. introduction, main points, and summary. this not only boosts organization but also gives you a gratifying sense of progress every time you finish a page.

add your signature touch: doodles, small illustrations, or even a decorative border can make a note feel less like a chore and more like a mini art project. i love using aesthetic symbols for my digital notes <3

✧ creating a study ritual i believe that great notes come from a relaxed and focused mind. try integrating these rituals into your study sessions to set a positive tone, this is really important if you want to make note-taking fun:

begin with a short breathing exercise or a moment of gratitude (think of it as your pre-study pep talk).

play some light instrumental music or your favorite lo-fi beats, or playlist. something to keep your mind in a creative zone without distractions. (i have a great playlist i made that i use for tackling assignments here: 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀! <3)

grab your favorite beverage (i’m a fan of herbal tea or a cute iced coffee) and make sure you're comfortable. a little self-care goes a long way!

✧ structuring your notes for clarity a well-organized layout makes reviewing notes less daunting and more interactive. and obviously so much more fun, consider using this format for a balanced + demureee approach:

start with a title and date: it grounds your notes and gives you a quick reference.

write a brief summary of the topic: in your own words, capture the essence of what you’re about to learn. just summarize it as best as possible

list key points: use bullet points, numbered lists, or even headers for different subtopics. tip: use cute symbols for bullet points

highlight examples: it can be a quote, a definition, or an application concept, mark these with a star or a cute icon.

close with a reflection: jot down any questions, what you found most interesting, or even a mini action item related to the topic. this is your space for self-talk and reflection.

✧ turning notes into interactive canvases (cause we need it) notes aren’t meant to be static pages floating in an endless binder. make them interactive to truly boost your study sessions:

include thought-provoking questions: ask yourself things like “what would elle woods do?” (lol, we love her <3) or “how does this connect with real life?” to spark critical thinking.

add mini quizzes: at the end of each section, write one or two questions that challenge you to recall key points.

leave room for updates: as you learn more, come back and add extra notes, doodles, or even inspirational stickers (yes, just like in a scrapbook!).

✧ personal tips from mindy because i want you to shine in every note you take, here are my totally secret, fun tips to elevate your note routine:

secret tip #1: color with purpose choose a color palette that not only looks cute but also maps out different themes in your subject. use one color for definitions, another for examples, and maybe a sparkly tone for key takeaways. over time, these colors will trigger your memory (i promise, it really works!).

secret tip #2: integrate affirmations studying can be stressful sometimes, so why not lace your notes with a few tender affirmations? write a quick pep talk (like “i got this, bestie” or “every detail counts”) in a corner. it might seem small, but these little lines can boost your confidence when you need it most. and it's just so freaking cute <3 affirmations from you to you, is like a love letter to yourself, so just try it

secret tip #3: try mind mapping if you’re more of a visual learner, create mind maps instead of linear notes. start with the main topic in the center and branch out with related ideas and details. this not only makes your notes dynamic but also helps you see connections between concepts (ever notice how some subjects just click with a visual flow?).

secret tip #4: use digital tools creatively if you’re leaning towards digital note taking, like me, experiment with apps that support drawing, voice notes, and even embedded links. add images that resonate with the topic or short videos for a quick concept refresher. making your digital notebook interactive can really keep boredom at bay.

secret tip #5: schedule weekly note reviews set aside a bit of time every week to revisit your notes. treat it as a mini self-study session where you update, add reflections, or even reorganize sections for clarity. this habit not only reinforces your learning but also lets you see your own progress over time, like looking back on how far you’ve come.

✧ action items for the week (it's homework timeee) to wrap things up, here are a few steps to try:

pick one class or topic this week and redo your notes using one or two of these tips (maybe add a mind map or a quick quiz).

experiment with color coding: choose colors that resonate with you and assign them to key points or sections.

schedule a 10-minute review session at the end of the week to refresh and reflect on your notes.

share your progress with a friend or even a study group to celebrate little victories. accountability can boost your motivation!

note: note taking is a creative process that should feel as refreshing and inspiring as a new day. keep experimenting until you find what truly works for you. i hope these tips help you get excited about every page you write on.

xoxo, mindy

I made this amazzinggg playlist (as mentioned earlier in the post) and its specifically made to help you complete homework + assignments. i curated it to make sure its soft music to help you focus <3 love from mindyyy 🩷

don't forget, if you need personal advice, submit it here and i'll answer it as a detailed tumblr blog post <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[aobhstypwriter]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU, Kang Sae-byeok x fem reader

In which, Kang Sae-byeok is a pit fighter, getting her money by bloodying up opponents like nothing. After her breakup with you, she catapults herself into the ring every night - but when her victory streak comes to a salty end, she doesn't have anyone else to call. fluff and angst

The white floodlights in the ring light up - illuminating Sae-byeok's body in vibrance. Sweat runs from her temple down her cheek, her hair drenched and messy, hanging down in-front of her eyes as her chin dipped towards the floor. The crowd erupts in malevolent cheers as they catch sight of her - panting and ready for an actually good fight.

She brought her gloved fist right up to her face, ripping at the velcro strap with her teeth - pulling it as tight as possible, her jaw clenching in anguish.

Her abdomen glistened in the stage lights - her ears drowned in screams of biased people who'd pay to see anything get hit. Her opponent hadn't shown themselves yet - and so, she planted her feet - a wet rag strewn around her neck. Before this, she'd dumped her face into a bucket of ice water - trying any attempt to silence her own thoughts.

The announcer called out the woman's name as she stepped into the enclosed space - grimacing as she stared down Sae-byeok with incredulous intent.

Sae watched through worn eyes as the woman gathered all the saliva in her mouth - spitting it out on the mat beside her. She was big, that was for sure - the epitome of muscular.

When Sae-byeok fought, it was the only way she could get lost. So when the announcers called out for the match to begin, she rolled her tongue over her mouthguard and fought.

She usually thought about nothing but victory, her muscles tensing as she moved and slid between hits, throwing her own with staggered breaths and calculated efforts. She practically threw herself forward, packing all her energy into a punch to the face as soon as her opponent's guard dropped. Her gloved fist landed with almost no sound - but the woman had clearly not expected to get punted so hard so quickly due to her surprise reaction.

This was where it went wrong - a first punch to the face?

That was her first mistake. Sae-byeok could see anger arise so quickly in her eyes, clearly she was facing a bad sport. Fortunately, when you face someone like so - they usually lose composure when their emotions take over, and so, she'd be in for force fuelled, inexperienced attacks from here on out.

The woman threw a punch to hit, full of unbridled anger and impulsivity. Sae byeok side stepped it, shoving a shin into her upper thigh, causing her to stumble over before regaining her footing.

Just when Sae had started to believe she had the upper hand, the woman coiled up her body and dispersed a fake, diverting Sae's attention to blocking as her face fell open - available for instant damage. Sure enough, she hit with unpalatable strength right in the jaw.

Sae-byeok snapped her head back, un-eager to lose so quickly. She tried to get another kick in, but the woman had already started to swing her leg up, swiping Sae's ankle. The smaller girl stumbled back, her back meeting the wall of the ring with an unmistakable clang. That one will hurt in the morning, she thought.

The woman charged for her, pinning their bodies together just to get in another punch. Neither one of them could talk, the gum guards in their mouth protecting them from muttering complete filth to one another - but Sae-byeok could easily guess the sentences and unstrung words running through her mind.

A punch to the gut sent her head tilting back into the wall in pain, the air completely knocked from her lungs. It wasn't often that she lost a fight, but it wasn't looking so good. She wondered how she'd explain the injuries to Cheol in the morning, but that was something to worry about later.

That was it - the thought she needed to fight back harder. If she didn't win this bitch-fight, she'd have no money for a motel and none to take her brother to the market tomorrow.

She pushed with everything she had, and eventually the woman gave in for just enough time for Sae byeok to tackle her to the ground, scrambling atop her to throw more punches in. She had only managed a few before she leapt up, able to easily defy Sae's smaller frame - flipping the two of them over.

Sae struggled ineffectively under the lady's grasp, grabbing and hitting at anything she could, feeling ashamed. She'd never gone down this easily.

She braced herself, another punch gearing her way. The smack of the glove was evident throughout even the noisy crowd, Sae's nose erupting into waterfalls of spattered blood, likely staining her white sports bra. With her head pressed against the floor, she seethed in pain ready to give up. But as tears ran from her eyes to the marked floor, the woman would not stop - vengeful of fairness that had never depleted.

After the third hit, Sae-byeok had a flash of a memory, seeing bliss through the train wreck window. She thought of soft sheets, and the sound of your laughter as you lay atop her, placing gentle kisses to her starstruck face where it was now being smashed up with such disdain and intent.

She caught glimpses of your eyes in hers, the snap between love and hate giving her whiplash. It had been a year, and she she never allowed herself to think of you - knowing it would lead to something disastrous like this. She convinced herself it was fine - she had been through worse than a breakup. But it hurt more than it should've, and she could never grasp why. It wasn't just some relationship - it was you.

She had lost count of the hits now, determined again to hit back but the floor was just too inviting - exhaustion hitting her body in waves, actively fighting the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The pain is so prominent that at first, she doesn't even notice the weight of the woman lift free from her pelvis, permanently struck with this thrumming hurt that thrived precariously in both her mind and her body. She wanted you. She wanted you to be there to pick her up, to tell her it was okay.

She had no-one. She was all alone. And on a random Saturday at 11pm, after getting the shit kicked out go her, she really noticed it.

Everything had been a distraction from what she didn't have, always thinking about money and where she'd get it - but at the same time, drinking it all away at the bar because she couldn't bare to have one sober thought. She just wanted someone to call, someone to take her home and be worried.

She wasn't crying anymore, she knew that. But things still seemed so blurry, unable to get to grips with her surrounds but somehow making out the faint line of a hand, lifted up in victory. Her hands trembled at her sides, tremors of past hiccups and old memories bubbling to the surface minute by minute.

The announcer confirmed the victory, the crowd cheering and booing appropriately - though she knew none of them cared who won or lost. they just wanted a good fight.

The floodlights dimmed, the electrical, insect like buzz softly filtering into the chatter of a lively audience - not one willing to get up and help her.

She raised a hand to her bloodied mouth, throwing the gloves to the side and ripping the guard from her gums, string of saliva and blood forging it to her aching teeth. She swirled her tongue around: no losses. But no relief came with that information - she couldn't care less if she had all her pieces. There would forever be one missing, as long as you were gone.

You got up from your sheets, hair tangled up in the most horrendous nest shape. Your breath smelled of goodnight tea and toothpaste, warm and frothy in your mouth. You were half asleep, and someone was perturbingly ringing the doorbell to your apartment. You raised your phone to your face, seeing no missed calls or anything - making you a little anxious. Who the hell was ringing at 12:57am?

You slyly grabbed a knife from the kitchen, sliding with your fluffy socks on the hardwood as to not make noise. You held it up over your torso, reaching for the latch on the handle and carefully pressing the door open. You swung it forward, pulling the knife out further in-front of you to greet whomever was standing there - body poised and arched like a black cat in the night.

You audibly gasped as you saw her standing there, only her silhouette visible against the flickering light of the accommodation hallway.

This made no difference to you - you could recognise her form anywhere.

"Sae?" you whispered, the name making her instantly lose her composure. Only you had ever called her that.

The knife, once firm between your whitened knuckles, drops to the floor with a mighty clang as you notice her state - hunched posture, cradling her ribs with only a hoodie slung over her shoulders. She's trembling - because of the cold, or the pain, you weren't quite sure. Blood stained her face, running right down from her nose to her lower V-lines. And with chapped lips, she tried her best to speak, but nothing would get past the lump in her throat.

She felt terrible for coming, but she had nowhere else - no one else.

She thought she'd made a big mistake, expecting you to yell and shout and scream at her for showing up. but instead, you leapt forward and hugged Kang Sae-byeok so hard she thought her already tampered ribs might break.

Choked sobs wrung out of the injured girl's mouth as she received the comfort, relief overtaking her body like she'd never felt. It subdued the pain a great deal, as you just rubbed her back in attempts to soothe the never-ending sobs that had been regressed for months.

"It's okay," you lulled, stroking her hair as she curled every part of herself into you. "I'm here."

"I'm sorry," she managed to muster, "I'm so sorry."

Tears start to well in your eyes too - you couldn't stress enough how much you'd worried about her since everything ended. But now that she was here, you'd already made the decision that you weren't letting go again.

She smelled the same - like ground coffee and rain.

You pulled away to examine her face, bringing your palms to her cheeks just to use your thumbs to wipe the tears away. Her tired, somber eyes faltered when looking at you - taking in everything like it was the first time.

"Come on," You soothe, "Lets clean you up."

She nods, tears still falling silently as she continues to shiver. You lift one of her arms over your shoulder, shutting the door beneath the both of you - redirecting her to the bathroom. The hoodie that had been slung on her shoulders falls to the floor as you support her, both of you simply ignoring it.

You place her down on the lidded toilet, instructing her to sit as you turn on the bath tap and and go back to the kitchen, searching your drawers for anything that might help clean her wounds. Eventually after what felt like endless rummaging, you find a rag and some rubbing alcohol.

You rush over to her - her consciousness dipping right before you arrive to catch her. You position yourself in between her legs - kneeling on the cold linoleum to clean her grazed knees first. She winces, grabbing your shoulder in support as you brush the chemicals over the fresh wounds.

"It's alright, it'll only hurt for a second," You assure her, bringing your un-dominant hand up to stroke her hand soothingly.

"Jesus, Sae," you exasperate as you take a closer look at her stomach - delicate purples, pinks and blues starting to brush right into her skin - in all the places she'd been hit. "You better not step in that ring again or I'll beat you up myself."

By the time you're done, the bath is pretty much full to the top - the steam invading every part of the room with mindless heat. It fogs up the mirrors, and you realise that's probably best - you didn't want her seeing herself so bashed up.

"Can you lift your arms?" You ask, wondering if she can even answer. To your surprise, she nods slowly, looking so allured and pained at the same time. She looks excrucially beautiful, like the remnants of a renaissance painting in pieces on your bathroom floor.

She slowly lifts them up above her head, giving you a clear view of every muscle and scar she'd ever obtained or lost. not that you'd never seen her body before - that was hardly it. It just managed to strike you with such tender feelings every time, without fail.

You lifted careful fingers to the hem of her bra, pushing it up to get it right over her head without hurting her further.

She winces as it moves past her face, brushing up against the new blood that wouldn't stop gushing.

"Sorry," you mumble quickly as you throw the ruined thing to the side, unaware that she had shook her head - there was nothing to be sorry about, and Sae stood by that.

"Can you stand up again?" You ask, raising yourself to stand and taking both her hands in yours. She mutters a quiet 'yes' and you nod in acceptance, helping her up with your fingers intertwined.

She grips statically onto you as she comes to stand, using your forearms as crutches; not that you minded at all. You helped her discard her shorts and underwear and lowered her carefully into the bath, making sure she didn't slip up.

The water immediately started to darken with spots of red, as she sat there with her knees pressed up to her chest - sniffling and breathing heavy.

"I'll be right back." you say, leaving her just sitting there to contemplate. You come back soon enough with an empty cup and a bag of ice, ready to give her when she gets out incase she culminates a black eye.

You stroke her black hair back behind her ears, her eyes closing as your fingers run through her scalp; kind of like when a cat pushes their ears back when you pet them. The image makes you smile.

You fill the cup up with bathwater and pour it over her hair, pushing her chin up so that she tilts her neck back. You do this a few more times before grabbing the rag from before just to spot it to her face.

You start at her jawline, carefully washing away the mixture of sweat and blood that ran down her body, bit by bit. Even though her complexion was throbbing with discomfort, she'd never felt more relaxed, more at home.

You place a wet hand to her cheek, forcing her to look at you as you attempt to wipe the rest of the blood away. As you sweep the rag across her cheek, she stares intently at you - a single tear falling precisely down her cheek.

"Hey," you whisper, wiping it away gently with the cloth. "I'm here now. Not going anywhere."

She smiled faintly - igniting a faint glimmer of hope in you. Sae-byeok really couldn't believe all that was happening. There was so much hurt that was so hard to push away - but there you were, with your angelic glow and your devoted selflessness. She'd never loved anyone like she'd loved you. And she really, really did.

"I didn't know where else to go." she tells you, her voice cracking. "I..."

she trails off, unable to compute her own ramblings into anything she'd declare as meaningful.

"Thank you I...I didn't mean to just show up-"

"Shhh,'' you hush. "I know. I was worried about you - I thought something like this might happen."

You laugh shortly, confusing her a little.

"We're broken up for a year and you almost die on me." You joke, looking into her sweet, wounded eyes. Exterior like a lion, soul like a lamb.

"I don't know why you're doing this." her breath hitches in her throat, her pronunciation soft - rather than monotone, like she'd usually utilise. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

You sigh, finally using the rag to clean her bust bottom lip - brushing your fingers against the cut sensually.

"Because I love you." You confess - the weight unapparent, like you were confessing to leaving a door open on accident, or that you left something at work. To you, it was just true. Nothing but.

Before you could let her reply with anything - you grabbed the shampoo, rubbing it between your palms and then scrubbing it through her short hair as she scrunched up her nose - unbeknownst to the newfound pressure.

You washed It out with the cup again, and then, lathered her hair in conditioner, the soap forming bubbles in the water. You picked one up in your hands - pressing it onto her nose when she wasn't looking - trying your best to cheer her up. She smiled as you smiled back, before reaching up to swipe it off with your thumb.

Afterwards, you grabbed your softest towel and dried her off, letting her wear one of your shirts to bed. You tucked her in and turned the lights off - determined to just give her some space. But in the later hours of the night, you couldn't stop worrying - what if she just...stopped breathing in the middle of the night? Or had gotten punched so many times her brain was ready to give out? It was stupid - you were practically making up reasons to sleep beside her.

But when Sae-byeok awoke from a dream at 3am, and saw you sleeping soundly beside her, she was able to fall into a safe sleep immediately.

Should I do a part 2? <3

also PITFIGHTER SAE-BYEOK AHHHHHHHHHHHH

[sexy-monster-fucker]

lacy, oh lacy…

Cooper Howard|The Ghoul x Reader

Prompt: Lucy has just joined the group and the Reader is growing jealous of how Cooper acts around her.

CW: confessions, jealous!reader, kinda brat!reader(?), kinda possessive!Cooper(?), oral f!receiving, p in v, mouthy!Cooper, degradation (if you squint), creampie

~~~

You leaned up against the broken posts of a fence that had not existed for a long time. The sun blared down, causing you to squint at the two in front of you. Something broiled inside you.

Lucy and the Ghoul were pointing the new weapons you had picked up at some old garbage dump towards some old cans and bottles. Shattering the remnants of the past onto the ground. Lucy smiled and jumped up and down when she hit one first try. She was one of the best shots you had ever encountered.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” the Ghoul congratulated her.

Sweetheart.

Hearing his heavy drawl call her that caused your face to heat up. Throat tightening with some emotion that you were not familiar with. Beginning to turn resentful against the newly surfaced girl. Deciding to point and shoot your own gun at the bottle that was intended for the Ghoul to hit. Causing Lucy to jump and the older cowboy to spin on his heal at you. You blew out of the smoke of the barrel before walking away. Heading towards the abandoned wreckage you had came across to stay at for the night.

Later that night…

You sat outside in front of the fire alone. Lucy had went inside and used the mattress for the night. Something she was more accustomed to.

You had spent the evening ignoring the Ghoul. Making sure to walk right past him without acknowledging him in the slightest. Not even giving him a faint flicker of your eyes. Determined on never speaking to him again.

Angry that he had used that name on her. Back when the two of you had met, you assumed it was a name he had exclusively for you. Never having heard him say it to anyone else. You had shared many intimate moments with the Ghoul. Taking care of each other when a stray bullet or knife would cut your skin open. Willingly trading some of your things to get him the medicine he needed. Curling up together on freezing cold nights. Unable to deny your harboring feelings for him. Sometimes, when you were truly alone he would caress your face with his gloved hands. Sunken in eyes lingering in yours. Never being able to forget the kiss you shared.

You heard the weight of boots in the sand behind you. Knowing it had to be him. Choosing to stay forward. Hearing his steps end directly in front of you. Shadow casting against your body.

“What’s got your panties in a bundle?” He questioned you with a hint of annoyance on his tone. Your hat sat against the bridge of your nose, covering your eyes. Your legs were propped up on some old crates, your arms folded over your chest. You ignored his question.

He kicked the crate out from under your feet, causing you to tumble forward slightly. Your hat fell off your head. You whipped your head up at him, glaring at him. “What’s your fucking problem?” You gritted at him. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out with you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you rolled your eyes, leaning for your hat, “that’s for your little vault dweller.”

“Oh, for Christ’s Sake, Y/N. Is this about Lucy?”

You shrugged, standing up. You began to walk away from him, he grabbed your wrist before you could get far. “Don’t go stormin’ off on me now.”

You yanked your hand from his grasp. Growling under your breath in annoyance. Stomping your foot in the sand below, vein popping out on your forehead. Thump of your heart banging against your eardrums. Eyes bloodshot as you scanned his face for some hint of what emotion he was displaying.

You clinched your fists at your sides. Biting down on your own teeth unable to speak without the feeling of tears burning behind your eyes. Hating whatever feeling this was swirling around your chest. Unable to admit what you already knew it was. You sniffled away any semblance of feelings.

The Ghoul stood in front of you. Hands both resting on his belt. Silence only broken by the crackling of fire and chattering of critters in the distance. Your furrowed brow and glossy eyes sunk deep in his stomach. Lying to himself that he never cared for feelings. Stubbornness weighed him down.

You turned your back to him, circling the fire and sitting in the sand on the opposite side. The Ghoul scoffed at your movement. Your hand cupped the lower half of your face as you stared into the flames.

Mind racing with your wavering feelings. Wanting to be angry. To hate him for dragging you along. But also wanting to embrace him now. Show him how much you feel for him. Prove to him you were worth caring for.

Glancing up to see his attention fully on you. Growing more irritated that he was not saying anything. Refusing to retort anything to him.

The Ghoul slowly approached you. Heavy footsteps leaving imprints in the sand. Sitting down beside you, facing you. Arm propped up on his knee. Deep hazel eyes peering into you. He reached around pulling out some dried meat and taking a bite. Throwing any pieces he did not want into the fire. Silently offering some to you, knowing you would refuse to each human flesh.

He sighed, “Just… tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked over at him once again. This time he stared into the flames. Reading his expression. Faintly catching a piece of concern against his brow. That sat heavily on your chest.

You sighed. Leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky. Stars twinkled. Memories of all the nights the two of you had shared flashed in your mind. Choosing to linger on the good instead of the bad. Remembering how it had been your idea to bring Lucy along. Knowing she would need some guidance in the wastelands. Questioning if the Ghoul had ever cared deeply for you or only kept you around just in case he needed another meal.

“I guess I just thought…” you started, stopping yourself when your throat burned. Not allowing your voice to crack. His eyes reflected the flames as he glanced over to you. Barely shifting to meet his gaze. Lips firmly pushed together as he scanned your face and body.

“I’m pissed off. Thought you and I might’ve had some special something between us. It’s stupid I know. Guess you view anybody who tags along with you the same. A pest,” you laughed trying to hide your jealousy. Hand coming up to flatten over your hair.

The Ghoul sat silently. Unsure of how to respond to you. Conflicted by his own feelings. He had not felt this way for someone in hundreds of years, maybe he really did forget how to treat a woman properly. His teeth clicked together as he thought.

You begged for him to say anything. Embarrassing yourself enough with the confession. Swallowing the lump in your throat as your eyes grew glossier. Feeling defeated emotionally. Stupid for ever thinking there was something between you. Vulnerable in your current state, allowing your emotions to escape for the first time since roaming the wastelands.

“Sorry—“ you began, trying to stand up when he cut you off.

“You are,” his gruff tone stated matter-of-factly.

You finally fully faced him. Brows knitted together as you questioned him, “What?”

“A pest. You are one,” he now stared into the fire.

Your lip twitched, “Oh— wow, okay.” Attempting to exit once again before he grabbed your hand. Sunken in hazel eyes peered into yours.

“But—“ he began “You’re also… important to me. Do you really think I’d just replace you with some vault dweller? She’ll be lucky to survive up here without us. Lucy… I have some history with her family.”

You knew not to question that. Clearly something from a time before all of this. Knowing he was a man of his word if anything. His thumb rubbed circles into your skin. Feeling untainted blood flow through your veins. Distant memory of his own skin being warm and alive. Pulse beating lively a sign that you were alive. Something he was not sure about his own self. A feeling you revived inside him.

Longing for a time before all his hair fell out. Flesh sinking in against his bones. When his eyes still had a sense of something behind them. Having to shoot himself up with rad-away in order to keep his sanity. Every inch of his humanity bled out of him with the years of roaming. Watching the world repeat the same mistakes over again, never learning because no one stayed alive long enough to care. Just him. Searching for the family that was ripped from his cold, determined fingers.

Lingering in the silence between you. Savoring how leather-clad fingers felt gripping your hand. Almost as if he was learning every bump and scar you had. Admiring his face before you. Wondering what he looked like before all of this. When he was a husband and father. Cheeks full of life. How they would be flushed right now with his confession to you. Wondering if he flared his nostrils when he was nervous. Pondering which hair color would have matched his gorgeous eyes the best.

Hating how soft he made you feel.

You moved your fingers to lace them through his. Causing him to stiffen his posture. Not having done anything so intimate in decades. Sure, the two of you had shared a faltering kiss one night. But holding hands? That was something new, young couples did. A way of showing off your affection for one another. A public display that said you were one.

Swallowing the lump of anxiety bubbling in your throat. Choosing to smile at the Ghoul. Pulling a somewhat confused look from him.

“I…”

Your hand met his hardened cheek. Cupping against the rough and tired skin. Digits outlining the lines. Eyes flickering with the flames as they darted between yours. Slowly closing the distance between you. Plump lips meeting his cracked ones.

“I was so… jealous,” you hissed between kisses. Finally admitting what had been brewing inside you. Causing him to chuckle deeply. Hint of condescension vibrating against your lips.

“No kidding,” he teased.

Pulling a furrowed brown upon your forehead. Somehow still sensitive to his words. Deciding to throw it all out on the table.

“Hated hearing you call her ‘sweetheart.’ It’s not fair,” you whined against his lips. Fingers digging into his shoulder with your words. Frustration beginning to take over your movements. Pushing away and lying onto your back. Hands folded over your stomach as you stared up into the night sky.

Hearing an irritated groan come from him. Loss of contact causing him to grow angry. Lying to himself about the stiffness perched between his legs. Chasing after you, his body sat above yours. Arms caging you between them as hazel eyes stared down into you. Refusing to look at him, your eyes darted around.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You scoffed in response. Holding your glance hard to the side. His hand gripped your face, trying to force your gaze up at him. Fingers digging into your plump cheeks. Pinching with a hint of anger. His teeth gritted together.

You were so stubborn.

Letting go of his grip on your face with an angry huff. Hands landing on both sides of your head. His face mere inches from yours. So close you could feel his breath down your neck.

“What do I gotta do?”

Your eyes bounced to his face only for a moment. Causing his lips to curve into a grin. Knowing what he could do to break you. Lips fell against your jugular. Gently planting kisses up to your jaw. Tongue coming out to lick a stripe up to your ear.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just talk to me,” his deep tone rung in your ear.

Your body below his unmoving. Hands tightly knitted as the Ghoul tried everything to get you to break. Lips continuing their gentle assault along your skin. Teeth softly sinking in.

You wanted to make him work for it. Really make him think about what he had done. Wanting to have him wrapped around your finger before ever giving him a second look.

But

God. He knew how to get you to fold. Knowing that nickname made your knees buckle. Understanding your reactions better than anyone else ever had. He was an expert in reading people. But especially you.

“Cooper…”

His throat tightened. Keeping his name in your arsenal for when you really wanted to use it. Knowing how it sat deep in his stomach when you said it. Especially with such a needy voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Prove it to me,” you breathed.

Finally meeting his glance with needy eyes. Dewy and large, moonlight reflecting against them. Brows upturned with a hint of begging. You had a special way of making him do whatever you wanted. Sure, he would give you a hard time about it or tease you. But he always ended up giving in to you.

Especially when you pushed your lip out ever slightly. Pretending his cock did not jump under his zipper. Lips falling tenderly along your jawline. Trailing down to your neck. Softly sucking and sinking his teeth into your pulse. Tongue flattening against his teeth prints as he continued his path further. Boney hands traced up your chest. Hooking the top button and undoing it. Taking his lips down with them. Biting against the meat of your chest. Softening a lick against the area that would surely bruise.

Mouth finding itself on your hardening nipple. Rolling the other with a pinch of fingers. Pulling longing moans from you. Hands splaying across his back. Nails dragging against the leather of his coat.

“Pretty girl,” his gravely tone vibrated against your chest. Continuing his trek down your body, kissing right above your waistband. Sitting back on his knees between your legs. Naturally allowing him space to fit perfectly. Legs wrapping around him loosely.

Surgically coaxing your zipper down. Tugging your pants down your legs, fully removing it off one. Smiling aged teeth when he saw your panties damp. Glazing his tongue across his teeth and whistling low, “All that for me?”

You nodded, feeling timidly exposed.

Fingers pushed the soft fabric into your hole. Causing your hips to arch at the sudden contact. A shaky moan fell from your lips. Chuckling at the desperate face you gave him. Moving positions to be directly in front of your core. Legs spread open fully on display. Kissing your inner thigh before hooking a finger around your panties. Pulling them to the side and delving into you. Warm tongue licking up your slit.

“Cooper—“

“Mmm. Tastes so good,” he cut you off with a vibrated sigh. Assaulting your entrance with his tongue. Working you as if he would never be given the chance again. Like any moment someone would pry you away from him. Desperate hands gripped your soft thighs. Eyes rolling back in his head as he attached to your throbbing clit. Suckling it perfectly.

A familiar feeling warmed up your lower half. Not often having any spare time to chase your own release. Knowing if he continued this way you would be a screaming writhing mess before long. Your mind fogging up with ecstasy as your finish approached at a rapid rate. Hand flying up to cover your mouth, sudden embarrassment of the noises you made flowing through you.

“Don’t hold out on me now,” he pulled away for a moment, “Tell me how good it is, sweetheart.”

Your hand was shaking. Body overstimulated as the knot inside you tightened. Taking one last breath through your nose before your hands met his head. Digging nails into his flesh as you rode his tongue through your orgasm. Calling his name out over and over towards the sky.

Whining when Cooper sat back up on his knees. Chin and lips glistening with your juices. Smugly smiling down at you. Tongue glazing across his lips. Taking every drop of you he could reach onto his tongue.

You heaved below him. Sticky residue dripping from your core. Cold without him taking care of you. Legs shaking in afterglow. Hole pulsing around nothing. Hooded eyes stared up at him. Hint of a frown on your euphoric face.

“One not enough for you? Eh?” Cooper’s hands went to his heavy belt buckle. Slipping to free his aching member from its confines. Tip leaking and swollen, veins decorating the length. Gloved hand stroking it halfminded.

“Christ, you’re so needy,” southern drawl teasing you, “Practically begging for me to fuck you.” He lined himself up with your entrance. Dipping only the head in. Causing you to throw your head back into the ground. Squinting your eyes at the feeling. Cunt still sensitive from your orgasm.

Knowing well enough that he would not last long inside you. Doing his best to prolong the experience for both of you. Masturbating was never something he cared to think about. No one ever seeped into his mind in a way that had him needing to.

Until you.

Half his mind taken over by you. Feeling the certain tug of arousal ping inside him the first time he met you. Finding you in ripped clothes, soaking wet from the water. The gleam of determination in your eyes set him off.

He saw that in you now. Even on your back with his cock pressing into you. Determined to have him fuck your brains out. Needing him more than ever.

“Please, Cooper,” you whined. Never one to beg. That word causing his member to twitch. Deciding it was time to fully delve in. Inching himself in agonizingly slow. Jaw hanging open when his hips met flush with yours. Watching the way his member glistened as he pulled almost completely out to thrust back in. Enamored by the sounds you made as he stretched you.

Hands landing on either side of your head. Face to face with Cooper as he steadied for a moment. Not moving his hips. Chest heaving as he took deep breaths. Eyes scanning between yours. Taking in every detail of the face you made while he was buried inside you.

“My Angel,” his lips fell onto yours. Kissing you softer than ever before. Tender, feather like kisses were exchanged between yours. “Sweet, sweet, Y/N,” he sighed beginning a slow rhythm with you.

The curve of his cock prodded at the spongy spot inside you. Causing your walls to spasm around him, still sensitive from before. Shaking hands gripping his shoulders. Mouth shaping into an ‘O’ when he picked up the pace.

One of his hands cascaded down your body. Pressing rough leather into your extremely tender nub. Causing your hips to arch up into his. Forcing a shaky breath out of him. Smiling above you as his cock grew delicate with his orgasm approaching.

“Want me to cum inside you? … gonna be so full of me,” his voice was low and rugged. Airy as his attempted to fill his lungs. Chest tightening while his nerves were on edge.

You were completely lost in euphoria. Unable to respond to him. His gloved fingers had your throat closing and stomach flipping. Lighting shot through every inch of you as you squinted your eyes shut. Unraveling around his member. Walls clamping down on his cock as he stalled inside you. Milking him, coaxing him towards his own end.

His hand ventured up to your mouth. Pressing his thumb against your lips. Instinctively biting down on it as you panted. Sweat beamed against you. Hooded eyes looking up at the man before you. Brows knitted together as you heaved.

“My girl,” Cooper sighed. Face contorting as his stomach knotted together. Hand cupping your cheek as his lips hungrily captured yours. Quivering as his hips rutted forward. Shooting inside you with a deep groan. White hot coating your walls. Cock covered in a mixture of your juices.

Hesitantly, Cooper pulled out of you. Wincing at the loss of warmth. Breathing heavier than you had ever seen him. Muscles of his face crinkling together as his mouth hung open. Quickly placing your panties back in their correct spot. Making sure you did not lose any of his seed.

Helping get your lower half redressed, Cooper’s hands guided the denim up your body. Lying on his back beside you. Arm pulling you into his chest.

His girl.

~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’ve only ever wrote for the Ghoul in one other story, so this was a fun writing. This was what won the poll at the time of posting. As always, if you ever want to be tagged or have a request, let me know! Reblogs and Comments are appreciated //

{tags}

@boydcrowderapologist ~ @harlequinautumn ~ @southercactuschildwild ~

[daddyhimeros]

Wayyy too shy to actually DM and damn this might be my autism talking but I wanna get a step by step guide of how you'd finger me and use my vibrator to tease and edge and deny me just to let me cum with a mind blowing orgasm that'll leave me unable to walk, speak or even think whenever you had your fill of playing with me

I got you fam

Now I’d have to tie you up because I’m an artist at what I do and I can’t have you interrupting me because of silly things like “I’m overstimulated”

Once I’ve spread those pretty little legs of yours and tied down your ankles to the bed posts I’d sit down next to you admiring your cunt but I’m not touching it just yet. You have to wait and be patient.

I take my long slender fingers and start tracing along your hip bones. Waking up all of the nerves in your lower body. Sliding them up your inner thigh until I’m almost at your pussy but stopping short. Feeling you l tensing up with anticipation of a touch that doesn’t arrive.

But enough teasing it’s time you feel my touch. I slip a finger between your lips down there and slide it through up to your clit feeling how wet you are. Unsurprisingly it’s already soaked even though I haven’t even touched it yet.

I moisten my fingers slightly with your wetness and begin tracing the lightest circles around your clit. Barely any pressure but you’re so brimming with eagerness to be touched your heart rate already begins to spike and your breathing gets heavier.

As I tease your clit with one hand my other starts exploring your cunt with just my index finger. Slowly slipping it inside and out feeling you tense up and then start to relax. All very rhythmic and smooth as you feel the pleasure starts to build.

I tease at your hole with two fingers now and then slip them both inside. Starting to curl them now and play around with your g-spot on the walls of your cunt. Softly dragging my fingertips inside you every time they slip in and out.

I position my body between your legs and get down low pressing my toungue against your pussy and giving it a long deep luxurious lick. Getting a first taste of you while continuing to slip my fingers into you under my chin.

You’re delicious and I can’t help but kiss and make out with your clit like it’s your lips. Pressing my soft lips around it and swirling it with my tongue. You strain against the restraints and try to buck your hips in pleasure but there is no escaping me.

My kisses deepen and my finger press deeper and slightly faster into you. Building you towards your first orgasm. There it is. I feel your body tense and you moan as I keep enjoying your taste.

Most would be satisfied with this but not me. I increase the intensity after the first. Now you are really fighting against the ropes. Not sure if you want to press your hips deeper into my face or pull away because it’s too much. I draw a second orgasm out of you as you are moaning loudly.

I sit up in the bed now and posture my body up into a dominant position over your poor helpless body. I press my hand down against your womb so that your g-spot presses harder into my finger tips inside you. I fuck you with my fingers more aggressively now but still in an incredibly rhythmic motion. With each press into your g-spot with my long fingers you feel something bigger building inside of you that you haven’t felt yet.

With one final thrust with my fingers I tip you over the edge and your body jerks uncontrollably as you give me a few little squirts into my palm. Grasping your breast playfully and kissing you on your lips I speak into your mouth mid kiss “I’ve never seen you do that before 😏”

You breath heavily but there is a sense of relief that you can finally catch your breath. But that’s broken up by me slipping a blindfold over your eyes. “One final surprise” I say. You feel something large slip inside your soaked and exhausted cunt. A brand new dildo for you. Followed by the electric click and hum of a wand vibrator. I press the wand against your clit causing and electric feeling through your body as I start to slip the toy in and out of your helpless body.

Building faster and faster as the stimulation is overwhelming. You have never feel so much pleasure in your life and you don’t even know how to handle it. Your body starts shaking uncontrollably as you cum for me one more time. Seeing how sexually defeated you are I finally remove the toys and cuddle up along side your still restrained body holding you tight and feeling the orgasm contribute to roll through your trembling body for the next ten mins.

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

Promise me

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: You have loki make a promise to you.

Word count: 902

Warnings: slight angst & Fluff

A/N: my first fic in the new year. hope you enjoy :)

The nights had always felt longer when Loki wasn’t around. You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a certain chill in the air when he was away, a kind of emptiness that filled your home with silence. He had a way of making everything feel just a little brighter like the space between the stars was somehow wider when he was with you. But when he was on watch, whether it was in Asgard, on Midgard with SHIELD and Thor, or somewhere beyond your reach, the nights were a different kind of quiet.

You had tried to fill the void in various ways, always looking for distractions. Some nights, you would curl up with a book, only to find that the words blurred into a haze as you thought about him. Other nights, you’d cook something you knew he would’ve enjoyed if he were there. Tonight was one of those nights.

You’d spent the evening in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, lost in the rhythm of cooking. The smell of roasted garlic and simmering herbs filled the air, a comforting scent you knew would linger even when Loki wasn't there to share it with you.

You were just finishing up when there was a knock at the door. A loud, confident knock that made you smile despite the sudden flutter in your chest. You opened it, and standing there with his usual mischievous grin was Thor, holding a very familiar figure by the shoulder.

Loki.

You felt your heart leap, a warmth spreading through you as he stepped inside, eyes meeting yours. “I trust you’ve kept your kitchen well-stocked, Y/N?” he said, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Loki…” you breathed, the relief in your voice clear as you stepped aside to let him in.

Thor, ever the practical one, was already heading towards the table, a slightly concerned frown on his face. “Dinner smells good,” he remarked, though his expression quickly shifted to one of awkwardness. “But it has to be short, Y/N. Loki has to return to Asgard soon.”

You felt your smile falter, but only for a moment. It was true, Loki’s duties were never far behind him, even in the rare moments he had to himself. Still, you nodded, not wanting to push him. “Of course,” you said, gesturing for them to sit. “I made enough for all of us, so we’ll enjoy what time we have.”

The dinner was as lively as it could be, Thor’s booming laughter filling the room and Loki’s quiet wit contrasting it perfectly. You cherished these moments, knowing they were fleeting. But as much as you wanted to hold onto every second, you could feel the weight of time pressing on the evening. Thor’s gaze kept flicking to the window, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have to take Loki back to whatever duties awaited him.

Eventually, Thor stood, giving you a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “It’s time.”

Loki, who had been unusually quiet, stood as well, brushing his hands off. “I will return, of course,” he said, though there was a flicker of something. Something bittersweet in his eyes as he met your gaze.

Thor clapped him on the back and gave you a warm, though strained, smile. “You’ll have to keep him out of trouble while he’s here,” he said before turning toward the door.

As soon as they were gone, you returned to the empty table, the silence falling over you once again. You had gotten so used to it by now, but it never quite felt like home without Loki. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something, someone, was missing.

But just as you were about to begin clearing the dishes, a sound caught your attention. The faintest creak of the floorboards. You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You turned slowly toward the hallway. And there, standing in the doorway, was Loki.

You blinked in disbelief. “Loki?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He grinned that familiar mischievous grin. “Did you think you could get rid of me so easily?” he asked, stepping forward into the soft light of the kitchen. “You’re never alone for long, my dear.”

“But how? Thor—” You started, but Loki raised a hand, cutting you off.

“I’m resourceful, Y/N,” he said, with that glint of pride in his eyes. “You may not know it, but I’m always watching. Always finding ways to be close to you. Even when I’m on watch.”

Your heart swelled as you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. It felt like a dream, having him here in the flesh, with his warmth and the scent of Asgard still lingering on his cloak.

“Promise me,” you murmured into his shoulder, “promise me you’ll always find a way back to me. No matter what.”

Loki’s voice was low and soft as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Always, Y/N. No matter the distance, no matter the time. I will always find a way back to you.”

That night, you didn’t feel the emptiness that usually lingered. Instead, you felt complete. In his arms, with his warmth, you knew that no matter the challenges, Loki would always make time for you, even if the stars themselves had to shift to make it happen.

And for once, the night didn’t feel so long.

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[whatthebodygraspsnot]

beginning snippet of something i’ve been working on. baby sub ian you compel me so tags: sex club, first time sub! ian, experienced dom! mickey, ian is nervous and cute and doesn’t know what he wants exactly, all he knows is he’s very into mickey

Ian is minorly freaking out.

The room is like something out of Fifty Shades, but slightly more intimidating in real life. Slightly warmer. Slightly overwhelming, with its wall of mounted whips and multiple surfaces to be whipped on.

It’s not that Ian has to worry about those because he definitely steered clear of them on his terms and consent form, it’s just overwhelming to see - to look up from the pillow they told him to kneel on in the center of the room, to a sight of ropes suspended from the ceiling.

It’s a lot.

Ian definitely wants to be here, but he’s minorly freaking out, every second that ticks by as he waits for the dom to come into the room feeling like its own brand of torture.

But he wants this. God, he wants this so fucking bad - practically needs it at this point, even though he’s nervous. So he sits and waits, his back to the door and time ticking…ticking…ticking, until finally…

Behind him, the doorknob twists.

A rush of air, otherwise silent.

And then the click of the door closing again, sealing him back inside.

Only this time, he’s not alone.

Ian balls his hands on his thighs, his heart beginning to beat uncomfortably under his t-shirt. He waits. Because that’s what a sub is supposed to do, right? Wait? That’s what the lady told him to do before she left.

More silence.

Anticipation wracking up his body.

Nerves popping off and okay, maybe just a little peek.

He turns to shoot a glance over his shoulder, but doesn’t get much. Not enough without kneeling off the pillow, and he definitely shouldn’t do that, right?

“Hi…” he tries. A shot in the dark. But it’s better than nothing, and- “I uh-… I know you probably know this, but it’s my first time here...” Unclear whether this is helping or not. If it makes him feel better or more frantic. “I’ve never-… I mean, I don’t really know how to-”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

The voice that cuts him off isn’t unkind, but it’s commanding. Certain.

And fuck, does it have Ian’s mouth snapping closed for a moment as he tries to process the effect that has on him, something plucking teasingly at his nerves.

No. It’s okay.

He can do this.

“I just-…” Breathe in. No need to freak out. It’s a simple question. “I always have to…do everything.” In bed. Which is fine - he’s kinda built for that - but deep in his heart of hearts he knows that’s not him. Not all the time, at least. “I don’t wanna have to do everything…” Hopefully that makes sense.

“So you wanna be lazy.”

Ian frowns, twisting for another look over his shoulder but getting nowhere. Seeing no one. Just a shadow in the corner. “No.” That’s not it at all.

“What, then.”

This is bait, isn’t it?

Or is he actually asking?

Ian tries to go over the options again in his head, just as unsure where to slot himself, now that he’s in this, as he was when he was filling out his terms.

Why is he here? What is he looking for tonight?

A dom to serve…? A dom to challenge him…? A dom that’ll give him structure…?

He shifts on his knees, pulse quickening. “I don’t-… I’m not sure.”

Yet.

He’s tired of making decisions, remember?

“What’s your name?” he finally asks. Because as hot as lurking in the shadows is, his curiosity is getting the best of him. Especially when he hears that voice again.

“To you, it’s sir.” The air shifts behind him in slow steps - rounding…rounding…rounding. “‘Yes, sir’… ‘No, sir’…” And when he finally comes into view, the payoff is as overwhelming as it is gorgeous. “‘Whatever you want, sir’…” he smirks for that one in particular, measured playfulness shining over dark features. “You get it…?”

He knocks the breath right out of Ian’s lungs - the words from his throat - lips parting, but producing nothing more than a nod as he takes in the man in front of him.

Holy fuck…

Ian was expecting something flashy - leather and buckles - a harness, maybe. But there’s something impossibly hotter about the gold chain and black tank that fits across this dom’s chest. How it shows off the tight, defined muscles in his shoulders - his arms - the sturdy cut of his waist that leads to even sturdier thighs under black denim - the kind Ian definitely wouldn’t mind worshipping a little if he told him how.

He posts up right in front of where Ian’s kneeling and all at once, it’s like he’s drawn every ounce of energy from the room right here - right in his stance.

Power.

Ian doesn’t know if he’s supposed to, but he can’t get himself to look away. Can’t drag his curious gaze from those eyes as they peer down at him, heavy-lidded but piercing.

When he speaks, he asks it clearly. Not strict or mean or anything, but still somehow cutting right down to the nerve. “When’s the last time you been touched?”

Ian swallows. Shifts on the pillow, gaze flicking away before coming right back. “Uh… Do I really-…”

“Asked you a question.”

Right. Yeah no, of course he did - of course he did. “Um…” Ian’s brows draw together as he traces back for visions of his last hookup. “Like…a couple months, maybe…?”

“‘Maybe’?”

“A couple months,” he confirms, eager to convince. “Two. Two months.”

Is that a long time?

Too short?

“And you’re here ‘cause you think I’m gonna touch you…”

Ian processes. “I mean…” That’s what this is, right? That’s what all the consent forms were about? “I…was kinda hopin’… Yeah…”

He’s really starting to feel the control slip through his fingers. The dizzying dance of trying to keep up, even when the pace is ultra slow like this. The only thing he can focus on is how the dom steps closer, thick black boots sending his pulse thumping in his chest.

“I only touch good boys,” he explains. Then, tilting his head just a bit as he looks down at him, “You gonna be my good boy, Ian?”

And…

Holy shit. That’s-… That’s something, isn’t it? “Y-… Yeah, I can-”

“Say ‘yes sir’.”

A rush of heat floods Ian’s chest and then seeps downward, pooling low in his belly. “Yes sir…”

And it’s the ink he notices first, dark and swirling over the man’s inner forearm - printed crudely across his knuckles as those fingers reach out, closing the space between them as he hooks below Ian’s chin, plucking his pulse and face briskly upward.

Fuck…

Okay…

Ian breathes back in the gasp before it can escape his stretched throat.

Blinks up at the dom - drawn to how the room’s lights glint off the metal pierced across the dark arch of his eyebrow.

“You’re prettier than most guys that come here.”

And Ian’s heart flutters in the weirdest way. Because oh. “…really?”

“Mm… Got a real sweet face on ya…” He takes his time making his point - using his hold to tilt Ian’s head in all sorts of admiring ways, in control of every angle. “Almost cute enough to letchya slide on not remembering your manners.”

Oh.

Shit.

He just told Ian he’s pretty.

“Oh uh- thank you, sir,” he backpedals, the sudden desire to please setting him off in an unsure ramble. “You’re-…pretty too, sir…?” Is that right?

Judging by the little brow pinch he gets, it’s not.

But the huff of a chuckle that follows sure feels good, doesn’t it? Even if it’s Ian he’s laughing at.

“Fuck,” he grins, giving Ian’s cheek two promising pats before stepping away, “you’re gonna be fun.”

[qinluna]

Nothing perplexes Sylus anymore. At first, the closest contender to it were your slow, small gestures of affection that became more comfortable. Physical intimacy, sweet words that warmed his heart more than he could ever describe just right.

But truly, nothing perplexes him.

Not even when your facade finally falls—and you snap.

You’ve spoken before about the weight of your emotions. How you feel things so deeply they can consume you and it’s something you’ve learned to quell over time. He knows that your upbringing, tumultuous and unjust, had the strongest tethers in forming this. But in your reassurance that you had your hands on the reigns this time—Sylus, ever the observer, has noticed half of the time, you don’t.

And he’s fine with that. Because how does someone heal from wounds that are worth twenty years of a burden that was never yours to begin with?

He sees you now.

On the other side of the kitchen island, you’re screaming out of frustration, anger. Your cheeks flushed with a light warmth as your other facial features were scrunched with every word you cried out. Your rage was uncomfortable, but it was you. He stands with an unwavering expression, calm, listening.

He notices your chest heaving with intense retractions, your breaths coming short. (You’re not very loud on a regular basis, and you have trouble screaming.)

Then suddenly—it stops. You stop pacing in a hurry, eyes wide as tears thickly well up in your wild gaze. Realization slowly settles; your bottom lip begins to quiver. You choke out a hitched breath, taking a step back.

Away from him.

Away from the air you permeated with… utterly everything.

Everything that you have let fester and has festered for your whole life.

“...I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…” You breathe, sobs trying to fight through the feigned steadiness of your regular voice. You sniffle, quickly pacing out of the kitchen.

Sylus watches you flee, but he doesn’t follow. Not yet.

You need time.

He allows about ten to fifteen minutes to pass before he follows the ghost of your escape. He reaches the bedroom of his home’s darkened halls, opening the door gently to not startle you.

You’re curled up on the bed, holding onto yourself tightly as you emit soft hiccups. The worst of the sobs have subsided, thankfully. Yet, that is nothing compared to the wildly untamed storms of your mind. Storms that you must conquer—and, if you’ll allow him, with his help.

His weight causes the bed to dip just slightly, as he sits beside you. You turn yourself over to lay on your other side. The sobs return as you move closer, hands reaching out in fear and panic.

There’s no need to worry, Sylus thinks as he instantly takes you into his arms. He sits you up on his lap, capturing you in a tight, warm embrace.

You blubber helplessly into his chest, tears wetting his shirt, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, not… not one second of it. I’m sorry.”

“Hush now,” he tells you. His lips brush against the top of your head longingly, relieved that your tense form was slowly coming down, “You have me. You’ll always have me, no matter what.”

[swordheld]

do the silly thing. if you do not do the silly thing time will pass and it will not be the same silly thing it could have been. it will still be silly, and it will still be yours, but it will not be the same. this is both a blessing and a curse, but so is living; and if you do not do it now when will you? who will? it has to be you, it was always meant for you, waiting for you.