#Not like. She HAS to. But I want to write it that way so she (fictional) kind of does Have To

[dante-mightdie]

The way i'm straight up dying over the second-wife Price au so far Like I don't think you understand how nice it is to see such a fun take on such an already-lovely idea, but GOD I would love to see Price seeing reader after a good few months of trying to convince himself that he was right in leaving her there. Maybe he always felt that guilt, that twisting in his guts that made him feel like a bastard when he thought about you, maybe he never quite got over the look on your face when the ropes were tied, the fear in your eyes. You weren't supposed to be scared when you looked at him, but you were. He's long since accepted that you're dead. It would just be silly to think otherwise, but he's still got the other wife, right? The other wife, who he slowly realizes isn't nearly as gentle as you were, who didn't stop a moment to smile at passing children or nod at him when he came back from a successful battle. maybe he's terrible for wanting to go back, but then he sees you in the woods, holding a baby in your arms and cooing at the little thing while you wash it. It could be his. That's the first thing he thinks, and then he sees Simon. Simon who should be dead, Simon who defected mid-battle mere days before he met you, Simon the *traitor*who comes up behind you and knocks his forehead against yours so gently and takes the baby into his arms as you smile at him. And maybe Price feels a sort of longing in that moment, a sort of pain he's never felt before, because you look... happy. You look happy in a way Price has never seen on you before. Genuine and comfortable, that soft smile on your face spreading as you chuckle and hug Simon. Or maybe not. Maybe Price turns and leaves, maybe he never quite sees that it's you or maybe he just cant mentally reckon with you being alive without him like this, happier without him after he hurt you unforgivably. Maybe Price doesn't even know if it would be worth giving up his half-assed, but functional marriage with your replacement-that thought still makes him shudder-to try and talk to you again, because you look like you wouldn't even entertain him, and he **knows** that Simon won't I dunno, just some thoughts for you, I hope you like :)) (You have absolutely no obligation to respond if you don't wanna, just want you to know that this au and your writing in general has honestly been something nice to come home to and it's really helped me through some rough days)

simon bumping his forehead against you like a stray cat is awakening something in me

c/w: stalkerish-vibes from chief!price, nsfw, masturbation, sex, mentions of war, torture, children

he had to return a couple more times just to be certain. dedicating a few hours a week to come back to that lake in hopes of seeing if you were actually alive or if his mind was playing tricks on him. he caught a few more glimpses of you. some by yourself, a few with your baby and a couple with your ‘husband’

he’d watched you bath by yourself in the late evening, slipping off your clothes and unknowingly giving him a view of your most intimate parts. not like he hadn’t seen them before. sometimes when he felt extra guilty and pathetic, he’d stroke his cock as he watches you bathe in the lake

he’d also caught you and your child down there once or twice, a genuine happy smile on your face as you help them dip their feet in the shallow tide. he knew the whispers of the clan was getting to you, rumours that you couldn’t conceive but he never had his doubts. he just never had the time to dedicate to you due to his many responsibilities as the clan chief

that’s a weak excuse, still. he had energy to dedicate to his second wife, for a while at least. he soon tired of her and her attitude towards her wifely duties. and he didn’t just mean her bedroom duties, although that was becoming an issue too. he also meant her responsibilities to the clan. she had a responsibility to offer them support and she was failing to integrate herself with them

you didn’t seem to have any issues with your marriage. you seem perfectly happy with your husband. price wonders if you really know who he is. it’s hard to imagine the ex-wife he knew as shy and timid seems this content with the infamous warrior ‘ghost’

price wonders if simon has told you about his time as a prisoner of war under an enemy clan when he was a fresh adult. perhaps he’d told you about how he got all those scars, how he’d endured years of torture before he finally escaped. except, he didn’t stay away once he returned home. no, he went back in the middle of the night. and slayed every enemy in that camp with his own two hands. a blood-thirsty fury in his veins as he takes his revenge

the sweetness only lasted a few minutes before the taste turns bitter. especially when he finds that he’s been shunned from his clan. his actions deemed inhumane, evil, unnecessary. simon didn’t agree, not one bit. he had dedicated his life to the clan and this is how they treat him after he nearly died for them

price had never met him. he was a known name around these ends. probably not to you. you don’t seem too afraid of him when he tugs your clothes off, bumping his nose against yours and pushing you up against a tree. hoists you up and wastes no time in lining his cock up with your pussy. nudges his tip inside your hole before thrusting the rest of his cock in

john watches as you whine and moan and beg for more in a way he never got to see before. perhaps if he had actually dedicated any time towards your pleasure, he would’ve gotten to witness this too. he fucks his fist from his hiding place, imagining that you were falling apart on his cock instead

he wishes he could use some of that famous courage he’s known for to actually come up and speak to you. apologise for abandoning you, not being a proper husband and protecting you from all the people trying to tear you down. yet his feet can’t seem to pass further from the spot he watches you from

he figures he should leave you be, you deserve your peace and your happiness. you seem to have found it. he wonders if you’ve found forgiveness for him in that time too. maybe you’d throw that sweet smile in his direction, welcome him with open arms and tell him that it’s okay

but he knows that unlikely. he’s sure that wolf of yours would show up, sniffing out a potential threat near his mate. bare his teeth and growl at price for even selling close to you. much more likely that he’ll rip john apart with his canines and claws, leave his mangled body in the dirt. he’s not so sure that you’d tell him to heel either, how can he expect you to save him when he left you for dead?

#captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price #price #john price x reader #chief!price #mw2 #cod mw2

[g0dlyunsub]

hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!

ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!

wishful thinking.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3

word count :: 2.4k

author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!

accompanying song :: neverthere by xander

spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.

you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.

it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?

all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.

but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.

“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.

“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.

“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.

“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.

spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag. 

“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.

at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name. 

maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.

“y/n?” 

you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.

you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.

“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.

spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.

“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”

he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."

he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.

“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”

“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.

a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.

“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”

you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.

“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face. 

a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.

but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out. 

“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.

“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.

“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.

while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown. 

“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then. 

“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.

“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.

spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.

it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.

you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.

bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.

he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair. 

he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls. 

“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.

was he giving you the silent treatment right now? 

you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.

after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?

fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.

“i’m taking the week off.” 

the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.

“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.

“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.

he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”

silence casts a blanket over the two of you.

“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.

“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”

when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”

this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.

“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly. 

“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”

he scoffs.

“but i only want you.”

his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.

“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.

“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”

you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head. 

it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.

his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles. 

“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision. 

he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”

you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.

“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.

“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.

yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.

he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere. 

“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.

you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.

a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #mgg x reader

[adriennebarnes]

Hey love your writing could you maybe write Hispanic reader x Alex and Charles like maybe a 3 way relationship and the reader is pregnant if your comfortable

Hello! I could totally write a polyamorous relationship/throuple with Alex, Charles, and Hispanic reader! So I don’t know if you meant they’re together and she ends up pregnant and if she’s already pregnant so I’ll write about Y/N ending up pregnant and Alexandra and Charles being there for her. Sorry it took me so long, I don’t know if this is what you wanted but I hope you like it regardless!

The Happy Throuple

Paring: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Summary: After a night of celebrating Charles’s Grand Prix win, Y/N ends up pregnant

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i have researched things about pregnancy and GUESS WHO’S GRADUATING TOMORROW! Maybe I’ll post pictures at the end of a fanfic, who knows.

Everyone knows that Charles and Alexandra are dating, there are so many photos of them together at events. However, no one knows there’s a third person in their relationship and that person is Y/N L/N. People know that Y/N and Alexandra are best friends and roommates because they study in the same university so no one finds it strange when Y/N is also at the paddock with Alexandra.

Y/N and Alexandra were wearing something red while observing the race from the hospitality with Leo on Alexandra's lap.

“Do you think Charles is gonna get P1?” Y/N asked Alexandra.

“I hope so, he gained 4 spots, he looks like he is doing pretty well." Alexandra commented, petting Leo who was wagging his tail all happily.

They were watching the TV closely, Alexandra put Leo on the ground so he could run around, Charles and Max were very close but towards the end, Charles did an overtake and ended up getting P1, Max gets P2, Lewis get P3. Y/N and Alexandra were cheering and they hugged.

"Yay, our muñeco won." Y/N said.

"Yeah, come, lets meet him out in the garage." Alexandra said, picking up Leo before taking Y/N's hand to lead her to the Ferrari garage. They spotted Charles's car so when Charles got out of his car, he went to Alexandra to hug and kiss her, he hugged Y/N and was about to lean in for a kiss when Y/N moved her head so he just kissed her cheek, immediately remembering no one knows about their true relationship. Charles got Leo out of Alexandra's hands and let Leo give him little dachshund kisses.

Charles said goodbye to the girls and Leo before he went off to do the post race interview. After that, Charles went to get Alexandra and Y/N so they could go to their hotel. They walked to Charles's car, Alexandra walking Leo on his little leash, and they got in. Charles drove to the hotel and once they made it to the room, Charles kissed Y/N.

"Finally! I have been wanting to do that since I got out of the car." Charles admitted.

"Yeah, well this relationship has to be under wraps sadly." Y/N said, sitting on the bed. Alexandra sits next to her, placing her hand on Y/N's thigh.

"But it's 2024, mon papillon, I'm sure people will understand." Alexandra says, placing a kiss on Y/N's neck.

"Fans, yes, but what about press? Charles, you are signed until 2028, i don't want to jeopardize that." Y/N said. Now Charles sat on Y/N's other side.

"You won't, mon ange. But let's go out to eat." Charles suggested.

"Its Las Vegas, wouldn't you rather party with the rest of the grid?" Y/N asked.

"We could always celebrate a different way." Charles said, his eyes darken with lust.

"It is Vegas after all, mon papillon. And we have to give the Grand Prix winner his reward after all." Alexandra said, turning Y/N's head so she was facing her before leaning in for a kiss, her tongue tracing Y/N's bottom lip so she would open up, and she did. While they made out, Charles began planting kisses on Alexandra's neck while Alexandra started to undress Y/N and well, what happend in Vegas stays in Vegas.

The next day, Y/N was still in bed, cuddling with Alexandra while Charles took the liberty to order room service and take Leo out on his morning walk. Y/N woke up because Charles put Leo on the bed.

"Ay Leo, Charles, why did you put him on the bed?" Y/N asked, getting up and putting on a hotel robe.

"Because i wanted you to eat breakfast before we go to the airport and I know if i woke you up, you would’ve probably stab me." Charles, said, before Y/N kissed him.

"With what knife, baby?" Y/N asked, taking a strawberry from the breakfast spread, biting into it.

"Trust me, mon ange, you would have found something to stab me, never said it had to be a knife." Charles said and Alexandra woke up, she put on her pajamas, and put Leo on the ground before giving Y/N and Charles a morning kiss.

"What time do we have to go back to Monaco?" Alexandra asked, sitting down to eat the pancakes Charles's ordered.

“Plane leaves in a few hours so you have time to eat and get dressed.” Charles said.

“Great, I’m gonna take a shower, Y/N, come join me.” Alexandra said.

“Mm, i want to eat first.” Y/N said.

“Okay, we’ll eat then shower.” Alexandra said, patting the seat next to her so Y/N could sit down.

They ate, showered, and changed.

“Okay I think I have everything but I’m not sure.” Y/N said, looking over her luggage.

“If you end up missing anything, I’ll replace it.” Charles said, kissing her temple.

“In that case, I’m missing a Dior bag, a Dyson air wrap, a Tiffany bracelet.” Y/N joked and Charles was laughing.

“Yeah, okay.” Charles said, Alexandra entered the hotel room with grocery bags and Leo on a leash.

“I bought some chips for Y/N since he gets snacky on the plane, I have some treats for Leo, I got candy for me, and I got you some snacks too.” Alexandra said,

“Perfect, looks like we are ready to go.” Charles said.

Two weeks have passed since Las Vegas and Y/N was currently in the hotel room in Abu Dhabi, puking her guts out in the bathroom, Alexandra right behind her soothing her back and holding her hair back.

“You’re okay, Mon papillon. Charles, could it be something she ate?”Alexandra asked

“I’m looking at the food, I don’t think anything should have affected her last night.” Charles said, entering the bathroom. “Mon ange, are you sure you don’t have the flu?” Charles asked.

“Mon beau, she doesn’t have a fever.” Alexandra said.

“Stop talking about me like I’m a child.” Y/N groaned with her head still hovering the toilet bowl.

“Oh, but you are our baby, Mon ange, we will treat as such.” Charles said and Y/N puked more. “Yeah, we can’t get on the flight today, I’ll just tell Fred we need an extra day, you can’t fly when you’re sick.” Charles left the bathroom to make a phone call.

“Mi reina, i gotta tell you something.” Y/N said, wiping her mouth and resting her back against the wall.

“What happened?” Alexandra asked,

“I think I’m late.” Y/N said.

“Wait, how do you know you’re late? Isn’t your period irregular like all the time?” Alexandra asked.

“Yes but my breasts feel sore too, I am so tired, it can’t be a coincidence that I’m puking right now, right?” Y/N said.

“You’re right. It’s only been two weeks though, if we want to be sure, it needs to be 3 weeks after you’ve had sex so next week. Think you can wait until next week to take the pregnancy test?” Alexandra asked,

“Yeah, of course I can wait.” Y/N said.

It’s next week, the season was over, they’re all in Monaco, Y/N is in Alexandra’s apartment.

“Okay so how are we going to get the pregnancy test?” Alexandra asked.

“Well i can’t go, people link you to me, I can’t be seen buying the test or they will think it’s for you and I rather not have Charles find out one of us might be pregnant through some WAG account.” Y/N said,

“Okay, fine, call someone.” Alexandra said, Y/N nodded and called her friend Cordelia. An hour later, Cordelia knocked on the apartment door and Y/N answered it.

“thanks again, Cordelia.” Y/N said,

“Yeah no problem, are we hoping it’s positive or negative?” Cordelia asked.

“Well he always wanted a family…we’ll see.” Y/N said, saying goodbye to Cordelia, closing the door. “Okay, I’m ready.” Y/N entered Alexandra’s bathroom and Alexandra just stood outside the door. “Like am I ready to be a mom? I don’t fucking know, I’m barely 22, does Charles want to be a father now? Like I know he wants to be one someday but now?”

“Papillon, relax, you are stressing out and that can’t be healthy.” Alexandra.

“Reina, please.” Y/N said. A few minutes later, she opened the bathroom door and Alexandra came in.

“What does it say?” Alexandra asked.

“I have to wait 10 minutes.” Y/N said. “What am I going to do? I’m not even working!”

“With Charles as the father, you’ll be taken care of.” Alexandra said,

“This is not helping, I don’t want to be a kept woman.” Y/N said. Her and Alexandra kept talking until her timer went off. Both checked the test.

“I guess you’re pregnant.” Alexandra said and Y/N began crying so Alexandra hugged her

“What am I going to tell my parents?” Y/N sobbed in Alexandra’s arms,

“Well first things first, we HAVE to tell Charles.” Alexandra told her.

“I know, I know. But he’s with Pascale now, I don’t want to interrupt.” Y/N said.

“Fine, when he gets back from his mom’s, we will tell him. I thought you took birth control?” Alexandra asked.

“I don’t take my prescription pills as often as I should be (guilty 🤪) you should know that by now.” Y/N said and Alexandra rolled her eyes.

“And you tell us that you don’t want to be treated like a child, let’s go to Charles’s apartment and wait for him there, being the test.” Alexandra said, opening the door to leave.

“Yes ma’am.” Y/N said following behind.

The women entered Charles’s apartment and noticed Leo wasn’t here.

“He must have Leo with him.” Alexandra commented, closing the apartment door and Y/N started arising the fridge. “Can you not?”

“I’m eating for 2, querida, I think I’m allowed to raid his fridge,” Y/N said but… “There’s a lot of healthy shit in here.” Alexandra rolled her eyes.

“Just wait until…” Alexandra started but was interrupted by Charles entering the apartment, Leo running to say hello to the two women.

“Mon ange, ma Belle, what are you guys doing here?” Cablees asked, kissing both women.

“Um, I have something to tell you. You might need to sit down for this.” Y/N said and Charles nodded, sitting on the couch. “So remember that night in Las Vegas and how I was sick in Abu Dhabi?” Charles nodded, holding Y/N’s hands in his. “I’m pregnant.”

“Are you sure? Aren’t you on birth control?” Charles asked.

“You know I don’t take them as often as I should and you could have used a condom, by the way.” Y/N said.

“Are you sure you’re pregnant? Those tests are prone to false positives.” Charles said.

“Well it’s been said that for the most accurate results, the test must be taken 3 weeks after sex, which I did. But I’ll go to my doctor to check too.” Y/N said fiddling with her hands. “I’m gonna go to the bakery, I’ll be back.” Y/N left the apartment.

“If she is pregnant, what’s going to happen?” Alexandra asked Charles.

“Then I’ll be a father and I’ll raise the baby with you two,” Charles replied as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“But are we going public or what? If you say you’re going to be a dad and they don’t see me showing but see Y/N, what do you think is going to happen?” Alexandra asked.

“We will figure it out. If Y/N is truly pregnant, I’ll announce on Instagram that we’re together.” Charles said.

“Talk to Ferrari before you make that decision.” Alexandra said.

“Yeah of course I will.” Charles said and Y/N came back with the cookie croissant.

“I made an appointment for 2 weeks.” Y/N said.

“I’ll go with you.” Charles said.

“Mm, you Can’t, no one knows about us, it’ll be weird if you are seen going with me to a medical practice.” Y/N said.

“But I want to be there for you.” Charles said.

“Would it be less weird if I came too?” Alexandra asked.

“This is ridiculous, we’ll just go in separate cars. I’m going to my apartment because I really want bistec empanado and some sopita and you’re lacking groceries.” Y/N said before leaving.

It was the day of the OBGYN visit, Y/N was with Charles and Alexandra in the waiting room.

“You think we can go out to eat after this?” Y/N asked Charles and Alexandra.

“Yeah sure, where do you want to go?” Alexandra asked.

“Wait, we need to make your diet pregnancy friendly.” Charles said,

“Muñeco.” Y/N whined, Charles was going to say something when.

“Y/N L/N.” The medical assistant called, Y/N stood up along with Charles and Alexandra. “You can’t really bring anyone in.”

“We’ll stay here.” Alexandra said, sitting back down with Charles while Y/N went into the exam room.

“Alright Y/N, you think you might be pregnant, yes?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s been 5 weeks since ‘conception’ i guess, I haven’t had my period at all in these 5 weeks.” Y/N said.

“But you are consistently irregular too, right?” The assistant asked

“Yes, which is why I’m here for the blood test to confirm I’m pregnant.” Y/N said.

“Okay then, we’ll do your physical exam and then the blood test.” The assistant said and after it was said and done, the assistant who took her blood said she would call Y/N with the results.

“Alright, let’s go, I want Italian.” Y/N said and as they were leaving the obgyn, Y/N had the urge to throw up so she ran into the hallway bathroom, got into a stall, and puked. Alexandra walked in to check on Y/N while Charles made a phone call to schedule a meeting with Ferrari’s media team.

“Hey, you’re okay. If we get Italian food, you’re getting stracciatella or whatever soup is on the menu.” Alexandra said.

“Why is it called morning sickness?” Y/N said, before puking again.

“I Don’t know, Mon papillon.” Alexandra said, trying to comfort her. “You okay? I’ll wait for you outside.” Y/N nodded and Alexandra left to wait in the hallway with Charles.

“I’m talking to the Ferrari media team.” Charles said,

“You sure?” Alexandra asked.

“Of course I am. I’ll video chat with them later today and let the whole world know I’m dating 2 beautiful women and that I’m going to be a father.” Charles said, kissing Alexandra. Y/N walked out of the bathroom.

“How about you order in, I need to lie down.” Y/N said, holding her stomach.

“Whatever you want, Mon ange.” Charles said. They left the practice, Alexandra took Y/N’s car and Y/N rode with Charles, both drove to his apartment. In the apartment, Y/N was taking a nap with Leo while Charles set up his laptop to talk to the media manager of Ferrari.

“Hello Charles, what did you want to talk about?” The manager asked.

“I need to tell you something. As you know, I am in a relationship with Alexandra, BUT it’s not only her, it’s her friend Y/N as well, all 3 of us are together.” Charles said.

“Okay, okay, okay, it’s 2024, it’s almost 2025, surely the public will be okay with a…it’s called a throuple, right?” He asked,

“Yes, yes, it’s a throuple. But that’s not the only thing I wanted to tell you about. Y/N is also pregnant.” Charles said.

“Let me get this straight; you want to post on your Instagram that you are in a polyamorous relationship and that you’re going to be a father?” He asked,

“Yes.” Charles said.

“You do understand the scrutiny that not only you will put yourself under, but your girlfriends as well?” The manager asked.

“I do, sir.” Charles responded.

“Very well then, post if you must.” The manager said before saying goodbye.

The next day, Y/N woke up to her phone ringing, turning over to see Alexandra is still sleeping, she answered the call.

“Good morning, am I speaking to Y/N L/N?”

“Yeah, this is she.” Y/N replied.

“Congratulations, you are 4 weeks pregnant, the first trimester is crucial so a healthy diet is recommended, have a great day.” The phone call ended. Y/N woke up Alexandra.

“Ma papillon, it’s a little early, don’t you think?” Alexandra asked.

Mi reina, the doctor’s office called, I am 4 weeks pregnant.” Y/N said and Alexandra kissed her before she pulled her in for a hug.

“Oh my god, we have to tell Charles, I mean it was obvious you’re pregnant but now it’s doctor official.” Alexandra was over the moon by the news. “Okay Um let’s get dressed and head to Charles’s apartment.” They got dressed and Alexandra drove to Charles’s apartment.

Alexandra opened the door and Leo scrambled to say hello. Walking in further, they heard the shower running and stopping. Charles walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Mon ange, ma Belle, what are you doing here?” Charles asked.

“I’m 4 weeks pregnant.” Y/N said and Charles hugged her, twirling her around and putting her down.

“That’s amazing, I’m going to be a dad, oh my gosh, we need to make a diet plan for you, I’ll call Andrea and ask what should we buy.” Charles said pacing around the room. “Should you be taking prenatal vitamins?”

“I have to ask my doctor after the first ultrasound in a few weeks. But yeah, call Andrea for a meal plan.” Y/N said, “I’m gonna use your bathroom.” While Y/N went to the bathroom, Charles took to Instagram.

charlesleclerc many of you know my beautiful girlfriend, Alexandra. Most of you also know her best friend Y/N, who is also my beautiful girlfriend. The three of us are in a throuple or polyamorous relationship, however you want to call it. They are the loves of my life and if I am going to be a father, I thought it was time for the mother of my child, my other girlfriend, to be known.

Comments have been disabled

“Wow, can’t believe you did it.” Alexandra said when she saw his Instagram. “Oh I love that photo of Y/N, she’s so beautiful.” Alexandra said.

“Yeah, I am all in, I am not hiding Y/N anymore.” Charles said and his phone started ringing. “It’s my mom.”

“You didn’t think of telling her she’s a grandma before Instagram?” Alexandra asked.

“I didn’t think, okay.” Charles said before answering his phone. “Bonjour, maman.”

Over the past few weeks leading up to the ultrasound, Charles and Alexandra have been googling what pregnant women should be eating, have been calling their mothers to ask how their pregnancies were, Charles even bought parenting books.

“You think it’s too soon for the baby to be hearing music?” Charles asked.

“I don’t think the baby has ears yet.” Alexandra said. “You’re like 9 weeks pregnant, it’ll take another 7 weeks for the baby’s ears to actually work, it says it all here.” Alexandra said pointing to her laptop screen.

“You two are fussing and I’m not even showing.” Y/N said.

“Well we want the baby to be healthy. Would you be Leclerc Saint Mleux L/N or Leclerc L/N Saint Mleux?” Charles asked,

“We’re not even married!” Y/N exclaimed laughing.

“Oh he is just excited. Your appointment is in an hour, we should get going.” Alexandra said.

To the OBGYN! Y/N was allowed to bring Charles and Alexandra since the doctor knows they’re situation. She lifted up Y/N’s shirt and placed gel on Y/N’s stomach, she shuddered from how cold it was. She got the “wand” and rubbed it over the gel.

“And here’s your baby.” The doctor said, Charles and Alexandra started tearing up, as was Y/N.

“It’s so small.” Charles giggled,

“I can’t believe it.” Y/N said.

“I am so happy.” Alexandra said.

“Well congratulations on becoming parents to a healthy baby.” The doctor said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! I know it was a little long but hopefully it’s a good read

#hispanic reader #hispanic #latina #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #alexandra saint mleux #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

[sharkylass]

YOU I LIKE YOU @faislittlewhiteraven These questions are a little hard to answer with doodles but I tried my best- Nil generally has a pretty heroic and brave personality overall. She's loud and brash and ready to jump into things super quickly.

She's not the best with words, but she is very reliable overall

More art and writing under cut, it's just a long post man-

In terms of helping about during travels, she likes doing a lot of heavy labor jobs- She's the type to fix broken fences, gather supplies for folks, carry stuff around, tend to crops or lend a help wrangling animals. Nil wouldn't be great at things like sorting and organizing tho- Just tell her what you need and where to put it and she will! I mentioned she's not really the best with words (she is very emotionally intelligent just sometimes struggles to communicate stuff), HOWEVER, With folks that have been frozen she connects with a lot. How it's scary that you've been frozen for so long when your entire belief is to change and evolve, how (if Mal Du Pays is anything to go by) they had to fight their own demons in there, how everything can change so easily without you even noticing- It's terrifying to think about.

Actually- a while ago I made battle sprites with Nil- I wasn't happy with them so I never shared them BUT

Specifically I wanted to contrast her frozen sprite with everyone else's- Cause if she were to SOMEHOW be frozen again, knowing what it feels like, what could happen while she's out- It would TERRIFY her instantly. Not just a mild shock or surprise, it would stick with her for a while-

Speaking of battles tho-

Nil is super brash and lively as a whole. She puts up a brave face for a LOT of things, including fighting. She jumps in without really thinking, and as long as it goes their way, she'd have a smile on her face doing it.

However, while brave, it does come from both a place of coping and naivety. She's not used to genuine fighting, in fight or flight situations she actually tends to flee. (Which is why honestly, if she had to fight the King I don't think she could do it-)

If a battle were to start going south, she'd actually start to panic more then anyone else- Physical wounds and seeing the people she loves hurt would lower her accuracy and general capabilities, despite the brave face she puts on.

And due to her lack of experience, especially in bigger groups- Nil tends to... miscalculate sometimes

She had to learn the hard way not to just jump at any opportunity she sees. The party can see where Bonnie got it from (also after the battle Nille proceeded to heal Sif, profusely apologizing, I forgot to doodle that whoops-) (Also gameplay wise, imagine every second turn she does an action of her own without your command)

Also just the Sif image by itself cause I liked it :]

As for chores and stuff-

She does foraging and stuff! Honestly I don't think the other 5 would have done so before they traveled together.

Mira would have most DEFINITELY learned about it but didn't feel confident in her abilities. Bonnie will grab stuff they think is edible from what they remember Nille telling them and they'd grab a stick to cook. Odile would not be interested and would prefer buying the ingredients rather then wild scavenging. Isa doesn't read to me as a biology student, I see him more of a math history type of guy, so either he doesn't know, or him and Mira did it occasionally together, but only as a last resort type of deal (maybe when it was just the two of them and they had to manage alone) And Sif in my mind is an accident prone goober who'd forget which ones are edible and which ones aren't so I wouldn't trust him personally.

SO! LONG STORY SHORT! I don't think any of them are really experienced with foraging. And as a means to make money management easier- I imagine Nil (nature being a passion of sorts to her) took up the mantle! Probably taught the rest how to do it too!

That's it when it comes to stuff specific to her- Other then that she's kind of ready to help out with anything! She can help set up tends, do odd jobs for money, help cook if for WHATEVER reason Bonnie wanted her to or wanted to do something else in that time, bring water, wood, fish, help with weapons- She's not the best at those things, but if anyone needs a hand to be lent- she is there!

I'll be entirely honest, I don't think I understand your last question- But I do wanna say that Nil and Isa become like. Best buds real quick. He is the first one she instantly trusts, since she rivals with Mira, is prickly with Odile and Sif is someone she wants to help rather then ask for help. So if she needs someone to turn to, or needs a partner in crime- Nil would turn to Isa And now I just imagined Mira and Nil bonding over how to grow plants. Cause Mira tried REALLY REALLY HARD and couldn't do it, so Nille would actually love to give some tips- Imagine Mira genuinely walking up to her with a little alive plant with a proud glint in her eyes and have Nil fully support her- Honestly I could keep going for forever, I have so many thoughts on her and her dynamic with everyone- Bro I even have nicknames, you don't even know-

BUT I'M GONNA CUT IT HERE, HAVE FUN, I'VE BROUGHT SOME FOOD FOR NOW-

#isat #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #only cause of mal du pays tho honestly #in stars and time #isat nille #isat sif #isat mira #isat petronille #in stars and time nille #in stars and time petronille #lord give me strenght (its 5am I am not awake-)

[wolfythewitch]

Hiui it is 8am and I'm on the zcholl bus and my broam has not shut up about them

There's a lot of discourse about the achilles portrayal in the song of achilles which I agree with for the most part because the sanitization I feel erases the suffering of women and slaves the period was built on by minimizing the raping and violent nature of war hero achilles that Homer wrote - - however, I don't think tsoa ought to be read as a stand alone; tsoa is entirely written from patroclus' pov and I think that idealisation of the man is brilliant because of how grossly codependent they were

I think I really liked one redditors take on it, being [in context of 'the silence of girls'; a breseis pov of the iliad, where in achilles participated in the culture which used her as a bed slave of war] The tsoa protector achilles which defended women who mattered to him and was endlessly devoted, and the achilles that was complacent in the ritualistic abuse of the women he enslaved by pillaging their homes are both coexisting, and possibly one and the same

I personally view the Greek cast as sort of vocaloids, they're tools by which we understand the culture of the ancients, the way we envision their interactions is just a means for our practicing the pragmatics of how we come to understand the period

Okay frankly I'm not the best person to discuss this because I've only read like half of tsoa, but there's two disagreements I have I guess, based on what I Have read

One, as much it's not meant to be a standalone or something like that (to me, it is meant to be a standalone), because of its popularity in contemporary media it is being taken as one, and many people will have Achilles and Patroclus' image forever frozen as tsoa' portrayal. God knows how many comments I've gotten on my videos treating tsoa as fact. I can't really blame the author for that, but it is what it is.

Two, the idealization of man through patroclus' eyes would hold more weight if himself was not changed for the narrative either. Patroclus was a soldier, he was a healer, and he also had his fair share of women (who he slept with). Both of them did. Violence was not shied from, and slave women were war prizes. There are these insidious little rewrites throughout the story to further the narrative of Achilles and Patroclus' only loving each other, and in turn erasing what they've done to the other women in the story. (Taking in slave women because they wanted to save them is. A choice.) Deidamia in the myths, they range from at best her and Achilles falling in love to the point of intimacy, and at worst Achilles raping her. In tsoa, Thetis forced Achilles to sleep with her. Deidamia also forced Patroclus to sleep with her. That flip in the narrative is kind of fucked up, seeing as how both in the myths and in tsoa Peleus raped Thetis.

Trying to make a statement that it is written through the idealized eyes of man, well it doesn't really work here. If anything, it feels more like an author writing with the intent of not having her MCs be morally reprehensible. So Patroclus cares when the plot demands it (saving briseis, outrage when she is taken away. Asking Achilles to save the other slave girls) and not when it doesn't affect him (talking about his mother nonchalantly, questioning why thetis hated Peleus when he also acknowledged how Peleus was involved in her rape).

#wolfy tedtalks #rape tw #slavery tw

[sansaorgana]

maybe i’ve been watching too much GOT/HOTD shit but…tttw au where reader decides to seduce paul into p much being her servant (kinda like what cersei did to jaime except she still does actually care for him a bit). and lady jessica pushes for the marriage between reader and feyd to get her away from paul. i just feel like that’d make the fight between feyd and paul just that much more personal 🫢

THROWN TO THE WOLVES MASTERLIST

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hello! I hope you still remember my multichapter fic 🥴 It's been a long time but I needed a break from it to create other stories and finally it's time for me to write the requests that were about this universe. For the start I went with this twisted AU and be warned because I have abandoned all my moral compass while writing it lol 😳🙈 I mostly explored the dynamic between the characters here and I don't think you have to know "Thrown To The Wolves" to read this story but it surely will make more sense if you do! 😊 Also, since it's an AU – and a wicked one as well – I didn't tag anyone from this fic's taglist. I also didn't tag anyone from the Feyd-Rautha's taglist because it's an AU of already existing fic that not everyone has read, so... I didn't want to bother anyone 😅

WARNINGS — INCEST, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), Reader is NOT a good person (as we already know... but she's even worse here)

WORD COUNT — 5,380

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

Watching your half-brother train, you only pretended to read a book in front of you. You couldn’t focus on the words because you were still rethinking the argument you had with your father earlier. Now, when Paul was officially an adult, Duke Leto Atreides signed a document that only solidified your brother as the heir and the next Duke.

He might not have been from a legal union like you were, but he was a boy. However, you had a feeling it was about more than that. After all, if your father wanted to change the law and allow women to inherit, he would do that. No, it was about Paul being his favourite. It was about Paul being prepared for this role from the moment he was born. It was about Paul being born from a woman that your father truly loved. Unlike your mother whose cold grave you had visited earlier that day. You were the only one visiting her.

To think that you were supposed to be born a boy. Paul was supposed to be a girl. Yet, the cruel universe played a joke at your expense. And now you were a burden of the Atreides family instead of an heir. Unless…

The book you were reading was a history one, telling stories of ancient times and the ways of the noblemen in the past. It mentioned gross and yet fascinating acts of the forgotten practices to keep the royal bloodlines pure. Incestous relationships between cousins… and even siblings. At first, reading the book late at night in your room, you had felt disgust at the mention of a sister-wife. But now, watching Paul training and reliving an argument with your father, you began having second thoughts.

The only way of getting the title of The Atreides Duchess would be to marry Paul. And he was of gentle, soft nature. He was not only devoted to you in his brotherly, naive love but also innocently easy to manipulate. You had done that multiple times before already; making him take blame for something you did or do something for you that you didn’t feel like doing yourself.

Would he be easy to seduce, though? You wondered, trying to shake off a small wave of guilt and disgust at the thought. You had to be stronger than your moral compass to survive. You knew already that Lady Jessica was plotting behind your father’s back to send you away, to marry you off to some awful, insignificant lord and get rid of you. Seducing Paul was your only way of staying at home and of getting the power you wanted.

To have an apple and eat an apple, you thought, biting on your lower lip.

Paul was inexperienced with women. Not that you were very experienced with men yourself but you were observant and interested in the subject. You studied books, interactions, gossip. Paul was not interested in such affairs at all. His whole life was studying and training, being moody and sad about his future role of the Duke.

Oh, the irony. He didn’t even want to bear this title that you so badly craved.

You closed the book loudly, startling him a little and getting his attention. He raised an eyebrow at you but you only smirked and gathered your things to go back inside.

At the supper table, you were acting moody and annoyed. You watched from the corner of your eye how it was catching Paul’s interest. When you excused yourself in the middle of the meal and left, visibly pissed at something, it didn’t take him long to follow you.

“Sister, wait,” he called for you in the corridor when you were near the doors leading to your chambers. “What is it? Talk to me,” he pleaded and grabbed your arm from behind.

“Oh, sweet Paul,” you smiled and turned around to face his confused face. He was sweet indeed. And he was a pretty boy, which you hadn’t been thinking of before for obvious reasons. But it wouldn’t be that difficult to force yourself to kiss him and lay with him. “You’re so adorable for worrying about me,” you sighed. “You’re the only one here who cares for me.”

“That is not true, (Y/N), you know that,” Paul fixed a hair strand on your face to push it off of your cheek. “Our father loves you and my mother… She cares about you, too. In her own way. I know that.”

“Your mother?” You snorted, looking up to meet his worried gaze. “She’s plotting already, don’t you know? She wants to marry me off and… And you as well,” you lied, looking away and pretending to get all shy.

“What?” Paul furrowed his brows as he let go of your arm. He was shocked to hear your revelation. “Am I not too young to get married? I mean, I know I could but… Shouldn’t I get older and wiser and…”

“I know,” you interrupted him and looked back into his pretty hazel eyes. “But what can I say? They want you to have a future Duchess already, so she can come here and be trained how to be a great leader one day by your side… To replace me…” You faked a shiver of your voice. “That was the reason behind my argument with our father. What did he tell you?” You bit on your lower lip.

“That…” Paul swallowed thickly, not wanting to anger you or offend you, “That… That you are angry about me inheriting. I wanted us to talk about it, actually. I wanted to explain to you that it is not my wish. I would love to give the title to you. I do not wish to rule,” Paul assured you and took you by your hands.

All those sweet, gentle gestures that you had been giving no second thoughts until now since they were innocent. But now, you savoured each one of them, coming up with ideas how to use them against him.

“He lied,” you sighed and looked down, sadly. You felt a small sting in your heart but you had to ignore it. “The argument was about me not wanting to leave Caladan… Not wanting to leave my home and my family. I don’t want to be sent away… I will miss you, you’re all I have,” you faked a sob and hugged him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck so he couldn’t see how fake your crying was. You sniffed a few times to make it more authentic.

Paul was surprised and a little petrified. However, he put his arms around you to pull you closer and rub your back.

“Oh, sweet (Y/N), my dear sister… I won’t let them send you away if you don’t want to… And not to anyone you wouldn’t desire yourself,” he assured you.

“I don’t want you to get married yet either… I… I…” You were looking for the right words as you took a step back to look at him again, faking a shivering lip and glossy eyes by blinking a lot. “I wish we were children again. Just you and I, always together. I don’t want anyone to ever come between us.”

“No one will come between us, (Y/N),” Paul squeezed your fingers. “I promise you that. You’re my sister, you forever will be. I love you,” he nodded and gave you puppy eyes.

“You… You don’t understand,” you pulled away and opened the doors to your room. “Go away, I shouldn’t be near you,” you took a deep and dramatic breath in. “It’s bad for me, I… Oh, I shouldn’t tell,” you sighed and walked inside your room, hoping your weird reaction would intrigue him.

And indeed, Paul followed you inside. He caught you by your wrist and made you stop as the doors closed behind him. You had him trapped between the wall and your body even though he was the one holding your hand. But his grip was gentle as usual.

“I don’t understand, (Y/N). Please, what’s wrong? I hate to see you like this,” he was worried and desperate to help you. You bit on your lip and smirked, changing the atmosphere quickly as you took a step ahead and got free from the grip of his hand.

Taking a step ahead, you forced him to retreat and his back hit the wall. Your faces were inches away and you batted your eyelashes innocently as you stared at his lips hungrily.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Paul swallowed thickly.

“You wanted to know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered seductively. “It’s a sinful disease, Paul, and believe me, I’ve tried to get rid of it but I can’t. You’re all I can think about,” your words were so soft and quiet, almost inaudible, for his ears only.

“We…We shouldn’t… “Paul whimpered pathetically. However, he didn’t even try to push you away. You raised an eyebrow at him, genuinely surprised at the lack of more definitive reaction.

“So, you want me to stop? Tell me then, sweet brother. I don’t want to hurt you,” you assured him and caressed his cheek with the fingertips of your right hand. He closed his eyelids and breathed in your scent. “Want me to stop?” You repeated the question teasingly.

Paul didn’t dare to say it out loud. He only shook his head as a no.

You had expected this task to be easy but you didn’t suspect it to be that easy. When you pressed your body closer to his, you felt how hard he was between his legs. Poor sweet Paul, so desperate for any girl’s attention, so inexperienced. He would really let his own sister take care of him. You chuckled and finally joined your lips together in a gentle kiss, not wanting to scare him away.

It was your first kiss, too, after all. And, for some reason, you really liked it. You liked that your first kiss belonged to your own brother, to your own flesh and blood. Even if Lady Jessica sends you away one day to marry another man, he would never possess you with his first marriage kiss for your own brother had the honour.

“I know you love your mother,” you whispered after breaking the kiss. Paul’s cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. He opened his eyelids slowly, looking at you in awe. It was adorable. “But she hates me,” you reminded him. “You must change her attitude towards me, you know. You don’t want them to send me away, don’t you? Who else is gonna kiss you so sweetly when I’m away?”

“I… I must leave now,” Paul swallowed thickly and pushed you away before running out of the room.

It left you confused but you knew that your confusion was no match with his. He was turned on and scared, he needed alone time. So, you gave him that and went to sleep yourself, a little anxious but also excited since the plan seemed to be working better than you had been expecting.

At first, Paul was ignoring you. Shyly looking away, blushing like crazy, avoiding your gaze. But you were relentless, always around him, talking to him with other people around, forcing him to answer and look at you. Eating by the same table, you would find moments when no one paid attention so you could treat yourself with fruit and honey in the most seductive manner while looking into his eyes. And you made sure to touch him briefly every time you walked past him. The poor boy was in physical and mental torture, you could see that and you only waited for him to snap.

You began to wear more revealing dresses and show off your body. But everything changed on the day you walked inside his bathroom, pretending it was an accident. He was in the bathtub, you just wanted to borrow a towel – a stupid and unbelievable excuse.

However, you didn’t walk in on him relaxing or taking a nap in the embrace of  warm water, no. You walked in on him being busy with himself with his lips parted, head thrown back and eyes shut close. The name he was moaning out loud was yours.

Gently, not wanting to startle him, you helped him to finish. And even though at first he was terrified of you seeing him like that he quickly gave in, too desperate to have any shame left in his body.

That act sealed your sinful union. He finally gave in to the ill-natured attraction and began to follow you around like the most loyal servant. And whenever you were left alone, he was like an overexcited puppy, wanting to kiss and be kissed, wanting to touch and be touched. Just in case – aware of the norms noble women were supposed to live by – you didn’t allow him to actually spoil your innocence. But everything else was allowed.

You were not only pleased with your seductive skills and the fact you had the future Duke wrapped around your little finger. Some twisted, wicked part of you was also happy from the fact that you managed to spoil your father’s favourite child; his little precious toy was broken now. Paul Atreides was rotten forever now. There was no going back from such sin.

You were damned already anyway. But it felt nice to drag someone down with you just for the sake of annoying your father and Lady Jessica.

Your own pride made you less attentive and careful, meanwhile Paul’s mother was very observant when it came to her son. He was the apple of her eye. She knew that his relationship with you had always been close but she noticed the sudden odd mood swings of Paul. First, he avoided you nearly shyly, only to follow you around even more than ever before again? You two had always been hugging sometimes, sharing an innocent kiss here and there but now Lady Jessica felt like it was getting more and more often for you to share affections. And she felt bad for suspecting a weirdly sexual energy behind those acts but after some time she stopped feeling guilty as she realised something had been going on behind her back indeed.

One time she decided to follow her son who went straight to your chambers after the training. Her footsteps were light and quiet, she took her time and gave you an opportunity to develop the situation. She pressed her ear to the doors and heard soft moans, sweet praises. Even though she had been suspecting it, she still felt shocked and disgusted to find out the truth.

Your heart stopped in your chest as the doors were pushed open and you spotted Lady Jessica catching you kissing her son. His cheeks went crimson red in an instant.

“Mother…” He swallowed thickly, standing up and clasping his hands in front of himself, trying to hide his erection.

Lady Jessica was speechless. Her eyes widened at first and then they squinted as she laid them on you.

“You little witch,” she hissed at you. “You twisted, evil minx. What have you done?”

“Me?” You acted innocent but you couldn’t hide a smirk.

Yes, it was scary to be found out. But it gave you satisfaction that she now was aware of how you had spoiled her sweet, precious son.

“Mother, don’t blame her!” Paul sweetly defended you, he was truly adorable. But he was ignored by the both of you. It was between you and her. He was only a tool.

“Have you got any idea what you’ve done?” Lady Jessica asked you harshly.

“What about it?” You asked and clenched your jaw.

What was the worst punishment anyway? You realised suddenly that even being sent away wouldn’t be so bad… The victory of spoiling Paul was the most delicious part of this situation.

“I will not tell your father,” Lady Jessica approached you to put her hands on Paul’s arms to walk him away gently. “For his own sake. He would be devastated. But this will be over. You better start packing,” she gave you a contemptuous look.

“Mother, no!” Paul pleaded. “I love her, I do. Can’t I marry (Y/N)? That’s what our ancestors were doing, why can’t we?”

You chuckled at him. He was so sweetly naive. Lady Jessica slapped his face.

“Stop talking nonsense!” She pushed him out of the room and then gave you one last look. “You look proud of yourself for bewitching my son. I’ll make sure you’ll pay for that.”

“And you’re not proud of bewitching my father?” You asked.

“I will send you to the Harkonnens, you spoiled brat. Their rot matches yours. But good luck with bewitching any of them,” she threatened.

The mention of the Harkonnens made you scared indeed. But you didn’t want to show it. Not in front of her.

But she was right. Wrapping Paul around your finger had been easy. Too easy. Doing the same to a Harkonnen would not.

However, you decided to keep your head high. You would never show fear or defeat in front of Lady Jessica.

Because of Lady Jessica’s words, you treated the marriage with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen like a challenge. With many attempts, you finally managed to tame him and it was your biggest pride.

Now you laughed at the memory of how proud you had been for spoiling Paul. It had been meaningless and too easy. Taming Feyd-Rautha to be your pet made you feel invincible.

Paul had been so naive and innocent that in the beginning of your marriage, he had still been sending you secret letters about his love and devotion. The news of his death had been nearly relieving – there would be no more pathetic, desperate letters, you had thought, while burning the last one.

Your husband knew about your past. Feyd-Rautha loved everything sick, twisted and rotten to the core. You had told him about Paul to impress him and it had worked. You had even allowed him to read some of the letters from Paul before burning them.

Finding out that Paul was alive after all, and he had gained power on Arrakis that you and your husband could only dream of, felt like a punch. You could see a switch in Feyd’s behaviour while you waited for the confrontation. He was observing you quietly and battling with his own thoughts. Feyd-Rautha had never been insecure before. But now he had a feeling you might still feel attraction to Paul Atreides. Especially now, when Paul was a powerful leader, too. After all, what spurred you on the most was power and influence.

What would Paul do seeing you again? You both wondered silently, without sharing your thoughts with each other. Would he want you back or would he toss you aside? Feyd feared that Paul still wanted you. You hoped he would. It would provide you safety no matter what outcome of that day would be.

Not that you didn’t love Feyd-Rautha. In the process of taming him, you had found yourself enamoured with him. You were two halves of the same rotten apple. But the most important thing for you was your own survival. Your own and the child’s under your heart.

The guards took you and other prisoners of the Arrakeen Palace to see the mysterious Muad’Dib but you all had already known who he truly was. The Reverend Mother, Princess Irulan and you – all the women amongst the prisoners – had known it for sure that the brave Fremen leader had to be an Atreides. You shared a connection with Paul, you were of the same father, the same surname, the same blood, the same flesh… Each other’s first lovers.

He looked different now; more mature. His hair was longer and curly instead of being neatly combed. His eyes were harsher and blue from the spice. You were nearly petrified at the sight of him because he… He looked handsome and attractive. You suddenly remembered all the shared kisses and affections and it made your cheeks burn.

“There you are, sweet sister,” Paul’s eyes sparkled at the sight of you. “I’ve been missing you,” he pointed out but you could spot harsh irony in his words.

From the corner of your eye you spotted Lady Jessica. Her power and influence had grown as well those past few months. She was a local Reverend Mother with her face covered under veils, chains and tattoos. She looked like the most intimidating and the most powerful person in the room. She probably was, even though you were standing next to The Emperor himself.

Lady Jessica had to already turn Paul against you. She had to tell him that you had been doing nothing but manipulating him for your own gain. You suddenly realised that you were in deep trouble and you instinctively searched for Feyd-Rautha’s hand to squeeze it. He was your husband, the father of your child, your perfect match made in hell. You had to keep him close, stay with him. Paul was never an option after all. He had been nothing but a game.

“Brother,” you greeted Paul with a nod of your head. “I thought you were dead.”

“You hoped,” Paul fixed you with a smirk.

“No,” you only answered.

“Come here,” he ordered. You felt the eyes of everyone watching intensely, wondering what was really going on. After all, the only people who knew about your unusual connection were Lady Jessica and Feyd-Rautha. Although you were suspecting that the Reverend Mother knew, too.

Feyd’s hand squeezed tighter around yours. He didn’t want you to leave his side. Walking up to Paul meant exposing yourself, you could be easily harmed. And it was not only about you at the moment. You were carrying the Harkonnen heir. The future Baron was growing under your heart.

“Come here,” Paul repeated the order, more harshly now. You let go of Feyd’s hand and walked away, feeling him move uncomfortably. However, he granted you personal freedom to make your own choices. He only watched carefully, like a guard dog that he was.

“I am here, brother,” you announced, standing right in front of Paul, facing him bravely. One of your hands rested on your abdomen.

“I am wiser now,” he told you. “I know that your intentions with me were never pure nor driven by your uncontrollable desires. You planned it all. Calculated.”

You remained silent, keeping your head high. You only heard the whispers of other people, wondering between each other what the conversation was about.

“And despite that knowledge, I must admit, I remain infatuated,” he confessed. “But you’re spoiled for me now. Your stench is one of the Harkonnens.”

“For I am a Harkonnen,” you nodded.

“Apparently, so am I,” he raised an eyebrow and you furrowed yours.

“How is that so?”

“The Baron… The late Baron,” Paul explained. “The one your husband slayed last night. He was my mother’s father.”

Everyone went silent. Those were two secrets that he had revealed – you didn’t want people to know that it was Feyd killing his uncle.

“You might have the Harkonnen blood flowing in your veins, dear brother, but you are no Harkonnen. You’re weak like an Atreides,” you spat out.

“Me? You, dear sister, you are weak. All your power, all your successes, they all only come from the men you have managed to wrap around your pretty little fingers. But you have achieved nothing yourself,” Paul’s jaw clenched as he reminded you with hatred burning through his eyes. “The only thing you actually did was to open your legs for the Harkonnen and carry his spawn,” Paul looked down at your womb with contempt.

There was so much jealousy in him, you spotted. He was not angry at you for manipulating him. He was angry at you for carrying another man’s child. And there was nothing more dangerous than a rejected lover.

Paul grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away, exposing your swollen abdomen.

“You cannot touch her,” Feyd barked and Paul looked up behind your shoulder to meet your husband’s gaze.

“There he is, my sister’s new pet,” Paul’s words were braver than you expected. No one would dare to speak to Feyd-Rautha like that.

“It’s a nasty thing to be jealous,” your husband spoke. “You see, she is my wife, she lays with me every night. You are nothing but a tossed aside toy who has only been given a taste but never a full meal.”

Paul was right, you suddenly realised. That you held no real power, that it only came from the men you had associated yourself with. Because now they were talking about you as if you were an object.

“Are we here to witness some wicked family drama? Spare me that,” The Emperor’s voice made you all turn your heads to look at him. He was disgusted and annoyed.

“You are here to pay for what you’ve done to our father,” Paul left your side to approach The Emperor and you took the opportunity to hurry back to Feyd. You stood behind him, clinged to his muscular arm, feeling protected by his strong, armoured body.

“Stop your pathetic show, Atreides,” The Emperor smirked. “There is a massed armada in orbit. You’re facing a full invasion.”

“How can you be so sure the Great Houses are here for me? They may be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think?” Paul asked him. “I am Paul Atreides, son of Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis!”

“He’s a fraud,” Feyd chuckled ironically. “My wife is the Duchess Atreides, I am the Governor of this world.”

“And so it is,” The Emperor nodded. “You’re nothing but a Fremen terrorist.”

“Gurney,” Paul called out the name you recognised. But when you looked at the man, he had no love nor sympathy in his eyes for you. So, you showed none as well.

“My Lord,” Gurney nodded at your brother.

“Send a warning to all ships. If the Great Houses attack, our atomics will obliterate all the spice fields,” Paul threatened. 

He was a madman now, you thought as Gurney nodded.

“You’re out of your mind,” The Emperor pointed out what everyone was thinking,

“He’s bluffing,” your husband spoke up as you clinged to his arm even tighter. You had a feeling already how this confrontation would end up like. It was either you and Feyd or Paul. There was no other way. And Paul’s behaviour was worrying. You were starting to suspect he had higher chances of winning than you had been predicting.

He wouldn’t kill you. He still cared for you, perhaps he still craved you. He would never be nice to you, but he’d keep you close, of that you were sure. But he would never let your husband or your child live. And that was the moment when you realised that you didn’t only care about your own self.

You cared about Feyd and you cared about your son. Way more than about your life. You’d rather die alongside them than live a few more decades alongside your brother without them.

“Consider what you’re about to do, Paul Atreides,” The Reverend Mother warned him.

“Silence!” Paul screamed, using The Voice, startling everyone in the process.

It was no secret that this ability was reserved only for the Bene Gesserit. For the women of the order. A man possessing this knowledge was not only dangerous but also extremely powerful.

You were doomed, you thought, covering your abdomen with one of your hands again. Your unborn son was your only hope. The Reverend Mother had mentioned before that he was out of control. The Harkonnen medics had outdone themselves with their genetic manipulations while helping you to create life. His abilities could interfere with Paul’s.

But it was only an unborn baby with its brain not even yet fully developed. You couldn’t possibly count on him to save you. Right?

“Abomination,” The Reverend Mother muttered to herself.

“Message sent, my Lord,” Gurney announced.

“On what authority was this message sent?” You spoke up again, finally gaining the courage although it was easy to do so when you were still hiding behind Feyd. “I am the Duchess Atreides. The leaders of the Great Houses know that, too. They will not listen to the threats of terrorists!”

“As a servant of the Imperium, you will bow at my feet!” The Emperor snapped. Paul’s behaviour was getting out of control.

“Your feet?! You’ll be lucky to keep your head!” Paul yelled at him and walked up to all of you as he took a contemptuous look at Princess Irulan. “I’ll take the hand of your daughter,” he announced and you swallowed thickly at his plan.

So… He did not want to marry you anymore. Perhaps you wouldn’t be as safe as you had suspected before.

“She will remain safe,” Paul’s voice softened as he spoke. “And we will rule together over The Empire. But you…” he looked at The Emperor again. “You have to answer for my father.”

“Do you know why I killed him?” The Emperor squinted his eyes and despite feeling very detached from your family those past few months, you felt a little sting in your heart at the mention of your father.

You realised that now you were standing by the side of a man who was responsible for his death. What a twisted world you lived in. And what twisted things you had been forced to do to survive.

The Emperor approached Paul now as well, they were facing each other and you had to admit that despite his age, he was a brave man to do that. Everyone claimed he was not in his best shape anymore and that was true but the strength of his mind and spirit was still visible.

“Because he was a man who believed in the rules of the heart. But the heart is not meant to rule,” The Emperor explained. “In other words… your father was a weak man.”

You had this conversation before. With the Baron Harkonnen. Late Baron Harkonnen, you remembered. Now your husband was bearing the title. But yes, a few months earlier, in a dark room, you had this conversation with the Baron. You had agreed with him then. And despite the pain in Paul’s eyes, you had a feeling he was agreeing with this, too.

And Paul agreeing with such a statement could only mean that he no longer wanted to play nice. He had discarded your father’s ways and chose the path of violence.

“You will be defeated and your Empire will be mine,” Paul drawled out through gritted teeth before laying his eyes on you and Feyd. “And the cancer of this Empire that is The Harkonnen dynasty will be erased,” he added. “I will tear your spawn out of her body and take your wife as my concubine,” he told your husband. You felt his muscles tensing.

“The only thing you take, will be your death at the end of my blade,” Feyd warned him and took a step ahead, ignoring the way you were clutching onto his arm, trying to make him stay.

“You don’t even have one on you,” Paul pointed out.

“Then spare me a weapon and stand to fight me like a man,” Feyd dared him.

“Accept mine,” The Emperor offered and you stiffened at the realisation that it was not only the blade he was giving your husband but also the fate of the outcome of this day, the fate of the Empire, the fate of his and his daughter’s life. Feyd nodded and you approached him one last time before the duel.

“Do not fail me,” you pleaded harshly.

“You want these to be the last words you tell your husband before his death?” Feyd teased with a smirk. Fearless as usual; he never feared the end of his life. Not in combat at least. He had told you already that this sort of death was everything he had been wishing for. To die like a warrior.

“No,” you shook your head with a nervous smile. “So make sure they won’t be.”

MASTERLIST

#sansaorgana: Answered #lovely anons #sansaorgana: Requests #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #lilysfiction #austin butler x reader #tttw

[hoseoksluna]

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc 

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An hour, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit.” 

That half of you wins. That easily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you. For your mother.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

For your dream. 

For your children. 

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

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

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

“Namjoon, I—”

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

Our hotel. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my nice girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

And so you squeeze his throat. 

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t help it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What plans?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he’s a myriad of things. 

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

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

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything. 

Anything for your husband. 

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

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

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

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

Most strangely, it heightens the experience. 

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

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

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.” 

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

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

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

“I was your bad little wife.” 

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

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

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

“I choked you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I do, Daddy.” 

A hum. “Will you do it again?” 

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

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

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

And another thing. 

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

That, too, will ring in your veins. 

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

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

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

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

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

“Take this off. Now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you give him your consent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” 

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

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

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

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

Groundedness is what you’re missing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another thing for him to tame. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An inhale of breath. “Paris.” 

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t. Gonna come.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect,” you whisper. 

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

You trust him. 

Forever. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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Hi! I love your writing so much!! I'm currently loving your freelance inventor series! I don't see a lot of danny/bruce fics so it's always fun when you post one!! What danny thinks of the justice league, does he think they're just Bruce's extreme sports friends? Or his kids friends parents?

Danny first meets Bruce's extreme sports friends when Dick plans to introduce Wally-his first boyfriend- on a water skiing trip. It went a little hair-walled due to the misunderstanding.

He had been around the manor with some free time, so he asked Bruce if he could join once Dick brought up the trip and made a comment on how important things he needed to talk about.

Usually, Danny wouldn't have bothered, but because it was so long that thier friendship had started he felt like it was a good time to ask.

At first, both the Waynes appeared to be dancing around the subject that, for a second, Danny thought they didn't want him there. Not wanting to make them feel pressured—and a little embarrassed he had assumed he could tag along—he backtracked quickly, making up an excuse about flying out to see Dani.

There was an awkward dinner that evening, so Danny left immediately. He had planned on staying the night at Wayne Manor, but he felt he had overstayed his welcome from his silly request. Instead, he rented a hotel room in the more dangerous parts of the city.

Danny had been on the hotel's phone line all night, attempting to find a plan to take him somewhere close to Dani. He could fly with his powers the rest of the way, but he needed to create some kind of paper trail.

While he listened to the hold music of the airline representative, he felt a wave of shame. At that point, Danny had only known Bruce and Dick for a year- but with various breaks in between visits- and had thought that made them closer. Who did he think he was?

Bruce wanted their relationship to stay as business associates who occasionally hung out but nothing as important as a vacation trip. Danny had just been the idiot who thought himself more important.

Well, he would not be making the same mistake. He would only come back if it involved his work and would find his own lodging from now on. The Waynes had likely not know how to say no to him.

Idiot, Danny thought, pacing in his room and wiping away tears. Idiot. Stupid. Moron. Of course, Bruce Wayne doesn't think of you as a friend! Get a clue!

"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Fenton. A first-class plane ticket to Calais, France, has been booked for you on Monday, July 7th. Would you like to make this a round trip?" the cheerful woman asks him, and he sniffs.

"No. It's a one-way. I won't be coming back here for a while." The words feel like knives in his chest

She doesn't notice as she chirps "Alright then, that has been done for you. Thank you for using Wayne Airlines!"

Ugh, he even used Bruce's planes by accident. At least this will be the last thing he annoys the man with. The following morning, bright and early Danny is out the door with his suit case. He makes it all the way to the lobby where he bumps into a fretting Dick and some red head kid.

"Danny!" Dick cries. He flings himself onto his waist, squeezing with all his might. Danny is flabbergasted. "Danny, I only wanted Bruce to go on the water ski trip because I wanted to tell him about my boyfriend! I haven't told him I was bisexual yet, I wanted to tell him on the trip, but I made him swear not to mention it to anyone else, but then you asked to go, and Bruce couldn't figure out a way to tell you no without revealing that I wanted to talk about something important-but then you got sad, and then Bruce got sad and I-"

"Babe." The redhead cuts in. "Breath"

"Danny, please don't be mad at Bruce because of me!" Dick cries, rubbing his face against Danny's stomach. "I promise we didn't want to exclude you!"

Danny's heart melts, both by how cute Dick is and the knowledge that Bruce was just a good dad and not any of his insecure-inspired conclusions. "Oh, Dick. I'm sorry you felt that. I promise I'm not mad, and I'm so proud of you. Thank you for sharing that part of yourself with me."

He leans down to hug the boy, grinning as the ten year old sighs. Then he directs a glare at the redhead. He looks about twelve and frankly, Dick is far too young for a boyfriend. "Who's this?"

"I'm Wally West-"

"I asked Dick"

"Oh."

Dick leans back. "This is Wally. He's my best friend and boyfriend! Wally, this is Danny- he's like my second dad."

"It's nice to meet you, sir!" The redhead gulps as Danny's eyes narrow.

"Pleasure." He says in a voice that means anything but. "Dick, sweetie, how did you get here? Does Bruce know where you are?"

"Wally and I...ugh took a cap." Dick everts his eyes. "Bruce was talking to his friends trying to convince them to go on the trip too. He wanted to prove you were his special friend to his regular friends."

A thrill ran through Danny. He was Bruce Wayne's best friend!? "You know I think I can take you kids back home myself. Maybe we can still make a water ski trip!"

Both boys blink owlishly. "Yeah...maybe. Let me just call Uncle Barry to make sure he's going, too."

Wally sprinted to the front desk to borrow their landline while Dick stayed behind, babbling to Danny about how he knew he was bi and how he met Wally. Mentally, Danny was drafting a lecture to give Bruce for allowing his boy to date a co-worker and friend's nephew, especially at this young age! He didn't let his thoughts appear on his face, only nodding and smiling between Dick's word vomits.

Meanwhile, on Wally's side, he uses the Justice League hotline to speak to his Uncle. His call was transferred to the meeting with all the original founders as he used the emergency code accesses Barry had taught him.

His call was placed on speaker for everyone to hear.

"Code Teal for B! Code Teal for B!" he hissed into the phone. The rest of the members sat up straighter and sent Batman looks of alarm. Code Teal was a spouse or lover who thought a hero was cheating on them because of the mission's old hours. We needed to come together to cover for them.

Batman was hiding his face in his hands. ".....Confirm Code Teal."

"Oh and before I forget Code Artificial red for Dick and me" Wally shouts, ignoring the imploding shouts from Batman or Uncle Barry.He hung up not wanting to explain that the boys had chosen to use Fake-out-make-out in order to convince Danny to stay.

He wouldn't mind dating Dick, but maybe later when they were both older. Not that Danny needed to know that.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Freelance Inventor #part 4 #Set a year after Danny met Bruce and Dick #Six months after The Justice Leauge found out Batman was in love #Fake out make out for Wally/Dick #Danny thinking they best friends forever now. He made a braclet #In the 90s the phone was a hour long wait to book plane tickets

[b14augrana]

‘Lacy’

Fridolina is perfect in your eyes. Too perfect, actually, and it drives you crazy.

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

masterlist

Warnings: jealousy and reader lowkey has issues

A/N: i’m the biggest frido fan on this planet so this sucked to write ily frido 🙁. i wrote this at 12:30 am so it’s not very good + not proofread and i’m very sorry in advance

You grew up loving Spanish football.

The technicality of it was your favourite thing and later on, you tried to incorporate it into your own play style. It set you apart from your teammates and made you stand out… until she came along.

The Swedish talent, incredible defender, the attacking fullback of everyone’s dreams. Fridolina Rolfö. You had played against her a handful of times and she was nothing short of talented; she was probably the first fullback you had seen that dribbled so high up the wing with so much confidence and actually managed to make something out of it.

Your usual position was in the midfield, but when your starting right back got injured, you found yourself shoved into a completely new position. You loved carrying the ball up the field and creating plays or dictating the game, but from the back, you could hardly do that. Due to the lack of real opportunities to let yourself shine, Fridolina got all the attention. The more goals she scored, the more assists she got, the more headlines she made in German sporting media.

The worst part? She was genuinely nice, so you had no proper reason to hate her besides being extremely jealous. She was kind and always complimented you during training and encouraged you during every match.

Your transfer to Barcelona couldn’t have happened at a more convenient time. Just as you were nearing your breaking point with her perfectness, your contract expired and you signed with the Spanish club. You had no intention of renewing with Wolfsburg, not while she was there. You wanted that fresh start, you wanted to thrive in a completely new place and finally learn the Spanish way of football first-hand.

The first season was amazing. You were breaking personal records and putting up performances for your new club, solidifying yourself as a starting player. You made friends and learned many things both on and off the pitch, and on top of that, you won your first couple trophies outside of Germany. You were at the peak of your happiness.

Of course it had to be ruined by a certain Swede arriving at the club only a season later. “(Y/N), it’s such a coincidence! I loved playing with you, so I could never turn down the contract they offered me,” she happily said to you on her first day. You smiled back at her despite wanting to bash your head against a wall, because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean.

She stuck with you during her first couple weeks at the club until she got familiar with everyone else; to you, those were the worst weeks of your life as you were forced to confront the reality that she was perfect as ever and you were sickeningly envious of her.

Over the course of the next season, it became harder to understand how she had almost no room for imperfection. Her only flaw was something stupid like not being able to bake which was something you couldn’t do either, so that didn’t make you feel any better.

Everyone in your team loved her. She was a good player, an excellent one even. She was soft spoken and respectful, and a team player who fit right in almost immediately.

She loved cafés and coffee, like Ingrid. She enjoyed kayaking and swimming, like Lucy and Ona. She loved dogs, like Alexia. She liked to travel, like Aitana.

She was everything you wished you could be, and it made you curse her name in the dark emptiness of your bedroom after hours. It made you watch her for a second longer during training, even while you’re on the other side of the pitch. It made you smile at her in the changing room and ask her how she is.

She didn’t even have to try to be adored, whereas it felt like you had been trying to catch anyone’s eye since the beginning of time. She breathed and the media was all over her.

As the season progressed, the envious feeling became a regular thing when you were around Fridolina, so you had gotten used to it. You felt bad for feeling such a way but your heart overpowered your brain and the feelings persisted.

You were having the best season of your career so far, between qualifying for a Champions League semifinal and becoming a league champion once again on top of winning the Copa de La Reina and Supercopa.

During the second leg of the semifinal against Chelsea, you were taken out inside the box, granting your team a penalty. You stepped up to take it with the chance to put you and your team ahead, but before you could even walk up to the spot, blonde hair swished past you and before you could process anything, the ball hit the back of the net and you saw Fridolina running away to celebrate it. You couldn’t even afford to be angry on the surface, because then everyone would know something was wrong and you’d have to come clean and hurt Fridolina and say something that would surely upset her so.. you celebrated with your team. Like anyone in your position would.

That was your breaking point though — her being under the spotlight once again, proving that she’s so magnificent and better than you and perfect.

Perfect, once again.

The worst part was, even as you sat in the changing rooms on your own, fighting back tears, you knew you couldn’t entirely loathe her out of any amount of jealousy. You couldn’t loathe her more than you loathed your own mind, which betrayed you by worshipping her like some sort of idol.

The rude awakening that you worshipped her settled in as you tried to ignore the fact she was the type of person you prayed to be like, to a god you barely believed in.

Fucking perfect angel Fridolina. Damn you.

#Spotify #fc barcelona #woso #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femení #woso community #barca femeni #futfem #barcelona femeni #football #woso imagines #woso x reader #x reader #frido rolfö #fridolina rolfö #fridolina rolfo x reader #swewnt #sweden #vfl wolfsburg frauen #b14augrana’s gifs

[im-subtextsexual]

I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense. 

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay. 

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

#did i really just fanfic a whole season of Bridgerton to prove a point? #of course i did! #GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!! #bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #eloise x cressida

[catch1ngmoths]

Hi ok so I was wondering if you can do a comfort fic with joost? Like joost sees readers past SH scars and reader really hates them and finds them disgusting but joost just kisses readers wrist and reader just starts bawling 😔🫶 if this makes u uncomfortable you don’t have to write it I won’t be upset! 🫶🫶🫶

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ STRAWBERRY GASHES⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝄞⨾“Watch me falter, Your living like a disaster. She said kill me faster with strawberry gashes all over” - jack off Jill𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

Summary: you have self harm scars but you’ve never told your boyfriend, Joost. One day you forget about the scars and wear somthing that reveals them. Much to your surprise Joost isn’t as disgusted in them as you are.

Note: thank you for all the love on my last fic, I am currently running on….0 hours of sleep and it’s like 1pm where I live so I’m pretty exhausted so this will probably be my last fic for today unless I get bored! Also!! I see all y’all’s requests and even though I don’t respond right away doesn’t mean I’m ignoring them or don’t see them! I like to respond to the request with the fic so you won’t know I saw it until the actual fic comes out! ^_^

Warnings: SELF HARM TW!! other then that just comfort and fluff >~<

༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚

You and Joost had been together for a few months and everything was going great! He loved you more than anyone else ever could, even if they tried. He held you when you felt anxious or upset. Felt excited with you when you were happy and made sure you were always take care of. Always.

But there was one thing you hid from him, something that ate you alive every single day. Joost always questioned with a chuckle why you wore long sleeves in 90 degree weather but you just shrugged it off, saying you were always cold. That was a lie, you were sweating but you were also hiding something that’d hurt you a little more than a little sweat.

Your old sh scars. You struggled with it on a daily basis, sure they were old but they still managed to haunt you. You felt disgusted by yourself everytime you caught glimpses of them and you were sure Joost would too. I mean…who would want a partner that has scars like that.?

Today was the day you find out because being to caught up in excitement to hang out with Joost you forgot about the scars that littered your arms (or anywhere else, so so sorry to be so an inclusive ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀)) you put on a pair of your favorite shorts and shirt and head out the door to joosts place, not even looking twice.

Once you arrive, an equally excited Joost greats you and drags you to his room. You weren’t even thinking about it, so in love with your boyfriend to even care. He didn’t even notice either, finding every part of you perfect…until.

Until you lifted your arm in a certain way, that put your scars on full display. You noticed that Joost stoped mid speaking and looked over to him to see his face that was full of emotion that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was a mix of sadness, confusion, fear, and shock.

You look at him confused until your eyes follow his that were deadpan staring right at your scars. You gasp softly and cover your scars, sitting up immediately. You felt ringing in your ears and your heart rate quickening. You lower your head and feel the tears of shame and embarrassment start to burn in your eyes.

You feel the touch of your beloveds soft fingertips grab your hand, interlocking y’all’s fingers and pulling your arm towards him. You keep your head down and squeeze your eyes shut trying to block everything out.

When you suddenly felt soft kisses on the places your scars were spread. Your eyes snap open and your head raises to look at Joost. He presses soft and gentle kisses on every.singe.scar. He makes sure to press 3 to each one for good measure.

Your heart feels heavy and you just burst into tears, Joost is close to tears as well. Once hes done you immediately jump into his arms, he strokes your back and whispers soft words of praise to you waiting for you to calm down.

Once you’re calmer, only small tears flowing down your wet cheeks he props you in his lap and holds you close. “I knew something was up when you kept wearing all those long sleeves..” he whispers almost kicking himself for not noticing sooner.

“I-I’m sorry… they’re old I promise!! A-and I just didn’t want you to see because they’re ugly and i just didn’t-” your cut off by a soft kiss being pressed to your lips. “Shh…you don’t have to give any explanation or reason unless you want to, okay?” He speaks with that signature smile that you loved so dearly

“You’re…you’re not disgusted.?” You ask looking up at him, he almost looks exasperated at your words. His eyes widening and mouth parting. “Disgusted.?! Why the hell would I be disgusted mijn geliefde, you’re so beautiful to me. Everything about you, even your scars.” He says with a soft smile and a kiss to your head.

“They’re gross, I ruined my skin and now they’re gonna be there forever…” you argue as you lower your head back down and play with his fingers, “so? Who cares, first of all they’re not gross, they’re not disgusting, you’re not ugly and will never be ugly. You’re not ruined and they just show how much of a fighter you are baby. Nothing to be ashamed about, promise.” He says interlocking your pinkies together

You smile and giggle softly, tears still staining your cheeks which Joost quickly kissed away making you laugh and push his head away, “Joost that tickles!!” You squeal as he smiles and peppers ticklish kisses over your face.

You knew no matter what you looked like or what happened or hell even what you went through he would always be there for you. He would forever and always be your biggest supporter. He loved you for you and nothing less.

#joost x fem reader #Joost x male reader #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost klein #joost klein x you #justice for joost

[pupyuj]

[cw: g!p liz, pregnancy, breeding kink, lactation kink]

i wasn’t meant to write anything for this bcs i was literally just sitting eating breakfast this morning when the thought of baby daddy jiwon graced my brain and i laughed at it for a second but then it got serious so now ya’ll have to indulge me bcs??? 🤤🤤 also not me saying that that one baby daddy yuj was the only time i’ll write abt pregnancy and yet here we are…

kinda long bcs i rlly loved the fluffy stuff so hehe have fun 💖

we’re all thinking about the same thing, right? your chaotic mess of a girlfriend jiwon feeling as if her whole world was turned upside down when you sit her down and give her the news in the morning where the two of you were supposed to go on a cute picnic date 😭 you can’t tell me she wouldn’t sit there for at least half an hour taking everything in, merely just staring at the wall with her mouth hanging open for so long you thought it would get stuck that way 😭😭 and ykw you were worried for a bit!! the two of you certainly didn’t plan on this happening and this was the clear result of both of you forgetting to use protection that one night where you were just eager to feel the other’s skin,, you half expected jiwon to be angry and lash out at you but no! ofc weird ass jiwon takes a deep breath before pulling you up to your feet and hugging you 🥺

she figured that the news was even harder on you since you were the one carrying the kid,, and being the amazing girlfriend she was, she prioritized your feelings over her own,, comforting you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when you broke down in her arms not bcs you were upset abt being pregnant or anything but bcs you were just relieved that jiwon wasn’t going to abandon you 🥺🥺 and you’d still go on that picnic date with her! it would be awkward at first but best believe she’s promising to be there for you and with you every step of the way whether or not you decide to keep the baby 🥹💞

i believe in the ‘jiwon would be a wonderful soon-to-be-daddy’ agenda! due to her genuine fear of fucking shit up, she’d probably read countless parenting books 😭😭 sure she knew how to take care of a little kid or two but not a baby! let alone one that she made! she’s reading books, getting ahead of the game and researching and possibly buying all the stuff your kid needs, asking her parents for advice… jiwonie just wants to be the perfect partner and parent 🥺💕 you’d find her in the kitchen one day practicing how to make milk—as in making sure it’s the correct temperature and that it tastes good.. don’t ask her how many times she has actually finished a whole tiny bottle of baby milk 😭😭

and now to the nasty parts! ☺️ if i remember correctly i said this same thing about baby daddy yuj (🤤… sorry—) but jiwonie would sometimes find herself staring at you and thinking back to the night she got you knocked up! it would be worse with her though—unlike yujin’s massive ego showoff, she’s more… dreamy about it? 😭 like she’s really basking in every detail of that night from the stumbling-into-your-bedroom shit while giggling, practically ripping each other’s clothes off while making out, jiwon surprising you with her hidden strength when she suddenly just pushes you into the bed and quite literally gives you the best fucking of your life?? all that of that along with seeing that growing bump in your stomach and your now swollen tits heavy with milk, well… nobody can blame jiwon from getting hard on the spot!

also becomes a clingy perv 🤤🤤 obsessed with backhugging you randomly and kissing your neck bcs it makes you giggle bcs ur ticklish and she loves hearing you laugh BUT ALSO you whimper and get goosebumps all over your skin so it just… turns her on so much 🫣 loves caressing your little baby bump while she half listens to you yap about your day and half touches you all over 😳 you don’t notice what she’s doing until one of her hands is squeezing your inner thigh and the other is making its way up to your breasts,, “our kid’s very lucky.. they have the prettiest mom in the whole world.” and she’s leaving marks all over your neck and shoulder while she feels up your soaked panties… 🫣🫣

jiwon’s a love-maker so expect to be gently fucked while standing by the sink! has definitely memorized each and every spot that has you scratching her arms and curling your toes so you were just completely at her mercy the entire time! the contrast of jiwon telling you the sweetest and prettiest things in your ear while she softly fucks you into an orgasm that has you seeing white?? see, she’s all hot and sexy while fucking you but then you turn around after getting situated and you see a wet spot in the middle of her pants.. even she would laugh and cover up her red face 😭 but she can’t help it okay?! it’s totally normal for someone to cum while fucking their partner.. jiwon just happened to be so stinking cute while doing so that you can’t help but take her to bed afterwards 🤭

now as we’ve established before, jiwon’s always taking care of you and that pretty much tripled every time you wanted to do something ‘drastic’ in terms of sex!☝️ jiwon is always careful when in bed with you, only choosing positions that were safe and comfortable for you even if they weren’t for her! even if you have her rolling her eyes to the back of her head while you ride her, jiwon’s still looking out for you! whether it may be asking if you’re okay, if anything hurts, or just singing your praises to ease you 🥺🥺

jiwon’s so weak against dirty talk too?? 😭 especially when you tell her you want to make a big family with her bcs she knows that means you want her to get you pregnant over and over and yk what that does to her brain?? it almost literally shuts it down bcs she gets sooo turned on at the idea 😵‍💫 sometimes she even thinks about it when she’s cleaning up the house or at work and has to run to the bathroom bcs her fucking cock just wants to burst out of her pants 😭 baby can’t control it, she always needs you :((

ah yeah and the moment your tits start leaking?? it’s so over bcs you’d think that jiwon wouldn’t get even more obsessed with you than she already is but you’re so wrong‼️‼️ teases you and calls you ‘mommy’ a lot while licking and sucking away at your breasts.. and eye contact is a must bcs she loves the flush on your cheeks as you watched her lap all of your milk up! 🫣 and she definitely makes a joke abt being the one to drink your breastmilk if your kid ever gets tired of it but the two of you know damn well it’s not just a joke 🤭 jiwon also loves massaging your breasts to ease the tension in your shoulders and god her dick just gets so fucking hard when she feels her hands get wet w your milk 😵‍💫

in all of your years dating jiwon you never could have guessed that there was a gentlewoman in her! definitely the perfect balance of being a good mommy and a very charming daddy 🥺🥺 speaking of which, her knees turn into jelly whenever you ‘jokingly’ call her ‘daddy’ in and out of bed 🫣 she’s the cutest baby daddy ever 💕

#ive smut #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #ive imagines #ive scenarios #liz smut #liz scenarios #liz imagines #liz x fem reader #liz x reader #kim jiwon x fem reader #kim jiwon x reader #kim jiwon smut #kim jiwon imagines #kim jiwon scenarios #girl group x fem reader #girl group smut #girl group x reader #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #g!p liz #g!p kim jiwon #g!p ive #g!p idol

[dazednmatthews]

always, i’ll care~ number neighbor!matt x reader part fourteen point five

i know that this doesn’t seem like an important part but it is!!!! the song for this chap is perfectttt. y/n is jus like me fr yall gotta get off her. her lore is avoidant attachment and commitment issues like she’s jus a girl!!!

part 15 and 16 thursday night <3 i decided to write something really long and special for the last chapter so 17 will be up friday or saturday at the latest. and then we’re done 🥹 soooo crazy boots. love u all always.

the hum of y/n’s AC unit is killing her into a dissociative state. she’s been staring at the countertop in front of her for what feels like hours, unmoving.

it’s been about a week of no contact with matt. a week since she ripped her own heart out of her chest and squashed it in to the sidewalk between them. she stares at their messages often, rereading the texts with muted emotion. she wants to text him, she always fucking does, but she just can’t.

there’s a burning in her eyes because she doesn’t know the last time she blinked, but she doesn’t care. she doesn’t even know why she’s so hellbent on running away. sure she’d been hurt before and that was a concern, but she knew matt was different. she could feel it.

and maybe that’s what made it so hard. she knew that they could be real and good and right. it’s enough to freak her out all over again.

the clattering of her ice maker snaps her out of the stupor, blinking furiously as she comes to. her apartment seemed too small, too condensed. it didn’t help that she now knew what it was like to have matt here, flashes of that night bleeding into the memory of every space in there. from the living room to the bathroom to her fucking bed, he was everywhere.

don’t even get her started on the pictures she has in her phone. the ones of matt over facetime, the ones of them smiling at each other in face masks, even the ones from the day they met, doing dumb shit. it all serves as a vile reminder that she fell into the same grueling self sabotage she thought she’d healed from.

the tears are pricking her eyes painfully, and the words from a week ago are reverberating unforgivingly in her head. “whenever you’re ready, whenever you want to stop hiding, i’ll be here, y/n.”

she wants to be ready, wants to to stop being so fucking avoidant. she knows that the longer she takes, the more matt will be hurt, and that’s the last thing she ever wanted to purposefully do.

the truth is, y/n doesn’t want to be dispensable. this whole thing with matt started because of her. her boredom, her interest, her persistence. she’s always felt like matt has had the upper hand. he could walk away so easily, at any time, and that fucking terrified her. especially now, with all the feelings she has for him and the way he’s pretty much become the most important person in her world. she hated that, being out of control. so she had to get it back somehow. it just so happened that somehow included breaking her own heart, anyway.

when she finally walks away from the spot she’d been standing her phone rings. the terror and excitement that she feels in that moment make her hands shake, but when she looks at the caller ID, she sees it’s her best friend. she doesn’t know whether be more relieved or disappointed.

“hey,” she says quietly. she’s tired, has been for days.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” it comes from love, so y/n just sighs.

“not now, daria.”

“um, fuck that.” she can hear shuffling from the other end. “you’ve been moping for a week. you still haven’t texted him?”

y/n feels her heart squeeze at the question. “i don’t know what to say.”

“bullshit.”

she tries again. “i don’t want to hurt him.”

“bullshit.”

“i’m not ready.”

daria scoffs a laugh, like her friend just said the funniest thing in the world. “can you guess what i’m gonna say next?”

y/n rubs at her eyes. “bullshit.” she mumbles.

“exactly.” there’s a pause in her words, and y/n can hear what sounds like the washer in the background. “you’re in love with that man, y/n. you’ve talked every day for like what? three months now?”

“four.”

“oh my bad,” the sarcasm makes y/n smile the tiniest bit. “four months. and you talk about him constantly. i literally know basically everything about him too.”

“i know, but-“ she tries to interject but daria is having none of that.

“no buts. what are you afraid of?”

y/n is stumped. not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because she does. “what if i go all in and he decides that this isn’t what he wants? or i fucking tell him how i feel and he fucks me over?”

there’s a pause. and then, “you’ve gotta be the dumbest bitch i’ve ever met.”

“oh, okay.” y/n blinks.

“i love you, very dearly. like immensely. but the only person in this relationship that has given any feelings of doubt or uncertainty is you.” it quite literally feels like a shock goes through her entire body as her best friend continues. “you quite literally told the man that it was never that serious and that he needed to relax. meanwhile, he basically confessed his love for you.”

she feels herself cringe at the reminder of her matt’s last conversation. from the look on his face to the way that she felt. it’s probably her biggest regret, maybe ever, because all she did was say a bunch of words she didn’t mean. bullshit, as daria would say.

“please don’t fucking remind me.”

“you need to be reminded. constantly, actually.” y/n rolls her eyes at her friends brashness. “you’ve got to get out of your head, y/n. you and matt are clearly made for each other. you clearly care about him, and he’s obviously obsessed with you. getting hurt is scary, it fucking sucks, but that’s just apart of life.”

“the way i see it, you have two options. either you keep being a coward in fear that something bad could possibly happen, ruining something potentially amazing before it starts, or you fucking nut up and let yourself feel without restrictions. be open to his feelings, be open to all the possibilities and be open to yourself.”

you know that moment when you finally find that post you’d been searching for? or when you finally remember the name of a song that was stuck in your head? that feeling is exactly what y/n feels in that moment. like the connection between her head and her heart is finally, finally growing back.

“i hate when you make sense. it pisses me off.” y/n says through a tear or two, because feelings are fucking scary. “i love you.”

daria laughs and her voice is kind. “i love you, too. now stop wallowing and go get your man.”

y/n can feel something close to hope filling her. the wheels turning in her head are telling her that she knows exactly what she has to do. “yeah, i think i will.”

TAGLIST:

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[pprodsuga]

Idk if you take requests but would you consider writing camboy!sunghoon who has a crush on yn

tbh leave a line and i just might answer x

***

Sunghoon’s camera sits on a tripod that overlooks his bed where his body is between your already-spread legs. His mouth licks at your folds at a pace that matches the slow and sensual rhythm of the music he’s chosen. Your hands rake through his hair and he hums in appreciation with his eyes closed, tongue occasionally pushing inside of you in a way that makes your toes curl.

You’re not the first girl he’s invited on a livestream, but you’re the first and only girl he’s brought on more than once.

His primarily female audience takes note of this immediately. After the second time they see your face in his videos, they’re quick to speculate and come up with different theories about who you might be to their favorite creator. But your social media doesn’t give up anything aside from the fact that you both follow each other. There’s no record of you two engaging publicly besides cross-promoting each other’s work on your respective platforms.

You’re sure his die hard fans would kill to be in your spot. It’s evident when you turn your head to see the monitor where comments on Sunghoon’s livestreams are spilling at a rate that makes your head dizzy.

sunghoonscumslut: if i had a man as fine as hoon between my legs and i was as quiet as her, I’d check myself into therapy

cumwithme: why is this the third time she’s been in his livestream?? can we get someone new lol

You feel Sunghoon gently slap your thigh, pulling your attention away from the monitor in favor of focusing on him. His mouth is so warm and wet that you almost feel sorry for all of the fangirls who only dream of being in your position. Truthfully, you aren’t sure why you’re the only person Sunghoon has invited back onto his channel. It’s not like the two of you made an outperforming video. It’s high in numbers but it doesn’t shatter his top video with another creator from a few months ago.

Sunghoon coaxes you through your orgasm and allows your legs to squeeze his head when you reach your peak high. He breathes through his nose as your cum hits his tongue and laps up the juices that spill from the corner of his mouth, relishing in the way your back arches off of his bed. Sunghoon takes a peek at the monitor that shows him what the two of you look like so that he can anticipate what might be a more sensual angle for his audience. But in this moment, your eyes rolled to the back of your head outweighs what his viewers want to see.

“See guys?” Sunghoon says as he addresses the camera, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands. “That’s how you eat pussy.” He looks down at you and smiles when you’ve regained your balance and look up at him as you prop yourself on his elbows.

“I can’t feel my legs.” He laughs before turning back to skim the comments.

“Aw. You wish that was you, huh?”

The heat between your legs pools once again when you realize he’s mocking his audience. You’re sure he’s seen some of the nastier comments because of the strange nature of your face reappearing in his videos.

Sunghoon pulls you by your legs until you’re nearly rocking off the edge of the bed and relishes in the surprised gasp you let out. He’s sliding his warm dick between your folds to prep himself as he stares at the influx of comments, half of which are begging him to put it inside of you, the other half begging for him to take a chance on them.

“I wish you guys could feel how wet she is.” Sunghoon grips himself and smacks his tip against your slit for emphasis. The wet noise picks up on the microphone and you’re quite shocked at how wet you’ve become with little time to recover between your last orgasm until now.

Sunghoon sinks in slowly. It’s like he wants to torture his followers with the way he inches himself in without rushing. He laughs when he watches all of the comments either asking him to start fucking you or to pull out entirely and find somebody new. None of that matters him when he’s got you looking pretty beneath him.

He sets a pace that gradually picks up speed and his audience can tell something’s different about him. Sunghoon’s built a reputation for fucking fast and hard, putting his partners in their place when they move even a hair out of line. He’s rough and demanding, talking down on his scene partner in a way that makes being degraded feel like they’ve reached a point of euphoria where nothing besides him matters.

But he’s taking his sweet time with you, building up a pace until he’s comfortable thrusting in and out of you without shaking the bed like he usually would. It feels different than his first time with you, too. Sunghoon isn’t manhandling you with his fingers gripping deep into your flesh to the point where you’re convinced it would leave marks for days. Instead, he’s holding your hand like he wants you to know here’s right there with you.

Sunghoon moves you position after position until you’ve come around him with your body pinned between his chest and his mattress. He follows soon after he watches the way your face contorts in pleasure, looking down at you like he can’t believe he’s getting to witness your orgasm.

Evidently, Sunghoon’s audience can’t believe he’s looking at you like this either. It’s a change of script. It’s abnormal for Sunghoon to treat his scene partner like a delicacy he wants to savor. They’re used to his unforgiving pace, hips moving so elegantly that his partners babble on and on about how lucky they are to be fucked by him.

Similarly, his comments are flooded with confusion and curiosity when he peppers your entire face with kisses.

They’re used to his brutal nature, finishing on tits or ass until he makes his parter thank him for a job well done before shutting the livestream off. The aftercare—cleaning his scene partner up and checking in with them for mental and physical’s sake—comes after all of the cameras are off to maintain this attitude. This is typically when Sunghoon discards his persona and regains consciousness as the typical Sunghoon away from the life of a camboy.

It’s surprising to his followers when they see him kiss you once your breathing has settled and when his own high has started to wear off. If you’re put off by his uncharacteristic tenderness, you don’t show it.

“So good for me,” he coos when he pushes himself off of you just to look down. Sunghoon looks at you with an expression you can’t read at this moment, but the warm smile he sends you makes your heart flutter.

Likewise, your sudden shyness makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. He wonders if his viewers can see.

***

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen hard hours #park sunghoon x reader #ask #anonymous #request

[eraenaa]

Masterlist

Helloooo! I'm Eraena, a college student who loves to write! Here's the masterlist of my works! (Aemond Targaryen, Feyd Rautha, Rafe Cameron, and Aegon Targaryen)

Cheat Sheet:

🏙️ - Modern AU

🐉 - A Song of Ice and Fire AU

🏛️ - Greek Mythology AU

🤍 - Personal Fave

👑 - Popular

U.N.I. Aemond Targaryen X Reader 🏙️ Synopsis: Where one of the sons of your mother’s estranged best friend attends the same university as you, and did I mention you were the reason why he lost his eye? 

From The Underworld and Beneath Aemond Targaryen x Reader 🏛️ Synopsis: You, the Goddess of Spring, were captured by the King of the Underworld, who was intent on keeping you there.

My Knight in Darkened Armor Knight Aemond Targaryen x Princess Reader 🐉 🤍 Synopsis: Ser Aemond Targaryen has been tasked to be the sworn protector of a princess who is overly curious about life beyond the castle walls and has bribed him to escort her to the city in exchange for anything he desires. She just did not know that what he desired was her.

A Bastard's Bride, A Dragon's Desire Aemond Targaryen x Princess Reader 🐉 Synopsis: They have betrothed you to Jacaerys as a way of securing a line to the throne if they fail in usurping your half-sister’s crown. Your older brother Aemond was livid at the decision.

Flipped Aemond Targaryen X Reader 🏙️ 🤍 Synopsis: You had been infatuated with Aemond since you two were children. You could not remember a day when you did not feel anything but adoration for him— not until recently. When something in you turned indifferent, it did not go unnoticed by Aemond, who had never been a fan of change. 

Stereotypical Aemond, Son of Ares x Reader, Daughter of Aphrodite 🏛️ Synopsis: The daughter of Aphrodite falls for one of the sons of Ares— the second coming of their parents. 

One More Night Aemond Targaryen X Reader 🏙️ Synopsis: You were quick to leave after a one night stand, leaving Aemond dissatisfied, for he wanted so much more. When he found you again, he was sure to never let you go. 

The Prince and the Poet Aemond Targaryen X Lannister Reader 🐉 Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Jealousy, Jealousy Aemond, Son of Ares x Reader, Daughter of Aphrodite 🏛️ Synopsis: It’s frustratingly hard to keep admirers and doubts away when you and your partner are the most attractive and powerful Demi-Gods in camp.

Most Ardently Aemond Targaryen X Tyrell Reader 🐉 Synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen had accompanied his younger brother to Highgarden in hopes of securing Daeron a wife— he did not expect he would want to secure a wife for himself as well. 

The Prince's Prize Aemond Targaryen X Riverlady Reader 🐉 Synopsis: After his victories in the Riverlands, Prince Aemond Targaryen sought for a trophy— his spoils of war. He sought for you, the daughter of the lord who hosted him whilst he wagged his war.

But Daddy, I Love Him Aemond Targaryen X Niece Reader 🐉 🤍 👑 Synopsis: When the favored daughter of Daemon Targaryen falls for the favored son of Alicent Hightower, the Rogue Prince does everything he can to ensure that a union between the two of you will never happen. 

Gold Rush Aemond Targaryen X Lannister Reader 🐉 🤍 👑 Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Desperate Requirement Slytherin Aemond Targaryen x Reader 🏙️ Synopsis: It’s hard being horny at Hogwarts. Luckily, you and Aemond always found a way to relieve your needs.

Mine Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader 🐉 👑 Synopsis: You are the best thing that has ever been Aemond’s, which is why you cannot really blame him for being so possessive and cautious not to lose you. 

Loathe to Love Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader 🐉 🤍 Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

King of My Heart King Aemond Targaryen x Queen Reader 🐉 Synopsis: Marriage, miscarriage, and the monarchy… how would you and your husband fare to them all?

Bound By Blood Aemond Targaryen x Princess Reader 🐉 🤍 Synopsis: They can no longer hinder Aemond from taking whatever he wants, and you are the only one he desperately wants. 

Birthday Present Feyd-Rautha x Lady Reader 🤍 👑 Synopsis: During a state visit, you, a daughter of one of the great houses, have captured the attention and fatal attraction of the Na-Baron and were quickly turned into his promised wife. 

Bittersweet Feyd-Rautha x Lady Reader 👑 Synopsis: As the Na-Baron's proposed bride, you were simply too sweet for him and his bitter being. You were too innocent and pure to be tainted by the blood-stained hands of the Harkonnen heir.

Casual Rafe Cameron x Reader Synopsis: You would settle for causality as long as you had Rafe by your side. 

Still Casual? Rafe Cameron x Reader Synopsis: You promised yourself that you’re never going to settle for casual ever again— promised yourself you would never be another casualty of Rafe Cameron. 

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) Rafe Cameron x Reader 👑 Synopsis: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Imgonnagetyouback Rafe Cameron x Reader 🤍 Synopsis: The plan is clear. Get Rafe back after your breakup. 

So High School Rafe Cameron x Reader 🤍 Synopsis: He knows how to ball, you know Aristotle

Trouble Maker, Stress Reliever Aegon Targaryen X Reader 🏙️ Synopsis: You’re a prefect tasked with taming Aegon’s unruly behavior. Strained by your task, he offers you a way to relieve the stress he caused.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon smut #team green #house of the dragon #hotd smut #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #dune smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #obx fanfiction

[cobaltperun]

Genius (3) - Own It

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word count: 4k

-I will never run from it when I’m in the moment, I’m gonna own it own it ain’t afraid to own it-

Winnie chose to spend the night at Cairo’s place, it was big, Cairo was often lonely, she liked spending time with Cairo, it was a win-win situation. Besides, the beds were really comfortable. How long ago has she fallen in love with the girl? With her mysterious aura, a hard to approach exterior with a surprisingly softer side, with the acceptance of others she didn’t expect from someone born in Cairo’s circumstances. And it didn’t hurt that Cairo was beautiful, but none of that mattered. Cairo just didn’t see her that way.

Cairo never really saw anyone that way, she was stuck in her books and writing, and Winnie never realized what it was that Cairo wanted. She thought Cairo wanted more books, more of what she already loved. But then you said you’d take Cairo out of the village and Winnie swore she saw something she never saw in Cairo’s eyes. You and Cairo knew each other, that much she understood, but you’ve been apart for at least the past four years. And you, just like that, in one sentence, made Cairo look lost in her thoughts, a yet to be opened book in her hands.

And even worse than that Winnie heard your name before, though Cairo never talked about you. Between Cairo’s reaction to recognizing you, and then her willingness to let you take her out, take her somewhere outside of the village, there was no doubt in Winnie’s mind that you were the same person from that night.

~X~

Cairo was in a really bad mood the whole week and Winnie wanted to cheer her up, but nothing was working. It was like it didn’t matter that they had good weather, that a small cinema just opened in the village. Well, Cairo wasn’t much of a movie fan, she preferred her books, so that didn’t do much for her, but it was something new in their village! And as hard as Winnie tried, she couldn’t understand why Cairo was in a bad mood. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, yet the girl didn’t want to leave her bed.

“Come on, Cairo, talk to your Winnie,” she tried to poke her, but Cairo just pushed her hand away.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she muttered, though Winnie could see her eyes were a bit puffy. And the open book next to Cairo’s head looked a bit wet.

Winnie sighed. Why wasn’t anything working? She groaned, losing her patience with the girl and leaving her bedroom. She’d go and make some food for Cairo, since she wasn’t sure when was the last time the girl ate, but as she came back after spending way too much time deciding on what to make for Cairo with a sandwich in hand she realized Cairo was asleep.

Cairo mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, not for the first time, she often talked in her sleep, though Winnie rarely got the opportunity to hear it. Well, at least she was sleeping. She figured she should leave, and so she placed the plate on Cairo’s nightstand and turned to leave. She didn’t dare to push a few strands of Cairo’s hair out of her face.

“Wait,” Cairo muttered and for a moment Winnie’s heart skipped a beat, but when she turned she saw Cairo was still asleep. “Y/N,” the girl said a name Winnie never heard before, but she said it with so much longing Winnie could have sworn her own heart broke for the girl. Who was she dreaming about? Why did she never mention this ‘Y/N’? She didn’t know, she wouldn’t dare to ask because the tone of Cairo’s voice told her enough already.

~X~

The moment Cairo realized who you were that night came to Winnie’s mind and at first Winnie was worried. She wasn’t sure how Cairo would react, and more importantly she wasn’t sure what made the two of you separate. Yet that worry began fading when she realized just how softly you were looking at Cairo, she saw the same longing in your eyes, the same intensity as the longing she heard in Cairo’s voice.

And though she could admit she was feeling jealous that you so openly looked at Cairo like she was the only one in the room, she was glad whatever separated you and Cairo didn’t leave you mad at the girl.

“What are you thinking about?” Winnie finally chose to speak up and if Cairo wasn’t as composed as she was she was sure the girl would have jumped a bit.

“Just childhood,” she said as she got up and placed the book back on the shelf, and Winnie saw that it was some book by Jules Verne, which wasn’t too unusual, but it definitely wasn’t the genre Cairo was currently into.

“About Y/N?” she asked, observing carefully as Cairo went stiff, as she looked to the side, refusing to meet Winnie’s gaze.

“It doesn’t matter, I have other things to do,” Cairo grabbed a pack of cigarettes and went to her laptop, and Winnie got a message, she didn’t feel like talking about you.

But she still agreed to go with you, and while she didn’t say it, and while she tried to hide it, Winnie knew her well enough by now. Cairo wanted you back in her life.

~X~

Saturday came way too quickly! Between classes, settling down, handling the moving, well, a handful of things that you couldn’t carry on your motorcycle being shipped to you, and all the small details that took up your time you felt like you blinked, and Saturday arrived!

You haven’t seen Cairo since Monday, and you had to admit you were a bit too anxious for your own liking. What would you talk about? Would you be able to go back to the way things were before she suddenly cut you off from her life? No, of course it couldn’t be the same. It’s been years, you were different people now. Would she be okay with riding on your motorcycle? Was that pushing her too far out of blue? Forcing her to be that close to you? Maybe you should take your parents’ car? Did it have enough gas though?

Maybe you should, but you weren’t that experienced with cars, you were much more comfortable on your motorcycle and you didn’t want to be a nervous mess in front of Cairo. Well, any bigger nervous mess than you were going to be in less than half an hour.

Motorcycle it is! If she isn’t comfortable, you’ll just go back and get the car. With that in mind you went to get dressed, opting for simple jeans and a white T-shirt, with your jacket, gloves, and boots.

And now you just sat there, taking deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You didn’t even specify the time! And you didn’t get her bloody number!

“Damn it!” you yelled, almost slamming your helmet and the rest of the protective gear on and got on your motorcycle. You’ll figure shit out with her instead of torturing yourself like this!

~X~

She should have asked you for your number. She should have told you exact time you should meet up. Was she supposed to come to you, or would you come to her house? Why didn’t she think this out more carefully?!

All things considered, Cairo’s been ready for an embarrassingly long time, for about two hours now. Since seven in the morning since she could barely sleep last night. And she spent an hour going through her wardrobe, never quite happy with what she was wearing. In the end she chose to go with black shorts and a button-up baby blue shirt. She was so distracted by her own worries that she nearly missed someone ringing her bell. It had to be you, after all, one of the last buses would leave in half an hour and after that you wouldn’t be able to leave for another three hours.

She took a deep breath and went to the front doors a bit too quickly for her own liking, but there was no going back now. She opened the doors and saw you, with a helmet in hand and a bit of a nervous smile on your face. You were wearing a sturdy-looking black jacket with red stripes going down the sleeves and your sides, it matched your gloves and helmet as well. Wait… A helmet? Her eyes widened. “When did you come back?” she blurted out, surprising you.

“Hm? Oh, Last Saturday night, I drove down the road,” you pointed with your thumb behind you. “So maybe you heard me? The lights were on,” you said and sure enough, there was a red motorcycle on the road, parked right next to her gate. You were her biker from last week.

“Sorry, yeah, I heard you, I just,” she frowned, hating the shakiness of her voice. “I did hear you, I just didn’t realize it was you,” she said, suddenly feeling stupid. Of course she didn’t realize it was you. Why would she? She didn’t know you were coming back, it never even crossed her mind that you’d come back, and she certainly never imagined you coming back on a motorcycle.

You smiled, as if you relaxed due to her embarrassing stammering. “It’s okay, hey, it’s just me,” you said softly, and Cairo nodded. “By the way, I know we didn’t specify the time, so, do you need me to wait for you, or maybe come later?”

“Now is fine, I’m ready,” she said and you rubbed the back of your head nervously.

“You should put jeans or something like that on,” you muttered. “And a jacket, sorry, I should have brought another one with me,” you apologized as Cairo blushed. Yeah, her shorts probably weren’t a good idea if you were going on a motorcycle. “Or would you like me to go get my parents’ car?”

She shook her head. “No, this is fine, I’ll go get changed,” in her nervousness she slammed the doors closed and then leaned her forehead against it. “I’m so stupid,” she whispered, feeling her face burning as she pleaded or the ground to open up and swallow her. First conversation in almost seven years, the first time alone after all that time and she was a nervous wreck. And now she pretty much slammed the door in your face to make things even worse.

She ran up the stairs and changed into the first jeans she came across and grabbed a denim jacket. It would have to do, she didn’t have anything as sturdy as wheat you were wearing. She looked at the mirror and blushed even harder when she realized her face was still so red. “Come on, Cairo, get it together,” she glanced outside her window, you were still there, still waiting for her. She really should have invited you in instead of closing the doors like that.

Well, there was no going back now. She went outside again and scratched her cheek a bit as you looked her over and nodded. This would do. She followed you to your motorcycle and stopped when you pulled guards for elbows and knees and shins out.

“I’m a careful biker, but better safe than sorry. Did you ever put these on?” you asked her.

“No,” she said and you dropped down to your knee.

“It might be better if I put them on you the first time, to make sure everything is in place. Is that okay with you?” you looked at her and waited until she nodded, not trusting her voice. You didn’t waste time or any movement, from what she could tell, just putting the guards on her legs and elbows and then taking the helmet and gently put it on her and she was thankful that the visor was already down because you were tucking her hair in and your fingers accidentally brushed against her neck and she just knew her entire face was about as red as it could get.

She would have to mark this date as the day filled with embarrassment and absolutely everything going wrong for her.

~X~

You managed to calm your nerves as the two of you got on the motorcycle, Cairo even placed her hands around your waist without you telling her and that was a relief, because you could tell she was nervous, but you weren’t sure if she wanted to talk or just relax during the ride, so, you remained silent for the most part.

When you got on the open road and drove for a few miles you felt her hands unclenching from their vice grip on your jacket and she seemed to relax a bit.

“Is this okay?” you asked her through the helmet’s communication system.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you do this a lot?” she asked.

“You mean riding? Or having a passenger?” you grinned a bit, hoping you weren’t making her feel awkward.

“Both actually,” Cairo loosened up a bit.

“Yes, for riding, no, for passengers, well, it happened a few times, but more because we didn’t have much of a choice than because I wanted someone behind me,” you told her.

“Mhm,” she accepted the answer, leaning a bit closer to you now, though maybe that was just to be safe.

About an hour later and only a bit of occasional questions and comments about the nature you rode past, you arrived at your destination. It was exactly what you promised, the beautiful view with river flowing nearby, a mountain cottage aesthetic to the restaurant and a nice live music playing just loud enough to enhance the feel.

You and Cairo sat down across one another and she gracefully took the menu. You were still early enough for a breakfast so you knew exactly what you wanted.

“All of this looks good,” she commented. “You went here before, right?”

You nodded. “Lots of times,” you didn’t want to admit it, but you wanted to go back to go back to the village several times, to maybe see if Cairo was still there, or ask her parents for a way to contact her, but you always changed your mind in the last possible second, turning around and coming here to take a break.

“Help me out then?” she requested with a small pout on her face.

“I suggest French toast with berries and whipped cream if you’d like something sweet, or an mushrooms and onion omelet,” you said, those were by far your favorites as far as breakfast menu went.

Cairo nodded as the waiter came over.

“Hey, Y/N, you brought company this time,” he was a polite man in his late twenties, and you came to the restaurant so regularly pretty much everyone on the staff knew you by now.

“Hello, yeah,” you met her eyes, silently asking for her permission to introduce her, and as if the years changed nothing between you she smiled a bit. “This is Cairo, my childhood friend,”

He turned to her and nodded, bowing slightly. “Nice to meet you, I’m Robert and I’ll be your waiter for the day. What may I bring you?”

“I’ll have French toast with berries and whipped cream, and a Coca Cola please,” Cairo said.

Robert nodded, writing it down and turning to you.

“Mushroom and onion omelet with iced tea,” you told him.

“Coming right up,” he nodded, leaving the two of you alone.

And, as if the small interaction broke all the tension between the two of you, you just leaned forward, your arms resting on the table with your gloves and your and Cairo’s helmets safely out of the way. ���Tell me everything,” you told her. “How have you been? What’s been going on these past years?”

Cairo didn’t lean as much as you, but she did get a bit closer. “I really don’t have a lot to tell you. You know how things are back home, nothing ever changes,” she said. “Well, we did get a cinema, and Winnie likes to go there often so, I guess I’ve been reluctantly watching movies.”

You laughed at that. Cairo and movies? Now that sounded almost ridiculous when you were kids. “For real? I’m glad she got you to try something new,” you replied, nodding to Robert as he brought your drinks.

“She’s persistent, but she’s been my best friend ever since I started high school,” Cairo said with a smile on her face, and you could tell she cared about the girl.

“I’m happy to hear that,” and you were, you were worried she would still be lonely, but she found a best friend, one capable of dragging her to movies of all things.

“And you? I mean, as far as best friends go?” she asked, turning the glass in front of her before opening the bottle and pouring some of the Coca Cola in.

“I haven’t really stayed in one place long enough to get to that point. My parents moved a lot until I was fifteen,” you told her. “And after that, well, they settled down, but then I began moving since I turned sixteen and got my motorcycle,” you explained. You really did move a lot, and you never really made connections worth the best friend status. After all, Cairo did set a bar pretty high.

“So, you went and began traveling,” she looked through the window. “This is my first time outside our village,” you found it hard to believe, but looking at her face you realized she was telling the truth.

“You’ll have time to explore every place you want. You’re not late for anything,” you just told her, though you couldn’t tell her that you were happy you were the first one who got to take her somewhere. There, with the last hints of morning light shining through the window and illuminating her hair you felt your breath getting stuck in your throat.

For the first time in your life you didn’t think Cairo was pretty, she was beautiful, so effortlessly beautiful you found it hard to look away. And she didn’t change much from what you could tell. She was still a lot like she was when you were kids, only more closed-off from the looks of it.

You missed her, you missed this, even if having a meal in a restaurant wasn’t something you used to do as kids, well, without your parents taking you there at the very least. No, you just missed being with her, her voice, her eyes, her smile, you missed all of that.

And in the midst of that realization, you didn’t figure out something just as important. That there was a feeling that wasn’t there before emerging in your heart.

“You think?” she sounded uncertain.

You just nodded, even if she was uncertain you’ve met enough people to know that she was exceptional.

You ended up having a lunch at the restaurant as well, talking about random things, about a book Cairo read, or about a place you visited, or a movie Winnie made her watch, or a new song she recently heard. And that eventually moved the conversation toward music.

“Do you still remember everything you hear?” she asked, smiling fondly as if she was reminiscing about good old times when you and her would spend time reading. Well, when she would read and you’d listen.

“Unfortunately,” you chuckled, remembering way too vividly that teacher reading about… split fig. “Don’t ask, I have scars I wish I could erase from my memory,” you quickly raised a hand to stop her. It wasn’t even the split fig, as much as the circumstances during which you heard it.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, giving up on further questioning. “Did you consider learning to play an instrument?” she asked instead and you looked back toward the band.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you teased, looking back at her and watching her light up.

“You did, didn’t you?” Cairo sounded excited about the idea.

You just winked at her and hopped to your feet. “I’ll be back soon enough,” you jogged over to the band without waiting for her reply.

“Hey, Jack, mind if I borrow your guitar?” you opened with that, not even bothering to say ‘hi’ properly. You were a bit excited to play a song for her.

“Hello to you too, biker girl, which song are we playing?” he humored you, glancing behind you and seeing Cairo. He seemed to piece it together quickly enough.

“Just instrumentals this time. I don’t want to miss a thing, the guitar cover,” you told him, accepting the electric guitar and taking a seat.

You weren’t sure if Cairo would recognize the song, and maybe the lyrics would be a bit too much in case she already didn’t know the song. So, just this would do. You nodded to the rest of the band and they began playing. You waited for half a minute and then joined them and as you played you looked at Cairo, smiling back at you as she listened and swayed a bit to the soft tunes of the guitar you were playing.

Still, it didn’t look like she recognized the song, she just enjoyed the melody. And that was fine as well, perfect even as far as you were concerned.

The song ended and you thanked Jack before going back to Cairo. “I guess I can play a bit,” you said as you sat down.

“A bit? Yeah, that was a bit. What song was that?” she demanded but you just shook your head. “Come on, tell me!”

“You will never know!” you laughed, ignoring her pleading eyes.

“Please, I want to listen to it,” she tried again, but you were adamant on staying silent.

You might tell her later, not now though. She could live a bit longer without knowing the song.

~X~

The ride back was pleasant, the soft breeze, the almost empty open road, the smooth way you drove, as well as how easy it felt to just put her arms around your waist. When you parked outside her house, she almost reluctantly got off your motorcycle, but staying on it would have been too awkward to explain.

“Thank you for today, I loved it,” she said as you took off the knee and shin guards off her while she was handling the elbow guards.

“Thank you for accepting,” you reached up and helped her get the helmet off since she still wasn’t used to doing it. You didn’t take your own helmet off, just lifted your visor so she could see your eyes.

She felt at peace, she finally set foot outside her village, she just expanded her world and she did it with you. And she couldn’t think of a better person to do it with.

“I missed you,” she said, her hands reaching for your helmet and, as if in trance, you helped her take your helmet off and lowered it on your seat, and Cairo, she just stepped forward, hugging you not nearly as tightly as she wanted to do, but still, she was hugging you.

“I missed you too, Cairo,” you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her a bit closer.

She didn’t want the night to end, she wanted to invite you in, to talk more, to make up for lost time, to apologize and explain what happened that day, to tell you just how much she wanted to approach you. But she did none of that, she just separated from you once again and smiled at you as she watched you get on your motorcycle. “I’ll see you on Monday,” you said, and she nodded, eager to see you again.

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