#it’s as easy as breathing to take care of her

[cerisereids]

𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟮]

masterlist, part one

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- sfw, age gap (27-mid 40s), i’m spreading the italian american agenda w rossi!reader, reader lowkey has daddy issues but they’re working on it, alcohol use, jack is 7, rich old italian people antics, we love bonding w jack, hotch and r turn each other on w brownies??, insane sexual tension

a/n- dividers from @saradika-graphics and @reveriesources !!!

aaron straightens his tie in the mirror one final time, smoothing his hands down the front of his navy suit jacket.

“jack! let’s go!” he calls up the steps, followed soon by footsteps pattering down the steps.

“i’m coming, dad!” he whines, his voice high pitched, but loving all the same as he exits his bedroom.

aaron can’t help the pride swarming deep in his chest as he looks at his son in his christmas best, clad in a perfectly tailored dark green suit that nearly mirrors his completely. the invite said formal, and aaron doesn’t think he did too poorly. he’d learned to dress himself for work long ago, therefore transferring that knowledge to his son has so far proven to be quite easy. so far.

“alrighty, after you, kiddo,” he smiles down at the boy and holds the front door open with his back. he attempts to find his keys, juggling everything from christmas bags to wine bottles in his grasp, until he feels small fingers reaching into his pants pocket.

“here,” jack states, deadpanned, keyring dangling off his index finger.

“thanks, buddy,” he smiles, “can you hit unlock for me?” he does, which allows aaron to finally free his hands and get them to the party in one piece.

the large house is already bustling, aglow with golden christmas lights laced through the large bushes out front, a jolly statue of santa welcoming whoever may cross the threshold. penelope lets them in, greeting him with a large hug that was no doubt induced by the hard eggnog jj makes every year.

“hi, penelope,” he smiles warmly down at her, pleased to be seeing the people he so deeply cares for in a positive environment, for once.

jack is quick to find henry, off to run amok throughout david’s expansive home. he sets the wine down on the wide kitchen island, cluttered with an array of appetizers, desserts, and various drinks. he pours himself a whiskey, and nearly drops the glass when he turns to exit, stopped in his tracks by her.

“hello, aaron,” the girl before him says gently. her manicured hands coil cunningly around her wine glass, red silk sculpting her figure in a way that makes his brain short circuit.

the sound of his name on her lips takes his breath away, and all he can muster is a hushed, “hi,” he’s unable to take his eyes off you.

his eyes can’t help but dip lower than he let them the other week, committing the peaks and valleys of her curves in that dress to memory. he’s thankful for the vibrant scene surrounding you in the busy kitchen, lest he made it unbearably awkward.

“whatcha got there?” she nods at his drink, and it zaps him back to reality like an electrical shock.

“oh!” he gasps, his gaze snapping down to his glass, “just-whiskey…it seems your father knows what i like,” he smiles sheepishly, his fingers patting against the cold glass.

“one thing italian men never mess around with is good liquor,” she smiles cunningly, stealing the remaining bits of breath from his lungs, “cheers,” she raises her glass to him and he clinks his against it, his eyes never leaving hers for one second.

“nice to see you, aaron,” she coos and places a soft hand on his forearm, wide doe eyes boring into his before exiting the kitchen. her hand lingers on him until it’s no longer physically possible, her nails scraping down his forearm as she goes. a shiver unzips down his spine, both at the touch, and at the sudden loss of her warmth.

“cheers,” he breaths out, after she’s gone. his eyes fall shut in the wake of her perfume, notes of jasmine and cedar left wafting through the air. he can’t help but take a quick inhale, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

he plows five fingers through his hair before taking a large gulp of whiskey. he needs to get it together. what is he, 15?

a sly whistle approaching from his left keeps him from his spiral. his eyes jokingly roll as he sees derek saunter up to him, penelope close in tow.

“aa-ron hotch-ner,” derek stresses each syllable, clapping his hand on aaron’s shoulder.

aaron hides a smirk behind another sip of the brown liquid in his glass, the smokiness coating his throat.

“now what was all that about?” derek points a thumb in the direction she walked off on, an arm slung over aaron’s shoulder. he purses his lips, gaze tilted downwards to mask the hint of red dusting his cheeks.

“nothing. that was nothing,” he turns to look at derek, and he knows the glint in his eyes gives him away entirely.

“you sly dog,” derek nudges aaron’s shoulder with his own, before leaving him to refill his drink, now alone with penelope.

“sir…” she gives him a knowing stare, leaning her forearms against the kitchen island.

he holds up a finger, eyes wide in an attempt to delay the inevitable, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth, “penelope. don’t,” he asserts, but the childlike giddiness fluttering through his chest invokes a cheeky grin that prevents his sternness from having any real effect.

she lifts her finger, mirroring his, “sir…” she says again, higher pitched this time, a sense of urgency seizing her tone.

“penelope…” he repeats himself, urgent tone matching hers, his eyebrow quirking.

he catches the quickest flash of red from his peripheral, and he double takes, his attention immediately stolen by her lighting up the living room. his heart squeezes with a sudden urge to meet her there, to place his hand on the small of her back and revel in her story, to be there for her. it’s all he’d thought about since he met her, in her father’s kitchen, where he now stands once more.

ever since that godforsaken night, when he needed to borrow a globe of all things, he’s laid awake at night, grasping onto her soft vanilla scent. it was a complete contrast to the seductive aroma she spritzed on for tonight, though she was intoxicating no matter what. he thought of the alcohol on that wafted off her tongue, how badly he wanted to just lean down and taste it.

in his daze, he forgets penelope is there. she follows his line of sight and snaps her gaze back toward him, “sir!” she gushes, her tone incredulous. her smile is scandalous, but proud. it’s a knowing smile, one that knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, something he doesn’t really quite know himself yet.

his eyes dart to either side before leaning into her slightly, “we never had this conversation,” he mumbles lowly, raising a pointed brow at her. her eyes widen, because this time, there was no smile masking his intensity.

the flared sleeves of your silk dress fall down your arm, showcasing your tennis bracelets. the gold and diamonds sparkle in the soft glow of golden christmas lights wound through the comically large christmas tree standing proud in the living room. you grasp the stem of your wine glass as you squeeze into the eager arms of uncles, cousins, and old family friends.

old, italian men take up every square inch of the living room, wine glasses in hand, all waiting with rapt anticipation to hear stories from new york. the pride in their eyes prods at your stomach like a fire iron.

you appease them anyway, indulging in emotionally safe memories, like the time you drunkenly walked across the street in the middle of times square just to get a slice of pizza.

that earns you a robust roar of laughter, and the sound reminds you of all the christmases you’ve spent in this very room. the smell of cigars they carry on their suit jackets, the wine that will inevitably stain their mustaches, it all invokes a pang of nostalgia coiling around your heart, squeezing until you’re near tears.

“look at you! our topolina all grown up!” your oldest uncle squeezes your cheeks together, and you gently clasp your free hand around his wrist.

“and she still manages to come see her papà for christmas!” another one of your uncles calls out in sarcastic annoyance. the low mumble of hearty chuckles fills the room, and you force a smile on your lips.

your heart twists around itself as you absorb the loving gazes of the men who have watched you grow, who have rooted for you from the moment you were born. a sinking feeling settles in your stomach, you can’t help but feel you’ve let them all down, you’ve let your father down, by returning here.

when you got accepted into nyu, your family was over the moon. they threw parties, you received gifts, money, one of your uncles even called his real estate buddy over in new york and cut you a deal on an apartment. guilt pools in your stomach like acid, because they don’t know. they don’t know you’re not just here for the holidays, they don’t know about your failure.

a small body knocks you out of your shame-spiral, and you nearly spill your wine on yourself.

“oh! i’m sorry, ma’am!” a young boy exclaims, reaching to pick up the pieces of the toy that clattered to the floor. you smile at the boy, he didn’t mean it after all. the furrow of his brows and stressed tone tells you that much.

“that’s okay, sweetie!” you squat down as much as you can in the silk encasing your body, helping him pick up any remaining pieces he missed, “here you go!”

“thanks!” he smiles toothily at you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of deja vu deep in your chest, like you’ve seen his face somewhere before.

it compels you to ask, “hey, what’s this all about?” referring to his, what seems to be very intricate, lego set.

“it’s a lego plane! could you please help me put it together again?” he grins at you, and you return it.

“of course!” you reply, eager to escape the guilt that’s swirling through your stomach like a whirl pool.

you and the boy, who’s introduced himself as jack, sit tucked in the corner of the living room, hidden by the expansive christmas tree. you click pieces into place and revel in the sweet boy’s satisfaction.

“you’re pretty good at this!” he exclaims, and you send him a sweet grin.

“thanks! i had lots of experience when i was your age,” you state in a light, airy voice, and he giggles.

“you don’t play legos anymore?” he inquires, so genuine and earnest your heart aches.

“no, i don’t. maybe i should, though,” you consider, handing him a piece of the wing.

“yeah, you totally should!” he replies, as if it were that easy to hold onto your childhood, “if you don’t play legos, what do you do for fun?”

you laugh at the insinuation in his tone, and ponder his question.

“i like to write…” you trail off, unsure of what else to say about that. luckily, jack solves your problem for you.

“you write for fun? my teacher makes me do that!” he scrunches up his nose and you laugh. it’s a genuine one, one that comes from your belly and throws your head back.

“would it make things better or worse if i said my other hobby is reading?” you jokingly raise a brow at the boy, and he groans in disgust, spurring on additional bouts of laughter from the both of you.

jack clicks the final piece into place, his eyes lighting up as he holds the finished product in the air, moving it above his head like an actual airplane.

“nice teamwork, man!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which he eagerly accepts.

“thanks for helping me! teamwork is key. that’s what my dad always tells me,” he states nonchalantly, eyes trained on the aircraft balancing delicately in his hands.

“your dad sounds like a smart man,” you smile, “you’re pretty lucky you got such a cool toy, too.”

“yeah, i am,” he smiles to himself, and his sincerity warms your heart, “my dad didn’t get me this, though. it’s from my uncle dave,” he states matter of factly, completely innocent to the information he just gave you.

“your uncle dave? like the man who threw this party uncle dave?” you verify, and he nods. your heart rate picks up as the puzzle pieces in your mind click into place. it couldn’t be. could it?

“jack?” you hear a familiar voice call, and your heart drops to your stomach, that final piece snapping into place. of course. “jack, where are you buddy?”

“right here, dad!” he leaps out from behind the tree and you reluctantly follow suit, nearly tripping over the hem of your dress in a weak attempt to stand.

you make eye contact with aaron once you’re stable on two feet. you’re unable to take your eyes off him, really. he takes pause when he sees you, and it’s like the world tilts off its axis, completely freezing in time. a hint of confusion laces his gaze, but it’s mostly masked by an air of desire as his eyes flit quickly over your frame once more. he lingers on your right hand, still clutching your wine glass, eyes darkening at the bracelets that dangle from your wrist. interesting.

the rustling of his son before him startles him out of his daze, and he plows ten (incredibly thick) fingers through his hair before he lets out a weak chuckle, “hey buddy!” he ruffles his son’s hair and the boy wraps his arms around his dad’s torso. fuck.

“what were you up to, my man?” he asks, kneeling to get to his level.

“i accidentally bumped into this nice lady, so she helped me put my plane back together!” he exclaims, beaming with pride as he shows his father the finished product.

“wow! well that was really nice of her,” his eyes snap up to meet yours quickly before going back to his son, the brief contact shocks your heart all the same, “did you say thank you?”

“yes, dad!” he whines, sounding a bit annoyed that his dad still thinks he has to ask him that. his petulant tone pulls a chuckle from your throat, and it causes both boys to turn their identical chocolate eyes onto you.

“he did, he was incredibly polite,” you gush, “we had lots of fun, didn’t we?” he nods enthusiastically, and aaron chuckles. the adorable high pitched noise makes your heart to thump against your chest, and you take a gulp of wine.

aaron knew where jack was all night. he always does. he caught a glimpse of his little feet poking out from behind the tree, fussing about his new lego set. the shine of red silk glimmered in the tree lights next to him, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

he made quick work of excusing himself to the back patio under the guise of ‘getting some air’. from there, he had a clear view of the other side of the living room, where she and jack were planted, clicking various lego pieces into place.

he watched as jack’s eyes lit up, the way she made him laugh. it made his heart thump against his chest, the way she connected with jack like it was breathing. it disarms him, stealing the breath from his lungs. she’s good at that.

he watches now-jack already off somewhere with henry- the display of her neck as she takes a swig of wine. it’s the merlot he brought, he can tell from the deep red staining her glossy lips. his eyes study them, her plump, pink lips. he wonders what her lipgloss tastes like, his mouth watering from his urge to taste her sweetness, to steal the oaky tang of wine off the tip of her tongue. the corner of her mouth ticks up in a sly smirk, and his eyes snap up to meet hers, her devious gaze telling him he’s been caught.

“thank you, for uh-for taking care of jack for a bit,” he puts his hands in his pockets, his gaze falling to the floor as he speaks.

“oh! anytime,” she chirps, “he’s a really sweet kid, you must be really proud,” she’s playing him like a fiddle, he nearly melts into a puddle on the spot.

“yeah, yeah, i am,” he nods, finally making eye contact with a small smile. she returns it, the sly glint escaping her, now replaced by a soft, gentle smile and kind eyes.

“we had fun…it was better than being grilled by family about my return home,” she states, washing it down with another sip of wine.

he chuckles at that, “fair enough,” he mutters.

she smiles at that, “yeah, he just grilled me about how i don’t play legos anymore, much less interrogative.” this earns a heftier chuckle from aaron, and her eyes light up, his laughter spurring on her own.

“that sounds like jack,” he nods, a wide grin stretching his cheeks.

“he’s a great kid, really. he must get it from his dad,” her voice is saccharine as her hand briefly grazes his forearm. it’s like he’s been struck by lightning.

a light gasp escapes his chest at the brief contact, and his cheeks burn, “i-i don’t know about that,” his voice is raspy as he speaks, quickly clearing his throat afterwards.

her hand settles on his forearm, she begins to take a step closer and tell him something, but what he ends up hearing comes from behind him.

“sir!!!” penelope squeals, and they both freeze, eyes wide, “you’re wanted in the kitchen!! group photo!!”

his lashes kiss his cheeks as his head drops back slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips, “coming!” he calls over his shoulder. he nods at you curtly before turning towards penelope, contempt pooling like acid in his stomach.

“you can flirt later,” she jokes so only they can hear, winking at him before going off to pose everyone properly for the photo. he looks down and chuckles to himself as he falls in line.

as the party began to wind down, the easier it was for you to sneak off to your own space. most of the guests had left hours ago, but the bau members remained huddled around the kitchen table till the early hours of the morning. around midnight, you’re able to excuse yourself to your room. you wiggle out of your dress and relieve yourself of your shapewear, sighing as you pull on your buttery sleep set- light pink pants that flare at the bottom, with a matching short sleeve top that softly hugs your frame.

you pad over to your en-suite and scrub your makeup off, serums and lotions shining on your skin. you throw your hair up in a claw clip and slide on your glasses. just because you’re comfortable, though, does not mean you’re turned in for the night. you return back down the steps to grab some wine and dessert, seeing as there’s leftovers scattering every square inch of the kitchen.

the party moved itself outside, surrounded by the fire pit in the generous backyard. you smile to yourself as you see the group huddled around, and you itch to join them. you study the smile pinching your dad’s cheeks, and you long to be a part of something that makes him so happy. you’re not sure if you’d be wanted, though, so you resort to desserts and wine littering the kitchen island. you settle in with a riesling and a tray of cookies and brownies on either side of you, and turn on the expansive television in your father’s kitchen.

the low hum of parks and rec fills the kitchen as you pop the cork of the wine bottle, not bothering to pour a glass as your lips touch the spout. your eyes flit to the sliding glass door gliding open to reveal aaron. you pause, holding the bottle in front of you as you gulp down what’s in your mouth.

“hi,” you smile as he enters slowly, his own spreading his lips.

“hey, you tired?” he inquires, brow stern but eyes soft. he’s changed too, donning a dark pair of jeans and a white t shirt that hugs his bicep in a way that send an electric shock right to your brain.

“yeah, just came down for a midnight snack,” you smile, talking quietly even though you were the only two people in the house, “you should come join me,” you take a risk, patting the seat of the stool beside you.

“yeah, that sounds nice, it was getting loud out there,” he jokes, smiling softly as he fills his water bottle at the fridge.

he moves to sit next to you, ice rattling in his gray water bottle as his legs swing around the stool, nestling close to yours. he steals the wine bottle from your grasp, his brows shooting up into his forehead with a cheeky smirk. you shamelessly ogle the way his lips press against the glass bottle, the throb of his adam’s apple as he swallows. he takes a thumb to his lips after he’s taken a sip, wiping any excess from his mouth. you wish you could’ve kissed it off.

“that’s good,” he smiles, the gloss in his eyes telling you this is far from his first drink of the night. you’re sure your own eyes tell a similar story.

“i know,” you smile back, taking a sip of your own.

“you know…” he begins, fiddling with a brownie he picked off the plate, “when i first saw you tonight, i didn’t think you could get any prettier. i was wrong. you look incredible right now,” he smiles, his teeth sinking into the gooey brownie.

“aaron-” you chuckle, cheeks heating up, “thank you,” you mutter, looking down at your lap, “thank you. i thought the same thing when i saw you. that suit was ridiculous, but i think the t shirt made my brain short circuit,” the alcohol has loosened your lips significantly, you don’t care one bit how embarrassed you’ll be in the morning.

“oh really?” he laughs at that, the apples of his cheeks flushing red, “i like that you like my $5 t shirt from target better than my armani suit,” he muses, taking another big swig of the wine bottle.

“i like that you’re the kind of guy who has $5 t shirts from target and armani suits in his closet,” you smile, your body fully turned towards him. you rest your head on your hand, elbow planted firmly on the kitchen island, gazing at him with a fiery adoration.

“variety is the spice of life, as they say,” he takes another big bite of brownie, and you wipe a spare crumb from the corner of his mouth. you bring your crumb covered thumb to your mouth, your plush lips wrapping around the tip to take a taste for yourself. he pauses, eyes blown wide, then gulps his brownie down as he absorbs your action with his hungry, dark eyes.

“is that why you decided to become a profiler? for the variety?” you quiz him, biting into a piece of a chocolate chip cookie.

“something like that,” he mutters, a smirk spreading on his lips as he pops the last bite of brownie in his mouth, “little birdie told me you’re a writer,” he nudges your shoulder with his own, “trying to be like your dad?”

the question pokes at the vulnerability lacing your heart and you adjust in your seat, wiggling around your discomfort, “something like that…” you repeat his earlier sentiment, and he chuckles.

“well, if you’re anything like him then you’re probably amazing,” he smiles, taking the bottle from you once more.

“thank you, it’s…complicated. i fell in with the wrong people, and i figured it out the hard way,” you press your lips together, and you can tell he wants to ask more. you’re thankful he doesn’t, seeing as you’re not particularly very eager to delve into the reason you’re running back to your father’s house with a man you’re irrevocably attracted to.

“it happens to the best of us,” is all he says, but he hooks his ankle around the leg of your stool, connecting it with yours. your tense muscles loosen at the contact, and you and aaron both smile quietly down at your hands, comfortable existing in a soft silence together.

“this is one of my favorite shows,” aaron mutters, nodding towards the tv, where leslie knope is desperately scrambling to put together the harvest festival.

you turn to face him once more in shock, “really? i didn’t strike you as a sitcom guy!” you exclaim. he turns to face you now, his right knee slotting in between your legs, his left closing in on the other side of your thigh. his legs are huge, it’s like you’re surrounded by fucking tree trunks. it’s so intoxicating, the topic of your conversation completely slips your mind.

“i’ve been watching sitcoms before you even knew what they were,” he smirks, his voice low, gravelly, but silky smooth at the same time. a shudder unzips down your spine at the feeling of his breath hitting your cheek, “i love my west wing and my sopranos, too, don’t get me wrong,” he nudges your shoulder with his, and the proximity makes you dizzy, “but in my line of work, i mean, i need something to get my mind off of it at the end of the day. this one is like chicken soup for your soul.”

you smile at that sentiment, eyes shining with fondness for the man in front of you. butterflies swarm your stomach when the warmth of his large hands seep through your shirt, warming your stomach. he’s got a gentle grip on either side of you, his gigantic hands covering as much skin as possible. he engulfs you completely, your senses on aaron hotchner overdrive. his spicy oak cologne mixed with his woodsy aftershave nearly renders you dumb as you let your body fall into his, your forehead resting against his. he rubs his thumb into your skin and your eyes fall shut, a soft ‘oh!’ escaping your lips.

“that was really pretty, honey,” aaron murmurs, and you just ache.

your eyes open and you pull back to see him staring at you, low lidded and hungry. you’re going to kiss him. there’s no way around it. except the wretched sound of the glass door sliding open once more.

you and aaron jump apart like you’ve been burned, and you thank your lucky stars your father was not entering the threshold. derek and penelope stand there, s’mores ingredients in hand, shit eating grins on their faces.

“well, well, well, we were wondering where you’d run off to…” penelope trails off, “everyone’s about to come in, so we thought you might need a little warning,” penelope’s tone is incredulous as she raises her brows suggestively, and derek wolf whistles as he puts the marshmallows back in the cabinet.

“nothing- it was nothing!” aaron trips over his words as he scrambles for his things. your eyes go wide as you watch him move in a flurry throughout the kitchen, grabbing his clothes and his leftovers. before long, he’s slipped his shoes on and flies right out the door.

the silence in the wake of the door slamming is thick, loaded. you sit there in shock, unable to take your eyes off penelope. what the fuck just happened?

“what the fuck just happened?” penelope squeals, as if she read your mind.

“i don’t know!” you scream back, palms reaching up to slap your face.

“i know what happened!” derek exclaims, “the boss man’s caught some feelings and it scares the hell out of him!” he points out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

dread pools in your stomach, and you plop your head in the crook of your elbow resting on the island. you’ve been home for less than a month and you’ve already managed to self destruct, “oh god,” you groan.

the rest of the group came inside shortly after, promptly gathering their things and giving lengthy goodbyes to everyone that was still there. you shook hands with many of them on the way out, mustering the biggest smiles you could manage under the circumstances.

once you close the door, you gather your tried and true water, motrin, and toast, and curl up on the couch. you turn the tv on there, attempting to stay up until some of the alcohol wears off. sleeping is useless for you when you’re this drunk. 

your head perks up from your cocoon of blankets and pillows when you hear the doorbell ring, followed by your father’s voice carrying down the steps, “i got it!”

he patters down the staircase and opens the door, and you just barely make out who it is, but you catch it all the same.

“hey, aaron!” your dad exclaims, and your eyes shoot wide open, “sorry i missed you when you left! everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah, jack missed me,” you could just barely hear him mutter from the porch, “but i believe he forgot his stuffed bear here, i’m sorry to be back so late. he couldn’t sleep.”

you see the bear, it lays by the tree, amongst a mess of wrapping paper. you leap off the couch and scoop it up, nervously pacing the living room.

“not at all,” your father’s voice carries from down the hall, “principessa, you can walk him out, right? i’m going to bed!” he calls down to you, and you muster out a weak, “yes!” in response.

aaron makes eye contact with you from the kitchen, and he slowly saunters into the living room. you stare at each other for a moment, and you forget you’re holding his son’s bear until his eyes drop down to it.

“oh!” you gasp, holding your hand out, “here! it was just under the tree-”

you’re cut off by his hands on your face, pulling your lips in to crash against his. the kiss steals the breath from your lungs, and you snake your arms around his waist, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. you pull back for small moments, before diving back in to place quick, sloppy kisses on his mouth. he chases after your lips like he’s starving for them, and it makes you feel 10 feet tall. he punctures your lips with his once more in a long, heated kiss. he cradles your jaw in his hands as he attacks your lips, licking into your mouth ever so slightly.

he pulls away from you with a gasp, and you feel the loss of his warmth like a gut punch, “thank you,” he mutters, breathless, but completely dead pan, before storming out of the home for the second time that evening, leaving you gasping for breath and flustered beyond belief. what. the fuck. just happened?

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 30

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Steve says your name again. You open your eyes, your ears ringing, your scalp on fire. Your world is over, if it ever really was. You reach up to touch your searing tears and smear them aside with your knuckles. 

"Sweetie, we haven't done anything yet. You can stay here with mom, I can get an annulment tonight. Then we can just see how far you make it." 

"Stop, please," you beg.  

"It's your choice. Are you going to take care of your mom or let her down... again?" 

"You're mean," you quiver.  

"I'm honest, sweetie, and I'm doing you a favor. How many others have tried to help? Not even family, huh?" 

"Please, I can't think," you touch your temples and sob. 

He sucks his teeth and taps the table. He stands and sighs as his hands go to his hips. He looms before he speaks again.  

"Fine, think about it. When you've made up your mind, put your bathing suit on and come enjoy the pool." 

He stares at you before he finally goes. You feel stuck and it's more than the pudding. The front door opens and closes and you languish as you are.  

His last words say it all. You both know your only choice. He knows you have to go along with him. That inevitability cannot make you move. Not right then.  

But you will. You have to. Not just for mom, but for you. To survive. 

You stand without thinking, entirely hollow. Your body moves without conscious effort. You go through the motions of existing. Breath in, breath out.  

You go to the bathroom and undress, vision a blur, the air thick and strangling. You pull on the still damp swimsuit, the bottoms twist and chafe as you shimmy them on, and the top seems even smaller as you knot up the front tightly. You turn without hesitation, head down, feet heavy, watching each step as if they are not your own. 

The sun beams down but you’re frigid. Goosebumps rise across your skin and shade ripples above as you walk around the fence and into Steve’s yard. As you get to the back gate, you’re dizzy. You have to keep going. Just like you always have.  

You can tell yourself it’s for your mom. It’s as much out of your own cowardice. And even if it is helping her, it can only hurt her too. He married her and yet he wants you. None of it makes any sense. 

You come into the backyard, blinking through dry, salty eyes. You waver on your feet as you stop and peer around the empty space. The pool trickles soft as the filter hum and birds cheep as if all is well. You glance at the deck; your mother isn’t there. 

Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re delusional. Just like in the hospital when you thought Steve said all that. Or had he? 

You walk stiffly to the edge of the pool and look down at your reflection in the crystalline surface. You inhale the pollen-laced air and for a moment see yourself falling into the water and sinking to the bottom. It would be so easy to never come back up. 

“Sweetie,” Steve’s voice startles you and you turn to face him as he crosses the lawn. “There you are.” 

He smiles and swoops his shirt over his head, “I was just putting your mom to bed. She’s not feeling well.” 

You bend your arm across your middle, rubbing your other self-consciously. He’s shameless as he looks you up and down. He steps out of his sandals and purrs as he comes closer. 

“That suit looks so good on you, baby,” he touches your bare shoulders and you shiver. Baby? “And off.” 

He winks as his eyes fall to your cleavage. You gulp and he traces the movement with his thumb before drawing away. He bites his lip and shifts on his feet, tugging at the top of his shorts. You notice how the fabric twitches. 

You’re disgusted. Not only by him but with yourself. You turn back to the pool and exhale, “can I get in?” 

“Sure, sweetie, do whatever you like,” he purrs as he lowers himself to sit on the edge, “water’s nice.” 

He pushes himself off into the depths and you peer down. You ease down and slip into the water, gasping at the temperature. You hug yourself. Steve moves towards you and you flinch. 

“Sweetie,” he warns as he reaches for you, “isn’t this nice?” He puts his hands around your hips as he wades closer, pulling you to face him, “mmm, you are so beautiful, you know that?” 

You squirm and look away. You should be flattered, you should feel good, he’s calling you beautiful, but you just feel dirty. Your lashes flutter and you make yourself look at him as his fingertips press into your flesh. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. 

“It doesn’t have to be... it can be nice,” he coaxes, “can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes widen and your cheeks turn hot, “I... never...” 

“It’s okay, I’ll be gentle,” he grits. 

You can’t talk. Your chest is all knotted up. You just nod. 

He trails his hand up your hip and along your stomach, brushing the curve of your chest as you tremble. He strokes your throat and grips your chin. He tilts your head up and you close your eyes. Your nose tingles, as if you might cry again. 

He shifts even closer and leans in. His hot breath grazes over you and he presses his lips to yours. His other arm hooks around you and he holds you flush to him. Your chest is crushed to his firm muscles as he curls his fingers into your side. He clings to you, his tongue tracing the crease between your lips. 

He hums and urges his way past your resistance. His tongue invades and you nearly choke. It feels weird; cool within the warmth of your mouth. He squeezes you tighter and turns you. You let him. You’re whatever he wants you to be. 

He pushes you against the pool wall. His hand drifts down your side and over your bottom. He feels along your thigh and urges your leg up, bending it around him. You take his intent and wrap your other one around his waist as he lifts you higher. 

He stays stuck to your mouth, suffocating you against the tile as his hand retreats and tickles along your side. It sends another chill through you as he drinks you in greedily. His touch crawls up between your bodies and he gropes your chest through the suit. You feel your nipple bud against his palm and squeak. 

He circles your rigid nipple with his thumb and purrs into you. His mouth slips across your cheek, smearing saliva along your flesh as the smell of chlorine wafts into your nose. You turn your head, breathless and he tugs at the knot in the bikini. It comes undone and you gasp. 

“Please,” you beg, “slow...” 

“I’m being slow, sweetie, promise,” he mutters against your cheekbone, stretching his hand over your naked tit. You whine as he squeezes, kneading as you begin to wiggle. You feel him prodding you between your legs. You let out another pathetic noise and push on his arm. “You feel so good.” 

“Steve,” you quaver, “please...” 

He hums as he continues to toy with you. You can’t stop him. You brace yourself against the pool wall and hide behind your eyelids. He slides down as your legs fall away from him, your body draining of any strength. He holds your waist as he comes eye level with your chest and buries his face between your tits. 

You whimper as he turns to nib and suck at your flesh, letting out snarls as he makes a path to your nipple. As he puts his mouth around the hard bud, it sends a frightening zing through you. The pluck in your core confuses you. You’re not supposed to like it. 

“Mmmm,” he sucks on you as his hand cups the other side of your chest, squeezing as he rolls your nipple between his teeth.  

His tongue swirls around and another tide courses inside of you. You open your eyes and look down at him. The sight stuns you. It’s intoxicating. Your body doesn’t feel like your own and yet it’s all very intense. 

He pops his mouth off and looks up at you, his face flushed and his eyes cloudy, “you taste so good, sweetie.” 

#steve rogers #this chapter actually made me sick #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #captain america #the girl next door #avengers #mcu #marvel

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 11: POISON ROOT

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

It disgusted you a little bit, needing them like a fiending addict. Living with yourself and yourself alone was starting to get old, though you aren’t sure how much left of you feels whole. You were always fruit split in between a blade, all the gory parts splayed out by the hand of someone greater than you.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, drunk sex, threesome, oral sex, cumplay, phone sex, mentions of depression, angst, descriptions of mild gore

ੈ✩ wc: 7k

ੈ✩ a/n: here's a nice and fat chapter for you before we enter The Dark Ages <3

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

“Sorry, what?”

Yaga scowls at you and you’re unfazed. Mostly, you’re exasperated.

“I’ve repeated myself twice already,” he says calmly. More so brusquely, but you didn’t care enough to gauge his reaction. You’re too busy processing his words.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you mutter. “But why me? Shoko’s technique is way stronger than mine.”

“Shoko’s technique is not your technique. And unlike her, you actually engage in combat.”

“Because the boys forced me—”

He brings a hand to your shoulder in an attempt for reassurance. You freeze.

“Your technique is remarkable. Stronger than you think,” Yaga sighs, almost in resignation. He doesn’t seem particularly enthused about what he’s proposing to you, but you consider that you’d probably worn him down over the past half hour.

He rolls his eyes at the look on your face. Mouth parted like an animal struck with fear. 

“But—”

“There hasn’t been anyone with a technique like yours in over ten years. I remember it. I had a family friend as a teacher here first—she talked about a boy that could regenerate cells. Practiced on plants and small animals as a child until he was able to resurrect bigger ones at your age.”

“That boy isn’t me,” you protest, your brows furrowing.

“He isn’t,” Yaga snaps back. “He died, and his death could’ve been prevented. This is why I want you to do this. I want you to be strong enough so that the same thing doesn’t happen to you.”

You swallow and look down, pretending to be interested in your thumbs. Your hands are delicate compared to anyone else’s. You had always admired people who could make something out of nothing, people who sculpted, crafted. Sometimes, you often wonder if what you do could be considered the same.

You haven’t told anyone, but it’s easy to destroy things with your hands. Much easier than it is to build anything up, to heal. 

You’d tried it during long walks through the forest. On your way back from solo missions, you’d take routes that were less traveled, needing to clear your head. Once or twice, you remember finding animals that were victims of hunting. Broken limbs, bleeding out too much for you to save. You’d practice the darker parts of your technique, letting quick rot take away their misery.

“For how long?”

“Just two months. July and August.”

You take a deep breath. You could be alone in Kyoto for two months. The boys would survive. At least, you think Suguru would.

When you tell Satoru the next day, it’s a disaster.

“You’re what?”

“Satoru,” you warn, crossing your arms. 

Dealing with him is arduous. You knew he would react this way. He looks at you with irritation, nipping at your bare thigh just to see you pout. You were in the middle of reading when he had barged in, craving the scent of your moisturizer on your inner thighs. Needed the whipped softness of your flesh squeezed in between his hands after some heated sparring with Suguru.

“You can’t.”

“That’s not your decision—”

“You can’t. What did that old man say? Some other guy had your technique and died?”

“I’m not going to die!” you huff, rolling your eyes. 

Satoru frowns, his blue eyes glowing. He was free of missions for the past week, treating you to dates whenever he could. It seems that you’ve ruined his bliss. That ugly thought in his head festered in his mind again — the need to possess you. Trap you in a glass cage to stay alive forever like you were his enchanted rose.

“Like hell you won’t,” he mutters. “Which is why you’re staying.”

“I want to get stronger, Satoru.”

“You didn’t even want to be a sorcerer in the first place! And now you’re desperate to train with your little cell regeneration? Are you gonna dabble in necromancy?”

You frown at his condescending tone. He isn’t taking you seriously. He never does. Satoru has always had his way of belittling others, but he’d sworn to never do that to you given your history. You take a deep breath.

“It’s just… an independent study, alright? This could help me in the future. I could go to medical school with Shoko or something, you know? If you’re so scared of me dying because of combat, then I could just focus on the regeneration part and—”

“And what about the other part? How you make things rot and disintegrate?” he asks you incredulously, nearly snarling.

“That’s another thing I can learn to control.”

“But–”

“I didn’t have private lessons like you! I’m not a prodigy like you. Can I just have this one thing?” you plead with exhaustion. You can see the way his eyes flicker with a quiet rage, his mouth turned down into a pout. Petulant even at his big age.

Satoru sighs heavily. He nuzzles his face into your hand, kissing the heartline. You almost feel proud of yourself for not giving into him before the conversation began. He’d come into your room wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves messily cut off, exposing the hard lines of his stomach. Just a gaze had ripped away your autonomy, brain dumb at the sight of him. 

You wanted to lick him clean before he opened his damn mouth.

“I won’t tell you what to do,” he says in defeat.

“Thanks.”

You sit with him for a while, staring at the ceiling, hair strewn around your pillow. Silence fills the air save for the sound of his breathing. Eventually, he curls into you, nose into your bare shoulder as he mumbles unintelligible things. His mouth in the shape of I’ll miss you.

“I know,” you murmur. “I will, too.”

__

Suguru copes by getting buzzed in the daytime. He liked the hope on your face, how the light hit your eyes in a certain way. It meant something more. He knew that you were worth more.

Lately, Suguru feels like less.

Not particularly less than anyone else, though he knows that he’s certainly less than Satoru just by default. He remembers the mission all too clearly—it’s the only thing that haunts his nightmares. The blankness on Satoru’s face, his willingness to kill a group of people just for the sake of it.

He thought he’d lost Satoru forever, that he’d fucked up the mission by letting a bullet go through Riko’s head. But then, of course, Satoru survived. Of course Satoru found a way to bring himself back to life. Everything should be fine, because Satoru came out alive, and so did he. So did you.

It didn’t feel like enough. The taste of curses started to get worse, if that was even possible. Suguru has been starting to believe that he didn’t deserve anything palatable. That the universe was working against him maybe, because his depressive spirals last longer now.

And you’re fucking leaving.

He knows he can have you whenever he wants, but he likes to lick the taste of you out of Satoru’s mouth. 

He bites Satoru’s lip and it makes the boy yelp.

“What the hell was that for?” Satoru pouts. Suguru only grins wolfishly. 

“Thought you wanted me to make you feel better. You don’t like it rough?”

“Of course I like it rough,” Satoru grunts. “But you know I hate teeth.”

“On your dick.”

Satoru pauses, rolling his eyes, then sinks his teeth into Suguru’s neck instead. 

“You smell like a dive bar. It’s fucking 3 pm.”

“Day off, bitch,” Suguru mutters.

Satoru pushes Suguru against the mattress and spoons him, rutting against his ass. It’s always a little violent with them. You used to joke about it—something about dogs and masculinity. Satoru kept wanting to fuck like it was a cage match. Bull-headed, annoying. For Suguru, intimacy always felt like a car crash no matter who it was with.

“You’re not fucking my ass,” Suguru mumbles.

Satoru whines childishly, of course.

“Ran out of lube.”

“Spit?” Satoru begs, his eyes comically large.

“Fuck you, dude,” Suguru scoffs.

“I’m trying!”

Suguru turns to fall onto the bed facing Satoru, then shoves his head downward. He feels numb despite his throbbing cock. He knows Satoru’s mouth is probably watering for him.

“C’mon,” Suguru slurs, unzipping his shorts. “You need to work on giving head.”

“Hey!”

“Not my fault she does it better than you.”

Satoru huffs but leans over the end of the bed anyway, his limbs too long to crouch on the bed. He spits on Suguru’s cock and pumps agonizingly slowly, coaxing out guttural sounds vibrating out of the boy’s throat.

For once, Suguru feels a little powerful when the Jujutsu world’s boy-god chokes over his dick. He looks down and pushes his head down, reveling in the sound of him gagging, throat slack. Not as good as you, but getting better. The drool makes him look pretty. It matched the glazed look in Satoru’s eyes.

Suguru nearly finishes right then and there, the barbed wire inside of his body starting to untangle until there’s a knock on his door. Of course you knock—the polite girl you are.

“S’unlocked,” he calls after you. Satoru makes a noise. Something in between a moan and a sound of protest.

Suguru likes your wide eyes. You’re out of your school uniform, dressed in a white number with embroidered flowers at the hem that hits halfway above your knees.

“Oh… I—”

“C’mere, baby,” Suguru rasps, his hand reaching out for you. He’s so close, threading his fingers through Satoru’s hair before pulling at his snowy mop.

Satoru coughs, his throat raw. It makes Suguru laugh. You watch like you’re outside of your own body, eyes wide. It was easy for them to get you under a spell. 

It doesn’t take long for their hands to grope you, have your dress pooling at your waist so that your bare ass is on display. Heathens. Being with them was always like throwing yourself to the wolves.

“So wet,” Suguru groans, circling a finger in the heat hiding behind your underwear. “Wanted a proper send-off, angel? Gonna miss us all the way in Kyoto, aren’t you?”

You can’t respond when your head is already so dizzy with Satoru’s teeth on your collarbone.

“Don’t talk about that, I’ll lose my boner,” Satoru huffs. 

“What a baby.”

“Stop arguing,” you roll your eyes. 

Suguru decides to be selfish, his dick already out and pulsing from the tease of Satoru’s tongue. He slides it along your folds, wetness pooling right underneath him. It makes him groan, his insides white-hot. He’d been craving this since he’d woken up this morning. The heat was making his moodiness deliquesce into desperation burning like acid in his stomach. He needed you and Satoru like a bullet begging to be lodged, piercing out of a bannister.

“Not fair,” Satoru grumbles, his knees bent as he gropes you. Rutting against the mattress pathetically as he whines, his desperation puppy-like. 

His mouth is salty, leftover from Suguru’s precum. His hair smelled like Suguru’s too—he must’ve been copying his hair routine for the hell of it. It was enough to keep him close without asking to sew himself into the boy’s skin. 

Suguru looks down at you and your blissed-out face, vulnerable before he’s even entered you. Your mouth is wet from Satoru’s kisses, spit drooling out of the corner of your pink mouth. Suguru smears it around and already imagines himself pulling out of you to finish there instead, just to see it on your lips. He’d like to see you cry again one last time.

You hum when you’re filled with him. Stuttering hips hitting slack thighs. Soft despite the violence inside him, the little voice in his head taunting him to wreck you. 

He likes you like this, first. Daisy-soft, his fingers in your mouth until you gag. Yelping in time with Satoru’s stupid whines. 

“Twigs,” Satoru breathes, his hot breath fanning your jaw. “Can I put it in your ass?”

You groan, shaking your head as Suguru howls with laughter. 

__

July, 2010

Gakuganji has you on a leash. It hasn’t even been a week and you’ve already gone on two missions, each that ended with you covered in blood, but luckily unscathed. Satoru would have a fit if he knew. The ghost of him hovers on your shoulder at your weakest moments — taunting you, challenging you. You know he wouldn’t be as cruel if he was with you physically, but your psyche conjures him in a way that feels like punishment. 

You can’t escape him, either. He’s needier than you expect — visiting you during off times during your weekends, treating them like serendipitous encounters. You don’t believe him, and you shouldn’t. 

(He warps to you when he gets in fights with Suguru. When he gets too horny to find someone at a bar, because if it’s not Suguru, it’s you. But he could never tell you that.)

You like to keep yourself busy in Kyoto. Whether it’s immersing yourself in your studies or practicing your technique, you can occupy yourself easily, even if you’re bombarded by images of veiny hands, long black hair, pink mouths. Blue eyes that are too bright, even in your dreams. 

You spend most of your time by yourself, anyway. It’s what you need. If not that, then you’re at the local bars with Utahime-senpai, who transferred to Kyoto months before. 

“Are you their little plaything?” she teases. You’re loosened up after a few beers, all on her tab, but the mention of the boys sobers you up immediately. You scowl.

“What?” She holds her hands up in surrender. “Everybody knows… Shoko kind of already told me.”

“Of course she did,” you snort.

“I’m just saying, you should be careful. They’re insatiable. And never in their right mind. I could advocate for Geto-kun, but I’m sure Gojo’s already corrupted him.”

Corrupted. It’s a funny notion. You wonder if you’ve been corrupted by both of them. Satoru as your first didn’t bother you. To have Suguru as your second only complicated things. You haven’t known anything else but them. You aren’t sure if this should concern you until Utahime talks about it.

“They’re kind of the same in that way,” you mumble.

“Are they both your boyfriends?” Utahime giggles.

“N-No…”

“So it’s not serious? I know I’m not much older than you, but I still went through a few flings. You shouldn’t let them keep you on a chain.”

“They’re not–”

“Are you sure?” she laughs. “You’ve been checking your phone every five minutes. It’s like they brainwashed you.”

“Hime,” you frown.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “There are lots of men around here staring at you.”

“No, there aren’t.”

“Someone is staring at you right now. Behind you. Blonde. Tacky if he wasn’t like, a little hot like he is.”

“Shut up.”

She gives you a pointed look that causes you to look over your shoulder. Lo and behold, there is a man of that description making glances at you with a cocky smirk. It reminds you of the way Satoru looks at you. It makes your stomach flip.

“See?”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you mumble.

You move past the crowd to the single stall, plastered in posters from vintage porn magazines and graffiti. Your phone’s about to die, but the group chat with you and the boys has unread messages. It’s mostly Satoru complaining, arguing with Suguru about things that you couldn’t care less about. There are separate messages from them, too. Satoru’s suggestive selfies and Suguru’s words of affirmation. You scoff at the difference between them.

When you return, Utahime grins at you like she’s plotting.

“What did you do?” you narrow your eyes.

“He came over here! I knew it. He was interested in you,” she beams.

“What?”

“Relax. He’s a sorcerer. And I gave him your number.”

“Hime!” You shove her arm lightly, groaning when she laughs.

“You need to get laid by someone who isn’t an idiot.”

You roll your eyes. The many beers are making your head swim too much for you to actually be angry. If anything, your cheeks feel warm at the prospect of someone else being interested in you. It’s not something you’ve experienced in your youth, or now for that matter, since Satoru had sunken his teeth in you so quickly.

Images of him talking to other girls at parties flash in your mind, making you grimace. Maybe Utahime was doing you a favor.

The bachelor in question is nowhere to be found. You curse yourself for not getting a good look at him. A pit forms in your stomach at the idea of him texting you – a handsome stranger who watched you babble drunkenly to Utahime. It occurred to you that you hadn’t even considered yourself something desirable in a context that wasn’t bound to Satoru or Suguru.

On the walk home, the thought consumes you. You aren’t sure if you even know yourself without them. During most of your life, you’ve only known obedience. Intimacy with Satoru was no different, you realize. You were wrapped around his finger since you were children – it didn’t matter that you were apart for years. It would always be him.

You aren’t sure if this bothers you or not. You try to push the thought away, shaking your head slightly as if daydreams of him would fall out of your head. It doesn’t work, not really. You’re drunk. Naturally, you think of his pink mouth. The veins on his hands.

You unlock the door of your room. When you enter, darkness envelops you, which you’re used to, if not for the bright blue eyes that stare back at you. 

“Jesus!” you mutter, cursing to yourself once you can get the nearest lamp on. 

“What? Not happy to see me?” he slurs, flashing you a sloppy smile. 

“Can you at least give me a heads-up before you show up randomly?”

“That ruins the surprise, baby,” he purrs, walking over to you to set his hands on your hips.   Trapping you gently. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Hm?”

“You’re. Drunk. Why are you here?” 

“Had a mission nearby. Then I went to a bar to relax. And then, I thought, warping to Tokyo would take too much for a drunk. Why not stay here?”

“I’m not a motel.”

“C’mon, baby,” he pouts. “You’re not gonna kick me out, are you?”

You scoff, moving past him to sit on your bed and take off your shoes.

Satoru chuckles, taking a seat right next to you, thigh touching yours. “You’re drunk, too. I can smell it.”

“I haven’t even been here for a full month and this is like, the third time you’ve surprised me. What’s going on with you?”

“What? Can’t miss my lover?”

He says lover like it’s an inside joke. He never says girlfriend. Never partner.

“You’re so needy.”

“You like me that way,” Satoru says, his voice velvety. He’s not in his uniform, but a light blue button-down and slacks. You wonder if he’s planned this or if he dressed up for someone else, running to you as the safest option because you’re always there. Always willing.

You’d been ready to sink into your shitty mattress and dream of him. You hadn’t been anticipating the real thing in front of you. It was stupid, how he took your breath away, as if he was still something new to you. As if he hadn’t been in the back of your mind since you were a little kid, always.

“I’m tired, Satoru,” you sigh.

“You sure?” he grins. “You smell like beer. Still trying to have some fun tonight?”

You narrow your eyes at him and he laughs. He comes closer, pinching the meat of your thigh right under the hem of your skirt, chuckling when you swat his hand away.

“So short. Who’s this for, huh?” he taunts.

You swallow back an insult the moment you look down at the way his large hands play with a loose thread of your skirt. How large they are compared to your thigh, the calloused tips of his fingers running circles in your skin.

“No one,” you breathe.

“You cheating on me, Twigs?”

“Yeah, with Utahime,” you roll your eyes.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that. Sounds hot, to be honest.”

Your cursed energy flares. You hate when he belittles you, but you could never do anything about it. You could only fall into his trap, giving into him the way he knows you will. You don’t even notice that he’s caged you within his arms, his hands settling on your hips as his body backs you into your bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress.

His breath smells sweet. It usually does, but it’s something sour this time. Something citrusy, along with the smell of something much too alcoholic. One of those whiskey sours, you guessed. You don’t realize how drunk he is until you look him in the eyes, his blue irises unfocused despite the desperation in his gaze.

“Of course not,” he grins, leaning in to inhale your scent. “You’d never. My sweet girl. My best girl, right?”

“You say that like I’m one of many,” you scoff.

“Are you jealous?” he rumbles, laughing. “As if there’s anyone else I like as much as you…”

He says girl and you think of Suguru. An exception, just barely. You realize how much you miss him, too.

Your eyes flutter closed as Satoru backs you into your bed, teeth grazing your earlobe. You aren’t sure if it’s him or the drunkenness of your brain. You don’t even notice his fingers massaging your thighs, trailing up to hook your underwear to the side to tease your dripping core. It’s his teasing laughter that snaps you awake.

“So wet… did you know I was coming, baby? Or were you expecting someone else?”

You don’t answer. Your breath hitches at the contact of his eager fingers prodding you, pushing upwards into your pulsating cunt before you can protest. The wounded noise you make only spurs him on further.

“You went to a bar, right? Were you thinking about me when you were there? Got yourself all wound up?”

You don’t reply. He’s too busy pushing his fingers to the very edge, stimulating the spot that makes your knees buckle before you can even form a thought.

You gasp, your mouth parting. Slack-jawed, eyes rolling back as you get closer to the edge before he’s even inside you. It could be pathetic if you cared, but Satoru always made everything around you melt, like you weren’t in your own mind anymore. You accepted being a body that belonged to him, nothing more.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he breathes, his lips tickling your jaw. “You’re so quiet.”

“Satoru,” you sigh. His other hand rubs the small of your back, touching the bare skin underneath your thin shirt.

He digs his fingers in further, knuckle-deep until he hears you make a pained noise. He grins at your broken moan like he’d just won a prize. He doesn’t stop, either — he wanted to hear more of those sounds out of your mouth. It was proof that you were still his, wrapped around his finger. 

You try to catch your breath as you lay back on your bed, his strong arms hoisting you up to the wall. You hiss at the feeling of his teeth on your thighs, biting desperately. Satoru was already sweating despite only coaxing bliss from you once. 

He claws at you, pulling at the buttons of your blouse and tugging your skirt down until you’re left bare for him. He groans at the sight of your silky skin, the way your chest heaves in anticipation. Everything about you is ripe, ready to break underneath his hands.

He’s less vocal this time when he takes you, pushing into you before you can say anything. He doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he does this, considering every sense of his was numb until he entered you, igniting his synapses on fire. 

You whimper from the abruptness, aching between your legs. You think that you would’ve bled if you weren’t so in love with him, but you knew better. Anything from him made your entire body warm and pliant, wet beyond your comprehension. You hated it, sometimes.

But you couldn’t hate anything about it now. You were doused in bliss.

“My girl,” he slurs. “So fucking perfect. Say it.”

You mutter nonsense under your breath.

He bends you in half, your calves resting on his broad shoulders. He chuckles at your pathetic whines.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Fuck — I – I’m your girl,” you sob.

“My perfect girl,” he mutters, correcting you. He groans when he looks down at you, his hips stuttering. His thrusts are harder than usual on purpose — he’d rather die than tell you that he’d only warped to you because he was having a panic attack in his room alone. 

He thought he could get his mind off of you, off of Suguru, who he’d assumed was angry with him all day. There were only dry texts from the both of you. No woman at the bar could compete, even if he managed to get a decent handjob in the bathroom. He could only think of you. 

Satoru knew you’d hate him for it. He was disgusted with himself. He feels it now, aching inside the cavern of his chest when you moan his name, knowing he doesn’t deserve a praising word out of your mouth.

He whines, on the verge of tears as he rides out his orgasm in your cunt. 

“Shit,” he hisses into the skin of your neck.

You can barely reply before he kisses down your stomach, licking himself out of you with his nails digging into your thighs.

“Satoru, what are you—oh, fuck—”

“Cum for me,” he slurs, lapping at your clit as he pushes his fingers into you. He pauses, mesmerized at the way his cum drips out of you, only for his fingers to push it back into the hilt, up to his knuckles.

You sob in protest, your thighs shaking as he plays with you. He doesn’t stop for a second. It’s almost as if he doesn’t realize you’re there, his heavy-lidded gaze fixed on the way your pussy swallows his fingers.

“S’too much,” you whine, grasping his wrist tightly.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs under his breath. You don’t hear him. Your body convulses as he continues to play you like an instrument. He only stops when he looks up to see tears pricking your eyes.

“S-Satoru…”

“Fuck,” he mutters. He finally retracts, licking his fingers as he looks at you intensely. “Mine… you’re all mine.”

The glassy look in his eyes is from the alcohol, you assume, but there’s something tantalizingly too real about the expression on his face. Raw with something he only buries inside his gut. He snaps out of it like it’s not something you’re supposed to see. 

He grunts when he lays his head on your lap, his fingers digging into your skin possessively as you tremble. You prop your head up on your pillow, trying to catch your breath as you stroke his hair.

“Why’d you get so drunk?” you ask quietly. “Were you alone?”

“Of course I was,” he scoffs, almost defensive. But he smells a sweetness on his skin that isn’t from you, and he knows you’ve already picked up on it. 

“You could’ve texted or called me instead of breaking into my dorm.”

“You just hate fun,” Satoru mumbles. 

Despite his attitude, he rubs his cheek against your thigh like he’s a pet. He thinks about taking you again, just to shut you up — enough to have both of you sweating, the musk of your sex drowning out any remnants from the bitch that Satoru had tried to use hours before.

Nothing could replace you and he had to live with that. 

He nips at your thigh, his mouth getting dangerously close to your core. You whine as you pull him back by his scalp, like the scruff of a dog. Satoru is always insatiable when he’s drunk, which is saying something considering what he’s like sober. His cravings for you are always intense. When he’s not in his right mind, you’re more considered prey than a craving.

You don’t have the energy to respond to him. His warmth satiates you for now as he locks his arms around your bare waist. The light breathing fanning your stomach calms you.

When you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found, but there’s a small floral arrangement on your desk. White orchids and blue hyacinths.

___

August, 2010 

You hate bringing anything back to life as much as you hate desecration.

It’s unnatural — though you know that nothing about the Jujutsu world is natural. Everything to you is a myth you have to deal with. After knowing Satoru for so long and seeing what nasty curses humanity could birth, you shouldn’t be stunted.

It makes you feel a bit ill when you realize how much power your hands wield. As ordinary as you’ve always been, these days you often wish that you were the true epitome of it. Only human, unable to see the horrors of the world. Left in the dark when it came to sorcery. Perhaps you aren’t cut out for this, despite how much you tried to convince Satoru you were.

His voice echoes in your mind. His pleading. The ways he wanted to protect you. He’d belittled your technique for a reason, maybe. You aren’t sure you’re cut out for this shit.

Necromancy is only exciting the first couple of times. After that, it’s the reanimation of body parts that freaks you out. It doesn’t matter that it’s the revival of small birds and rodents on a lab table. You feel like you’re playing God and not even doing a decent job of it.

It catches up to you in your dreams. The image of you getting held down, leaving you to resort to your technique. Rotting flesh. Even in your unconscious, the smell is somehow striking, as if you’re really there. Other times, you find horror in the reanimation of corpses under your hand. Split limbs coming together. Limbs that belong to people you love.

Tonight, you’re shaken by the image of Suguru mauled beyond belief. Sacrilegious violence that makes your stomach turn. 

When you wake up in a sweat, gasping, the alarm clock on your bedside table reads 1:12 am. You dial his number before you can even come to your senses.

“Twigs.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

You hear Suguru chuckle, deep and sweet like teeth sunken into cake. You’re filled with warmth almost immediately. 

“What’s up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he breathes.

“Had a nightmare,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you sigh. 

“Fine. What are you thinking about, then?”

“You,” you mumble.

There’s silence on the other end. Despite this, you can still hear his grin. You can see his little smirk perfectly in your head. 

“Yeah?” his voice lowers. “What about me?”

“Y-your hands,” you mumble. “You make me feel safe.”

“Is that right?”

You make a small noise that shows your agreement, but it’s noncommittal. You hum at the thought of him. You’re sleep-dazed, partially wishing for this moment that he was more like Satoru. Able to talk your ear off without any effort from your end.

Suguru had always known you differently. He had you memorized as much as Satoru did, but uniquely, given the similarities between your personalities. He knew how you worked and he never held it against you.

Satoru would probably try to pry it out of you. Suguru would already know.

And at this moment, he knows. It’d be infuriating if you didn’t see it coming.

“You’re upset,” Suguru says.

“No.”

“You are. Or you’re pent up, which is also like being upset. Need some catharsis?”

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Tell me what’s wrong, then. Or tell me about your nightmare.”

“No.”

He laughs. 

“Stubborn as always,” he purrs.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” you whisper.

“You want to hear me be mean to you. You like not being in control. That’s what makes you feel safe, isn’t it, princess?”

“Shut up.”

“C’mon, baby,” he laughs. “Give me something to work with.”

Your eyes nearly glaze over as you watch the flickering lights outside of your dorm. A broken street lamp flashes on and off, shadowing your room in darkness only to illuminate seconds later, back and forth. Unpredictably so. You aren’t sure what else you should look at while you’re still so drunk on Suguru’s voice. You think maybe you’d handle this phone call better if you were far from sober.

“I fucked someone else yesterday.”

The line goes silent. Your heartbeat picks up.

After almost an eternity, you hear Suguru’s voice again. It’s soft, almost cooing. It feels awfully dangerous despite this.

“Yeah? Who?”

You swallow thickly. 

“This guy who got my number last month. Like, I didn’t give it to him — Utahime did,” you ramble. “But then we started texting and stuff and he’s… funny. He, uh, came over yesterday.”

“Did you like it?”

You imagine your throat closes up. Part of you wishes it would, that you’d just pass out immediately for no reason just so you didn’t have to have this conversation. You curse yourself for even bringing it up.

“Y-Yes.”

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he chuckles.

“I am…”

“You don’t have to be so scared, baby. I know that Satortu took away your virginity, but he’s not some kind of god watching over you.”

“I know,” you huff.

“But you feel guilty, don’t you? Like you’re betraying him?” he teases.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it. You notice how he talks about Satoru and not himself.

“Do you care?”

“I know how you feel about me.” His answer is simple. Blunt. It almost sounds sarcastic, but Suguru often talks like he’s cock-sure about everything. Even if he isn’t, he’s always held a certain confidence that was different from what Satoru exuded. 

Satoru was a bad liar, to you, at least.

“Tell me about your boy. What’s his name?”

“He’s not–” you gruff. “Naoya. His name is Naoya.”

“That Zenin brat?”

“Huh?”

“He’s in the Zenin clan. A right bastard, I’ve heard.”

“He seems fine,” you mumble.

“Someone’s defensive,” he teases.

You pause, staring at the darkness of your ceiling. You fix your shorts, your fingers grazing the wetness of your core. You didn’t even realize you were aroused.

“I should go back to sleep,” you whisper.

“I thought you couldn’t. That’s why you called me, right? You need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” you scoff. “I just… I had a nightmare and wanted to talk to you.”

Suguru smiles. He knows you can’t see it, but he’s beaming in the darkness of his room. He’d been restless for the past few days after some disagreements with Satoru. He tried to blame the heat on physical altercations — the sun burning down to rev up the irritation in their shared systems like they were still boys. Always wanting to pin each other to the ground.

They didn’t have you to mediate, so they’d come out of arguments with bruises. Marks from skin tugged too harshly. The ghost of teeth biting down on flesh. 

“I wish you were here, babygirl,” he sighs, his tone desperate. You almost cringe at it — you always assume he’s playing with you.

“Yeah?” you snort.

“Mhm. It’s funny. You didn’t even wake me up when you called. I was already awake, thinking of you.”

“Were you, now?”

“Mhm,” Suguru hums.  “I just kept thinking about your thighs. How small your leg is compared to my hand.”

Your breath hitches and he almost laughs when he hears it.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he asks. “Want you to touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.”

You gulp. Your fingers prod at the hem of your athletic shorts, the nylon riding up as you squirm in your bed. Your index and middle fingers prod at the center of your core experimentally. You’re fucking dripping and it makes your breath hitch.

Suguru calls your name.

“I”m…” you stammer. “I’m wet. Why?”

“Poor thing. Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep, no?”

“I-I’m fine… I just—”

“You should play with your clit. Since I can’t be there to do it for you,” he breathes.

“What?”

“C’mon, sweetheart. I can tell my favorite girl just needs to relax. That’s why you called me, right?”

You whimper. It was maybe half-true. Suguru had stopped answering his texts as frequently as he usually did, and you missed the sound of his voice. The odd ache in your chest wasn’t something that you felt like exposing to anyone else, not even Satoru.

The silk of Suguru’s voice brings you back. You wanted to breathe him in, but he hadn’t visited like he said he would. Didn’t have the warping feature that Satoru had, which to this day, still startled you whenever it happened. Ocean eyes whipping your senses from thin air, like a lightning strike. 

Despite your recent gripes about him, you needed the both of them like you needed air. At least to make it all more bearable. It disgusted you a little bit, needing them like a finding addict. Living with yourself and yourself alone was starting to get old, though you aren’t sure how much left of you feels whole. You were always fruit split in between a blade, all the gory parts splayed out by the hand of someone greater than you.

You needed Suguru’s musk, his hair in between your fingers as he rocked into you. Your hands were too small compared to his. 

He has you panting, sweating through Kyoto’s mugginess. The dorms were in even worse shape here than on the main Tokyo campus, probably why Gakuganji was such a vapid old man. Everything was too hot and falling off the bone.

“I feel like I’m hallucinating. It’s like I can smell you through the phone,” Suguru murmurs, his voice like a mirage. You’d laugh if you weren’t so deep in your cunt, fingers pruning and pushed to the knuckles. 

Suguru knew you would do anything for him, so he made you torture yourself because he wasn’t there to do it himself.

Your groans are muffled from you smothering your face in the sheets, knees pressing down and ass up. Willing to humiliate yourself without him even being there.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already,” he chides.

“I’m not,” you whine.

“How many times have you cum?”

“None.”

He laughs. “What are you thinking about?”

“You know what.” 

You’re close to tears by the time he lets you cum. The sound of his voice hitting you deep in your core, insides permeated with the thought of him. Sweeter than smoked sugar.

It was the sound of his grunt that tipped you over, imagining him with black strands sticking to his high cheekbones with sweat. The apples of his face candy-pink. Where Satoru looked cherubic, Suguru looked like a girl’s first wet dream. 

“Were you touching yourself?” you pant, coming down from your high. You don’t bother putting on your underwear again.

“Obviously,” he groans. The vibrations of his voice made the speaker blow off-kilter like the audio of a shitty VHS. “Came all over myself.”

You could fall asleep to the sound of his static hums. The chaos in your gut is settled by the time your alarm clock strikes devil’s hour.

“How are things?” you ask sleepily.

“With me?” Suguru asks. “Fine. Same as always.”

“You sound tired.”

“It’s three in the morning, sweetheart,” he chuckles dryly.

“Mm. My phone bill’s gonna be so high.”

“Get Satoru to pay for it.”

The bastard probably would, if you asked.

You don’t get much out of Suguru for the remainder you’re awake. His answers are deflective and clipped. He hangs up by the time he hears you breathing, knowing you’ve fallen asleep.

He sighs in his room, rummaging for his pills. If nightmares didn’t keep him up, then the sheer unwillingness of his brain’s tranquility was often enough for him to run a graveyard shift. Stumbling in the dark, half-dead. He’d gotten productive in finishing the video games he’d started with Satoru by himself. Not much else.

His throat feels dry. He couldn’t differentiate the tastes of anything anymore. It all tasted like curses.

___

You keep having dreams about Suguru.

Tonight, there’s two of him.

One is the image you’re used to – hair swept up in a bun. Broad chest in his Jujutsu Tech uniform. Eyes crinkling into half moons.

The other seems to be an alter ego. A cursed version, one with eyes to kill and blood on his hands. Hands that are trying to tear you apart.

When you grip his wrist, you can see the imprint of your hand on his skin. Flesh falling away, much too easily. The air around you splinters like you’re in a glitched matrix. The Suguru you know and love falters beside you, his skin suddenly sallow. Pale as bile.

When you scream, nothing comes out.

Pseudo-Suguru smiles as your Suguru fades away into ash. You stare into his cat-like gaze, the familiar of his mouth. 

“Come with me,” he says. 

It’s the last thing you hear before your body wakes you up in a sweat. You gasp as you jolt awake, fingers curling your damp bedsheets. You’re further startled by the crack of thunder as a torrential downpour occurs without warning — unusual for late August, considering the rainy season had died down weeks prior. 

You sit up and reach for your phone almost automatically, your hands shaking as you go through your contacts. Your fingers hover over two names as you swallow thickly.

A few beeps follow the push of the call button.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

[mooniiify]

emergency contact — bakugo katsuki

quirk: super sonic/speed; hero name: sonic

disclaimer: using the established hero identity from my bakugo fic on wattpad lol

contents: second chance, pro heroes in their twenties

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

her whole body hurt, that was the first thing she realized when she started gaining consciousness. her eyelids felt heavy, but she willed them to open, only for her to wince and close them back immediately as a harsh light hit her eyes.

it took her a moment. she took a breath. there was a soft beeping in the background. where was she? slowly, she fluttered her eyes open again, squinting until she got used to the light. she looked around, taking in the white walls and the IV drip stand next to her.

hospital. oh.

what had happened again? she remembered the villain attack in musutafu — she’d been called in, and kirishima, mina and todorki had been at the scene, too. the villain was preaching about the downfall of heroes as usual. she didn’t remember much of the fight, except getting hit really badly in the back of the head at some point.

with her left arm, she reached up and touched the side of her head, feeling the bandages.

she sighed and let her arm fall back down next to her. she looked to the side, noticing the red button that would call the nurse. this wasn’t the first time she’d been in a hospital bed like that and it wouldn’t be the last. she knew the drill by now — she pressed the button and waited.

a nurse walked in soon after, a smile on her face. y/n recognized her from the last few times she’s been here. “oh, glad to see you’re awake, sonic! how are you feeling?”

“mostly fine,” y/n answered. “how bad was the damage this time?”

“concussion, a broken leg due to debris falling over it. some scratches and bruises, but that’s about it,” the nurse read off of her clipboard. “everything was already taken care of and healed. we should be able to discharge you by the end of the day, but you should take it easy when you get home.”

y/n nodded. “that’s good. thank you.”

the nurse nodded before she wrote something on her clipboard. “are you feeling okay for visitors?”

y/n furrowed her eyebrows at that. “visitors?” who could it be? maybe kirishima or mina decided to visit. how did they get out of the fight, anyway? and how did y/n pass out? so embarrassing!

“well, mr. dynamight—“

“mr. who?”

no. this couldn’t be. why would he be here?

“mr. dynamight. bakugo katsuki?” the nurse scratched her head. “i thought you two were friends. or at least classmates back in ua.”

friends. yeah, no. “we were. don’t let him in.”

the nurse nodded and reached for the door. “all right. i’ll let him know.”

y/n sighed and looked back up at the white ceiling. seriously, why the hell was he here? how did he know she’d gotten hurt? okay, maybe he’d heard it from kirishima or seen it on the news, but still! how did he know which hospital she was at?

“tch, she’s still tired and doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.” y/n’s blood ran cold at the familiar voice coming from beyond the door. “i’m going in.”

“mr. dynamight, sir—“

the nurse couldn’t stop him. the door opened and in walked bakugo katsuki, still dressed in his hero costume, bar his mask and gauntlets.

the nurse immediately looked at y/n. “i’m sorry, miss sonic, i—“

“it’s okay.” it wasn’t the nurse’s fault. it was bakugo’s annoying stubbornness, as usual.

the nurse apologized again, then excused herself and left. bakugo moved silently from the door to the left of her bed, his arms crossed in from of his chest. “how are ya—“

“the fuck are you doing here, bakugo?”

bakugo’s lips shut in an instant. he looked to the IV drip in her arm, then to her heartbeat monitor — it was beeping a bit quicker now — then back to her. “the hospital called. told me you were injured.”

y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. “the hospital called you? why the hell would they? are you stalking me or something?”

bakugo grunted. “tch, speedy, you didn’t change your shitty emergency contact. you set it to me years ago, remember?”

right. “oh.”

“yeah.”

y/n looked away from him and out through the window. her view was obscured by a tree, but it was better than looking at bakugo at the moment. “why did you come, then?”

there was a sound of metal scraping on the ground. startled, y/n looked back and noticed bakugo pulling up a chair to sit next to her. it looked small under him. it was funny, but she didn’t laugh.”

“‘cuz they called me and told me you were injured.” bakugo said as he leaned on his knees. “and i saw the news. i was worried.”

y/n sighed. “bakugo, we—“

“stop calling me bakugo. you know i hate it when you call me by my last name.”

“bakugo.” she gave him a stern look. “we broke up three months ago.”

bakugo was silent. to this day, even after having calmed down, it was still weird to see bakugo this silent. “i know.”

“then you can’t expect me to act fucking normal and call you by your first name just because you decided to come to the hospital because you were worried about your ex.”

“i fuckin’ know.” bakugo groaned, running a hand through his hair.

they sat in silence for a moment and y/n’s unfocused eyes watched him as he looked at the ground. they dated for five years before they broke up. from their first year at ua, up until a few months ago. it was understandable bakugo was acting like that, really.

“do you ever think we made a mistake?”

y/n’s eyes focused and his face became clearer out of shock. she opened her mouth to answer than, no, she didn’t think so, but closed it. after thinking for a moment, she nodded. “at least once a day.”

their break up hadn’t really been spontaneous. it was building up the busier they got, and at the end, they reached the mutual decision to part ways. they were stubborn, both of them fighting for the top spots in the hero rankings, so much so that they forgot about each other. it made sense, back then.

but now, as y/n returned to the same home she’d shared with bakugo every night to a now cold, empty apartment, she was starting to think how being a top hero was just so lonely.

bakugo nodded at her answer. “yeah. me too.”

y/n moved to sit up, wincing a little as she did. despite the healing, he ribs were still sore. bakugo instinctively moved, one hand going behind her back to help her up. “careful, speedy.”

“i’m fine. they’re discharging me later, anyway,” y/n explained.

bakugo nodded, his hand lingering on her back for a moment too long before he retracted it and sat back on his chair. he ran a gloved hand through his hair. “you know, i really fuckin’ miss you, speedy.”

her heart monitor beeped faster at the words and she felt her face warm up in embarrassment. bakugo had just heard how flustered he made her — there was no backing out now.

still, she didn’t look at him. she looked at her fingers that were playing with each other. “yeah, i miss you, too, katsuki.”

bakugo’s hand reached out, catching one of hers in his. she looked back at him again, at his soft, pleading face. “can we try again? we’ve been through so much shit together and, honestly, before we broke up, i never imagined my life without you in it. but now that i actually experienced it, i realized just how shitty it is. being a hero is so fucking boring if you’re not there to run by work just to tell me a dumb joke, or to sit on the couch and watch the news and make fun of shitty hair and raccoon eyes, or bantering over who’s going to be higher in the next hero chart, or—“

she’d heard enough. leaning in, she pressed her lips on his, her hands grabbing the sides of his face. the IV drip in her arm felt uncomfortable, but she ignored it best she could as she savored bakugo’s lips, the ones she’s been missing for so long.

bakugo moved his hand to the back of her head, the other one on her back. he didn’t really pull her too close because he was scared she would fall off the bed, but he didn’t mind. the fact that she was kissing him was enough.

they pulled away not too long after — it didn’t matter that the kiss was short, there was so many more to come — and y/n smiled as she looked into his red eyes. her right thumb stroked his cheek ever so slightly. “you know, i’m higher in the rankings than you this month. i’m twenty-fourth and you’re twenty-sixth.”

bakugo chuckled, his smile unwavering. “shut up, i saw. i wanted to call you and rant to you about it. that’s only ‘cuz i had to take a week-long break after i got injured.”

y/n waved him off. “excuses, excuses. just admit i’m strong.”

“never denied it, speedy.”

y/n felt warm again. it felt so right, being with bakugo and talking with him like that. she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it.

“i don’t know if this is sudden, but are you going to move back in now, or are you gonna wait and see how this goes? not that i’m pressuring you or anything, i just—“

bakugo interrupted her with a peck, sealing her lips shut. when he pulled back, he gave her a nod. “i’ll move back today if i can. i’ll call shitty hair to help me with my shit. hell, i missed the bed.”

#bnha #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo fanfiction #oneshot #fanfiction #x reader #bnha fanfiction #second chance #romance #fluff #bakugo fluff #katsuki #dynamight #lord explosion murder god dynamight

[cloudrumble23]

Puppet girl wanted her to get to know the other ghosts in the pizzeria. To help her "adjust." To prevent corruption from taking over her soul.

Well fine. Cassidy could do that, even feeling the rage boiling under her skin as she considered the thought of anything other than plotting her revenge on their killer. Did the puppet even care? Probably not.

Still, Cassidy could handle it. She could make friends with that quiet kid who never left the suit. Puppet girl hadn't even had a chance to have a conversation with him yet since she was too busy babysitting everybody else to prevent them from corrupting.

The golden suit was crammed far back in the corner anyway. Nobody really seemed to acknowledge it, and Cassidy knew that the puppet girl only knew about it because she'd put Cassidy's soul there. Unintentional companionship, Cassidy thought to herself, squatting down in front of the suit to examine the eyes.

Sometimes there was a faint pinprick of light when she did this. Other times, there wasn't hardly anything to spot. Today was a bad day. She squinted intently, trying to make out the spot of light that she knew was there constantly, but there was no sign.

Resigning herself to actually talking to this kid was maybe not a good idea. He was hard enough to communicate with on a good day, and today was definitely not one of those. Still, Cassidy dove straight into the suit, knowing she'd have to go deep to find the quiet kid who shared the suit with her.

"Are you down here?" Cassidy called, looking around the eerily red space. "Hello?"

She heard a faint sob in response and hurried over to it, seeing him curled up in a ball on the weirdly colored grass.

"Okay," Cassidy sighed, pulling him upright. "What's the deal?"

The boy had his face buried in his hands still, something that continually frustrated Cassidy. They'd encountered each other briefly before, and he never tended to speak. She knew there was the lingering mark of death on his face, a flag of red spilling down an otherwise monochrome appearance.

In life, Cassidy might've even said he was cute, but she didn't have time for such things anymore.

Her fingers looped around his wrists as she adjusted herself to sit in front of him. "Look, I'm not typically the pushy type, but you're the person I know best out of anybody here, and I'm supposed to be making friends so that I don't get corrupted or whatever. Which means you gotta deal with me."

He didn't respond, even as she managed to peel his hands away from his face, revealing thick, oily tears that spilled all the way down his face and coated his hands. Corruption, Cassidy thought suddenly, a chill running through her.

"Okay..." Cassidy exhaled slowly as he peered at her through his eyelashes, briefly distracted from his emotional turmoil.

She swiped at the substance, hoping it was easy to remove, but she ended up smearing it across his face more. "Umm, oops?"

He only blinked at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess.

"Look, I gotta be honest here. This is way out of my range of knowing what I'm doing. And uh... puppet girl says corruption is bad." Cassidy gestured at their hands, coated in corrupted something or other. "And this stuff looks like corruption."

"Oh," the boy answered softly. He glanced at his hands and then at hers. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, you don't need to apologize. We just need to-" Cassidy took a deep breath, something she wished was still helpful. "Okay, why were you crying?"

The boy's mouth thinned, trembling slightly.

"Never mind," Cassidy said quickly. "Could you tell me your name?"

"I... I guess..." he replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... Evan..."

"Okay, Evan." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "I'm Cassidy. I possess Golden Freddy."

"That's not his name," Evan said immediately, his mouth turning down in a frown. Something flickered in his eyes, a memory of some kind. "His name is Fredbear."

"Uh huh." Cassidy didn't know what to make of that. She really did need to talk to the others, didn't she? Clearly, there were many things she didn't know. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I just kinda gave him a nickname, I guess."

"It's alright." Evan clasped his hands together in his lap. "That's a lot of blood."

"Oh, yeah..." Cassidy looked down at her torso, still unimpressed with the fact that the bloodstains had carried through with her death. "It's a symptom of death, I guess."

"Do I... Do I have one of those?" Evan asked, his mouth creasing in worry. "Is it on my face?" His voice seemed to get higher with every realization.

"I-" Cassidy didn't know how to respond as he crumbled into tears again. "Yes? I mean, we all have those. It's okay, don't cry."

Her reassurance didn't seem to get through to him.

"Hey," Cassidy pulled him into an awkward hug, making him tumble half into her lap. "It's not a big deal. Even puppet girl has some bloody marks on her face too. And her neck."

Evan hiccuped. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's something we all deal with. I mean, it still sucks because that's so invasive to just know how other people died, but-"

"At least we're all in it together?" Evan asked, the tears spilling from his eyes no longer dark and inky.

"Yeah." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "We've still all got some stuff we can keep private though, like what we were like when we were alive, but as far as dying and our killer go, we got stuff in common."

"Our killer?" Evan seemed horrified. "He killed other people? Besides me?"

"Yeah? He killed all of us," Cassidy's mouth twitched. "Did you not assume that?"

"I thought it was an accident. He said he was sorry and that it was an accident," Evan started muttering to himself, hyperventilating.

"Okay, I think you need to calm down a little bit-"

"Calm down? We're dead because of him!" Evan's eyes flashed, and the hysteria in his voice increasing as he spoke. "He lied to me!"

The black inky substance was leaking from his eyes again.

"Evan, we all had that feeling of hopelessness that you're feeling right now, and I know it hurts, but please. You'll be corrupted if you don't calm down!" Cassidy felt pressure rising behind her own eyes as she spoke. The threat seemed much more likely now that she was witnessing it happen.

Evan shuddered in her arms as she tried yet again to wipe away the tears. "I'm so bad at this," she said to herself as she continued to make it worse.

"Join the club," Evan whispered, gripping his elbows with what would've been bruising force in life. "I can't ever seem to get anything right, either."

"It looks like I made a finger painting on your face," Cassidy admitted, wrinkling her nose.

Evan huffed out a small laugh. "Probably an improvement to how I looked before."

"Nah, I think you're cute, but I made it worse." Cassidy scoffed.

Evan froze. "You... what?"

"I made it worse?" Cassidy answered with a questioning tone. "Like, I made you cry a bunch, and then I smeared it all over."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." Evan shook himself out of something.

"Did you always used to cry this much?" Cassidy asked, suddenly curious. She'd never heard him talk so much, and he was going to probably never do this again.

"Always," Evan said regretfully. "My family hated it. Mikey and Lizzie said I was the crybaby of the family, and they were right. It was so stupid. Mikey told me to 'man up' all the time and be a better older brother to Lizzie, but I just..."

"Your brother sounds like a jerk," Cassidy said.

"He's worse than a jerk, since he killed all of us," Evan huffed, peering up at Cassidy's face.

"Wait, what?" Cassidy frowned, suddenly confused. "Jeez, how long ago did you die?"

"Like... four years ago?" Evan answered, sitting up.

"But..." Cassidy was even more confused. "You seem too young to have died so recently. Like, your brother is a full-grown adult."

"No he isn't." Evan's face wrinkled up. "He was only fourteen when I died, so he wouldn't be older than eighteen right now."

"That makes no sense." Cassidy replied, shaking her head. "I died two years ago, and he killed me while wearing that stupid yellow bunny suit."

"Rabbit suit?" Evan echoed. "No, that wouldn't be Mikey. Mikey hated Spring Bonnie. Father kept trying to convince him to have more interest in the animatronics, but Mikey only cared about Foxy."

"Then..." Cassidy's throat tightened. "We weren't killed by the same person. We couldn't have been, not if you were killed by your brother."

"You were killed by my father," Evan told her, his face twisted in a different kind of sorrow.

He's trying to tell me without making me cry, Cassidy realized. How could anyone end his life like that? Evan was too sweet for his own good, and clearly some people hadn't appreciated him the way they should have.

"How do you know that?"

"He never let anyone else wear that suit, Cassidy. Not unless something changed after I died."

"Oh..." Cassidy didn't know how to feel about that. "So, your brother killed you, huh?"

"It was an accident." Evan stood up. "I don't..."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Cassidy said quickly. "I was just curious."

Cassidy stood up and glanced around a bit. "Do you ever wonder why everything down here is red?"

"Sometimes," Evan shrugged. "I don't see anything in any other color anyway."

"You... don't?"

"No."

"Have you ever left the suit?" Cassidy asked. "I only ever see you down here."

"I didn't know I could leave." Evan blinked at her.

"Come with me." Cassidy said suddenly. "You have actually been living under a rock, for real. Come see where we are."

"Oh. Okay..." Evan reluctantly followed Cassidy as she made her way out of the suit and back into the real world.

"So, this is Parts and Service." Cassidy gestured at the grungy room filled with broken animatronics.

"Who is this?" Evan asked softly, having walked away from Fredbear to trace a line down Foxy's snout.

"That's Foxy," Cassidy answered, coming to stand by his side. "Fritz doesn't tend to hang out around the suit much, not during the day anyway."

"Wow," Evan said, his voice wavering. "They actually made them all into animatronics?"

"Yeah, there's Freddy, and Foxy, and Bonnie, and Chica. They're a bit rusted out, and now they're just used for parts, but..." Cassidy shrugged. "I mean, the kids go around and have fun during the day, pretending to still be alive."

"You say that like you don't," Evan turned to her, clear tears running down his face. Does he ever stop crying? Cassidy wondered.

"I don't tend to join in. I'm a bit too aggressive for the things they like to do."

"What do you like to do, then?" Evan asked, his hand still resting gently on Foxy's head.

"I don't know. I just don't feel like playing anymore. I don't feel like pretending to be alive when I know we were all murdered, you know?"

"I guess..." Evan blinked. "What if you could help kids who were still alive?"

"Help how?"

"I don't know. Cheer them up when they're down or something, I guess. Like you did with me."

"I wouldn't say I cheered you up," Cassidy scoffed. "You're still crying."

"These are good tears," Evan replied.

"Well, I don't think that would work, in any case. Nobody can see or hear us."

"They can't?" Evan sounded disappointed. "Well, that's..."

"They can see the suits moving, at least," Cassidy offered. "It's just that you can't really communicate, and I've only ever used the suits to scare the security guards."

Evan stroked the fake fur on Foxy's head, not seeming to really be listening anymore. His shoulders drooped and the tears were darkening again.

"Hey, what's up?" Cassidy asked, finding herself reaching for Evan's face yet again to clear up the corrupted tears.

"It's nothing."

"Clearly that's not true," Cassidy pointed out, holding her inky hand in front of Evan's face. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to see my family again. I guess I was just hoping that I could tell my brother that I forgive him and miss him and-" Evan cut himself off with another sob. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Cassidy replied stubbornly. "I bet we can find a way."

"What if he doesn't even come here, Cassidy? What if he-"

"Foxy's his favorite, you said, right? Well, if that's true, we need to find a way to get him back in commission so your brother comes back. And then we can try to find a way to get communication between you two again."

"Why are you helping me?" Evan asked. He looked so silly with his face all squished like this, but Cassidy couldn't help it.

"Because I'd like to do something good for once," Cassidy whispered. "And I think it'd be nice to see you smile."

"Oh," Evan answered as Cassidy stretched his cheeks up to force his mouth into a makeshift smile. "Hey, stop it!"

Cassidy laughed. "Make me."

Evan swatted at her hand, a short huff of laughter escaping his mouth. "I can't!"

"Then you're stuck! Oh no, how terrible it is to smile again!" Cassidy grinned in his face, finally relenting in time to see him naturally smiling.

He giggled. "You're ridiculous, Cassidy."

And you're adorable, Cassidy thought fondly, surprised by the sudden protective urge that washed over her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno. Depends on if you're ticklish or not," Evan replied, the silver of his eyes gleaming menacingly as he dug his fingers into his sides.

Cassidy gasped, surprised that the same jolt of nerves she'd always felt when she was alive was still possible as a ghost. "Hey!" She laughed, even as she crumpled forward, tucked into Evan's shirt as she continued to struggle.

"You want to know the best part about this?" Evan asked, grinning down at her. "I don't even have to stop."

He was right, Cassidy realized. She was laughing so hard she couldn't draw breath, but since they were dead, it didn't make a difference. It's crazy how much joy there still is, even after dying, she thought, still struggling to squirm free.

Maybe the puppet girl had been right after all. Cassidy just needed to make some friends.

Or a friend, she thought looking up at the laughing boy who shared the suit with her.

There was still joy after death.

Especially with Evan around.

Thank you to @pixlokita for this adorable piece of fanart for this, by the way!

#cloud writes #I've returned! #evan afton #fnaf cassidy #golden duo #cc fnaf #and of course #thank you to Pix for this precious piece of art!

[skywqlkergf]

⠀ dealer!sam monroe x cheerleader!reader

⠀　　⠀　　　　back to school

⠀　　⠀　　⠀　series masterlist

monday morning, the kind that every teenage girl regrets. the kind where you have to worry about seeing a man you're upset with. your parents are back in town, and you have to plant a happy smile on your face.

you bound down the stairs, heading for the kitchen and getting some breakfast. you sit on the bar next to your father, he's drinking coffee and staring angrily at the wall. it's always something better left unsaid, because once he starts there's no coming back from the screaming match that's bound to happen.

as soon as you're done eating, you give each of your parents a kiss on the cheek and walk to your car. they barely acknowledge you, as per usual. little nods and hums when you speak, the only things they care for were reputations. how people see their lovely daughter, such bullshit.

once in your car, you just sigh, and start it mumbling to yourself about how this day better go half-way decent or it would be your last. it was an empty promise, but it made you chuckle dryly. you put on a playlist to try and lighten your spirits, it doesn't really work.

the drive takes entirely too long and not long enough at the same time. fifteen minutes will never be enough.

you're greeted by your friends as you exit your car, bright smiles and asking how your weekend went. lying, you tell them that it was a quiet weekend, not doing too much.

“well, you know what i heard?” the brunette spoke up, kylee, she giggled as she spoke, holding a hand over her mouth. after spending so much time with sam, you realize you don't really like your friends. losing some kind of sparkle after your deep talks, cheap gossip seems so futile.

“what?” your eyebrows raised, and worry set deep in your chest. the last thing you need is the most back-stabbing girls you ever met to know about your weekend adventures.

another one finishes for her, this time a redhead with olive skin. lila, with a bit more of an accusatory tone, “eric and sam monroe got into a fight, some people are saying it's about you.”

your world pauses around you for a moment, sam's injuries weren't from a deal gone bad, but because he was probably standing up for you. eric was always one to have to run his mouth, serves him right.

“yeah, eric had to go to the hospital. he's fine. sam is insane.” the third girl from your close-knit group spoke up, bethany. she spit sam’s name like it was a curse, and while you were deeply upset with him, you wanted to rip her head off. you swallow hard and just hum, “oh, that's odd.” it was spoke in a dejected tone. you wanted to yell at sam and thank him, maybe cry in his arms too. you felt so conflicted.

the loudspeaker garbles out, “sam monroe, y/n y/l/n, and eric taylor report to the principal’s office at once.” and naturally of course, you wouldn't be let off that easy.

you cursed under your breath, and made the walk, the girls you call your friends whispering about you as you do.

you find sam already sat inside, his eyes are puffy and he's looking right at you, but you refuse to make eye contact. eric is also there, sitting in the chair farthest from sam. this puts you between the pair. his face is different colors of reds, blues and purples, yet he still has a smug look planted on his face.

as he turns his head to give you a disgusted look, there's a very obvious print of sam's ring. you almost want to laugh. it's exactly what he deserves.

you want to look at sam, stare into his soul, hope it'll tell you something. how could he beat up eric for something that has to do with you, and then continue to abandon you. confusion floods your senses.

“i’m sure we're all aware of why we're here,” the principal finally talks, he sounds tired.

“i’m not.” you speak up, your voice firm. you'd be damned if you're getting dragged to the depths of hell because of teenage boys.

“mr. monroe, please inform, ms. y/l/n, why we're here.” the principal has a warning tone, obvious this might be the final straw for sam. and with all things considered, you're not gonna let that happen.

“i uh,” sam's hand comes to scratch the back of his neck, he shakes his head defeated. he doesn't want to tell you, you can see it in his body language. the usually confident boy is curling into himself.

you finally look at him, since he has to talk to you. your eyebrows are furrowed and he can see it, you're disappointed. or hurt, he can't exactly tell. now that you can see him, you can tell life hasn't been exactly peaches for him either. his face is splotchy, eyes red and swollen, hair messier than normal. there's even skin missing from his lips from picking and biting them. you were still hurt, still angry, still upset. however, everything in you is telling you to pull this boy into your arms.

you have to protect yourself, you can't let him hurt you. but could you let him hurt himself in the meantime? you didn't know.

after sam finally recalls the fight, leaving out the parts of weed, which you were well aware of. your heart leaped once again, this man played your heartstrings like a bass.

you gave a dirty look to eric, and a soft one to sam. you can't just hurt him when he's looking at you like a puppy that's been kicked one too many times.

“i could be wrong, but isn't anything that happens off school property not the school's business? isn't that what the school board says when a kid gets cyber bullied and they kill themself? it's not the school's fault, cause it happened at home?”

the principal sighs, putting his head in his hands. it was obvious this was being pushed by eric, or perhaps his parents. probably to get sam kicked out of school, but this wouldn't be the first time you argued with school officials.

eventually argument leads to silence and the principal waves you all out, despite eric’s disdain. you step out of the office, now a scowl on your face.

the hallway’s empty, and since you and sam have classes in the same block, you and him walk away from eric. you wait until you're not in earshot, and pull sam into the girl's bathroom by the collar of his shirt.

you can tell he wants to talk to you, to explain something away. you'd rather rip the fucking bandaid off.

“quit with the puppy eyes and talk," your voice is cold and angry all at once. sam has never even heard you use a tone close to this before. especially not with him, it made anxiety creep up his back. he hated that you were mad at him, he almost wanted to leave.

“i’m sorry, cheer, i-i,” he chews on his lip again, and you want to roll your eyes. your arms come to cross over your chest, and it reminds sam of the beginning, of how it all started.

“you, what? you're stupid? i know that. you're an ass? i know that, too. gonna tell me anything I don't know?” you're spitting venom at him, and he flinches at it. you cringe at the look on his face, you just want to shake him and tell him to make a choice.

he laughs, it's cold and dry, and sounds a bit like he might cry again, you try to keep up a harsh exterior but your resolve is slowly crumbling.

“i am, i am all of those things, and you, you're perfect and i, i, you don't, you shouldn't have to put up with me, my bullshit, i,” his voice is breaking, it's shaky, and he's shaking his head.

you scoff, eyebrows furrowing together, “really? that's what this whole disappearing act is about? because you feel bad for yourself? god, sam, this is bullshit. this is shitty, you're being shitty to me. you're right, I don't deserve this. be a fucking grown up for once in your life and take responsibility.” you're laughing, cold, like steel. your laugh comes out angry, while his was so sad.

“we had sex and when i woke up, you were gone, fucking ghost, and all because your ego is a fucking mess? you acting like some fuckboy who just learned empathy. stay the fuck away from me until you can act mature and be serious about this. i am not some goddamn plaything you can just put down when you feel like it, okay? all or nothing, I'm done doing this shit. i love you, and it's killing me." you were crying now, your tears match the ones spilling from his eyes, as you tear him apart.

you wipe harshly at the fast falling tears, “goodbye sam.” and you storm from the bathroom, out of the side door of the building. you leave the school, you don't know where you're going but you can't be here. the day's just started and you're already done.

#dealer!sam monroe x cheerleader!reader #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe one shot #sam monroe life as a house #life as a house sam #sam monroe fic #sam monroe angst #sam monroe blurb #sam monroe drabble #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe series #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x reader angst #sam monroe x y/n angst #sam monroe x you angst #shut up callista

[ivypos-writes]

with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond’s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #hotd #aemond x reader #asoiaf #aemond fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon

[tipsyscone]

for the dbd ask game: 2, 14, 21 ♡

2 - fave episode

Oh boy, probably episode 7! It has so many interesting character beats to me, and I get too distracted watching it when I have Dead Boys going in the background. To start with, I love Crystal's storyline starting with her being so adamant to also go to hell to save Edwin. We all know that their relationship has gotten off to a rocky start and I feel this really solidifies her care for Edwin and shows they have their own friendship outside of Charles. She is so worried about not knowing who she is that I feel she has failed to noticed she has already made her own found family.

The scenes with Niko and the Night Nurse really showcases Niko missing her dad and is another of great addition to the episode. For me it's the only explanation of why the group didn't wonder why Niko wasnt a ghost- she obviously passed on to be with her father, right? (Truly heartbreaking to me that they don't even know to look for her at this point.)

George Rexstrew's performance this whole episode is superb imo. The scene with Simon is so heartbreaking (shout out to Gabriel Drake!) and really hit me in the queer feels. I feel like many queer people have had that feeling when we are younger of being wrong, and to have these two boys help each other to move on healed something in me. Follow this up with THE STAIRCASE- the way Edwin's breath catches as he confesses and the fragile look on his face; the collar bone touch from Charles gets me every time. And I'm so thankful for Charles response. Payneland until I die, but it is perhaps the only pair I ship that if it stayed a QPR I would still be okay with it.

14 - plotline you would put into S2/any future season

I really want to see more Edwin and Crystal friendship and for them to pair up on a case together next season! I think it was an unappreciated duo and I would love to get to see them be mean girls together. I think they would be iconic verbally ripping apart a rude client.

I also need Monty to return asap. That poor little crow boy deserves another chance and I'm heartbroken that they just left him in that house. I hope he somehow becomes besties with Jenny- a crow and a goth together at last. I would also love if somehow Monty and the Cat King both came to London as a duo if we are to get cameos. It could work so well for them to have bonded in the absence of the other characters and now they need the dbda to take a case for them.

It would make my little heart so happy for Monty to get any happy ending but I hope he gets a boyfriend please and thank you.

21 - something in the show that made you happy

I really appreciate that the show made women fully fleshed out characters. It would have been easy for them to have Niko be the positive attitude character, but I think we can all relate to her a lot more knowing she struggles with fitting in and is dealing with the loss of a loved one. Jenny could have been all about the pithy oneliners, but instead we found out about her having to learn a business that was left to her by her father and her struggles to find people to connect to. Even the Night Nurse goes on a journey to learn empathy for humans. Truly a shout out to all the woman writers, actors and crew on this show for having such nuanced characters when other supernatural shows in the past haven't bothered.

Also I really love Kingham and Litty and I hope they stick around for awhile next season so I can enjoy more of their savagery. And maybe they can learn to not be dicks ❤️

Thanks for thinking of me @plutosheaven! I'm usually just the one screaming in the reblogs of everyone else's posts, but I want all of the artist and writers in the fandom to know I appreciate you and you're amazing!

#dead boy detectives #dbda #Dbda ask game #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #niko sasaki #edwin payne #monty the crow #we love stronger female characters in this house #and also all the queer rep

[upsidedownmvnson]

♥️ Hi!! Can we get a cute lil story with Buckley and Harrington trying to convince reader that eddie is into them, two oblivious jealous dorks in love? Would love this!!

"Squish that cup anymore and you're gunna be wearing your drink," Steve said, sliding up beside you by the pool table.

You were all in Steve's basement, drinking to celebrate the end of an era, yours, Nancy's and Robin's graduation. But all you could focus on was Eddie, and the girl he'd been talking to this whole stupid party.

"Yeah, well," you sighed, chugging the entire content of the drink, "problem solved."

Robin snorted, sliding up on the other side to flank you. "You know they're talking about the chem homework."

"Since when does Eddie care about homework?" you mumble, wishing you had more drink in your cup.

"He doesn't," she said, "but Dustin told him that making you jealous was a good idea."

"What happened to easing them into it?" Steve asked, cocking an eyebrow at Robin.

"That was easy, I could've called them a dummy."

"I think you just kinda did," Steve said.

"Do you guys need me for this or...?"

"Look, maybe you should go over and talk to him," Robin said, bumping your shoulder with her own. "and then you wouldn't have to feel so jealous."

You nearly choked. "Jealous? Who is jealous? I'm glad actually. I think it's great, Eddie should be talking to girls at parties, it's like... it's so great."

"Okay, you can't really think we believe that." Steve laughed, watching the girl touch Eddie's arm, and noticing how your fist clenched by your side.

"What do you want me to do? He doesn't want me," you said, "he doesn't want me."

"Okay, now I'm going to call you a dummy," Robin sighed, she turned you to face her, and with a slight shake of your shoulders she said, "I can't take it anymore, you both love each other. It's so obvious. And you're so... oblivious!"

"We can make this happen faster, you know. Play mind games," Steve said.

"I don't want mind games," you scoffed.

"Okay, not mind games per se, just uh, evidence, we'll call it evidence. Just trust me, okay? Bet I can make him come over here in under a minute." Steve smiled, and then wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Robin chuckled, and found a place with Nancy on the other side of the room. Steve kept his arm around you and leaned close to your ear and whispered, "stop looking confused, smile and look down."

Out of sheer curiosity, you did. You chuckled, his breath tickled your ear. And you tried not to glance over at Eddie.

Eddie couldn't even pretend to care about what this girl was saying anymore. Dustin was an idiot for convincing him to try and make you jealous. It was juvenile, really. When you chuckled, he was barely in control of his feet as he walked away from that girl without saying anything, and felt himself be carried over to you guys.

"What're you guys talking about?" he asked, watching as Steve slid away from you.

"Nothing really," Steve said, laughing. "Oh - chips are empty again, I better go host."

As Steve walked away, Eddie took his spot, leaning beside you.

"Was it really nothing? It seemed... flirty."

"Uhm, actually... he said he could get you to come over here in under a minute. He did it in about 20 seconds."

Eddie glared over at Steve, who's back was turned. He bit the inside of his lip, "well, I didn't like it."

"You're right, it was stupid. I told him I didn't want -"

"No, I mean I didn't like him touching you like that."

"Oh," you said, not knowing what to say.

Eddie looked nervous, but he took a deep breath and said, "I was trying to make you jealous. But I probably should've just told I..." he took a slow breath, "I want to take you out sometime. Like a real date... if you want that?"

"Yeah," you blushed, looking at your shoes and kicking nothing, softly with the tip of your toe. "I want that."

And Eddie didn't say anything else, just intentionally bumped his pinky against yours... blushing lightly when he did it back.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction

[oreolemur]

Ok so how about a Megumi x female reader.... Where Megumi is a bully... He bullied the reader so much. But the reader Fears Megumi so much so she didn't tell anything to Megumi. Reader had a crush on Yuta. They weren't in a relationship but they liked each other so much... Megumi doesn't like it...cz he loves the reader but never tells anyone cz he loves to bully her.... So being jealous one day he raped the reader and made a video of it and send it to Yuta...

Here you go!!

Watching you from a distance, Megumi couldn’t stand to see you happy with Yuta. “That shit pisses me off”, he muttered. It wasn’t like the two of you were dating. You and Yuta have been best friends since elementary school, but as you both got older, you started to develop feelings for each other. “Wanna hang out this weekend?”, Yuta asked. “My roommate will be out of town. We can watch movies and binge on snacks”. He was always a sweet guy. “Sure, sounds fun”, you smiled, gathering your stuff as you began to head to your next class. “Alright, see you Saturday”, Yuta waved goodbye, going his separate ways. You watched him leave, blushing at the thought of having alone time with him. “Eek, I can’t wait!”. 

Once you made it to your next period, you sat down, sighing. “I hope he’s absent today”. You look at the classroom’s entrance, watching and waiting. “Please don’t be here. Please don’t be here”. You bite your nails, bouncing your leg. “Move your bag”, a voice said beside you. You were so focused on one entrance of the classroom that you forgot all about the other. You look next to you, seeing Megumi…your bully. “Move your goddamn bag”, he repeated. You quickly did, placing it on the floor. “I-I thought you weren’t coming today”, you said. Megumi took a seat next to you. “You’d like that wouldn’t you”, he responded. You knew you would actually. Megumi was always mean to you, taunting you however he saw fit. 

Even during lessons, he didn’t care about the fact that you were trying to learn. He would sharpen his pencil, stabbing you in the thigh with it. What made it worse was that you always wore dresses and skirts, so it was easy access for him. “Please stop”, you begged, on the verge of crying. Megumi could hear the pain in your voice. “If you cry I will do it harder”, he said, digging the sharp object into your skin. You clenched your fists, trying not to cry. Your bully heard you struggling as you took deep shaky breaths. “Tch, pathetic”. But that’s not the only thing he would do. When class ended, he would take it upon himself to trip you, making you fall. One day, you fell so hard your face hit your textbooks, causing your nose to bleed. 

You could never escape Megumi. He had you wrapped around his finger. You were his toy and he loved to play with you. Even when you thought it was ok to avoid him, he punished you for it. When he did hit you, he would beat you in places you could cover up. “You know what happens if you tell anyone about this right?”. He would threaten you, making you sure you kept quiet. You never understood what you could’ve done for him to treat you this way. “W-why do you hurt me?”. You asked that question often, but all he ever said was, “Because I want to”.

No matter how close you were with Yuta, you knew you would never have the courage to tell him. He was your safe space, a person that made you smile, and a shoulder to cry on. “He would be heartbroken hearing about this”. You always put on a smile around him, although some days you were in pain or depressed about your situation. No one could make you feel better than Yuta. Maybe that’s why you have feelings for him? “Are you ready to have fun with me tomorrow”, Yuta asked, walking you back to your dorm. “Of course I am”, you blushed. Seeing your face turn red, Yuta blushed as well. “D-did you pick a time for us to meet? I was thinking we could go out to eat first”, the man asked. Dinner with your crush? You were flustered, “Um…h-how about…7?”, you suggested. Yuta agreed to it. 

Once you reached your dorm, you hugged Yuta goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow”, you said. Before you could walk off, Yuta grabbed you by the arm, pulling you in. “What-”, he cut you off, smashing his lips onto yours. “How was that?”, he asked, shocked by his boldness. You blinked a few times as he left you speechless. “Did you not like it?”, he wondered. You shook your head. “N-No…I loved it”. You quickly pecked his lips, walking off. “See you tomorrow!”, you shouted. 

Opening the main entrance to your dorm, you ran into your bully. The two of you looked at each other in silence. “W-what are you doing here?”, you asked. Megumi continued to stare at you. He was furious, but didn’t show it. “Do you like him?”, he asked. You looked at him confused, “Who?”. He sucked his teeth, getting up. “You know who”, he said. “Do you like him…Yuta?”. You nod, “Y-yes, why?”. Megumi stood in front of you, staring into your eyes. He didn’t say anything…just looked. “What do you want?”, you questioned. He ignored your question, walking out of the building. You looked back at him, wondering what that was. “At least he didn’t hurt me”, you said. 

❤~The Next Day~❤

You spent the entire evening getting yourself ready to go out with Yuta. “I have to look my best”, you said looking into your closet for something cute to wear. “This will do”. You picked out a cute black skirt that was knee high. Then you chose a pink long sleeve with ribbons on it. You were so excited that it was hard to contain your happiness. “I can’t believe he kissed me”, you blushed. Having Yuta as your first kiss was a dream come true. “I’m glad he likes me back. Maybe he’ll ask me out”. You daydreamed about the two of you being together. A dream with just love and security…and no Megumi. Definitely no Megumi. You couldn’t help but think about the awkward run in you had with him yesterday. “What was his problem?”. You shook it off, focusing on getting ready. “Nothing will stand in the way of my happiness tonight”. 

Meanwhile Megumi was in his apartment, sitting on the couch.  He stared blankly at the TV which wasn’t even on. “She likes him”, he said. The man saw everything that happened between you and Yuta. “They kissed”. He was in his feelings. “She belongs to me”. Megumi loved you. But how could that be? He clenched his fists at the idea of you dating someone other than him. He wanted you. You were his and his only. It didn’t matter that all he does is hurt you. “She’s mine”. He got up from the couch, grabbing his keys. He decided it would be best to go for a nightly stroll to clear his head. 

❤~6:30pm~❤

You checked yourself in the mirror. “I look so cute”, you smiled. You applied some makeup to your face, adding any finishing touches to it. “Ok…done”. You grabbed your purse and phone, sending a text to Yuta that you’re on the way. You exited your room, heading down stairs. The moment you got to the main entrance, you saw Megumi standing there. It was like he was waiting for something…or someone. You slowly opened the door, wondering why he was there. “Megumi? W-why are you here?”. He took a step close to you, staring. “What do you-”, before you could finish, he slapped you. “Ow”. You rubbed your cheek, looking at him with tearful eyes. “Come with me”, he said. You shook your head, “I can’t I-”. He hit you again. “Come with me”, he repeated. Your cheek began to bruise. You held your face, looking down at the floor. Megumi watched you cry, feeling nothing. He stepped closer to you, grabbing your face. “When your boyfriend tells you to do something you do it”, he said.

You looked at him confused. “B-boyfriend?”, you paused. “We’re not even dating”. He grabbed your wrists, dragging you along with him. “Let's go”. You stumbled, trying to catch up with him. “Please let go of me”, you begged, attempting to pull your arm away from him. He gripped you tighter, digging his nails into your skin. You knew you were powerless against him, so you had no other choice but to follow him. He took you across campus to the apartments that were beside the university. “I hope he doesn’t beat me badly this time”, you hoped. Once he approached his front door, he opened it, pushing you inside. 

You jumped when his dogs began to bark at you. “Ignore them”, he said, guiding you to his bedroom. He ordered you to sit on the bed as he closed the door behind him. “Can we make this quick? I-I have somewhere important to be”, you stated. You took out your phone, looking at the time.”Give me your phone”, Megumi demanded. You didn’t want to. “Why?”, you asked. He walked up to you, snatching it out of your hand. “H-hey, come-”. He slapped you again, making the bruise even worse. “Please stop hitting me”, you begged. Megumi ignored you, unlocking your phone. “You think it’s ok to cheat on me?”, he said. The man kept confusing you. “Cheat? What are you talking about?”. Megumi scoffed, “You know exactly what I’m talking about”.

He was beyond delusional at this point. “I saw what you and Yuta did!”. You can see the anger in his eyes as he was starting to lose his composure. “He kissed you and-”, Megumi was cut off. A text from Yuta came through. “What does he mean “Are you still coming?”, the man asked. “W-we were supposed to hang out tonight”, you said. Megumi bawled his fists. “What!”. He grabbed you by the neck, pinning you on the bed. He choked you as he spewed nonsense about you belonging to him. You clawed at his hands, trying desperately to get him to unhand you. “S-stop”, you begged. His grip became harder. Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head. Your body continued to fight back, but the longer he choked you…your limbs grew weak. “Damnit!”, Megumi shouted as he let go. You gasped for air as he got off you.

Megumi reached for your phone, unlocking it again. “Guess I’ll  have to show you AND him who you belong to”. He went to your camera, pressing record. He set the device on his dresser, making sure it was facing the bed. As he approached you, you noticed he was taking off his clothes. You tried to sit up, but he pushed you back down. His hands took hold of your skirt, pulling it off along with your panties. You tried to stop him but he smacked your hand away. “Keep fighting and I’ll make it worse”, he warned. You didn’t want to take that chance, so you compiled. Megumi pried your legs open, spitting on your pussy, before shoving his full length in. You cried out in pain, feeling him thrust hard. “Shut up and take it”, he said. He groaned at how tight you were. It was painful, you never thought that your first time would be like this. 

He lifted up your shirt, exposing your jiggling breasts. He grabbed them, squeezing hard. “Megumi…please”, you sobbed. Megumi ignored you, continuing to do as he pleased. “Fuck”, he moaned, going harder. You couldn’t stop clenching around him. Your tight walls milked his cock, making the man blush. He leaned into your face, holding it still as he kissed you. You cried into his mouth as he forcefully stuck his tongue inside. The phone was still recording, catching everything that Megumi was doing to you. He pulled away from your mouth, looking back at the device, grinning. “Perfect”, he whispered. He drew his attention back to you, staring at your tearful face. “Don’t act like you don’t like it”, he said. “You’re supposed to love your boyfriend’s cock inside you”. 

Megumi stopped, flipping you over on your stomach. He lubed your ass up with spit, rubbing his dick against your anus. “Are you done?”, you asked. “I can’t take anymore”. He grabbed your hair, yanking your head back. Your body was pressed against his chest as he whispered into your ear. “You’ll take whatever I give you”. He pushed you back down, thrusting hard into your ass. You were shocked by how much it hurt. Your cries grew louder. Megumi dug his nails into your waist, holding it for support. “St-stop”, you whimpered. It didn’t take long for your voice to die down. Your vision blurred as you started to pass out. “About time you shut the fuck up”, Megumi said. 

❤~Hours Later~❤

You woke up, lying naked beside your bully. He was sound asleep with his arm wrapped around you. You slowly got up, trying not to make a sound. It was hard to move. You can tell he did more after you lost consciousness. “I know Yuta is disappointed in me”, you said. As you got dressed, you looked for your phone, grabbing it off Megumi’s nightstand. “What the hell?”, you stared at you and Yuta’s messages. He blew up your phone, making you wonder why. As you scrolled up more, your heart dropped. Megumi sent the video to him. “W-why would he do that?”. He edited the video to when you had passed out. He made it look like the two of you were having sex. You cried silently as you grabbed your purse to leave. 

“I’m guessing you saw the video”, Megumi woke up, hearing you sniffle. You looked back at him, asking him why he did that. “Because I love you…”, he got up from the bed, walking over to you. His hand reached out, caressing your face. “You think I want to see you happy with someone else”. He wiped away your tears, taking the phone out of your hand. “Looks like my plan worked”, he read the messages, feeling proud of himself. “You’re an asshole”, you said, snatching your phone out of his hands. Megumi laughed at you. He didn’t care that he ruined your chance with Yuta. All that mattered was that you were his. “Don’t be mad, sweetheart. You’ll grow to love me soon enough”.

#jujutsu kaisen #dark writing #tw noncon #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen smut #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fushiguro #yandere megumi #megumi x reader

[khaotunng]

This series was something else huh

#hospital playlist #episode 5 where songhwa has that medical scare #and they establish the way ikjun loves LOVES her #and that SOMETHING is definitely there #with like. 2 scenes #that are SO well written #him being the only one who goes with her at the visit #and then when she’s back working happy it was not a bad result #she says ‘oh actually yes I’d like coffee’ to her colleague #and BAM he is already there #it’s as easy as breathing to take care of her #Uuhuuuhuuh crazy #lyde vs kdramas #Spotify

[gender-euphowrya]

old people really were raised on the idea that their descendants were just future caretakers for them and never fucking learned to think otherwise

#sorry grandma thinks i'm her therapist again #grandma takes everything i do for her for granted again #grandma overthinks literally every fucking aspect of her life and confuses the fanfic she made up about her relatives for reality again #like she's dead convinced nobody loves her and nobody does anything for her and nobody visits her and yadda yadda yadda #girl i can't be at your house every fucking day. i don't have a car. my mom's got a fucking job. #literally she never voices her god damn needs. she never says ''hey i need help with this'' or ''i'm not well could you do that for me'' #we're just supposed to fucking use our telepathic powers we definitely have to Guess what she wants from us #and then when we don't succeed at that Easy Task it's our fault and she's so alone and nobody cares wah wah boohoo #and if you so much as breathe in a way that might maybe possibly indicate that you're a little bit in disagreement with her #or that you could potentially have some form of criticism or advice about her behavior she doubles the fuck down #you tell her ''calm down'' she hears ''SHUT UP NOBODY CARES YOU SHOULD JUST DIE''. those are definitely the same statement. #she fucking begged me to ask my therapist to start seeing her too. fucking 6-7 months later she's like #nooo i don't want to go anymore what's the poiiiiint #GIRL IVE BEEN GOING FOR 6 GOD DAMN YEARS. #IT TOOK ME 5 OF THOSE YEARS TO EVEN JUST -START- GETTING BETTER AND I WAS LESS DEPRESSED THAN YOU #IT'S NOT GONNA MAGIC AWAY IN 7 MONTHS !!!! #I'LL DRAG YOU THERE KICKING AND SCREAMING IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES BUT YOU'RE FUCKING GOING #*through gritted teeth* i love and care about you and want you to be well Stop getting in the way of me doing that

[hoshigray]

This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: NAH CUZ I SEE THE VISION, HOLD ON–

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks, y'all) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spooning dp position - breast fondling + nipple play - breeding kink - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - dacryphilia - pet names ([little]dove, good girl, my wife, woman) - soft! kuna, but not too OOC - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

“Stay still, woman…Mmnnn, good girl, nice and easy…”

It’s not a rarity for Sukuna to have his hands on you as you two slept through the night. After all, he is the King of Curses; asking permission to touch his is beneath him. You were made for him to hold – sculpted for his cursed hands to touch – everyone else was far behind or had no standing compared to your demonic husband. And with you both sharing a futon every night, who’s supposed to tell him to keep his hands to himself?

You, his little spouse, knew of this. Marrying the King of Curses was something you never imagined would happen — let alone falling in love with the giant man! You’ve always had dreams of becoming a sweet little partner to someone; for that to be fulfilled by the cursed man who could kill thousands in the blink of an eye is astounding. 

And, of course, being a wife entails all the duties accompanying the package. Especially now, as you two lie together on the floor, nude bodies nestled close on the futon above the tatami floor, and your naked figure trembling from the insertion of one of Sukuna’s paired cock. And your heart drops at the second one brushing up against the crevice of your ass when he pushes the one inside your throbbing, velvety channel. 

“Mmmph…! Sukuna, no,” you whined, your butt inching away from the second member. “I can’t handle both—“

“Don’t lie; you’ve done it before and did it well,” a hand brings your waist to him. “Or maybe I should just have one of the concubines take care of me, seeing as though my own wife is neglecting their duties.” 

He wouldn’t do that; Sukuna’s interest in his insignificant mistresses had long been diminished once he took you up as his bride, practically collecting dust as he hadn’t visited them since you shared a bed with him. Now, he uses them as tools to probe you. And he has to hold back the mischievous snicker when your eyes widen with anxiousness, wrapping your arms around his neck in desperation.

“N–No, please!” You pleaded; it was the only sufficient approach. “I’ll be good to you, I promise!”

The four-eyed curse scoffs. “Then do what you’re supposed to,” Each crimson orb takes in information about your bashful expression, “And attend to your husband like a wife should.”

Further complaints cease at his command, so you quiet down and arch your behind to him submissively. Sukuna takes your initiation with his hungry bottom hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh as you guide his other dick to your lubed asshole. With a hum, he pushes himself and forces you to take his cocks with your bottom, needing a few seconds to breathe when your holes reach the base of his members.

“Good girl,” he says to your ear to make you shudder, and he lifts your leg with the hand that finished groping your asscheek. “Obeying me so well like always…”

He begins to move without a signal, slowly pulling himself in and out of your warm wetness that coats his length with your slick. You can’t help but grip the girth limbs that massage your insides, involuntarily throbbing on them with shaky breaths.  

“Mmmaah, ohhhmyG—Mmm!” Speech isn’t easy, even with his upper left hand cupping your cheeks. And your brows furrow as the upper right sneaks to grope a breast. “Faaahh, Suk..una, I’m too full already…”

“Mmm? Is that so?” Sukuna asks with a patronizing tone, licking the helix of your ear to hear you gasp. “But we’ve barely started yet, my wife. Don’t bore me before I can enjoy you yet.” 

His hips go at a gradual cadence that has you keening a mess, the sensation of the veins of his cocks felt by the walls of your holes. You howl silently, not wanting to make too much noise.

But that doesn’t fly with your husband, speaking to your ear with that hoarse voice. Almost has you melting as he squishes with your cheeks, “Let it out, princess,” he commands. “I want to hear that voice; don’t you dare hide that from me.”

Fuck, the way you felt on his dicks was so fucking good, having the cursed behemoth burrow his face into the cubby of your neck. Slow kisses on your skin segway to sucks that should mark for later. He could never get enough of how small you were up against him. His giant palm swallowed your tit, your ass bouncing with every thrust, and how damn tight you were as you accommodated the two members making your entrances busy. 

Goddamn it, he bites his lip, dialing up the speed of his ruts a bit. Scratching your inner walls has you squeaking louder, unable to stop yourself when he grinds his hips after a sudden grim pound. So warm and snug for him as if you were meant for him. He knew you were meant for him — taking his huge, fat shafts with no objections, just arching your back further so the sensation could be more pleasurable like the loyal, little pet you are. “Hmngh…! Yeah, just like that, little dove; keep clenching around me like that…”

Restraint was gone long ago, letting your voice and shrieks fly out and fill the quiet bedroom. The sound of his skin shaking against your ass, the heat of your cheeks making it hard to think, and the shivers crawling your spine with every graze to your sweet spots. Everything feels like a haze, your brain too clouded to think outside this moment. 

And then you sense the hand on your breast let go, slithering down to your unattended clitoris, which has your eyes shoot wide as your demon husband presses down. “—Khhff! Nooo, ‘Kunaa, you mustn’t…!”  

He lifts a brow with a grin; you dare question him? “And why shouldn’t I?” He pinches the delicate bud, resulting in a scream sneaking past your lips. “Hmm? Plead for yourself.”

“Becau—Ahhh! Mmmm, I’ll cum. I’m gonna cumm…”

“Then don’t,” Sukuna doesn’t remove his digits playing with your clit, and the hand on your chin pulls your face to look at him. “Cum without my permission, and I’ll make sure to not be so kind next time...” His words carry a warning filling your bones with apprehension, yet his soft lips greet yours and he hums into your mouth. The kiss serves as a distraction from his thick digits gently swiping on the pearl.

The rhythm of his hips, however, increases in speed and prompts more moans to be taken by Sukuna. Drool trickles down your lips, same with tears that welled up earlier from the insertion of his girth inside your ass. Your eyes roll at the jab to your silky walls, breaking the sweet yet passionate kiss to cry out as your husband’s fat balls smack your ass. 

“—Ooooo, fuuuck, I can’t,” your eyelids shield your vision, using the rest of your senses to indulge in this euphoric pleasure. “‘Kuna, I’m so close, so—Ooohh!”

“Me too…Ghhh! Shit, me too…” Sukuna presses his hot face to yours when you throw it back, licking the tears off your sweaty skin. You looked so stunning like this, all disheveled and immodest because of him. “Gonna take my load, huh?” He licks the sweat off your shoulder and bites when you don’t respond. “Answer me, Y/n.”

“—Ahhh, yes!”

That’s not enough. “I said,” he pinches your clit again as he gives slow yet rough ruts to your holes. And he can tell by your twitching that you’re doing everything in our power not to come. “Answer me.”

Holy shit, this was borderline torture. “Mmmph! OhhhLord, ‘Kunaaa, I want you to fill me up. Pleasee, pleasepleaseee, I wanna be full; wanna be all ‘round and fat with your child…!”

“Keh, dumb pet; who said I wanted a brat, huh?” He scoffs, yet you can hear the groan as he licks and sucks on your neck while squishing your hot, tear-stricken cheeks. “Fine then; go on and cum with me. So damn needy for my seed…”

Sukuna brings your chin for another steamy kiss, his lower left hand holding yours as his pelvis goes at an irregular pace. Your muffled shrills are taken by feisty lips, teeth clashing with his fangs before sucking on his tongue, and the upper left hand releases your chin to caress your chest once more, tweezing the nipple along with swipes to your clit.

Release gradually creeps up your shaky frame, crying to his mouth when your chasm and anus pucker around the lengths that graze your walls with the tips. Sukuna is not too far behind you, pumping his load into you with a few harsh plunges, making your contracting cunt and rear full of his hot and thick semen. The lower right hand propping your leg up leaves soft kneads on your inner thigh, hoisting it up further so his shafts are deep enough until his pulsing balls meet your ass.

You withdrew from his lips to breathe, your figure quivering through the aftershocks, and your slit and asshole still flutter around his girths. And you mewl when he kisses your cheek and temple.

“Mmm, that’s my princess,” he purrs while placing your leg down to massage your waist. “Such a good dove…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagines #anime smut #jujutsu kaisen fic

[recycledraccoon]

What if....

Damien and Danyal Al Ghul are twins. Danyal takes heavily after Bruce but Damien is a perfect mix of their parents, and he came out of the artificial womb first, so Damien is decided to be the heir.

Growing up in the League is hard, but Damien excels in a way that Danyal doesn't, because for all the potential Danyal has, he hates the killing and there is a rebellious streak evident even as young as they are. A rebellious streak is a...very dangerous thing to have. Grandfather won't kill Danyal, for as ruthless as he is he doesn't kill his own lineage. But that is not to say that the additional "training" Danyal goes through is merciful.

Damien and Danyal love each other, not just as brothers but also in the way partners do when they don't even have to blink to anticipate the others actions in the midst of action. Which is why Damien, not even yet six, can see the way Danyal is being broken down under the burden of their joint legacy.

So many times, in so many of the universes in which he exists, Danyal Al Ghul is or is seemingly killed, of which is the catalyst for his escape from the League of Assassins, and his brother is left behind thinking him truly dead.

In this universe, when the Demon Twins are out on a training mission (an assassination of a target so easy it's beneath the League for anything other than the simplest of first training missions) a massive earthquake occurs.

They are alive at the end, but both their communication devices are beyond repair. Damien is more roughed up than Danyal at the end, but both are dirty and bloodied.

This is an unprecedented opportunity, of which Damien knows deep down he will never get again.

He loves his brother deeply, but Danyal is weak, always hesitating before the kill, hands shaking. Damien loves his brother and fighting side by side, but he values more the quiet moments when Danyal is looking at star maps and trying to match them up with the sky above their home or making snarky comments about their trainers under his breath. (After when they can't hear Damien doesn't laugh but Danyal always knows he agrees and is amused.)

Grandfather's and Mother's additional training to bring Danyal up to Damien's level is making Danyal go quiet and emotionless and Damien is selfish.

(Damien convinces his twin brother to leave the League of Assassins.)

Damien drags himself to the rendezvous point and returns home alone, reporting the target dead and his brother lost under rock in the quake, body unable to be recovered. He is colder, furious at the world and himself. He pushes and pushes and PUSHES himself. He is the last remaining of a set and he will prove himself perfect to carry the title of Heir perfectly and without reproach. He is more loyal day by day, the guilt his selfishness and betrayal of his family a deep sting he can't ignore.

Talia does search, but so many bodies were lost or unidentified inside mass graves. She grieves and then refocuses on her remaining son without looking back. Grandfather laments the loss, but cares little for the spare in the long run.

Meanwhile, Danyal hid himself long enough to sneak onto one of many transports filled with foreign aid. He is small and sneakier than any average stowaway, and remains undetected all the way to the US.

He doesn't go to Gotham to find his father, but picks a direction at random and leaves, until eventually he's picked up and put in the system. Bouncing around until one day, not long after he turns seven, the Dr.'s Fenton and their young daughter are visiting in their search to adopt their second child. (A combination of genetics and radiation from their earliest experiments in college leaving the pair with low fertility rates and very high risks if they ever did get pregnant. The two get procedures early on and adopt Jazz when she is still fairly young, but wait until she is a bit older before adopting again.)

Danyal Al Ghul had an older twin brother.

Daniel Fenton doesn't think he could handle having an older brother again, but an older sister is acceptable.

Danyal left to go full civilian, and when Damien had sent him off decided he would carry that knowledge to his grave if he must. He tells no one, and does not even mention ever having a twin when he goes to live with their Father in Gotham. If Mother did not tell Father of the deceased son, then neither will Damien.

Danyal Al Ghul is dead, and Damien will keep it that way.

.

.

.

.

(The greatest secret is this: The two have never lost contact. It is very easy, during a natural disaster, to steal a pair of burner phones, each with one number only on them and prepaid with enough stolen funds to last years. Danny smuggles his with him in one piece, Damien smuggles his in pieces, ready to be hidden and repaired when necessary. He checks it scarcely, but every few months is enough to make sure his twin is alive. When he goes to live with Father in Gotham, they communicate a bit more frequently. This remains his most fiercely protected secret.)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny and damian are twins #oops this was in my drafts for a hot minute might as well post it now while I'm NOT on mobile for once

[wireddless]

Addict

pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Reader

cw: 17+ hate. fucking. dubcon, possessive behavior, corio is emotionally abusive, vaguely implied Plinth reader, p in v, unprotected sex, nsfw below the cut,

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i just know hes so hung you guys i want him so bad

Living in the shadow of Lucy Gray was never an easy feat. That’s all she was after the erasure; a shadow, soon to be only a whisper on the sleeping breath of Coriolanus. The closest he could ever feel to real love was with the District 12 songbird, and had she been more than just a district animal, a member of the Capitol, there was no doubt in your mind he would have married her instead.

Your days at the academy, a few years his inferior, were spent in the naive mindset that he was fully capable of love. However, the only true love he would ever feel was towards the power in his cold-handed grasp. After your graduation, you continued living with your family, their prized figurehead of poise and beauty, until they managed to propose your hand to him, only a year or so before he became president.

Coriolanus, living on top of his family’s hidden debt and poverty, accepted nearly immediately, driven by the thought of the millions that came with your name. Your family, so charmed by the icy man, was manipulated into paying for the lavish ceremony. A Capitol wedding was a spectacle to behold, a sea of colored heads and garments, textiles in unique patterns decorating the spectators in a myriad of colors. An insipid eye-sore, in his opinion.

And there you were, the pale lavender of your dress cascading down your body like the drapes that covered a window in a lonely mansion, baby fat gone. The bright light in your eyes that has now long-since faded, the happy expression you held, truly believing the facade he had put on to convince your family that he was a perfect match, it all fueled a fire of satisfaction in his psyche. He remembered the young girl from their studious days, the sneaky glances shot his way from a face framed by baby fat, it was so easy to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, to charm his way right into your heart. He’d never go hungry again, and he could finally focus solely on his rise to power.

Or so he thought. When you managed to pick his intentions apart and discovered the cunning and manipulative nature of the man, you became defiant, fucking petulant. Your once tender and loving gaze, seeking to nurture and care for him, hardened like the calcium deposits on the well pumps in the poorer districts of Panem. He heard in passing from the workers of the house about your violent fits of tears late at night. It wasn’t like he cared, hell, the idea of your reddened face damp with tears and snot amused him to no end. But fuck if it didn’t annoy him when Tigris became your closest friend and confidant.

Coriolanus kept you locked away in the golden cage of his home, not permitting the men of his staff to go near you, forcing you to discuss with him the simplest task of visiting your own family. You were still the key to his now inherited wealth, a prize that he had won with cunning and malicious tactics, and the thought of you straying into the arms of another man, who could take you, who could take even a bit of the control he held, it infuriated him to no end.

It took almost a year for you to realize that without your family, he was completely broke, and it took almost two to realize he never once held even a glimmer of fondness towards you, that he was using you. Tigris, who had spoken to you during her regular visits, had become the arms you fell into when the agony of your situation first befell you. Her hands wrapped around your body as she shushed and hummed quietly were a solace to you as the pain dawned on you. Three years after your marriage, you would speak in hushed tones over cooling tea, not bothering to hide your glare when Coriolanus bothered joining. He was no longer the subject matter of your conversations with Tigris, instead discussing gossip that had spread through the yammering mouths of Capitol citizens, and the newest trends to pass around them. She had become your dearest friend, one he couldn’t find a valid reason to hide you from. Though he never would admit while his heart was still beating, despite your shared animosity, you were still his favorite accessory.

The Reaping ceremonies for the next annual Hunger Games would begin soon, which became a sensitive topic between you and Coriolanus. It was no secret to you who Lucy Gray Baird had been, who she had been to him. What the hunger games meant to him. You resented her. Not for the place she held near his heart, but for managing to escape him before he had caged her.

The fire of your arguments was always sparked by her name, the tinder and fuel having already been prepared by the years of building resentment. Almost always in his office, your hands would shove him back as he rapidly approached you after you provoked him with harsh and unforgiving words, only fanning the flame of hatred he felt towards you. Then he would corner you, your back against the wall as one hand found your neck and the other found your hair, his fingernails digging at your scalp. His minty breath falling out of his mouth in heavy gasps as he fought the urge to kill you right there. You made him feel as though he was an animal from the districts, dirty and foaming at the mouth. And he hated that.

“You know I would never harm you.” He’d always reassure you when his grip on your throat finally loosened, his eyes taking in the way you would suck in air he had prevented from reaching your lungs. Coriolanus considered what little he allowed you, even the air you breathed, a favor. He thought himself generous, benevolent even. He wasn’t of course, and you were always quick to point that out.

Today's argument was only different in setting, within the walls of your shared bedroom rather than his office. You had shoved him, predictable, and turned to storm away, wanting to find a guest room to sleep in instead. But before you could reach the door, his hand had yanked you by your hair back towards him before nearly throwing you on the bed. When you sat up to scramble away, he shoved you back down by your shoulders and crawled on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress, an echo of your frequent taunts. It was rare that you two would actually be in such a position, as neither of you particularly craved intimacy with one-another, yet the way one hand slid up your negligee and gripped the curve of your thigh conveyed a much different message tonight.

“I just wish you’d shut up for once, you know that?” He growled. Coriolanus Snow was an aggressive lover. He put all his weight on his forearm strung across your chest to keep you pinned down as his fingers left their place on your thigh and slid up to the junction of your legs, cupping your heat rather aggressively before shoving them aside and sliding his fingers over your folds to find the sensitive and rather neglected bundle of nerves. You could hardly hide the shudder that overcame you as you responded.

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, writhing under his touch. Your head fell back on the luxurious sheets and you bit back a moan as he swirled his fingers in a circular motion over your clit, stirring the lust you had repressed to life. How he loved to see your eyes rolling back into your skull as you fought surrendering to his ministrations. The edges of his mouth lifted in a smug little smirk when your arousal became more evident, making your cunt slick and pliable.

Oh, how he adored to see his poor, neglected wife fall victim to her own human nature. It made him want to consume you whole, like you were a treat he got all to himself. Coriolanus’s mouth fell to your collarbone and his teeth scraped over the thin skin as he slipped his middle finger inside your sopping hole, earning an earnest mewl from your normally argumentative lips. He bit down rather hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he slowly, teasingly pumped his finger in and out. This would be easier than he thought.

He tilted his head back up to take in the sight of your demeanor flickering to something more vulnerable, before taking your mouth with his. He kissed you like you provided the air he needed to breathe, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate. You’d be a fool to say you didn’t still crave him after the years of strained marriage. His teeth clashed with yours as you both attempted to deepen the kiss. When he pushed another finger inside of you, hooking them and speeding up, your mouth fell open with a shaky moan, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

When your mother described to you what sex was like, she explained it like an intimate dance, where two souls would merge with love and passion. But it was never like that between the two of you. It was always a battle, aggressive and antagonistic as one of you sought to take something from the other. For Coriolanus, it was a display of his authority and control. His fingers quickened in pace and your hips bucked up into his hand, searching for more friction that would aid in your release. And he was benevolent wasn’t he? Who would he be to deny such a rare and primal pleasure? His fingers continued their attack on the spongy roof of your walls, pushing you closer and closer until your hand tore at the skin of his back with the intensity of your orgasm. Still seeing stars, he pulled his lips from yours and hovered them over your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, damp with tears.

“See how easy everything can be when you just stop resisting me at every turn?” You opened your mouth to respond, to bite back when the arm that pinned you down quickly shifted so his hand could cup over your mouth. He loved shutting you up. His silent voice hissed in your ear with a lingering promise. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

So focused on his words and hot breath on your ear, you almost didn’t notice when he pulled his fingers from inside you to tug down your panties, discarding them somewhere behind him before fumbling with the breeches he slept in, the cold air of the room hitting his stiff cock. He brought that same hand up before him, spitting in it and spreading the wetness of his saliva over his hardened length. Barely giving you a second to process all that was happening, he pressed himself inside of you, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow furrowing as your tight, wet heat engulfed him entirely.

Having not been intimate with him in so long, it was like he was splitting you open, and you cried out with pleasure into his hand, your own lashes pressing together as you took his total length. Coriolanus didn’t remain still for long, and his hips soon began setting a bruising pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he fought the urge to moan himself, not wanting to appear any less in control than he was. Your muffled gasps spurred him on, practically driving him mad as he pummeled into you. The volume difference when he removed his hand from your mouth and forearm from your chest was quite noticeable, and his fingers wove into your hair once more, holding your head back against the bed as he swallowed your moans with his mouth.

The stinging pain of your nails in the skin of his back when they flung around him was dulled by the sheer thrill he felt taking you like this. The hand that coaxed your orgasm out of you found its way to your thigh again, pushing it up over your torso to rest on your shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper inside of you as his fingers dug into the hot and tender skin. You nearly screamed into his mouth from the change in sensation as his hips came flush with yours over and over again. For a brief moment, he pulled away from the kiss to bite and suck at the skin of your neck, letting you sing out unmuted by his hand, as he imagined his songbird would so many years ago.

Coriolanus hated you. He hated almost everything about you. He resented you the way you resented him, but he was still addicted to you. Addicted to the control you allowed him as he fucked you stupid, to the way your pitful moans were brought about by him, to the dumb fucking look on your face as your body managed to make his hips stutter and falter as he came inside you with a low moan. He didn’t care about pulling out. You were his wife, a state figurehead, it was part of the job description to give birth to his children. Maybe getting you pregnant would even do him the favor of shutting you up. He didn’t bother helping you clean up as you readjusted your nightgown, instead opting to wipe the sweat from his brow and tuck himself back in the satin pants he intended on sleeping in.

Coriolanus Snow was not capable of real love. All those close enough to him were well-aware of that fact, including you. But when he crawled into the bed and pulled you, still breathless and trembling, up next to him, when he tucked your head into his chest in a possessive manner, your hands pressed against his heated chest, when he fell asleep holding you like you’d run away too, you momentarily convinced yourself he might have been able to love.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #president snow #president snow x reader #president snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games #hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth just one chance please #hunger games x reader #the hunger games x reader

[churipu]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝! 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

featuring. sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. sukuna wanted a son, but got a daughter instead (he's smitten for her shh), sukuna is modern af bye he knows how to use a phone ok, reader is called "wife", ooc sukuna bye

note. ok listen, i've been having a girl dad sukuna brainrot lately. and i even gave out a req to @rrairey (u go check out her works rn) — but i just had to write something about girl dad sukuna jsjdksjks it's on my mind 25/8 and i can't stop unless i actually write abt him (i'm lying, he's still going to be in my mind bye).

girl dad! sukuna who initially wanted a son but when he finds out he's going to be having a daughter instead, he didn't know how to feel. he thought that if he had a son, he could at least play "rough" with him. it's sukuna, he doesn't know what soft is.

girl dad! sukuna who has to secretly watch tutorial videos on the most random thing like "how to play nicely with your daughter" or "how to be nice to your daughter". but also searches up for things like "easy hairstyles to give your daughter for beginners", when your daughter isn't even born yet.

girl dad! sukuna who hates to admit it but he's pretty worried about having a daughter. finally shoves his ego down his throat and comes up to you to talk about it, and you encouraged that he's going to be a good father — but still, he's worried.

"ryo, you're worried about what exactly?" you asked the male, brushing his hair.

"not being a good father." he replies, leaning into your touch with a big frown on his face, grumbling under his breath slightly about how embarrassed he is to be so fragile in front of his own wife.

"baby, you're going to be the best father."

although your words were supposed to be encouraging, and he did feel a bit of burden lift off of his shoulders — the male still couldn't help but to worry about his unborn daughter.

girl dad! sukuna who complains about your pregnancy cravings and how his daughter is a weird baby. despite that, he will go out of his way to get you what you wanted, not caring if it was two in the morning, or five in the morning. he will get it for you and your growing daughter inside your belly.

girl dad! sukuna who grows anxious when your due date was inching closer. he took a break off from work and devoted his time to look after you, especially since you were walking for two right now. even if you did tell your husband that you were fine — he still thinks it's his job to look after you and your daughter.

"damn it brat, stop moving so much. you'll hurt yourself," he gently tugs on your arm, directing you to the couch, "what'dya want?"

"sausages and blueberry jam . . ." you tell him nonchalantly, missing the look of disgust on his face.

". . . just stay there." he walks a few steps before turning back, "don't move."

girl dad! sukuna who watches labor videos only to focus on the husbands and what they were doing in it so he could try to take notes and searches for what he should get ready for labor, or if he could do anything as a husband for his wife during labor. the results didn't ease his worries — they added up his worries. like adding fuel to the fire, the internet tells him that giving birth was the second most painful thing after getting burned alive.

girl dad! sukuna who already thought of names for your daughter and even buys things for her. telling you that he'd be out to grab a few things and then coming back with a crib set, toys, or even a baby walker. he even got a baby strap for both you and him to use, picking out the most random motives like skulls and fires.

"ryo, why did you pick that motive?" you asked, eyeing the baby strap that had white skulls all over.

"our daughter will like that. i know it." he retorts.

girl dad! sukuna who looked as calm as a cucumber but internally panics the most when your water broke. he grabs the bag that he had packed, following a youtube tutorial and helped you get into the car so that the both of you can finally drive off to the hospital. he holds your hand tightly along the way, showing his worry as he "tries" to follow driving laws (which he ended up driving past the speed limit and had to get a ticket in the hospital).

girl dad! sukuna who had to pay a ticket as you were tended in a hospital room (you didn't know about this and he didn't tell you about it so you won't worry). the doctor telling both you and him that the labor procedure will have to wait up to a few hours as they proceeded with "watchful waiting" after they checked on the baby's condition and yours so they could see if it was safe for you to give birth normally.

girl dad! sukuna who waited those long hours with you as you laid on the bed, telling him how nervous you are. and all the bad possibilities that could happen (he searched that up too), he tells you to stop saying those kind of things. sukuna wasn't angry — he just didn't want you to stress so much, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb to soothe you. he didn't let go until the doctor came back to finally do something.

girl dad! sukuna who was inside the delivery room with you, even after telling you that he won't come inside a few months ago. holds onto your hand (which you were holding onto tightly as the procedure goes on for hours), he winces — but he didn't care about his hand right now, he only cares about you and his daughter. brushing your hair lightly, mumbling out hushed praises to you (unknowingly, it just comes out), wipes away your sweat with his bare fingers and pressing kisses onto your face every single time he feels your hand clenching around his.

"jus' a bit more, pretty." he whispers, kissing your knuckles multiple times before moving on to kiss your forehead, "a bit more."

girl dad! sukuna who almost bursts into tears when he heard the loud cry of your daughter, but blinked his tears back. peering slightly at your worn out face. he tells you how he's proud of you (spoiler: he hates it if you reminded him about it in the future).

"y'hear that? you did so good, pretty. 'm proud of you," he clung onto your hand, grazing his thumb over your forehead as a smile adorned his face, "she's here, baby."

girl dad! sukuna who couldn't hold his tears back when the nurse suggested skin-to-skin contact with the father. he wasted no time tugging his shirt off to hold his little bundle of joy, nestling her in his arms — unknowingly letting a few stray tears of joy out as he coos down to his newborn daughter.

"oh, you're so pretty, little one." he cradled her gently against his bulky arms, sniffling softly. he was so gentle — different from how he used to be, his eyes soft and watery as he affectionately stares down at his now sleeping daughter.

girl dad! sukuna who slept on a chair by your bed when the doctor told you that you'll be allowed to go home once your body is fit again, he didn't care that he didn't have a bed to lie on. he was just there, prepped in a chair as his fingertips touched your wrist near the IV injection on the back of your hand. making sure he didn't touch the transparent hose. and his eyes darted back and forth from your resting form and his daughter who was now all warm and bundled up inside a bassinet. making sure that the both of you are resting well even if he was barely able to open his eyes fully.

girl dad! sukuna who carried all your bags and your daughter's car seat with ease while leading you down the hospital hallways and to the car. helping you buckle your seatbelt and making sure that his daughter is going to be safe and sound during the ride home, prepping up the car seat like he learned, giving his daughter a light kiss on her head before closing the door.

girl dad! sukuna who tells you to rely on him every time his daughter wakes up in the middle of the night — he won't let you get up, gently tugging you down onto the bed and tucking you underneath the covers before leaving to tend your daughter without any other words. as if his daughter is the most fragile thing in the world, he carries her into his arms and hushed her softly, nuzzling his nose onto her head, trying to get her back to sleep.

"shh, baby, mama's tired right now . . . go back to bed." he whispers, kissing her small forehead.

girl dad! sukuna who offered to shower your baby for the first time after two weeks upon arriving back home (under your watch of course), as you filled the bathinette with warm water — sukuna was cradling her in his arms, swaying his body side to side. and when you tell him the water's ready, sukuna prepped his big hand behind your daughter's small head so the water won't go to her face and began cleaning her. concentrating, he wets his finger and traced it over his daughter's face, making sure she's not frightened. and once he's done, he cupped his hand and scooped some water to wet her hair, rubbing her head lovingly.

girl dad! sukuna who's personality did a somersault ever since you were pregnant with his daughter. turning soft and more clingy, he has your daughter strapped to his chest. and will tell you that he's got it every time his daughter cries or ruined her diapers, he's learnt it all thanks to other great dads on youtube.

girl dad! sukuna who was even more ecstatic than you are when his daughter said her first word, which was of course "mama", he didn't care that she didn't say "dada", he focuses on the fact that his daughter had grown so much to be able to say her first word. tells your bundle of joy how proud he is of her even if she probably doesn't understand her father.

"maa..ma."

sukuna who had his eyes on the television immediately darted to his daughter who was in your hold, his lips were slightly parted as he tries to process what just happened, "did . . . did she . . ?"

when you confirmed his question, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your head before kissing your daughter's head, muttering out a, "papa's proud of you, baby."

girl dad! sukuna who treats both you and your daughter like the most precious beings in the world. he. spoils. you. both. to no end, coming home from work with a present for the both of you. mostly food for you, and a toy for your daughter. you just know [daughter] is going to grow up spoiled by her father.

girl dad! sukuna who spoils your daughter rotten. and ever since her first steps — he's been going out with her to no end, of course going out as a family of three. holding your daughter's chubby little hands as he guided her down the street, earning coos from strangers all around him.

"good girl, that's right . . . left and right." he said softly, watching [daughter] walk slowly, still a little wobbly.

girl dad! sukuna who gets a little emotional when your daughter has her first birthday — because, it's been that fast? he tries not to cry, i swear. but silently slips inside the bathroom and lets a few one out before coming out like he didn't just cry over his daughter growing up too fast. he swore it was just yesterday that he was in the hospital.

girl dad! sukuna who will with no shame, participate in tea parties with his daughter once she's known enough about it. you'd call them both down for dinner and when they didn't, you decided to be the one to approach them inside [daughter]'s room. and there he was, sitting on the floor, to his left and right were [daughter]'s stuffed animals and your daughter was sitting across from sukuna with a silver tiara on.

"this looks fun," you chuckled, eyeing them.

"mama! tea party?" [daughter] beams out at you, you walked over to them and carried your daughter into your arms, "mama, no tea party?"

"after dinner, baby. okay?"

sukuna has no shame in it. at first, he did try to decline his daughter, telling her that she should ask you instead, but your daughter looked so crestfallen that he just has to accept — which turned out to be a daily thing now. a tea party.

girl dad! sukuna who will be his daughter's experiment subject to trying out make ups. he's a little skeptical (lies, he's very skeptical), but it's not like this is the first time he's had make up put on his face. he's had his fair share of you trying to put make up on him, but this was a toddler doing it and not a full grown adult. but he couldn't say no, so he just submits to his daughter and lets her modify his face and clips on cute hairclips to his hair.

"mama mama! look at papa," your daughter cheers, pointing at sukuna. and you laugh, carrying your daughter before approaching the male who was sitting down on the floor in the living room.

"you look pretty, ryo."

"i feel pretty, my little girl did it to me." he rolls his eyes before grabbing a mirror to look at his face.

eh, not bad.

girl dad! sukuna who drops his daughter off for the first day of pre-school, telling her that she should punch anyone who messes with her (thankfully nobody yet). and gets a bit emotional again as she walks inside the building, his eyes going glassy watching her skip inside her new chapter.

girl dad! sukuna who's overprotective when it comes to his little girl. a trip to the park was a daily routine for his family — and believe me when he has eyes everywhere for his little girl, if anyone was bothering her, he would have no fear on finding out who their parent was. taking matters into his own hands, leaving the children out of it. as much as he wanted to confront the kid for bothering his little princess, he knew the parents had the most fault.

"your boy has issues. the next time he lays his hand on my girl, i will come for you." he said to the boy's father before walking back to you.

the boy and his father never came back to the park after that day.

girl dad! sukuna who watches his daughter grow from a small girl to an eight year old in a matter of what felt like a week. he swore yesterday she was just babbling out her first word, and the next thing he knows, she's got a "boyfriend" at school? oh, boy.

"you don't have a boyfriend." he mutters out, eyeing his daughter.

"yes i do have a boyfriend," your daughter replies back with her soft voice.

"no."

the banter continued until your daughter ended up in tears, and sukuna had to force himself to say that she indeed had a boyfriend in school. he's upset that she's growing up too quickly, but at the same time — he's proud of his little girl.

girl dad! sukuna who finds out you were pregnant with a second child, who turned out to be another girl. and he was still as loving and caring like he was with his first daughter, this time, he had a helping hand to take care of you.

"mama has a baby in her belly, so you can't be too rough on her, okay?" he baby talks his eight year old daughter like she's still a small baby — he softly caresses your clothed stomach as he speaks to her.

girl dad! sukuna who had to see his first daughter cry over her new "soon to be" born baby sibling. thinking both you and him were not going to love her anymore — and his heart breaks, because why would he not love his princess anymore?

"hey, hey, why're you cryin'?" sukuna tucks [daughter]'s hair behind her ear as she lets out a few fat tears out of her eyes.

"mama and papa will still love me, right?" she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

sukuna pulls the young girl into his embrace, holding her with one of his arm as he wipes her tears with his other, "'f course mama and i will still love you, you're our princess."

girl dad! sukuna who proudly watches his big girl now approaching his newborn daughter and her sister, eyeing the baby with such an innocent glint in her eyes. oh, and big girl? doesn't matter, to sukuna, your first daughter will always be his little girl.

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