#*grips our threads*

[shadowzgather]

✿ for all of our ships if you wanna or just pick whichever

SEND “ ✿ ” FOR 2 HEADCANONS FOR OUR MUSES’ RELATIONSHIP.

(Nimue X Darkwing)

Drake tends to get very protective in his relationships, so I have a headcanon that Nimue sees that better than Morgana did and doesn't mind it when he asks her to stay at his home to take care of Gosalyn when he's on a particularly dangerous case.

I also headcanon that because of how fast the two are bonding that he asks Nimue to come live with them sooner. Part of this is also due to the fact that Drake worries about her being alone in that tiny apartment of hers when he knows she doesn't have a lot in the way of friends or family.

(Nimue X Darkwarrior)

Initially, Darkwarrior had no intention of taking another partner. His tower had one bed. I headcanon that their was a polite argument over who would be using it until they ended up sharing it.

This is an add-on to the above but also the second headcanon. Darkwarrior was going to have a second bed made for Nimue. Then the blizzard hit, and they got "fisky" and now he no longer feels the need for that second bed.

(Morgana X Negaduck)

Morgana would never admit it openly before they got together that she found Negaduck attractive. Mostly, it was because of the similarities between him and Darkwing. Now that they are together these feeling are more genuinely towards him. Morgana does not try to change Negaduck despite giving up her life of villainy. She understands and accepts that this is who he is and what he wants and loves him the way he is.

Morgana is a very affectionately woman and takes every opportunity to express her affection for Negaduck, be it physically with hugs and kisses, to little gift in the form of things he likes. Despite this, she is careful not to do so in public as she knows he has a reputation to keep. She does not shy away from it if they are alone or if his Gosalyn is present, though. (In part because she believes it's good for Gosalyn to see the two of them with such a bond for when they eventually marry and she becomes her mother. Yes, she thinks that far ahead.)

(Morgana 91' X Jim Starling Because we do have this on Discord!)

Morgana sees Jim initially as a way to save the multiverse from another Negaduck but starts falling for him despite their age gape. It causes conflict in her because she does still love her universe Darkwing, but she feels Jim needs her more and that she can do more in the 2017 universe.

When Morgana does finally settle in to stay in the 2017 universe and commit to being with Jim, she is hesitant to accept all the luxuries of being in a relationship with a actor at first but ends up spoiling him right back with magical gifts and "other things" to show her love for him. It becomes almost a game or light-hearted competition between them in a way.

(Broker X Negaduck even though it isn't romantic.)

Negaduck is a fascination to Rose. She's always trying to see different reactions he has to things. Part of it is that this is the first time in a very long time that she had had anything resembling an actual friend. Make no mistake, she still considers it business, but she has never had a long-standing contract of this sort.

Is Broker romantically interested in Negaduck? That's hard for her to say. She does find him physically attractive in many areas but is mostly drawn to his personality. She'd most likely sleep with him if he was open to it and does like his scent enough to sniff his stuff if he is gone for long periods of time. (Not joking she sniffs stuff, but not drugs.)

[wickedzeevyln]

Hi Bad Day! Come On In

[fragmentedblade]

.

[satsugo]

୨୧ postpartum. the baby’s asleep. gojo misses you — all of you. mlist

i wanted this to feel like healing and hunger at the same time — soft praise, quiet obsession, and the kind of love that worships stretch marks and leaking skin. to anyone who’s ever felt unseen after giving everything: this one’s for you ♡

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences. contains the following: postpartum body discussion, lactation kink, oral (fem receiving), soft obsession/yandere undertones, extreme tenderness, possessive praise, emotional vulnerability, and light breeding talk.

The baby is finally asleep.

Swaddled tight in his bassinet, little sighs puffing from his nose. One hand peeking out, tiny fingers twitching in dreamland.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you sit down. A soft blanket draped over your lap. Shirt still unbuttoned from the last feed. Your body aches — warm and sore, stretched and softened in places you’re still learning to accept.

The apartment is quiet.

Until you hear the soft pad of bare feet and the quiet click of the bathroom door opening. Gojo steps out, shirtless, damp towel slung around his neck, hair dripping in soft silver waves. He smells like soap and warmth and everything safe. But the look in his eyes?

Starving.

He sees you — shirt rumpled, breast slightly exposed, stretch marks tracing your hips, belly still swollen and tender — and stops cold in the doorway. His expression shifts, like something in his chest just cracked open.

“...You’re fucking stunning.”

You scoff under your breath, self-conscious. “I haven’t even showered. I smell like spit-up and milk. My hair—”

“Stop.”

His voice cuts through, low and rough — like it hurts him to hear you speak that way about yourself.

He walks over slow. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s afraid to touch something so breakable.

Then he kneels in front of you, both hands coming to rest gently on your thighs, warm and grounding. His thumbs rub slow, reverent circles into your skin.

“Do you even know what you’ve done?” he whispers, looking up at you like you hung the damn stars. “You made our son. With your body. You carried him, fed him, loved him. Every single part of you right now—” his palm smooths over your belly, still soft, still healing “—is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your throat tightens. You blink hard, trying not to cry.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” you whisper.

He smiles. Kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“I already did,” he murmurs. “You should’ve seen me holding him in the hospital. I was a wreck.”

You laugh softly, burying your face in his damp hair as he leans in.

But when his lips trail lower—down your neck, across your collarbone, brushing the swell of your breast—you feel it. That familiar ache. That low, pulsing need you’ve ignored for weeks.

His hand slides under the blanket, up your belly. His thumb grazes under the curve of your breast, then stills.

“You’re leaking,” he whispers, gaze fixed on the tiny droplet forming at your nipple.

Your breath catches.

“I should go pump—”

“No,” he says, voice husky. “Don’t move.”

“Toru—what are you—”

“Let me.”

Before you can argue, his lips wrap around your nipple. Tongue warm, mouth soft and full. He licks the droplet away, then sucks — gentle, slow, reverent.

A gasp escapes you.

The stimulation is instant — not just physical, but deep, like something in you that’s been aching finally gives way. You whimper, thighs twitching beneath the blanket as he nurses with slow, deliberate care. Not for milk — but for you.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs, switching sides. “You were made for this. Look at you. Feeding our baby… and still tasting so sweet.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, the other hand gripping the edge of the blanket. Your whole body trembles, not from exhaustion this time — from the low burn of pleasure spreading under your skin.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

He looks up, lips wet, pupils dark.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he replies. “Every night you held him, every time you fell asleep in that rocking chair—I wanted you so bad I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

He rises slowly and lifts you like you weigh nothing.

“Toru—wait—”

“I know,” he murmurs. “You’re healing. I’m not gonna rush you.”

He lays you down gently, blanket falling away. Presses soft, patient kisses to your thighs. His mouth trails lower, until his tongue grazes your skin with aching tenderness.

“I just wanna love you,” he breathes. “Every inch. Every part. Nothing rough. Just this.”

Then he devours you — slow, deep, worshipful.

His hands grip your hips but never hold tight. His tongue moves with precision and reverence, drawing soft cries from your lips and tremors from your thighs. You try to stay quiet — the baby — but it’s no use. He’s too good. He always is.

When you come, it’s with a sobbed-out breath, your fingers curled into his hair, your chest shaking with relief.

He kisses your inner thigh, then crawls up beside you and gathers you into his arms.

One hand finds your breast again. His thumb gently strokes another tiny stream of milk.

“You’re gonna hate me for saying this,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“What now?”

He grins.

“…I already wanna knock you up again.”

You swat his shoulder. “Satoru—”

“I’m serious,” he hums against your neck. “I wanna fill you again. Watch you grow. Glow. Leak. Carry.”

“You’re absolutely insane.”

“Nah. I’m just in love,” he says. “Obsessed. And never getting over this body.”

He glances at the bassinet, where your son sighs in his sleep.

“We made him. With this.” His hand slides down to stroke your belly. “So yeah… I want more. As many as you’ll give me.”

You sigh, still catching your breath, still glowing from his touch.

“…Give me at least six months.”

His eyes gleam, wicked.

“Deal. But I’m not pulling out once.”

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[writeriguess]

neemaaa

can i request a katsuki x reader where they are secretly in a relationship? they get caught making out by their friends and then get teased the whole time

Unveiled

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness thrumming through your veins as you pressed yourself against Katsuki Bakugo. His lips were hot against yours, moving with a fervor that sent a shiver down your spine. One of his hands was gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while the other cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nails grazing the nape of his skin, earning a low groan from him that you felt reverberate through your entire body.

This was risky. So damn risky.

Your friends could walk in at any moment. Hell, they were supposed to be here already! But the adrenaline, the sheer thrill of sneaking around, made it impossible to care. You had been keeping your relationship with Bakugo a secret for months, slipping away in between training sessions, sneaking into each other’s rooms at odd hours, exchanging heated glances across the common area when no one was looking. It was exhilarating, having this little secret between just the two of you.

"Tch, you taste good," Bakugo muttered against your lips before diving back in, deepening the kiss. You couldn't help but melt into him, fingers tightening against his skin as you pulled him closer.

That was when it happened.

The door to the empty common room slammed open with a loud BANG.

"OH MY GOD!" Mina’s voice practically echoed through the room, followed by the distinct sound of Kaminari’s laughter and Kirishima’s deep chuckle. You barely had time to react before the two of you jerked apart, but it was too late.

You were caught.

Bakugo's face was a mix of horror and absolute rage, his entire body tensing as if he was about to explode—not figuratively, but literally. You, on the other hand, were frozen in place, eyes darting between your very smug-looking friends.

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Kaminari wheezed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over with laughter. "I THOUGHT YOU HATED EVERYONE, BAKUGO!"

"Shut the hell up!" Bakugo barked, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Mina smirked, her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway. "Secret relationship, huh? Oh, this is juicy. You guys have been sneaking around this whole time? How long?!"

"None of your damn business!" Bakugo snapped, but his reaction only seemed to fuel their amusement.

Kirishima grinned, slinging an arm around Bakugo’s shoulder despite the clear and present danger of being blown to smithereens. "Man, this explains so much! You've been way less of an asshole lately."

"The hell I have!"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Can we just pretend you guys didn't see anything?"

Mina gasped dramatically. "Oh, absolutely not. This is the best thing that's happened all week!"

"Yeah, we're never letting you live this down," Kaminari added, grinning wickedly. "So, tell me, Bakugo, how long have you been secretly making out with our dear friend here?"

Bakugo twitched, his fists clenched, and for a moment, you genuinely feared for Kaminari’s safety. "You wanna die, Dunce Face?"

"Relax, man, I think it’s kinda cute!" Kirishima piped up, and Bakugo turned his death glare toward him instead.

Mina was practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, I can’t wait to tell the others! You know this means the whole class is going to grill you, right?"

"Don’t you dare," you warned, but it was futile.

"Oh, I dare," she teased, winking. "I give it five minutes before everyone in 1-A knows."

Bakugo groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "I swear to god, I will kill all of you."

But the teasing didn't stop there. By the time the rest of your classmates found out, it was pure chaos. Sero and Kaminari wouldn't stop making exaggerated kissing noises every time you and Bakugo were in the same room. Todoroki, in his usual deadpan tone, commented, "I always assumed Bakugo was incapable of romance. This is surprising."

Momo and Iida, on the other hand, seemed genuinely happy for you both, though Iida did remind you that public displays of affection should be kept to a minimum.

It was insufferable. It was embarrassing. It was never-ending.

And yet, despite all the teasing, Bakugo still found ways to sneak you away, to press you against the walls of empty hallways, to steal quick, heated kisses when no one was looking.

"They can tease all they want," he muttered one night, his lips brushing against yours, "but that doesn't change a damn thing. You're mine."

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men If You Turn Evil

AN: istg I keep getting all these ideas while working out 💗

Pairing: Lads boys x gn reader

Genre: DRAMA

Summary: after eons of nurturing the world with fragments of your heart, you learn the truth. Every death, every rebirth, burns in your heart. And now you want to burn the world.

(I do not own these characters)

Rafayel:

He looks at the destruction around him, the fragments of a broken city, the wrath in your eyes.

You pace the room, your steps unyielding to the passage of time.

He has been awake with you for countless nights, his ears filled with the cries of his kin, burning, drowning in the boiling seas.

He tugs at your arm, pulling you into his embrace, his fingers threading through your hair.

"Why can I not be at peace?" you whisper, cupping his cheek. "All our enemies have fallen, but why is there no relief? Who else must I seek to bring us justice?"

"It is my fault... I should have prevented this," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I should have never allowed it to come to be."

To watch you fall was his fall. To witness beauty drain from you was his failure. He has you back, but at what cost?

"But I will make things right," he whispers, pulling you closer.

"No more pain."

A gasp tears from your lips as his dagger pierces your back.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt, your blood soaking into his hand. "How dare you…" you seethe, your rage flickering even as your strength wanes. "I should have—"

Blood gurgles in your throat as he pulls your head against his chest, his shoulders trembling.

He would rather bear your hatred than lose your soul.

The cries of the world fade as a new one begins to take shape.

But all he can hear now are his own ragged sobs as he holds your cooling body.

Xavier:

"You have lost your mind!" Xavier’s voice is sharp, his fury barely masking the horror in his eyes.

He looks down from the castle walls, your castle now. Below, corpses rot on pikes, writhing with maggots.

Philos will never come to be. The world has already shifted on its axis.

You pin him to the wall, leaning him over the edge. "You will not talk to me like that, Xavier." Your voice is quiet, but the weight behind it is absolute. "This is my world. I may do as I please. It would do you good to listen, to stay as my consort, not the crown prince of Philos."

His breath hitches as he stares at you, searching for something, hesitation, remorse, restraint.

But you are resolute.

Your eyes soften at his distraught expression. Gently, you pull him back from the edge and release your grip. "Do not let this drive a wedge between us. I do not wish to lose you...I’ve only just remembered you." You press a kiss to his lips, warm, fleeting, achingly tender.

"This is merely a necessary cleansing," you murmur, as if explaining the weather. "A precaution, so the world understands the new order. So all who bled me for ages finally know what it means to bleed."

And so, bound by love, Xavier became a puppet to your wishes.

He waited for the new world you promised, sought desperately for the salve to soothe the wounds your changing forms left in him.

With time, he learned to ignore the mangled bodies outside the capital. The sunken faces beyond the castle walls.

He learned to be happy.

Zayne:

He never stands idle.

Not even at the first signs of your fall. Not even when the shadows lengthen, and the world begins to crumble at your feet.

He does everything he can to undo the damage.

He is a doctor, ridding people of pain is his purpose.

He funds revolutions, smuggles food and medicine, seeks to turn your heart away from vengeance.

But he does not leave you.

Not when you’re hurting. Not when the weight of the world fractures your soul. He stays, doing all he can to hold the world together before it collapses entirely.

For the first time in years, he prays to Astra.

He begs his god to aid the world.

Until you find his secrets. Until you strip him of the power you once gave him.

You lock him away in a tower, bound to you. And then...then, true helplessness sets in.

He watches his betrayal fuel your madness. Watches as your fury, once directed at tyrants, turns upon the innocent.

In the frozen chamber, you loom over him, his knees pinned to the ground by the weight of your power.

"Do you wish to leave me, Zayne?" Your fingers tilt his chin upward, forcing him to meet your crazed gaze. "Tell me, do you wish to escape?"

He does not flinch. His neck is littered with the climbing scars of his evol, of his futile resistance. It is all a proof of the turmoil within you, that settles upon his skin. He knows it better than any.

"No." His voice is steady. Resolute. "I wish to stay next to you."

He means it. Earnestly.

Even if your presence comes at this cost, he is willing to pay.

He has never wished to abandon you.

Not even at the cost of himself.

Sylus:

You are his moral compass.

So when you fall, he falls with you.

There is nothing to stop you both.

His days are spent treasuring the reality of having you back, of having your love.

And if the cost is the world, then let it burn.

The core in his eye revels in the doom. It rejoices in the love that blooms within you, in the hunger that consumes you both.

It is fulfilled.

He is fulfilled.

He does not make you ruler of just the Earth, he crowns you sovereign of the universe.

After all, he has always been willing to kill and die for you.

Devoured by your bloodlust, he kneels.

Your consort. Your ruin.

He is content in this fall.

Caleb:

He is your sword.

The day you pledge destruction, he is the hand that pulls the trigger. No questions asked.

He is content, more than content, being the only one to receive your love.

The world had it coming. To condemn you to such pain was their undoing.

He bleeds millions to warm the world that once sought to devour you. He has no mercy for those who cower beneath your gaze.

He has your love.

But why, then, does his heart fall at the sound of your hollow laughter?

Why can he not bring himself to burn the memories of the past?

Why has he kept your hunter’s gear, carefully stored away in his rooms?

He so dearly wishes to keep you pleased. But he knows, this destruction is not born of greed. It is the consequence of centuries of pain.

And no matter how much blood he spills, it will never ease that pain.

No matter how many bodies pile beneath your feet, he cannot bring back your joy.

That was stolen, broken, snatched by those who now rot in unmarked graves.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Fly away (with you)

How LIs would react if he wants a romantic getaway with you, but he misreads your hesitation as disinterest and withdraw the offer. You reassure them and clear up the misunderstanding and it's cute <3 Genre: Fluff + (veery mild) hurt/comfort

SYLUS

The air seems to hold its breath around you, the remnants of his question fading into a busy silence filled with your unspoken thoughts.

While Onychinus isn't exactly in peril, you know enough to tell the stakes have shifted, and Sylus has been working more than usual to eliminate any issues before they become a proper threat.

Sylus leans back in his chair, gaze sharp. “Forget I mentioned it. Clearly, you have priorities."

You grab his wrist before he can stand. You can't let him dismiss the thought of travelling just yet. “Sylus- it’s not that. I just know the N109 Zone’s unstable right now. If you leave, your enemies might-"

His scoffs, flipping the grip so that he's the one cuffing your wrist instead. “Oh, kitten. You think I’d let vermin ruin our time?"

He pulls you onto his lap in one languid motion. “But since you’re so concerned… I’ll burn their nests to the ground before we go."

“Sylus, you don't have to-”

He hums, gaze steady as he presses a finger to your lips. “Now, let's decide on a destination.”

___

XAVIER 

You contemplate the idea. An early-morning flight, disrupted circadian rhythms, only three full days before you fly back again to start work the next morning.

As the seconds tick by, Xavier’s smile fades. 

“You’re right. It was impulsive."

You scoot closer to him on the sofa and cup his face. “Xavier, I want to go. But think of the logistics of cramming an international trip into four days. A plane ride? Time zones? I don’t want you exhausted."

He blinks, then melts into the touch. 

“You… worry for me."His thumb traces the curve of your cheek.

“I do," you say. Then you decide to tease him. “If I have a sleepyhead Xavier dozing off at the airport, how can I carry a big luggage alone?”

He scrunches his nose at the thought, then places his hands over yours and moves them to his chest, holding it close to him.

“Then let’s go somewhere closer. A place where the stars are bright, where we can unwind. Just the two of us."

 ___ 

ZAYNE

You hover opposite him, thinking about his gruelling roster over the past week, while he reads through some documents in preparation for a surgery the next morning.

With his upcoming schedule as well, a vacation would only drain him more over the long weekend. 

Zayne adjusts his glasses, his voice even. “Withdrawn. The odds of compatible availability were low anyway."

You recognise the tone- he uses it to mask any emotion, delivering speech devoid of any subjectiveness. The same tone he uses when delivering bad news to patients.

But you know better. He's not Dr. Zayne right now, he's just... Zayne. At home, in cosy cotton loungewear. Clinical stoicism will not stand- at least, not on your watch.

You step into his space, sitting down and threading an arm between the sofa and his back as you lean into him. 

“Zayne. You’ve pulled four overtime shifts this week That's nearly twenty extra hours of work. A vacation isn’t rest if you’re jet-lagged."

He makes a small contemplative hum, his hazel eyes softening as he looks at you. “…You tracked my shifts?"

You poke his chest. “If it isn't me, who else?"

He exhales, almost a laugh. “Fine. A staycation, then. Let me know if you need assistance with planning."

 ___ 

RAFAYEL 

You look at all the documents and drafts Thomas left in Rafayel's studio, all of which he has pushed to the corner of a work desk.

Now he asks you to go on an island-hopping trip to see all the art installations spanning more than five coastal exhibition sites?

Not a chance.

Rafayel flops onto the couch. “Wow. Rejected by my own muse."

You toss a cushion at him. “You have so many events happening soon! What if you get tired? Or catch a cold traveling? Then who's gonna have to listen to you complain about your dark circles and headaches? Do you expect your bodyguard to be a makeup artist and a nurse?"

He sits up, eyes gleaming. “Ohhh, you do care!"

Grinning, he tackles you into a hug “Don’t worry, Miss Bodyguard- I’ll charm the germs away! And if I do get sick…"

He looks at you with puppy-dog eyes. “You’ll take care of me, right?"

You sigh, letting him drag you to the table to show you a website of the hotel he wants to stay at. He peppers your face with kisses with each tab he shows you- and you know he's already won.

 ___ 

CALEB 

Is it really a good idea? The thought of Caleb going for another Deepspace Tunnel mission- the ones you dread the most- and then a flight the same night once he returns, close to midnight, just doesn't sound like a rest-and-recharge situation.

You stand with your hands on your hips, and purse your lips in thought. 

Caleb's gaze lingers on your lips, but he catches himself as he notices the silence stretch on. “Sorry- stupid idea. We don’t have to-"

Your gaze snaps back onto him. Oh, crap. He misunderstood.

You squeeze his hand, and hold back from the urge to just hug the living daylights out of this man. “Caleb. Your mission could run long. I just… don’t want us to get disappointed if plans change."

His jaw tightens, his purple eyes blazing. “Then I’ll finish the mission early."

“And if anything tries to stop me…" He kisses your knuckles. “I won't allow that to happen. I promise."

“Caleb," you murmur, “Just make it back safely. It's all I need, vacation or not,”

“Anything for you, pipsqueak,”

And with the kiss he presses to your lips, you know he means it with every fibre of his being.

[blueheron15]

FIGHT FOR ME

pairing: soft!jj x innocent!reader

summary: jj maybank confuses the fuck out of sarah cameron

warnings: violence, gun

a/n: not proof read oops but anyway this is my fave obx scene ever and one of my favorite concepts, hope you enjoy!

"hey, john b, don't make me drown you like your old man, alright?"

sarah heard the gasp from y/n as she watched the offensive words hurling out of topper's mouth.

mindless teenagers that had formed a circle around john b and topper were chanting "fight, fight, fight" as john b lunged at the kook.

the two boys fought and punched at each other, dragging themselves closer to the ocean as the crowd grew more rowdy.

jj stood in front of y/n, blocking her from the violence, but also granting himself a better view.

"yeah, c'mon!" he cheered, pumping his hand in victory as john b was able to grab a fistful of topper's shirt.

"topper, no!" sarah cried.

"john b, you gotta stop!" y/n pleaded, as her friend and topper circled around each other like the sworn enemies they were.

"let's go, topper!" john b hollered.

sarah locked eyes with y/n for a brief moment, a similar look in both of their gazes. they both just wanted this to fucking end.

her gaze flicked down to where y/n was clutching on to jj's bicep in fear. the girl turned back to the scene and sarah watched her nails curl into jj's arm even deeper as she let out another wail of distress.

sarah whipped her head around just in time to see her boyfriend kicking john b in the stomach, effectively knocking him down. water splashed upward as john b's face met the ocean floor, but before he had the chance to resurface, topper was knealing down, arms extended, shoving him back under. he held john b's neck and kept him there.

"he's drowning him!" pope screamed.

"you guys, we needa do something!" kie whimpered, threading her fingers through her hair.

"get up, john b, c'mon!" jj grunted.

"please, oh my god! jj, do something!" y/n cried, tears pooling in her eyes as she shook jj's arm, making him face her.

sarah watched as something clicked within jj. he quickly turned around to glance at topper drowning john b before turning back to the girl.

"stay here." he urged, tailing a rough hand down her small arm before marching towards the fight scene, boots sloshing in the salt water.

sarah squinted as she saw him reaching for something in his back pocket.

a gun.

he pulled it out of his cargo shorts, holding it against the back side of topper's head, clicking the safety off.

"yeah, you know what that is." jj panted, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "your move, broski."

the whole crowd began fleeing, unlike sarah, who took a cautious step forward, and held out her hand in protest. "jj, stop. put the gun down."

"did you say sumthin, princess?"

topper held two shaking hands up in surrender, releasing john b from his death grip and rising slowly. "we're good, we're good." he attempted to say calmly.

"can y'all check your psycho friend please?" sarah remarked.

as she collected a dripping topper in her arms, jj watched the rest of the teens from the kegger fleeing.

"okay," he screamed. "everybody listen up! GET THE HELL OFF OUR SIDE OF THE ISLAND!" surging back onto the beach, he raised his gun into the night sky, shooting it not once, but twice.

"are you crazy?!" pope exclaimed, shoving jj's shoulder. "why would you do that?"

"you idiot!" kie chimed in.

"i'm saving his life, okay?" jj fired back.

"jj!" y/n whimpered, jumping into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

for a moment, jj stood useless, arms dangling at his sides.

was y/n fucking crazy? sarah wondered. he had a loaded gun in his hand!

but, eventually, he clicked the safety on, wrapping his arms around the girls back and burying his face into her hair.

sarah turned her attention back to topper, placing a comforting hand on his elbow. "oh my god." she panted. "are you alright?"

he gulped, and threaded a hand through his drenched hair, nodding.

when she scanned the beach, the pogues were gone.

after her and topper rested on a piece of driftwood for a little while longer, allowing him to cool down a bit, sarah made her way to the tree line to get top's truck and pick him up, so they could get the hell home.

but, as she got closer to where all the cars were parked, she spotted the twinkie, and figured the inhabitants of the van couldn't be far.

and then she heard soft whispers.

she spotted jj and y/n resting against a tree, the girl practically in his lap.

"i'm sorry." jj soothed, caressing her hair. "i'm so sorry, pretty girl. i know you hate the gun. but... you wanted it to stop, and... i didn't know how else to do it."

sarah had never heard jj speak or act so softly before. here he was, rocking y/n back and forth- where was the boy that was just threatening the whole beach?

"i d-didn't want you to get hurt." y/n mumbled, leaning back from his neck to look at him, sniffling slightly.

"i know baby. i'm all in one piece, but i'm hurt seein you cry." he cooed, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away her tears.

she leant into his hand, pouting at him. "just be careful next time." she conceded with a whisper.

"stupid things have good outcomes all the time." he grinned as she shook her head in protest.

“you guys,” pope called to the two, sliding open the door of the car. “john b's eye is starting to hurt. can we go?”

"let's go, mama. i'll make it up to you tonight. promise." jj said, standing without breaking contact with y/n, her legs wrapping around his waist, one of his hands around her lower back and the other palm blatantly gripping her ass cheek.

the two walked right past sarah, not even seeing her in the darkness. which was her sign to get topper's truck and head back to figure 8, because jj maybank confused the fuck out of her.

[falesten-iw]

There’s a bittersweet joy in witnessing the struggles of the Syrian people bear moments of hope, but it feels like a fleeting spark, a fragile light overshadowed by deeper, relentless forces. Can we call this freedom? Or is it just a brief pause in a cycle of pain that has gripped us for far too long?

For decades, the Middle East has been scarred by war, division, and unimaginable suffering. These aren’t random tragedies, they are deliberate, calculated acts meant to maintain control. As long as Zionism continues to reshape the region, inching closer to the goal of a Greater Israel, true freedom for any of us will remain a distant dream.

But freedom isn’t just about removing one dictator or another. Real freedom requires dismantling the entire system that keeps us in chains. It’s about a shift in power, a dismantling of structures that oppress us all. Until Palestine is free, until the people who are suffering are allowed to breathe, none of us can say we’re free.

This isn’t just a political issue for me, it’s personal. My family in Gaza is living through an unthinkable reality: genocide, freezing cold nights without shelter, hunger, and prices so high that survival is a struggle each day. They’re stuck in a nightmare that keeps getting worse, and their suffering is not just a faraway tragedy, it’s a pain that echoes through me.

And yet, despite the immense pain, I hold on to hope. Because I know that change is possible. Every small donation, every act of solidarity, can ripple outward and transform lives. This isn’t just charity, it’s resistance. It’s standing together to defy those who profit from our suffering. You have the power to be part of this change. Stand with Gaza. Stand for freedom. Stand for humanity.

This campaign is for 26 lives hanging by a thread, including two orphaned children and a family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. She urgently needs surgery to replace infected plates in her body. The situation is dire, and every day is a battle. The video showing the injured family member was shared earlier in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

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[aerialmirrorss]

𝐨 𝐩 𝐞 𝐧 𝐚 𝐫 𝐦 𝐬 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! an unlikely alliance between the pogues and rafe forms as suspicions point to a familiar kook being behind the leaked video, but without proof, the tension’s impossible to ignore. the group teams up (sort of) to figure it out, but the kook-pogue divide is hanging by a thread, and it’s only a matter of time before things blow up.

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: angst , softdom!rafe , sexual content + unprotected shower sex! , fingering , squirting , pogues accidentally hear you and rafe , some fluff , stalker , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 7.6k

notes: this is chapter four of my nobody gets me series. click the links below to read the first chapters! ♡

chapter one: 𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

rafe’s jaw clenched tightly, the muscles ticking as he pressed his phone against his ear, trying to hold back his frustration. ward’s voice droned on from the other end of the line, sharp and condescending, the lecture having gone on for what felt like an eternity.

“—jeopardizing everything, rafe,” ward snapped, his tone cutting through the line like a knife. “our family name is being slandered all over obx, and for what? some girl?”

rafe’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white as his other hand balled into a fist at his side. “it’s not just some girl,” he growled, his voice low.

“oh, really?” ward shot back, the sarcasm in his voice grating. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’ve let some fling drag our name through the mud. rose is getting calls from everyone for god’s sake! do you even understand the kind of damage this is doing?”

rafe’s breath came in sharp bursts as he stared at the wall, his anger barely contained. “i’m handling it,” he said through gritted teeth, though even he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore.

“handling it?” ward laughed coldly. “you’ve got a sex tape floating around the island, and the entire town knows it’s you. how, exactly, are you handling it, rafe?”

“just trust me, okay?” rafe snapped, his voice rising. “i’ll take care of it.”

“trust you?” ward scoffed. “you can’t even keep your name—and our family’s name—out of the gutter. you think i’m going to trust you to clean this up? you’d better figure it out fast, rafe, because i’m not letting this ruin everything i’ve built.”

the line went dead before rafe could respond, the sound of the call disconnecting echoing in his ears. his hand trembled as he lowered the phone, his entire body tense with rage. “fucking perfect,” he muttered under his breath, throwing the phone onto the couch as he paced the room, the weight of ward’s words pressing down on him like a boulder.

from the doorway, you stood with your arms crossed, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek as rafe’s raised voice echoed through the room. you hadn’t meant to listen in, but with the way he was practically shouting into the phone, it was impossible not to overhear.

each word dripped with frustration and anger, and though you couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together who he was talking to—or what they were talking about. the tension in his tone, the clipped way he spit out his words, made it clear: this wasn’t just an argument, it was a full-blown fight.

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling guilty for standing there, but something kept you rooted in place. maybe it was the way his shoulders tensed with every sharp word, or how he gripped the phone like it was the only thing holding him together. you’d never seen him like this, so unfiltered, so completely on edge.

“rafe?” you finally spoke, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if you were afraid of how he might respond.

his blazed, anger-filled eyes snapped to yours, but the moment he saw you, they softened instantly. the tension in his body seemed to dissipate just slightly, his shoulders dropping. it had been a few days since the video had spread across the island, and this was one of the first times he’d seen you standing on your own.

the sight tugged at his chest. for most of that time, you’d been curled up in his bed, hidden beneath the layers of his oversized hoodie, refusing to eat or even speak to him. it had him worried sick, pacing between his room and the kitchen, trying to figure out how to help you without making things worse.

now, seeing you out of that self-imposed cocoon, he felt a flicker of hope, but also the weight of knowing you were still hurting.

“hey,” he said softly, his tone shifting completely, the frustration from his call gone. “you… you okay?” he asked, his voice careful, as if he were afraid to push too hard and send you retreating again. it was a simple question, but the way he looked at you, like you were the most important thing in the world, made it clear that it wasn’t just small talk. he needed to know—he had to know—that you were okay.

he stepped closer, his movements slow, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of what you were feeling. the silence stretched between you for a moment, heavy and unspoken.

instead of answering, you nodded toward the couch where his phone now sat after being tossed in anger. “daddy dearest, i assume?” you said quietly, your tone laced with a mix of exhaustion and faint humor, though your heart wasn’t really in it.

rafe’s jaw tightened briefly at your words, but then he let out a small, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. “he’s… not exactly thrilled about the current situation.”

he glanced at you, his eyes scanning your face carefully, as though trying to gauge your reaction. “it’s all about the family name, the reputation. nothing new,” he added bitterly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

you stayed silent for a moment, your arms crossing over your chest as you studied him. “you okay?” you finally asked, your voice softer this time.

rafe blinked at your question, surprised. he’d been so focused on worrying about you these past few days that he hadn’t even thought about how he must’ve looked to you—worn down, tense, and barely keeping it together. “me?” he said, letting out a short, dry laugh. “i’m fine. it’s you I’m worried about.”

his gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand hovering near your arm like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him touch you. “you don’t have to worry about him,” he murmured. “or anyone else. i’ll deal with it.”

you smiled softly, not bothering to answer, and instead stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. his body stiffened for a split second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he relaxed into you, his arms circling your waist tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.

now that you were this close, you could see it—how exhausted he really was. the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders that didn’t seem to ease even as he held you. rafe had been carrying just as much as you, if not more, and the realization made your chest ache.

his hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair as he sighed against your shoulder. “i missed you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, the vulnerability in his tone catching you off guard. “these past few days… you scared me.”

you tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his neck. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words muffled but heartfelt. you hadn’t meant to shut him out, but the weight of everything had been too much, and now, standing here in his arms, you felt a flicker of regret for not letting him in sooner.

“it’s okay,” he replied softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he studied you with those piercing blue eyes that held equal parts concern and relief. “just… don’t do that again, okay? i can’t—i don’t want to lose you.”

your lips parted, but no words came. instead, you nodded, leaning into his touch, letting the silence between you carry the weight of everything unspoken. slowly, you moved closer, your lips just inches from his when his phone, still resting on the couch, buzzed loudly, breaking the moment.

rafe groaned, running a hand down his face. “can never have anything, i swear,” he mumbled as he reluctantly reached for the phone after sitting. his annoyance only deepened when he saw the caller id: sarah.

her name flashing across the screen made his jaw tighten, the memory of their last argument still raw. he hesitated for a moment before pressing the phone to his ear.

“what?” he snapped, his tone sharp and clipped, already bracing himself for another confrontation.

a pause hung on the other end, the silence making his grip on the phone tighten. when sarah finally spoke, her voice was quieter than usual. “we need to talk.”

rafe rolled his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “thought we already said everything there was to say,” he muttered impatiently.

“not about me and you,” sarah replied, her tone softer but still steady. “it’s about y/n.”

his heart stuttered, his posture stiffening as her words registered. “what about her?” he demanded, the edge in his voice sharper now, his protective instincts flaring. from the corner of his eye, he saw you chewing your bottom lip, clearly aware they were talking about you.

sarah cleared her throat, her voice carefully controlled. “how is she doing?”

rafe exhaled, turning his head to glance at you. “she’s getting there,” he admitted quietly, his tone softening slightly. the weight of his words lingered in the air, the silence on the other end of the line growing heavy.

“good,” sarah finally said, her voice hesitant. then, she continued, firmer this time. “listen, the pogues and i are trying to figure out who sent the video. we’ve been going over suspects all night and—”

“don’t bother,” rafe cut in sharply, his words curt and dismissive. “i have rob working on it already.”

there was a pause on the other end, the silence practically dripping with disapproval. “rafe,” sarah finally said, her tone measured, “this isn’t something you can just bulldoze through like one of your deals. rob might be good, but this? this is personal.”

“and what, you think you and your little crew can handle it better?” rafe snapped, his voice rising. “this isn’t some pogue treasure hunt, sarah. this is serious shit. she’s being stalked, and i’m not about to leave this in anyone else’s hands.”

sarah’s sharp sigh cut through the line, her frustration evident. “it’s not about doing it better, rafe. it’s about doing it together. you think you’re the only one who cares about her? we all do. but if you keep shutting everyone out, you’re just going to make this worse—for her and for you.”

rafe didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as her words sank in. deep down, he knew she was right—he couldn’t do this alone. but admitting it felt impossible under the crushing weight of guilt and anger pressing on him.

“if you want to help her, you’ll work with us. accept the help,” sarah said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “if you can, meet us at the chateau—”

“no,” rafe interrupted quickly, his voice resolute. “i’m not leaving the house when there’s a whole-ass stalker around, sarah.”

sarah sighed on the other end, her frustration now mixed with understanding. “then let us come to you,” she offered. “you don’t have to do this alone, rafe. none of us want her to go through this alone either.”

rafe hesitated, his chest tightening at the thought of letting anyone else into the fragile space you both had built. but as much as he hated to admit it, he knew sarah was right. he couldn’t do this alone—not if it meant giving you the support you needed.

“fine,” rafe muttered, glancing at the time on his watch. “be here in an hour.” before sarah could respond, he ended the call abruptly, tossing his phone back onto the couch with a sigh.

you took careful steps over to him, standing between his legs as he leaned back on the couch, watching your every move. without hesitation, he reached out, his hands gently pulling you down onto his lap so you were straddling him. his arms wrapped securely around your waist as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

his hands moved to your hips, rubbing slow, soothing patterns that made you feel grounded despite the chaos surrounding you. “thank you for letting her in,” you mumbled softly against his skin, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled faintly, catching on immediately that you and sarah must have discussed this beforehand. “sneaky,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as his hand moved to cradle the back of your head.

you lifted your face just enough to glance at him, catching the slight curve of his lips. “it’s for the best,” you said gently, your fingers brushing lightly over his biceps.

“we’ll see,” he replied, the softness in his voice betraying his usual skepticism. even so, the way he held you closer said he trusted your judgment, even if it meant letting sarah—and the others—into your carefully guarded space.

after a moment of silence, you sighed and pushed gently against him, only for rafe to groan in protest, tightening his grip on your waist.

“rafe, i have to shower,” you whined, though there was no real frustration in your voice.

he smirked, muttering a soft, “okay,” before standing up with you still straddling him, his arms securely holding you in place. instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he walked the two of you toward his bathroom.

you hid your laughter against his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin as he stepped into the bathroom and set you down on the edge of the sink. his eyes softened as he began peeling your clothes off, taking his time, his movements slow and deliberate. there was something about these moments with rafe that made the rest of the world fade away, like time itself paused just for the two of you.

before long, you were both under the warm spray of the shower, the steam curling around you like a cocoon. rafe stood behind you, his chest pressed to your back as he ran a soapy loofah up your arms, his touch both gentle and grounding. you leaned your head back against his chest, letting your eyes flutter closed, savoring the quiet intimacy between you.

“this okay?” he murmured softly against your ear, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“more than okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. moments like this reminded you of the side of rafe that not everyone got to see—the side that made you feel safe, loved, and completely seen.

rafe let the warm water cascade over your body, rinsing away the lathered soap as you turned to face him. your eyes met his, and without hesitation, you reached up, finally pressing your lips to his in a slow, passionate kiss. it was soft, yet it carried all the emotions you hadn’t been able to express in the past few days.

he froze for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then his hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. it was as if the tension in his chest melted away, his heart pounding against his ribs as he poured everything he’d been holding back into the moment.

he practically lost feeling in his legs, the relief washing over him as much as the water did. it had been days since you’d let him kiss you, days of tiptoeing around your emotions and giving you the space you needed. not that it mattered to him how long it took—he would’ve waited forever if you needed him to.

but god, he’d missed this. the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his wet hair, the way your body pressed against his like it was made to fit perfectly there. it was killing him to restrain himself, to not touch you the way he wanted to.

he let out a soft groan, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his eyes fluttering closed as he let himself savor the moment.

“i’m here,” you whispered back, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you smiled softly.

he opened his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability shining in them before he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you all over again. in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the chaos, not the fear—just you and him, together under the steady rhythm of the water.

the kiss deepened, growing messier and more desperate as rafe pressed you firmly against the cold tiles. the chill of the surface sent a jolt through your body, a soft whimper escaping your lips that only fueled his hunger.

his hand slid from your hair, trailing down your damp skin until it reached the heat between your thighs. the moment his fingers slipped between your folds, he groaned low and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips as your jaw went slack.

“shit,” rafe muttered, his voice thick with need as his lips brushed against yours. his fingers teased your clit, circling just enough to drive you insane. “so fuckin’ wet, huh? just for me?”

you nodded frantically, your breath hitching as he circled your clit faster, pulling a moan from deep within your chest. “just for you,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders for support.

rafe’s cock twitched painfully against his stomach, the sight of you unraveling beneath him nearly pushing him over the edge. “fuck,” he growled, his hips pressing into your hip in a slow, desperate grind. “you’re driving me insane, baby. can’t even think straight.”

his fingers worked faster, slipping inside you as his thumb stayed focused on your swollen bud. the obscene wet sounds of his movements filled the small space, mixing with your breathy moans and his ragged curses. “you feel so good,” he muttered against your neck, his voice strained as he continued to rut against you, craving more.

“rafe,” you moaned, your voice shaky as your body began to tremble against the tiles. “please…”

he smirked against your skin, his teeth grazing your ear as he murmured, “please what? tell me what you need.” his fingers curled inside you, hitting the spot that made your vision blur, pulling another cry from your lips. “come on, use your words.”

“hmph—i need you to fuck me,” you whined, your voice trembling with desperation. the words barely left your lips before a sharp gasp escaped you, rafe’s fingers suddenly speeding up, plunging deeper as his thumb pressed harder against your clit.

“yeah?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he watched the way your body writhed beneath his touch. “you want me to fuck you, baby? want me to stretch this pretty pussy out?”

you could only nod, your breath hitching as his fingers worked you relentlessly, your hips bucking against his hand. his cock twitched again, painfully hard and pressed against you, and he groaned low in his throat. “you’re so fuckin’ needy,” he muttered, biting down lightly on your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “look at you, begging for it.”

your hands gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as your legs started to shake, the tension in your core building to unbearable heights. “please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his movements didn’t relent. “please, rafe.”

“oh, i’ll fuck you,” he growled, pulling his hand away abruptly, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss of contact. before you could even voice a protest, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped securely around his waist. he pressed you harder against the cold tiles, his lips brushing your ear as he continued, “but you gotta cum for me first.”

his fingers slid back inside you, curling perfectly to hit that spot that had you gasping, your back arching against the wall. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing quick, tight circles that made your legs tremble around his hips.

“show me how bad you want it,” he growled, his pace relentless, his voice rough and commanding. the intensity of his touch had you spiraling in no time, your body writhing against his as heat coiled low in your stomach.

you clung to his shoulders as you fell apart, crying out his name so loudly it echoed off the shower walls. “rafe!” you gasped, your body shaking as the waves of your release crashed over you, leaving you a trembling mess in his arms.

he didn’t stop, drawing out every second of your orgasm until you were practically sobbing from the pleasure. a smug grin spread across his face as he watched you, his chest heaving against yours. “that’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone laced with pride.

he slowly pulled his fingers from you, glistening with your release, and without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied groan. his eyes darkened as he savored the taste, his grin widening. “so sweet,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

he tightened his hold on you, his strong hands gripping your hips as he pulled back just enough to create the space you needed. your shaky fingers trailed down between your bodies, wrapping around his swollen, throbbing cock. his breath hitched, and a low, guttural moan escaped his lips as you pumped him a few times, feeling the heat and weight of him against your palm.

“fuck,” rafe muttered, his head dropping to your shoulder as his fingers dug into your skin, the tension in his body palpable. “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

you smirked faintly, your confidence bolstered by his reaction, before guiding him to your entrance. the blunt head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, and you both let out soft, shaky breaths as the anticipation built between you.

he pushed forward just enough for the thick, swollen tip of his cock to slip into your warmth, pulling a moan from both of you. the stretch was intoxicating, the way he filled you so slowly making your breath hitch.

“fuck,” rafe groaned, his voice rough and strained as he paused, savoring the way you clenched around him. his forehead pressed against yours, his hot breath mingling with yours as he struggled to hold himself back. “so tight. so perfect for me.”

your hips shifted instinctively, urging him deeper as a needy whimper escaped your lips. “rafe, please,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. “i need you.”

his jaw tightened, and he smirked faintly, though his restraint was hanging by a thread. “yeah? you want all of me?” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pressed a kiss to your parted lips, stealing your breath.

rafe groaned deeply as he pushed in further, the warmth of you pulling him in like a vice. every inch he gave you sent sparks shooting through your body, and the stretch had your head falling back against the cold tile, a desperate moan spilling from your lips.

“fuck,” he hissed, his jaw tightening as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing him so perfectly it nearly made him lose his mind. “you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. like you were made for me.”

you could barely respond, your breath hitching as he stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him. his hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady against the tiles as his lips found your neck, biting and sucking softly, leaving trails of heat wherever he touched.

“move,” you finally gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the ache turned into pure, unfiltered need. “rafe, please.”

he pulled back just enough to tease you, his cock dragging along your walls in a way that made your toes curl before slamming back into you, forcing a loud cry from your lips.

“that’s it,” he growled, finding a rhythm that had the obscene sound of skin against skin echoing in the shower. his grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you with a hunger that made your head spin. “let me hear you, pretty girl. let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

rafe’s pace grew relentless, his hips snapping against yours with precision, each thrust driving him deeper until he was brushing that perfect spot inside you over and over. your body arched against the tiles, your hands clawing at his back as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

“rafe,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you built to an almost unbearable peak. the sound of his grunts and the wet slaps of your bodies filled the air, mingling with your desperate cries. “i can’t—oh my god, i—”

“yes, you can,” rafe growled, his voice dark and commanding as his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that sent you spiraling. “you’re gonna give me everything, princess. let it all go.”

you clenched tightly around him, your body trembling as the heat in your core exploded, and with a broken cry, the release hit you hard. the gush of liquid that followed was undeniable, coating rafe’s abdomen and making him groan loudly, his pace faltering for just a second.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice laced with awe and arousal as he felt you squirting around him, the sheer intensity of your release pushing him closer to the edge. “look at you, soaking me. so fuckin’ perfect.”

your legs trembled around his waist, your head falling back against the tiles as aftershocks coursed through you. but rafe didn’t stop. he kept his hips moving, chasing his own release as his hands gripped your ass tightly, holding you against him.

he groaned as he slammed into you one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled inside you. his grip on you tightened as he buried himself as deep as possible, his breath ragged against your neck.

your body went limp in his arms, both of you trembling from the intensity of what just happened.

he leaned his forehead against yours, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he caught his breath. “never getting over that,” he muttered, his voice filled with pride. “you’re fuckin’ unreal.”

your cheeks warmed instantly at the reminder of what had just happened, and you groaned softly, covering your face with both hands in an attempt to hide your embarrassment. “shut up,” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms.

rafe laughed, a low, satisfied sound, before carefully helping you back onto your feet. your legs trembled slightly, but his steady hands on your hips kept you balanced. once you were stable, he reached up to gently pull your hands away from your face, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back just enough to look at you. “means i did something right.”

your eyes narrowed playfully, and you smacked his chest with a laugh. “rafe!”

he chuckled, rubbing the spot where your hand landed as if it actually hurt. “what? just sayin’.” his smirk widened, and the way he was looking at you—with that cocky, yet adoring gleam in his eyes—had your heart fluttering despite yourself.

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you and rafe were still giggling over some inside joke as you made your way into the living room, his arm lazily draped around your waist, his hand resting instinctively on your hip. but the laughter died on your lips the moment you noticed your friends sitting on the couches, their expressions ranging from awkward to downright tense.

rafe’s brows furrowed immediately, his grip on your hip tightening slightly as his eyes flicked between them. “how the fuck did you guys get in?” he asked sharply, his tone clipped.

sarah cleared her throat, clearly the one to break the silence as she held up a familiar house key. her lips were pressed into a tight line,

her eyes avoiding yours. “i still have my key,” she said quietly, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you glanced between sarah and the rest of the pogues. their silence spoke volumes, and rafe’s jaw tightened beside you, his protectiveness radiating off him in waves. he stared them down, clearly less than thrilled about the uninvited intrusion.

“is there a reason you’re all just… sitting here?” rafe asked, his tone touched with impatience as his gaze lingered pointedly on sarah.

pope shifted awkwardly in his seat, his tone measured as he explained, “we knocked at first, but since no one answered, we thought something was wrong.”

before you could respond, jj piped up with his signature sarcasm. “jesus, bro, we thought you were killing her in there.”

your gasp was immediate, your cheeks heating with mortification as you stammered, “jj!” you quickly brought your hands to your face, covering it in embarrassment.

rafe, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat. his lips curled into a smug smirk, his hand tightening on your hip in a way that made your stomach flip. “if i was,” he drawled cockily, “she was screaming for the right reasons.”

“rafe!” you hissed, swatting his chest in mortified protest. his chuckle only deepened, clearly unbothered by the tension in the room. jj snorted, shaking his head in amusement, while sarah groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to physically block out the mental image.

“can we not?” sarah muttered, her voice low and dripping with exasperation. “i’m already traumatized enough as it is.”

rafe shot her an amused grin, his hand still possessively resting on your hip. “you’re traumatized? imagine how i feel, dealing with all of you breaking into my house.”

jj leaned back on the couch, throwing an arm over the backrest with an exaggerated shrug. “oh, come on, man. we knocked. you didn’t answer, and honestly, from all that ruckus i don’t blame—” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively before you cut in.

your cheeks burned hotter, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “oh my god, can we talk about literally anything else?”

“agreed,” sarah interjected quickly, shooting jj a death glare before turning her sharp gaze to rafe. “we didn’t come here for… this. we came because we have a problem to deal with. remember?” her tone turned serious, and the atmosphere in the room shifted.

rafe’s smirk faded instantly, his expression hardening as he stood a little straighter. “what problem?” he asked, his grip on your hip tightening protectively, his eyes narrowing as they locked on his sister.

“we might have a lead,” kie said, her voice cautious as her eyes flickered between you and rafe. “and it’s got more people involved than we think, i’m sure.”

rafe groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair before sinking onto the couch, pulling you down to sit beside him. his hand rested protectively on your thigh as if grounding himself. sarah’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the subtle action, but she chose not to comment. instead, she simply observed, noting how much rafe’s demeanor had shifted in the past few weeks. he cared—more than she’d expected him to.

“so who’s the lead?” rafe snapped, his tone impatient as he looked around the room, waiting for someone to speak up.

after a moment of silence, john b finally answered, “we think it’s barry.”

the name was barely out of john b’s mouth when rafe’s entire demeanor changed. his eyes blazed with fury, his jaw tightening as his hand gripped your thigh. “i’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“rafe, wait,” sarah interjected quickly, holding up her hands as if to calm him. “we don’t know for sure yet.”

“i don’t need to know for sure,” rafe snapped back, his tone laced with venom. “if barry’s even remotely involved in this, he’s dead.” his leg bounced with barely contained energy, his rage practically vibrating off of him.

“look, we’re all pissed,” pope said, his voice firm but measured. “but if we go in guns blazing without proof, we’re just gonna make it worse.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he fought to rein in his temper. “he’s not getting away with this,” he muttered darkly, his gaze flicking to you briefly, softening for just a moment before hardening again. “not after what he’s done.”

“you said there were more people involved,” you finally spoke up, your voice soft but steady as your fingers absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on rafe’s knuckles. his hand had been clenched into a tight fist, but your touch seemed to ease some of the tension, his grip relaxing slightly under your gentle movements.

all eyes turned to kie, who nodded slowly. “we’re not sure how many, but it’s definitely not just barry,” she explained. “the way the video spread so fast, the timing—it’s organized. someone else is pulling strings here.”

rafe let out a low growl, his jaw tightening again. “so who the fuck else is it?” he demanded, his voice sharp and filled with impatience.

“we don’t know yet,” john b admitted, his tone cautious. “but if it’s barry, then it’s probably someone he’s working with. he doesn’t have the brains to pull something like this off on his own.”

“or the resources,” pope added, leaning forward with a frown. “he’s got connections, but not that kind of reach.”

you glanced at rafe, watching the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to rein in his anger. his knuckles had whitened from the tension in his fists, so you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “do you think it’s a kook?” you asked softly, your gaze flicking between him and the rest of the group.

“one hundred percent,” jj cut in before rafe could answer, his tone dripping with disdain. “it always fuckin’ is.” he leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms as he shot a glare toward sarah, almost as if it were her fault by association.

sarah rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. “not every kook is out to ruin your life, jj.”

“no, just the ones we keep having to deal with,” he shot back, his voice filled with sarcasm. “you can’t sit there and tell me it’s not a rich prick playing their stupid games.”

“jj, come on,” kie interjected, her tone firm but measured. “this isn’t the time for finger-pointing.”

“i’m not pointing fingers. i’m stating facts,” jj muttered, his eyes darting to rafe with a slight smirk, the tension palpable. “but hey, maybe lover boy over here can tell us which one of his old kook buddies likes playing stalker.”

rafe’s hand tightened in yours at the jab, his knuckles turning white. his eyes locked on jj, his tone sharp and dangerous as he shot back, “if i knew, then you wouldn’t be sitting on my couch.”

jj raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still playing on his lips. “easy. just saying, you might want to start with your crew. i’m sure barry’s not the only one who’d love to see you squirm.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, his breathing steady but filled with tension. you squeezed his hand gently, your thumb brushing soothing circles over his skin, grounding him before he could escalate things further. “jj,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of warning, “not helping.”

“what?” jj shrugged, leaning back casually. “i’m just being honest.”

“honest or not, we don’t need to start a fight,” kie interjected, giving jj a pointed look. “we’re here to figure this out, not throw punches.”

“yet,” rafe muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear. you glanced up at him, catching the flicker of anger in his eyes. despite the tension radiating off him, the way he stayed seated and quiet told you he was trying—trying to keep himself in check, for you.

you sighed softly, your eyes flickering down to your lap as your thoughts raced. the room was still thick with tension, everyone quietly waiting for the next lead, the next idea. then, a name surfaced in your mind. the name that had haunted you since this all started. your throat tightened as you hesitated, but you knew you had to say it.

“what about stacy?” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

the room went silent, the weight of the name settling over everyone like a dark cloud. rafe’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, his jaw clenching as his head turned sharply to look at you. “stacy?” he repeated, his voice low and cautious, though you could feel the storm brewing behind his words.

you nodded, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. “that day at the country club,” you murmured. “she probably saw us together at the beach. and after… everything with you and her dad… i don’t know, it just feels like she might have a reason.”

rafe sighed heavily, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “baby, not this again. i told you—“

“i’m not saying it to start an argument,” you cut him off, your tone firmer now. “i’m saying it because i’ve always had a weird feeling about her, and it just seems too convenient. think about it, rafe. it’s obvious she wants you, and who knows how far she’s willing to go to get you.”

your words hung in the air, the room going still as everyone absorbed what you’d just said. rafe’s gaze softened slightly, his hand brushing over yours in an attempt to calm you. “i told you, stacy’s nothing to me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “she’s not a threat.”

“but what if she is?” you countered, finally meeting his eyes. “we can’t just ignore this because you don’t think she’d go that far. we have to consider it, especially if she’s been watching us.”

rafe’s expression hardened as he processed your words, his jaw tightening. “okay,” he finally said, his voice low but resolute. “we’ll look into it.”

you nodded, encouraged by his response, and pressed on. “and especially since you said her dad’s company is your family’s biggest competitor,” you continued, your voice steady despite the emotions simmering beneath the surface. “putting out a video like that? it would ruin everything—for you, for me, for the cameron name. it makes sense.”

sarah leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in thought. “she’s got the motive,” she said, her tone thoughtful but sharp. “if she’s working with barry or someone else, she’d have the connections to pull this off. and she’s petty enough to do it.”

kie nodded in agreement, crossing her arms. “it’s not just about you two, either. if her dad’s in on this, he’d see this as a way to take a shot at the whole cameron empire. barry could be the perfect tool for that.”

you sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, trying to steady your spiraling thoughts. deep down, you knew stacy was behind this. your instincts screamed it, pointing at her with flashing lights and blaring alarms. every interaction you’d ever had with her, every sidelong glance and calculated move, seemed to line up perfectly with what was happening now. but you couldn’t let your emotions or personal bias cloud your judgment—not when so much was at stake.

no matter how much you despised her, you needed proof. assumptions wouldn’t get you anywhere, and acting on feelings alone could backfire. you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, your fingers still tangled in your hair as you glanced around the room.

“we can’t jump to conclusions,” you said finally, your voice quieter but firm. “even if it feels obvious, we need evidence. if we accuse the wrong person, it could make everything worse.”

rafe’s eyes flicked to yours, his gaze softening slightly at your visible stress. “then we get the evidence,” he said simply, his voice steady.

“we’ll figure it out,” sarah reassured, giving you a small nod. “if it’s stacy, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away with this.”

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push your emotions aside. you had to stay focused. if stacy was behind this, she wouldn’t just regret it—you’d make sure of it.

it was her. it had to be.

hours passed, and the pogues eventually went home. to your surprise, none of them brought up you and rafe, even during the moments he retreated elsewhere briefly. they acted perfectly normal about it, which somehow unsettled you more than if they’d confronted you outright. the silence felt heavier than words.

rafe had left you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket tucked beneath your chin. now, he sat in his office, his jaw tight as he scrolled through emails from rob—each one filled with dead ends and pointless leads. his stress was evident, his hand dragging down his face in frustration while his leg bounced uncontrollably beneath the desk.

his eyes flicked to the painting on the wall, knowing exactly what was behind it: the safe that held passports, emergency cash, and, most importantly, his gun. john b’s words replayed in his mind like a broken record: we think it’s barry.

without hesitation, rafe stood abruptly, striding over to the painting and pulling it aside. he opened the safe, the cold steel of the gun feeling heavy and familiar in his grip. his mind was set.

walking out to the living room, he paused when his eyes landed on you. you were sound asleep on the couch, your blanket pulled up to your chin, lips parted as soft, even breaths escaped them. the sight of you like this—so peaceful, so unaware of the storm brewing in his chest—made him falter for a moment.

but then, his jaw tightened, and his grip on the gun firmed. he leaned against the doorway, watching you for another moment before turning away, his mind already spiraling with what he needed to do next.

you groaned softly, the buzzing of your phone vibrating underneath your pillow pulling you from your sleep. your eyes squinted as you grabbed it, reading the contact on the screen. it didn’t have a name, just a random number, but below it read maybe: kildare police department.

your heart hammered in your chest as you hesitated before pressing the green button and holding the phone to your ear. “hello?” you asked, your voice groggy and uneasy.

“hey, baby,” a familiar voice greeted, and your stomach dropped.

“rafe?” you stammered, your heart racing as panic crept in. “what’s—”

before you could finish, your phone buzzed again, vibrating against your ear. you pulled it away and gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat as the notification popped up.

unknown: your boyfriend shouldn’t have done that. now you’re all alone.

unknown: one image attachment.

with trembling fingers, you opened the photo, only to feel your entire body freeze. it was a picture of you, taken in the exact spot you were sitting right now. it captured the moment you had picked up your phone, your expression clear and startled.

your blood ran cold as you instinctively glanced around the room, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. someone was watching you. someone was here.

“i’m sorry to do this to you, but can you come pick—” rafe began, his voice heavy with frustration as he sighed into the phone. sheriff shoup stood nearby, giving him a disapproving look, clearly unimpressed with his request.

before rafe could finish, your voice came through the line, frantic and low, cutting him off mid-sentence. “rafe! someone’s here. they sent me a picture of me at the house—”

the line suddenly went dead.

rafe froze, the color draining from his face as the silence on the other end of the call sank in. his grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as panic surged through him. “no, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

he didn’t even bother explaining to shoup before bolting out the door, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. whoever had sent you that picture wasn’t just threatening anymore—they were acting.

and you were alone.

© aerialmirrorss

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[moonstonejpg]

ours (k.bakugou x reader)

—“your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong in"

sum. bakugou is having a bad week, thankfully his girl is always there to make the bad days a little better cw: a little angst, fluffy ending

i hate hate hate paparazzi!! loosely based off of this and the song ours by taylor swift

It had been a rough week for Katsuki.

First, the hero rankings were announced, and he found himself at #15—not even in the top ten. And he swore it didn't bother him, that the rankings were just a stupid popularity contest. But you saw the way his shoulders slightly slumped in disappointment and the way his fists clenched so hard that the half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin stayed for hours after you had smoothed his fingers out.

It broke your heart to see him like that—and then yesterday he got into a silly fight with Izuku, one that was filmed and taken way out of context by thousands of people on the internet. Which in turn prompted the resurgence of people saying he didn't even deserve to be on the list at all, let alone at #15.

bakugou is mentally unstable lol

i worry about his gf tbh, those anger issues are a huuuge red flag

right?! i hope that poor girl gets out of that

she seems so sweet, he’s probably threatening her or something

It was just one hit after another for him.

And now, as he stares out the window at the crowd of paparazzi with a clenched jaw, the only thought in your mind is how this is strike three. All he wanted to do was take you out for a nice dinner to thank you for being so supportive this week, but he couldn't even do that without a swarm of media leeches waiting outside.

"Kats, we don't have to go. We can just stay here." You say quietly, worried eyes set on his tense shoulders.

"No," he growls, "I'm not letting them ruin this too." He positions himself in front of you before taking a few hesitant steps out the front door of your shared apartment building.

His warm hand envelopes your own, fingers threading through before tugging you behind him, half shielding you with his large body. The flash of the cameras and the noise of the crowd makes your vision blur, but Katsuki is moving fast, fingers tightly gripping your own while his gaze is laser focused on the awaiting black car parked on the other side of the street.

Everything is moving so fast, the shouts of the various reporters melting together around you. But you can't hear a word they say, the sound drowning out any specific words, until—

“Why him?”

And you nearly miss the step below as you freeze. The question has you rearing back as if you'd been hit, your eyes dancing towards the sound of the question. You see him right away, a male reporter who is nearly frothing at the mouth for a reaction. The reporter leans forward, eyeing you hungrily as he waits for an answer. And usually, you wouldn't give them any time of day, the daily harassment towards you and every other pro-hero and their significant other almost daily a good enough reason toignore any of their probing questions. But how could you ignore this?

“Why him?” you parrot back, white-hot anger burning through your body at a rapid rate. You don’t think twice before you’re ripping your wrist out of the blonde's hand and taking angry strides towards the reporter. You're nearly toe-to-toe with the man, and while he is a full head taller than you, he shrinks a bit from the look on your face.

Katsuki comes up beside you, gently tugging at your wrist.

“It’s not worth it.” He says lowly, looking down at you with something like sadness tinged in his eyes. And your heart cracks, picking up on the one thing he isn’t saying but you know he’s thinking.

That he’s not worth it.

And you can’t have that, you can't have Katsuki thinking that he isn’t worth any of this, because he is. He is worth everything, and despite being in each other’s lives for years now, the fact that he still doesn’t see that is devastating.  

Your body begins shaking from a mix of anger and adrenaline as you look at the crowd around you. A slow hush falls over the crowd, as if they are waiting with bated breath to see what you have to say.

“Because he is the kindest human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing; kinder than any of you will ever be. And what has he ever done to you to make you so obsessed with twisting every move he makes, every word he utters into something that makes him look like the bad guy? And for a quick buck? You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” After shooting a glare around the crowd, you keep your chin high as you grab a stunned Katsuki’s hand and drag him towards the car.

You gently push him in, keeping a hand smoothed over the back of your dress as you crawl in after him, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The car ride to the restaurant is eerily quiet, and as the adrenaline begins to leak out of your body, your brain catches up to what you did. And yeah—they did need to be told off, but you start to wonder if this is something that will get him into trouble.

You weren’t a hero and you didn’t have a lick of media training, why did you think causing a scene would be a good idea? The thoughts spiral in, and you want to bury your face in your hands as dread slithers its way into your stomach.

When you get inside the building, you are ushered towards the back of the restaurant by the host, presumably to where your table is located. But before you round the corner, Katsuki is tugging you into a dimly lit closet, fingers making quick work of the lock. Even after the door is bolted shut, he stands and faces it, as you just watch the outline of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Kats?” You say quietly, a hand hovering over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just—”

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh pushing its way out of his mouth.  

“No, you—” He shakes his head again, then turns around to face you, his body crowding you up against the wall. His eyes are dark, twinkling with emotions you can’t place. Both of his hands come up to gently cradle your face, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Not only was that the hottest thing I have ever seen, but—well, that was the first time anyone has stuck up for me before.”

“I would do it again—anything for you really. You’re worth it. And I know that’s hard for you to believe, but you are. They can say whatever they want, but I know in my heart that I do not deserve you, and that you ” You say quietly, eyes locked on his. He smiles, eyes shining, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” He whispers in the dark of the room, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“I love you Kats.”

“I love you too. Now, how about we ditch this place?” He asks, leaning back to tug at his tie, before bending forward to loop it around your neck. “I think that new ice cream parlor is open. So, sundaes on me?”

You nod, a giggle escaping when he bends down and tugs the ends of the tie, your body falling into him. He lets out a gentle laugh, the sound like a gentle breeze on a hot day. It has your smile stretching across your face, your heart singing in response.

He reaches down to unlock the door, but when he flicks the lock back, nothing happens. Katsuki tries again, but again, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, not the second time he tries or the fifth, or even the tenth time he tries. On the eleventh try his hand slips from the lock, his eyes colliding with yours.

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then a laugh bursts out of him, followed by another and another. The sound has the grin staying locked in place on your face, relief flowing through you at the change in his mood.

“We—we’re stuck.” He gasps out, hands falling on his knees as he hunches over, deep laughs spilling out of him. It isn’t long before you are on the floor next to him, trying to catch your breath around your own laughter.

[lizzyiii]

His Mother's Sister

pairing | aemond x aunt!reader word count | 4.7k words summary | aemond becomes instantly captivated by his alluring and enigmatic aunt upon her arrival in King’s Landing, his fascination growing into a consuming obsession. one night, he sneaks into her chambers intending to claim her, only to find himself ensnared and wholly claimed by her instead. tags | 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, obsession, incest, oral (f), aemond being a simp, aemond being obsessed, older woman/younger man, reader is in her early 30s a/n | haven't written smut in a while, so here's my smut piece before I continue with my normal angst and fluff

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I have summoned your sister to King’s Landing.”

Aemond’s attention sharpened, his gaze lingering on his mother’s face as Otto spoke. He watched as the blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.

“For what purpose?” Alicent’s voice held a strained note, attempting to maintain a composure that clearly wavered.

Aegon, lounging at the head of the table, raised his head, intrigued. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, eyes flicking between his mother and grandsire.

“Marq Ambrose commands one of the most powerful armies in the Reach,” Otto stated with an offhand shrug, his eyes giving nothing away.

“And he would serve us best by keeping that power in the Reach, where it may be summoned at need,” Alicent interjected, her tone unyielding, her eyes locked on Otto’s. There was no mistaking the tension in her voice, a chill that crept through the words.

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly as he observed his mother. His aunt had always been something of a mystery—whispered about in brief conversations that faded when he entered the room. A few years after his birth, she had been wedded to Lord Ambrose of the Reach, her presence a vague shadow on his life, a name he had heard only in passing. And now, with her impending arrival, he sensed a thread of something forbidden—a story that remained carefully locked away, just out of reach.

Aegon chuckled, breaking the taut silence. “Let Lord Ambrose come, then, if he so wishes to make merry in our halls. He is but my uncle by marriage; surely, we ought to welcome such kin to the capital.” His gaze gleamed as he spoke, and his smile widened. “And I would be most pleased to meet my aunt, at last.”

But Aemond’s mind lingered elsewhere. His mother’s discomfort stirred his curiosity, yes—but something deeper, a whisper of anticipation he could scarcely name, took root.

A week had passed since that conversation, and now the family gathered in the throne room, awaiting Lord Ambrose’s arrival. Aegon sat with careless authority upon the Iron Throne, his gaze sharp with the amusement of expectation, while the rest of them stood beneath the shadow of the dais.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a knight’s voice rang out through the hall. “May I present Lord Marq Ambrose and his Lady Wife.”

A stocky figure stepped forward, his hair streaked with white and black, his girth almost comical in its fullness. Aemond cast but a cursory glance at the man, unimpressed by this swollen lord from the Reach, before his gaze shifted past him.

And then, Aemond stilled. His eye widened, his brows lifting as he fought to contain his reaction. His heart gave an unbidden jolt, nearly betraying him. If he had chanced a glance at Aegon, he would have seen his brother’s mouth agape, struck silent.

Beside Lord Ambrose stood his lady—a woman of such beauty that she seemed almost ethereal in her presence, like some creature of starlight veiled in fine silks. You could have been Lord Ambrose’s granddaughter, and yet here you were, his lawful wife. Aemond’s mind spun.

From what he understood, this aunt of his was five summers younger than his mother, yet you bore not a trace of age. Your beauty held a captivating allure, tempered with a regal composure that only added to your mystique. You appeared no older than five-and-twenty, though your presence held the calm authority of a queen.

"Lord and Lady Ambrose," Aegon declared with a broad grin as he rose from the Iron Throne and descended the dais, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Welcome."

Lord Ambrose, with a thick and lumbering step, inclined his head and spoke in a voice as stout as his frame. “We thank you for your welcome, Your Grace, and pledge our loyalty to the one true king.”

Aegon waved a dismissive hand, barely seeming to heed the man’s words. “Yes, yes, the crown is grateful for your loyalty and your… soldiers,” he said, his tone absent, as though the promise of men-at-arms meant little to him in the face of his aunt.

Then Aegon turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to one of eager charm. He stepped closer and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. "My aunt," he said, his voice thick with pleasure, “it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” He kissed your hand, his gaze lingering on you as he released it.

Your lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, your sharp eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement as though you found the entire display mildly amusing. “The honor is mine, my king,” you replied, your voice soft but rich, laced with an elegance and confidence that defied your role as the wife of a lesser lord.

Aemond, standing nearby, felt his pulse quicken at the sound of your voice. It was smooth, sultry, and held an unspoken promise, a warmth that washed over him and stirred something deep within. His gaze lingered on her, captivated, as if drawn to some unnameable force.

Otto cleared his throat, a subtle warning in his gaze as he stepped forward, sensing the direction of Aegon’s attentions. He inclined his head politely. “Lord Ambrose,” he greeted, then turned to the lady beside him, his tone softening. “Daughter.”

Aemond watched with surprise as she stepped away from Lord Ambrose without hesitation, her face alight with joy. “Father!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. She crossed the floor with graceful steps, her skirts sweeping behind her as she embraced her father.

Otto’s usually stoic expression softened, his arms enveloping her with an affection rare to see from the Hand of the King. “How I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

Aemond, along with Aegon and Helaena, exchanged startled glances, astonished by the depth of feeling Otto revealed.

She broke away, casting a radiant smile at Otto before her gaze shifted, and she found Alicent. Aemond watched as his mother’s expression flickered, caught between awkwardness and reluctance, her shoulders tense. But his aunt moved toward her with the same confident warmth. “Sister,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around Alicent in a sincere embrace.

Alicent seemed to steel herself, managing a strained smile as she endured the hug. When they pulled apart, her expression remained stiff as she forced a cordial tone. “Sister,” she said carefully, “you look… as though no time has passed at all.”

The amusement in your eyes deepened, a subtle spark of mischief that curled your lips into a nearly smug smile. “And yet,” you replied, voice gentle but pointed, “it seems that time has left its mark on you."

The words were soft, yet they carried an edge that struck the air between them. Alicent’s face faltered, her polite mask slipping for an instant. Aemond watched the exchange, captivated by the intricate web of tensions and histories unfolding before him. He had thought his mother impervious, yet here she was, visibly discomforted under the gaze of her younger sister.

“Well,” Aegon’s voice broke in, strangely lively, “this calls for a celebration.” He clapped his hands, grinning widely. “A family supper, to welcome Lord… and Lady Ambrose to King’s Landing.” He glanced between his aunt and mother with a glint in his eye, as if relishing the simmering tension.

Aemond glanced toward his aunt, your eyes alight with a confidence that drew him in, entangled with memories he could only guess at. You seemed utterly unperturbed by the uneasy reception, holding yourself with an assurance that only deepened the fascination you stirred within him.

The supper was, in truth, a strained affair. Lord Ambrose quickly drank himself into a state of merriment, his voice growing louder with each goblet of wine he downed. He boasted endlessly of Ambrosia, their ancestral castle in the Reach, extolling the grandeur of its halls, the strength of its walls, and the might of his armies.

It was painfully clear that neither Aegon nor Otto paid him much heed; Aegon’s eyes glazed over with feigned interest, while Otto offered only the occasional nod, his mind elsewhere.

Aegon, however, deftly steered the conversation back to you at every opportunity. “But tell us, Aunt,” he said with a sly smile, “what tales do you bring from the Reach? Surely there are more interesting things than castle stones and soldiers.”

Across the table, Aemond found his brother’s persistent attempts at flirtation grating, yet he could not fault Aegon for giving you the attention. Your voice, like a song in his ear, drew him in each time you spoke, its smooth cadence addictive.

You spoke easily, your words painting scenes of courtly life in the Reach, of feasts and tournaments, your radiant smile outshining your husband’s drunken ramblings. Every eye at the table seemed drawn to you, but none with the quiet intensity of Aemond’s single, focused gaze.

He was captivated by the way you commanded the room, with a poise that cast Lord Ambrose’s bluster into the shadows. And when you looked his way, even for a fleeting moment, he felt as though the world quieted around him.

“And what of you and my mother in your younger days?” Aegon asked, a mischievous, drunken grin on his lips, his words slurring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair.

Alicent shot him a pointed look, her expression tightening as she cleared her throat. “Aegon,” she murmured, her voice gently chastising, “perhaps my sister would appreciate a moment to enjoy her meal.”

But you merely laughed, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. “Oh, it’s quite all right, Alicent,” you said warmly. Turning to Aegon, your eyes sparkled with a hint of nostalgia. “You see, in our younger years, your mother could barely stand to be near me.”

Alicent’s discomfort grew visible as she shifted in her seat, her voice soft but strained. “That is not true, sister.”

“Oh, but it is,” you replied with a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Not that I hold it against you, Alicent. I was terribly fond of her then; I looked up to her as one might look to a mother. But every time I tried to spend time with her, she would run off with Princess Rhaenyra, laughing at my expense.”

“Those were mere childish games,” Alicent interjected, her voice taut as she worked to maintain her composure.

“Indeed, they were,” you agreed with an unbothered smile. “Children can be so prone to envy and jealousy. You see,” your tone lightened, yet held a playful undertone as your eyes drifted back to Aegon, “I was often called the ‘Diamond of Oldtown,’ and perhaps such adoration left its mark on dear Alicent.”

The words were spoken with an air of casual jest, yet there was no mistaking the edge beneath them. Aemond watched as Alicent’s mask slipped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to keep her voice steady. It was clear you were savoring Alicent’s discomfort, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting your eyes as they traveled slowly down the length of the table.

And then, your gaze found him.

“And what of you, dear nephew?” you inquired, your voice as smooth as wine poured in darkened halls. “I’ve heard many tales of you in the Reach.”

Aemond felt his heart thud within his chest, a warmth rising unbidden to his face as he fought to maintain his poise. “Tales of what, Aunt?” he asked, his voice low, striving for calm.

A smile curved upon your lips, one that was as inviting as it was knowing. “A great warrior, fierce and unmatched across the Seven Kingdoms. The rider of Vhagar, queen of all dragons,” you murmured, your words laced with a hint of admiration.

“That’s all, my lady,” Aemond replied softly, his gaze never wavering from yours.

And in return, you tilted your head ever so slightly, an amused glint in your eyes as though you were looking beyond the surface, into the very marrow of him. It was a gaze both alluring and unsettling, one that sent a shiver down his spine.

Before you could speak again, however, your husband’s voice cut through the charged silence. His tone was slurred and irritated, clearly displeased by the lack of attention on him as he clumsily launched into yet another tale of his supposed valor. Aemond noted how you sighed softly, a look of resignation crossing your features as you turned your gaze away from him.

But then, as though unable to resist, your eyes drifted back to Aemond. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed and, with a barely concealed smirk, you winked.

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, his lone eye widening ever so slightly as he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it. He looked back, only to find you now watching your husband with a look of faint distaste, a grimace twisting your otherwise perfect features. It was a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and Aemond felt a surge of something dark and possessive stirring within him.

In that moment, he realized that this supper was not simply an introduction; it was an invitation, a challenge, and a temptation all at once.

These thoughts lingered long after, spiraling in his mind with an intensity he couldn’t quiet. Later, as he passed through the halls, he overheard a quiet murmur from a maid: Lord and Lady Ambrose had chosen to sleep in separate chambers. Aemond’s pulse quickened.

The knowledge seemed a silent invitation, a doorway left just ajar. He recalled the way you had spoken to him, your voice holding layers meant only for him. The look in your eyes—hungry, as though you sought to devour his very soul—left him craving to be consumed by that gaze again. No, this was not his imagination. He was certain of it.

And it was this certainty that drove him through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, slipping past drowsy guards, cloaked in shadow, his steps muffled by the silence of the sleeping castle.

When he reached your door, he eased it open, careful to make no sound, and stepped inside with the stealth of a shadow. Yet he halted at once, caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.

There you sat, reclining on a velvet chaise, a goblet of deep red wine in hand, eyes cast down at a leather-bound book resting in your lap. The faint candlelight painted your skin in warm gold, and your attire—a red nightgown, translucent and clinging to every curve—left little hidden, casting a spell of allure around you.

Aemond’s throat tightened as he took in the sight, the image searing itself into his mind. But the quiet gulp betrayed him, and your gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood.

“Your Highness,” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive warmth. “What a surprise.” The knowing smile on your lips told him this was no surprise at all.

Feeling the weight of your gaze, he steeled himself, adopting the guise of confidence. “I could not find sleep, my lady,” he replied, his voice steady. “And it would appear you are in the same predicament.”

You set down your goblet and closed the book in your lap, your every movement deliberate. Rising from your seat, you let the robe slide from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. “You know,” you murmured, teasingly, “it is most improper for a man to visit a married woman at such an hour.”

Aemond took a step closer, his gaze never leaving you. “But you are my aunt—my family.”

A small, knowing laugh escaped your lips as you slipped past him, your arm brushing his, a soft touch that sent a jolt through him. He closed his eye briefly, savoring the warmth, and when he opened it again, you had moved toward the bed, your smile one of invitation.

“The Targaryens are known for their peculiar customs when it comes to family.” You glanced back at him with an amused, daring gleam in your eye. “Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

He took another step forward, drawn like a moth to flame. “I think you know what I desire.”

“And if I were to say yes,” you purred, sitting upon the edge of the bed, “what would you do?”

He moved closer, his voice low with reverence. “I would do whatever you asked of me.”

Your lips curled, eyes glinting with a barely concealed command. “Then kneel for me,” you whispered.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but any hesitation vanished. He lowered himself to his knees before you, his head tilted upward, gaze reverent. “As you wish, my lady.”

You studied him, a look of satisfaction crossing your face as you gathered your skirts, parting your legs with a languid grace. Tilting your chin, you gave a single, soft nod. “Then go on, my sweet prince,” you murmured, your voice a quiet command, heavy with promise.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. His hands came to rest on your hips as he began to place soft kisses along your skin, working his way higher.

When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you, his eye hooded.

"Are you certain about this, Aunt?" Despite his words, his body language betrayed his eagerness - his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened their grip on your hips ever so slightly.

You let out a soft moan as he kissed your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, "Yes I am certain, now continue before I change my mind."

With a low growl, he surged forward, burying his face between your thighs. He wasted no time in finding your sensitive bud with his tongue, flicking and circling it expertly.

One hand slid up to cup your breast through your thin nightgown, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his ministrations below. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, gauging your reactions to find what felt best.

The other hand gripped your hip more firmly, holding you in place as he devoured you like a starving man at a feast. Wet sounds filled the room as he worked tirelessly to bring you pleasure, lost in the taste and scent of your arousal. Your back arched as he licked your cunt, a loud moan escaped your lips, "Oh gods, yes."

Your fingers tightened in his hair, as you bucked your hips against his face, seeking more of his skilled touch, "Yes, feast on me."

Spurred on by your moans and the encouragement in your voice, Aemond redoubled his efforts. He sealed his lips around your bud and sucked hard, his tongue lashing over the sensitive nub in rapid circles.

Two fingers slid deep inside your slick heat, curling to stroke along your inner walls as they thrusted in and out. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your dripping core mingled with your increasingly desperate cries of pleasure.

Aemond could feel you tensing and shuddering beneath his touch, teetering on the brink of release. He doubled down, sucking harder and fucking you faster with his fingers, determined to push you over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, screaming out in ecstasy as your body shook violently, juices gushing out and soaking his face, "Oh fuck! Aemond!"

You clutched at his head, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your skin glistening with sweat, "Don't you dare stop until I tell you to!"

Feeling your body quake and spasm around his invading fingers, Aemond drank in every drop of your sweet release, lapping at your pulsing sex greedily. He prolonged your climax with relentless strokes of his tongue, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure.

Only when your spasms subsided does he finally pull back, his chin dripping with your essence. He gazed up at you with a triumphant, almost feral glint in his eye, his own arousal straining against the confines of his breeches, "Have I pleased you, Aunt?"

"Yes, yes you have," you said breathlessly.

Without a word, he rose to his feet and began to strip off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular physique honed by years of training. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed with blood, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

"You have such a pretty cock, nephew," you said, taking in the sight of him, as your hand reached out for his cock.

Aemond's breath hitched as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, his hips instinctively bucking into the touch. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers traced the ridged veins and delicate skin, marveling at how small yet firm your hand looked compared to his engorged member.

"It's yours," he rasped, his voice strained with need. "Do whatever you want with it."

He stepped closer, pressing the heavy weight of his erection against your palm, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he grinded against you.

You broke the kiss, panting heavily, as you pulled him onto the bed. Then you straddled him, rubbing your dripping cunt along his cock, coating it with your juices, "I've never ridden a dragon before. Tell me, do you want me to claim you?"

Aemond's single eye blazed with lust and something deeper, darker, as he gazed up at you poised above him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the muscles flexing beneath his pale skin.

"Yes, Aunt," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Claim me. Make me yours."

His hands came up to grasp your hips, guiding you to position yourself over his straining cock. His head nudged at your entrance, smearing your slickness across it.

"Do it," he urged, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Take me deep."

So slowly you sank down onto his cock, letting out a loud moan as you stretched around his girth. You took him inch by delicious inch until you were fully seated on him, "Fuck, your cock was made for my cunt."

Aemond threw his head back with a guttural groan as you sheathed him completely, your tight heat enveloping his throbbing length. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin as he reveled in the feeling of being utterly filled in you.

"So tight," he panted against your throat.

His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up into you, meeting each downward plunge of your own hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your mingled moans of pleasure. And feeling a tinge of frustration, his hands met the top of your nightgown as he pulled hard, ripping it in half completely, making you gasp.

You rode him hard and fast, your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your high pitched moans, "Yes, yes, fuck me harder Aemond!"

Aemond leaned forward, sucking on your breast as if he was a babe desperately seeking milk. He suckled greedily at your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he drew the sensitive flesh into his mouth. His hands roamed your curves possessively, one sliding down to grip your ass while the other tweaked and tugged at your neglected nipple.

He met your wild riding with equal fervor, pistoning his hips up to meet your downward thrusts. The force of his movements drove you upward, impaling you again and again on his thick cock. Your cries of ecstasy spurred him on, his own groans of pleasure growing louder and more desperate.

Suddenly, he flipped you over onto your back, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you captive as he pounded into you with renewed vigor, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place as you grinded your hips upwards to match his frenzied pace. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, urging him on, "Fuck! Right there!"

Aemond let go of your wrists, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to ravage your cunt. He swallowed all your screams and moans, relishing in the taste and feel of you.

"Cum in me aemond! Fill me with your seed!" You screamed into his mouth as another orgasm ripped through you.

The sensation of your inner walls clenching and rippling around him sent Aemond careening over the edge. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful jets.

"Ahh, gods," he gasped, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax. He continued to pulse and twitch within you, ensuring every drop is deposited deep inside your welcoming heat.

As the aftershocks subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press against your satiated form. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled to regain his composure.

"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “You are truly remarkable.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours as you both sought to catch your breath. A delicate shiver coursed through you, remnants of your shared ecstasy still fluttering within.

“There, there,” you purred softly, running your fingers through his silken hair, enjoying the feel of his softness against your skin. Aemond lay on your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the intoxicating scent of you mingling with the fading heat of your shared intimacy.

Once Aemond had calmed his breathing, he lifted his head to meet your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a fervent exploration, igniting a spark that flickered between you. His hand traveled down your body, the warmth of his touch setting your skin alight.

When his hand paused on your stomach, he broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow as curiosity flickered in his violet eye. It was well known that you had been wed to Lord Ambrose for fifteen years without bearing a child. Whispers of your barrenness had circulated through the halls of the Red Keep, and Aemond could not suppress the question that hung in the air between you.

"Is it true you are barren?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

You regarded him with a playful smirk, the corners of your lips lifting. “No,” you murmured softly, your fingers gently caressing his long silver hair.

There was amusement in your voice, and as you laughed lightly, the sound was like music in the dimly lit chamber. “Do you truly think I had ever wished to be filled with a child by that fat cunt?”

Aemond’s single violet eye widened in surprise at your boldness. You continued, your tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Each time I’ve lain with him, I’ve taken moon tea the morning after.”

You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to caress his cheek with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, igniting a spark that sent a wave of absolute pleasure down Aemond's spine. “Yet I don’t think I’d mind bearing your child.”

The very thought of your bearing his child sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through him. The idea that at this very moment, his seed might have taken root within you filled him with a sense of possessiveness that was both intoxicating and primal. In that instant, it became clear: you were his, and he was yours, bound together by an unspoken promise.

Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. He would need to find a way to rid you of Lord Ambrose, but that task seemed deceptively simple in the face of what awaited him. Once the obstacle was removed, he would claim you as his wife, securing a future that felt destined.

You were made for him, and in his heart, he knew you had been waiting all this time—patiently, silently—for him to come to you.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[mihii-i]

idk if you write for more than one character at a time, but can i please request the male hashira x gn reader headcanons for when their crush sits on their lap? mostly fluff maybe slight spice? thanks

when you sit on their lap hcs

Pairing(s): male hashira x gn!reader (except muichiro)

CW: sfw, slightly suggestive, gn!reader, lap sitting, very suggestive on tengen’s part, slight mention of thigh riding and grinding

A/N: again, I am so sorry this took awhile because I was on vacation I will be working on what’s in my inbox now <33

Gyomei is weirdly calm about it

Probably because he’s blind or cause he doesn’t have a hard time keeping his composure

He’ll adjust himself so you have a more comfortable position to sit in

Keeps his arms wrapped around your waist or torso to help you balance on his thigh or wherever you’re sitting down

Rests his chin onto your head occasionally

Sometimes forgets to tell you to get off, and you guys just remain in that position for a long time just talking like normal

Another hashira would have to see you two and point it out in order for you to finally get off

Gyomei would apologize if necessary and let you off calmly

“Y/N, I enjoy you sitting on me, we should have more conversations like this.”

Sanemi on the other hand is a little more aggressive…

When you sit down on his lap, he’s completely flustered, his face bright red and hot

He’d yell at you to get off, even though he made no effort to get you off

We know you enjoy it Sanemi it’s okay

If you got off, he’d growl under his breath and try to scoot himself closer to you until you sat back on him

If you stay on his lap, he averts his eyes from yours, and grits his teeth while blushing furiously

After some time of awkward silence of him holding your waist and you cuddling him in his lap, a thread basically snaps inside him, and he pulls you close to him, burying his face into your neck

Sanemi would plant your hips down using his bare hands, and press his teeth to your neck, making sure there’s no space between the two of you

“You got me all hot and bothered, Y/N. Now take responsibility you damn brat.”

Rengoku would have a fairly normal, but excited reaction

He would laugh loudly and hug you tightly, smiling up/down at you as you’re situated on his lap

He allow you to rest your head onto his shoulder in a loving manner

Bro literally can’t stop smiling the whole time you’re on his lap

You two just sit there in a joyful manner, hugging each other tightly while laughing and smiling casually

Rengoku definitely holds onto you as tight as he can after atleast 10 minutes of cuddling

He just can’t get enough, you’re too cute

Probably also presses an overwhelming amount of kisses to your cheek every 20-30 seconds

You can literally feel him smiling against your skin as he kisses you

“Y/N! We shall do this again after our next mission!”

Tengen is definitely the most suggestive and flirtatious with this

As soon as you take a seat on his thigh, he smirks and pulls you into him without hesitation

His arms are locked around your waist as he leans into you with a depraved expression

Constant teasing while you’re on him, no doubt about it

Like, he kisses you everywhere accessible, and grips your waist tighter

When you’re on his thigh, he moves his thigh up and down a little, and helps move your waist back and forth against him

Basically allows you to grind on him if you’re okay with it

Teases you by leaning back and placing his arms to rest against a nearby surface as you keep your movements against him up

“Come on Y/N, don’t keep me waiting.”

Giyuu is quite calm and unfazed when you sit on his lap, similar to Gyomei

He just sits back, and occasionally rests his hands onto your waist or shoulders

Poor guy hasn’t had much affection, and is hella disliked so he just stays quiet the whole time

But, he does hold you tightly. It may not be something huge, but you can feel his affection and love in his embrace

Rests his head onto your shoulder

His breathing is calm and slow against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, with his chin situated between your shoulder and collarbone.

If you try to get up, he’ll let you, but not before asking you to hold him a bit longer

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll smile against you if he feels comfortable with your body pressed against his on his lap

“Y/N…I love you. Don’t leave me, please.”

Obanai remains silent, but it’s no secret that he’s flustered.

He looks away bashfully and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to avoid eye contact with you since it’s too embarrassing for him

He sighs heavily, trying to maintain his composure with you literally seated on his lap

His face is tinted a bright red, not even his bandaged mouth can hide the heavy blush dusting his cheeks

When you look over, you can literally see Kaburamaru giving Obanai a “you’re a fucking pussy” type stare

I guess that causes him to finally look at you and make eye contact

When he does gain some sort of confidence, he rests his hands onto your shoulders, and eventually wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you closer

He pulls you a little too close- putting you chest to chest with him, and his arms locked around you tightly and squeezing you

If you point out the fact that he’s hugging you too tight, he’ll get embarrassed and quietly apologize, before loosening his grip around you

Just let the man hug you and tough it out okay

“I- Y/N…I’m at a loss for words..?”

A/N: hehheehhe did y’all miss me I’m back <3

I’ll come clean and admit- although I came back recently, I have been writing shit for myself the past week or so?

OKAY DONT BLAME ME I NEED TO THERE ARE NO GOOD FANFICS THAT ARE WELL WRITTEN OR HAVE ANY EMOTION I NEEDA TAKE MATTERS IJTO MY OWN HANDS LMFAOAOS 😭

[dior-luxury]

𓂃 . 𐑞 They Overhear Your Family Telling You To Break Up With Them ⟢

ꔫ﹒genre﹒⟢ - boyfriend scenarios/romance/drama. f!reader

⏆﹒⿻ ch . bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

﹙◞◟﹚﹒warnings ﹒ Emotional distress . Parental conflict . Themes of public life .

Sypnosis: When they visit their partner’s family to prepare for an engagement announcement, they overhear her parents quietly urging a breakup—worried that a life in the spotlight will only bring pain. Heartbroken but understanding, they step back to reflect, choosing patience over pride.

Bang Chan (방찬)

The soft hum of Sydney’s early evening rain created a rhythm on the windows of your childhood home. The living room was dimly lit, just the golden light of a lamp flickering on the side table. You and Bang Chan were curled up on the couch after dinner, sharing a blanket and a quiet moment, your legs tangled, your fingers loosely interlocked. The weekend had been meant for celebration — your engagement announcement was coming soon, and this trip home was supposed to be your way of gently preparing your family.

But something was off.

Your parents had asked Chan to help dry the dishes earlier, and while he was away, you'd noticed their whispered tones shift. Now, as you excused yourself to grab something from the upstairs bedroom, Chan made his way toward the hallway — and that’s when it happened.

He paused at the base of the stairs, hearing your parents' hushed voices trickling through the cracked kitchen door.

"They're serious. It's not just a phase anymore.""Exactly. I like him — we both do. But… this is the real world. Their life with him means living in the spotlight, constant travel, fan scrutiny, maybe even danger. That’s not the life we wanted for our child.""They’re in love, sure. But love isn’t always enough. Sometimes, protecting someone means stepping back before they get hurt."

The words weren’t harsh — but they were heavy, soaked in fear and quiet desperation. Chan’s breath caught.

He stood frozen, half in the light, half in the shadows, like something torn between two worlds. The pang in his chest wasn’t just pain — it was the crack of doubt threading through a heart that had tried so hard to earn a place in your world.

He didn’t barge in. He didn’t defend himself. That wasn’t his way.

Instead, he walked softly out the back sliding door, letting the rain mist his hair. He sat on the edge of the wooden porch, elbows on his knees, head down.

You found him there fifteen minutes later. His silhouette was calm, but still — like someone sculpted from stone. The rain clung to his lashes. He didn’t turn when you approached, but when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, he leaned into you.

"Did something happen?" you asked quietly, already knowing. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Just inhaled deeply.

"I heard them," he finally said. His voice was low — steady, but only just. "They’re scared. Of what being with me might do to you. I get it. I would be too." Your hands gripped the front of his hoodie. "Chris—"

"I mean it." He turned slightly, enough for you to see the weight in his eyes. "I drag you into a world that’s brutal. It's constant noise, cameras, rumors, schedules... It’s hard to protect someone in that storm. And you deserve to be safe. To be free."

"But I chose you," you said firmly. "And I knew what your world was before I ever fell into it. I don’t want safe. I want real. I want you." His hand came up to your cheek. He smiled, but it trembled. "Even if it tears your family in two?"

You rested your forehead to his. "No. But even if they’re afraid… I want them to know I’m not. And I think, deep down, they’re not against you — they’re scared for me. That’s love, too. It just looks different."

The rain thickened, but neither of you moved. Bang Chan pulled you into his lap then, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, like he was anchoring himself to this moment. His voice was a whisper, breath warm on your skin.

"I would never hurt you. You know that, right?"

You nodded. "And I know you’d let me go before you ever became the reason I got hurt. But you’re not. You're the reason I got stronger."

He closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I’ll earn them," he murmured. "If they’re worried, I’ll show them who I am. I won’t walk away — not unless you ask me to. But I’ll be patient. I’ll be the man they can trust with you."

Lee Know (리노)

The sky over your hometown was quiet, washed in soft evening gray. It had been a long day — full of smiles, small talk over dinner, and the kind of tense energy that only surfaces when something unspoken floats.

You and Minho had been together for nearly four years. The kind of love that moved slowly but deeply — like water over stone. You knew him: the way he’d rub your thumb when he was nervous, how he always made your tea exactly right without asking, how he’d listen — really listen — when you spoke, like every word mattered.

This trip was supposed to be a gentle reveal. Something soft, calm — to show your parents that the man they knew mostly through FaceTime and news articles was real, grounded, and utterly devoted to you.

But something was off.

After dinner, Minho excused himself to help wash the dishes. You stepped outside to answer a call. That’s when he heard it — the low murmur of your parents’ voices, just barely audible through the hallway walls.

"We can’t just sit by and let this happen. She’s about to marry into a life we don’t understand — a life that isn’t hers.""She loves him. But love doesn’t mean it's right. He’s constantly traveling, exposed to so much. There’s danger in that life — the mental toll, the public scrutiny. She’ll be swallowed whole." "We should’ve said something earlier. We have to protect her — even if she hates us for it."

He stood still.

The sponge in his hand dripped quietly into the sink. He didn’t move. His breath caught in his throat — not from shock, but from the sharp, slow ache of inevitability. He wasn’t surprised. But it didn’t hurt any less.

He didn’t confront them. He didn’t defend himself. Instead, he walked out to the edge of the garden, where the overgrown roses curled around the trellis, and sat down on the stone bench. Hands in his lap. Eyes on the gravel.

When you found him, his back was turned to you, posture straight, too still to be casual. You called his name softly. He looked over his shoulder with that unreadable expression he wore like armor — the kind that made you feel like he was miles away even when he was right in front of you.

You sat beside him, brushing your knee against his. “You heard, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at his hands, clasped tightly together.

“I didn’t mean to,” he finally said. “But yeah. I heard.”

You swallowed hard. The air between you filled with tension and tenderness all at once. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They’re not wrong.”

You turned to him, startled. “What?”

He exhaled, slow and heavy. “They’re not wrong to be scared. Loving me means signing up for… chaos. Distance. Cameras in your face. People picking you apart. I live in two different worlds and barely hold them together myself. You’d have to carry all that — without ever asking for it.”

His voice never broke. It didn’t crack. It was just quiet. Controlled. Like he’d already fought this battle in his mind a hundred times and lost every single one. You shook your head. “I’m not scared of that. I’m scared of not choosing you.”

He looked at you then — really looked. And something flickered behind his eyes, something fragile and raw. “You shouldn’t have to fight for me,” he said, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to stand between the people who raised you and the person you love. That’s not fair to you.”

“Then don’t make me choose,” you whispered.

He blinked, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then he turned slightly, his thigh pressing against yours, his eyes glinting with that quiet intensity only Minho carried. “I won’t leave you,” he said. “Even if they never understand. Even if I have to stand on the edge of your life — I’ll be there. I’ll earn their trust with time. But I will never ask you to break your family to love me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. He wiped it with the back of his knuckle — soft, instinctive, reverent.

Later that night, he returned to the kitchen. The same place he’d heard his heart shatter only hours earlier. Your parents were there, lingering over mugs of tea. They looked up as he stepped in, his expression unreadable but not hostile.

“I want to be honest with you,” he said. No preamble. Just truth. “I heard what you said. I understand why you’re afraid. And I don’t blame you.”

Your mother’s mouth opened, but he held up a hand gently.

“I can’t promise I’ll always keep her safe from the world. But I can promise I’ll never stop trying. And I will never use her love as a shield to excuse anything. If I fail her, I want you to be the first to hold me accountable.”

Changbin (창빈)

The late autumn wind swept across your parents' backyard, rustling the brittle gold leaves that had gathered at the edge of the stone path. Inside the house, warm light spilled through the windows, laughter from dinner still lingering in the air, though Changbin had grown quiet.

You’d come home together for a long weekend — a soft introduction before announcing the engagement you both had been talking about for months. Changbin had practiced what to say to your father three times on the plane. He even brought a small gift for your mother — a delicate ceramic she’d once admired when visiting Korea. His nerves had been well-hidden behind warm smiles and polite jokes, but you knew him. You knew his heart beat harder when things really mattered.

That night, after dinner, you’d gone upstairs to grab an old photo album. Changbin stayed behind to help clear the plates. It was while he passed the hallway to the laundry room, carrying a stack of napkins, that he heard it. The voices.

Your parents were in the study. The door was open just an inch.

"She’s serious about him.""I know. That’s what worries me.""He seems like a good person — but that life? It’s loud. It’s unstable. How long can a relationship survive when you’re apart for months, when thousands of strangers think they own him?""She’s our daughter. We’ve seen her hurt before. We can’t sit by and watch her walk straight into a fire."

He froze.

Not out of anger. Not out of fear.

But because the words sounded too much like ones he had whispered to himself at 3 a.m. on sleepless nights — wondering the exact same things. Not about you. Never about your love. But about whether he was enough to protect you from the storm his world came with.

He backed away quietly and stepped outside. The air was sharp, cold, but it helped settle the burn behind his eyes.

He sat on the edge of the porch, head lowered, forearms resting on his knees. He didn't cry — not then. But his heart ached in that deep, invisible way that left your chest hollow. He hadn’t even noticed you standing behind him until your hand slid over his shoulder.

“Changbin?”

He looked up slowly, eyes glassy under the dim porch light.

“You heard them,” you said, not as a question.

He gave a tight nod.

You moved to sit beside him, pulling your cardigan tighter around your arms. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Don’t be. They’re your parents. They love you. They’re scared, and… I can’t blame them.”

He looked out at the yard, his jaw clenched. “I mean, they’re not wrong. This life I live — it’s not quiet. It’s not easy. You know what it’s like. The missed calls. The canceled dates. The rumors. The girls who scream my name like they know me better than you do.”

“Stop,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said quickly, turning to you. “Don’t think that. I’m just— I don’t want to be the reason your family worries every time they look at you. I don’t want your parents to wonder if loving me means losing you.”

You reached for his hand, and he gripped it like he needed it to breathe. “I chose you, Binnie. I keep choosing you. You don’t have to prove you’re enough — you already are.”

He stared down at your intertwined hands for a moment. He didn’t answer. Just leaned into you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, letting the silence hold him where words couldn’t.

Hyunjin (현진)

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving a dim lavender haze across your neighborhood. The house smelled like roasted garlic and rain-soaked leaves — warm, familiar, nostalgic. You and Hyunjin were staying at your parents’ for the weekend. A small visit. Casual on the surface, but meant to gently ease into the conversation of your quiet engagement. The rings weren’t on fingers yet, but the promise was real, already burning beneath your skin like a shared secret.

He’d been nervous. You could see it in the way he straightened his shirt three times before knocking on your parents’ front door. In the way he barely touched his food at dinner, offering his compliments with a soft smile even though he was chewing slower than usual. He was trying — really trying — to be everything he thought they needed him to be. Not because he was fake. But because he cared.

After dinner, you were in the guest room folding up old laundry, humming to yourself. Hyunjin had wandered into the hallway, searching for the bathroom. He passed the den and slowed when he heard your name.

He wouldn’t have stopped if it had been anything else.

"She’s serious about him. She’s talking like this is forever.""That’s what worries me.""He’s… nice. Charming, polite, clearly cares about her. But he’s not just a boy. He’s an idol. His world — it’s not made for someone like her.""She’s sensitive. She hides it, but we know her. What happens when the spotlight turns cruel? When she starts feeling second place to millions of fans, or worse, when they start to hate her?" "We should ask her to reconsider. Not because we don’t like him — but because we love her."

The words were spoken softly. Gently, even. But they struck Hyunjin like frostbite — quiet, cold, seeping beneath his skin before he could feel the pain. His breath caught in his chest. He backed away before he heard more. His fingers trembled slightly at his sides.

He found the guest room, but you weren’t there. So he slipped out into the backyard, under the heavy dark sky that smelled like wet earth and pine. A garden lantern buzzed quietly nearby. He sat on the patio steps and pressed his hands into his lap, willing himself not to unravel.

You found him there ten minutes later, his back to you, shoulders hunched ever so slightly. “Jinnie?” you asked gently. He looked up. His face wasn’t tear-streaked, but his eyes gave him away. Glazed. Wide. Wounded. “I heard them,” he said simply.

You sat down beside him slowly. “What did they say?” He hesitated, looking up at the stars. “That I’m not safe for you,” he murmured. “That I come with shadows too big for you to walk through.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Your heart was aching — not just for what was said, but for how deeply he was letting it in. “They’re scared,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice was quiet, careful. “And… I don’t blame them.” He tilted his head toward you, finally meeting your gaze. “Sometimes I think about it too,” he admitted. “How hard it must be. To love someone who disappears on planes. Who’s always a little bit out there. Who’s constantly pulled away by things you can’t follow.”

“You’re not out there to me,” you said. “You’re here. You always are.”

He smiled faintly. A sad smile. The kind that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. “But what if I can’t protect you from everything? From the hate? The comments? The long nights? The loneliness when I'm gone for weeks?” His hands clenched slightly. “What if they’re right?”

You took his hand — warm and shaky. “Then let me make this choice,” you said. “Let me walk beside you even when it’s raining. Let me be brave with you.”

A tear slid down his cheek then, slow and silent. He blinked fast, embarrassed, and turned his head away, but you reached up and gently cupped his jaw, guiding his face back toward you.

He let out a soft breath. The kind that carried weeks’ worth of tension. Then, quietly: “I don’t want them to hate me.”

“They don’t,” you whispered. “They just haven’t seen what I see yet.”

Han (한)

The evening felt perfect on the surface — a dinner at your home, warm lights, familiar laughter, and the subtle glow of light brushing against the windows. Han Jisung was sitting beside you at the table, quietly fidgeting with his sleeve, his nerves buried just beneath his soft smiles and quick jokes.

Your parents liked him — at least, they said they did. They welcomed him in with polite kindness and thoughtful questions. But there was something in the air tonight.

You left the table to grab a few old albums, wanting to show him your high school photos — your way of giving him more of your world. He stayed behind to help your mom clear the dishes.

That’s when he heard them. He hadn’t meant to.

He was headed back from the kitchen, intending to grab his jacket, when he passed by the hallway leading to your dad’s study. The door was ajar. The voices — your parents' — came low, serious, full of hesitation.

"She loves him, that’s obvious. But that doesn’t mean this is safe for her.""Exactly. He’s kind, yes. But he’s in the spotlight. His life is… chaotic. Fleeting. She needs stability. Something real.""They’re already talking about marriage. I don’t think she sees what’s ahead. How hard it will be. How much it could cost her.""It’s not that we don’t like him. It’s just… this isn’t a love built in peace. It’s built in fire. And she doesn’t deserve to burn.”

The words landed like punches in his gut.

He didn’t move. Not at first. He felt suspended — held in place by disbelief, and a quiet ache that began curling in his chest. Not anger. Not even defensiveness. Just… pain. A sharp, sudden sadness that hollowed him out like a winter wind.

He backed away from the doorway like it was something burning. Then quietly slipped out the back door onto the porch.

The sky had turned deep gray, heavy with the promise of rain. He sat down on the wooden steps, the old ones creaking softly beneath him, elbows on his knees, fingers trembling slightly.

He’d always feared this part. Not you — not your love. But the idea that he’d never be enough for the world you came from. You found him there a few minutes later. You could tell something was wrong by the way he was sitting: too still, too quiet, his usually expressive face unreadable.

“Jisung?” you asked softly, easing down beside him. He glanced at you and gave a smile so faint it almost hurt to see. “I didn’t mean to listen,” he said. “But I did.”

You didn’t have to ask. You knew. “They’re just scared,” you said carefully. “They don’t know you like I do.”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice cracked a little. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.” He paused, pulling at a loose thread on his sweater.

“They think this is going to destroy you,” he added. “That being with me… means you’ll end up heartbroken. Or worse, forgotten.”

You reached for his hand, but he kept staring forward.

“I’ve always known I came with baggage,” he said. “The late nights. The tours. The fans who love me without even knowing me. The ones who hate you without even seeing you.” His throat tightened. “I’ve tried to tell myself I deserve this. That I deserve you. But maybe… maybe they’re right. Maybe I love you too much to let you be hurt by all this.”

You turned toward him, tears springing into your eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“But I feel it,” he whispered. “Every time someone online says your name like it’s a sin. Every time I have to cancel plans. Every time you smile and tell me it’s okay, but I see how tired you look.” He looked down, blinking hard.

“I’m so scared, babe. That loving me is going to cost you more than it gives.”

You placed your hand over his chest, right where his heart thudded too fast. “You loving me,” you said gently, “has only ever made me feel seen. Safe. Wanted. There is nothing in this world I want more than to face all of that — the noise, the distance, the chaos — with you.”

He broke then. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he finally turned toward you, burying his face in your shoulder. “I just wish they could see me the way you do,” he murmured.

“They will,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “Eventually. But until then… we show them. Not by proving anything. Just by being us.”

Felix (필릭스)

It was the kind of evening you thought would be simple — one meant for comfort, warmth, and gentle blending. The house you grew up in smelled of home: wood polish, your dad’s aftershave, and whatever your mom had cooked that left the walls holding onto spice and warmth. Felix had been quiet all day — not in a bad way, just observant, carefully watching every nuance in your parents’ expressions, every shift in tone, like he was memorizing how to be perfect in their eyes.

He wanted them to love him. Not for his name, or for who he was to the world, but for who he was to you.

Dinner had gone smoothly enough. Smiles, stories, a few awkward laughs that Felix soothed with gentle charm. Afterward, you disappeared upstairs to grab something — a photo album you wanted to show him. Something small. Sentimental.

That’s when it happened.

Felix was in the hallway, tracing his fingers along the framed pictures of you as a child, when he paused just outside the den. The door wasn’t fully closed. Voices leaked through — soft, but serious. Familiar. Your parents. He would have walked away. He really would have. But then he heard your name.

“She says they’re talking about marriage.”“So soon. Too soon. It’s love, yes… but is it stable?”“He seems sweet. Caring. But his life is so far from hers. It’s not normal. It’s not quiet. There will be cameras. Fans. Rumors. Hate.”“She’s our daughter. We know her. She needs a world that feels safe. Grounded. Not one that spins constantly. Not one where she has to share him with millions.”“Maybe it’s time to be honest with her. Before she goes too far. Before her heart ends up somewhere it can’t come back from.”

The words didn’t come with malice. They were soft. Protective. But they still landed with the weight of a thousand doubts. Felix felt the wind knocked out of him.

He stepped back, gently, as if walking too hard might crack the moment in two. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the hallway wall, grounding himself in its rough paint texture. His chest ached. Not with anger. But with something heavier — grief for something still intact.

He stepped outside, through the back door, onto the small patio overlooking your mother’s garden. The sky had turned deep blue, the first stars barely beginning to flicker through. The air smelled like damp grass and lavender.

He sat on the steps, elbows on his knees, staring at the horizon like it could answer the question he hadn’t even formed yet. You found him like that — silent, still, lit only by the porch light and the moon above. “Lix?” you asked gently. “Everything okay?”

He turned to you, slowly, and you saw it instantly. The hurt in his eyes. The kind that he didn’t know how to hide, even if he tried. He looked down. Then, barely above a whisper, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” Your breath caught.

He continued, voice trembling slightly, “They… they don’t want this, do they? Us.”

You sat down beside him, heart hammering. “They’re scared,” you said. “Not because of you. Because they love me. And they don’t understand the kind of life we live.”

Felix let out a soft laugh — but it wasn’t amused. More like something caught in his throat. “I’m used to people not understanding me. My career. My world. But hearing it from them? From your family?”

He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

You reached over, gently tugging his hands away. “It’s not about who you are. It’s about what they don’t know. They’ve never seen the nights you stay up just to make sure I’m okay. Or how you write me letters when you’re away. Or the way you love — quietly, deeply, like it’s the only thing that matters.”

He looked at you, eyes shining now, reflecting porch light and tears he hadn’t let fall.

“I don’t want to be the reason they lose you,” he said. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“You’re not,” you said, voice firm now. “They’re not asking me to choose. Not really. They’re just… afraid of things they don’t see. And I’m going to show them. We are.”

You took his hand and placed it against your chest, where your heartbeat was fast and steady.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me. Not fear. Not chaos. You ground me.” He didn’t speak, just leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours.

Seungmin (승민)

It was a cool, late spring evening, and the sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across your small apartment. You and Seungmin were in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. The scent of roasted garlic and fresh basil filled the air as you laughed over a shared inside joke about how Seungmin’s chopping skills were so meticulous they could rival a professional chef’s.

Seungmin, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and soft gray sweatpants, looked effortlessly handsome, his warm smile lighting up the kitchen even more than the overhead lights. His hand reached for yours every few moments, brushing against your fingers in a silent promise of affection.

The two of you were in that sweet, comfortable phase of a relationship where every glance felt reassuring, every touch felt electric. You’d been together for a while, and both of you had begun talking seriously about the future—moving in, getting engaged, maybe even starting a family one day.

As you stirred the sauce on the stove, Seungmin wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re so pretty when you cook,” he murmured, and your heart fluttered in your chest. But before you could respond, you heard the faint sound of your parents’ voices drifting in from the living room.

You paused, spoon in midair, and frowned slightly. “What are they talking about?” you whispered.

Seungmin, sensing your sudden tension, loosened his hold a little but didn’t let go. He tilted his head to listen, and together you strained to make out their words.

“We’re just worried,” your father said, his tone laced with concern. “Seungmin’s life is so public, always in the spotlight. It’s not normal, and we’re scared for them.”

Your mother’s voice joined in, soft but trembling. “They’ll get hurt. Fans, the media… it’s too much. They need someone who can give them a quiet life, not this constant attention.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Seungmin’s arms tightened slightly around you as if he felt your heart break in real time. His lips parted, but he stayed silent, processing the words as carefully as he did everything else in life.

You turned to face him, searching his eyes. Seungmin’s dark eyes, usually so warm and lively, had gone still, as if he was absorbing every syllable of doubt and fear your parents voiced. His brows furrowed, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, with a deep breath, he pressed his forehead to yours. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice almost impossibly gentle. “Look at me. I’m right here, okay?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “I didn’t know they felt like this…”

He took your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles as if trying to erase the sting of their words. “I did,” he admitted softly. “I’ve… I’ve always known it could be hard for them. For you. But I hoped—no, I believed—that love would be enough to make them see how real this is.”

His shoulders slumped a little, a rare crack in the usual confidence he carried so easily. “I’m sorry they’re scared. I wish I could promise them that everything will be perfect, that I can protect you from everything. But I can’t promise perfection.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath, and you could see the weight of it all in his eyes—his career, the scrutiny, the endless push and pull of idol life. But there was something else there, too, something unwavering.

“I can promise you this, though,” he continued, his voice growing firmer. “I love you. I’m not going to let anyone—no matter how much they care about you—tell us that what we have isn’t worth fighting for.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Seungmin reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. “You’re my home,” he whispered. “No matter what they say, that doesn’t change.”

You reached up to cup his face, your hands trembling. “And you’re mine,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I want this, Seungmin. I want you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as if to steady himself. When he opened them again, there was a quiet fire in them. “Then we’ll show them. We’ll show them that this love isn’t fragile. It’s real, and it’s ours.”

The two of you stood there in the warm kitchen, the sauce simmering forgotten on the stove, holding each other close. The murmur of your parents’ conversation faded into the background as you and Seungmin pressed your foreheads together, sharing a moment of silent resolve.

You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. Your parents’ fears weren’t unfounded—Seungmin’s world was bright, loud, and often overwhelming. But standing there in his arms, you felt something stronger than fear. You felt hope.

I.N (아이엔)

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and the golden rays of late spring sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of your living room. You and Jeongin were lounging on the couch, your legs tangled under a soft knit blanket. His head was in your lap, his dark brown hair fanned out like a halo, and you were absently running your fingers through it, feeling the silky strands slip through your fingers. Jeongin had always had a calming presence—a gentle warmth that felt like home. You’d been together for a couple of years now, and your relationship was moving towards something permanent, something beautifully real. Talks of marriage had started to pepper your late-night conversations—shared dreams of a cozy home, laughter-filled mornings, and a life built on the love you’d cultivated so carefully. But that afternoon, as the comforting murmur of a soft indie playlist played in the background, you heard voices drifting in from the kitchen—your parents. You hadn’t realized they’d come back early from their walk. You tensed instinctively, and Jeongin, ever so attuned to your moods, tilted his head back to glance up at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his dark eyes full of gentle curiosity.

You didn’t answer right away, your ears straining to catch the words that were slowly unraveling your heart. “—I know they love each other,” your mother’s voice floated through the doorway. “But his world… it’s too much. The constant traveling, the fans, the pressure. It’s not the kind of life I imagined for them.” Your father’s voice joined in, laced with a deep, protective concern. “We just want them to have a peaceful, simple life. Not one where they’re always in the shadows of the spotlight, where their every move could be twisted into gossip.” You felt the blood drain from your face, your hand stilling in Jeongin’s hair. He sat up slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. His hand came to rest on your thigh, grounding you. “They’re talking about us,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Jeongin’s eyes darkened with understanding, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch as tender as always. “What are they saying?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful. You swallowed, blinking back the sting of tears. “They’re… they’re scared for me. They think we should break up because they think your life is too overwhelming, too dangerous for me.” For a moment, silence settled between you like a heavy fog. Jeongin’s fingers tightened just slightly on your thigh, his jaw working as he processed the words. Then he took a slow, deep breath, exhaling through his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice threaded with a sorrowful gravity. “I never wanted them to feel that way. Or for you to have to choose between me and your family’s peace of mind.” He paused, his brows furrowed in thought, then looked back at you with a depth in his gaze that took your breath away. “I know my world is… different. Loud, unpredictable. And I know it’s not what they dreamed of for you. But I also know that I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” He took your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as if he could soothe the ache in your chest with those gentle caresses. “You’re the best part of my world,” he continued, his voice growing steadier. “You make it brighter, calmer—like I can breathe even when everything else is spinning around me.” Your throat tightened, a tear slipping free down your cheek. Jeongin reached up to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch feather-light. “I want to be the person who makes you feel safe and loved, not someone who adds to your worries.”

[woniwontons]

hi! i have a request for a fic where bob/sentry/void get cuteness aggression for the reader, like they are being motherlike and sweet to a kid or a puppy or smth and they find it so domestic and adorable they need to squeeze the reader in their arms or something 😩 it could be all of them together or separate imagines i don’t know how to put it into words so i need your help 🙏

i love it

imagine bob likes to squeeze and bite you ~

w.c: 608 words; warnings: biting, cuteness aggression, baby fever, super fluffy

While shopping for a friend's baby shower, the tiny clothes, blankets, and rattles were the cutest things you’d ever seen. Especially a small onesie themed after Thor that had a little red cape.

Bob trailed behind quietly, pushing the cart for you, silently reacting to every soft gasp and coo you made at everything.

When you found the Thor onesie, you opened your mouth into a silent scream. “Look at the cape! It’s so cute,” you said, holding it up for him to see.

As you turned to place it in the cart, Bob didn’t answer. He just watched you. His eyes fixed on your side profile, your flushed cheeks, your soft lips.

His fingers twitched.

And before you could turn back to him, he crossed the small space between you. Firmly gripping your waist, fingers dug into your soft flesh, and pulled you against his chest. His hands slipped across your stomach, palms splayed wide, his chin settling on top of your head.

You felt the slow exhale he let out, warm against your hair. Surprised, you blinked, caught in the quiet weight of his sudden affection.

“That is really adorable,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough. Then, softer still: “Maybe you can buy one for ours someday.”

“Ours?” you echoed, tilting your head up, wide-eyed.

His grip only tightened, arms folding you fully into his chest now.

He wanted that with you so badly, to see you happy holding their child. To spend his money on their son or daughter on whatever your heart desired. Whatever onesies, toys, or furniture was necessary to see this maternal joy on your face all the time.

He didn’t elaborate out loud. Just gave a low, “Mhm,” like it took everything in him to leave it at that. Like anything more would break the thin thread of control he was holding onto.

You spun around to face him, flushed with heat that showed evidently on your neck. “Let’s get it then,” you said, breathlessly. “And maybe leave before I forget we’re in public.”

~

On the way home, you were in the passenger seat, window cracked just enough to let the breeze in. A song you liked started playing on the radio, and you were singing without thinking. Softly at first, then a little louder when the chorus hit.

Bob’s hand rested warm and steady on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles. Every now and then, he glanced at you and shook his head with a quiet laugh under his breath.

You didn’t think much of it until he suddenly pulled the car over.

No warning. Just the motion of him pulling the car into park and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

You barely had time to ask what he was doing before he leaned over the middle console, grabbed behind your head, and pulled you into a kiss. Fast, hard, like he’d been holding it back since the store.

You were startled at first, frozen, but only for a second. Then your fingers wrapped around his wrist, your other hand gripping his shirt as you melted into him. He pushed forward, mouth claiming yours, one hand firm on the side of your waist like he needed to keep you there.

Then Bob grabbed your hand, the one on his wrist, and started kissing it instead. Slow at first, tracing over your knuckles with his mouth. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, crinkling at the sight of your embarrassed face.

And then—bite.

Hard, right between your thumb and wrist.

“Hey!” you yelped, half laughing, half wincing as you pulled back to look at the forming mark.

He just shrugged, planting a firm kiss on your cheek before resettling into his seat. “I just couldn’t help myself with you looking at me like that.”

You could still feel the pressure of his teeth long after he pulled away. His hand never left your thigh.

click here to request a fic from me!

preferred characters located on my pinned masterlist ~

[janumun]

Jdieos hii so I have a lil request. Please ignore it if you're uncomfortable with it,

Sylus with a virgin reader. Like never touched herself, not even toys, never seen a dick kinda virgin

Just to make sure I'm 18+ 😭

Hey Nonny! Requests are technically closed but since I am very not normal about anything Sylus and LaDS men right now and your request is personally, an interesting topic for me, I don’t mind indulging in a few HCs for both our sakes 😆😆 for how I see him with a beloved, who’s never been with anyone before. Happy Reading!

First Times with Sylus (NSFW/18+ Headcanons)

Tags: virgin reader, oral and vaginal sex, squirting

Good communication is a strong basis of a relationship established with Sylus.

Words are used, desires are conveyed in clear cut actions and mannerisms and Sylus encourages the same of you. Even when the two of you share a kiss for the first time, it is on your terms alone and at the pace with which you wish to drive your relationship further into physicality. 

Scarlet gaze meeting yours from across the warm space in between your faces — the want he parses on your face for more, in the curl of delicate digits you grip against his, as you urge him closer. Lashes trembling shut with the press of your mouths against the other, your pleased little sound of approval breaking against his lips, he swallows into his. 

Soft, drifting kisses he lets warm your body into his; across the curve of your cheek, down the angle of your jaw. 

And only when you haul his face back up against yours in the curl of desperate digits against his jaw, letting your mouth fall open, does he put his tongue into you for the first time. Smile hitching wider against the catch of breath that very new feeling elicits within you. “Any more of trying to hold your breath like that and you’ll turn yourself dizzy in no time.” Thick fingers easing about the back of your head, threading in between your locks. “Breathe through your nose, kitten. Yes, just like that.”

 Your first time is a slow, torturously pleasurable and long process. And not just because of how a single night in Sylus’s bed is enough to ruin a person.

It is also because of his need to prepare you well beforehand — his sheets will be drenched, your pussy worked open, long before he even attempts fitting his cock into you.

[As also detailed at great length in my NSFW headcanons for Sylus] the man is no stranger to sex, he knows his way about it; which in turn also affords him the knowledge of how to handle a partner, especially an inexperienced one, with the proper care they deserve. 

It is only thanks to the enduring stores of stamina afforded to a Hunter through their relentless cycles of training, are you able to keep up with Sylus’s gentle wrecking of your body during your first night. 

Once he’s shed you entirely of your clothes and spread, willing and open, upon his sheets does he move to pace down the length of your body. Devious mouth having long worked your lips and tongue into a mess; he shifts to settle in between your legs. Prying open your legs in the press of large palms, thumbing to ease at the tense tendon of your thighs when you involuntarily stiffen to stone, to have a man down there for the very first time in your life. 

You’d never been with another and a relationship with Sylus had already gifted you with so many of your wonderful firsts.

And you’re ready to let him be the first man you make love to, a fact you’ve never been more sure of. 

You are no stranger to how sex works, in theory —  you may have never indulged before freely in your desires, never having had the reason or drive to indulge in pleasuring yourself, before him but you certainly do understand what it entails, broadly.

And yet, when Sylus’s mouth settles across your wet heat to lap, you know nothing else in this world could’ve ever prepared you for the way your hips spasm up into his steeled hold. 

Not used to the way the pointed edge of his tongue curls up into your walls to work your pussy open for himself. Humming into your folds, the gravelly vibrations of it traveling all the way up, as if to your very womb. 

“Relax yourself, kitten. There you go, good girl.” Clenching in on him so tight, to filthy words and praises he warms into the night. 

“You’re going to tear through the sheets if you grip them any harder.” He hums. “If you do need something to hold on to, ” Guiding your white knuckled grip to loosen, and towards the mussed strands of his hair. “My head is right here, sweetheart.” 

Trudging you uphill, slow, sensuous — this man takes his merry time —  towards a devastating peak. Ministrations gentling when he feels you close, causing you to gush your frustrations across the angle of his jaw, his nose brushing up against your clit.

A combined assault of lips, tongue, gentled teeth and fingers working you into ruin — he keeps you suspended for hours within that torturous, precipitating state of desire. 

And when you finally fall— 

It is the most wonderfully disastrous feeling you’ve ever experienced in your life, orgasming so fucking hard, you feel your wetness spurt onto his eager tongue, trickle down the strength of his jaw. Eyes giving in to grey at the corners with the vehemence of your release before you black out, with your lover’s mouth still buried within the space of your legs. 

When you next wake up, Sylus is soothing your nerves against the kisses he feathers at your temples.

“Better now, sweetie?”

Your disorientation unfurling back into the present before you give him your consent, assuring him you are alright.

He’s unraveling you open so many more times after — a terrifying incarnate of self-control — on his fingers coaxing open your hole for what’s to come.

You’re nearly delirious with mad desire by the time you feel the hot roll of his cock against your drenched thighs, working your slick onto his length before he positions himself at your slit.

Pushing into you, gentle, slow.

There is no pain, owing to how he’s had you so overly prepared — only the discomfiting stretch of a foreign ingression you’ve never before felt in your life. 

Sylus’s thrusts into you are languid and superficial the first night you are his. Lazy, wonderful pleasure, he brings upon the two of you. 

He is well-endowed down below and he understands that well; his full length he doesn’t try coax you to accommodate during your first time together. Not ready to overwhelm you with his full size just yet. There will be time for that, later.

When you are much more stretched, much more used to his girth, sweetie. 

End Notes: Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated if you are so inclined. ❤️

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