#and maturing beyond your past

[zephyrartz-owo]

Posted this and fell asleep right after, it's not something I'm actually mad at so much as it just makes me sad. Karmi and young girls like her deserve better than what they get, especially when their attitude is always taken at face value and blown out of proportion while the people around them (typically boys) get a million and one excuses for their attitudes. Idk man I'm just tired.

Next person to slander my baby girl on my watch can catch these hands in minecraft

[thisisaname-whatahappyname]

tangina you think i havent noticed? you only come into my life when you need something from me

[athenalvss]

THE BAT'S WIFE ( Bruce wayne! )

summary: Some members of the league are still surprised by the way the Dark Knight's wife looks.

pairing: Bruce wayne x wife!reader

open request - Bruce masterlist

Given Bruce Wayne's past likes, everyone would know that in the future he would have a more than wonderful wife, not just anyone could occupy such an important place, and so it was.

You became the only woman capable of accompanying him in his life without losing your light, giving him the happiness he hadn't had in years. They had chosen each other time and again to walk side by side for the rest of their lives.

Bruce Wayne's wife was by no means an average woman. You had a beauty that was hard to describe in words, because it wasn't merely physical; you were magnetic. Whether you were in a room full of ambassadors or on a covert field operative, there was always something about you that made one's eyes linger. A lethal blend of grace, intelligence, and poise.

You didn't possess metahuman abilities, but that didn't diminish your influence. Your ability to read a situation, anticipate, intervene discreetly, and know when to stay back made you a natural ally, even for a team full of gods and soldiers.

Your relationship with Bruce had been solidified for a while, but he remained reserved and overprotective of you. The League had seen you on several occasions. At gala events, diplomatic meetings, or even at League IT meetings, contributing your work from a more administrative perspective, always alongside Bruce. Always elegant, calm, almost untouchable, but this was one of the few times you showed up at the Watchtower without your husband by your side.

For the first time, you stepped into the Watchtower without your husband or any of your children by your side.

You walked with your head held high, a folder under your arm, your heels clicking firmly on the metal floor. Each step you took had the same precision with which you used to handle high level negotiations at Wayne Enterprises or assist Bruce in matters that went beyond Gotham.

The League common room wasn't a solemn place at that moment. Barry, Hal, and Oliver were talking animatedly about who among them had completed the most missions in the last month. Diana sat reading, with that imperturbable stillness. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and Clark, who was always the first to greet you, was also nowhere to be seen.

The conversation was interrupted as soon as you walked through the door.

Hal was the first to notice. His laughter died in midair, frozen mid air by his astonishment at finding you there. Completely flawless. Your bearing was subtle yet striking, with that gaze of yours that, though gentle and even innocent at first glance, carried with it a quiet confidence that didn't need to be imposed. It was natural. Inevitable.

Oliver looked down from his cup as if he'd sensed a change in the pressure in the air. Your presence alone disrupted the rhythm, but he was observant, and he simply studied the reactions of the others.

Barry turned his head with his trademark reflex and froze completely. He blinked once, swallowed, and put down the donut he was holding halfway.

Diana, on the other hand, wasn't startled. She barely raised her eyes from the book she was reading and smiled a friendly smile as she greeted you. She had always had a lot of respect for you; you were a powerful figure, a woman accustomed to walking among men who thought themselves superior and letting them know, without a word, that they weren't.

You had the grace of someone younger, with a restrained energy that contrasted with the severity of the man you shared your life with. Not because of a lack of maturity, but because of that innate brilliance you possessed; and when everyone had the chance to see you together, they understood why the bat cared so much for you.

“Wow…” Hal whispered, not realizing he had said it out loud.

You were dressed in a fitted black jacket, a white silk blouse that elegantly caressed your figure, and high boots that enhanced the natural firmness of your gait. Your hair was pulled back with perfect carelessness. A soft shine on your lips, and that barely perceptible perfume that, unintentionally, lingered.

Barry was the first to find his voice. "Is everything okay?" he asked awkwardly, as if unsure why he was talking. "I mean, uh, can I help you with something?"

You stopped a few steps away from them, and with the folder under your arm, you smiled at them politely.

"I'm looking for J'onn. I brought the reports he asked me for on the satellite infrastructure," you reply casually, as if you didn't notice the weight of their gaze on you. As if you didn't know you'd left them speechless.

"he's in hallway three, communications room," Hal said quickly, rising from his seat. "I can walk you there, if you like."

"Thank you," you said politely, without altering your tone. "But it's not necessary. I already know how to get there. I just wanted to stop by and say hello first." Before you left, you gave them a friendly, naturally charming smile.

Hal followed you with his eyes when you turned around, with that slow, elegant gesture that came naturally to you, And Barry…

Barry had run out of air.

Oliver watched the scene with an amused eyebrow raised. He didn't say anything, but the smile that spread across his lips spoke volumes.

The footsteps of your boots faded into the distance, but the effect of your presence still lingered like a thick perfume, impossible to ignore. For a moment, no one in the common room spoke. It was as if everyone was digesting what had just happened… and no one knew how.

Hal was the first to break the silence. "My God," he exhaled, sinking back into his seat. "How does Bruce manage to concentrate on anything with that woman in the same room?"

Oliver gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Who tells you he does? Maybe he can't concentrate at all, and all these years we've had him on a pedestal of self control just because we didn't see it when she was around."

Barry, still somewhat dazed, kept looking down the hallway you'd left, as if he expected to see you reappear at any moment.

"I say this with all due respect" Hal added, pointing down the hall as if he could still see you, "if she weren't married to him, I'd make my move in a heartbeat."

The comment hung in the air. No one responded immediately. Oliver snorted through his teeth, as if unwilling to interfere, and Barry barely looked away, uncomfortable but not contradicting him. For a moment, all that could be heard was the distant hum of the ventilation system… until the silence became too heavy. As if something had suddenly occupied it.

No one heard him coming, it was almost impossible to do so.

No one heard him coming, it was almost impossible to do so.

"Who would you make your move with, Hal?"

The voice was deep, raspy, and flat. But each word cut like a freshly sharpened blade.

Batman.

They all turned at once. Bruce was standing a few feet away from them, his hands clasped in front of his chest, his face completely expressionless. He had arrived as silently as a thought.

Hal swallowed. “Bruce… I…”

"What are you talking about? "

The question fell like a rock in the center of a tense surface. Without raising his voice, without changing his expression. Just a simple question.

And at that moment the men at the table were able to breathe an internal sigh of relief. Batman wasn't going to kill them; he hadn't heard anything. And when they were about to answer to save their own life.

Diana got there first, looking up from the book she'd been holding the whole time. She gently closed the cover, raised an eyebrow with absolute calm, and fixed her eyes on the millionaire. "They're talking about how hot your wife is"

[pinkradioheart]

she was 100% right

the year is 2013

[starrdream]

Years

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Anakin sees you for the first time after a decade includes: SMUT, oral(f receiving), slight praise

Months turned into years-ones that seemed to last longer than they should, ones that stretched beyond time. He hadn't forgotten. No. He couldn't and he simply never will. That was something he made peace with long before it was over.

How could he? How does one forget something so pure, innocent and beautiful? How could he erase the happiest memories that could never be remade?

Every detail was crystal clear in his mind. Partially because he kept replaying various situations in his head every night, partially because he couldn't forget.

And even if he could, why would he? Why would he forget those eyes full of life? The laughter? The things he felt? No, he definitely didn't want to forget that.

Anakin Skywalker's life had been haunted by the past for the last 11 years. 11 years of melancholy, 11 years of longing, yearning...

So seeing you again was like a punch to the gut.

The small and rebellious Senator's daughter was no more. She was long gone, together with Anakin's memories. Instead she was replaced by something even more beautiful and dear.

You were the same age as him, yet so much more mature, more serious than him. He didn't want to acknowledge your beauty in fear of betraying what the Jedi had been teaching him for the last decade.

He never would've thought you'd be back but there you were, walking into the Jedi Temple with your father and a few guards on each side of you.

He was breathless, standing on one of the balconies as Snips talked his ear off.

"Ooo, who's that? She's pretty." She interrupts herself mid sentence, leaning against the railing and looks down at you.

"Yeah-I...I don't know." Anakin fumbled. "Let's go back to training."

"Whatever, you're so annoying." She rolls her eyes.

The next few hours are a blur-he was preoccupied but constantly thinking of you. His mind was a mess and he ended his lightsaber technique session with Ahsoka early.

The poor boy sat down in one of the many benches that filled the halls and leaned his head back against the cool tile walls. He takes a deep breath and relaxes further as the sun illuminates his face.

Seconds later, his peace is interrupted by a door opening and slamming shut. He cracks his eyes open, wincing slightly as they adjust to the sun.

His breath catches and he sits up straight because you come out the seemingly occupied room. His eyes widen in awe but you don't seem to notice him, not at first.

Just a few seconds later your eyes meet and he stands up before he could even think.

"Ani?" You whisper-shouted. "My goodness!" You smiled.

"Y/n.." He mumbled, smiling softly himself. "I missed you..."

The minute he's close to you, you hug him tight, burying your head in his shoulder as you practically knock the air out of his lungs.

"My, my..." He chuckles, hugging you back with a little less intensity, afraid he'll hurt you. "What're you here for?" He pulls away, keeping his shaky hands on your upper arms.

"My dad was called for some negotiations and decided to bring me along. Perfect opportunity to look at houses." You shrugged.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Sorry, houses?"

"We're probably gonna move back." You shrug happily.

His mouth drops open before he smiles so brightly and happily. "You're joking." Anakin shook his head. This was the moment he didn't even want to imagine in fear of waking up disappointed because it's not real.

"I'm serious!" You nudge him playfully. "I have to go now, but feel free to come by the guest rooms tonight if you wanna catch up."

And just like that you were pulling away like you did all those years ago, hurriedly walking off to wherever you were going.

"May the force be with you!" He called out to you.

"May the force be with you too!"

Anakin stood there stunned for a good minute before deciding to go back to his room and finish what he had left to do, all while grinning to himself like an idiot.

Each minute that passed until he could see you again felt like a minute closer to his prayers being answered. And in some ways, they were.

Because 4 hours after first seeing you, Anakin was kissing his way down your body. His hands grope your tits as he trails further south, kissing under your chest, your stomach, your hip and finally latching his mouth onto your center.

His hands find their way to your hips to keep you in place.

Slowly, he licks all the way up, nose is rubbing against your clit. Your hands immediately reach for his hair, gently wrapping your fingers around the soft curls.

"Anakin-" You breathe out, back arching. He gently lifts your thighs and carefully places them over his strong shoulders.

"Mmm..." He hums against you "You're doing so good baby..." He mumbles, the sound muffled.

Your hands tighten, pulling his hair in desperation for more.

"My favorite Senator.." He teased, chuckling against you and making you squirm.

"Ani.." You whined, pulling his head closer despite your protest seconds prior.

His hands are doing a great job at stimulating you further-rubbing your thighs and stomach. Gently, almost innocently, Anakin's thumb makes it's way to your clit-rubbing slow, yet firm circles in time with his tongue.

You squirm above him, walls clenching around his tongue. "A-ani..gonna cum.." You rasp out.

"Mhm.." He encouragess, tone pleased and pace not faltering for a second.

A moment later, your inner thighs are squeezing his head as you whimper repeatedly and desperately, coming undone on his tongue.

Anakin takes his sweet time in prolonging your pleasure, lazily suckling and kissing on you without a care in the world. And when he does pull away, he wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Then, he throws himself on top of you and kisses you sensless before falling asleep cuddled up on your chest

A/N: May the fourth be with everyone reading this!!! I’ve decided to take a break until June first because i REALLY need to lock in and study I have a bazillion tests coming up😭😭. I’ll try my best to make time and post at least a few works but no promises.

As for when I do get back, I have a new series coming up..👀

[reasonsforhope]

Masterpost: Reasons I firmly believe we will beat climate change

Posts are in reverse chronological order (by post date, not article date), mostly taken from my "climate change" tag, which I went through all the way back to the literal beginning of my blog. Will update periodically.

Especially big deal articles/posts are in bold.

Big picture:

Mature trees offer hope in world of rising emissions (x)

Spying from space: How satellites can help identify and rein in a potent climate pollutant (x)

Good news: Tiny urban green spaces can cool cities and save lives (x)

Conservation and economic development go hand in hand, more often than expected (x)

The exponential growth of solar power will change the world (x)

Sun Machines: Solar, an energy that gets cheaper and cheaper, is going to be huge (x)

Wealthy nations finally deliver promised climate aid, as calls for more equitable funding for poor countries grow (x)

For Earth Day 2024, experts are spreading optimism – not doom. Here's why. (x)

Opinion: I’m a Climate Scientist. I’m Not Screaming Into the Void Anymore. (x)

The World’s Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think (x)

‘Staggering’ green growth gives hope for 1.5C, says global energy chief (x)

Beyond Catastrophe: A New Climate Reality Is Coming Into View (x)

Young Forests Capture Carbon Quicker than Previously Thought (x)

Yes, climate change can be beaten by 2050. Here's how. (x)

Soil improvements could keep planet within 1.5C heating target, research shows (x)

The global treaty to save the ozone layer has also slowed Arctic ice melt (x)

The doomers are wrong about humanity’s future — and its past (x)

Scientists Find Methane is Actually Offsetting 30% of its Own Heating Effect on Planet (x)

Are debt-for-climate swaps finally taking off? (x)

High seas treaty: historic deal to protect international waters finally reached at UN (x)

How Could Positive ‘Tipping Points’ Accelerate Climate Action? (x)

Specific examples:

Environmental Campaigners Celebrate As Labour Ends Tory Ban On New Onshore Wind Projects (x)

Private firms are driving a revolution in solar power in Africa (x)

How the small Pacific island nation of Vanuatu drastically cut plastic pollution (x)

Rewilding sites have seen 400% increase in jobs since 2008, research finds [Scotland] (x)

The American Climate Corps take flight, with most jobs based in the West (x)

Waste Heat Generated from Electronics to Warm Finnish City in Winter Thanks to Groundbreaking Thermal Energy Project (x)

Climate protection is now a human right — and lawsuits will follow [European Union] (x)

A new EU ecocide law ‘marks the end of impunity for environmental criminals’ (x)

Solar hits a renewable energy milestone not seen since WWII [United States] (x)

These are the climate grannies. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect their grandchildren. [United States and Native American Nations] (x)

Century of Tree Planting Stalls the Warming Effects in the Eastern United States, Says Study (x)

Chart: Wind and solar are closing in on fossil fuels in the EU (x)

UK use of gas and coal for electricity at lowest since 1957, figures show (x)

Countries That Generate 100% Renewable Energy Electricity (x)

Indigenous advocacy leads to largest dam removal project in US history [United States and Native American Nations] (x)

India’s clean energy transition is rapidly underway, benefiting the entire world (x)

China is set to shatter its wind and solar target five years early, new report finds (x)

‘Game changing’: spate of US lawsuits calls big oil to account for climate crisis (x)

Largest-ever data set collection shows how coral reefs can survive climate change (x)

The Biggest Climate Bill of Your Life - But What Does It DO? [United States] (x)

Good Climate News: Headline Roundup April 1st through April 15th, 2023 (x)

How agroforestry can restore degraded lands and provide income in the Amazon (x) [Brazil]

Loss of Climate-Crucial Mangrove Forests Has Slowed to Near-Negligable Amount Worldwide, Report Hails (x)

Agroecology schools help communities restore degraded land in Guatemala (x)

Climate adaptation:

Solar-powered generators pull clean drinking water 'from thin air,' aiding communities in need: 'It transforms lives' (x)

‘Sponge’ Cities Combat Urban Flooding by Letting Nature Do the Work [China] (x)

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala (x)

A green roof or rooftop solar? You can combine them in a biosolar roof — boosting both biodiversity and power output (x)

Global death tolls from natural disasters have actually plummeted over the last century (x)

Los Angeles Just Proved How Spongy a City Can Be (x)

This city turns sewage into drinking water in 24 hours. The concept is catching on [Namibia] (x)

Plants teach their offspring how to adapt to climate change, scientists find (x)

Resurrecting Climate-Resilient Rice in India (x)

Edit 1/12/25: Yes, I know a bunch of the links disappeared. I'll try to fix that when I get the chance. In the meantime, read all the other stuff!!

Other Masterposts:

Going carbon negative and how we're going to fix global heating (x)

[whre4wanda]

Mine

*Mature content*

Biting, marking, strap-on, mommy kink, choking, oral, praising kink, Wanda being jealous.

Summary- you accompany your mother to the country club house, only to meet an interesting woman.

I don't really have a clue about tennis so bare with me here.

(y/m/n) - your mother's name

Milf Wanda is amazing! And thank you for so much positive feedback on my previous fic!

Your pov:

"Mom do I really have to go with you?" You ask, voice filled with annoyance as you follow the woman up the stairs.

"Yes you do. Now go pack your bags. I don't want to hear another word of this. We are going and that is final." You let out a defeated sigh, and walked up to your room. Your mother insisted, well more like forced you to accompany her to the country club to play some tennis because apparently you had been inside the house far too long this summer.

You were a good tennis player, that's for sure but being around so many snobbish, older people just wasn't how you wanted to spend your day. Especially with your mother's nagging voice ringing in your ear, constantly murmuring how you weren't playing perfectly. Nonetheless you began to get ready because you weren't in the mood for another scolding from the older woman. You put on your clothes, a pair of shoes, picked some essentials before placing them in your gym bag, and lastly, you grabbed your racket and a few tennis balls.

"Alright, let's go!" Your mom yelled from downstairs and you groaned. You rushed downstairs before grabbing your water bottle then walking towards the car.

"Trust me kid, I'd rather be at work than go to that country club." Your dad murmured softly from behind you and you only chuckled.

_

You stepped out of the car before your mom walked behind you, a grumble of annoyance escaping her lips.

"I told you, no short skirts, are you trying to show your ass to everyone? Christ what will people think?!" You rolled your eyes but you had a sly smirk painted across your face. Perhaps you'd find someone interesting here.

Your family walked into the Westview Country club, being stopped by a couple of your mother's closest friends. Your dad had already wandered off to the buffet and you were left awkwardly standing in the center of the large room.

You sighed, annoyance already bubbling up deep within you. You decided to make your way outside to the courts instead of just standing alone in the room. You were bored and beyond frustrated that your mother had pulled you away from the comfort of your room and forced you to come here. You walked past a few people you knew, smiling at those who even offered a glance your way. The rest of them just passed you without a word or just gave you a scowl. Well isn't everyone in this place just a ray of sunshine.

Minutes later and you were starting to get pissed. Your mother was nowhere to be found and your dad was surrounded by a bunch of other men talking about sports or the young girls they had been sleeping around with. Ew.

As you made your way to an empty court, you got hit by a tennis ball on your head.

"Ouch! What the fuck man?" You grabbed the ball before turning around, ready to scold whoever had hit you with the ball. You knew it wasn't intentional but you just wanted to let your frustrations out.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sweetheart, a friend and I were playing and turns out my aim wasn't right." A blonde woman apologized with a sincere smile on her face. You weren't even paying attention to her apology because you were so mesmerized by her features. This woman was sculpted by aphrodite herself. The woman had short blonde hair, gorgeous green eyes, plump pink lips, manicured finger nails that could probably ruin you...

"Oh um no it's okay." You cleared your throat in embarrassment before letting a chuckle fall past your lips. The blonde just smiled at you before she tilted her head.

"Do I know you? You just look so familiar?" She asked, now placing her racket in her other hand.

"Oh no. I don't think so. My mother is actually the one who comes here often and-"

"Y/n, there you are." Your mom came in, interrupting the conversation you were having with this mysterious woman.

"Oh. I see you've met Wanda Maximoff." Your mom murmured and it was then that you remembered the infamous woman your mother did not like. At all.

Wanda, on the other hand now realized why you looked so familiar. You practically had your mother's face if it wasn't for the difference in eye color and well because you were younger.

Back to you, you still wondered how your mother could hate such a beautiful woman. Then again, your mother hated everyone. Your eyes ran over the woman's features before they landed on those gorgeous green eyes that were looking right at you before they turned to your mother.

"Hello y/m/n." Wanda said, her voice sounding as equally pissed as your mom's. The blonde woman averted her eyes to you, smiling at you before your mom began talking.

"We should catch up! Have some tea some time." Your mom said and you fought the urge to scoff.

"Of course, that would be great, I really should get back to my game though." The blonde spoke and you were a little upset that you wouldn't have time to talk to her anymore.

"Well y/n here is a great player herself. Maybe she can play against you." You turned to your mom with a scowl plastered on your face. Of course your mom would do this. Yes, you wanted to talk to the blonde but you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of her.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind that at all."She smiled and winked at you. You blushed a little before your mother nudged you to walk over to the court she was playing at.

You and Wanda began walking in an awkward filled silence until the blonde woman spoke up.

"Your mother. Very interesting woman isn't she? " She said and you laughed a little.

"Yeah, one could say that. But I'd like to think we're different."

"How so?" She asked and you just shrugged.

"I don't know, I just guess we're not the same." Wanda nodded and watched as you walked in front of her, your skirt riding up from your movements.

"Sorry Agnes, do you mind if I play with someone else right now?" Wanda asked and the woman named Agnes just agreed before walking off the courts.

"No problem hun, I should catch up with Ralph and make sure he isn't up to anything stupid." She  joked before turning to you.

"Hiya hot stuff, what's your name?"

"Y/n." You said with a shy smile and Agnes chuckled.

"Well aren't you a cutie. Anyways you two enjoy your game. And take it easy on her Wanda." Agnes said with a pointed look making her friend roll her eyes.

"I should warn you, I'm not the best player." You said with a shrug of your shoulders which made the blonde woman smile.

"Neither am I sweetheart, but we'll see what happens yeah?" Wanda said as she bent down to pick a ball up.

You watched as she bent down. You fought the urge to stare at her ass but it wasn't that easy. Wanda could feel your eyes on her and when she stood up she had the biggest smirk on her face.

"See something you like?" She teased and you felt your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"Uhm I'm sorry." She only laughed before walking over to place her bottled water down.

You walked over to place your phone and water bottle on the side before making your way to your side of the court. And just like that, you and Wanda began your game of tennis.

_

_

"Well, you're quite the excellent player yourself Ms y/l/n"

"You're not too bad too Mrs Maximoff."

"Oh honey, please call me Wanda. Mrs Maximoff makes me feel old." She says with a small laugh and you nod your head.

"Alright Wanda." The name slips off your tongue in a way that has Wanda holding onto her racket for her dear life. You were so sweet and adorable to her, something about you intrigued her. She'd never felt this way before. Never with her past relationships and surely never with Vision. And the smile you sent her afterwards, was enough to make her feel like she was young again. Something about you drew her in and she wanted to explore it more.

You could practically feel the tension between the two of you, her eyes scanning your face and her lips parted but of course your mother just had to walk in and ruin the moment.

"Who won?" She asked and you turned to Wanda.

"Uh we weren't really keeping track." You said while shrugging and you could see your mom fighting back a scoff.

"But it was fun." you commented and Wanda sent you a wink.

"Well it was nice to see you Wanda, but we should get going."

Your mom pulled you away before you even got the chance to say goodbye to Wanda.

_

_

After that day, you found yourself visiting the country club more often just to see a particular blonde woman. You often went with your parents or sometimes even alone.

Wanda caught onto your little act and she loved every second of it. She loved the days when you'd decide to come alone. That way, she could be more flirtatious with you not that she stopped even when your parents were around, she just did it skillfully.

"I see you've come alone. Is it perhaps to see me once again?" She asks with a small smile playing on her lips.

"Well Wanda as much as I do enjoy seeing you, who says a girl can't come here to play some tennis?" You teased with a wiggle of your brow and she chuckled.

"Fair enough, but enough of that, join me for a drink?" She asks with a hopeful smile and who were you to deny some time with the blonde woman.

So with a nod of your head, you followed the woman to the bar area. You sat down with Wanda next to you, and she called over the bartender to order a drink. You spent the afternoon talking to Wanda, and it was absolutely amazing. It seemed as though the alcohol she drank made her more bold with her touches and glances, and even her words were much more sultry and suggestive than before. And you won't lie, you did enjoy the slightest bit of attention that you got from the older woman.

"Can I ask a qiestion?"

"Well you're already asking me one aren't you detka?" She teases and you laugh lightly.

"Go ahead."

"Are you married?" Wanda is taken aback by your question and you are immediately overcome with a dreadful feeling.

"Oh god I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I just wondered why you were reffered to as Mrs since, well I haven't really seen you wear a ring."

Wanda shakes her head with a small chuckle that eases your nevers just a bit.

"That's alright malysh, I'm not mad. I was married but unfortunately we didn't work out." She pauses for a moment, her finger tracing the outline of the glass like she was contemplating whether to continue talking or not.

"I understand, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"You're precious." She remarks again, giving you a wink that sends butterflies down to your stomach.

"He wasn't faithful. After I had my twins, he sort of just distanced himself. I thought I was overthinking it but I guess I was right when he'd barely come home at night or whenever he did, he'd smell like another woman's perfume." A dry chuckle escaped her lips and your heart clenches.

"I'm sorry about that." You say, reaching for her hand and rubbing it. She gives you a small smile before clearing her throat.

"That's all in the past malysh. I guess the name still sticks to this day."

"You have twins?" You ask with a smile and she nods her head.

"Hm hm. My two boys, Billie and Tommy."

"That's amazing." You say with a genuine smile and Wanda gives you one of her wide smiles.

_

_

"You're in to her aren't you Wanda?" Her friend asked as they sat on the pool chairs, watching the twins have fun inside the pool.

"Of course not Agnes, that's insane. I just have an admiration for her. That's it."

"Oh what a bunch of bull-" Wanda gives Agnes a warning look that silences the brunette from finishing her cuss word.

"It's harmless fun Agnes. It really isn't anything." Wanda explains to her friend who doesn't believe a single word she says. Agnes scoffs but says nothing more, instead she picks up her drink and takes a sip of it while watching Wanda with a unamused expression.

_

_

Wanda had asked you to help her with a few things at her home. And being the polite girl who had grown a crush on the woman, well you agreed. Which is how you found yourself next to the woman, helping her with her sink.

"Do you really know what you're doing there y/n?" She asked, gaze shamefully sweeping down your frame.

"Your lack in faith for me is quite undermining Wanda." You joke as you finished up. Wanda bit her lip, heat spreading down her spine as she watches you fix her sink.

"There. Done." You remarked as you stood up. You opened the faucet, smiling to yourself once the water begins to run.

"Problem solved."

"Thank you y/n you're a life saver." She murmurs and you shoot her a smile.

"How much can I pay you?"She asked as she pulled her wallet out.

"Oh no, please it's not necessary."

"Nonsense y/n, let me at least give you something." She pulls out money, handing it to you but you push her hand back gently.

"I'm serious, it's okay Wanda." With the way you were looking at the woman, she could only breath out before darting her tongue to the corner of her mouth. The small action catches your attention almost immediately and the tension in the kitchen rises, the both of you being aware of it.

"Is there maybe another way I could pay you?" She asks in a husky tone that has your stomach flipping and before you know it, her lips are pressed against yours.

You're taken slightly aback with the kiss and the ferocity of it but you kissed her back with the same level passion. Wanda  pushed you against the kitchens counter, her arms moving up to wrap around your neck as yours find their place around her waist. The two of you battle for dominance but you manage to overpower her and you bite her tongue which has her eliciting a whine. Wanda pulls away from the heated kiss, her cheeks coated in a red tint  breath still ragged from the kiss the two of you just shared.

The both of you don't say anything to one another for a while and once Wanda starts speaking, you can't seem to pay attention because all you were thinking about was what was under the clothes she had on. When Wanda realizes that you weren't paying attention to what she was saying, because your dilated pupils were focused on her cleavage instead, she could not help the flutter of butterflies that erupted inside her stomach. The idea of someone wanting her after so long has her feeling different, almost as if she was finally being seen.

And when you see Wanda begin to unbottun her shirt, your eyes are fixated on her movements before they trail up to her face that has a smirk planted on it.

"Are you sure there isn't another way I can pay you y/n? I think you'd like this payemnet very much." Her tone was so sultry and fuck did it make you wet. All you could do was clear your throat, your mouth running dry as she slips her blouse off. Your hands twitch in response, the urge to reach out and touch her smooth skin so strong.

"You can touch if you'd like." She teases and you reach out to pull her in for a searing kiss. Wanda can't help the moan that escapes her lips as you reach over to touch her covered breasts. She hums in pleasure as your fingers trail to her shoulders, to pull the straps of her bra down. Wanda's eyes are dilated, her breathing has escalated and she now stares at you with a pleading look.

"Y/n... Touch me."

_

_

Another sunny day and Wanda was sitting outside on the pool chairs with her friend next to her. She watched as her boys played in the swimming pool, a water gun in Tommy's hand while Billy held a ball. Agnes, ever the talkative one between the two of them, continued to rant about her husband. Something about his mother coming into town and Agnes wanting nothing more than to run away. But Wanda couldn't pay attention to her.

Not when her thoughts were consumed by you and you only.

"Y/n and I are having sex." She said quietly but loud enough for Agnes to hear.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said."

"Could you perhaps elaborate."

"What is there to elaborate, her and I are..."

"Fucking?"

"Not so loud." Wanda slaps her friend on the shoulder, her eyes scanning at the children before they're back on Agnes.

"But yes."

"How did this begin and... When?"

"It just... Happened."

You kissed Wanda again and again until you had no air to breathe. The older woman was now sprawled on her bed, her chest heaving with anticipation as you slowly slid her panties off. Wanda licked her lips in anticipation, her heart racing as she waited for your first move. And when you finally latched your tongue onto her bundle of nerves, her head was thrown back in pleasure.

"Oh.... Fuck!" The tatse of her sweet nectar had you humming in satisfaction before you greedily began to feast on the blonde woman's pussy.

Wanda's hands were locked in your hair, pulling the coils as her thighs wrapped around your head.

"god y/n just like that!"

"You tatse so amazing Wanda."

"Well it happened the day she helped me fix my sink."

"And when you say 'having sex' you mean that you two are still..."

"Yes."

Another day at the tennis club and instead of doing the actual sport, you were currently doing Wanda in the country clubs bathroom. With the older woman propped onto one of the sinks in one of the country clubs' luxurious bathroom, you had been eagerly eating her out for a long while. Wanda bit her lip in attempt to suppress her moans but with your skilled tongue swiping through her folds and collecting her wetness as if her slick was keeping you alive, and maybe it was.

"Y/n, please S-stop..." She whimpered as you brought her to her third orgasm in that bathroom. You hummed but when you you tried to move an inch away from the woman's pussy, her hand was grabbing your head, pushing you towards her pussy once again.

"You want me to move or stay?" You teased as a finger collected her slick before bringing it up to her face as proof of how wet she was.

"I don't think you want me to stop because your pussy sings otherwise Wanda." The woman groans and the smirk on your face grows before you slip your fingers inside her again.

"Well this is something I didn't expect." Agnes mumbles while downing the last of her drink.

"How is she?"

"She's... indescribable."

"Better than Vision?" The brunette woman asks with a teasing smile that has Wanda scoffing.

"What he did, y/n could probably do in her sleep."

"Well my dear, I just advice you to be careful Wanda. You know how people feel about well you know homosexuality. Besides her mother is a devil so the territory you're playing on is quite dangerous."

Wanda hums in agreement. She knew that Agnes was right but that didn't mean that she would even think about ending whatever it is that you two had. Not when she was having so much fun.

_

_

Sunday services weren't really your favorite thing to attend. That was until you met Wanda. Now it was somewhat tolerable. It's not that you didn't like the word but the environment around you was toxic. You could do without the remarks about homosexuality or the snark comments that were thrown your way at times, that's what you hated the most.

But there you sat, a few rows behind the older woman. Wanda looked as dashing as ever. With her blonde hair styled perfectly, a blue dress adoring her gorgeous figure to which she topped off with a diamond necklace. And right next to her, were her two children, who were dressed in suits. You could tell that it had been a hassle to get both Billy and Tommy into those suits since Tommy could not stop tugging at his tie whenever his mother wasn't looking at him. But nevertheless, they all looked like the perfect family.

"Y/n?" A somewhat familiar voice called your name from behind and you turned to see Sam, a girl who you had once shared intimacy with in the past.

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

"Why are you so shocked to see me huh?" She joked and you shook your head.

"You don't go to church."

"Touché. I'm actually here with my older sister. She thought it would be beneficial you know." You nodded your head in understanding before she moved over to you.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Please, go ahead." She gave you a smile, and once upon a time you would have melted at the sight but now your heart was somewhere else.

Speaking of which, Wanda had been staring at the two of you for some time now. She tilted her head, trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you. And when Sam sat next to you, she couldn't help but frown at this. It seemed like the two of you knew each other. Especially with the Way Sam was practically undressing you with her eyes.

She should be shameful. Not because she was in a holy place but because she was stepping onto another woman's property. Not that Wanda saw you as property, but she didn't like this at all.

"So do you wanna go out sometime maybe?" Sam asked with her hand on your shoulder as the service had finally ended.

"Uh no." You pushed her hand away, in attempt of getting away from her.

"I'm seeing someone."

"Oh."

"I should go anyway."

_

_

Wanda had told you prior to meet her later that night. She had mentioned how she had wanted to surprise you with something that day a week ago and you could not help the giddy feeling that had been arising in you. Wanda had given you a key to her house some time ago, so it was easy for you to slip into her home without any hassle.

As you walked up the stairs with your hands inside your pocket, you could hear the faint noise of shuffling which you could only assume was from the master bedroom. And when you walked inside, you spotted the blonde woman seated on her bed, a silk robe covering her features.

"Hi." You spoke giddly and Wanda only offered a smile in acknowledgement before beckoning you over with that same smile on her face. You walked over to the woman, who slowly but surely got you to be situated onto your knees in front of her, her hand placing the small strand of hair behind your ear.

"Who was that girl you were with earlier on?" She asked and you frowned in confusion.

"Which girl?"

"Don't play coy with me y/n." You tilted your head, still confused as to what she had been talking about until it dawned you.

"Oh she was just someone."

"Uh huh." Wanda was quiet for a moment before humming.

"Do I look dumb malyshka?"

"W-what no."

"Let me tell you something y/n. I don't like it when someone touches what's mine and sweetie, that friend of yours was touching what was mine."

"Well i-"

"Did mommy say you could talk?" Woah.

"Now it might have been my own fault for letting that cute little head of yours think that you were in charge because my sweet girl, you aren't." Her tone was straight up condescending and you were taken aback by the women's sudden dominance but you'd be a fool if you said you didn't love it.

"I'm sorry." Was all you could mumble as you bowed your head.

"Oh mommy knows you are sweetheart, and you can always make it up to me, right?"

"Yes I can, I promise I can."

"Good girl. Now... " Wanda slipped her robe off, and you were borderline shocked to see a harness attached to her hips.

"Pretty right? And I'm sure it will look even better inside your pussy." She murmured and you couldn't help but let out a small whine.

"Falling into obedience so easily huh?" She chuckled darkly before her hands were in your hair.

"Why don't you get this wet for me huh?" She said while guiding the toy to your lips. And you now being the good girl you are, opened your mouth gladly accepting the toy inside.

"Oh what a precious sight this is." Wanda bit her lip as she watched you suck the red silicone toy in amazement. She was mesmerized with watching it disappear before it reappeared covered in a layer of your spit. Wanda let out a groan once she heard you gag around the toy, she had to hear it again, to see your face become ruined from her ministrations.

Wanda's hips began to raise on their own accord and she cooed as the strap hit the back of your throat countless times.

"That's okay, look how good you're doing for me." And she continued to fuck your mouth until she was satisfied with the results which was your teary half lidded eyes looking up at her.

"How pretty." Wanda commanded you to strip until you were bare before she instructed you to lay down onto her rather comfortable bed. She'd purposefully told you to leave your panties on because she wanted to be the one to slip the garments off. And when she ripped the material apart with a dark look in her eyes, you then realized that you were in for it all. Especially since you had no clue of what lengths Wanda was capable of.

Wanda wasted no time with her fingers. With your slick covered pussy, she maneuvered her two fingers inside before moving them at a moderate pace. Never did you think the woman you had secretly been seeing for almost two months, had this side to her. A feral, dominant and more sadistic side. But you fucking loved it.

"Look at this sweet pussy. What is it that you said huh? Your pussy sings for me..."She reiterated the words you had once told her as she scissored her two digits inside you.

Wanda was fucking you with her fingers. Hard. She just couldn't get the picture of that girl next to you. Wanda would make sure that you knew your body belonged to her. Whenever she would be around, your body would yearn for her subconsciously, your mind would need her. You would need her. She continued with her ministrations, watching as her once dry fingers were now soaked with your arousal.

She smiled to herself, her mind wheeling with all the possibilities she could do with you. And when her mouth latched onto your clit, you were practically gone. The older women fucked you as if she'd known your body for years. You were certain the women knew your body better than you did. You shuddered as her teeth grazed over your clit, a wanton moan escaping your lips from the sensation.

"Oh you like that don't you? Such a pretty girl." She cooed before doing it again. Wanda separated from your pussy, her fingers slipped out of your pussy and you whined which only made her smirk.

"Wanda-"

"Patience dear, you said you'd make it up to me didn't you?" She asked with a raised brow and you let out a huff.

"Don't worry, mommy knows was best for you." She lightly slapped your face before her slick covered fingers were placed inside your mouth.

"Suck. Clean your mess up." And you did. You sucked and licked her fingers as if your life was dependent on it.

"Good girl. If only you could see yourself. You look so fuckable." Wanda's teeth tugged at her lips as her fingers were pulled out of your mouth then slipped inside your pussy again. She began moving them slowly, and your hips started moving on their own accord, needing to feel her fingers slide deeper inside of you.

"Awwe pretty girl, do you want me to fuck you?" A frustrated eye roll was sent her way and within the blink of an eye, Wanda had her hand pressed against your throat, her eyes glimmering with anger, disappointment and lust.

"Don't be a brat now. I don't like brats." She said, her hand tightening around your neck, but not to the point where you couldn't breathe, just as a warning to you.

"M'sorry."

"I'm sure you are." Her hand was still on your neck as the fingers inside you quickened.

"Is this all that you want? To cum?" Her question made you stutter but you nodded your head. Wanda tutted but her fingers still continued to move inside of you.

"Pathetic." Her fingers hit that spongy spot inside you that had you babbling and begging to ask Wanda to cum. She smirked before she made a thinking face.

"You wanna cum detka? Cum for me then."

As the older woman made that final command, your body spasmed and you experienced one of the most toe curling orgasms you'd ever received in your life.

"Fuck."

"There we go, just let go yeah?" Wanda whispered inside your ear as she marked your neck. A reminder that you were hers and anyone that would see these marks would know that you belonged to someone, even if they didn't know it was her.

And when you finally came back from your high, Wanda had already been positioning the strap on inside of you,catching you off guard almost immediately.

"Look how easily it slides in?" She murmured as she slowly began to thrust the toy inside of you.

You could feel it tearing you apart. The silicone toy was longer and girthier than you had expected it to be. But with the way Wanda had been looking at you while her fingers played with your nipples the pain has soon subsided, slowly becoming pleasurable. You moaned and whimpered as Wanda took full control of your body, somehow fucking you into the bed.

"You're mine y/n, don't forget that." She said as she pounded into you. You didn't know what to do with yourself. This pleasure was overwhelming but in a good way.

"Say it."

"I'm yours." With gritted teeth, she continued rutting her hips inside of you and you could feel your orgasm approaching.

"Come on y/n, cum again. And you're gonna keep cumming until I tell you you can stop." Wanda mumbled, her hips never getting tired of pistoning in and out of you, especially with the way your pussy was gripping the toy. Or the way your arousal would spread all over the toy, god it was mesmerizing. And soon enough you had been succumbing the pleasure, your second orgasm of the night hitting you like a tidal wave.

But Wanda Maximoff was a woman of her word. And when she said you'd cum until she was satisfied, she meant it. She was adamant on making your body hers. From the marks to the bites and to your pussy singing for her. Just her.

By the end of the night, your body was hers and her body was yours.

_________________________________________

[jiminrings]

mature drabble: jealousy

wherein you become a TA alongside yoongi, and jungkook has no choice but to prove his superiority in other ways

[ smut, unprotected sex, oral, jealousy, slight dumbification kink AND praise kink, he’s a little dense and a little mean and beyond endearing (like always), he Wants so badly to give a creampie (so he does), hints of possessiveness, overstimulation, typical mature!jk levels of yearning n overcompensation ]

read mature here!

If you had to isolate one thing about Jungkook (just one, singular thing) that both annoys the living hell out of you and endears you to him to the point that it gets you closer, if that was even possible — it would be his inability to let go of things.

In his process of climbing up the ranks to become your boyfriend, Jungkook’s inability to let you distance yourself from him without getting into numerous fights and an incessant amount of groveling cemented him in your life in the first place.

He’s mouthy and nitpicky, yet he knows diligently when to shut up and just take it. He harnesses the perfect amount of stubbornness that would make you cave after several negotiations here and there, but never excessive to the point that you’d feel the need to post about him on Reddit with a seething heading of “my partner M27 pretends to faint in front of me every time I tell him I don’t want to cuddle”. 

(Jungkook isn’t even faking it.)

Jungkook knows that he’s not the go-to guy for a lot of practical things. He knows that he’s not the one you run to when you need to go over your reviewer for your oral exam that’s worth 70% of your grade, because that’s Yoongi’s place.

Jungkook’s there when you need to get your shirt ironed to perfection without any creases (even in the tricky part of the underarm-to-midline area), and he’s also there when you need someone to poke holes at your seemingly airtight presentation proposal. He is there, but it doesn’t mean he’s the best guy for the job.

Jungkook is and will be there for anything that you need, require, and desire of the world even, but he knows to himself that he can’t be utilized in the way you can bond with Yoongi.

(He hates that stupid, intellectual son of a bitch.)

Your boyfriend knows in his heart of hearts (he knows that it exists somehow and someway) that although he’s not the most optimal partner around for the technical, higher-process things that fill up your everyday life, he’s trying his best to catch up. Jungkook studies voluntarily now (70% to impress you and get you to call him your smart boy, and 50% to make an attempt at getting an above passing grade in all his classes) and even better than before, he loves listening to you.

Jungkook, your (occasionally smart) beloved, listens when you tell him about your day.

He listens and hums and replies when you tell him how tiring it is to be a TA, and how you’re simultaneously excited because it feels so fulfilling to be praised and approached.

He listens and laughs and his eyes twitch slightly when you tell him how fun it is to be a TA alongside Yoongi, because the both of you would have glowing recommendations after the gig and your superiors keep telling you that you’d probably end up at the same place of work after graduation.

He listens and smiles very tightly and squeezes his fists roughly against your pillows when you tell him how some juniors keep muttering that they want to have the uni experience of being smart and being a TA with their partners, supposedly like how you and Yoongi look to them.

Jungkook, a man of his word, will catch up to you.

Jungkook, a man of his word and an even bigger man of his overcompensation, will beat Yoongi.

“You know what they say about guys with big brains,” your boyfriend tuts out of nowhere, looking up from his laptop that only had Yoongi’s LinkedIn profile up for the past half hour while he stews in annoyance. “Really, really small dicks.”

“Where’d that come from?” you immediately snicker, looking up from your actual reviewer, putting your highlighter down to indulge Jungkook in what you’re sure of is just a random conversation.

Just a random conversation out of nowhere that’s totally not fueled by the jealousy he’s been harboring the past few weeks.

“I’m not citing my sources to you,” Jungkook huffs, closing his screen unceremoniously before crossing his arms, shaking his head slowly. “Such a shame about Yoongi.”

Now that you think about, you should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.

You should’ve been suspicious when it was Jungkook himself who asked how Yoongi did awhile ago with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he’s just gathering all the pent-up frustration he has for the sake of being over with it.

You snort at the implication, the excitement of what could possibly be running in Jungkook’s mind slowly hitting you. “Well, I heard from a friend that he’s really end-…”

“Don’t give a fuck,” he rasps immediately, clicking his tongue. He doesn’t want to hear about what you heard about Y**ngi being well-endowed. He doesn’t want to hear anything but you.

“When you said that fun trivia,” you start, rolling your eyes playfully as you stand up from your desk, joining him on the bed. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch like he usually does to accommodate you; he just lies there, seeing you adjust to his strapping figure on your twin bed. “You do know that you were kind of insulting yourself, right?”

“That I’m not smart but I can fuck you dumb?” he shrugs carelessly, willing himself to not react when you sit on his lap seemingly innocently, embracing him warmly whilst fixing his bangs. “Not really an insult to me.”

The laugh that leaves your lips was purely unintentional.

“You don’t believe me?” he tilts his head, his eyes still bordering on playful yet there’s something behind them that’s even bigger, something you can place as none other but Jungkook’s sheer will to prove himself.

“I don’t think you’re dumb, Kook,” you placate him, the gentle smile you have on your face breaking at the edges into something more intoxicating for him; something more provocative that would set him over his limits. “Just like I believe you haven’t exactly fucked me dumb either.”

The grin on your boyfriend’s face would be appalling if not for the stern grip he has on your thighs, fingers digging resolutely at the flesh with the politest, most harmless known tone to man, even if his words were anything but.

“Now you sound like the dumb one between us,” Jungkook laughs, his sweet laughter going straight to your ears as he noses your cheeks, teeth grazing your jaw as he refuses to kiss you when you try and catch him. “You don’t remember, baby? Don’t remember how I’m the only one who can worship you like this?”

Within a split second, Jungkook strips you out of your tank top that’s far too tight on you, immediately making your boobs spring out right in front of his face like the universe intended for him alone.

Your boyfriend, never losing his thoroughly amused and offensive grin, cups your boobs harshly to the point that he pulls you even closer to him, tongue grazing at your nipples that peek out in between his reddened knuckles.

“Kook…” you swallow the lump in your throat, exhaling shakily when Jungkook keeps you upright with one arm against him, the other doing quick work of shimmying you out of your panties like it’s a test item he can answer in his sleep. “Yoongi’s j-just next door, I don’t think-…”

“Oh, I know that,” he hums, his large, tattooed hand traveling from the small of your back and all the way to your scalp, his trimmed fingernails just barely grazing your hair when he tugs, setting you down on the pillow while he hovers above you. “He can think about how smarter he is than me alll he wants,” he hums, taking his clothes off while conveniently ignoring the way your heartbeat keeps pulsing uncontrollably with barely controlled lust, but Jungkook, just this once, would like to think that he’s better than you.

Jungkook, just this once, would like the upper hand completely when it comes to pleasing you, unwavering to your insistent demands of him giving you what you want, exactly when you want it.

Your boyfriend is not and will never be the one to deprive you of anything; as a matter of fact, he’d like to give you everything— far more than you’re ever asking and deserving of, just as his idea of getting even.

“But he’ll never get to beat me when it comes to fucking you.”

“Yoongi’s not challenging-…” you interrupt yourself the moment Jungkook inserts two fingers right from the start, curling them immediately out of muscle memory. You seethe at the intense, overwhelming pressure he gives to you without even begging for it, the warmth of his digits still being no match to the dumb, willful anger in his face; Jungkook’s so mad and determined, his cheeks turned pink just thinking of how to bend you at his mercy. 

“He’s just-..! He’s just trying to get in your nerves, that’s all,” you whisper shakily, hands darting to try and grip onto his hair but Jungkook pushes your hands away, instead redirecting them harshly to keep yourself open. “It’s all just… rage bait, baby. You know that.”

Jungkook laughs thickly, shaking his head as he can quite literally see your struggle for words. You’re dripping wet and trembling, and yet you still want to placate him as if it would save your case.

“And you think I’m not gonna leap on it? I literally will be baited into rage. You know how dumb I am,” he huffs, the addition of a third finger into your pussy that’s already sopping wet making you writhe in sweet tension still, the pleasured cry that leaves you without inhibition making Jungkook even rougher. “You know how dumb I can go just trying to please you.”

There’s a sickly sweet sense of pride that fills Jungkook when he sees you keeping yourself open for him despite your legs aching to clamp down and squeeze on his fingers.

There’s a sickly sweet and overwhelming sense of cockiness that only Jungkook could feel at the moment when he rubs the entirety of his palm roughly against your folds, barely cupping and moving yet all your juices quickly spread, the rough pads of his palm only amplifying the punishing pace of his digits inside you.

"Feel too good, sweetheart? Haven't even become precise with it," Jungkook laughs, biting his bottom lip as he savors in the way your mouth couldn’t even close with the amount of gasps and moans that leave you desperately.

“Fucking arrogant ass," you whisper under your breath in between whimpers, your attempt of a dig at him becoming futile because Jungkook immediately stops rubbing his palm against your core, landing a rough slap against your folds instead.

"What's that now?" he asks, voice deepening as he straightens up, rolling your clit in between his fingers menacingly. The high-pitched, needy moans that leave you make Jungkook even more smug, your frustration making your head jerk repeatedly against the cushions. "I'm not saying it's rocket science to make you cum, baby. I'm not a nerd like Yoongi," he hums, the smile on his face widening the more that you plead at him. "I'm just saying..." Jungkook lulls, burying his fingers knuckle deep before pounding you with them repeatedly, making your entire being squirm upwards at his insistence of making you cum messily. "It takes a whole lot of devotion for it to come easy to me."

“I-I’m gonna— fuck, fuck, f-fuck!” you blubber at your release, crying out as Jungkook dips his head to your pussy (partly admiring at his handiwork, and mostly criticizing himself because it was just not enough for him), grabbing you by your thighs and setting them flush against his face until there's no gap; until he feels lightheaded.

Jungkook eats you out fervently like you’ve always depraved him of such a blessing, your cum still warm as it hasn’t even finished dripping out of you yet your boyfriend laps you up regardless, eyes closed and breathing ragged.

It just wasn’t enough for Jungkook. Getting you to cum felt less like a feat and more of an intimidation for himself, proposed by himself, because Jungkook didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t want to stop eating you out scandalously with his biceps curling in on your thighs, refusing to stop making you feel good as you practically tremor in his hold. He didn’t want to stop being better; he didn’t want to stop catching up with you with none other than his appetite and will.

“Y-you don’t have to-…” you whisper as you shake, the never-ending cycle of Jungkook’s tongue fucking you and cleaning you from the inside making your back arch from the mattress in overstimulation. “Fuck, Jungkook. I-I think I’m-…”

“Isn’t that so stupid, baby?” he giggles sweetly, the entire lower half of his face covered by your cum and his spit, lips reddened and swollen from how hard he’s going. “Gonna cum twice and I haven’t even put my cock in you?” he frowns playfully. 

“My smart girl,” Jungkook lulls, talking against your folds as his hands knead your skin even harsher, barely matching up to the sheer desperation in his mind that being inside you wouldn’t even be enough. 

He doesn’t take mercy on you, and you don’t even ask for it. You take what Jungkook gives you and even then, it wouldn’t be enough. Even if he rises to his full height and pulls you to the edge of the bed, lining his cock perfectly into your tight pussy that does nothing but suck him into a warmth that would never not stop feeling new and overwhelming for him, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Feel good? Feel good looking stupid on my big, dumb cock?”

“So— s-so good, baby. I-I can’t-…” you whimper, your cheeks sticky with your tears and Jungkook’s open-mouthed kisses that you keep asking for because you can’t be any closer than this; you think you can’t be any more satisfied than this in your life and it makes you cry even harder. “Can’t…. c-can’t talk. I can’t stop c-cumming."

“I can’t hear you,” Jungkook sing-songs, his pace punishing to the point that your skin burns at the impact of his thrusts, body moving alongside every push Jungkook gives you. “My silly girl. Thought you had all the words?” he laughs, gnawing on his bottom lip in amusement when he sees your eyes getting crossed slowly the harder that he slams into your sweet spot. “You need cue cards, is that it, baby? Y’need to brainstorm with Yoongi for them?”

“No, no, n-no!” you ramble, shaking your head desperately. “I-I don’t— d-don’t need Yoongi. I don’t, I-I swear!”

“Then what do you need, hm?” Jungkook asks, prying your lips open with his fingers, your tongue immediately darting out even before he could gather enough of his saliva to spit in your mouth scandalously. “Need you to spell it out for me, pretty girl. I can’t understand otherwise,” he spits, pupils blown out as you immediately swallow what he gives you, mouth parting open slightly to try and respond clearly yet you struggle.

“I just— ffffuck!” you groan, the rough, calculated pull of your hair right  when he thrusts into you harshly with all of his weight making you sob in pleasure. “Just n-need you, Jungkook! Just you!” 

“Just me? Cute,” he pants, the white edging at his vision making Jungkook feel truly, madly, and sincerely grateful of the universe rewarding him in exchange of all his dumb misfortunes before you. Jungkook feels so good that he could cry. “Can you explain that to me?”

The sincerely annoyed groan that leaves you in frustration in between all of your pleasured moans makes Jungkook throw his head back in laughter, the crawl of both of his hands towards your neck cutting your annoyance short.

“You mad?” he sing-songs, the quiet, panicked chants that leave your lips for his change of pace making Jungkook’s ear ring nonetheless. “Aww, but I slowed down just so you could talk again.”

The look that you give Jungkook– eyes red and lashes wet, lips puffy and bearing evidence of him— is enough to make any living being sink to their knees and devote their lives to you.

Jungkook, however, wants to be the lone devotee, and he wants to make it perfectly clear.

“But I don’t want you to,” you whine, the temporary gift of regaining your voice and your words only irking you.

“Don’t wanna give me a presentation? But you’re so good at those, baby,” Jungkook frowns, his pace only slow and barely noticeable, if not for his size that you still haven’t accustomed to no matter how many times he fucks you.

“I-I… I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper in admission, eyes wet for a completely different reason this time, tugging at his heartstrings.

Jungkook tilts his head as if asking you to elaborate, thumb wiping at your tears.

At the very moment, Jungkook decides that true, absolute strength is always giving what you want, whenever you want it.

“I want you to keep fucking me dumb again.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste a single second before bottoming out completely, his calloused hands adjusting you repeatedly as you moan fervently because no matter what, Jungkook feels like he's not close enough to you. He'll remain to feel like he hasn't bottomed out completely until he finds that spot of yours that completely dissolves you into his hold, all for him to mend.

Jungkook folds you in half with both your legs raised, putting you in a mating press with the entirety of his weight, the unbearable squeak and the drawled out, pornographic moan that leaves you after making him sigh in relief.

“Like this?” he whispers to your ear, pace slow and punishing yet deep; far deeper, closer, and more crushing than he’s ever been in you. “Until— fuck, fuckkk— u-until you’re drooling again? ’Til all you can do is say my name?”

“Say it, Y/N,” Jungkook insists. “Say— s-say I’m better than him.”

You moan graphically at the entirely new sensation of being full of nothing but Jungkook in all senses, your words coming out desperate and resolute.

“Give it.”

“What?”

“Give me a creampie,” you grit, scratching your nails against his back, making him whimper. “Give me your cum, Kook.”

“W-what?” he stutters, breath evidently shallowing at your command.

“Give it,” you practically snarl, your desire bleeding out evidently into Jungkook’s bloodstrean. “I-I already know you’re better than him, Jungkook. I… I just need you to prove it.”

“This is not proof enough?” Jungkook switches in an instant, his brief moment of shock and disbelief being overwhelmed by your desire that’s always been his. “N-need me to— holy shit-…! Need me to stuff you with my cum so we’d know?”

“Yeah. T-there’s not other way, right? How would we know?” you indulge him, nodding your head continuously as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, the weight of Jungkook’s cock in you getting heavier by the second. “My dumb, dumb baby. How are we gonna know how stupid I’ll look if you don’t cum in me?”

Jungkook realizes then, that the upper hand he’ll have over you is by giving you what you want, always, because it’s all he’ll ever want too.

“Y-you’re right. So, so smart, sweetheart,” he concedes, gripping your jaw. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, eyes boring into you deeply. “Need you to know that I’m the only one who can see you like this, yeah?” Jungkook pouts, talking you through both of your desperation. “That I’m the only one who can fuck you dumb,” he hums. “And how I’m the only one who can see that stupid look on your face.”

“Just you,” you nod without a single dust of doubt, screwing your eyes shut when you feel full beyond your limits within an instant, Jungkook’s cum shooting into you with all its warmth and fulfillment of stuffing you making you squirt.

Jungkook stays inside you as he writhes in overstimulation, the moans that leave him paying absolutely no mind to your neighbors because at this point, it had totally slipped his mind that he went into pleasuring you trying to get even at Yoongi.

Your boyfriend peppers you in kisses as you come down from your high, his own cheeks smeared with his tears as he nibbles at your shoulder out of habit.

“Can I creampie you next time again, please? Like, not just a special occasions thing?” he mumbles sheepishly after some time, looking up at you with his head pressed to your chest.

“The special occasion tonight was you being jealous,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Jungkook’s meekness as if he wasn’t just rearranging your guts minutes ago.

“Thanks for the correction. Let me revise,” he returns your attitude, picking up your habit of rolling your eyes as he clears his throat. “Can I cum in you henceforth?”

“Smartest thing you ever said,” you joke, shaking your head.

“I know,” Jungkook giggles boyishly, tucking his face into the crook of your neck in shyness. “I felt my temple pulse with that one.”

[bkgsangel]

⋆˚࿔ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ + ᴘᴅᴀ. ✩˚⋆

✧ hellooo!! the unexpected support on my first lil drabble made me want to write another one!<3 This one’s just a little longer though

✧ fluffy fluff, suki loooves youu, gn reader

During the early stages of yours and Katsuki’s relationship, when it came to being publicly affectionate, furthest he would go would be hand holding.

You didn’t mind however. His hands were always comfortingly warm, and despite his explosive, even deadly quirk, would always hold yours firmly, yet ever so gently. Such a simple gesture, though it always brought a feeling of safety.

Besides, Katsuki didn’t seem like the type to go past handholding beyond closed doors to begin with. You knew what you were getting into, and you were completely content with just that. You simply took it as a silently set boundary of his, and you didn’t want to force your boyfriend out of his comfort zone.

Which, you realised overtime, even if you wanted to, you didn’t have to.

It was like he was exploring his own boundaries, pushing his own buttons. The more steps he took out of border, the further his hands wandered.

They went from your own, snaking their way to your shoulders, waist, anywhere on your back. The fleeting touches eventually leading to sweet, careless hugs and kisses. Becoming second nature to him.

Walking down a street? You’re not walking unless you’ve got a hand around his bicep, your head on his shoulder.

In a crowd? His arm is not leaving your waist.

Waiting in line? Your impatient grump of a boyfriend is hugging you from behind, leaning his head on your shoulder as he grumbles complaints into it.

You think about it every once in a while. How he went from having the tips of his ears burning at your hand nestling in his, to having his arms shamelessly around you at all times. You don’t know what is it that gave him the push, just happy it’s you he feels comfortable with to such extent.

All the while, Katsuki wishes he could put it into words for you.

Falling for you, then falling in love with you has taught him a lot. The kind of love you showed him has helped him realise things, look at them from a different perspective. It made him yearn for and want everything he never thought he would. Being publicly affectionate a small, nonetheless great example of that.

Katsuki used to think there was no need for not just you and him, but anyone to be all lovey-dovey in public. He used to think it was completely unnecessary, obnoxious even. That is, until the small sense of longing surfaced from the depths of his heart.

Katsuki thinks it grew stronger the deeper he fell. It wasn’t long before he’d decided to act on it, languidly at least.

It was weird, kind of a newfound feeling for him. He quickly pinpointed it to, pretty much, wanting to show your guys’ love off. He wants to show off how good he is to you and how happy you are with him. To the whole world, preferably, because he loves you that much and more.

In Katsuki’s head, he notably matured for this. Something he did next to, and thanks to you. But he guesses that’s just part of being in love.

[acid-ixx]

you are the only exception. (yandere! damian wayne x gn! reader drabble)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; discord server !

tw: implied s/h, bullying, and self-esteem problems.

ngl i'm thinking of damian — who's well past his childish tantrums and haughty behavior, once a child who has bloomed into a fully mature individual who can hold back his irritation towards his blockmates, courtesy of being raised dutifully by his family — paired with a pick-me reader who's the complete opposite, one so insufferable to everyone, to every professor, to the people who sit beside them, but most especially him.

you who loves to run your mouth off, talking in woes and poor attempts at prose to earn sympathy point: at how nobody ever likes you at all, how your friends are all unsupportive trash, how nobody ever chooses you as a group mate for class projects — not because you were some loner, no, your loud, grating mouth guarantees it could be heard from beyond the four walls encasing the suffering class; you were just lazy, cynical, someone who depends on others to achieve your goals yet somehow, some way, you'd end up with passing gpa — and when your professors would beg for anybody else to just pair up with you, while you sulk some corner and throw out some more venomous words to everyone else; it's oddly damian who has to stand up and just take one for the team, no matter how much he wants to shove a piece of paper down your throat to shut you up, no matter how much he sees his old self in you but denies it at every accusation.

at first, he actively despises you, because you're every bit of a liability under his responsibility whenever you're grouped with him.

and worse yet, he's the only guy around who can ridicule you without any sympathy for how you may have felt at the moment when he's degrading your poor attempt at your part for a project, he's the only one who can match up with your heartless statements, reduce your arguments with an equally unyielding drive to back you up to a corner when you realized he's the only one who wouldn't fold to you in defeat, when he wouldn't take your excuses at being late or absent to another group meeting. people around him praise him for how he handles the situation, somehow, even his professors, who'll greet him by the hallways, happy, smiles reaching past their ears, like the boy's a miracle granted by the world, and thank him for another job well done.

but he's also the same guy who breaks past your shell of false pretenses, who sees a misdirected sense of self-hatred in your widened eyes when he brings up another point to bring you down. who, as much as he pretends to hate you, hates it worse when you run off and past the double doors whilst the people in the background would emerge in celebration at another one of damian's win in your losing arguments; the boy could only drown out their pats in his back and invitation to treat him to lunch, he could only focus in the way your eyebags have been progressively worse, in the way bruises would appear more and more on your once, pristine skin, and how you'd just about avoid everyone else now— fear, he knows that emotion like he does the back of his hand, an undeniable weight swimming in your eyes when his "group of friends" would throw mockery in your way.

he's ultimately the only one to track you down afterwards.

actually, he's the only one who ever searches for you.

and then he finds you sobbing — without your normal bravado, without your fabricated, laid-back smiles — by an unlocked restroom. your cries were loud enough that you don't even flinch back at the sound of the stall's door opening, whilst he sees you emptying the contents of your empty stomach, witnesses you cry, and cry, and cry, unaware of his existence from behind you, as you beat at your heart endlessly, cry some more, scrape your bleeding knees against the tiled floors while he watches in utter dismay.

you mumble incoherently, in silent stutters through bitten, skin-peeled lips, yet somehow his sharp ears hear it.

— or maybe he's trained himself to always be the one who hears your voice, who recognizes it from a far distance when the people in your vicinity would groan at the sound of it; who knows its vibrato, its little quirks, how it wavers and how it quivers, all memorized by heart and by mind—

and he says it's part of what being born and raised as an assassin would do to you, but he's integrated into a seemingly normal life during the daylight, he knows when to block out people's voices, knows when to mind his business and knows when to carefully stay silent to analyze the surroundings like what a vigilante could do— and you're not villain, you're just a nobody to everybody, especially to damian, especially to him.

so it's strange, truly, how he knows you better than any person would, knows you better to the point where he knows your cries weren't a product of crocodile tears, to know that his words, how he called you "useless, a classless waste of air, pollution in the minds of like-minded, actually intelligent individuals," in a class of over thirty students, where all eyes are plastered on you; they did more than hurt you, they did more than just stinging your already crumbling persona— broke your rotting confidence, sliced it in half, sliced your heart in half at how everybody else laughed, agreed with his sentiments all mustered in a momentary whim.

even damian knows he doesn't mean those words, yet he also knows that everyone's perception of you is what he's stated— he knows the damage he's done.

he knows the sound of your heartbreak, feels the same pit of doom trembling in his heart as he watches you, watches your fingers dig deep into your battered skin, the high pitched scream rattling far beyond your parched throat.

and you are his business, you are his responsibility, even if you weren't, even if it wasn't his business to look after you after he's said all those cruel, degrading words.

he hears your legitimate woes: your undeniable self hatred, how it's your fault that everyone really does hate you, and it's your fault, it's your fault— that the only friend you could consider to be yours, that him, damian wayne, the same person who'd put you down, broke you with the simple truth, to the point where everyone else thought it as an invitation to destroy you even further; you hate yourself for leading him to hating you.

the only guy who's willing to share a desk with you, who listens to another wave of your superficial rambling, who sat beside you on the cafeteria table when you're all alone because all your old friends have cut you out of their lives, told you you were too draining, too attention seeking, too fucking annoying to be with and you know you are— and yet damian somehow managed to conceal his bubbling irritation at yet another one of your statements, talking about how, "people just can't get me, dami. they just can't."

and he listens, he listens because he's the only one who could, whose patience never wavers amidst your terrible display of affection; when your laughs sounded like crackling fire, which only burns brighter and warmer, when you'd slap his shoulders way too hard at another unfunny joke of yours, when you belittle your ex-friends because they can't handle your true self, or whatever you call it.

he does it with an air of coolness, until he couldn't anymore.

he slammed his fists on the plastic desk, and told you to shut up, insulted you, spewed venom towards you in front of everybody else after days, stretching past weeks 'til he couldn't handle the months of being forced to hear you rambling about yourself during a lecture, always yourself, that he loses it.

heartless as it is, you know his words were true.

you know you're hated by everybody, why else would damian be the exception to that hatred for an individual so unwanted like you?

it's shameful of you, it's terrible of you. you're a waste of space, a waste of air, a waste of life that you scream: about wanting to die, about wishing you were never born in the first place because everyone hates you.

damian, whom you thought made you an exception, hates you.

he hates you, he hates you so, so much and he admits to only tolerating you, everyone only tolerates you.

and he hates you.

— he doesn't.

it doesn't take much for him to drag you out of that stall, pin you down on the floor when he sees a blade on your dominant hand, inches away from drawing out blood from your wrist, from landing on a vein and slicing mercilessly like your life doesn't matter.

— like you don't matter to him.

it doesn't take much to shove that piece of metal away and onto another empty stall, far away from your reach, as he finds himself heaving on top of you, his arms pinning down your wrists to stop you from hurting yourself, legs locked on your waist to ground you even further, as he finds unfamiliar panic rise in his throat at— at that.

at your disregard for your life, at how he could've been the reason he's lost you.

when he returns to his senses, when he sees your disbelief on your poor, sunken eyes, hollowed, tear-stricken cheeks. when your attempts at kicking him, at the muscles on his thighs wouldn't do you any good, you're forced to return his heartbroken gaze towards you, forced to feel every shiver racking from his body.

how his fingertips would press deeper on your wrists, how he gulps in a patterned succession, how you never really see someone like damian be so utterly wrecked, even more-so than you that another tear escapes your waterline, your eyes closing in resignation, ignoring the way his head has slowly been lowering itself to you.

until the tip of his nose touches yours, nuzzles against it even, until you open your eyes and find his face so intimately close with yours, his warm breath hitting your skin clashing with the cold feel of the clean tiles. you can see every imperfection littering his skin: the split on his lips, the slit at his brows, those brilliant eyes greener than emeralds; wide, imposing, looking at you and only you.

"wh—!"

"don't you even dare do that again, (name)."

his right hand releases its harsh grip on your wrist, making way to cup your face whilst his face only moves closer, so close you could almost feel his disheveled hair touching your forehead, his lips nearly slotting with yours, almost feel your chest fuse with his— hear the thumping in his chest match your own heartbeat. when his palms move to touch your chin, thumb nimbly pressing itself on your cracked lips, he releases a tsks, swiping away at the blood as he brings it up to his lips to taste it.

you can only watch in breathless awe as his tongue licks away at the remaining blood, his eyes still plastered on you, glaring, squinting as he waits for your reply in bated breaths. the fingers from his other hand pinning you down eventually tangles with yours, calloused palms warm, refusing to let go; his other hand, meanwhile, returns to your face,

you can't comprehend the gears churning on his otherwise stoic expression, but you can tell from how his brows subtly furrow, that he's probably irritated, or nitpicking you like some specimen. you don't know, you can't tell, you're still... still experiencing the withdrawals of your wasted tears easlier, unable to understand the brewing desperation in damian's chest.

(and you can't exactly imagine the exact process going on in his mind. you can't picture someone like damian trying his damned best to not kiss your pretty face while you're on the floor with him right now. how he wants to feel your chapped lips pressing deeply against his own moist one, for you to taste the chapstick on him that you lovingly complimented him using one day; what it would feel like for his face to fuse so closely with yours until he could feel his eyelashes batting on your own— he can't, not while the restroom's doors are unlocked and he wouldn't want to share that intimately passionate moment with anyone else but you, and not while he can see the fading colors of yellows and blue splotched on your eyes that he once clumsily dismissed as imagination).

"tell me what happened," he bluntly demands, a grunt reverberating from deep in his throat. he's becoming more and more like his father these days, he notes to himself, but he can't deny how effective the intimidation factor is when he sees your eyes widen, knows he's gotten you right where he wants you to, when those precious orbs would flitter somewhere else in hesitation—

"(name)," this time, he calls more domineeringly, shifts in his leaning position just so that his face would be even closer to yours than it already possibly is — to the point you can smell peppermint and hints of that tea he loves to drink during early morning break time — yet you refuse to share eye contact with him, looking away, drowning out the sound of his heavy intakes of air; afraid, possibly, of the consequences if you were to confess how those friends of his loved to torment you in more ways than one—

no, you'd rather nobody knows about how truly weak you were, not even the person you proclaimed as your own friend.

those people would push your body to the walls of the campus' main building, uncaring if it inflicts bruises all over your body. they'd take your belongings, record you begging on your knees that they won't hurt you, and they'll fucking bash your face against the surface of the nearby garbage bin once they discover you're short on cash to pay enough for a day where they won't bother you.

you don't want him to worry about someone like you, who already caused him enough irritation. and if it means masking this stupid weakness of yours with artificial confidence, then you'll fake it 'til you make it.

that's what you're good at, that's what makes you survive in this world.

at least, that's what you thought until damian eventually had enough, clamps his thumb and index fingers on the sides of your face to force you to look him straight in the eyes, still unyielding from his position. you can't exactly move, you don't have anything else to distract you from damian nearly breathing down on your neck, and you don't know why he's so insistent on finding out what's wrong with someone he oh-so obviously despises.

"i—" he sighs before you could get a word in, like he's predicted an excuse to befall from your tongue, warm fingers gently grazing your cheeks, eyes still focused on your befuddled face.

"... fine, if you wish not to tell me..." his fingers stop mapping your face, thumb settling on the marred bruising on your right eyes, feeling the way you wince at even the slightest of contact. he can feel his adrenaline spike, the anger boiling right beneath the seams of his fingertips, ready to inflict pain and suffering on whomever dared to touch you.

because with just how avoidant you are of discussing the issue with him— that means it's someone else who caused these injuries on you, someone idiotic enough to mess with him of all people.

"... i will find out myself, and i will impose the proper punishment on those... those sub-humans who dared touch what is mine."

"wh- what do you mean—?" it's the first time he hears you talk without that grating pitch in your voice, the first time he hears that airy disposition that comes out in your most vulnerable moments; shit, he swears by the world that he'll protect this side of you from anyone who dares it away from him.

"i mean what i said. you are mine."

"so do not take my previous words to heart, i never meant it, i never meant to hurt you, habibi/habibti."

you're frozen in place as he sighs again, shakes his head, moves up so that his lips could kiss your temples, then it trails down to your cheeks, all the way to your heated ears. he mutters an apology in his mother tongue, you know because he mutters it with a pout during the times when his strength was too much, when he'd accidentally deliver an all-too powerful strike on your body that one time when you'd attempt to wake him up the first time you witnessed him sleeping in classes; and you can't tell the exact words, but it sounds like poetry, like silken honey dripping down on your thoughts.

all you can do is nod, which garners a kiss on the shell of your ears, before he ultimately shares another stare down with you.

"i am your boyfriend now," he declares, like it's some unbreakable law with no loops to escape from, "and because i am yours, and you are mine, that means i have every right to find the people who hurt my beloved, i have every right to deal the necessary pain towards anything that hurts you."

"you do not have to pretend around me anymore, do you understand?"

somehow, some way, the only thing you can plaster up right now is a shaky hum and your own fingers cupping his cheeks — the action alone caused tingles to erupt from his spine, and he swears it's like magic, your touch — afraid to reject him after he's practically confessed to you... which was enough.

enough for him to seal the deal, to finally slot his warm lips on yours, eyes closed, on the clean, restroom floors, sealing the deal.

you can only return the passion ten fold, when you realize just how devoid you are of human contact.

and that's when it clicks— how much he means it, how much he's deeply in love with you, with this persona of yours and the real you.

how he's willing to make an exception as long as it was you.

damian never expected already having planned his wedding vows to the likes of someone like you, someone so terribly foul-mouthed, that in some strange, twist of the world, he ends up falling in love real hard for you.

day by day.

he ends up falling for you when he's the only one you show your true colors to: someone vulnerable, someone who reflects the past him, someone who didn't have anyone to correct your mistakes.

he loves that version of you, he loves it when he is your exception, too.

to the point that when you eventually returned to your old persona, when you go off into another insufferable tangent— when someone rolls their eyes at you, or when someone opens their mouth to rebut and tell you to, for once, shut your fucking trap; somehow, this guy who used to glare daggers at you during chem classes, who would dig his fingers on your shoulders as a warning that it's not even the time to talk—

he was now actively defending your statements with all his passion, no matter how ridiculously ear grating, unrealistic, downright egotistical it may sound. those people would end up with dirt dug up on them, suspended, sometimes even expelled. his old "friends" were no exceptions once he realized they were the reason for your bruises, from when they pushed your body and beaten you black and blue from behind the campus' main building; they were thoroughly dealt with, efficiently, silently.

they were no more.

and just as quickly as he defends you, you're both now renounced as the gotham u's most untouchable couple. professors couldn't possibly attempt to expel any one of you because your behavior conducts, paired with damian being oddly professional with dealing the people who'd talk you down, doesn't truly disrupt anything.

... or at least, that is what everyone convinces themselves out of fear that they'd tick you off and they'll be victimized by another one of damian's threats.

'cause in the end, you did end up being chosen by, quite possibly, the worst contender for your own attention seeking method of gaining affection.

in the end, you're the only exception.

no matter how insufferable you may be.

a/n: if this flops, i will cry and then disappear some more /j also, june 16 is again & again's one year anniversary, and i have writer's block 😭🙏 that's the worse nerfing in one of my most special occasions. anyways, don't mind the subpar writing, i wrote this on a whim since i just got a random burst of inspiration but it's not the best i have so far because again, writer's block. apologies for this 😔✊ it's genuinely so bad but it's what i can only produce rn.

[sapphire-writes]

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester. 

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love. 

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player. 

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more. 

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing. 

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin. 

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear. 

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up. 

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs. 

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him. 

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that. 

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him. 

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly. 

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!” 

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him. 

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps. 

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone. 

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art’s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest. 

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop. 

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered. 

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field. 

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again. 

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center. 

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs. 

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance. 

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?” 

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself. 

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer. 

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit. 

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes. 

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure. 

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch. 

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air. 

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest. 

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

link to other stories from me!

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[fluffylino]

angry sex with mean!dom minho

things get heated when the two of yall decide to have a petty argument.

-contains mature themes (minho is mean but its all consensual...sir kink?!?!?)

minho's pissed.

you're pissed.

the atmosphere in the apartment is beyond unimaginable. you came back from university, in a bad mood. sometimes people merely existing made you angry.

you couldn't explain it but you weren't in a great mood at all, and you weren't in the mood to try and make yourself calm down.

minho comes home, half an hour later. quietly entering and slamming the front door behind him.

not even bothering to keep his keys on the glass table with more care. walking right past you to the bedroom.

he has that look on his face when he joins you in the kitchen. drinking the water you had poured for him absentmindedly.

"wash the glass, will you" you mutter, sighing in exasperation. you knew this would only make things worse.

"what?" and his tone gets laced with irritation.

"i had a bad day, okay and i'm not in a good mood" you say to him. leaning back on the fridge.

"yeah? you think i'm not having a fucked up day too?" he spits back, crossing his arms, ready for battle.

"i never said that. stop being so bitchy"

"fix your attitude." minho warns. looking down at his feet before rolling his eyes at your behaviour.

"stop rolling your eyes at me" pointing a finger at him in annoyance.

"don't point a finger at me"

raising an eyebrow at you with a challenging look in his eyes.

"why don't you just go pick a fight with chan or seungmin"

you seethe out, not wanting to argue. if the two of you got more time to calm your nerves this wouldn't have happened.

"pick a fight? what the fuck"

he mutters under his breath. and it makes your eyes burn with tears. now he's mad at you.

"what fucking attitude do i have. i'm sick of dealing with people"

you raise your voice, exhaling heavily.

"and you think i'm not? i just had dance practice for nearly six hours and they told me i needed to do better"

minho says through gritted teeth. running his fingers through his messy hair.

"maybe you do need to do better" you snark back. wanting to get on his nerves just for the hell of it.

"watch what you say."

he warns for the second time and you take it as a challenge.

"or what? you're going to give me a lecture on how to..."

bringing your hands up to gesture quotation marks

"...fix my attitude?"

.

🐱

.

"not gonna fight back huh." your mouth opens to curse at him. and he uses it as the opportunity to pull you back.

ramming himself deeper into you.

"fucking brat"

minho grits out, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your sides. grip strong enough to have him holding you up singlehandedly if he wanted to.

"took it too far. i'm a bitch?" his voice shakes when your arms give in. falling face down into the sheets. back arched and ass up. the position makes things more sensitive.

"answer me."

you can't. teething at the pillow while you fisted at the soft bedsheets beside you. trying to ground yourself.

the feeling of his length pushing in and out of you with slow hard thrusts. torturing himself just to torture you.

"answer." eyes widening at the way he lays a sharp slap over your cunt. all while pulling out all the way.

"me."

sliding past your swollen walls with a filthy squelch. his force strong enough to have your whole body jerk forward. gasping in ecstasy.

you shake your head. or atleast try to, eyes rolling back at the strength he uses to meanly shove your thighs even further apart.

till you're practically presenting to him.

"open that smart ass mouth and use your fucking words." his tone dropping. theres a heartbeat of silence as he gives you a few seconds to answer him.

"ah- m-minnie"

moaning embarassingly loud when he slides his hand down the curve of your back. tugging a fistful of your hair, forcing you up on your arms. till you're on your fours.

"minnie? its sir to you. you don't deserve to even call me minho."

scalp burning with a mix of pain and pleasure.

your mind buzzing when he also gets on his fours. body pressing into yours from above.

"who's a bitch now"

minho says in your ear. brushing his lips against your earlobe. it sends a wave of heat straight to your cunt. throbbing uncontrollably around his dick.

the position has you thinking of how pathetic you are. cursing him out, only to be fucked like a dog from behind.

"are you my needy little bitch" hooking his chin on your shoulder. his arms on either side of yours.

thick thighs framing your smaller ones. you feel small under him. small and weak.

"y-yes sir" whispering softly. chest burning with humiliation. he clicks his tongue. not satisfied.

"speak up, mutt."

"yes sir...m'your needy bitch"

fucking the sentence out of you, in a way that has you breathless. arms trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

"taking it like you're in heat."

slowing his thrusts to roll his hips into yours. hitting that spongey spot that has you keening for him.

"next time you act like a fucking brat, don't expect me to be this kind"

he warns, subtly rubbing at the redness on your sides from how hard he was gripping your waist.

you nod vigorously. quietly mumbling apologies.

"is my needy puppy gonna take me all the way in her tight wet cunt hm"

.

.

.

"if i'm your bitch, you're my bitch" you whisper, lightly smacking him on the chest.

"i never said i wasn't a bitch" minho smirks, successfully teasing you.

"y'know i love you, right baby?" he mumbles, kissing your cheek lovingly.

"you're my cute little puppygirl or WAIT MY KITTY CAT!!!"

.

.

..

.

.

tada!

[askkaneethi]

What do people think of you? 🫖

Pick a card reading

Masterlist Paid readings Ko-fi

Pile 1- 🐅

Pile 2- 👢

Pile 3- 👄

Pile 🐅:

Dear pile 1, people see you as someone who has a strong energy. You who come across as someone who takes on too much. You’re always pushing forward even though you’re overwhelmed or overburdened. People admire your work ethic and think you’re hardworking. They think you’re radiant and confident. People think you’re inspiring, charming and a little intimidating, you’re someone who’s self-assured, bold, and in command of your life. People think you make things happen, you’re a boss pile 1. People know that there’s softness and emotional depth to you even if you don’t always show it. You’re seen as someone who doesn’t complain and commands respect. You have a quiet strength. You’re seen as ambitious, independent and warm. People think you’re bold, expressive and a leader who inspires others even without trying. People think you’re good at everything, someone who picks up things very fast. Someone resourceful and clever. They think you’re always three steps ahead and you know more than you say. People think you’re someone protective of yourself but someone who has a lot of love to give! People think you are well dressed or have a chic style, or that you have a bold personal style. You have piercing eyes or gaze that draws attention. Perhaps you have golden undertones, reddish hues, skin/hair tones, I’m seeing olive skin. People think you have a confident posture, a “don’t mess with me” type of posture. They think your face is very expressive, your face cannot hide your thoughts or feelings lolll. They think you can switch looks with ease, perhaps you don’t only dress yourself with one particular style, or they think you look good with every style. They think your smile is very soft and kind. And you have gentle mannerisms. People think you’re magnetic and a little intimidating, but the people that know you think that you have a big and sincere heart.

Pile 👢:

Pile 2, people think you’re someone who keeps to themselves, someone who’s observant, introspective and selective. They think you’re someone who prefers to be alone or someone who perhaps needs alone time to recharge. You’re quiet but powerful. People think you’re someone who’s been through a lot, they have sensed that you’ve survived hard things and it has changed you. They think you’re someone who’s not afraid to shed skin and walk away. People think there’s more to you than what meets the eye. You’re someone who comes off as mysterious. You’re intuitive, physic and not everyone gets to know you. People think you’re a bit distant but because you’re protecting yourself. You are someone who’s seen as elegant and graceful. People sense that you don’t like to rely on others for validation or stability and they admire that. The people that get past your outer layers think you’re loving, loyal, and emotionally abundant. There’s a whole world of love inside of you pile 2. People think you’re hard to approach because you have your “walls up.” They think you’re hard to impress but that adds to your intrigue. They think you have dreamy and soulful eyes, witchy or an ethereal vibe, perhaps you dress in natural, muted, flowing style. Your energy feels commanding but still and quiet. People think that your looks have changed a lot. You’ve gone through a lot of “glow-ups” or style shifts. They think your style is striking, alternative, or mature beyond your age. You’re perceived as someone elegant, well kept and someone who takes care of themselves. They think you carry a “soft but untouchable” beauty.

Pile 👄

Hii pile 3! People see you as someone who’s comfortable with themselves, they think you’re unapologetically yourself and very authentic. They think you’re someone who enjoys life, their own company and you possibly get what you want. They think you’re in emotional control and emotional fulfilled, someone who doesn’t need others to feel whole or complete. They think you’re a compassionate, romantic and a caring person or you have a romantic look. People think that you feel things deeply but you don’t always speak on everything. They think you have a dreamy, nurturing and artistic energy. People think you’re someone who’s always exploring something. Whether creatively, spiritually or just life in general. They think you’re youthful, full of passion and lively. They think you have a thirst for new experiences and you’re someone very curious. However, people also sense that there’s a more private side to you. They think you can be strategic, elusive and someone who’s protective of their own emotions, secrets or intentions. They think you don’t like to be fully known unless you choose to open up. They think you’re sly, and you have a fox like cleverness. They think you’re slick 😆. They think you’re really smart. They think you have delicate features, romantic eyes, a warm or gentle smile. They think you’re well put together but in a graceful and subtle way. You might have a clean and minimalistic look/style. They think you have really lively expressions, or animated way of moving. They think you have a boho style or a flirty/ experimental style. They think you’re always observing and you have that fox “watchful” vibe. Some think you have mischievous eyes or you have secretive face, like you know more than you let on or say. Your energy remind me of this emoji 🌚.

Thank you so much everyone for taking the time to read this!! I hope this resonated and if you liked it don’t forget to check out my other PACs on my pinned post and check out my ko-fi to book a reading! Best of best 🫶🏻💗

[kiwriteswords]

Yours, Mine, but Never Ours [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 6.6k|| AN: This is inspired by the gifset of Hotch + his wedding ring last week. I really mulled over the idea of Hotch, his trauma, and likely idea of marriage. I had originally--and really went back and forth on this--planned out a sad ending for this, but I couldn't do that to you all. Tags/Warnings: female reader, established relationship, jack hotchner, mentions of Haley hotchner, fear of commitment, marriage issues, spoilers to seasons 3-5, Derek and Rossi giving Hotch shit for his personal issues, talks of marriage, talks of death, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, reader couldn't give two damns about marriage, but hotch is old fashioned and conflicted, happy ending Summary: For someone as traditional as Aaron Hotchner, the topic of marriage shouldn't be one he shied away from. But given his past? Nothing scares him more.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the warmth of soapy water lapping at his wrists.

Golden evening sunlight spilled softly through the half-open blinds, casting gentle stripes of light across the countertop and illuminating the porcelain dishes he methodically rinsed.

Behind him, at the kitchen island, Jack sat with homework spread around him, colored pencils scattered like confetti across the marble surface.

Aaron listened quietly to the gentle rhythm of pencil scratches and Jack's occasional murmurs as he read aloud softly.

"Dad?" Jack’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the dishwasher.

"Yeah, buddy?" Hotch replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack looked thoughtful, head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression—

One he'd inherited from Aaron himself.

"Are you going to marry her?"

The casual innocence of the question hit Aaron like a splash of cold water. 

He paused mid-motion, water dripping from the plate suspended above the sink, eyes fixed on the steady drip-drip-drip into the basin below.

"Marry who, Jack?" He managed a neutral tone, heart suddenly heavier in his chest.

Hotch expected your name to come from Jack, but it still continued to catch him off guard. Jack’s eyes sparkled, entirely oblivious to his father's sudden tension.

Aaron slowly set the plate down, turning off the faucet, and dried his hands carefully with a navy towel. He took a deliberate breath, calming the racing pulse beneath his carefully composed expression.

“Jack…” he hesitated slightly, keeping his tone even.

"Yeah!" Jack interrupted eagerly, nodding vigorously. "I really like her. I think she’d be a good wife for you. And she makes pancakes better than anyone."

Aaron felt the corners of his lips twitch, betraying the smile fighting to emerge at Jack’s earnestness. 

You had become such an integral part of their lives that he hadn’t fully realized how deeply Jack had attached himself to you. Or perhaps, he admitted quietly to himself, how deeply he himself had become attached.

"Well," he began, stepping slowly toward the island, where Jack sat expectantly. Aaron leaned forward slightly, meeting his son's bright eyes. "Sometimes, marriage is… it’s complicated."

Jack tilted his head curiously, brows knitting deeper. "Why?"

Aaron swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of the persistent ache that seemed permanently woven into the fabric of his heart—

A remnant of old wounds never fully healed.

"Because…when you marry someone, you promise to always keep them safe, to always be there. And sometimes…" He paused, gently ruffling Jack’s soft brown hair, searching for the right words. "Sometimes life makes it hard to keep that promise."

Jack’s expression softened, becoming thoughtful and mature beyond his years. "Like with mom?"

Aaron's heart clenched painfully at the simple acknowledgment, but he forced a gentle nod. "Yeah, buddy. Like with mom."

Jack considered this silently, carefully rolling a blue pencil between his small fingers. Finally, he looked back up at his father with steady, serious eyes. "But we still love mom. And I think you can still love someone else too. Like you love mom, but different."

Aaron’s breath caught sharply in his chest. He stared down at his son, astounded by the profound wisdom carried in such innocent words. Jack gave him a shy smile, small but deeply reassuring.

Aaron reached out gently, placing a steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder. He knew he owed his son honesty—

At least as much as he could comfortably offer.

"You know," he finally said, voice soft, vulnerable, and undeniably sincere, "I really care about her."

"Good." Jack nodded firmly, returning to his homework with newfound decisiveness. "Because we both like having her around."

Aaron straightened, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Through the window, twilight began to deepen, colors bleeding into shades of lavender and deep blue, shadows stretching quietly across their small, familiar kitchen.

As the quiet settled once more, Aaron found himself thinking about you, about Jack’s words, and about the soft warmth he'd started associating with your presence. It terrified him, the depth of this feeling—

How easily and completely you’d settled into every corner of his life and heart.

Jack resumed his homework as if nothing monumental had just transpired, the gentle scratching of his pencil filling the contemplative silence. Aaron watched him briefly, a soft, affectionate ache filling his chest, before turning slowly back toward the sink.

In the quiet simplicity of the moment, he knew one thing clearly:

His son was right. You had quietly, undeniably woven yourself into their lives.

And now, Aaron had to figure out what to do about it.

The thought took root quietly, like an errant seed drifting into fertile soil, taking hold in the darkness and growing tangled and stubborn as it bloomed.

Marriage.

Aaron hadn’t intended for it to become something he thought about, but Jack’s innocent question echoed relentlessly in his mind—

At work, in meetings, late at night when he tried to find rest. It threaded through his thoughts when he watched you reading quietly on the couch, when he saw you laughing with Jack in the backyard, and even now, as he stood in the bullpen at the BAU, staring blankly through the window of his office, watching you across the bullpen.

You were speaking animatedly to Garcia, laughing at something she’d whispered. Your hand fluttered briefly to your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear—

A gesture so natural. 

So ordinary, yet lately, every little detail seemed steeped in meaning.

He wondered how he’d gotten here—

How you'd become someone he couldn’t imagine living without. 

The idea itself was quietly terrifying. After Haley’s death, after the brutal way that chapter of his life ended, Aaron had silently vowed to himself that he'd never step back into that vulnerability again. He’d convinced himself that emotional isolation was simpler, safer—

Far less painful.

But you were a soft disruption to his hardened rules, somehow slipping quietly through every defensive barrier he’d erected around his heart. 

Now, as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling and filled with warmth, he realized with stark clarity that he wanted to spend his life with you. But at the very same moment, something deep and raw within him recoiled, filled with dread at the risk that kind of love presented.

He thought of Haley—

The first time they'd met, their wedding day, the promises whispered softly in candlelight, promises of forever that had ended abruptly. 

Violently. 

Marriage meant vulnerability. It meant offering his heart, wholly and without reserve, knowing how easily it could be ripped away.

“You good, Hotch?”

Dave’s voice broke him sharply from his thoughts. Aaron startled slightly, turning to find Rossi leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, observing him with careful eyes.

“Fine,” Aaron answered quickly—

Too quickly, he realized.

Rossi raised a brow, stepping slowly inside the office, nudging the door closed behind him. “You’ve never been good at lying to me, Aaron.”

Hotch sighed softly, rubbing his forehead. “Just...thinking.”

“Must be some pretty heavy thoughts,” Rossi observed, following Aaron’s gaze out toward you. Understanding crossed his face. “Ah.”

“It’s nothing,” Aaron deflected quietly, knowing it was useless even as he spoke the words.

Rossi moved further into the room, settling against the edge of the desk. 

Aaron shot him a quiet look, momentarily surprised. Rossi simply offered a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Aaron,” Rossi said gently. “I’ve seen that look before—the one where the past and the future start to blur together.”

Aaron hesitated, the tension in his jaw visible, emotions pressing beneath a carefully maintained surface. “Jack…Jack asked me if I would marry her,” He sighed, “It was just an innocent question. But—” He broke off, feeling foolish.

“But you’re terrified,” Rossi finished quietly.

Aaron’s eyes flickered back out the window. You had moved, crossing back toward your own desk, unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

He felt selfish, torn between longing and fear, aching for the simplicity of your touch, your warmth, yet paralyzed by the haunting memories of what could happen—what had happened once before.

“Marriage almost destroyed me once,” Aaron admitted quietly, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the office. “Not just divorce—but the guilt, the danger, losing Haley the way I did. Losing everything. Jack almost losing both of us…almost losing Jack. I swore I’d never put anyone else through that. Especially someone I—”

“Someone you love,” Rossi interjected gently.

Aaron drew a sharp breath, giving a stiff nod. “Someone I love.”

Rossi pushed gently, cautiously. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Aaron shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving you as you settled at your desk, pen dancing lightly across paper. He took in every detail—the way your hair fell against your cheek, the graceful slope of your shoulders, the familiar tilt of your head—and suddenly felt the unbearable heaviness of what he stood to lose.

“It isn’t fair to her,” Aaron murmured, voice thickening. “She deserves certainty. Not my fears.”

Rossi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Aaron, don’t underestimate her. You’re afraid because you’ve lived the worst-case scenario—but you’ve also survived it. You’re allowed to be happy again.”

Aaron was quiet for a long moment, absorbing Rossi’s words, feeling them settle somewhere deep and aching within him.

“I don’t know if I can put her at risk like that. I don’t know if I could survive losing someone else,” he admitted softly. “But God help me—I can’t imagine letting her go either.”

Rossi’s expression softened knowingly, compassionately. “Then don’t.”

Aaron let the simple truth of it sink in, a quiet ache lodged in his chest. His eyes returned to you again, watching as you tucked your hair behind your ear once more, your smile gentle, unburdened.

I can’t lose you, he thought desperately, even as fear tightened around him, relentless and choking.

And he knew—painfully, inevitably—that sooner or later, he’d have to face the possibility of opening that conversation, sharing those fears, or risk losing you anyway.

But for now, he stood quietly in the shadow of his past, trapped between memories of what had been lost and the quiet, terrifying beauty of what could still be found.

hat night, the darkness in the bedroom felt heavier, thicker somehow—each silence pulsing with uncertainty. Aaron lay on his back, eyes tracing the shadowy patterns along the ceiling as he felt your soft breathing beside him. His chest tightened with anxiety, as though every quiet breath was slowly stealing oxygen from his lungs.

He’d always been skilled with words—careful, purposeful—but tonight, they tangled uselessly on his tongue, caught by an invisible weight that felt impossibly heavy.

“Aaron?” Your voice broke through the quiet, gentle and sleepy, as your fingers brushed softly along his chest. “You’re tense.”

His breath stuttered briefly in his throat. Of course, you’d noticed. 

You always did.

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough with the edge of nerves.

You shifted beside him, the bed softly creaking beneath your movements. Aaron felt his heart quicken as you propped yourself up slightly, your eyes studying him thoughtfully in the dim glow of moonlight.

“Something’s been bothering you,” you whispered knowingly. Your fingertips drew small, comforting circles against his chest. “You want to talk about it?”

For a long, hesitant moment, he almost didn’t. Aaron feared the weight of what he was about to say—

The risk of shattering everything he’d grown to love.

Yet the tenderness in your touch, the gentle patience radiating from your expression, urged him onward. You deserved honesty, even if he was afraid of what came next.

Slowly, cautiously, he met your gaze. “Marriage,” he said quietly, voice tight and guarded.

Your fingers paused, hovering briefly. Aaron’s heart pounded painfully as silence settled heavily between you. He braced himself for you to pull away, for hurt or disappointment to cloud your eyes. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you got up and left—

He knew what it sounded like, the fear in his voice. 

How could he expect you to stay if he couldn’t offer more?

But instead, your lips curved softly upward, surprising him. A quiet chuckle escaped you, gentle and warm. “Is that what’s been haunting you all week?”

Aaron frowned in confusion, blinking slowly. “You...knew?”

“I had a feeling something’s been bothering you,” you whispered, your eyes gentle, affectionate, reassuring. You shifted closer, your cheek resting against his shoulder, hand gently moving once more over his chest. “Aaron, listen. I understand why marriage scares you. You don’t have to apologize for it.”

He exhaled softly, relief mingling uneasily with confusion. “Y-You don’t mind?” he murmured uncertainly.

You shook your head gently against him, voice quiet yet firm. “Aaron, marriage—it’s just paperwork to me. A certificate. A legality.” You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “As a former prosecutor, you should understand paperwork doesn’t always mean much.”

A small laugh escaped him—

Surprising.

Genuine. 

Breaking some of the tension that had been suffocating him for days. 

His chest loosened, though the shadow in his mind lingered. “Still,” he continued softly, “most people expect it at some point. A wedding, a ring—something.”

You squeezed him gently, your voice clear and steady in the quiet night. “If I ever married anyone, Aaron, I’d want it to be you. But I’d never ask that of you. I know what you’ve been through. What we have—this—means more to me than vows and rings and certificates ever could.”

Aaron felt something powerful surge through him—gratitude, relief, warmth—and yet something else lingered, stubbornly unresolved. 

He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you close as you settled gently against him. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, meaning it more deeply than words could express.

You hummed contentedly, drifting gently toward sleep again, wrapped safely in his arms. But as your breathing evened out, Aaron lay wide awake, staring once again at the ceiling, haunted by the visions your words conjured in his mind.

He imagined a life for you—

A real one.

Complete with celebrations and milestones, the kind that were marked by gold bands, carefully spoken promises, laughter, joy, perhaps even children of your own. The thought pierced him deeply—

A life you might never have because of his past, because of his pain, because of him.

He wondered if he was stopping you from the quiet life you deserved. 

The one with a husband who wouldn’t bring danger home constantly. He cringed, thinking of another man’s hands getting to hold him at the end of the night, but this ordinary man could give you so much more than Aaron was comfortable even thinking about. 

Guilt wrapped tightly around his heart, squeezing with a terrible, relentless force. He imagined resentment clouding your eyes someday, silent regrets staining quiet evenings, things left unspoken but deeply felt. The selfishness of it stung sharply.

As you slept softly beside him, trusting him, loving him unconditionally, Aaron silently grappled with the invisible weight pressing heavily against his chest.

He knew you'd meant what you'd said tonight—

He had no doubts about your sincerity. Yet it still haunted him, the fear that one day you’d look at him and realize you deserved more than he could ever offer.

And as he lay awake, your body curled softly, trustingly, in his arms, Aaron realized with an aching certainty:

He'd give anything to make sure you never regretted choosing him—even if it meant confronting every fear he'd ever had.

The weeks turned quietly into months, each day deepening the gentle rhythm between you, Aaron, and Jack. The comfort of routine wrapped around you both, steady and reassuring, but beneath that comfortable surface, Aaron felt himself growing restless—

An anxiety simmering just under the warmth, quiet but ever-present.

It was the milestones that haunted him most.

Like the afternoon Penelope burst into the bullpen, glittering ring catching every light, tears of joy streaming down her face as the team quickly crowded around her.

“I said yes!” she had cried joyfully, throwing her arms around Morgan, who laughed heartily and lifted her off the ground. The bullpen buzzed with congratulations, laughter, and plans for celebrations.

Aaron had watched quietly from the side, heart tightening painfully at your gentle smile and the sincere warmth in your eyes. You squeezed Penelope’s hand, genuinely thrilled for your friend, your voice filled with affection. But as Aaron stood slightly apart, his fingers clenched in quiet frustration, imagining you missing out on that kind of joy—

Of celebrations that revolved around promises he’d silently denied you.

The guilt lingered long after the excitement faded.

Or when the two of you attended a gala for the FBI, and he watched, heart heavy, as you introduced him to a former colleague of yours.

“This is Aaron Hotchner,” you’d said proudly, gently squeezing his arm. “My boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. 

Aaron had almost flinched at the word—

Not because he didn’t cherish it but because it felt so inadequate. 

He noticed the subtle reaction in your colleague’s eyes, the quick glance down at your hand, perhaps checking for a ring. He hated the way you quietly shifted your stance, almost defensively, as though expecting judgment.

Later that evening, in the darkness of the car ride home, Aaron felt you quietly watching him, reading the subtle tension in his jaw.

“Aaron,” you whispered gently, fingertips brushing his thigh, “you know none of that matters to me.”

But he hadn’t entirely believed you, even though he desperately wanted to.

Then there was the playdate at Jack’s friend’s house—

A moment, Aaron hadn’t anticipated hurting him so deeply.

“So, your wife mentioned Jack doesn’t like strawberries?” The other parent had asked casually, unloading snacks from grocery bags.

Aaron’s hesitation had been brief but painfully obvious. “Ah, actually…she’s not my wife,” he’d explained awkwardly. “My girlfriend. She’s—we live together.”

“Oh,” the parent said softly, embarrassment flashing over their face. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

Aaron had waved it away, pretending not to see the confusion, pretending not to notice the way the word ��girlfriend’ seemed suddenly juvenile or inadequate.

He spent the rest of the afternoon tense, discomfort spreading through his chest, lingering even hours later as he walked into the kitchen and found you preparing dinner. 

Your gentle, easy smile pierced his heart.

“Hey,” you greeted softly. “Did Jack have fun?”

“Yes,” Aaron murmured, stepping behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist. 

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling the familiar warmth of your scent, his chest aching quietly.

You’d tilted your head gently back against him, feeling the tension in his embrace. “Everything okay?”

He’d wanted desperately to say yes—

To protect you from his burdens. 

But the words came out strained. “They thought you were my wife.”

Your shoulders stiffened slightly, then relaxed just as quickly. You’d turned in his arms, your expression patient and understanding. “Aaron, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just—I hate the idea of people misunderstanding your role in my life.”

You’d cupped his cheek gently, your thumb brushing soothingly over his skin. “I’m not worried about what they think, Aaron. I know exactly what I mean to you.”

He wanted so deeply to believe you, but even as you smiled reassuringly, he couldn’t shake the fear—

The persistent ache that whispered to him late at night, taunting him with visions of what you might eventually grow to resent.

And in the quiet darkness of his own mind, Aaron found himself caught between two impossible fears: losing you, or selfishly keeping you and robbing you of something you might one day desperately want.

He felt trapped—

Holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable day, you’d finally realize he couldn’t give you enough.

Penelope’s surprise bridal shower had transformed Rossi’s elegant backyard patio into something that looked like an enchanted garden, glowing softly beneath strands of golden fairy lights. Laughter and warm conversation carried gently through the cool evening air, mixing seamlessly with the low hum of soft music.

Aaron leaned back quietly in his chair, his eyes trailing across the table to you. Warm light flickered from small candles, catching softly in your hair and reflecting in your eyes, bright with laughter. You were seated beside Penelope, your hands resting gracefully atop the white linen tablecloth as you listened, fully engrossed in the conversation.

He knew he should have felt completely at ease surrounded by his team—his friends—but the unease he’d been carrying for weeks now seemed even heavier tonight.

“So, Garcia,” Emily called out teasingly, swirling her wine gently in her glass, a playful smile on her lips. “Did you choose the ring, or did you let your man surprise you?”

Penelope grinned brightly, eyes glittering with excitement. She extended her hand dramatically across the table, showcasing the ring proudly. “He surprised me, and he nailed it.”

JJ reached across the table, taking Penelope’s hand gently to admire the sparkling diamond more closely. “It’s gorgeous, Pen. He did amazing.”

Aaron watched quietly, his chest tightening uncomfortably as Emily’s gaze suddenly shifted toward you. “Alright, your turn,” Emily teased gently, nudging your elbow playfully. “What about you—what’s your dream ring?”

He saw your expression soften, eyes brightening as you leaned in closer, not a hint of discomfort or awkwardness visible. Aaron’s heart stalled briefly, his grip tightening subconsciously around the cool glass in his hand.

“Well,” you began softly, entirely casual, oblivious to the fact that your words were slowly twisting something inside of Aaron, “I’ve never really thought about it much, but probably something vintage-inspired. I’d want something delicate. Not too flashy.”

Aaron swallowed hard, feeling suddenly and irrationally nervous, as though everyone at the table might turn toward him at any second, reading plainly the conflict on his face. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, carefully raising his glass to his lips to hide his discomfort.

You continued, laughing softly, warmth in your voice, “Maybe something with a sapphire, even. I’ve never really been a diamond girl anyway.”

He caught Morgan’s eyes across the table in that moment—

Dark, knowing, and filled with playful seriousness. Morgan raised an eyebrow subtly, tilting his chin slightly toward Aaron as if to say, Are you taking notes? You better be.

Aaron looked away quickly, the weight of expectation and guilt pressing harder against his chest. He found himself staring into his wine glass, the deep red liquid gently swirling against the sides, feeling profoundly exposed. 

He felt selfish for holding back something that felt so normal, so easy to discuss for you and the others.

You glanced over at him just then, eyes warm, oblivious to the storm brewing quietly in his chest. Your smile was gentle, reassuring—

Always comforting. 

And yet, it only deepened the tightness in his chest, reinforcing his quiet dread.

Morgan cleared his throat quietly, leaning casually closer to Aaron, his voice pitched low enough that only the two of them could hear. “You good, Hotch?”

Aaron forced a careful nod, but Morgan wasn’t easily fooled. His friend’s expression softened knowingly, quietly supportive.

“Look,” Morgan said gently, glancing discreetly toward you, where you continued chatting warmly with JJ, “you know you’ve got something special. Don’t overthink it, man. She seems pretty clear about what matters most.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes still locked on you, heart aching deeply. He knew Morgan was right, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps you deserved more than he could offer—more than he’d ever be brave enough to give.

And as laughter and excited conversation continued to fill the air around him, Aaron quietly watched you, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t someday come to regret holding you back from the life you truly deserved.

The ride home was unbearably quiet.

Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened beneath the pale illumination of passing streetlights. The silence in the car hung heavy, like an oppressive storm cloud, stifling any attempts at casual conversation. He felt trapped in his own head, frustration gnawing relentlessly at him.

Beside him, your posture was rigid, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared unseeingly out the passenger window. Every second of silence made Aaron’s chest feel tighter, every shallow breath adding fuel to the simmering frustration that refused to be contained.

Finally, you broke first.

“Are you seriously going to do this again?” Your voice was sharp, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. Your eyes flashed toward him in the dim light of the dashboard, wounded yet defiant.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, eyes locked forward, voice controlled and low. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, please,” you snapped bitterly. “You’re tense, Aaron. You’ve been tense all night. Is it because of the damn ring conversation? Again?”

His eyes narrowed, fingers clenching tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t say a word about that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted sharply. “You’ve been stuck in your own head for months now. Every time someone mentions marriage, or engagements, or God forbid a ring, you completely shut down. Do you honestly think I don’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, frustration flaring dangerously in his chest. “You said yourself you’d want a ring. Vintage. Something delicate. Sapphires, wasn’t it?”

Your laugh was harsh, humorless. “Yeah, I did say that—because they asked. You’re making a huge deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Aaron’s voice rose sharply, surprising even himself. His eyes darkened, flickering with something raw and painful. “You don’t get it. You deserve all of that. You deserve someone who can give you exactly that, and I’m the one keeping it from you.”

“I told you,” you shot back, voice thickening with frustration and hurt, “I don’t care about a ring or a piece of paper or—”

“You say that now!” Aaron snapped, his words harsh and unyielding. “But what about later? What about ten years down the line when you resent me for not giving you the things you deserve, the life you pictured for yourself?”

Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, anger sparking dangerously. “Are you kidding me right now? Aaron, I could die tomorrow. We could get into a crash right here, right now, and you really think I’d be worried about not being your wife? That some paperwork or a damn ring would make a difference in how I feel about you?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened further, breath ragged with emotion. “It’s not about the paperwork! It’s about making promises that I’ve already broken once. It’s about knowing the second I give you that, I could lose everything again. I don’t want that—I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think marriage changes that?” you challenged fiercely, voice shaking slightly. “I see myself old with you, Aaron. You. And that vision isn’t any stronger or weaker because we signed something or because I wear your ring.”

His voice cracked painfully. “You say that, but you don’t know—”

“No,” you interrupted harshly, hurt blazing in your eyes. “You’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Because you think wanting marriage again means risking it all again. Maybe you’re afraid because deep down, you actually want that with me.”

Aaron’s grip on the wheel was nearly painful, his voice dangerously quiet, trembling with barely-contained fury. “Enough.”

But you didn’t listen. You leaned closer, your voice fierce, challenging. “Is that it, Aaron? Is that what scares you? Because at the end of the day, you do want it—”

“Yes!” Aaron suddenly roared, slamming a hand against the wheel in frustration, the words erupting from somewhere deep and raw within him. The car filled with stunned silence, broken only by his heavy, ragged breathing.

His heart was pounding painfully, eyes filled with conflict, pain, and longing as he finally looked over at you, emotion raw and unguarded. “Yes,” he repeated, softer now, voice broken. “I want it. I want you. I want to call you my wife. I want it all, every damn thing that terrifies me, because I want to know that you’re mine—really mine.”

You stared back at him, eyes wide and glistening with tears, your anger replaced instantly by shock, empathy, and a deep, aching tenderness.

“I know it’s old fashioned--I’m old fashioned. But you don’t think that every day I think about wanting to buy you a ridiculously expensive ring? Or sign my entire life over to you? Because you already have it. Paper or not--my life is yours. I want you to have it. Take it.” Aaron exhaled heavily, voice unsteady with vulnerability. “But God, it scares me. It scares me more than losing you, because the moment we make it real—I could lose everything. Again.”

You reached out, your hand shaking slightly, gently resting on his tense arm. Your touch felt like an anchor amidst his storm, steadying him.

“Aaron,” you whispered softly, voice thick with emotion, “you're not going to lose me. Not because we marry or because we don't. I chose you, and I choose you every single day. Nothing changes that.”

He let out a ragged breath, feeling a quiet release in your words, but the fear still remained, tangled stubbornly within his heart.

And even as he pulled the car slowly into your driveway, the silence between you softening, Aaron knew he’d laid his fears bare, his heart open—

Completely vulnerable. 

The words had been said, and now, nothing could ever quite be the same again.

Not much was said--or done--after that conversation. A few goodnights to Jack, the quiet domesticity of getting ready for bed unfolded, but little words were said between the two of you that night. 

Exhaustion weighed far heavier on Aaron’s shoulders and he felt as if he had revealed so much--partly worried too much to you. He didn’t want to push it…push you. 

Aaron woke suddenly, sharply, his breath catching painfully in his throat as his eyes snapped open to the cold emptiness beside him. The sheets on your side of the bed were wrinkled but cool, evidence of your absence already lingering heavily in the room.

A wave of raw panic surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, twisting his stomach into painful knots. Aaron’s heart began to pound fiercely, hammering in his chest as he quickly sat up, scanning the bedroom for any trace of you. But the silence around him was oppressive, mocking, thick with dread.

He called your name hoarsely. 

No response. 

His mind flooded suddenly with memories—

Painful, vivid recollections of another empty bed, another empty room years before, and the heartbreaking absence Haley had left.

He was too late then, too stubborn, too closed-off. He’d pushed Haley away, and now—he’d pushed you away too.

Aaron felt completely unraveled, breath shallow, panic rising painfully in his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, fighting the pressure building behind them.

He’d finally done it. He’d pushed too hard, said too much, and now you were gone.

Gone because he couldn’t bend. Couldn’t compromise. Couldn’t allow himself to trust you fully, even after you’d given him everything. He’d selfishly forced you to carry his fears, his grief, his trauma—

And now he was alone.

He had no idea how long he sat there, paralyzed, heart painfully clenched, completely lost in the dark spiral of his thoughts until—

The quiet sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled him sharply from his despair.

Aaron froze, heart hammering with sudden hope. 

Or maybe fear. 

He couldn’t be sure.

A moment later, your footsteps echoed gently up the stairs, followed by the soft rustle of bags and a familiar, comforting scent of coffee drifting into the room. Aaron rose unsteadily, his pulse erratic, relief blooming tentatively beneath layers of anxiety and pain.

You stepped through the doorway, arms full—one hand gripping a bag from your favorite bagel shop, the other balancing a cardboard tray of coffees. When your eyes met his, you paused, startled by his clearly shaken appearance.

“Hey,” you said gently, surprise softening your expression, your voice filled with cautious warmth. “I wanted to surprise you with makeup bagels and coffee. Figured we both needed it.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He simply crossed the room in a heartbeat, bridging the painful gap between you, and pulled you fiercely into his arms.

You gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity behind his embrace, but your body quickly relaxed against him, sensing something deeper, more vulnerable in the way his arms clung desperately around you.

“Aaron?” you whispered, uncertainly at first, then tenderly as you felt him tremble slightly against you. “Hey, I’m right here.”

He tightened his hold, burying his face against your shoulder, his voice rough and barely audible. “I thought you left.”

You set the bags carefully aside on the nearby dresser and gently cupped his face in your palms, forcing him to look at you. The emotion in his eyes nearly undid you—

Painful vulnerability, haunted by old ghosts, old fears.

“Aaron, listen to me,” you said softly, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, I’m here. I didn’t leave you.”

He shook his head slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment, unable to fully trust his voice. When he opened them again, his expression was raw and achingly sincere.

“You could have,” he whispered brokenly. “You could have left, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I was—I’ve been so unfair to you.”

You shook your head gently, your eyes filled with quiet strength and compassion. “Aaron, I need you to understand something—I chose you, knowing exactly who you are. Knowing your past, your fears, your stubbornness—all of it. And I’d choose you a thousand times over.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes glistening with unshed tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words sank deeply into him. Still holding his face tenderly in your hands, you pressed your forehead gently against his.

“I’m begging you,” you murmured softly, voice steady and filled with gentle pleading, “Please start believing me.”

Aaron nodded slowly, trying desperately to internalize every word. His heart was still trembling, still afraid, but your unwavering warmth anchored him back into reality.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, the words thick with emotion. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Good,” you breathed softly, thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Because I love you far too much to let you keep fighting these ghosts alone.”

His lips curved faintly; finally, the relief washed over him in waves. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. He silently vowed to himself, again and again, that he would learn to trust—to accept the gift of your promise without fear.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to fully believe that the quiet future you’d promised him was real. That maybe, this time, the ghosts could finally rest.

Weeks turned quietly into months, the heaviness that had once shadowed every quiet moment slowly lifting, replaced instead by a gentle warmth—

A sense of ease Aaron hadn't felt in years. The ghosts still lingered, but they were softer now, quieter, fading slowly into the background noise of a life filled instead with laughter, steady reassurance, and you.

The team’s latest case had brought you all to Las Vegas. After the successful resolution, Hotch had surprised everyone by suggesting you all take an extra day before returning to Quantico. It was unusual—perhaps even out of character—but the team had been thrilled, quickly dispersing into the bright lights and bustling energy of the city.

After briefly checking in with Reid—who eagerly took off to visit his mother—the rest of the team scattered into various plans. It left Aaron alone with you, wandering the city, a soft and easy silence settling between you as you navigated colorful streets bathed in neon and laughter.

As the afternoon sun warmed your skin, you glanced up at Aaron, catching the thoughtful expression lingering on his face. “You’re quiet,” you murmured gently, sliding your hand into his, fingers interlocking effortlessly. “Everything okay?”

Aaron smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just... thinking.”

You raised a playful eyebrow, gently nudging his side. “You’re always thinking.”

Aaron’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing gently over yours. His voice softened thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. But today, I’m thinking about something specific.”

Your eyes met his curiously, noticing the quiet intensity and subtle apprehension in his gaze. “And what’s that?”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, his voice quiet and measured. “I’ve been wondering if you’d be open to something.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, curiosity and anticipation sparking warmly through your chest. You nodded gently, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m listening.”

Aaron slowed his steps, gently pulling you aside, away from the bustling crowd, into the quiet shade of a small alcove near an ornate fountain. He reached carefully into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, his movements steady but cautious.

Your breath hitched softly in your throat as you watched him slowly open the box, revealing a delicate, vintage-inspired sapphire ring—

Exactly the kind you’d described that night at Penelope’s bridal shower. Your heart swelled warmly, emotion rising suddenly and powerfully within you.

Aaron’s eyes held yours steadily, soft yet vulnerable. “I know I’ve made things complicated. That I’ve let my fears dictate how I approached all of this.” He swallowed quietly, his thumb running gently over the small box. “But despite all that fear, all that worry—I’m old-fashioned. I want to marry you. Not because you expect it, but because I do. I want to do right by you. I want to promise myself to you openly.”

He hesitated slightly, voice quieter, gentler. “So, I was thinking… maybe we should just elope? Here. Today. Just us. No fuss, no expectations—just you and me.”

Emotion tightened your throat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy as you gazed back at him, your voice warm and steady. “Aaron, of course. Of course I’ll marry you—today, tomorrow, whenever you want. I don’t need the ceremony or fuss. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

He exhaled softly, tension visibly leaving his shoulders, relief flooding his expression as he gently slipped the delicate sapphire ring onto your finger. “Are you sure?”

You laughed gently, pulling him into a warm, reassuring embrace, your voice filled with love, confidence, and sincerity. “Aaron, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are it for me—always have been, always will be. Nothing else matters.”

Aaron’s arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against your chest. 

In that moment, beneath the shimmering Vegas sunlight, surrounded by the gentle sounds of laughter and splashing fountains, Aaron felt a deep, profound sense of peace.

All the lingering fear, the hesitation, the self-sabotage—

They vanished instantly as your reassuring words echoed gently in his ears, resonating deep within his heart.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, smiling warmly against your skin as he whispered, “Then, let’s go get married?”

And just like that—

Quietly, easily, and perfectly.

You both stepped forward together, leaving behind fears and ghosts alike, moving instead toward the joyful certainty of forever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[fear-is-truth]

❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐕𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒. ❞

— charlie mayhew x f!reader

summary: you’re a college student who haven’t confessed in ages. tags: mature content・mdni・blasphemy・unprotected p in v・fem!reader・not proofread

♱ a/n◞ english is not my first language

it’s been far too long since you last stepped into the confessional. guilt weighs heavily on your soul, gnawing at the edges of your conscience like a relentless rat. father charlie mayhew sits in the adjoining room, just beyond the closed door. you feel like a convict marching to the gallows or a witch being led to the stake. the air is thick with the scent of incense and remorse as you push open the wooden door and step inside, taking a deep breath,

“forgive me, father, for i have sinned.”

“how long has it been since your last confession?” you pause, fingers twisting in your lap. seven months? eight?

“…too long.” you finally settle for that answer. he hums softly in response, encouraging you to elaborate further.

“i’ve been… neglecting my prayers,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out like a spew of vomit. “i’ve been lazy with my duties, with my work.” a flashback to your half-finished papers, ignored for days, weeks. the familiar frustration and self-loathing settle in again.

“sloth,” the priest says softly, but not unkindly. you nod, even though he can’t see you. “and… wrath,” you continue. “jealousy, really. i’ve been… envious of others. their success, their accomplishments, while i’ve just been… stagnant.” there’s a faint rustling from the other side of the partition. “envy can eat away at the soul,” he says quickly. “but it’s the admission that brings healing.”

“and lust,” the word slips past your lips like a dirty secret. “mastur- sorry, i mean. self pleasuring. and there were… party hook-ups. frat boys. things i shouldn’t have done, things i knew were wrong.” you can feel father charlie’s attention on you, even though you can’t see him. he pauses, and you hear the soft rustle of cloth and creak of wood again. “lust,” he repeats in a gravelly, conspiratorial tone. “is a sin we are all vulnerable to.”

“even you, father?” the question slips out before you can think better of it. the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating like a poisonous fog.

there’s a soft sigh, and you hear the faint rustling of fabric again. “oh yes,” he admits, but he doesn’t sound as ashamed as you’ve imagined a priest should be. there almost seems to be an air of self congratulation.

“especially that.”

your fingers curl tighter around the edges of your skirt. a single beat of silence. then—

“sins like these require penance. penance,” he repeats, slowly, savouring the word on his tongue, “is meant to cleanse the soul. to discipline the flesh.” another rustle of cloth—and you wonder what the hell he’s doing behind the wooden barrier.

“are you prepared to accept the form of penance i offer you?” the way he phrases it, like a double entendre you can’t quite place your finger on.

and yet, something possesses you to reply:

“yes, father.”

“good. now step out here.”

your heart pounds as you obey, stepping out of your side of the confessional. when you turn to face him, your breath catches in your throat.

father charlie is not dressed as a priest should be. gone is the cassock, the traditional garb of a man of the cloth. instead, he’s wearing a white translucent smock, the fabric so sheer you can see the hard planes of his chest, every muscle defined. his tan skin gleams in the low light, and your eyes drift downward, catching the black leather chaps and, beneath them, a jockstrap that leaves little to the imagination.

you simply can’t tear your eyes away from him.

the cocky bastard must be fully aware of his effect on you, the way his eyes gleam as he takes another step toward you, the leather of his chaps creaking softly in the quiet room. the smirk on his lips deepens, and he raises a hand, resting it lightly on your shoulder.

“recite the act of contrition.”

your throat tightens, pulse quickening at the contact. he’s standing so close now that the scent of incense and something distinctly masculine fills your senses, clouding your thoughts. taking a shaky breath, you start, voice trembling slightly,

“o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended you…”

his fingers graze your arm now, trailing lightly down to your wrist, but you don’t stop. you can’t. his presence demands obedience.

“…and i detest all my sins because of your just punishments,” you continue. he hums softly, a sound of approval, thumb rubbing slow circles against the inside of your wrist.

“…but most of all, because they offend you, my god,” you falter for a moment as his hand moves down, skimming the curve of your hip, lingering at your waist, “who are all-good and deserving of all my love. i firmly resolve,” you choke out, forcing yourself to finish the prayer, “with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.”

a pause, thick with ominous tension. you look up at him, unsure of what comes next, warm, honeyed lust dripping through your loins betraying the pious words you’ve just spoken. fingers still at your waist, he leans in.

“beautifully done, beautiful.

the priest whispers, and there’s something unexpected in his voice. emotion. when you look back up at him, there are tears in his eyes, like the words had truly moved him. for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something, maybe pull back, remind you both of your places.

but then his hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling gently at the nape of your neck, and before you can catch your breath, he’s guiding you with firm, practiced ease into the tight space of the confessional’s compartment. his grip is strong, sure, as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against him. your back hits the wooden wall with a soft thud, the creak of old wood reverberating through the silence, amplifying the intimacy between you.

he leans in closer, his body pressing into yours, the booth feeling impossibly small now. his lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, soft at first, then deepening with intention. his tongue slips past your parted lips, exploring the inside of your mouth, grazing your teeth before sweeping across your hard palate in a way that makes you shiver.

a moan escapes you when you feel his erection rubs against your thigh.

•••

god, you’re going straight to hell.

you moan in unison as he pushes the tip inside you in one, smooth motion. pleasure riddled with agony shoots up from your aching quim to your entire body, the sheer girth of him straining at your velvety walls; filling you up in a way that nobody else has ever done before.

“mghmm— oh fuck… you feel so good,”

charlie grains into your shoulder as he bottoms out, features twisting in sordid rapture when you clench around him involuntarily. your insides are so sensitive and raw that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock pulsating against your walls as you struggle to accommodate him. he pauses, giving you a second to recover before rearing back his hips slowly, almost pulling out but then to slam back into you completely. the wooden wall of the confessional box creaks, but all you can focus on is the tip of his cockhead kissing— no, fucking your cervix. stretching your cunt in a way so sinfully good that you’re certain that even though you’ve booked a one-way ticket to the second circle of hell, it’s fucking worth it.

it’s not long before the hot coil finally snaps, and squeezing your eyes shut, you dig your fingernails into his shoulder, leaving crescent indents as your orgasm crashes over you.

waves of white-hot pleasure ripple through your veins, and you throw head back to scream out his name. through your post-orgasm haze, you watch as charlie continues to pound into you. a raw moan rips from his throat, accompanied by a final, deep thrust. burying himself to the hilt, he comes inside of you, thick, hot spurts of come filling your womb as a string of indiscernible curses tumble past his lips.

he doesn’t pull out immediately, his cock twitching with residual spams as he continues to thrust his hips lazily, grinding his seed inside you as deep as it can go.

father charlie pulls back slightly, chest still heaving as he gazes at you with that same smug, satisfied smile. he brushes a thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his touch lingering, almost tender.

“well,” he muses, “i think that’ll do for your penance… for now.” his eyes gleam with something darker, something that promises this isn’t over. “though, if you feel the need to… atone further, you know where to find me.”

“same time next week?” you nod in response, eyelids fluttering shut as he threads his fingers through your hair, before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

m.list

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[songmingisthighs]

Baby Baby

group : ateez

pairing : alpha!san × human mate!reader

genre : smut

wc : 3.4 k

warning : mature, mdni, explicit smut; restraints, cumming untouched, rut, breeding kink (breeding need more like), lactation kink, slight cum play and cum eating, both san and mc are being degenerate pain slut mayhaps ?, unprotected sex, alpha sex, rut sex, knotting, degradation ??, don't read if you don't like or can't stand this genre

a/n : this fic is brought to you by @kitten4sannie GOADING me. I wholeheartedly blame you alyssa. whatever happens after this, blame alyssa

buy me coffee ?

You came rushing to the pack house with your baby tucked in her little blanket, sleeping so soundly like an angel which was an utter contrast to the situation that you were facing. You had been rushing so much that you changed into a flimsy shirt and a long boho-esque skirt. You were barely at the front door and yet you could hear the sound of your husband's screams, filling the silence in the air, and making the whole area seem haunted.

Upon entry, you were greeted by Seonghwa who immediately took your little princess in his arms and Yeosang who welcomed you. "How bad is it?" you asked, taking your coat before handing it over along with your bag to Yeosang. Hongjoong came rounding from the kitchen upon hearing you and from the look on his face, you knew this was a bad one. "(y/n), are you sure you want to handle him?" Hongjoong asked, worriedly looking between you and your sleeping daughter, whose fluffy wolf ears twitched at the sound of the commotion but remained in her slumber. You simply shrugged, "He's my husband, this is nothing I haven't experienced before," you said as you tried to push past Hongjoong to go to the basement. Before you could go past him, he held you back and made you look at him, "This is unlike his previous ruts, (y/n). He's... He's going over the rails and it's triggered by you giving birth," he explained. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, "But I gave birth like a long time ago. For fuck's sake, we're close to Hyemi's first birthday." With arms raised, Hongjoong could only shrug, "All I know is that the doctor told us that this is like an anti-postpartum depression. He's more aggressive, more needy, and frankly his sexual stamina is beyond anything I've ever seen and he was already a nutjob in that department."

Hearing Hongjoong's explanation made your heartbeat increase both from worry but also from... excitement? You knew what San is capable of and you knew the others knew as well. So for Hongjoong to be so concerned, you could only imagine what the extent of San's state is like.

After kissing your daughter on the forehead and allowing Seonghwa to take her over to the hunting cabin so she would be away from all the noise, you marched down to the basement only to see a sight that made you gasp.

Under the moonlight and a single lightbulb near the door, San, your dear husband, was shirtless and his limbs were restrained by metal chains that ran from the corners of one side of the wall. You wanted to ask why he was put in such a state but when you closed the door, you had seen how the small window that allows people to peek in was shattered on the ground and the handle on the door was bent, flattened even. You couldn't explain why that made you wet and you felt like you couldn't fixate on that considering the situation. But the sight of the shambled surrounding was not as surprising as seeing San staring, or glaring, at you, straining against the chains so hard that his veins were popping.

"Honey, I knew that was you. I could smell you from the moment you stepped out of the car," San shuddered, eyes glazing and his fists clenching, "Have you come for me, pretty? You came for your alpha didn't you?" he chuckled darkly. You swallowed nervously but San knew that you were aroused seeing him with his shirtless, glistening chest and very very tight jeans, especially with a VERY distracting protrusion in the dark patch in his crotch. No matter how much you had been with San, the sight of him half naked and so animalistic always made you blush. "Honey, I'm so thirsty," San whimpered and as if it was an automatic trigger, you abandoned your position and rushed to San, cupping his face gently only to gasp at how feverish he felt, "Oh sweetie, you're burning up! I'll go get you some water." You were about to detach away from him but he growled and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you stand still in your spot. "I am thirsty but not for that, my love. I'm thirsty for you."

Slowly, you felt San's head turn and he let out a shaky exhale that made tingles ran down your spine. Your eyes fluttered close when San's tongue joined in to lick your skin around your neck almost strategically pressing into your weak points which made your knees buckled and since San didn't have his freedom, you had to cling onto his body. The proximity made San smirk against your skin because now he was able to grind into your core, allowing you to feel how wet and hard he had become. "F-fuck, Sannie-" "Can you feel that? Can you feel how hard I am? I've been waiting for you mama and I can't take it anymore. Do you know how many times I've cum in my pants? Do you know how many times my cum has been wasted? I could've been breeding you over and over, make you a mommy again because fuck, we did such a great job with the first one," San panted heavily into your ear as he winced from pain and need, "Love, I need to put another baby in you, I want to put a baby in you."

Your mind was in such a hazy state because his body's warmth was luring you in like a faux safety net but the way he was humping your leg with his cock that seemed to be engorged due to both arousal and his heat. "Sannie, baby, y-your cock-" "It's asking for you, mama. It wants you. Please, please, please, let it bury itself inside your sweet sweet cunt and breed it with another pup. It's been so long and it hurts, it hurts so good," His words were like melted butter in your ears, absolutely making you weak and you were sure that your panties were effectively ruined with your slick but also from the way San was rubbing his jeans-clad crotch onto you. You couldn't deny the increasing need- no, want for him. It HAD been some time since you got intimate all thanks to your baby girl. You and he had been so focused on taking care of her and letting your body heal that the most you two have done was letting San suck on your tits while dry-humping you. So you two were stuck in a hard situation. Literally.

In your state of utter oblivion, you somehow managed to refocus yourself enough to look at the way San was straining. He had been whispering pleas and sweet nothings, buttering you up to let him relieve his rut on you, you missed the way he was straining so hard that you swore he was so close to breaking the restraints like they were made of popsicle sticks.

"Poor baby," San's mouth stopped its work on your skin the moment you replied coherently, "You've been waiting for me for so long, haven't you? Settling for minuscule action while I got better, you took such good care of me... Alpha." You had to suppress a moan when you felt San's cock twitch as his hip ground harder into your crotch, accidentally stimulating your clit against the barrier. "Yes, yes, yes, baby, I will take such good care of you. You saw how much of a great husband I could be with our first, imagine me with our second. So please, please let me out of this misery and let me fuck another baby into you."

Cursing, you pushed away from San slightly and took off your shirt before dropping down to kneel in front of his crotch. San watched you with keen eyes as your hands deftly moved to release him from his confines. The moment his cock was freed, you saw it bob before it stood straight up, slapping him right on his stomach, his residual cum smearing and splattering from the impact, some even landed on your cheek but you couldn't care. How could you care when your husband's cock was staring at you almost tauntingly? You swore his cock was larger than you remembered. The tip, a shade of angry red, and his balls seemed full of cum.

"Fuck, alpha, you're going to break me," you breathed.

Though unintentional, your breath hit his stiff cock and before you could react, San came untouched. Spurts of his cum hit you on your face making you gasp in surprise. "Fuck!" San grunted as he rode off his high, allowing his balls to empty out yet again. The amount of cum that San let out was astonishing as it seem almost endless. It made you imagine San shooting that much cum when he finished inside you. Just from the looks of it, you knew that that climax you and San will soon share would be sloppy and messy and you can't wait. Your cunt clenching with anticipation.

"Fuck, baby, why did you have to tease me like that, you slut? You just had to goad your alpha knowing that he's in restraints, huh? You really think you could take advantage of the situation I'm in huh?" San growled, snapping his hips forward so that his cock slapped you in the mouth, smearing his fresh cum around as if to mark and humiliate you. "Sorry alpha, I didn't mean to. I was just so... Amazed with your cock, I just wanna..." You trailed off as your lips slowly enveloped the hard appendage. The moment your wam mouth made contact with San's cock, he immediately almost lost control. Your tongue was caressing his cock all around so good that his hips started moving, grounding itself against your mouth as if it was addicted to you just as much as you were addicted to tasting San again. It was hard, and it wasn't just the stiffness of the cock, but his engorged size trying to stuff itself inside your mouth was almost too much. Your jaw was hurting but the pain was too delicious, you were struggling but you wanted more of it, you wanted it wholly and you wanted it so bad. San's hips made it hard for you to lick the cum clean from his dick but you made do with what you can. "Look at my mate. My pretty, pretty mate, so fucking beautiful and so fucking needy for her alpha," San's tongue darted out to lick his chapped bottom lip and as he did, he could almost taste you in the air, "And look at you being so needy," he chuckled darkly, seeing the way your hips sway back and forth and then around as if to look for friction for your very empty cunt. "Can't wait to fill you up, baby. Can't wait to pound that sweet pussy once again," he moaned.

Hearing him so needy for you, you couldn't help but let out a whimper and immediately scrambled up. "You want to fill me up, alpha? I'll give you what you want," you grabbed the edges of your skirt and hiked it up so you could easily took your panties off and fling it across the room. With his senses heightened, the smell of your free cunt made San's eyes roll to the back of his head and his hips gyrate in your direction. "Come on, come on, come on mama, stop torturing me and let me fuck you so good and so deep, your tummy would bulge out. I'm gonna make sure you'll get good and pregnant"

You couldn't even get properly and wholly naked as you were just that desperate and needy for San. So with one edge of your skirt still hiked, you hooked your left leg around his strong right thigh and your right hand reached under to slip his tip right at your entrance. "I'm ready alpha, I'm ready for you to take me and fill me up," you panted, pressing your forehead against his while you prepared yourself mentally to take his cock inside you. San rolled his hip once and his bulbous tip slipped inside you so easily thanks to your arousal, his residual cum, and your spit, mixing together creating the perfect lubricant. "Oh fuck," you whimpered, your arms circling around San's neck so tightly, catching him in a vice grip, "You're s-so big, t-too big!" you gasped the more it slipped inside you.

San was faring no better. Having gone through the first night of his rut by himself and flooding his mind with the thought and memories of your cunt, he was going through 10 emotions all at once because he finally got to feel the real deal. Being chest-to-chest with San allowed you to feel his heart beating so hard and quick you were afraid that it would break out of his ribcage. However, your worry about him breaking something was misplaced because while you were trying to slowly get yourself ready to take him whole inch by inch, San's patience snapped. His wolf was crying out to breed you and he deemed that he needed more and he needed it right then and there.

"San! Oh my- Fuck!!" You screeched when San bottomed out inside you with one smooth move. Your arms held onto him tighter while his thighs trembled, the pleasure was overwhelming him, almost sending his head to an empty state. "Baby, my love, my mate, thank you for giving your body to me."

You weren't even accustomed to him just yet but he had started fucking you with such fervor that it took everything in you to keep your mental faculties intact and held onto him for dear life. For the life of you, you couldn't even begin to think about how San managed to fuck you even with his limbs restrained but even such thought easily slipped from your mind as all other coherent mental processes were getting fucked out of you. "A-alpha please!" you weren't sure what you were pleading for because while it hurt, the pain was too pleasurable and you truly believed that you would have gone insane had he pulled back. Not that you think he could. When you pulled away slightly, you saw the way San was staring at you with dilated pupils, his eyes even seemingly turned into a shade of gold though you were not so sure due to the dimness of the room and your body being shaken up and down like a shaker. You could feel it, you could feel his cock deep inside you. The movement allowed him to go deeper and deeper, and you were sure that his tip was coaxing your cervix to open ever so slowly as evidenced by the dull probing feeling in your lower belly area. Even the thought of his cock prying you open to accommodate his agenda made your head feel like it was swimming.

Pleasure coursed through your body almost to the maximum extent within minutes but you held on, you wanted to hold on for your husband. "Fuck, I miss this," San growled, chuckling darkly, "How did I manage to not fuck you every night? It was wrong of me to let you experience even one day without being my little cumdump, my fleshlight, my most precious little doll toy." The way he reduced you to nothing but a plaything made your cunt clench, causing San's movement to halt and his breath hitch. "Honey, don't do that, I might cum too soon," he said through gritted teeth. You moaned and dropped your head back, exposing your neck to your husband, "And is that such a bad thing, love? Come on, cum in me, you promised to fill me up so full, right?"

The encouragement effectively pushed San's inner wolf to completely take over because the next thing you know, San ripped the right cup of your bra off, exposing your breast and your perked nipple before latching his mouth on it and he resumed his fucking. Not many words were exchanged between the two of you, all sorts of communication was in the form of moans, groans, and grunts. Especially you, who was up on cloud 9 from both penetrating and sucking stimulation. San was fucking you stupid while his mouth was feasting on your breastmilk. You took a peek down to see white dribbling down San's chin a bit too calmly while his hips never stopped their work on your cunt. The intensity of the pleasure sent you reeling and you could feel you were teetering on the edge of a climax. Your limbs contorted around San even tighter so much so that you were practically floating, two bodies being supported by one and at this moment you were very much glad that San's animalistic side had taken over perhaps completely.

"F-fuck, San! Sannie! Alpha! I-I-" You wanted to tell him that you were cumming but the words were stuck in your throat. San, too preoccupied with the taste of you on his tongue, didn't bother answering but he simply bit down on your breast. The sharp pain caused you to let your control slip and then and there you came undone. Your body shook as you climaxed, your jaw unhinged and you let out a loud cry while your cunt unknowingly let out spurts of clear liquid.

San always loved it when you climaxed because your scent became more powerful and your body writhed about that sent his animalistic side into a frenzy as it paralleled his high when he caught a prey; so pliant, so submissive, so... helpless. Your orgasm served to only goad San even more as he never stopped his movement, never even faltering for a single beat. "Yes, we're so close, baby, so close," San smirked after gulping down your milk. His sharp canine dragged on your sternum in a menacing way that made it even hotter for some reason. You were already so spent and to be frank, the constant friction was becoming almost too much. Your legs were starting to cramp and your arms were slowly going numb. As glad as you were for cumming, knew you couldn't handle another one so soon, especially when you felt his knot forming.

"Alpha, alpha! Cum in me p-please! I- I can't take it anymore!" you whined, gripping him so hard that his back bore the red streaks of your nails that dug into his skin. "Yes, mama, yes. I'll cum in you, I'm cumming in you, fuck! I'm gonna get you nice and pregnant!" San announced loudly before his hips stuttered once more and his mouth latched back onto your breast. Along with his teeth digging into your soft flesh, you felt warm liquid being spurted out directly into your womb, filling you rather quickly and your mind floated back to the amount of cum San had let out not even too long ago. San's cum and knot were filling you up so stupidly good that you didn't even have any more energy to scream so you simply dropped your head onto his shoulder. Your senses were filled with San experiencing his true release after holding back for so long.

San happily sucked more of your milk, ensuring that your breast would be drained and very darkly marked, while he happily let his knot rest inside you.

Although you were still being stimulated, your body was slowly calming down and it was then did your muscles felt the after effect. Soreness started to settle in your joints and parts of your limbs but your husband's warmth was making things up for you, like a very large heating pad.

"Alpha, I'm so full," you croaked, closing your eyes when you felt San also calming down even if it was temporary. "You were so good, my mate. I'm so proud of my little mama being able to take all of that," he praised, letting his lips trail kisses from your chest, up your neck, to your cheeks, and settle to nibble on your earlobe. "But you know that this night had just begun."

Your eyes snapped open when you heard loud clanking sounds and you immediately took notice of the way the chains that were holding San's limbs were so easily broken and in a flash, you were put on the floor with San hovering over you.

"How about we try for twins this time?"

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