#this is a dangerous weakness. this devotion

[blondechariot]

Hello, I hope you r alright! May I plz request Saja Boys separately react to their girlfriend giving them a cute puppy-dog eye look.

pairing: Saja Boys x reader

warnings: Fluff overload, Mild crack/humor, Light emotional blackmail, Reader is a menace™

disclaimer: not my pic

I'm sorry for being so slow guys :( I've had some troubles sleeping and work was very busy. I'm on vacation on monday but try my best to finish the remaining requests

Jinu

It was a tiny mistake.

An innocent tap here, a wrong swipe there — and suddenly, the best clip of the day was gone. Deleted. Permanently.

You stared at your phone in horror, then slowly looked up at Jinu, who was stretching across the room after rehearsal, damp hair sticking to his forehead, shirt clinging to his toned frame.

“Hey, uh… babe?” you called out softly.

He glanced over. “Yeah?”

You winced. “I… kind of accidentally deleted the last 40 seconds of the video. The good one. The really good one.”

He froze.

“…You what.”

“I was trying to trim it! Just the end. I didn’t mean to—”

He was already walking toward you, that unreadable idol-expression on his face. Calm. Too calm. Dangerous calm.

You panicked.

And just like that, your secret weapon was activated: wide, glistening eyes, a subtle pout, and a slight tilt of your head. The tried-and-true puppy eye combo. You blinked up at him, soft and apologetic. Harmless. Cute.

Jinu stopped short. His arms dropped to his sides. He stared at you for a full second.

“…Don’t do that,” he said.

You blinked again. “Do what?”

“That. That thing. With your eyes. You know what you’re doing.”

Your lips trembled slightly—just for dramatic effect. “I didn’t mean to mess it up…”

Jinu groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You are the worst. The worst. You do this every time.”

“Do what?” you asked innocently.

“Turn into a human puppy just so I won’t get mad,” he muttered, his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re lucky I’m weak.”

You smiled. “So… you’re not mad?”

“I want to be,” he said, stepping closer, towering over you now. “But how am I supposed to yell at you when you’re looking at me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing your palms together. “Let me make it up to you? Bubble tea? Foot massage? Eternal devotion?”

He rolled his eyes, finally letting a smile break through. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But adorable,” you added quickly.

Jinu leaned down and kissed your nose. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Abby

Abby wasn’t the type to lose his temper.

He was steady. Focused. Always a little cooler than the rest — both in attitude and execution. His movements were precise, his looks flawless, and he handled chaos like it was part of the choreography.

Which made it all the more fun to mess with him.

Today, it was over a jacket.

His favorite one — black leather, minimal silver studs, custom fit. You’d borrowed it a few days ago “just for a selfie,” but then it kind of… lived in your closet for the rest of the week.

When Abby came looking for it before their interview, you’d been caught red-handed: curled up on the couch, still wearing it, sleeves pushed up, eating popcorn like you hadn’t just committed a crime.

“Is that my jacket?” he asked, pausing mid-step, eyebrows raised.

You looked up mid-chew. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been looking for it for four days,” he said, voice calm, but with that tone. The disappointed one. The one that meant you’re about to get Abby’d.

“…Oops?”

Abby narrowed his eyes and walked toward you slowly, hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched just a little. “You said one selfie. Not a week-long custody battle.”

“I meant to give it back,” you said, voice soft. “I just… really like it.”

He crossed his arms, towering over you now. “Y/N.”

So you blinked up at him. Head tilted. Bottom lip poked out. Puppy eyes: engaged.

His expression didn’t change.

“…That’s not going to work,” he said flatly.

You didn’t blink.

Still nothing.

You added a quiet, “Please don’t be mad. I just wanted to feel close to you…”

Abby sighed.

Hard.

“You are unreal,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You do something wrong, and then you go full Disney doe-eye mode like I’m the villain in your movie.”

You just looked at him more intensely. Silently. Regretfully. Cuteness dialed up to eleven.

He turned away. “Nope. Not looking. If I don’t see your face, it can’t hypnotize me.”

“I’ll give it back now,” you offered, starting to unzip it.

Abby looked over his shoulder — and that was a mistake.

Because there you were. Small and sweet and wrapped in his jacket. That damn look still in your eyes.

He sighed again, then walked over and pulled you to your feet by the sleeves. “Keep it,” he muttered.

You beamed. “Really?”

He smoothed the jacket over your shoulders, his touch lingering. “You look good in it anyway. You always do.”

“…So you’re not mad?”

“I want to be. But it’s exhausting trying to stay mad at you when you look at me like that.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll only use the eyes for good.”

“No promises,” he grumbled, but his fingers brushed over your hand as he added, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You smiled up at him. “Your favorite kind.”

Mystery

Mystery was quiet by nature.

He didn’t react much. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t show excitement easily. He had that unreadable expression on lock — the kind that made people nervous, like he could either be silently judging them or planning something five steps ahead.

But you? You always managed to throw him off his rhythm.

Especially when you did the look.

The crime this time: you accidentally spilled water on his lyric notebook.

To be fair, it was mostly intact.

But one of the pages had smeared slightly—lyrics he’d been working on for days. You’d moved a glass to make space on the desk, and it had tipped just enough to soak the corner of the page.

You froze.

He walked in just as you were dabbing at it with a towel.

“...What happened?” he asked, voice calm but cool.

You turned slowly, notebook still in hand. “I… might’ve spilled a little water on your lyrics.”

He blinked. Once.

Then crossed the room, gaze dropping to the page. He examined the smudged ink in silence, jaw tightening just slightly.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quickly, standing up. “It was an accident. I didn’t—”

You paused mid-apology and hesitated.

Then slowly, carefully, you softened your face. Your eyes turned wide, a little shiny. Lips parted in a guilty pout. You looked up at him like a kicked puppy.

His eyes flicked up to yours.

He stilled.

Then slowly exhaled.

“…Are you trying to distract me?” he asked dryly.

You blinked. “No…?”

He gave you a long look, expression unreadable as always.

Then: “…You are.”

“No,” you whispered, blinking again.

A beat of silence.

Then—finally—the corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely. But it was there. A crack in the mask.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re pulling that face?” he asked, stepping closer, voice lower now. “You’ve used it three times this week.”

“Only twice,” you whispered.

He gave you a pointed look.

You stayed silent… and just blinked up at him again.

He stared down at you for a second longer… then reached out, gently tugging the notebook from your hands.

“I’ll rewrite it,” he said quietly. “Just… don’t touch my stuff next time.”

You grinned. “So you forgive me?”

“I forgave you the second you made the face.”

You threw your arms around his waist, and he let you, standing still for a second before slowly wrapping his arms around you too.

“You’re evil,” he murmured into your hair. “Tiny. Dangerous. Cute evil.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

Romance

Romance was, true to his name, all about passion.

Not just in love — in everything. He made breakfast like it was a scene from a movie. He rehearsed like the stage depended on his heartbeat. He kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

So when you messed up his favorite playlist — the one he used for warmups, workouts, his entire vibe — it was, as he declared dramatically, a betrayal of trust.

“You deleted it?” he gasped, dropping his water bottle like it physically hurt him. “My training soundtrack?”

“I didn’t mean to!” you held up your phone like it was the true villain. “I was cleaning storage space, and I thought it was the duplicate one!”

He paced away from you, one hand over his chest, like he needed emotional support. “That playlist was curated. Years of mood-building. Tempo perfection. Transitions like silk!”

“I said I’m sorry!”

He turned slowly, one finger pointed at you. “This is worse than forgetting our six-month anniversary.”

You gasped. “I did not forget our six-month—”

“I’m speaking in theoretical sins,” he snapped, hand dramatically sweeping the air.

You took a deep breath.

Okay. Time to bring out the big guns.

You stepped closer, tugged your sleeves over your hands just slightly (bonus innocent points), and gave him the look. Wide eyes. Slight pout. All heart and regret.

He blinked.

Paused.

Froze.

“…No,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You blinked again. Slowly. Adorably.

“You—” He stumbled a step back. “That’s cheating. That’s not fair. You know I’m emotionally weak to that face.”

You said nothing. Just tilted your head and looked even sadder.

Romance groaned loudly and flopped dramatically onto the couch like a Shakespearean lead in his final act. “I am but a man,” he moaned. “A fool. A simp. Why must you toy with me this way?”

You quietly sat next to him and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“…You forgive me?”

He peeked at you from under his arm.

“You know I do,” he grumbled. “You could burn down the studio and I’d probably write a love song about it.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best.”

“I’m the weakest,” he sighed, turning toward you and resting his forehead against yours. “That face is black magic, and you know it.”

“I promise to only use it in times of crisis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And this… was a crisis?”

You nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

Baby

Baby was chaos incarnate.

Sweet, flirty, a little unhinged — the type to say “I got this” and then do something completely reckless just for the plot. He was loud, fast, and full of energy, always bouncing between ideas and dragging you into whatever scheme he had that day.

But if there was one thing that could bring him to a full stop… It was you. With that look.

The incident in question? You broke his headphones.

His favorite ones.

You’d borrowed them to listen to your playlist while cooking, and accidentally let them fall off the counter… straight into the sink. Soapy water. Ruined.

You were still holding the soggy mess when he came bouncing into the room.

“Baaaaby!” he sang. “I found this remix—wait. What’s that?”

You froze like a criminal caught mid-heist. “...A mistake.”

He stared at the wet headphones in your hands.

Then at you.

Then back at the headphones.

“…No. No. Don’t say what I think you’re about to say,” he whispered.

“I might’ve… accidentally drowned them?”

He dropped to his knees like he'd just been mortally wounded. “You killed them?!”

“They slipped!”

“My sons!” he wailed dramatically, cradling the air where they used to be. “They were limited edition!”

“I’ll buy you new ones, I swear—”

He pointed. “They had character development! They’d been with me since my rookie year!”

You winced.

Then, slowly, you walked over to him.

You knelt down too. And you pulled out the look.

Big eyes. Sad pout. Soft voice.

“I didn’t mean to… Please don’t hate me.”

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“No—no. Not the eyes. Anything but the eyes.”

You blinked.

“STOP BLINKING, YOU MENACE,” he shrieked, turning away dramatically. “I can’t fight you when you look like that!”

“But I feel bad…” you whispered.

He groaned, falling backwards onto the floor like he’d been defeated in battle. “I’m too young for this emotional manipulation.”

You crawled over and rested your chin on his chest, still looking at him with those wide, guilty eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“I want to be. But you’re too damn cute,” he muttered, covering his face with both hands. “This is abuse.”

You giggled and kissed his cheek. “I’ll buy you new ones. And ice cream. And maybe a hoodie?”

He peeked at you between his fingers. “...Make it bubble tea too, and we never speak of this again.”

“Deal.”

He sat up and hugged you tightly, sighing into your neck. “You’re lucky you’re my weakness.”

You smiled. “I know.”

[dreamerimpossible]

Taking a thousand years to answer this is my passion. @punkrock-ghxst

Masky wanted to get away from you. That was clear. It wasn't wise for you to stay with him, believing he was still what he used to be. Besides, it wasn't safe. A person like you, who will always be more innocent than he is, would never bear to be with him. So, he had two options: end your existence or leave you by the side of the road so you'd wake up and go home, never to see him again. It sounded like a good deal. So, he took pity on you and leaned more toward the second option. He walked through the grass, his boots crunching, while some bird, unaware of the danger lurking in that forest, sang some cheerful melody that completely clashed with the gloomy place he was used to passing through. Masky sighed regretfully; his limbs ached, and his jacket was stained with fresh, dried blood. It had been a long day. His groin throbbed in his pants. On a normal day, he would have taken it out on you. He would have cum inside you and told you to get him a beer, while he caught his breath and regained his strength to remain the one in control of the two of you. Not today. Today you wouldn't have the joy of seeing him lose control. He would leave you on some distant road, and you wouldn't know how to get back to him. It was perfect. Maybe after you, he could repress his sexual instincts again and have no weaknesses.

He stopped in front of the simple cabin where he had left you. He took a few breaths, almost imperceptible, hoping nothing would go wrong. He entered quickly and slammed the door shut, as he always did, reinforcing his dominance, as if saying between the lines: "Woe to you if you're with someone else." He did it once more, for the last time, but he did it; he needed to be in control, even in his final moments. He called out to you, his tone of voice not kind. He never was.

Your hypnotic voice called to him from his room. His body reacted easily. And he hated himself for it. It's as if he still had Tim, the old Tim, inside him. But if there was one thing he knew how to do well, it was get rid of problems.

He entered his room, completely hard and seemingly uncompromising. But you knew better. You were in his bed, wearing one of his old jackets and nothing else underneath. It was almost a cliché. You made an effort to look devoted. His. Just another doll in his collection.

He could no longer control how strongly his cock throbbed. His hands went out of habit to unbuckle his belt. He paused for a moment, as if assessing how much that decision might give you power. You approached him, without getting out of bed. You didn't say a word; he was irritable; any provocation or show of tenderness could anger him greatly.

He hated you. In that moment, he detested you. He wanted to get rid of you. It's clear, but... was there anything wrong with wanting something just for himself? Outside of the dirty work and the shit he had to do, didn't he deserve to have you? He'd won you over. His clothes were covered in blood, his body ached, his hands still without a tremor, used to taking lives and not faltering in the attempt.

He wasn't weak against you. If he were, your body wouldn't be covered in scratches and hickeys. Nor would you have his initial on your neck.

His hands went to his belt, unbuckling it slowly, enjoying your eyes of pleasure and anticipation. You got off the bed and knelt in front of him.

He hated you. You knew how to get him into bed. Even if he wanted to get rid of you. He grabbed you by the hair and pushed you back onto the bed; you kept your temper from laughing at his hardness. He climbed on top of you. He squeezed your wrists, entered you, and did so brutally. He said between his growls that he didn't like you, that he hated you for making him give in. Your moans and your legs pressed against his hips secretly drove him crazy. You cried from his intensity. But you couldn't stop screaming with pleasure; that's why he liked you so much. When he cum inside you, he knew that this time you had won.

[leal-hound]

in another life i found you sooner

[dxxtruction]

Louis does see Armand for all his flaws, and yet still chooses him, and loves him, but when he sees them for what they really were, and really entailed, he no longer can. Oh, gradations of evil. Louis had in ways bought into it.

[mintedwitcher]

Hilarious how contrary and Petty my brain can be at times. Oh, what's this, a thirty minute video essay on why these two characters are strictly platonic soulmates with absolutely no romantic attraction between them? Nah, they're in love, actually.

[lovinglin]

omg its working?? then oh man i really hope you don’t think about eph trying to show off to you while training, looking back a little proud when he knows you saw it.. oh and DEFINITELY dont think abt eirika catching on and teasing him abt his crush on you.. on FOR SURE DONT THINK ABT— (i am dragged off the stage)

WHY A RE YOU LIEK THSI. EXPLODING U WITH YM MIND /POS /LH

[multific]

For Every Word You Give Me

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You’ve always struggled with your stutter, speaking only when you must, trusting only your husband with your voice.

The table stretched long through the hall, glittering with silver and candlelight. 

The meat was passed, wine spilt freely, and laughter echoed off stone walls, too loud, too sharp. 

You felt small in it all. Always had.

You sat beside Aemond, his hand lightly resting atop yours under the tablecloth. 

Your thumb moved slowly across his knuckles, grounding yourself in his calm presence, his heat.

His voice beside you was low and steady, “You look lovely tonight.”

Your lips curled shyly. You whispered back, “Th-thank you.” The words were soft, hesitant. 

But he heard you. He always heard you.

Aemond turned his head slightly, a rare softness in his pale eye. “Only I get to hear your voice like that,” he murmured. “I think I’m the luckiest man in all of Westeros.”

You blushed, squeezing his hand beneath the table. 

You never spoke much, the stutter made it hard, made you ashamed. You had grown used to silence, to ducking your head. 

But with him… you tried. He never looked at you with pity. Only devotion.

Then came Aegon’s voice.

Slurred. Loud. Drunk.

“You know, brother,” he called across the table, “I often wonder if your wife is mute or just terribly slow. The poor girl can barely choke out a sentence without sounding like she’s drowning in her own words.”

Your blood turned to ice.

The table fell quiet. The silence stretched long.

You looked down instantly, cheeks burning, eyes stinging. Your throat ached with humiliation, with all the words you couldn’t say to defend yourself.

Aemond stood up, abruptly. His chair scraped the floor.

“Aegon,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “if you ever speak of her that way again, I will remove your tongue and feed it to Vhagar.”

Aegon scoffed, raising his goblet. “Oh come now, I mean-”

“She is worth a thousand of you,” Aemond snapped. “You are unfit to speak her name.”

You were already moving, tears falling fast as you rushed out of the hall, heart thudding in your ears. 

You didn’t want to be seen. Not like this. You hated how weak it made you feel. How small.

You made it to your chambers and closed the door behind you, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. You pressed your back against the wood and covered your mouth to muffle your sobs.

Why did it always hurt like this? Why couldn't you just speak normally?

Minutes passed.

Then the door creaked open.

“Aemond,” you gasped, quickly wiping your face. “Y-you shouldn’t-”

“Stop,” he said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Don’t hide from me.”

You turned your back to him anyway. “I d-don’t… w-want you to see m-me like this.”

His arms wrapped around you from behind, firm and warm. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, his voice low against your skin. “You never have to hide from me.”

You shook your head. “I’m… I’m b-broken.”

“No,” he whispered. “You’re brave. Do you know how much strength it takes to speak when the world gives you reason not to?”

Your voice trembled. “You d-deserve someone b-b-better-”

“I deserve you,” he said, turning you in his arms. His eye searched your face with a mix of fury and reverence. “You, who give me your voice when no one else hears it. You, who I would kill for without hesitation. You are mine. And I am yours.”

Your lip quivered. “You r-really mean that?”

“I swear it on Vhagar’s fire, on my blood, on my love for you,” he whispered, cupping your face. “Speak only to me, if that is what makes you feel safe. I’ll carry your silence for the world, and treasure every word you give me.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks again, not from shame this time, but from relief. 

You nodded and leaned into him.

“I l-l-love you,” you whispered, voice fragile as lace.

His breath caught. Then he kissed you, deeply, as if that was the only answer he could ever give.

He pulled you to bed that night and held you until you stopped shaking. You fell asleep in his arms, his hand tangled in yours.

And for the first time in a long time, you dreamed without fear.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[sakuraszn]

ft. choso kamo

summary: how choso is as your boyfriend.

choso kamo who is possessive but quitely so, he doesn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene to remind you who you belong to. A simple glance, the way his fingers tighten around your body, or the way his lips ghost against your ear when he speaks is enough.

choso kamo puts you in your place gently but firmly, he’s not the type to argue. If you act out, he’ll simply back you into a wall, tilt your chin up, and whisper, “Try that again.” His tone is soft, but the weight of his authority is undeniable.

choso kamo who worships you like a princes, he loves caring for you, whether it’s running his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep or making sure you eat properly. But that doesn’t mean he lets you get away with everything. If you pout too much, he’ll chuckle before dragging you onto his lap, murmuring, “Don’t act spoiled unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”

choso kamo who has subtle but intense touches, he’s always touching you—brushing his knuckles down your arm, pressing his palm to the small of your back, tracing circles on your thigh under the table. It’s never overt, but it always lingers just long enough to make your heart race.

choso kamo who has a low, raspy voice that makes you weak, his voice is soft and deep, and when he murmurs, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, princess,” in that lazy, commanding tone, you have no choice but to obey.

choso kamo who is always in control even when he’s gentle, choso doesn’t need to raise his voice or act rough to assert dominance. It’s in the way he holds your chin, the way he whispers, “Be good for me,” with quiet authority. Even his softest touches feel like commands.

choso kamo loves taking care of you, but on his terms, he’ll brush your hair out of your face, fix your clothes, and feed you if he thinks you aren’t eating enough. But if you get a little too bratty? He’ll tilt his head and say, “You’re being difficult today. Do you want attention that badly?”

choso kamo where jealousy is subtle but dangerous, he doesn’t get angry, doesn’t make a scene. But if someone flirts with you, his arm will slide around your waist, his grip firm. He’ll lean in close and whisper, “You like testing me, don’t you?” before pulling you into his lap without another word.

choso kamo punishes with deprivations, If you push him too far, he doesn’t scold or yell—he just withholds what you want most. No kisses, no touches, just a knowing smirk as he watches you squirm. “You’ll learn patience,” he murmurs, eyes dark with amusement.

choso kamo who has casual dominance in public, a hand on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. Holding your wrist when he senses you getting restless. Fixing your necklace, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear—his touches always feel like a reminder that you belong to him.

choso kamo who pulls you into his lap without a word, whether you’re pouting or just being stubborn, he’ll solve the problem easily—by dragging you onto his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist, and keeping you there until you’re calm. “That’s better,” he hums, his voice deep and satisfied.

choso kamo who sleeps with a hand on you, whether it’s an arm wrapped around your waist or fingers loosely curled around your wrist, he always has to be touching you while you sleep. If you try to move, his grip tightens just slightly, pulling you back into him.

choso kamo who loves when you get flustered, he enjoys watching you stammer or fidget when he gets too close. He’ll lean in, lips barely brushing your ear, and ask, “Why are you blushing? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

choso kamo is an intensely loyal and devoted partner, someone who would go to any lengths to protect the one he loves. He’s quiet, observant, and sometimes awkward with emotions, but his love is unwavering and deeply felt.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[flwrkid14]

Take My Heart, Take My Name

Listen. Danny is a menace with affectionate nicknames, and Tim is so weak for it.

It starts small, a casual “hey, babe” here, a “thanks, darling” there. Tim thinks he’s fine at first—sure, his heart skips a beat, and yeah, maybe he has to take a moment to compose himself, but he tells himself it’s no big deal.

Except then Danny takes it up a notch, like he’s testing Tim’s self-control.

Honey. Danny calls Tim honey one night and Tim seriously thinks it's game over. He's done for. Finished. Danny could ask him to jump into a Lazarus Pit, and Tim would already be in mid-air. “Hey, honey, can you grab my jacket?” Yes. Yes, he can. He can grab Danny’s jacket, his wallet, his hand in marriage—whatever Danny wants.

And just when Tim thinks he’s adjusted to that, Danny has to go and casually destroy him again.

“Morning, Polaris,” Danny says, voice soft and warm, and Tim nearly drops his coffee mug. Polaris. His chest tightens at the word, at the meaning behind it. The North Star—the one constant in the sky, the guide through uncertainty. That’s how Danny sees him? It’s almost too much. Tim has to physically turn around and pretend to check his phone, hiding the way his face burns and his throat tightens with something dangerously close to tears. Danny doesn’t just say it like it’s some throwaway nickname; he says it like it’s a promise, like he’s quietly reminding Tim just how much he means to him.

But the real killer? The absolute fatality? It’s when Tim overhears Danny talking about him to someone else.

“Oh yeah, Tim’s amazing,” Danny says, casually. “My man’s the smartest guy I know.”

My man.

Tim’s entire world stops. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he exhales a few seconds later, completely dazed. My man. It’s not just that Danny’s saying it; it’s the way he says it. The pride in his voice, the casual possessiveness, the ease with which he claims Tim like that—like they’re already this unshakable thing. His. And Tim can’t believe it.

It doesn’t matter that they’ve been together for a while; hearing Danny claim him like that still makes him feel like he’s the luckiest person alive. Every time Danny says it, Tim can feel his heart racing, his head spinning.

And how could he not? He wants to give Danny everything. Every inch of himself, every breath, every dream, every fear. Tim wants to live his life wrapped in Danny’s laugh, stitched into the fabric of his love. If Danny wanted proof, Tim would carve his devotion into the stars themselves, would pluck out his own heart and place it in Danny’s hands as an offering. He’d give up anything, anyone, just to keep Danny smiling like that, to hear him say my man again.

Tim’s in a puddle, utterly lost in the warmth of it. His chest tightens, and he can’t stop the little smile that’s spreading across his face. My man. That’s his Danny. And God, if this is what it feels like to be loved by him, then Tim’s never going back.

And the thing is, Danny knows exactly what he’s doing. The way Tim lights up whenever he calls him something sweet? The soft little smile he tries to hide? Danny lives for it.

“Baby, are you okay?” Danny asks one day when Tim is just staring at him, dazed and lovestruck.

“Yeah,” Tim mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I just… like when you call me that.”

Danny grins, leaning closer. “What, baby?”

Tim nods, face bright red.

And from then on, it’s over. Tim is officially a nickname addict. Sweetheart, baby, honey, love—he eats it all up. It’s his lifeline. His kryptonite. And the best part? Danny never holds back.

[devotion-disorder]

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

Oh noooo....I'm just a naive human lost in this big forest with no one waiting for me...would be a shame if some beautiful elves whisked me away and brainwashed me into thinking I'm their pet/breeding machine and only need their "love and devotion". That would be terrible /silly

- 🩵

wdym the beautiful elf men do not, in fact, have my best interests in mind and were planning something nefarious from the start </3 I was just gonna write down some quick thoughts but it kinda got out of hand LOL

Content warning for: implied drugging (hypnotics, aphrodisiacs), dubcon/ noncon touching (nothing explicit though), manipulation, slight obsessive/ yandere themes, general elven condescension?

Imagine that you’ve accidentally wandered too deep into the forest and lost your way, your shoes hardly holding up in the rough terrain, and the last remaining rays of the setting sun are snuffed out by the overgrown foliage…

To make things worse, you walk right into some sort of trap - a stumbling step is all it takes to activate the runic trip switch, and a suffocating cloud of purple gas is the last thing you remember before things fade to dark…

How clumsy of you! Good thing Priest Killian happened to be on his evening walks when he spotted your pitiful form twitching and writhing in the hunting trap he’d set up; carefully he scooped you up and went his way back to the village. Only the most observant would be able to discern that the Priests’ unmoving smile seemed a bit wider than usual.

It was a trap the elves set up for hunting animals, he’d explained. The poison was almost enough to be fatal, had he not been there in time to save you. It’ll also take a bit for all the toxins to be out of your system. No worries though, because Killian offers to take care of you in his quarters until you’re up on your feet again. 

You don’t even remember if you’d managed to give a response, what with lead-heavy limbs and relentless migraine pulsing in your head. Luckily, Killian treated you with utmost care. 3 meals a day (along with the antidote treatment) brought to your bed (well, his bed), and spoon-fed to you because you were too weak to even sit up. He massaged your stiff muscles and brushed your hair. He ran warm baths and washed you – and even then he never opened his eyes – so at least there was some comfort in that.

Under Killian’s care you gradually regain your strength, save for the occasional dizzy spell and fatigue. But he saved your life after all! Feeling indebted to him, you offer to stay longer in the village to help around. While Killian’s expression is ever-unreadable, you can’t help but sense a bit of…amusement from him upon your suggestion. Regardless, he agrees – so long as you agree not to wander too far outside the village, because it’s very dangerous out there, he said.

And of course, he maintained a watchful eye over you, shadowing your tottering form as you went around introducing yourself to the other villagers. How cute.

You worked whatever odd jobs the elves had for you. which isn’t much at all. Mostly just menial tasks, or perhaps relaying messages. Things that they could’ve easily done themselves with their magic, but it’s fun watching an over-enthusiastic little human do it instead, so eager to please. You would say they are…endeared, perhaps. Or maybe they’re just looking out for you, what with your unfinished recovery. Anyhow, the elves are charmed by the newfound presence in the village.

Killian gifts you a new set of clothes, made by the local tailor (you don’t remember visiting a tailor for measurements at any point though, strange). To help you feel more at home, he said. It's pretty, a delicate garment that flutters cool against your skin in the warm summer heat, with an unmistakably elven style of elegance. It is a little short but, well, elves are known for being tall so maybe they're not used to human proportions? The white silk is a bit sheer in places, and you tried to ignore how it clung to the contours of your body when you sweat…

You hadn’t expected elves to be so openly affectionate. Being a long-living race known for their high culture and intelligence, it made for the perception that they were maybe a bit prudish, engrossed in their endless pursuit of finer things to care about lowly desires. But you suppose the elves are as curious of you as you are of them. You got to know some of them quite well, and soon it was routine for them to envelop you in their embrace. They pet your hair and nuzzle into your neck (Killian said something about how common skinship is in elven culture), at times slipping their digits beneath your clothes…sometimes you don't really remember, because the medicine still made you a bit sluggish. But it's ok! Their affectionate nature is a surprise but one you welcome. You think. 

During all of which, your treatment continued. Just a little longer, Killian promised. The side-effects seem to show no sign of waning, if not worsening at times. Sometimes you struggle to recall what has happened and what has not. The elves didn’t seem to mind, gladly cradling your tired body when you are overcome with sudden bounds of weakness. You poor little thing, they cooed, one hand combing through your hair to distract you from their other that wandered along your body.

Some days the medicine leaves you feeling more flushed than usual, and a strange feeling you can’t quite place invades your senses; a deep, frustrating kind of yearning that throbbed in your core. You assume it's the side-effects of advanced elf sorcery/ enchantment in your antidote treatment. It’s a tad embarrassing, but you can’t really do anything about it when the elves (if not the Priest himself) check in on you so frequently. 

Your only reprieve comes when Killian slots himself snug against your smaller form at bedtime. Were you always this close? You’re not sure if you recall, trying desperately to suppress the suggestive thoughts flooding your brain. His cool hands trail over your body, and it feels way too good against your overheating skin, so good that you can’t even think about resisting as his lips come crashing on top of yours, when he slips his arm underneath your waist to push you closer, closer against him.

Stumbling out of Killian’s quarters in the dead of night, confused, and your vision blurred by hot tears, all you can think about is getting away from him, from this godforsaken place. The other elves stepped out of their houses from the commotion. It was as if something in the air shifted. Their friendly, curious pretenses have dropped completely, leaving a ravenous hunger and unyielding need in their place. The way they leer at your body, the disheveled elven outfit failing to provide much cover, makes your hair stand on their ends. The elves close in on you, their concerned voices laced with something unmistakably sinister. You’re trapped.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor.

“Now, now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about our little one here, but everyone will have their turn sooner or later.” Killian explains. He leans close to your ear, whispering in a volume only audible to you. “Look at you getting everyone so riled up already. Aren’t you such a needy little pet?” You’re paralyzed in fear, but his husky voice in your ears is still setting your nerves alight. 

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you let me 'take care of you' back at home,” his arms snaked around your body again, lithe fingers fanning across your thighs. “Or we’ll give everyone a show, and maybe let them get...a preemptive taste, as well. What’ll it be?”

[si3rren]

si3rren presents…

˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐

minors dni

comment if you wanna be a part of perm taglist!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

hii im siren 🧜‍♀️ Welcome to my Enhypen masterlist! Here you’ll find a mix of soft, romantic fluff, steamy smut (18+), and darker, twisted concepts. Every fic is purely fictional and written for entertainment — nothing reflects the real people.

💌 I aim to create stories with strong buildup, rich tension, and emotional depth — whether it’s soft kisses under the stars or darker, more dangerous obsession.

⚠️ Please read individual warnings for each piece before diving in. Some works may explore mature or disturbing themes. I do not write smut for Ni-ki as he is not an adult — only fluff with slight sexual themes and dark content without smut.

OT7

Blame It On Soju | OT7 - When a few too many drinks loosen your lips, you start shamelessly flirting with your closest guy friends — and they’re not ready.

YANG JUNGWON

Home is Where You Are - bf! yang jungwon x fem reader | domestic chaos | tooth-rotting fluff | established relationship

Say It Again - tutor!yang jungwon x fem reader | academic romance | slow burn | fluff & smut | language learning setting | jakey lowkey setting the reader and jungwon up

Hold Still - yang jungwon x fem reader | enemies to lovers | smut | banter | dance rivals | filthy tension | soft aftercare | YEARNING!!

MIND GAMES - dark!jungwon x fem!reader | based on Mind Games by Sickick | psychological thriller & twisted romance | modern city AU | slow-burn obsession | manipulation masked as love | power imbalance | savior complex gone wrong | emotional entrapment | lovebombing turned control | delusion vs reality | “if I can’t have you, no one will” energy | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Knuckles, Bruise, Heart - quiet brute!jungwon x fighter!fem!reader | weak hero AU (??)| enemies to allies to lovers | fists-first trust | trauma bonding | found family | earned tenderness | eventual smut | brutal past, soft future

Real Men Love Cats - cat dad!yang jungwon x chaotic cat mom!fem!reader | strangers to lovers | chaos-meets-softness tension | pure fluff

intruder! yang jungwon x fem!reader | cnc roleplay au | loving couple outside the scene | degradation kink | submission through resistance | power imbalance play | spit-heavy oral | objectification & humiliation | domestic to feral | consent through control | breaking character | CNC ROLEPLAY CONTENT AHEAD!

If I Plead Guilty - "You hate him. He hates you. Until he starts protecting you." (only available on wattpad & ao3)

Crash Landing on My Mission - civilian!yang jungwon x agent!femreader | filthy smut | high-stakes action | forced proximity | tension-fueled romance | praise kink | jealous!jungwon | emotionally whipped | aftercare in safe houses

The Garden Left to Rot - groundskeeper!yang jungwon x guest!femreader x cult counselor!kim sunoo | obsessive romance | cult horror | forced devotion | ritualistic sex | jealousy and rivalry | fucked-up love triangle | knife kink | corrupted comfort | you will belong to someone eventually | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!

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KIM SUNOO

Plot Twist - bsf! kim sunoo x fem reader | friends to lovers | smut | banter

ALT + TAB to your Heartbeat - sunshine!twitch streamer! kim sunoo x goth! twitch streamer! femreader | twitch streamer AU | enemies to lovers | rivals turned raid partners | soft boy dominance x sarcastic brat energy | sexual tension laced with fluff | eye-rolls turned heart eyes | dom!sunoo but make it gentle | mutual pining, mutual bullying | gamer headset confession included

My Sweet Girl - psycho!kim sunoo x psycho! femreader | campus horror AU | enemies to obsession | power-play turned psychological warfare | smut | violence | degradation kink meets worship kink | control flipped, then shattered | final girl energy vs final boss delusion | DARK CONTENT AHEAD

Behind The Mask - ghostface!jay x fem reader x ghostface!sunoo | horror-thriller | dark smut | mask kink & betrayal | slow shift from sweet to sick | non con | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!!

The Garden Left to Rot - groundskeeper!yang jungwon x guest!femreader x cult counselor!kim sunoo | obsessive romance | cult horror | forced devotion | ritualistic sex | jealousy and rivalry | fucked-up love triangle | knife kink | corrupted comfort | you will belong to someone eventually | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!

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PARK SUNGHOON

First Time With 02Z Line - x fem reader | established relationship | smutty & fluffy | soft dom vibes | lots of praise | realistic pacing | consent-focused | virgin!reader

Pancakes and other ways he loves you - bf! park sunghoon x fem reader | small town rom-com | domestic chaos | tooth-rotting fluff | established relationship

Beautiful Waste - victim!park sunghoon x stalker!femreader | reader starts as dom | power struggle | degradation | dubcon/noncon dynamics | outdoor public setting | dynamic switch to dom!sunghoon | manipulation | DARK CONTENT !!!!

BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK - grumpy!sunghoon x sunshine!reader | friends to lovers | slow burn to confession | jealousy-fueled realization | club

Scream For Me - ghostface!park sunghoon x fem!reader | slasher horror au | best friends to brutal obsession | slow reveal | body horror & mindfuck romance | dirty phonecalls | final girl vs charming killer | smut | DARK CONTENT !!!

The Privileged Lie - golden boy!jake x scholarship!fem!reader x heir-apparent!sunghoon | elite university hierarchy | love triangle turned poly | dark academia x romance | enemies to obsession to shared ruin | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!!

To Be Touched After - lee heeseung x fem!reader x park sunghoon | dark romance | revenge thriller | trauma healing | love triangle | emotional smut

Nerd, Interrupted - down bad!bully!park sunghoon x nerd!reader | enemies-to-lovers | teasing → in love | slow burn | rom-com with emotional depth | size difference | mutual pining | filthy smut| shy but smart reader | possessive, whipped male lead

Nerd, Interrupted II

Teach Me - What starts as playful flirting lessons turns into real stolen glances, lingering touches, and two people quietly falling — one too scared to admit it, and one already too far gone. (only available on wattpad & ao3)

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JAY JONGSEONG PARK

Sweet Girl, Sweet Mouth - bf!park jongseong (jay) x fem!reader | established relationship | soft dom!jay | pure fluff turning smut | domestic intimacy | first time oral (reader giving)

First Time With 02Z Line - x fem reader | established relationship | smutty & fluffy | soft dom vibes | lots of praise | realistic pacing | consent-focused | virgin!reader

Behind You - possessed!Park Jongseong (Jay) x fem!reader | dark romance | horror | possession | obsession | smutty themes | established romantic tension | DARK CONTENT AHEAD !!!!!

How To Be A Real Man - provider! park jongseong (jay) x heartbroken!femreader | healing romance AU | angst & smut |ex-toxic love to safe love | emotionally mature comfort | slow-burn security | fluff-laced smut | stability kink | he cooks, he listens, he stays | no fixing men — he’s already whole. (💌 for the girlies who were never treated right)

RUNRUNRUN - obsessive!jay x emotionally intelligent!fem!reader | inspired by RUNRUNRUN by Dutch Melrose | strangers to obsession | dark slow burn to survival | trauma-bond tension | club meet-cute turned nightmare | protective to possessive | religious guilt x romantic delusion | “if I can’t have you no one can” | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Behind The Mask - ghostface!jay x fem reader x ghostface!sunoo | horror-thriller | dark smut | mask kink & betrayal | slow shift from sweet to sick | non con | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Anatomy of Rivalry - academic rival!jay x debate prodigy!fem reader | academic enemies-to-lovers | intense rivalry | slow-burn yearning | mutual obsession | filthy eventual smut | size kink | jealousy | desperate!jay | emotionally repressed man in love | praise kink | pin-you-against-the-desk tension | late-night library breakdowns | soft aftercare when the rivalry finally breaks

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NISHIMURA RIKI (NI-KI)

Stolen Mornings - bf!nishimura riki (ni-ki) x fem reader | established relationship | college au | fluff | rom-com softness | second-person pov | comfort | yearning and quiet love

One More Step - rival!nishimura riki (ni-ki) x fem reader | rivals to lovers | slow burn | fluff & light smut | performing arts college au

Night Shift - stalker!nishimura riki (ni-ki) x fem!reader | psychosexual thriller au | night shift isolation | voyeurism & stalking | obsession turning tactile | unwanted touches | dark fixation | powerless tension | DARK CONTENT AHEAD !!!!

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LEE HEESEUNG

Hot Ramen, Hotter Boyfriend - bf!lee heeseung x fem!reader | established relationship | pure fluff | domestic chaos | cooking ramen together

Petals Under Her Feet - journalist!lee heeseung x prostitute!femreader | historical setting | slow-burn romance | mutual healing | first love after betrayal | emotional comfort | soft domination | raw vulnerability | eventual filthy smut | romance-heavy with angst and hope

He Calls Me Trouble - brother’s bsf!lee heeseung x fem!reader | big brother’s best friend au | forbidden slow-burn | mutual pining | sexual tension | tooth-rotting fluff | confessions, kisses, makeouts, hickeys | he knows he shouldn’t—but he does

The Boy Who Came Back Wrong - tomie!lee heeseung x fem!reader | psychological horror au | obsessive immortality | dark romance | identity erosion | corruption through love | mind games and murder | inspired by junji ito works | DARK CONTENT AHEAD

To Be Touched After - lee heeseung x fem!reader x park sunghoon | dark romance | revenge thriller | trauma healing | love triangle | emotional smut

Under The Bed, Over The Edge - husband!heeseung x wife!reader | straight up filthy | domestic | smut | dumbification | aftercare

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SIM JAEYUN (JAKE)

Vein Theory - bsf! Jake Sim x shy! fem reader | friends to lovers | smut | hand kink

First Time With 02Z Line - x fem reader | established relationship | smutty & fluffy | soft dom vibes | lots of praise | realistic pacing | consent-focused | virgin!reader

I’m Gonna Marry You One Day - bsf!jake sim x fem!reader | university chaos au | friends to lovers | tooth-rotting fluff | chaotic comfort | mutual pining turned confessions turned first date

Somebody’s Home - sunshine!assistant!Jake sim x cold!ceo!fem!reader | corporate slow burn au | sunshine x ice queen | healing romance | soft dom energy | real love with real tension

The Privileged Lie - golden boy!jake x scholarship!fem!reader x heir-apparent!sunghoon | elite university hierarchy | love triangle turned poly | dark academia x romance | enemies to obsession to shared ruin | DARK CONTENT AHEAD!!

Still Waters - soft-keeper!instructor!jake x grieving-but-dangerous!reader | slow burn | dark romance | obsession unfolds | golden retriever → feral | manipulation | one-bed tension | trauma-bonding | filthy smut later | DARK CONTENT AHEAD

Sipping Diet Pepsi - goldenboy!jake x It!girlreader | lightly based on Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae | filthy smut | chaotic summer romance | lipstick stains & lap-sitting | brat x secretly-possessive | praise kink | car makeouts | obsession masked as sweetness | emotional aftercare | soft boy losing his mind for her

+++ will add more

✨ Thank you for visiting! Reblogs, comments, and feedback are always appreciated 💖

perm taglist - @yourislandgirl @luvr4gyu @staarflowerr @whattlulu @chae-rries @mariegibeau @wonuziex @iris65 @toastmenace @saraabbas

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© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[lyrille0-0]

Medical Prodigy: Chapter Three

Synopsis: In which a young medical genius gets kidnapped and somehow becomes a doctor for Gotham's most dangerous villains

Pairing: Yan!Platonic!Batfam x Neglected!Underground Doctor!F!Reader, Yan!BatVillains x Doctor!F!Reader

Warnings/Reminders: May contain dark themes, fem Reader, child neglect, mentions of violence, mentions of blood/bleeding, language, Batfam being delulu, bad writing (😔), age gap, Reader is around 18-19 years old in the current timeline, slight panic attack(??)

Chapter Guide: Masterlist, Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Damian always believed he was above emotional connections. He was raised that way.

They were nothing but a liability that stood in the way of one’s true potential. A burden that he, the son of the Bat and heir to the Demon, shouldn’t bother to bear. 

Then, there was you. His sister.

You were long gone by the time he first stepped foot in the manor. Missing, he soon learned.

What kind of Wayne would let herself be kidnapped? And by puny little criminals of all people. Surely, Father taught you how to defend yourself? Even five-year old him could take them down in a second. Why couldn’t you? 

You were weak, he concluded.

The moment those words came out of his mouth, Todd almost killed him.

The man was known for being violent, sure but Damian never saw him that determined to spill blood. And despite the lack of words from the others, he could tell they were equally triggered at how Damian belittled you.

That made him confused, irritated even. From what he’s heard, none of them were even close to you, excluding Jason.

So he started learning more about you. Who you were to this family. What makes you special. 

Your room reminded him of a scholar’s. A den of knowledge.

It was impressive, he’ll give you that. From basic human anatomy to detailed notes that involve manual and instrumental techniques to treat injuries and diseases that were incomprehensible even to him. Damian had seen and met geniuses both in his time as Robin and back when he was League member but they were nothing compared to this.

He thought that was it. This family was grieving the loss of a significant and useful tool.

But that was until he found your journals.

He would occasionally see Dick sulking inside your room while reading them. He found it pathetic. A grown man in tears after reading a teenage girl’s diary? How embarrassing.

But from the moment he read them himself, he understood.

Love.

Damian wasn’t completely unfamiliar with it. Despite her tough and cruel ways, his mother loved him. And when he arrived here in Gotham, his father and ‘siblings’ grew to love him too, regardless of their rough start.

However, never in his life has someone taken that love and devoted it to their life’s work. Every minute you wasted on studying, every ink spent on these pages was because you loved them. You were brilliant and excelled because you wanted them to see you and love you as much as you loved them. Hell, you even kept track of their health records. 

Suddenly, anger brewed inside Damian.

Anger at you for being so naive. Anger at his family for taking you for granted and having the audacity to mourn about it once they lost you.

They didn’t deserve the right. Not when they ignored you for years. Well in the very least, you had Todd for a significant time. 

Damian could feel himself turn green at the thought.

If he had met you then, would you shower him with love too? Damian wouldn’t admit it but he wanted that. Longed for you, his sister. His blood.

He had spent his life training to be the perfect assassin, to be ruthless and to show no mercy. He devoted himself to it just as you devoted yourself to learning. Just once, why couldn't he have this?

Because you were gone, he reminded himself.

Nonsense.

You were a Wayne.. He’ll find you, one way or another. You’re his as much as he’s yours. You belong here with him.

But for now, he’ll settle for what you have left behind. To learn you. So once you come back, he’s worthy enough to be called your little brother.

“If you wanted to hide something, you could’ve done a better job than this, Drake. It’s like you wanted someone to find out.”

Damian muttered under his breath, ejecting the flash drive and taking it out. He then tucked it in his pocket before heading out.

“Time to pay her a visit..”

Struggle.

That was all Jason Todd did for most of his life. Especially when his deadbeat father went to prison, leaving him alone with his drug addicted mother. He did what he could to keep them fed and stole car parts to earn money. And he continued that life even after his mother died.

He met you after a few days when he was taken in by Batman. Small, innocent and full of joy.

Jason hated you.

You were the only daughter of Gotham’s richest man. Spoiled and oblivious to what others face in the real world. You weren't even aware about their double life as crime-fighting vigilantes. You didn’t know what struggle was. He didn’t bother to hide his disdain, always shoving you away and scowling at you.

Yet you still kept following him like a baby duck, staring at him with those googly and eager eyes.

It was during one of his months of training as Robin. He was bruised up after a hectic session and he found you staring at him by the door, holding a first aid kit. He didn’t know why he didn’t bother to stop you. He was probably too tired to protest or maybe the curiosity inside him won against it. He almost laughed at how badly you patched him up, fumbling for the bandage before you managed to wrap it around his sprained ankle.

“I saw our grandpa’s books about healing people in the attic so I thought maybe I could try it.” You chirped, looking proud of your work.

“Our grandpa..?” Jason repeated, making you nod.

“Mhm! Our Grandpa Thomas! You’re my brother now so he’s your grandpa too.” You said it so casually that Jason couldn’t help but stare at you in disbelief.

Jason was an angry and reckless person.

His parents knew that. Bruce knew that. You knew that but in spite of it, you called him family. Your brother.

He should’ve let it go, ignored it. But it drilled into his mind, thawing away the frozen walls surrounding his heart. He started letting you in and spent time with you. He listened to your crazy rants about what organ does this and that.

You weren’t what he thought you were.

Not the spoiled brat that unknowingly walked over Gotham’s lower class with her designer doll shoes. You were a child, like him, looking for someone to see you and accept you as their own.

That was when he decided he’ll be just that for you, as you are for him.

Jason Todd has never been more thankful that you’ve never known struggle. And he’ll make sure you never will.

Jason wants to kill someone. Preferably Batman.

He just returned to Gotham and took up the mantle of Red Hood, now controlling several gangs all over the city.

Not only did he find out that he was replaced, you were kidnapped and been missing for almost a year before he arrived. And the fact that no one was actively searching for you made him rage, taking it out on everyone he meets. 

If he hadn’t left that day to look for that woman, you still would’ve been here by his side, safe and protected. Regret rained down inside his chest with a cloud of guilt and thunder of madness. Who knows what could’ve happened to you by now?

Were you trafficked? Kidnapped for ransom? God..are you even still alive? 

He retraced your steps and found the bastards that took you.

Anger and grief took over his whole body that night and he tore apart their limbs, one by one. He relished in the sound of their cries, their bloodcurdling screams echoing throughout Gotham city as he bathed in their blood. All for you. Not as Red Hood. Not as Robin. But as Jay, your big brother who failed to protect you. And not even Batman bothered to stop him.

Jason pushed his way inside the small clinic, his red helmet still attached to his head. He was already seeing dark spots in his vision and whoever the fuck was this doctor, they need to hurry up-

“Holy shit..Red Hood, right? You seem roughed up tonight.” That familiar, cheery voice was like a dagger to his chest.

He slowly turned around and there you were. For a moment, he saw eight-year old you, walking towards him with that bounce on your step and a grin that could put the sun to shame.

You were always like that when he came home. Looking at you now…was like coming home.

“You got cash tonight, big guy? As much as I would love to help, this is still a business after all.” You spoke, popping a candy into your mouth.

You look older. Your eyes are much dimmer now but it still has that same spark that would always light up when you see something that interests you. But you seem tired too. Have you been sleeping at all? It’s past midnight. You should be asleep by now-

“Hellooo?? Mr. Red Hood?” You took a few steps forward. He was about to reach out for you when he suddenly passed out, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Hey-! Don’t pass out on me! Mr. Hood? Come on! If you wanna pass out, you could’ve at least done it outside. Stop bleeding on my carpet! Where is Silas when you need him..?”

Jason gasped, quickly sitting up. He then felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen where his stab wound was. It was all stitched and covered up pretty nicely. He touched his face and realized his helmet was still on. He took it off and let out a relieved sigh, now being able to breathe properly. He was sweating terribly. Does this place not have AC-?

He froze when he heard the sound of glass shattering and quickly turned to where the noise came from. You were standing by the door, mouth agape with a shattered glass of water now before you. He tried to stand up but groaned from the pain.

“(nickname)..”

“J..Jay..but..? Wha..?”

It was your turn to faint.

“Damn it..!”

It’s been five minutes since you woke up and the two of you haven’t said a word. Jason cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence.

“..So you’re alive..?”

"..."

“I’m alive?! Why the fuck are you alive?!”

He flinched at your harsh tone. Christ, where the hell did you learn how to speak like that?

“Yeah um…that’s a bit of a long story.” He muttered out as he scratched his head, not knowing where to start. You crossed your legs and straightened up. “I have all day.” 

He scoffed and shook his head. “I’ll tell my side of the story later after you tell me yours. Didn’t you get kidnapped?!”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And now, I’m a doctor.”

He let out a sound of frustration, burying his face in his palms.

“I’m being serious, (name).”

“That’s literally how the story goes-”

“You’re just being difficult.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.”

We took a 15-minute break, for the sake of his sanity.

You got up and began to examine him like he was a crime scene while he sat there just taking in everything that’s happening.

“You look different. Older, obviously. But there’s something off…and what’s with that white tuff of hair? Is it just me or are your eyes green? Did you really die?”

He tried to look serious, fighting the urge to smile as you went back to that adorable curious little kid that asked annoying questions.

The (name) he knew.

He couldn’t help it and he pulled you into a tight, bone-crushing hug. A minute flew by and he felt your arms wrapped around him as well, a sob escaping your lips.

“..don’t leave again.” You whispered against his neck.

“I won’t. Never again.” A promise. An oath. One he swore he’ll never break again. 

In the warmth of their embrace, the years of grief melted away. Jason clung to his little sister tightly, his tears like a whispered promise. A vow to never let go again. And God help those who take her away.

“So…let me get this straight. There’s this magic green water that could basically heal anything, make you look younger and even resurrect the dead?”

You looked so excited, swinging your legs back and forth while you both sat on the edge of the rooftop. Jason’s lips quirk up into a smirk and nodded, confirming what you said.

“Don’t you understand how amazing that is?! It’s groundbreaking! Groundbreaking!” You emphasized, your hands up in the air making weird gestures.

“We could do a lot with that thing. It’s the next step of modern medicine! If we could just get a sample-”

“Hold on there, mouse. Maybe try and slow down for a bit, yeah? I’m not letting you go there. And ya definitely don’t want to mess with the league.”

You frowned in disappointment, making Jason feel a tad bit bad but he stood firm on his words. He just got you back and he’s not gonna lose you again because you wanted to experiment on Lazarus pit water. It made him go insane, who knows what it could do to you?

Thankfully, you didn’t pry on it further but knowing you, you’ll be thinking about it for days.

“So..why didn’t you go back?” He couldn’t help but ask.

If you weren’t being held against your will, why didn’t you come back to the manor? At least there, you were safe and not..working with all kinds of criminals. The thought still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You looked away, suddenly finding the cars on the road interesting. You hummed in thought and shrugged.

“I dunno…”

“(name).”

“Does it matter, Jay?” You snapped, furrowing your brows as you turned your gaze back to him.

“There’s nothing left for me there. Not when you were gone. Not when everyone acts like I don’t exist. I can’t even go to normal school or use the Wayne name to grab onto opportunities because Dad didn’t want anyone to know about me. I thought you wanted me to be a doctor? I’m one now! A great one at that. I can do whatever I want and I’ve practically grown my research to a large extent.”

“That’s not the point. Your patients are villains, (name)! No matter how much you think they need you, they could and will kill you if they wanted to. Why can’t you understand that?! Could you even imagine how devastated I was when I found out you were missing? huh? I tracked down those fuckers who took you and tore their limbs apart and fed it to the dogs-!”

Jason then realized how tight he was gripping your shoulders and loosened them. His lips trembled as he let out a shaky breath.

“You understand why I’m worried, don’t you mouse?”

"..."

“..I’ve done things, Jason. I've killed. I’ve dissected people. Dead and alive. I can’t go back now when I’m in too deep. Dad is gonna-”

“Bruce isn’t gonna do shit. And those people you’ve killed? The world would be better off without those petty crooks. Just come back.”

“..No.”

“No?”

You grit your teeth and push him away, getting up from the edge and backing away.

“You don’t understand. I’ve worked so hard..! You don’t just get to drag me back!” You were spiraling now. Jason followed after you, taking a few steps forward.

“Don’t.”

He froze and just watched as you scurried away, leaving him alone at the rooftop. He stood there for a few minutes and processed what just happened.

His jaw then clenched, veins popping out of his forehead. When the hell did you get so stubborn? Why couldn’t you just understand that he wants to protect you?

His mind went back to when you were rambling about what you’ve been doing for the last three years before his eyes glinted with dark intent, as if realizing what could be the source of your behavior.

…Silas, was it?

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was even holding once I got back to my apartment. I held onto the frame and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths.

..Inhale..exhale..inhale..exhale..

My eyes fluttered open and my chest went steady again. Damn it..so much for reunions. I hit my head against the wall and sighed, cursing myself internally.

My thoughts were then interrupted once I heard someone move inside the kitchen. I felt a pang of dread coil its way again into my gut as I slowly made my way towards the sound.

Taking out the gun from the one the bottom cabinets, I held it tightly and peeked inside, trying to see who was there. As I scanned the kitchen for intruders, I caught a glimpse of that familiar red and green color scheme.

Robin? Was it Tim? Did they find out?

I jumped out of my spot and aimed the gun at the intruder, only for it to fly out of my hands a second later. I blinked and looked down at the firearm now resting on the floor. Well, at least I tried.

“..tt... you could’ve done a better than try silly acts of defense such as that.” The boy scoffed, as if repulsed at the way I defended myself.

Wow, rude much?

I took a good long look at him, both wary and confused. I straightened myself up and finally spoke, still on my guard.

“Who the fuck are you?”

a/n: dont know whether or not i should like this chapter 🥲 hope ya'll enjoy!

Taglist: @shinning-stars ; @spiced-apple ; @yvanill4 ; @inayouboo ; @shqyou ; @lunar-celestial-artist ; @1abi ; @starsandshht ; @mentallyilldarling ; @misaki-kira8 ; @bloessom ; @amandjslpz ; @whoreforfictionalmen18 ; @cupid73 ; @neverano ; @ironsaladwitch ; @nonetookind ; @itsmossy ; @sad-girl09 ; @mys0cksrwet ; @vdkaredbullsblog ; @degenerates-posts ; @ratchetprime211 ; @yandereheros ; @marekmybeloved ; @panda7472 ; @senya-zimm ; @silveritydreams ; @cherriesherry ; @qc0rminix ; @vr00m-vr00m ; @otakusimp1 ; @time-shardz ; @alishii ; @rl800 ; @gluttonousriceflour ; @natllo ; @theall-seeingone ; @maskedvoyance ; @sereinitysmind ; @starssfall ; @ratatata-u ; @blapbloep ; @acreativeusername ; @chuuya-brainrot ; @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee ; @i-am-fork ; @tired-human09 ; @unclearblur ; @nymphzy0 ; @qardasngan ; @iamaunknownsecret ; @justwantsleepandcoffee ; @rae-codez ; @rebeccawinters ; @findingjaxx ; @cl0udii-m00n ; @wpdarlingpan ; @magdalenacarmila

[svtswhorehouse]

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader genre: sfw, mafia au, parent au, fluff, humor warnings: girl dad! cheol, mafia boss! cheol, husband! cheol, wife! reader, mom! reader, mentions of weapons, mentions of seventeen as uncles, soccer dad! seungcheol, physical altercation between middle schoolers, seungcheol almost kills someone — keyword: ALMOST word count: 1.8k synopsis: you preferred to think your daughter was quite like you — patient, kind, loving. but moments like this, charged by lethal stubbornness? yeah, that was all seungcheol.

sidenote: i would like to personally thank my late night scenarios for this idea. i know we're all weak for dad! cheol crumbs.

Choi Seungcheol, once ruthless, cold, and a force to be reckoned with – now turned – Choi Seungcheol, a softie at heart, a devoted husband, and the world’s number one girl dad. 

You barreled into his life when he least expected it, throwing him for a loop and taking him by surprise. All of a sudden, the big bad mafia boss that ruled an empire with bloodstained hands, was being taken down by the one thing he promised would never get in his way. 

When you first met Seungcheol, it was what you could have considered wrong place, wrong time. You had somehow managed to obliviously get in between a deal he was making. But when he stood before you seething with rage, you were utterly unimpressed by the power he wielded. And over time, as the universe decided that you two were meant for each other and you constantly crossed paths, you began to see the man beneath the reputation he was known for. 

Love in his world was a liability – and Seungcheol had never tolerated weakness. But somehow, some way, you made it impossible for him to breathe without you. God forbid, a man needs a source of oxygen. 

Cue the wedding bells, your “special day” was not what a typical woman would have dreamed of. But even despite the chaos, being surrounded by some of the most dangerous criminals and your newly appointed husband taking a shot to the shoulder –  to you, it was perfect. And Seungcheol, well… one day he was orchestrating power plays with precision, and the next, he was standing in a pastel pink nursery arguing with you over which baby monitor was better. 

He claimed that having Jihoon bug the room was the safest option. You on the other hand – plump, round, and very much pregnant, claimed that you would send a pillow hurtling straight for his face if he didn’t stop being a helicopter parent. For crying out loud, your baby wasn’t even out of the womb yet. 

When your daughter was born, everything shifted drastically. In a world built on vengeance, power, and cruelty, she was the sunlight. No one – not you, not Seungcheol, not even his men, stood a chance against this little girl who’d broken down walls and softened hearts. Suddenly, grenades were traded for baby bottles, weapons for pacifiers, and juice boxes were carried around in concealed holsters meant for pistols as she grew. 

With each passing year, the similarity between Seungcheol and your daughter became harder to ignore. Whereas your husband carried a gun, wreaking havoc in the underworld — your child brought a ball, wreaking havoc on a field. 

The rays of sun beat down on you, causing the metal bleachers to feel hot against your skin. You use your hand to fan yourself down, beads of sweat already forming on your hairline.

A middle-school soccer game was certainly not the place you wanted to be during the worst of the summer season. But still, as proud parents, it was your and Seungcheol's duty to show up for your daughter. 

You glance at the man next to you. Despite donning a regular black t-shirt and loose-fitted jeans, he still stood out amongst the crowd of suburban fathers. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes focus on the field or the way his jaw tenses as if he’s ready for someone to start a full on bullet war — but in the end, he somewhat compares to the rest. Just another husband sporting a “soccer dad” hat that his wife forced him to wear. 

Your fingers reach out to loosely intertwine with his, keeping him grounded when you notice the way he grips the bench. His gaze tracks the middle schoolers on the field, where his pride and joy was absolutely wrecking the competition.

Give her a soccer ball and you can promise that your daughter turns into the monster your husband does whenever he’s pointing a barrel at someone’s head. She was fast and fearless, weaving through players even if they were twice the size of her. 

Seungcheol’s body leans forward, anticipation coursing through his veins as he watches his little girl near the net. She just barely escapes the gang up of two players on the opposite team, and with a forceful kick, she sends the ball flying right past the goalie’s head.

Immediately, Seungcheol explodes off the bench. “Aha!” His voice booms. “That’s my girl!” He points to her dramatically as if she’d just won the World Cup. Some parents turn to look. Others chuckle. There are a few who grimace. But you only giggle, gently nudging him back to take a seat.

“Very subtle Cheol.” 

He grins, plopping beside you. “She’s good at what she does – gets it from me.”

You raise a brow, looking at him in mild amusement. “Seungcheol, baby,” He turns to face you, “Stick to what you know.”

Your husband scowls, knowing exactly what you were referring to – his harsh line of business. “Still my blood, babe.”

“Yeah,” You huff playfully, “Mine too.” 

Truth be told, she may be your child, but when it came to all things soccer, your daughter inherited her skills elsewhere. Her uncle Jeonghan, Seungcheol’s second in command, taught her everything she knows. Somehow, he was able to convert his talent of playing mind games to trickery on the field. Your child picked up well, her talent only growing as she got older. 

When Jeonghan’s duties became heavier alongside your husband, somehow your daughter managed to recruit someone else to fulfill the role of “coach.” Uncle Mingyu, who she once used as a jungle gym when smaller, seemed to be the perfect person. He reluctantly agreed. After all, no one could resist her puppy dog eyes (that reminds everybody way too much of her father). Mingyu was big and fast, the perfect person to treat as an obstacle between the ball and the net. It didn’t take long until she was playing better than a typical pre-teen, being able to beat her uncle’s in a sport she’s grown to love. 

You glance at the scoreboard, seeing that the opposite team is losing. No one stood a chance against your daughter’s team, especially when she was on the field. You find her easily, sporting a #17 jersey. She sidesteps two defenders, stealing the ball from the opposite team and taking off down the field. Others run behind her to catch up, but just as someone nears, she rockets the ball straight into the net. 

You and Seungcheol both clap proudly, celebrating the successful goal made by your child. Your moment of peace only lasts a few seconds before things take a turn. 

Your eyes track the players on the field, noticing the way a girl stalks up to your daughter angrily. She shoves at her shoulders, sending your child falling back onto the turf. 

You suck in a breath at the impact, watching as your daughter winces. Next to you, Seungcheol stiffens, hands clenching into fists. He goes to stand, but your arm shoots out to tug at him. 

“Sit,” You whisper.

Seungcheol only regards you for a mere second, eyes softening as soon as they land on you. However, much to your dismay, they darken once again when a man – presumably the other girl’s father – shouts. 

“Pathetic, maybe she should stick to the sidelines if she can’t handle someone roughing her up!”

Seungcheol’s head immediately snaps towards the guy. You can practically feel the fury radiating off of him.

“Care to repeat that?” His voice was low and dangerously calm, causing chills to run up your spine. 

The man furrows his brows, emboldened by ignorance. “You heard me,” He steps closer, puffing out his chest to try intimidating your (much more) muscular husband, “What are you gonna do about it?” 

Seungcheol’s lips curve into a deadly smile, one that promises regret. “Oh, I’ll show you what I’ll do,” He deadpans. 

You watch the interaction curiously, seeing Seungcheol casually untuck his shirt and reach underneath. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of something metallic reflecting in the sunlight, you take action. 

The gun only barely escapes from under the fabric before you’re clutching onto his arm, nails digging into his skin. “Choi Seungcheol,” You hiss. Your eyes widen in warning as you shove the weapon back before anyone can see it, “You start something and I swear to god, I’ll kill you before you kill him.”

Seungcheol blinks at you, caught between rage and obedience. But, because he was more scared of you than he would like to admit, and because your daughter was watching from the field, he huffs and grudgingly eases back into his seat. 

The other father smiles in victory as he says something instigating. You have to wrap your arm around Seungcheol’s bicep to keep him from pouncing, whispering into his ear, “It’s not worth it Cheol.”

When you finally feel him relax against your touch, dropping the argument – that’s when chaos erupts on the field. 

Your daughter, clearly having enough, picks herself right up off the floor. She confronts the girl who pushed her with a fierce determination that could only have been inherited by her father. Words were exchanged. Shoves were given. And as soon as the opposing player laughs in your kid’s face, you knew this could only mean no good. 

Your daughter – your sweet, loving, stubborn daughter – socks the girl in her jaw. 

Your mouth drops open in shock as you watch the exchange. Instead of hair pulling, your child resorts to punches, and needless to say – she was beating the other girl’s ass. 

“You get 'em baby!” Seungcheol darts up, his fist pumping into the air with pride. “Right hook! Just like I taught you!”

“Seungcheol!” You gasp, smacking his chest. 

Your husband has the audacity to look genuinely wounded by your scolding. He rubs at where you hit him, soothing the pain away. A small pout forms on his face, like he was the victim here.

“What?” He asks confused. “She has great form.”

“Don’t encourage her.”

Seungcheol playfully rolls his eyes when he sees your mouth twitch. He raises his brows when you finally break out into a smile, shaking your head as you turn to look away.

“She really is your child.” You remark fondly.

Seungcheol sits down, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The referee blows a whistle, rushing to pull the kids apart. It takes some effort, but with a tug, you both watch as your child is finally separated. You wince in dismay when you can catch sight of the damage done to the other girl, blood trickling from her nose and shirt slightly torn. The crowd murmurs in shock, but Seungcheol only gleams with pride as he kisses the crown of your head.  

“Like father, like daughter baby.”

[justarkive]

THE JEONS | smut drabble 3

Ass Or Tits? (…Both + 1) 🔞

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics + smut sometimes!

• chapter contents: smut!! unhinged devotion, horny affection, unprotected sex, chaotic couple energy, soft!kook but filthy smut hehe, body worship lowk. oral f receiving, anal play (rimming), nose in ur puss, tongue in ass, hands on tits… TRIPLE KILL. groping, nipple play, cum on skin, he rubs it in lol, mild spanking, face-sitting adjacent behavior?, he’s obsessed with ur ass fr, possessive!jungkook, one braincell between u both, sex but make it cinematic and unserious, romantic filth, giggly sex, “i wish we could do missionary and doggy at the same time”— and he fuckin does it… not QUITE. but he does it in his own way.

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking @pinkpunkdynamite @angie-x3 (check pinned to be added)

masterlist, series masterlist

Jungkook loves every single part of your body—and he makes sure you know it.

Your face? He kisses it. Slowly, obsessively, like he’s tracing every freckle with his mouth.

Your neck? He marks it. Low and dangerous, where only he gets to see.

Your tits? He’s no better than Hana, truly—always latched on, always greedy.

Your stomach? He’ll cum all over it, no shame, just moaning about how pretty you look covered in him.

Your pussy? Nothing compares. It’s his weakness, his damn religion. He’d pray to it if he could.

Your thighs? He bites them. Sinks his teeth in like he’s starving.

Your legs? Rubbed absently while you sit in his lap, his hand lazily stroking like you’re a pet he can’t stop touching.

Toes? Don’t test him. He’d suck them clean if you asked.

But your ass?

Your ass is where he dies.

Outside the bedroom, he’s no better. He’s got a hand on it constantly—squeezing, slapping, gripping it through your clothes like it’s his stress ball.

Oversized shirts and his boxers are his favorite thing you wear. He swears they’re dangerous. The way the cotton barely hangs on, the way your ass fills out those boxers too well—it drives him insane. And when you lift your arms to stretch and the shirt rides up just enough to flash the curve of it?

Dead man.

You know how weak he is for it. You’ve known for a while. And maybe that’s why you do it now—why you walk past him with nothing but one of his T-shirts and your ass on full display, glancing back with a smirk as you feel his stare burn into you.

You don’t even make it to the bed.

He’s on you before you can blink, dragging your hips back toward the couch, pushing you forward until your hands are braced against the cushions.

“Fuck—” he mutters, voice thick with reverence and hunger, already shoving the shirt up over your back, palms greedily gripping and squeezing. “Look at that. You know what you’re doing to me?”

You giggle, wiggling back into him. “No idea.”

He groans, lining himself up behind you, nudging his cock between your cheeks before pushing into you with a hiss.

“Gonna cum all over it,” he babbles, thrusting deep, dizzy. “So fucking pretty—fuck—you’re gonna let me? Baby, yeah?”

You can only nod, moaning as he hits that sweet spot over and over, breath stuttering with every bounce of your ass against his hips.

And when you say, “Do it, Jungkook—cum all over it,” in that breathy little voice?

He’s a fucking goner.

He’s thrusting into you hard—deep and heavy, hips slapping against your ass with every stroke, greedy hands keeping you exactly where he wants you. You’re whining, moaning, every sound caught between his name and broken curses.

You’re expecting him to say something filthy. Something sexy. He always does.

But instead—

“I wish,” he pants, breath hot against your shoulder, “we could do doggy and missionary at the same time.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he groans, thrust stuttering a little. “Like—if I could see your face and your tits and your ass at the same time? I don’t think I’d last, baby. I’d probably cum in, like, five seconds tops.”

You freeze for a second. He sounds genuinely mournful about it. Like it’s his greatest sexual tragedy.

And then—god, the image—you burst out laughing. Full-body shaking kind of laughter, muffled into your arm, your stomach tightening and your pussy clenching hard around him as you try to breathe through it.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook chokes. “Fuck—!”

You feel it before you hear it—the way his hips stutter, the low moan he tries (and fails) to swallow. You clench again by accident, and he gasps, pulling out at the very last second and barely managing to finish on your ass.

Barely.

You look over your shoulder, still giggling like an idiot.

He’s standing there, blinking down at you, looking like he’s just been personally wronged. “There’s not even that much,” he pouts, rubbing his thumb through the mess he managed to make. “That wasn’t fair. You cheated.”

You’re breathless from laughing, face smushed into the couch cushion. “I cheated?”

“You clenched. On purpose.”

“I was laughing!”

“Exactly!” He grumbles, smearing his cum across your skin anyway, palm wide and lazy over the swell of your ass like it’s his personal playground.

You hum, still giggling. “Come on, Kook. Make me cum.”

His complaints die immediately.

Gone. Buried. Forgotten.

His face is between your cheeks in a second—mumbling something that sounds like “not even mad anymore,” while his tongue drags through your folds with reverence, hands keeping you spread and trembling.

And you just grin, melting into the cushions, eyes fluttering closed while he eats like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Because, well. It kinda is.

Your back arches against the sheets, hands tangled in his hair, tugging without direction—just needing something to hold onto.

“Oh—fuck, Jungkook—fuck,” you whimper, eyes fluttering, thighs twitching. “Thought—thought you were a tits guy.”

His eyes flash up at you. He doesn’t stop. Not even a little. Just lifts his head barely enough to say, with his mouth still shining and open, “Say it again.”

You bite your lip, gasping through a moan. “Thought you were a—tits guy…”

He groans. Visibly. Like the sound rocks through his whole chest.

“Baby,” he says, voice low, dark, wrecked. “I’m both.”

He kisses your clit once, slow and soft, then moves down again, mouthing messily at your folds.

“But this ass?” He grumbles into you, nosing lower just to prove his point. “This ass has been fucking killing me lately.”

Your breath stutters out of your lungs, a high whine in your throat. You squirm, reaching down blindly until you find his hands, and guide them up—pressing them against your chest, your voice all whimpery and slurred when you pout, “But you’re leaving them out…”

He melts.

Like, literally. His whole body goes soft and gooey for a second, his hands squeezing gently over your tits like he’s petting something delicate and breakable, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your nipples.

“Cute,” he mutters, voice muffled as he dives back down between your thighs. “You’re so fucking cute, baby.”

You whimper.

He moans.

“You don’t believe me?” he murmurs, breath warm and wicked as it fans across your inner thigh. “Think I’m lying when I say I’m both?”

You can’t even form words—you just stare down at him, dazed and breathless, lips parted, body trembling.

“I’ll prove it.”

And then he does.

He kisses down your stomach, slow and sticky and worshipful, one hand staying high to cup your tits—thumb swiping over your nipple, squeezing gently like it grounds him. The other slides under your thigh, spreading you open wider than you thought possible.

And then—he’s everywhere.

Like literally.

Nose pressed flush to your clit, nuzzling against it like it’s his fucking home. Tongue dipping lower, deeper, licking into your ass without a hint of shame. And all the while—his hands never leave your chest. He’s palming you, groping you, kneading you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted and he’s been starved.

It’s obscene. It’s overwhelming. It’s all-consuming.

You cry out, loud and broken, as your hips jerk and your hands claw at his hair.

“Jungkook—fuck, fuck—” your voice is high and unraveling, thighs shaking around his head as your orgasm punches through you like lightning. “I—I can’t—oh my god—”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t come up for air. His nose still nudging your clit, tongue still buried inside your ass, hands full of tits like he’s living out the fantasy he once only joked about.

Missionary and doggy. At the same time.

Not quite, but close.

And you’re the only one laughing. A choked, dazed giggle slips from your throat even as you’re trembling, and the moment your body pulses again around his face—he groans.

Loud. Deep.

You cry out as you come, high and broken, hips twitching, hands fisting the sheets as your body pulses and clenches and pours out against his mouth.

And he—he licks it up like he’s starving.

Like it’s dessert. Like it’s devotion.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, half-laughing, half-crying, overstimulated and twitchy. “Jungkook—”

But he doesn’t stop.

You’re still coming down and he’s still between your legs, mouth still dragging along you like he could live there, like he wants to live there.

You have to physically pull at his shoulders, tugging him up, shaking your head as you whimper, “Stop, stop—baby, please—”

And then he’s crawling up your body, face wrecked, lips wet, chest heaving, and lifting you into his lap like he didn’t just destroy you. You’re a mess of limp limbs and overstimulated nerves, curling into him with a ragged breath and wide eyes.

You bury your face in his neck, trembling and wrecked, and mumble into his skin, “You’re insane.”

He grins—unrepentant and breathless. “And you’re cute.”

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The Twelfth House

☉ Sun in the Twelfth House There’s a part of you that’s always been just out of reach, not because it’s hidden, but because it’s sacred. You don’t crave attention. You crave understanding. You move through the world quietly, but there’s a glow inside you that never goes out. You may not always know who you are out loud, but in stillness, in solitude, you remember. Your identity isn’t a performance. It’s a presence. And it lives even in the dark.

☽ Moon in the Twelfth House You feel more than you let on. Sometimes you don’t even realize what you’re carrying until it shows up in dreams, or floods your chest out of nowhere. You tuck your pain into the softest parts of you, and protect it like it’s sacred. You’ve learned to grieve quietly, but your grief deserves a voice, too. The feelings you hide are not weakness. They’re memory. They’re love. They’re you.

☿ Mercury in the Twelfth House You don’t always speak what you know. Thoughts move through you like fog, deep, layered, hard to catch. You’ve been misunderstood before, so now you filter. You hesitate. But your silence is not emptiness. It’s depth. You carry truths in your subconscious that haven’t found words yet. And when they do, they will carry weight. You don’t need to be loud to be wise.

♀ Venus in the Twelfth House You love like a secret prayer. You fall for souls, not stories. You carry a tenderness that most people never see, and a devotion that doesn’t ask to be returned to feel real. You give love even when you know it won’t be held, because that’s who you are. You crave beauty that doesn’t fade, and affection that doesn’t ask you to be anything but soft. Yours is the kind of love that leaves traces in dreams.

♂ Mars in the Twelfth House Your anger doesn’t explode, it echoes. You don’t always act on what hurts. You internalize. Retreat. Try to fix it within before you confront it without. But this doesn’t mean you’re passive. You fight differently, inside your own mind, inside your own healing. The rage you suppress is the energy of survival. Let it move. Let it speak. You’re not dangerous, you’re learning how to hold fire in your palms.

♃ Jupiter in the Twelfth House You carry a quiet kind of trust, not loud, not naive, but deep. You believe that even in chaos, meaning will find you. You don’t shout your wisdom from rooftops. You carry it like a secret blessing. Some days, you give more than you have. Some days, you disappear just to keep your spirit intact. But always, beneath it all, there’s a current of belief: that something greater is holding you, even when you forget how to hold yourself.

♄ Saturn in the Twelfth House You carry weights that have no names. You feel responsible for things you can’t explain. You may not cry where people can see you, but you’ve built an ocean inside. You long for rest, but often feel you haven’t earned it. And yet… even in your quiet, even when no one knows what you’re carrying, you show up. Not perfectly, but fully. And that’s more than enough.

♅ Uranus in the Twelfth House Your wildness lives in secret. You want to break free, but from what, you can’t always say. You dream of disappearing and reinventing yourself in the same breath. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to belong, only be. And though the world doesn’t always understand your rhythm, you’re not lost. You’re just listening to a future that hasn’t arrived yet. A future that begins in your dreams.

♆ Neptune in the Twelfth House You live at the edge of this world and the next. You cry for things you can’t name, love people you’ve never met, and believe in miracles with no need for proof. Sometimes you get lost in longing. Sometimes you confuse illusion with soul. But you were never meant to live only in reality. You’re here to remind us that magic still hums beneath the surface. And that dreams, when nurtured, return us to ourselves.

♇ Pluto in the Twelfth House You’ve buried entire lifetimes inside your silence. Power. Pain. Transformation. You keep your evolution underground, like roots growing beneath the surface. The world sees your calm, but inside, you’ve died and resurrected a thousand times. Don’t underestimate the force of what you carry. You are a storm behind still eyes. You don’t need to show it to prove it’s real.

🪐 Every placement has a purpose. 📖 My book helps you uncover it, with clarity and depth.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey 👋 there just wanted to say I really like your art and how you flesh out the characters of the fatui.

Especially pierro

I was wondering if you’re taking requests, if you could make one about how reader is deeply injured to the near point of death and the fatui (separate)

Have different reactions to seeing their beloved almost dying and find the culprit or culprits involved and have them tortured or whatever their reaction is. And they later on stay by their side making sure they return to full health not knowing what they did for them.

(but in way I like seeing their cruelty for their reader getting hurt come to light and how they would feel.)

You don’t have to acknowledge this ask but it’s just something I think about

This request was asked by several anons and @ghost3029 ages ago. Apologies if I can’t tag all the lovelies here

✦ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia) 

(Slight tw: mention of injuries, blood, violence.) 

To be the enigmatic beloved of a Harbinger means to have eyes on you - some in awe, while others with ill intent. Luckily for you and your dear Harbinger, privacy is paramount no matter what his job entails. However, what happens when you venture too close to harm’s grasp, whether by accident or by someone’s design?

✧ When Pierro saw the dangerous glint in your eyes, he knew two things were happening: you had just been embroiled in a lethal fight, and you would faint in any second due to immense fatigue. He doesn’t call out your name or contort his expression into shock or trepidation. Because in split seconds, he sprints towards you, catching your collapsed form right into his arms. 

Limp and marred with wounds, even your unconscious state looks worn out as The Jester swiftly lifts you in his arms. He was undeterred by the sight of your blood slowly seeping out onto his immaculate white suit. No, the Fatui Director is a calm but unfazed man. 

“You always took matters into your own hands, my divine. Ever so willful, always overexerting yourself.” - Pierro murmured to himself, before turning to face the monstrous culprit who dared to harm you, a remnant of Abyssal Corruption. “However, for someone to raise their hand at you is a sin. My beloved might be merciful when granting death, but I – don't.” 

You didn't hear or register anything; the last thing you remember is Pierro's hand shaking as he held you tightly. When you woke up groggy, wrapped in the ache of healing wounds, you weren't shocked to see yourself clad in clean clothes, resting by a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside you was Pierro; unmoving, sitting. He never once left your room.

“For… How long was I out?”

“For a whole day, dear. Do not fret, the best doctors and healers in Snezhnaya worked swiftly to patch you up.” – his palm gently rested on your forehead, brushing your hair aside as he ensured your temperature was stable. Even his gaze, so often sharp with command, had softened, devotion etched into every touch or glance.

“A-and the Abyssal monster I fought? Is everyone safe…?”

“Hm? You still concern yourself with that? This dread is not yours to bear, my divine. How many times must I remind you that it is not your duty to dirty your hands? Rest easy instead. No filth will tarnish the peace I have built for us.”

✧ Il Capitano is aware you can defend yourself. He respects your might; he doesn't doubt your cunning strength. However, can he stand idle when the clash of steel begins and the threat of violence dares to draw near you? Can his heart bear witness as you endure blow after blow, even in triumph?

No, he cannot, and this is his weakness. His body cries out to quickly shield you whenever an enemy gets too close. Even when you're amidst the roaring chaos of a battle, he intercepts those who venture too close with relentless force. You were expecting that, but you groan in frustration either way:

“Capitano, this is not your battle. I can manage myself!”

“I will not let you barge into danger recklessly,” – he retorted. The Antumbra held steadily in his hands. “You're moving too fast.” 

He refused to move between you and the onslaught of corrupted abyssal monsters. For a man who often reprimanded you about being reckless, your beloved hypocritically used his body as a shield whenever you were in danger. 

“Thrain-!” 

He rarely hears your stern voice. But the call of his true name rendered him motionless for a minute, a tense silence riveting between you. Before either of you could add another word, an abyssal mimic wielding the form of a Ruin Guard aimed straight at Capitano’s back. However, you were quicker in blocking the massive creature, taking the blow instead.

After the waves of monsters dissipated, the battlefield was left in ashes. A few of the Harbinger's soldiers scavenged the aftermath in search of any injured. You, however, clutched your disheveled wounds. Turning to face Capitano, you were met with his eerily silent and pitch-black expression. 

“Listen, Capi,” - you began quietly, voice laced with guilt. “I'm sorry for… raising my voice like that. I only meant t-”

Before you could finish your mumbles, Capitano hoisted you up onto his broad shoulders and started moving away. 

“Hey, hey! Put me back! I was in the middle of an apology,” - you thrashed, wiggling against his back while he kept a very resolute grip on you. Being slung like a sack of potatoes after a harsh battle only doubled your shame. Especially when he gave you a tap on your hip to keep you still. 

“Shush. I've heard enough. I am dragging you to the infirmary myself,” – he added sternly, one hand holding you while the other carrying his sword. “And if it means throwing you over my shoulders and reminding you how to be inert, then so be it. Either your recklessness will kill you, or my heartache will end me instead.” 

✧ For a man like Il Dottore, dissecting near-lifeless forms beneath sterile light was a ritual long devoid of novelty. But when fate laid his beloved upon that same table, the clinical detachment in his gaze curdled into something far more lethal.

Your cuts were sutured and your bleeding staunched by the deft encirclement of his bandages. As your shallow breathing mellowed down, teetering on and off your consciousness, you scarcely perceived the taut silence in the lab, or the meek voice of the Fatui soldiers that brought you back: 

“We have delivered them safely, Lord Harbinger. As per orders.” 

“Brought them you did, indeed. But safely…?” – his gloved grip retracted from your bandaged limbs, like a coiled snake slithering back. “Spare me your excuses, this is nothing but a horrendous job done. One command, and you botched it: return them to me unharmed.” 

The Fatui soldier stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, though his head hung low. The Harbinger's eyes remained hidden behind the gleam of his mask, but the venom in his voice alone was enough to conjure the hell that would follow should any wretch dare to utter defiance.

“Tell me, if I shattered one of your bones for every drop of their blood spilled, would that seem just? Or maybe,” – he drawled, each syllable an iron weight, “For every stitch I had to use on their skin, and every roll of bandage used, you compensate by skinning your own limbs-”

The murderous tension was interrupted when your coughing echoed in the room – “... D-dottore?”

A single word, a call of his name, yet one that made The 2nd drop all his threats in an instant, kneeling on the cold stone floor beside your medical cot. “Yes, my dear, yes. Shh, I am here now. You're safe.” 

Your eyes fluttered toward him, the weight of exhaustion rendering your limbs motionless. Yet even then, you smiled faintly, reassuring him to keep his anger at bay, your fingers meekly reaching for his hand. You didn't say much, too drained to squander air that your body so dearly needed for healing. And Dottore didn't mind. Holding your single palm in both hands, he clasped it close and brought it to his lips. 

Like a heretic clutching an unworldly relic, he stayed there and held your wrist close to himself in a reverent prayer. As long as he could feel the quiet thrum of your pulse beneath his fingers, he would call down ruin upon Teyvat itself for every wound carved into you.

✧ Pantalone leaned closer in his seat, hand deftly reaching for the vial of saline as he pressed a dampened cloth to your wounds with deliberate tenderness. The Harbinger, ever composed in his peculiar cheer, wore his usual merry smile, opting to dismiss the servants and tend to your injuries with his own hands.

“Walk me through it again, darling, how ever did you end up with such dreadful scrapes?”

“Well, I'm telling you!” – you began with animated exasperation. “I was on my daily expeditions, doing my usual exploration around Jueyun Karst. A nice farmer on the way pointed me to where to harvest fresh Qingxin flowers. So I went on, but a group of Treasure Hoarder bandits ambushed me.”  

As Pantalone listened patiently, he continued to clean your wounds, ensuring even the smallest cuts were secured underneath a band-aid, his thumbs softly gliding over the bandages to ensure they seal onto your skin tenderly.  

“And- And then…! I went Pow! And then slash! I defended myself because they tried to steal all of my Mora. Thankfully, some local heard the ruckus and came to my aid. So, all in all, I got out of it with barely a scratch, in my humble opinion.”

The Harbinger shook his head, tidying up the bandage wraps before reaching to pat your hair – “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won't do, you silly. You must be more careful when adventuring in the wild like that. No matter how minor the danger may seem.”

You could only exhale a sigh of reluctant surrender. You knew he had a point, and you did feel the fatigue catching up on you now that you were back home safely. Thus, with a loving embrace and a goodnight kiss, you decided to retire for the night. Pantalone waved a cheerful goodbye, watching your personal servants following dutifully in tow as you left his study room. 

You’d sit and sulk, like a child reminded for the tenth time to be careful when playing outside. Even when you reminded Pantalone of the time you'd bested a Stonehide Lawachurl single-handedly, he'd merely sigh wistfully and kiss your cheek.  

“Oh, I know, I know, my love. But still, take it slow for a couple of days, will you?” - he kept his thumb gently running down your cheek, his smile imbued with quiet reassurance. “I’ve no desire to see you crossing paths with bandits again. Rest easy, darling.”

And the moment you departed? His charming smile immediately vanished. 

Without turning to face the bowing servant, he ordered courtly, his voice lacking the usual innocent warmth he used with you – “Report. Now.” 

“The intel came in from the operatives we stationed on route. The treasure hoarders they spoke of are being tracked as we speak, Lord Harbinger.” 

Pantalone drew in a measured breath, quelling the fire rising in his veins. Before you even made it back home to his arms, he had already received news of the attack. How was he informed so quickly? Simply because he stationed the best spies to blend into the backgrounds and keep track of your safety, so-called invincible bodyguards all bound by oath and coin to the Regrator himself.

The nice farmer you met in Jueyun Karst? The kind local who noticed the commotion when Treasure Hoarders dared to attack you? All Fatui Agents, steeped in stealth, honed in combat, disguised perfectly to serve as his eyes while you kept living the best of your life. Even the personal maids who help you with your usual nightly routines – the best of Fatui Operatives from the House of the Hearth, ordered personally to function as your closest bodyguards by the 9th.

Pantalone was no fool. He would never let his suffocating devotion eclipse your freedom, especially when you sought nothing from the Fatui. You deserved joy, unshackled and luminous, filled with wild adventures and quiet victories of your own making. He would never command the course of your life, instead, he would love you as you are, unperturbed by his status as a Harbinger.

But you don't deserve this worry. He would shoulder this dirty burden on his own.

“The Agents acted sufficiently,” – he noted dully, his ringed fingers intertwined elegantly. “Instruct them to continue tracking the Hoarders. It's clear they tried to use my beloved as leverage to get to me. Ensure each and every single one of them disappears. Make it quick and make it clean.” 

✧ Smash. Tartaglia raised his arms up, the club-like piece of wood was but a crude piece of a fence he grabbed on the go. Smash. He didn't even register when he picked it up instead of his Hydro Riptide swords. No, his set of weaponry would've been much more precise. Too clean for this job. Smash. This club is slow and would deliver a much messier message. Smash.    

When did blood get on his face? 

The Harbinger had already forgotten the face of the person he had just clubbed to the ground, their limbs broken; crimson blooming in grotesque contrast against the pristine white of snow. The cries and pleas went unheard, like a static buzz behind his temples, drowning out everything but the pounding pulse of rage. All he could think about was how warm the vivid red looked against white.

That is until your voice pulled him out of his haze – “Childe… Childe!”

He turned to face you, disoriented as to why you're looking at him in exasperated horror, your eyes widened, and your voice breathless. Ah, he remembered now. Someone called you the 11th’s lapdog, had dared to treat you like a gutter-born wretch, and seized your wrist with rough, presumptuous fingers. That's why he chose a random piece of a wooden log. And that's why he delivered a slow, painful message to this person over a merciful end. 

“... Oh.” – Harbinger stated simply, leaving the club to sink into the snow with a dull thud. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Did I take too long?”

Walking away, as if the whimpers of a bleeding man on the snow did not reach him, Tartaglia smiled at you. The luster in his eyes is still absent. 

“I apologize, sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen most of that. I got too distracted.” 

You remained speechless. Your silence clung to you like frost, your body still trembling not only from what happened, but from the visceral sight of it. Even when your beloved noticed that, trying to soothe you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he failed to realize you were probably shaken from the blood around his hands. 

“Come here, let's go home for now. I'm sorry, dearie, I'm sorry.”

Red, he thought again, warm like you against his cool skin.