#and have been seeking the time to sit down and make this part happen

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men with a big-chested reader

Pairings: Nanami x reader; Geto x reader (nsfw); Yuji/Sukuna x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,4k (she's big)

Warnings: THIS IS A FIC WITH A BIG-CHESTED READER! so if this triggers you, don't read it (especially in Sukuna's part, you might get triggered when having smaller boobs so just do me a favor and don't read it instead of leaving a sassy comment), boob play in Geto's part so nsfw, in general harassment but big old fluff from your faves, not proofread bc I have my final exam tomorrow - hope you enjoy! 🤍

Special thanks to one of my moots for letting me turn her cleavage into a cover for this fic - you look STUNNING + thank you to everyone who sent me their experiences for this!

Since I'm not big-chested myself, I'm calling all my big boobie girlies to leave me a lil review about this fic - it would literally help me so much 😭

Click here to get to the small-chested version

Nanami Kento

You sigh to yourself, too exhausted to even stand up straight anymore. Today was like a trip to hell and back. All those fucking curses, the death, the horror. You rub your tired eyes, the stinging pain in your back reminding you more than urgently that you have been up for way too long.

“You look tired, darling. Go change and get into bed with me.”

Oh, that deep voice behind you, the voice you learned to love to the moon and back. How did it even happen that a man like Nanami Kento was seeking interest in you? What was it that made a man like him even look your way? You’ve known each other for quite some time, seeing each other on missions from time to time. But when you began to work at Jujutsu High, everything changed so fast that you couldn’t keep up. And now you’re sitting here in his bedroom, watching in awe as he crawls into bed with nothing but his boxer shorts on.

You would love to get out of your uniform right now, But most importantly, you urge to take off that soaking wet bra that has been bugging you since afternoon. You have no choice, though. With a large chest like yours, it simply isn’t possible to leave the house for missions without extra support. You glance at him while he reads in his book, your gaze falling to your chest.

This isn’t exclusively about missions and you know it. Even though you’ve been together for a few months now, you were never brave enough to show Kento your breasts. Not without a bra, let alone completely naked. Just the thought of him seeing how your big breasts fall down when they slip out of their bra shells, the look on his face when he realizes that you don’t look like those large-chested models with their boobs standing like mountains. Yours definitely don’t. And you fucking hate it.

“I know that look on your face. You are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

His soft voice rips you out of your pondering immediately. Fuck, he caught you again.

“No…I mean…Yes, kinda…”

You can’t lie into his gorgeous face, not even when the truth makes you feel so uncomfortable. Oh, how much you wished you look the way he deserves it with delicious female curves that suit his flawless appearance. But as soon as you look down, you just know how awful your boobs will look when set free. So you’ll do what you do every night: wait until Kento is asleep to finally take off your bra only to set an alarm in the morning to get up before him and put it back on.

“I always wondered why you are waiting until I sleep to take off your bra and put it back on before my alarm goes off.”

You can’t help but stare at him, mind racing while your palms start to get sweaty. Fuck, how did he even notice? No, why did you ever think he wouldn’t? Kento cares about you like none other, never pushed you to take off your shirt, never failed to ask you how you’re feeling.

“Listen, darling.”

He gets off the bed and kneels down in front of the chair you are sitting on, gently taking your hand into his.

“I just want to make sure you feel comfortable around me. Am I the reason that you don’t want to take your bra off? I can see clearly how uncomfortable it makes you feel.”

“No!”, you blurt out immediately.

Calm down your tingling nerves, this is ridiculous. You stare blankly at your hands intertwined with his.

“I mean…It has nothing to do with you, it’s me.”

“How is this about you, love? There is no reason for you to feel uncomfort-“

“I’m afraid.”

You swallow hard. Are you oversharing? Will he laugh at you for something so ridiculous? But what if he sees you naked at some point, his gaze dropping to your chest only to be greeted by your large hanging chest? You can imagine the look of disgust on his face, how he turns away from you, how-

“Hey, look at me darling. Look at me and tell me what’s wrong”

He cups your cheek gently, forces your haunted eyes to look at him, to stare into his orbs filled with sincerity. There is no way out of this, you can’t lie into his gorgeous face.

“When I take my bra of my breasts just…hang. It’s even visible through my t-shirt…”, you mumble, cheeks redder than the devil.

Thick silence hangs between both of you, his gaze still as soft as before. What is going on inside his head? Is he secretly laughing at you, does he even care about what you have to say?

“Let me make a few things clear.”

He lifts himself off the ground and pulls you up. You squint your eyes, mind racing over why on earth he made you stand up. Is he going to leave, to laugh?

“First of all: I love you just the way you are. I love your gorgeous smile, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you carry yourself. And I love your breasts-“

“You didn’t even see them yet.”

“I don’t have to in order to know that”, he continues.

“Nothing makes me sadder than seeing you uncomfortable each and every night before going to bed. Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I imagine it to be really painful after some time. Isn’t it digging into your skin?”

Oh, you think about the countless times the sweat underneath your bra made you almost go insane, the red streaks that visibly show where the wire cut into your skin all day.

“It kinda is…”, you confirm with low voice.

“Don’t do this to yourself. I adore you just the way you are and I am dying to see you laying comfortably in your t-shirt next to me. So please, would you allow me to take it off for you?”

Your eyes widen in pure shock. Is this a bad joke, is he just teasing you? No, this is Nanami Kento. And the way he gazes at you with nothing but affection gleaming in his eyes tells you that he’s telling the true, that this is what he wants right now. But are you ready to expose yourself like this? What if he’s still disgusted after saying all those nice words?

You let your head fall against his chest, breathe in his delicious scent. A voice deep inside you tells you to stop, to just relax inside his arms. This is the man who chose you out of all people, who stood by your side no matter what. Kento proved more than once that he loves you dearly, never made you feel the slightest bit bad about yourself.

“Go ahead…”, you mutter against his chest.

His hands wander up your back gently, make shivers run down your spine until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Your heart simply stops when he unclips it through the fabric of your shirt. You fade into darkness as soon as his hands wander up to your shoulders, slide down the thick straps and pull down your bra until he finally lands on the floor.

Slowly, he takes a step back and picks it off the ground.

“You will never have to wear this again when you are home with me, okay? Not when it makes you feel so uncomfortable”, he gently speaks out.

You stare in awe while he carefully places your big bra over the chair and returns in an instant to pull you close against his chest.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

“Yeah”, you mumble, body slowly but surely getting flooded by warmth.

“Going to bed sounds good…”

Geto Suguru

You feel hot but at the same time cold, turned on but at the same time scared. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. At this very moment, none other than Suguru Geto is laying on top of you, kissing you so passionately that you forget how to breathe.

What an overwhelming feeling it is to call him your boyfriend for a few months now. Such a kind and loving man, always looking out for you, giving you the time you needed for this to finally happen. You couldn’t believe your own ears when whimpering that you want him, that you are ready.

But are you really ready for showing him that part of your body? The part that began too grow way too early in your life, the part you’ve always got picked on by all the other girls.

“Look, there she is! She looks like a cow ready to milk!”

“That cleavage…She’s literally begging for it, what a bitch.”

“Ew, are those pimples on your tits?”

You know you are better than that, that your big breasts just belong to you and that you should love yourself just the way you are. But with none other than Suguru laying on top of you, his hands slowly but surely coming dangerously close to your breasts…

“Wait”, you breathe out, haunted eyes making Suguru stop in his tracks in an instant.

“Did I do something wrong? If you don’t want to, we don’t-“

“No, this is great. I- … I waited so long for this. But I just wanted to let you know that…”

You swallow hard. Are you acting ridiculous, destroying the moment with your behaviour? Suguru’s chocolate brown orbs don’t show a hint of annoyance. Instead, he gently strokes your hair while waiting for you to move on.

He deserves to know it

“I might not have the nicest boobs. They are big, but not well formed like the ones of those models. I tend to sweat a lot underneath them, my skin breaks out from time to time and my nipples might be-“

“Stop that right now, (y/n).”, Suguru gently interrupts you with a grin.

But it doesn’t look like the grin of the girls who picked on you for years. No, this grin is filled with warmth and loves, fills you with what feels like confidence. After all, he said that he loves you just the way you are over and over, right? Still, he didn’t even see your boobs. What if he changes his mind?

“There is absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING about you that isn’t ‘nice’. I don’t care about what the chest of random models looks like, to be honest I don’t care about anyone but you. And you are everything I want, you are everything I see, you are everything I love.”

His words make you tear up in an instant, send your whole body into space. As long as you can remember, no one ever said really nice things about your breasts and therefore you. You were either insulted or sexualized. But that force of a man on top of you…He just looks into your eyes that are filled with nothing but warmth. This man means every word he says.

“Well, that’s cool”, you mutter without even thinking about your words, lost in the sheer sight of his sincere eyes.

There is no one in the world you want to show your boobs more. Like in trance, you pull up the hem of your shirt and let it fall to the floor mindlessly.

“Are you okay with me touching them?”, he purrs against your ear.

A silent whimper escapes your lips while you simply nod, whole body on fire where it touches his. Painfully slow, he lets his hands wander down your hair onto your shoulders, trace the line of your collarbones until he reaches…

Your breasts.

What an unknown feeling. But oh, what a sensation as well. You arch your back out of instinct while he massages your breasts, the feeling of his fingertips against your still skin alone simply driving you insane.

God, who would have thought you’d ever hear Geto Suguru moan against your ear by just looking, touching, squeezing your boobs? His eyes are darkened by lust, the way his heart pounds against his ribcage echoes through your very own body.

“You look absolutely gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at you, (y/n).”

You feel like flying, fainting, losing your balance. There is no doubt in the fact that this man adores you the way you are, that your constant fear of him not liking your large chest was more than unfounded.

“So…you don’t mind the way my breasts look?”, you whimper underneath his bittersweet touch.

“More than that, I adore you”, he replies in an instant. “And now, let me see you in your full glory.”

Yuji/Sukuna

You’re back feels like it might break every minute, shirt dripping in sweat in the sheer heat of the summer sun. You just want to get out of here, away from those disgusting people, back into your dorm. How stupid it was to leave Jujutsu High on your own for a little stroll through the city. Without the protection of Maki or Nobara, without any good friend who shields you from all the unwanted looks your large chest attracts. While most people think it must be a blessing, it definitely is a curse to you 80% of the time.

Just like right now.

“Come on, I just asked for one grab!”, a guy shouts after you.

Out of instinct, you pick up your pace, not even daring to turn around. What did you even do to catch his attention? You gaze down at your breasts that uncomfortably bounce up and down in the way too tight bra you are wearing today. No, you did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just these disgusting people who seem to see nothing but the size of your chest.

“Why would you want to touch her? She looks like a cow”, the girl next to him comments along with an ugly laugh, making your heart sting in an instant.

“What a slut”, another voice mutters.

“Oh, I didn’t know you are out today! How are you, (y/n)?”

Your heart almost stops inside of your chest, hands beginning to tremble in an instant. No, not him. Not right here when these people are chasing you. If there’s someone you don’t want to hear those things about you, it’s Yuji Itadori.

“J-just…l-leave”, you stutter.

“Huh? But I just met you! Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

“Look, the cow brought her friends!”

“Do you think he’ll get in her pants today?”

“What a lucky bastard, I’d love to touch them just once…”

Yuji’s face drops in an instant when realizing their words are directed towards you.

“Hey, there’s no need to be rude”, he begins but gets stopped by uncontrollable laughter immediately.

You want to die right here on the spot, disappear from the surface of earth. As if being treated like this wasn’t enough, why does it have to be Yuji who witnesses it all?

“Step aside, loser. Let me handle that.”

Sukuna leans forward in his throne, thick anger rising inside of his chest. You, the one who caught his eye when he first saw you. You, with the immense powers. You, with a dangerous mind that could end wars. Who are these people to talk to you in this manner?

“Are you crazy? I definitely won’t let you out right now”, Yuji replies in an instant.

“You aren’t able to help her brat, now get lost!”

“I won’t let you-“

Enough.

“Now who exactly do you losers think you are, huh?”

That voice, that aura? Your mouth feels dry like the desert in an instant, eyes widen in pure shock. No, this is impossible, Yuji is in control over his body, this can’t be-

“With tits like yours, I would be jealous of someone gorgeous like her as well”, he spits at one of the girls following you.

“And you.”

With a swift motion, he grabs on of the guy’s wrists roughly. Just a little more pressure and it will snap.

“P-please. Don’t!”, you shout after him.

Urgh, why does your begging voice make his grip loosen in an instant, what is it about you that made him switch with this brat anyway?

“Were you really just trying to touch her chest? Thinking just because she has a big chest, you are allowed to touch her, to sexualize her, huh? You humans disgust me with your simple desires”, Sukuna continues.

“If it wasn’t for her unshakable character, I would kill every single one of you right on the spot. But for now-“

In the matter of seconds, all their arms hang in unhealthy directions, visibly broken by the sheer force of none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

You want to scream at him, want to run away, want to get away from this place. But on the other hand, a warmth fills your chest. Did the king of curses just stand up for you, protect you from their rude comments?

“Get going”, he barks at you.

“This was unnecessary”, you mumble.

“And give Yuji back.”

“You should be thankful, (y/n). They will worship you for the rest of your life.”

“No, they will be scared of you for the rest of their lives”, you clarify, hands still trembling.

“So what? Nobody gets away with insulting you over your perfect body. Especially not over the size of your chest. How ridiculous…”

You can’t believe your ears, eyes darting towards him in an instant while you turn redder than a tomato. Did he just say that you are…perfect?

“You didn’t mean that”, you breathe out.

“Oh god I’m so sorry (y/n). Did he hurt you?”, the familiar voice of Yuji cries out.

Calm down your tingling nerves, your pounding heart. Sukuna’s gone. Sukuna…stood up for you. Sukuna said you have a perfect body.

What?

“N-No”, you stumble.

How are you supposed to get over this?

Gojo Satoru

Finally. You sit in front of the bar, excited by the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume that hangs in the air. After working your ass off for what felt like an eternity, you decided to use your day off right. You put on the dress that fits you best, packed your purse and went into the first bar you’ve seen.

Damn, when was the last time you were out on your own? With all your friends being out of town for vacation, this definitely is new.

“Not bad”, you mutter to yourself, eyes roaming around people making out, heartfelt laughter and a group of women sipping on their cocktails.

A cocktail, exactly what you need today.

“Hey, I’d love to order something”, you speak out when the waiter finally comes cross you.

What a lucky day, they even have your favourite cocktail in store. You’re usually not the type of girl to go out on yourself, but these last months, you truly learnt how enjoyable time can be with yourself as your only company. You smile to yourself. Yeah, this is definitely something you could get used to.

“There you go”, the friendly male announces and places the glass filled with joy in front of your hungry eyes.

You gift him the sweetest smile you have before taking a sip. Oh, this tastes absolutely amazing.

“I’ve never seen a woman like you alone in a place like this.”

Your heart drops to the floor in an instant, hands holding onto your glass tightly. Ew, a man is certainly the last thing you want to hear right now with the bartender being the only exception. Instead of even looking his way, you just take another sip of your well-mixed cocktail, the music blasting out of the boxes might make him think you can’t hear him and leave.

Honestly, there aren’t many things that creep you out more than men approaching you. Since you’ve reached puberty and your breasts starting to grow bigger and bigger, it almost felt as if you weren’t a person anymore. With rare exceptions here and there, most of them only talked to you because of one thing:

Your boobs.

Is the man sitting next to you one of them?

“Hey, I’m talking to you, gorgeous.”

Your whole body tenses up in an instant, eyes darting towards him by the sound of his harsh voice.

“Excuse me, I’m not up for a talk”, you bite back.

While you did meet genuinely nice men and have some male friends, the one sitting next to you certainly is one of the other categories. God, how much you hate it, being looked down at and reduced to the size of your breasts. You can’t even count how many times you’ve got commented on them, how many men and women just shamelessly stared at your bust instead of your face while talking to you. It’s safe to say you have enough of all of this.

“A woman who presents what she has like that is up for a talk and far more than that. Why would you come here dressed like a slut if you don’t want me to talk to you?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, all thoughts vanish into thick air. This disgusting guy with his beard filled with crumbs and breath stinking like the cheapest beer is definitely up for no good. You, dressed like a slut? You wear a basic black dress, the only one your boobs didn’t fall out when trying it on. What the hell is this creep talking about?

“Just because my boobs are big doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Watch how you talk to me”, you bite back.

“I talk however I want to a bitch like you. Are you up to go somewhere more…private?”

The scene that lays itself out in front of Gojo’s eyes is hard to bear. He doesn’t even know the woman in the black dress sitting in front of the bar, let alone the guy sitting next to her. But just one look into your disgusted face is enough to know that something isn’t right. How you cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes filled with horror, the way you scoop backwards with every word this man says. Are you okay? He shouldn’t let other people’s business bother him. Fuck, wasn’t he here to get his mind off saving everyone all the time? Nah, he should enjoy his evening, drink that new whiskey they offer, just relax and-

You aren’t even able to comprehend what is happening next to you. He stretches out his hand, ready to touch your breasts without consent when another pair of hands stops him mid-air.

“I think the lady said no. Don’t ya think it’s a little over the top to go into a bar and touch a woman’s boobs?”

His voice might sound playful, but your blood freezes inside of your veins by the power he radiates. Just one glance into his face tells you he is like no men you’ve ever met.

“I…She…She said she wanted it to!”, the crumble beard tries to defend himself.

“I said what? Are you out of your fucking mind!? I told you to leave me alone and you harassed me!”, you clarify in harsh tone.

Oh, how much you’d love to break his nose right now, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the white-haired man seems to have the same plans.

“A guy like you wouldn’t end up with her anyway. That lady has class. And you, my friend, are just a disgusting pervert. Are you touching other women too without consent? Isn’t your first time, huh?”

With a swift motion, he begins to twist the man’s hand around itself. He whines out in pain in an instant, face twisted just like yours before when he talked you down.

“Let me go!”, he cries out in visible discomfort.

“This is what you get for treating a lady so badly. You can be glad she even looked your way.”

When he gifts you a sly grin, you can’t help but blush. What is it about this man that feels so different, so damn inviting? He seems like no other men you’ve met before. And the fact that he just called you lady…Why do your knees suddenly feel weak?

“Now repeat after me: I.am.sorry.for.disrespecting.you.”

“I will not apologize to a girl who’s dressed like a slut!”

A loud crack makes the already muted room go completely silent, the violent scream coming out of this man’s mouth when his wrist breaks like spaghetti echoing through the room.

“Wrong answer”, the white-haired man purrs.

“Hey, would you mind just taking the trash out?”, the barkeeper questions.

“Did you hear that, dirty boy? Let me show you the way!”

“Are you alright? I didn’t even notice he was harassing you. I’m so sorry”, the bartender speaks out towards you.

“Oh, it’s okay.”

You aren’t even able to give him a real answer, eyes glued on the white-haired man who carries your harasser out like trash.

Like in trance you get back on your feet and follow him out into the cool air of the night.

“Have a nice evening!”, he friendly shouts after the man who sprints down the streets like a coward, as fast away as possible.

“You definitely scared the shit out of him”, you comment.

“He definitely deserved it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m used to shit like that”, you reply with a huff.

“But normally, they aren’t this disgusting.”

“I hate to hear that. You seem like a genuinely badass and nice person. You didn’t deserve his words.”

“Not as nice as my knight in shining armour who stopped him from touching my boobs.”

He lets out a heartfelt laughter, bright blue orbs set on you.

“Hey, what about me escorting you back home? I’m totally in the mood to beat up any other men who gets in your way.”

“Only if you let me join, though”, you challenge him.

“Definitely a deal. Hey, what’s your name?”

“(y/n)”

“(y/n), huh? Cool name, suits you right? My name’s Gojo Satoru. Nice to meet you.”

He stretches out his hand in front of you, inviting you to take it. You can’t help but smile at his sheer excitement. No, you just have to take his warm hand into yours and shake it.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @maya-maya-56 @jinririz @getou0309 @ieathairs

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario [part two]

warnings: implied infidelity, implication of obsessive thoughts or love, workplace toxicity, non consensual surveillance.

There might be potential triggers in this piece. If you do not feel comfortable with reading it, please hit the 'back' button on your phone or laptop and find something much more pleasant to read than a potential series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption.

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Hey guys, and welcome to part two of my new original yandere oc x series, featuring the good-looking prick and CEO of his family's conglomerate, Yeo Jung-Hwa.

This is a collaboration between me and the incredibly talented @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @pinkgoldweebgirl for their honest feedback on the earlier drafts of this project and @impeakcharacterdesign for being my beta-reader for the final draft.

I definitely was not expecting such positive feedback on the first part in less than a week, so thank you all for reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts on it, they really made some of my more stressful days in the medical field a little brighter :)

Also, if the lofi vibes nor are the clothes written in here aren’t your thing, feel free to insert whatever is your preferred interior theme and fashion/clothing style.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the drama being unfolded on the stage.

Part one

Yeo Jung-Hwa was unhappy with the series of events that had occurred at the office. Hyueng Mun-Hee had bursted into his office with tears streaming down her bright red face, sobbing about how she cannot stand being bullied by the team manager of her department any longer. Who was the team manager?

You. His fiancee. The woman he must marry. A promise between his father and yours that would be beneficial to everyone involved - everyone except him. Wasn’t he entitled to experience pure joy of being loved and in love? To be with someone who wasn’t tiresome and annoyed him all the time? 

Meeting Hyeung Mun-Hee had felt like seeking the sky for the first time. She was a breath of fresh air to his stifling world. Hearing your most recent act of cruelty towards her had been the final straw. And like any self-respecting CEO, he texted the CFO to look into it before all hell had broken loose. He was receiving emails from the managers of all the other departments left and right, all with the same attachment. Botched up documents. And the one who had sent it was none other than Hyeung Mun-Hee. 

But he didn’t believe it at first.

 He truly thought it was another underhanded trick you had created to get Hyeung Mun-Hee fired because that’s exactly the sort of person you are to him; a dishonest, greedy, arrogant woman whose saving grace as a human being is an excellent work ethic. Once he had calmed his darling, drying her tears with his handkerchief, he marched into the Finance Department and demanded answers from you as soon as he got off of the phone with his panicked CFO. Instead of apologizing for what you did, you explained how Hyeung Mun-Hee made mistakes and you gave her a chance to fix them, but she did not correct them. She completed the required training. She knows how to calculate and make spreadsheets, so why is she pushing her work onto others? 

More importantly, you fixed her mistakes and sent out the correct ones to the other departments. Everything has been resolved, but you wanted Hyeung Mun-Hee to attend the company’s financial seminars to ensure that this embarrassing incident does not happen again. As much as he despised you, every point you made was correct…especially after he retreated to his office and compared the budget allocations on his monitors; Hyeung Mun-Hee’s on the left and yours on the right. The numbers in his darling’s work were completely off, and they could have cost the company hundreds of thousands if the situation hadn’t been resolved. 

He was certain that it was sheer dumb luck. 

Just because you had prevented a major internal disaster from occurring doesn’t mean he would ever look at you as he looked at Hyeung Mun-Hee. In a cesspool filled with hypocrites and liars, his darling is a breath of fresh air. Pure, kind-hearted, committed. Loving. So many qualities you lacked. Yet is it all that it seems? He thought, sitting alone in his home office late at night. If Hyeung Mun-Hee made these mistakes, why didn’t she just admit it instead of coming to me? 

He wanted to believe she was telling the truth, yet the proof is right there on his computer. Like his predecessors, he needed to take on the responsibility of a leader and make sure that the conglomerate’s integrity remained intact. However, he also desired to shelter his darling from the world’s cruelty. Remove her from the department and secretly marry her so that they could be together at last. He is selfish, but he has the right to bask in his own happiness. Unlike some people.

Well, if he can’t outright get the truth from you…then he’ll just have to call in a favor from a certain someone in the underworld. The person in question could set up cameras in your bedroom by slipping in and out of your estate as a groundskeeper or pest control and no one would be the wiser. He could do it for a price and make sure that nothing could be traced back to him. The last thing Yeo Jung-Hwa wanted is to be arrested for illegally filming someone without their consent.

Not when this is an opportunity to sever ties with you completely, once and for all. 

Two days later, he received an email and an attachment. When he clicked on it, four camera angles appeared on his desktop. All of them were in your room. But is this really your room? He expected it to be clean with sleek, wooden floors covered by monochrome carpeting and a walk-in closet filled to the brim with extravagant clothes, shoes, purses that she wouldn’t wear twice in her life. The uninspiring minimalist bougie interior design that is being coveted amongst the upper classes. Your taste was much more comforting. It appeared cozy, with soft lighting and warm blankets. 

Strings of fairy lights strung up across the ceiling.  A full bookshelf was near the bed. The floor was decorated with knitted ottomans and candles.  You lit them all back up as soon as you returned from the company, much later in the evening and when he was in his home office, cradling a cup of black coffee. 

You disappeared into the back for a moment, returning in a two-piece fleece loungewear with mushrooms and plants on them. Something he had expected to see Hyeung Mun-Hee dressed in, but not you. Were you trying to copy his lover’s tastes so he would pay attention to you? How shameless!

When he flipped the audio on the cameras, he expected to hear snide remarks about Hyeung Mun-Hee or see you talking to someone on the phone about sabotaging the new project coming up soon so that you would take all the credit. Instead, you were…shopping on a furniture site?

“I don’t need another bookcase, or it’ll look too cluttered. I can’t get any more potted plants either. I’ve already done enough renovations here to make it cozy and relaxing. What about…a salt thingy? What’s it called?” You typed a few words in the search engine, [Eye Color] irises brightening in realization. “Oh right, Himalayan salt lamp! That’s not a terrible price for this one! And yarn. I need more yarn to complete that gift for Caretaker Lee’s birthday. Speaking of which, I could work on that tonight. Give my eyes a break from staring at screens all damned day.” You scooted over to the edge of the bed, pulling one drawer outward. You then reached inside, removing knitting needles, yarn and dark red clumps of something. You put on headphones and began to knit.  

You, the proud and arrogant Park Seo-yun, was knitting. 

You didn’t move from that spot at all, completely focused on your project when a knock came from the bedroom door. A fleeting, fearful look appeared on your face before you frantically shoved all of your materials back in the drawer, sputtering to wait one moment that you weren’t decent before putting on a bored expression, scrolling through your phone and reclining back like a lazy cat. You told them to come in, and an elderly woman in an apron walked in with a wooden tray filled with assorted foodstuff, carefully setting it down on one of the ottomans. 

“Thank you for preparing my midnight snack, Caretaker Lee. I’m sorry it’s been such an inconvenience while I’m reviewing these documents for tomorrow.” You said with a smile. Caretaker Lee shook her head, walking over to your bed. You scooted over so she wouldn’t fall over the edge (presumably, because this entire situation is bizarre to Yeo Jung-Hwa), and she sat down. She smiled down at you, stroking the top of your head.

“This humble one is honored to serve the Park family, especially the hard-working young miss. It cannot be easy, with the current circumstances. Young miss…please forgive me for speaking outright…but are you certain about going through with this engagement? It seems that you have never spent any time with him outside of working at his conglomerate, and any time he has is spent with someone else.”

Yeo Jung-Hwa expected you to hit her, to punish Caretaker Lee for speaking out of turn and to mind her own business. Instead, you stared at her for a long moment, wide-eyed and mouth  slightly parted…before your lips curled into a melancholy smile, eyes softening. 

“I thank you for your concern, Caretaker Lee. But this is an engagement between my father and the conglomerate’s predecessor. It’s not something that can be broken off so easily with benefits for both parties.” You said. “This is the price to be part of the elite. To sacrifice your happiness for the sake of business.” You then leaned forward, pulling Caretaker Lee into a hug. “It’ll be okay, really. I’m Park Seo-yun. I can take care of myself. And you should be in bed. You’ve got a long drive to see your grandchildren tomorrow morning. Enjoy the weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.” 

“But-”

“I’ll bring the tray down the kitchen when I’m finished.”

“Miss-”

“Nope.” 

You then shooed her out of the room, telling Caretaker Lee to send your mother a text as soon as she got to her destination. The old woman smiled sheepishly, wishing you good night and asked you to not stay up too late. Once she was out of the room and the door was closed, you walked back to the bed, shoulders sagging and suddenly looking incredibly tired before you fell face first onto the blankets, legs dangling from the edge. You remained like that for a moment, then picked yourself up and curled up your lower body, grabbing one of the blankets and putting it over your legs. You retrieved your hidden supplies, resuming your knitting, taking five minute breaks in between to eat from the tray. Three more hours passed until you decided to call it a night, blowing out the candles and switching the fairy lights to a lower setting before disappearing into the bathroom. You came back out, grabbed the tray, and vanished. 

This isn’t real. It can’t be real. You are a haughty, greedy woman who could care less about commoners, much less servants. You love shopping at boutiques and only want the best of the best in anything. Even in an arranged marriage. He could never be happy with someone like you. 

But is all of that true? A nasty little voice in the back of Yeo Jung-Hwa’s mind hissed. Those were rumors created by other women who weren’t pleased that they weren’t good enough to marry you. Park Seo-yun is a stranger to you. You never bothered to know nor care to. Why would you when you have someone you love, Hyeung Mun-Hee?

He didn’t need to, and the fact that he wanted to know the truth about you of all people terrified him. He’s not supposed to care, not to be curious or even concerned about your well-being.  This was a strategic engagement, not one born out of mutual affection. He has a role to play in this world after all. 

Three weeks had passed since he had the cameras installed, and all Yeo Jung-Hwa had discovered or even learned is that you were a completely different person in your home than at the office. 

You work Monday through Fridays, always on time and never staying late unless it was necessary. You returned to your family estate late on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursdays because there was a spinning class at the company gym after your shift on those days. Friday evenings were spent in either your room, holed up and completely focused on knitting or doing something else that helped relax you. If you were staying up late, the servants would provide a midnight snack for you. The portions increased on the days you were at the gym, alluding that you possessed an enormous appetite due to a high metabolism instead of being a glutton as Hyeung Mun-Hee has told him time and time again.  You talked to yourself when you were alone, or at least your thoughts before making a decision on something. When he remotely hacked into your laptop to see if he could find any evidence of foul play there, he saw your browsing history contained only decoration aesthetics ideas, healthier snacks to eat at night, local beginner yoga instructors, and shopping at small businesses on Crafty plus one or two high-end boutiques for business casual outfits. Nothing incriminating on any level whatsoever. But he was not going to let you off of the hook that easily. 

At work he ignored you entirely, focusing his attention on Hyeung Mun-Hee and blocked your calls so that he didn’t have to talk to you outside of business hours. There was not a single text message or voicemail from you on his cellphone when he unblocked your number yesterday morning after coming into the office. Understandably frustrated and cranky from a lack of proper sleep, he decided to change the deadline for the quarterly income statements and the inspections of the company’s financial software, including reinforcing the firewalls and ensuring there was no fraudulent activity in the company’s transactions to Monday morning. 

With this amount of work, he was absolutely certain that it would be your slip-up. That you’d push your assigned tasks to Hyeung Mun-Hee so you could keep working on your knitting projects. Today is Saturday, and you left your house at seven o’clock to go to the office. You stayed awake until midnight typing away on your company laptop, looking over spreadsheets while talking to the head of IT on speaker, arranging a test run on the firewalls on Sunday evening. 

Instead of helping the team prepare for everything to be finished at the beginning of the week, Hyeung Mun-Hee was sitting across from him inside a coffee shop, beaming and utterly happy that they were finally out on a date after not being on one for so long, she was getting worried about him. Well…perhaps. Yeo Jung-Hwa glanced down at the shopping bags by their feet. They had gone to trendy high end streets and luxury department stores earlier this morning, with Hyeung Mun-Hee desiring…no, more like insisting that she had at least eight new work outfits so that she would represent his company properly as a team member of the Finance Department. 

If that’s true, then why are you here using my black card to shop instead of working at the office? He thought behind a smile as his supposed lover’s words went from one ear and out the other. If you were here with him, he’d probably have been more accepting of indulging in your vices and insisting on paying for everything instead of you, even when you were just as wealthy as he is. 

“I’m sure that you will find out why Park Seo-yun is acting so suspiciously!” Hyeung Mun-Hee said in a hushed voice. “I can’t believe you are even associated with such a vile person. She can’t get away with talking down to others like that! She may be rich, but she doesn’t know how to truly appreciate what she has right now!” She giggled. “It’s funny, isn’t it? She has everything, but she still clings to your engagement like a sad puppy! If she truly loves you, then she should have convinced her father to call everything off so that you can be happy. But the rich think differently I guess, right?” 

His smile tightened. “Perhaps.” He said, languidly sipping the java chip mocha frappuccino that she bought for him even though he preferred to have his coffee black with no sugar and he’s told her this little tidbit many times. “She is extravagant, but you also have luxurious taste, Hyeung Mun-Hee.” 

He watched her eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment, sputtering for a moment before she asked. “W-What are you saying, Yeo Jung-Hwa? You know me! If I had been given a choice to meet up, I would have chosen the downtown area so you could try the street vendors I’ve been talking about!”

And risk my health by getting food poison from reused cooking oil, poorly washed utensils, and ingesting noodles that are too greasy or salty? Absolutely not. He thought with slight irritation. 

“Maybe, but we both know that we must be discreet in our interactions, as I’ve told you before.That’s why I suggested we come here, but instead of sampling delicious foods at the restaurants I recommended, you wanted to come here instead after shopping.  If I remember correctly, your department is supposed to be presenting a big project on Monday. Why are you here, shopping to your hearts’ content instead of being at the office and helping out the team?”

“W-Why should I be there?” Hyeung Mun-Hee countered, bolting up from her seat as she stared at him in shock. “If I go there, Park Seo-yun will harass me! I can’t work in an environment like that! I did those seminars she  told me to do and passed the tests! Can’t I enjoy a day off?!” Fat tears began to build up behind her hazel eyes. “I’ve been working hard enough!”

But you are the one who is putting in the overtime needed to finish the job. You are leading the team to do what needs to be done. Hyeung Mun-Hee is just enjoying the perks of being by his side. Have you eaten lunch yet? Perhaps he can stop by somewhere that allows take-out and bring some to your office under the excuse that he needs to get some work done as well.  Dinner too, perhaps? 

“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, YEO JUNG-HWA?!”

He glared at her. “Sit down, Hyeung Mun-Hee.” He hissed, displeased that her shrill voice had attracted unwanted attention from customers who were either sitting at tables or waiting on orders to finish up at the pick-up area. “Finish your drink, and take a taxi back to the city, to your home.”

“It’s still early in the day, we haven’t been out in a while!”

“And I’m tired from the shopping. I don’t need to see what you bought because I already have seen them all at the shops.” He replied tersely. “I need to stop by the office and take care of a few things at the office before I need to go home.” 

Hyeung Mun-Hee’s face is a dark shade of purple. Consumed by anger, her mouth hung open, on the brink of another explosive tantrum, as the coffee shop door swung open, exposing its next patron. You.  

You stepped up to the pick-up area, looking at the various drinks with a pensive expression before waving down a barista. “Excuse me.” You said. “I’m here to pick up a mobile order for several drinks under Park. When will they be ready? I need to hurry back to the office with caffeine for my employees or things are going to get ugly.” The  handbag hung from your wrist as you fished out your phone, presumably showing the online order to the young man. He looked at you before smiling at you. 

“We’ll have it done in just a moment, ma’am.”

Is it wrong for Yeo Jung-Hwa to desire the bright smile you gave to that insignificant commoner when you did not know he was here with Hyeung Mun-Hee?

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Congratulations, Congratulations, Congratulations! 

Important things must be said three times.

The viewership score for Episode 52 has arrived!

Taglist: @cerisearan @julietdelamare @ghostdoodlen @mochinon-yah @queenofspades403 @alittletiredcry @burningaestheticsimp @proper-fox @neutralrobot @reallysparklychaos @tired-of-life-86 @nunezs-stuff @yandere-dark-cupid @imperfectbloodmoon @cassanderasblog @faux-ecrivain @abelheilonwife @ixchelhernandez4 @diannaflight @sweetbatherodonkey @strangepoppy @persephone-kore-law @swallowtail-lotus @tonightwrites @majestichugs @pinkynecktie

[lxndonorris]

new season, new suit - Charles Leclerc (SFS24)

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut (you've been warned) Theme: you're attending the ferrari photoshoot, watching Charles pose like the model he is. What happens when he invites you to the changing room? word count: 2080+ taglist: @game-set-canet the second installment of the suit fitting saga 2024.

Your heart buzzes with anticipation as the new Formula 1 season looms on the horizon, and Charles, your boyfriend and a professional racing driver for Scuderia Ferrari, is in the midst of a photoshoot for his team's new gear. 

The vibrant red racing suit, tailored to perfection, hugs his athletic frame like a second skin, accentuating every contour and muscle. Throughout the last few years, he has been a part of the Ferrari family, and they always manage to create such beautiful suits for him and his teammate. 

You watch Charles and Carlos strike poses, standing right next to each other, as the guy with the huge camera tells them what to do next.

When he invited you to join him for the shoot, you couldn't resist the opportunity to witness him in his element and, obviously, see the new suit on him.

As he strikes pose after pose, his smile contagiuos and his eyes sparkling with excitement, your heart swells with pride. Charles looks so handsome, with the fabric of the suit flowing perfectly across his firm body, accentuating all the right spots. 

Anytime he moves, you can't help but admire his physique: his big biceps bulging, his thick thighs, and his strong frame—just perfect. You feel a sudden rush of joy and excitement, knowing that he wants you there by his side.

With each click of the camera, you find yourself falling even more deeply in love with him.

Then Carlos walks away, looking at the pictures through the screen as Charles sits down, ready for another round.

That's when your eyes meet from across the room, and you notice a familiar glint of longing desire burning in his eyes. Charles licks his lips, lifts his chin, and strikes another pose: he runs a hand across his chest firmly, dragging the suit's fabric acoss as his hand reaches his neck. 

He takes a deep breath while resting his other hand casually on his thighs, right after he subtly strokes himself some more.

It feels like he is posing just for you, his gaze seeking yours amidst the whirlwind of activity surrounding us.

It's nearly impossible to look away until he focuses on the camera once more. Tension is building up inside your belly and chest, sending several shivers down your spine. 

For a moment, you look around. Someone might have watched this, exposing his teasing nature, but nobody reacts—just you.

That's when he strikes another pose, looking for your eyes once again. Sparks are flying when he opens his mouth, posing like a real model would, while his burning gaze pulls you in.

You notice his hands now stroking his chest shortly before a sly smirk creeps on his lips—the same smirk he would give you before kissing you in bed.

Letting out a low sigh, you regain your composure, but the thought of him on top of you, kissing you while encompassing your entire body with his soft hands, gives you goosebumps. 

You hear his voice inside your mind—a mere whisper, a soft moan—as he grinds his hips on yours. With his hand around your neck, he keeps on kissing you, pinning you to the bed. His desire presses against your thighs, asking for one special thing.

"That's it for now." The photographer's voice snaps you out of your daydreaming. He captures the last few shots before Charles regains his stance, running his hands one last time across his chest before approaching the computer.

They talk for a little while, while you can't help but sink back into that daydream. Closing your eyes, you try to push these thoughts away, but his low groans echo through every fiber of your body.

"Well, what do you think?" Charles' voice makes you jump slightly, and you open your eyes to find him standing right in front of you, a coy smile forming in the corner of his lips. "How do I look?"

"Stunning." You reply, letting your eyes wander all over him, noticing how firm his body has grown due to the excitement and tension building up throughout the shoot.

With a chuckle, Charles leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet and tender kiss.

"Carlos, your turn." A voice echoes through the studio as Carlos takes the stage. 

Both of you turn to watch him perform, just as well as Charles did before him. 

Then, however, Charles leans into you again, his lips inches away from your ear. 

"I hope you know how happy I am that you're here today." He breathes against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Thanks for the invitation." You turn to meet his gaze; his eyes sparkle in mischief.

Both of you turn back to watch Carlos strike another pose, but then Charles whispers into your ear again.

"I always feel so special wearing this gear." His voice is low and rough. "I want to share the first time wearing this suit with you." 

You dare not look at him, trying to avoid his gaze, but you're way too hooked not to look at him.

He bites his lower lip, trying to swallow a mischievous smirk, but subconsciously, he strokes his chest again, letting his hand slide down his suit to the faint bulge forming in his trousers.

"You're an idiot." You chuckle quietly, grab his chin with your hand, and push him away playfully.

For a second, you just watch the shoot play out in front of you, but then he turns back to you.

"I can tell Carlos is feeling the same." He chuckles to himself, and you can see his eyes now checking out his teammate.

"How?" You ask carefully, and he just motions for you to watch Carlos.

"Just watch his body move, so deliberately yet so naturally," Charles says, "just the way his muscles bulge—his chest, arms, and thighs. Just like mine." He swallows hard before turning his face back to yours. "Could you tell?"

Breathing deeply, you nod slowly. 

"Just so fucking good." Charles smiles, leans in, and kisses you again; this time, it's a much more passionate kiss.

As the photoshoot comes to an end and they talk about the pictures for a while, Charles turns to you with a playful grin, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.

"Care to join me backstage?" He asks, his voice low and husky—an offer you can't refuse.

With a nod, you take his hand, leading him toward the changing room. Luckily, each driver got their own little private area—enough space for the two of you to have some fun.

Inside, the air is filled with the scent of his cologne, wrapping you like a familiar embrace as he pulls you into him, his hands now tightly on your waist.

Steadying yourself against his strong frame, you take the opportunity to stroke his firm chest. His muscles are already as hard as rocks, and his clothes are barely able to contain his form. 

With a gentle touch, you run your hands over the fabric of the suit, marveling at its sleek texture against your fingertips. It was like silk beneath your touch—smooth and luxurious.

As you explore the contours of his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, Charles lets out a soft sigh, his eyes locking with yours in a silent exchange of desire. His hands run along your waistline to your arse, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins.

Carefully, you unbutton the collar of his suit, exposing the zipper. You exchange a knowing look, and he lets you pull the zipper down, revealing the tight red fireproofs he is wearing underneath.

With a little help, his upper body slips out of his clothes, the sleeves now hanging down his waist. 

His undergarments are even tighter, just like a second skin that drags across his muscles, his nipples, and down his thick biceps and shoulders.

With a playful grin, Charles flexes his muscles, the fabric of the fireproofs stretching taut against his athletic frame. Every ripple and bulge is accentuated, showcasing his physique in all its glory—a sight to behold—and you can't tear your eyes away from him.

"Like what you see?" he teases, his voice so rough.

"Absoluetly," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I need this so much." Charles leans into you, kissing you. His body presses against yours, and right away, his hips grind against yours.

Together, you make your way through the room until you come to a standstill. You're standing with your back against a wall, Charles' lips tightly on yours, while one hand is around your neck, stroking you gently.

In response, you stroke his chest again and again, causing him to purr happily right in your mouth. The faint scent of his cologne grows stronger, swirling all around you as he runs a hand across your chest, your boobs, and right between your legs.

"Charles." You tilt your head, letting out a low grunt.

"I'm so hard right now," he replies, letting out a guttural groan from deep down his throat. His burning desire is rubbing against your thighs. So good.

"Let me handle that." You smirk, and in one swift motion, you turn him around, pressing his back against the concrete wall.

A devious smirk tugs at his lips, knowing very well what you're offering.

Placing a hand at his neck, you trace his firm jawline with your fingertips, enjoying how his very light stubble tickles your skin. 

You kiss him once, twice, again, and again, right on his lips, before you make your way down his chest.

"You're so handsome." Running your thumb along his soft, wet lips, you look into his eyes, causing him to take another deep breath. At the same time, you rub his member with the palm of your hand, as you know he enjoys that so much.

"You're gorgeous." He murmurs, his eyes wandering all over your face—from your lips to your cheeks and back to your eyes.

You let your hands run down his neck to his chest, firmly feeling his muscles through the fireproofs. You pinch his nipples—one of his sensitizing spots—causing him to swallow a long moan.

"That feels good." He breathes deeply.

Before you go any further, you pull his shirt up, exposing his beautiful, bare chest. At first, you trace his tangible abs with your index finger before you place longing kisses all over his skin.

Looking up, you catch him watching you closely. Charles licks his lips and strokes his own chest as you get on your knees.

With a little help from him, you manage to pull his suit down enough for him to present his length bulging through his undergarments.

"You're a big boy." You tease him by tracing the outlines of his member, causing him to smirk again.

"I've been hoping we would do that." He shakes his head, exhausted yet excited. "I couldn't think of anything else." His accent comes through slightly, making you smile.

By biting your lip at the sight of him struggling to keep a straight face, you won't edge him on any longer.

You pull his length out of his suit—it towers in front of you—and you take him in your mouth—a sensational, familiar feeling. His delicious taste spreads across your tongue while he takes several deep breaths, trying not to make too much noise.

As you move your mouth rhythmically, you watch his body follow your lead. All of him is longing for a much-needed release, and you're about to give it to him.

Charles strokes himself firmly, even leaning his head back against the wall. 

"So good." He runs a hand through your hair, stroking you and holding you in place at the same time.

"Mhmm." You moan, enjoying his taste all over your mouth. Your body shakes, and you steady yourself against his thighs, much to his amusement. 

"I'm so close." He growls, blinking a few times, before he can't help but release himself—fucking good.

You let go of him and separate yourself, watching him stroke his member before tugging it back into his underwear. 

"You're a fucking goddess." He chuckles, reaching for your hand and pulling you into another loving kiss.

"Thanks for today." You say, stroking his chest gently while staring into his beautiful eyes.

"I need to thank you." Charles smiles, and you hug each other tightly.

Together, you get changed before you return to the others already waiting for you.

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | v. {END}

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: DUB-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

A deep breath flows from your lungs as you examine your reflection in the cracked, stained mirror. It’s been in your family for years and you never had the heart to rid yourself of it, despite the object’s sorry state. Like everything in the small house, it harbors a plethora of fond memories.

You arrange a few unruly strands of your hair. Though you immediately feel silly for doing so.

It’s not like he cares what you look like. It never bothered him before. He always seeks you out, even when you are worn and sweaty after working a long day at the factory.

As you tiptoe across the room, your gaze settles on Tilly’s tiny form. Soft breaths lift her chest up and down. She is fast asleep, thankfully. Words are amiss to explain where you’re sneaking off to tonight, who you’re planning on meeting up with…or perhaps there are words for that, some you are too terrified to even fathom. Two young people secretly wandering the streets of District 8 at night to find each other and…

Your cheeks flare with warmth.

This isn’t what Coriolanus is to you. He is your tormentor. That is all. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf in the dark, your stomach threatening to drop to your feet.

One of the moth-eaten, dusty floorboards squeaks below your feet as you reach the exit door and nudge it open.

“Are we going somewhere?”

Startled by your cousin’s drowsy voice, you turn around so fast that your head spins. She blinks at you curiously as she sits up in her bed. A heavy sigh peals from your lips. Smiling from ear to ear, you approach her.

You hunker down in front of her.

“I am. You’re not, sweetie.”

“Where?”

Your stomach coils. Still, your smile remains intact.

“Just gotta run an errand quickly,” you lie while cupping her cheek. “We’re running out of your medicine. We have to make sure you stay healthy past the winter.”

She yawns and glances at the twinkling stars through the window.

“But it’s so late.”

Excuses dwindle in your head. You retreat to the authoritative older sibling tone you sometimes use to get your cousin to do her chores.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

You tuck Tilly back into bed. Arranging the blanket over her gingerly, you drop a soft kiss on her forehead.

Your cousin nods and curls herself beneath her blanket. Relief swells within you. She is too little to hear about the purpose of your nightly trip. In fact, you plan on her never knowing a thing about it. With luck, all of it will end tonight. You’ll bow to the peacekeeper’s demands. One last time. Then you’ll bury the awful memory in the furthest, deepest recesses of your mind and never look back.

It’s what you hope will happen.

Cool winds skate across your skin when you step outside. The moon trails your quiet, anxious trek through the alleys of District 8, its silver beams lighting the cobblestoned path. Every time your feet hit the ground, the nervousness in the pit of your stomach grows. Perhaps you should have stayed home, risked his wrath. You are so painfully unready for whatever the peacekeeper has in store for you. Your wild, palpitating heart seems as if it’ll burst out of your chest any second now.

Suddenly, your tremulous walk is halted.

Familiar fingers snake around your wrist. You’re pulled into a dark corner and shoved against a wall. A stunned gasp hops from your throat. 

Coriolanus smirks at your reaction.

“No need to be scared, birdie. It’s just me,” he whispers, balancing his arm above your head in a way that makes you feel caged.

“Coriolanus.”

He seizes your chin, cobalt eyes drinking you in. His voice is almost soft.

“You really thought I’d let you walk on your own at night? It’s not safe.”

He parts from the wall. His hand wraps around yours. He tugs you along and you have no choice but to follow.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll recognize it.”

Indeed, you do. To your utter despair. After strolling through a vertiginous amount of dank alleyways and narrow stairs, you and the peacekeeper end up in front of a place that bears a daunting familiarity.

As the neon lights of the brothel fill your sight, your apprehension skyrockets.

Snippets of memories of what occurred the last time you were here lurk inside your mind. Your insides clutch.

Coriolanus sighs. His thumb sweeps across your palm, almost tenderly.

“It won’t be like last time. I promise. You can trust me.”

The same beautiful woman welcomes the two of you. Once again, there’s a flirting lilt to her tone, one the peacekeeper ignores. Coriolanus asks about a room. His questions about it fade amidst the uproarious drumming of your heart inside your ears. You’re a jittery wreck behind him, your gaze bouncing from wall to wall.

His deep voice yanks your attention back to him.

“Birdie?”

“Y-Yes?”

The corner of his lips quirks upward.

“Come with me.”

You nod. Is it too late to make a run for it? Though you’d rather not find out how much worse this could get, how mean Coriolanus could turn. He didn’t even hesitate to have you on your knees before, simply to make a point. He’s in good spirits now, nicer than he’s ever been to you, even humming a light tune to himself. Maybe you should aim to keep it that way. Tread the path of least resistance, as much as you loathe yourself for surrendering to him so easily.

You enter the room. Your heart leaps when you hear him lock the door behind you. The inside is nicely decorated. Candles around the canopy bed at the center of the room provide a soft, intimate light. 

Red and white rose petals are scattered over the silk sheets.

Your heart skips a beat when his breath ghosts over your neck.

“It’s pretty, right?” His hands settle over your hips, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I had it decorated specially for us.”

He shifts you so you’re facing him. Fingers sneak below your chin, tilting it upward. Your stomach flutters as you get lost in his blue eyes. They burn into you like coals in the swaying candlelight.

“Has anyone ever done something this nice for you?”

You remain silent for a while, fiddling with the scarf around your neck, the one he gave you.

“N-No,” you eke out after an eternity.

He starts pulling on your scarf. When it hits the floor, exposing your neck to his gaze, you already feel incredibly vulnerable. You tremble as Coriolanus begins to circle around you. As he does that, more articles of clothing join your scarf on the floor, turning into a growing heap at your feet.

First he unbuttons your shirt. When it’s loose on your frame, he pulls on it lightly until it slides off you. Next he unlaces your skirt. Coriolanus is slow, digits dragging over your quivering flesh as he peels every layer of fabric off you. Eventually, you are bare before him. Goosebumps peek under your skin as he spends a torturous minute simply appraising you. Lust swells his pupils, nearly drowning the blue in his eyes.

“Have you ever done this before?”

You shake your head. He seizes your jaw, angling your face upward.

“No miners? No factory worker? No one before me?”

Heat rushes to your face. Still, you shake your head again, faintly wishing you could sink inside the earth and disappear.

Satisfaction illuminates his features.

“So I’m your first.” He caresses your arm. You will yourself still, despite the itch to run away searing through you like a hot knife. His voice lowers to a husky whisper. “I wish you’d see I’m not your enemy, birdie.”

He then shocks you. Layer by layer, Coriolanus starts to shed every part of his peacekeeper uniform. Every piece of clothing falls into a heap on the floor that melds with yours.

When he peels off his boxers, your throat dries. He’s thick and long, just as you remember. Apprehension settles within you. His eyes lock with yours. “Do I look like your enemy right now?” he mumbles. Your pulse picks up as he approaches you. Your gaze drifts everywhere and nowhere, your breath caged in your lungs.

“I don’t know.”

“Do I scare you?”

“Yes.”

His mouth slants crookedly.

“But not in the way you wished, right?”

You gawk at him, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed.

The courage to answer never finds its way into your heart. Coriolanus’ lips however find their way onto yours. At first, the kiss is soft and firm. Cradling your face, he sweeps his mouth over yours without haste. Meticulously slow. As if he wishes to commit your taste to memory.

He nudges you backwards onto the bed. When your back collides with the mattress, his mouth turns more ravenous. His tongue explores the roof of your mouth while his hands wander lower, kneading at your curves. Your head spins. You keen against his tongue as a sick twinge of something you won’t name flickers in your core.

When his mouth parts from yours, you’re both equally breathless, his warm breath mingling with yours. You find yourself almost longing for the heady feeling. Almost. The blond smiles down at your dazed expression.

He traces your jaw with his thumb.

“You can scream as much as you like, you know? No one will come to your rescue.”

“I won’t scream,” you say, defiance igniting your gaze.

“Oh but you will,” he replies with confidence. His mouth ghosts over your earshell. “You’re all mine tonight, pretty bird.” His mouth tugs upwards. “And I plan on making you beg for it before the morning comes.”

As if to emphasize his point, he slithers down your body. The entire time, he corrals your gaze, his blue eyes shimmering in the darkness. He wedges himself between your thighs, meeting only meek resistance as he pushes them apart. 

Coriolanus appraises your slick folds. He drags a finger alongside your slit, mirth lighting up his face. 

“Already so wet for me, birdie,” he says.

Your face heats. You could try to contradict him but the evidence is right there between your legs. Impossible to escape or deny. You are sinfully, embarrassingly wet in front of the peacekeeper.

“I-”

Brazenness melts off your tongue when he presses his lips to your core. He feasts on your weeping folds, his unyielding fingers keeping you placid and open. His tongue teases your tender nub, drawing torturous patterns. Your muscles tighten. The air in your lungs rushes in and out faster as Coriolanus’ tragically skilled tongue sends zings of shameful pleasure through your spine. 

Meticulous and slow, he takes his time to taste you. Every second he spends unraveling you is the most sensual torture.

Your trembling fingers claw at the sheets, your eyes rolling back. You glance down. A peculiar tingle dances through your belly when you catch sight of the blond’s head bobbing between your thighs. Despite your center aching for release, you fight the urge to buck your hips into his mouth and seek more of the delectable contact. He sucks your swollen clit between his lips, pushing his tongue between your folds. You gulp down a sharp scream. Waves of pleasures sweep through your frame. Your lids flutter as your stomach tightens. A painful tension settles in your limbs, heat gathering in your core.

For a long time, you try to stay quiet. You bite yourself hard enough to draw blood as you muffle every whimper and moan struggling to break past the confines of your lips. 

Coriolanus makes his way up your body, his index and middle finger replacing his tongue. Quick exhales burst from your chest as you peer at him through your hazy vision.

“I want to hear you, birdie,” he rasps, his fingers catching on your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. He sinks a finger inside you. Your chest lifts, brushing against his. When the digit hooks between your slick walls, grazing against your sensitive spot, you unleash a loud squeal.

The blond smiles.

“There. So much better.”

He sneaks another finger inside your core, stretching you even more. Unused to the feeling, you whine and grip a fistful of the sheets. He pumps inside you, finding a steady rhythm that has you twitching beneath him. The broken moans spilling from your tongue mingle with the wet sounds your cunt makes as he explores you with his fingers.

Embarrassment is slowly nudged aside by the storm of delectable sensations growing inside you.

The heel of his hand keeps grazing against your swollen button, eliciting spikes of pleasure through your flesh.

His forehead rests against yours, his feathery lashes falling to half-mast as he whispers,

“Come for me, birdie.”

Your breathing accelerates, his words propelling you closer to your peak. You clench around his fingers. Your legs tense. Warm tingles swirl across your flesh as your back arches. 

A lightning bolt of pleasure passes through you, quick and intense. For a few seconds, not a thought occupies your mind. You are nothing but a million nerve endings on fire.

Your boneless frame crashes over the sheets.

“Good girl,” he praises, his smile expanding. His fingers pull out of you and he brings them to his lips. You watch, sickly fascinated as he dips them into his mouth, reveling in your taste. He hums in appreciation. Your face warms. He then places those same digits over your own lips, forcing you to taste yourself. He bends over you, peppering sluggish kisses in the crook of your neck. His hand splays over your heaving chest, his thumb rubbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. His lips trail lower on your body. 

He pauses, looming over you. Hands on each side of you, Coriolanus lines his tip with your entrance. Your eyes widen in surprise. You squirm and try to scoot away, panic rushing through you. 

He yanks you back on the bed with ease, his body pinning yours onto the mattress. When you reach for his face, hoping to land a blow, he snatches your wrists and slams them above your head.

He scoffs, “So feisty, even to the bitter end.”

Your breath falters when his thick tip stretches you open. Even that single inch of him feels like too much. Rapid breaths burst from your fluttering chest.

Tears quiver beneath your lashes.

“It hurts…”

He pushes until he’s halfway inside you. Pain shoots through you as you sob.

The tears spill. He releases one of your wrists to fondle your cheek.

“Shh, it’s okay, pretty bird. I’ve got you.” 

He shoves inside you until he grazes your hilt. Your lips part in a quiet scream, your vision flickering. For a while, Coriolanus remains still, giving you time to accommodate his thick girth. He starts moving, his thrusts slow and deep. The longer he fucks you, the more the pain morphs into something else. Something not entirely unpleasant, albeit a little terrifying. The aching stretch becomes tantalizing, your wet walls clinging to his length every time it drags against your soft spots. Little whimpers leave your throat as you cling to his bicep.

Coriolanus’ hand wraps around your jaw.

“Focus on me and only me,” he instructs.

Your eyes dive into his. Flames dance in his cobalt orbs. He smiles, his thumb sweeping  over your bottom lip.

“Such an obedient girl.”

“How does it feel now?” he grunts. You note the sweat glistening over his bare muscles, dotting at his brow. His exhales are more strained now, matching yours. 

You keen at a sharp snap of his pelvis into yours. He picks up the pace, bending one of your thighs against your chest to thrust as far as his cock will go. Your toes curl, blissful shivers creeping their way up your spine. 

“Awful,” you wheeze out. 

He snickers. “You’re a horrible liar, birdie.”

You sense him nearing the cusp of his pleasure. His cock twitches between your walls and you plead, panicked, “Corio…Coriolanus…not inside, please.”

A crooked grin spreads on his lips. 

“But wouldn’t it be wonderful, if I left you something to remember me by.”

You shudder, shaking your head. “No…”

He slips his fingers between your joined bodies, drawing a long moan from you when he starts rubbing your pulsing clit. He plays with your tender bud until you cry out. You come apart around him, slick walls hugging him snugly as he shoots his thick seed inside you. 

Dread settles in your bones, piercing through the haze of delight. You tremble as the stickiness trickles alongside your walls.

He lets out a throaty sigh, trapping you underneath him so you can’t move. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Your mouth opens in shock as another tear traces a blazing path down your cheek. He scatters bruising kisses along the column of your neck. His cruel words sear into your flesh. “That way you can never forget you were mine before anyone else, birdie.”

You awake with a start, bruised and sore, in the massive bed. Your glance darts around, confusing filling you as you tuck the blanket against your frame. Your shoulders sag. You note faint sunlight pouring through the crimson curtains. All the candles from last night have been blown out. 

It’s the next day. You are alone. You shiver at the sight of the rumpled sheets, glimpses from the night before seeping through your mind. Coriolanus kept true to his word and made you sing for him the entire night. He was relentless and didn’t stop until you passed out from pleasure. In fact, you were so exhausted, you can’t pinpoint the moment he left. You simply recall him cooing soft praises in your ear as he had his way with you for the last time. 

For a moment, you held some fear that he would never leave, since he was so hellbent on making you come around him as many times in a row as he could.

What terrifies you most however, is that last night wasn’t terrible. Not entirely. Or not in the way you pictured at least. Heat creeps up in your cheeks at the thought. 

You clamber off the bed, wincing at the aching stiffness of your limbs. You collect your clothes and begin to dress. You’re eager to leave the room. It stinks of sex and shameful mistakes. 

As you climb down the stairs, the madam greets you with a wiggle of her fingers. You bristle, shame glowing inside your chest. 

She bends over the wooden handrail, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her dress.

“He said you were free to stay in the room to rest for the entire day if you wished. Paid in full before he left.”

“I don’t want to stay.” 

You hasten your pace to reach the exit faster.

She stops you in your tracks, a mischievous grin dancing on her lips.

“So the pretty boy didn’t tire you out then?” She tilts her head and pouts. “Pity. I imagined him to be a more…zealous lover.”

Your cheeks flame as you rush out of the brothel. You can’t get back home fast enough. 

You need a shower expeditiously. Never before have you longed for the freezing cold spray to hit your skin so badly.

You return home to at least a month’s worth of supplies and medicine in several bags. 

There’s even candy for your cousin, the same he brought her last time. Your cousin’s overjoyed, of course, but you remind her not to overindulge. 

Nothing else accompanies them. No letter. No card. You should feel happy at that, you surmise. Finally, you are free to live life on your own terms, return to your routine. 

Part of you is a little stunned by it however, and perhaps expect the peacekeeper to not be truly gone. For days, you keep wondering if he’ll materialize from a dark corner or surprise you as you stroll down a dank alleyway. 

None of that occurs. Still, it takes weeks for your blood not to chill anymore at the sight of a peacekeeper. After a month of tranquil, humdrum days, you’re forced to admit it. Coriolanus has granted you the peace he promised.

Your chest is a little lighter as you head to the factory everyday. You even start smiling again, which Yara and Tilly keep teasing you about.

But you can’t help it. No more feeling scared or confused. No more eyes trailing your every move. You’re relieved, happy. Life in district 8 may sometimes be uncertain but, at least, you hold your destiny in your hands once more.

Blessed freedom. Finally.

So you let yourself relax. Over time, the terror gripping your gut melts away. The tightness in your chest eases. 

Your mind is so at ease that you don’t notice the shadow creeping behind you on your way out of the factory. It’s too late when you do. 

A black cloth is shoved over your head as you turn a street corner. You’re hauled off your feet and dragged into a dim alley. Your heart races, panic flooding you as you’re tossed into the back of a vehicle. 

The engine roars to life. Every question you ask is ignored, your kidnappers frustratingly silent. You wonder if you’ll die or be sold off to traffickers. You’ve heard of district girls disappearing sometimes, the kind no one will miss or ask too many questions about. 

They often end up in sordid places. You’ve heard the stories. Some could end up in the mines, in shady brothels or even wind up as an Avox maid with their tongues cut off. Chills swirl over your skin. 

Is it to be your fate? Being carted off to some hellish place and worked to death? 

The car stops. Your pulse soars. Quick breaths pour from your mouth as you’re roughly carried to some other place. You struggle, trying to kick your assailant. You land a blind strike and hear a curse. You make a run for it, your blood singing wildly. 

It’s pathetic the swiftness with which you’re caught, as if your attempt meant nothing. 

You’re shoved into a box. As the slamming of a hammer surrounds you, sealing your fate, you begin to sob. You used to think you were just born in the wrong place, unlucky, like so many others. Now you’re starting to believe you are cursed.

Shivers wrack your frame as the box is lifted. Your stomach lurches. The entire trip is a nightmare. Dread grips you tight as questions crowd your mind about who’s taking you and why. After a while, you realize you’re on a train. Your terror swells. 

You’re being moved out of District 8. You haven’t left your district since birth. For better or worse, this was your home.

After an awful, rambunctious journey, the box is finally opened. You hear grunting above you as the lid of the box is pried open. 

The bag over your head is removed and you take in a lungful of clean air. Strong arms hoist you out of the box. You clumsily stumble to your feet. 

You whirl. 

An audible breath skips off your tongue as you take in who stands before you. He looks so different. No more peacekeeper uniform. No more buzzcut.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He smiles. “Hi, birdie.” A wave of snow engulfs your veins.

He sweeps a hand over his silver curls, sounding almost bashful.

“Do you like it? I’m trying to grow it out again.”

Ignoring him, you peer at your surroundings. The white room has a vaulted glass ceiling that allows sunlight in. The pearly marble tiles are pristine. Other than that, you only find one opening. A small door on the other side. You scuttle across the room to reach it. 

The door knob shakes but doesn’t give. Still, you insist, your desperation growing. Your heart sinks as you glance down at the tiny keyhole in the door. 

Coriolanus’ deep voice approaches from behind you. 

“This is a locked cell, pretty bird,” he explains. “And I’m the only one with the key. Dr. Gaul uses it for her more…feral experiments. But she’s granted me permission to use it for an experiment of my own.”

You whip around. “Dr. Gaul?” 

You feign interest, hoping to distract him, having noted the tiny golden key dangling from his neck. Coriolanus catches you looking at it and smirks. “My mentor. Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through everything. I’m sure you’ll fit right in over time.”

He inches closer and you stagger backwards. 

“W-Why am I here?”

Instead of being offended by your attempts to shy away from him, the blond seems mildly amused, studying you as he paces around the room.

“I couldn’t let my sweet bird wither away in a filthy district, of course. I belong in the Capitol, and you belong to me.”

You gape at him. While you knew him to be some entitled rich kid from the Capitol, you never imagined he’d take it this far. Steal you away like you’re some shiny object that struck his fancy at the marketplace. Not a person with a life and desires of their own.

“You’re insane,” you hiss.

His mouth twitches, marking the first hint of displeasure at your reaction.

“We’ll have to work on that coarse mouth of yours. It will not stand here.” His tone grows chillier. “Here in the Capitol, we have discipline, order.”

“Let me go,” you shout, lunging yourself at him. You attempt to tackle him and grab the key from his neck. Unleashing a sigh of annoyance, Coriolanus seizes your wrist and twists it with hardly any effort. The sickening sound of bones snapping lands in your ears. He throws you on the floor, kicking your side for good measure. You keel over the tiles, cradling your throbbing wrist against your chest.

Coriolanus shakes his head as he considers your curling frame on the floor.

“Look what you’re making me do, sweet bird. As I’ve said, your uncouth District wench ways will not stand here. You’re going to behave…” He hunkers down before whispering, “Unless you never want to see your cousin again.”

Your head snaps up, tears filling your eyes.

“She needs me. Coriolanus, please-”

“She will be cared for. There’s a very nice orphanage south of the Capitol, one for all the children who lost their homes in the war.” He beams at you. “She’s being transported there as we speak.”

“Oh my god…”

“You want to see her again? It’s all up to you, birdie.” A slow, wicked smirk blooms on his lips. “...Or perhaps she would fare well as the District 8 tribute for the 11th Hunger Games. She may be a little young…but at least she’d increase viewership.”

“You can’t do that,” you protest, your lip quaking as tears skip over your cheeks.

A dark chuckle leaves him.

“I can and I will. You see, birdie, the world isn’t fair.” He cocks his head. “No one cares about innocent children dying. Hell, I was kicked, beaten and starved so many times during the war, I lost count. No one cared.” His blue eyes turn icier as they meet yours. “The world…it’s an arena. You’re either a predator, or you’re prey.” He lifts his hand to cup your cheek. A gesture that’d be almost tender if the words spilling from his mouth weren’t so cruel. “It’s best to just embrace your role.”

He caresses your tear-stained cheek.

“So will you be my sweet, obedient girl?”

As you sink in his empty blue gaze, a sense of defeat cloaks your frame. You come to realize, you were never meant to come out unscathed from meeting Coriolanus Snow, never meant to win. The fire in his eyes is the kind that burns all standing in its path.

There is no getting away. If you survived him, you’d be lucky.

Your chin trembles as you reply meekly, “Y-Yes, Coriolanus.”

His lips brush over yours before he gets to his feet, satisfaction glowing on his handsome features.

“Wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone, birdie.”

[flowerandblood]

Object of Despair (2/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, oral sex, fingering, hate sex, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. After their wedding night, which went completely differently than he imagined, Aemond tries to return to his daily routine. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of hate sex, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their wedding night was so different from what he had imagined that he was at once horrified, ashamed and intrigued by the person who had been living in the chamber next to his for several days. She wasn't seeking his company or attention, appearing only at suppers spent together with his family.

He knew he could have summoned her to his chamber at any time, and it would have been her duty to come and give him what he wanted, but every time he meant to do so he changed his mind and resigned, frustrated, staring into the light of the fire burning in the fireplace, sitting in front of it on his ornate wooden chair, thinking about that evening.

After what had happened between them it seemed to him that they had both suddenly come down to earth, not knowing what to make of how aggressive and full of rage the rapprochement had been.

He let her go and watched her, breathing unevenly, tying back his breeches, as she immediately covered her buttocks back up with her nightgown − he could see that her whole body was shaking, her lips trembling, her eyes big, her cheeks puffy from the tears that ran down her face.

She calmed down a little after his words and reassurances, but she was still terrified.

She asked him in a breaking, weak, quiet voice if she could now return to her chamber, and although he had originally had no intention of letting her lay in his bed, he felt disappointment at the thought that she had not begged him to let her stay.

Not wanting to show weakness or allow her to think that her presence was something he craved, he allowed her to do so with a nod, and she left without a word, neither bowing to him nor wishing him a good night, quietly opening and closing the door of his chamber behind her.

The next day, during the duel with Criston Cole, he could not concentrate − whenever he caught sight of a shade of blue out of the corner of his eye he involuntarily looked in that direction, thinking it was her in her gown that he remembered so fondly, his heart pounding hard with shame.

He pressed his lips together, turning his head away, snorting, playing with the hilt of his sword in his hand with apparent impatience, seeing some other woman − Cole watched him vigilantly, but not dared to ask either about her or his impressions of her.

Her presence was a taboo for him.

That same day, he walked and spent long hours in the great royal library, despite the fact that he usually instructed his servants to bring thick, old volumes filled with the history of his family and all Essos to his chamber. He hoped to meet her there, to confront her again, this time clearly showing her where she belonged.

To his disappointment, he did not see her until the evening − her blue gown immediately catched his attention, sewn from a soft, lovely fabric it fell heavily over her pleasant, girlish curves, accentuating her figure.

He swallowed hard as he looked at her face and noticed a large red bruise under her eye, which must have been the result of the moment he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head on the table.

She was discussing something in a whisper with Helaena, his sister bent over her with concern, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture they had all inherited from their mother.

They fell silent when they noticed him − her violet eyes looked up at him, sad, resigned and tired. He thought, feeling a burning embarrassment in his chest, that explaining to her who had the final word on what their marriage would look like was no longer necessary.

Sitting down at the table next to her he knew what awaited him − when his mother walked into the chamber and saw his wife she froze, the smile gone from her face.

She looked at him with pain, with disappointment he could not bear and he closed his eyes, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to sink to the ground.

"Dear sister-in-law, has my brother given you another gift besides, we all pray, his future heir in your womb?" Aegon asked with a sneer. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a deep breath, looking at his brother with grim fury, to which he only smirked, popping a grape into his mouth, biting through it with a loud crunch, amused.

He felt his wife shift beside him − his heart began to beat faster in panic at the thought that she was about to say something to humiliate him, to mock him in front of his entire family to take revenge on him.

"I slipped in the bath, my King." She replied simply, without emotion, regret or anger. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, surprised at the ease with which she lied despite it being obvious that everyone around her had guessed what had really happened.

His brother raised an eyebrow clearly impressed, cocking his head, leaning back in his chair with a loud creak of wood.

"You slipped." He repeated softly and she replied nothing, looking at him calmly.

She and Aegon exchanged glances for a moment − it seemed to him that she feared neither him nor his position.

"I hope no more such unpleasant…accident happens to you, my Lady. Such a pretty face." He hummed, reaching for his cup, but she merely blinked, no grimace passing across her face, as if his words did not bother her at all.

He himself didn't know what he thought of all this, so he decided to go back to his daily routine, pretending that she simply wasn't there, convincing himself that it would be better that way.

He didn't need her, he didn't want her, and her silence and distance were doing him a favour.

He watched her sometimes from afar, seeing her pleasant silhouette glide between the columns as he trained in the courtyard, always headed for the garden, the tree he had read about before she came to King's Landing, and at which he understood the Northerners prayed.

He did not think of it at first, but then he began to notice the gazes of the men and guards fixed on her as she passed them, their smiles, their dreamy gaze as if they were imagining what they would do with her body, the body of his wife, his right and his duty.

It planted a seed of doubt in him − he wondered if perhaps she was meeting her lover there, if he was a source of ridicule in the keep because the servants already knew that she had not been faithful to him, that she had betrayed her crippled husband.

This thought made him furious, but having no proof for his supposition he decided one day to change his plan for the afternoon and watch her through the window − as soon as he caught sight of her figure passing through the cloisters he left his chamber, moving unhurriedly after her.

As he walked between the tall shrubbery, hearing the grass rustling and the birds singing, he tried to focus on other sounds, expecting quiet moans and panting to reach his ears, but heard only his own footsteps traversing the path strewn with small rocks rattling under his feet.

He stopped as he stepped into a small clearing − a large, white weirwood with a disturbing, wrinkled, red face on its trunk looked at him ominously, his wife lying on her back on the grass beneath it, her eyes closed, her dark, loose hair surrounding her head, her hands laid on her stomach.

He stood motionless, wondering if she was waiting for someone, however, she did not open her eyes or look around.

He thought with surprise that she was asleep.

He swallowed loudly, for some reason feeling desire at the sight of her lying silhouette, the fact that someone could see and hear them, that she was his wife, and he could take her here and anywhere else he wished.

He felt how his cock swell in his breeches, his lips tightening into a thin line as the heat spilled in his lower abdomen.

She shuddered and opened her eyes when she heard him move towards her − she lifted herself up on her arm, her lips parted in disbelief, however for some reason she did not rise or try to escape.

He stood, towering over her, feeling his superiority and dominance over her in this position and this situation, his fingers slid down to his breeches, untying them in a calm, nimble manner.

"Come here, wife. I promised you something, didn't I?" He asked, feeling his heart pounding like mad, releasing his aching erection, its pink tip glistening from his precum.

It seemed to him that she was shocked by his insolence, by the fact that he wanted to profane her sacred place, after a moment, however, the expression on her face changed. He parted his lips noticing how she rose slowly, kneeling before him as if to pray, with a light flick of her hand sliding the material of his breeches lower, looking him straight in the eyes.

No fear, no terror, no regret.

He sighed and immediately grabbed her by the hair, wanting to be in control of what was happening when her hand grasped his throbbing, hard cock in her soft palm, squeezing it at the base. He drew in a loud breath as her lips brushed its tip without any hesitation, her pink, shiny tongue licking it encouragingly. He tilted his head back, delighted.

"− fuck − keep going −" He commanded, impatiently pressing her closer to his lower abdomen, watching her with excitement and curiosity, his manhood quivering with desire in her hand, her fingers giving it a calm, assured strokes. He groaned involuntarily when he saw how she slowly slid the fat head of his cock between her lips, the tip of her tongue teasing him lazily.

She sighed as the thrust of his hips slid it deeper into her mouth − he heard her almost choke when it hit the back of her throat, her palate wonderfully wet and warm, her lips clamped down on it, in some natural, subconscious reflex beginning to suck it.

"− that's it − there you go −" He gasped with awe at the perverted sight before him, his fingers entwined in her smooth, soft hair, clenching down on it, controlling himself, however, so as not to cause her too much pain, forcing her head not to escape when his hips with sure deep pushes invaded her throat.

"− did you often satisfy your late husband like this? − it's clear this isn't your first time − little slut −" He exhaled, groaning lowly listening to the loud clicks of her saliva each time his aching cock disappeared again and again deep into her mouth, her hand tightening on it more firmly, making him accelerate his pace.

"− stop − that's enough −" He muttered, having no intention of wasting his seed, wanting to finish inside her, trying to push her away, but he felt her tongue trailing down his length, her free hand clamped down on his buttock, not allowing him to escape − he had to lean against the tree trunk, his other hand holding her hair as his cock thrust into her greedily.

"− f-fuck, fuck, fuckkk −" He hissed out in rage combined with delight and groaned loudly in relief as he felt his semen spill over her palate. He looked down at her, her eyes closed, all around them only the rustle of the leaves, his shaky, loud breaths and the sound of her swallowing, so lewd it sent shivers down his spine.

Slowly she slid it out of her mouth, his cock all slick and glistening from her wetness − her soft, pink tongue licked it for a while longer, teasing and sucking lightly on its tip from which the remnants of his seed still flowed. He stroked her smooth hair, feeling his body still shudder with shivers of pleasure after such intense fulfilment.

"− you look perfect like this −" He gasped softly, his thumb running over her cheek, noticing with some kind of relief that there was hardly a trace left of the bruise from a few days ago.

"− you will spend this night in my chamber − you should try how it tastes sticky with your moisture − don't touch yourself −"

That evening he waited impatiently for her, strangely excited and anxious, pacing around his chamber, absorbed in his thoughts.

He feared that she would humiliate him, show him, by not coming to his summons, that she despised and disrespected him, and then force him to use violence against her again.

He did not want any more accusing glances from his mother directed towards him at the table.

He shuddered as the door to his chamber opened suddenly − he turned over his shoulder and swallowed hard, noticing her figure covered only by her night gown and the cashmere blue shawl thrown over her shoulders − her long dark hair were loose, the look of her violet eyes calm and full of some kind of curiosity.

"− have you touched yourself? −" He asked coolly as the door closed behind her with a loud clatter of wood, turning towards her, walking in her direction with his hands folded behind his back.

"− no −" She replied softly, without any pleasantries or further elaboration, looking straight into his face without a sign of fear or uncertainty.

He intended to regain control of the situation she had taken from him when she decided when he would come and how, all by herself.

Stupid cunt.

"− undress and lie on your stomach −" He commanded in a dispassionate, cool, deep tone, from which her gaze darkened a little, as if clouded, her plump lips parted slightly but no sound came out of them.

She walked past him without a word, heading barefoot towards his bed and climbed onto it, her back turned to him as she sat on his bedding, letting him watch as her fingers slid the fabric of the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall down, revealing her naked, smooth body.

His hands began to undo the clasps of his tunic as she lay on her stomach following his command, her face turned the other way so that he could not see her gaze − the sizzle of the fire in the fireplace all around them, and besides, a complete silence filled with a heavy, stifling tension, a threat of what was about to happen between them.

He felt what he saw in his cock, his manhood expressing painful impatience, throbbing in his breeches at the thought that he intended to come deep inside her that night more than once.

"− did you love that fool? −" He asked indifferently in a voice slightly hoarse with arousal, licking his lips with his tongue in satisfaction to see that her whole body tensed, her fingers clenched on the pillow lying under her head, her back rising in a shuddering breath.

She was silent for a long moment, as if his question had startled her − he watched her vigilantly, pulling his boots off his feet, staying only in his undershirt and breeches as she lay exposed, bare, vulnerable, condemned to him and him alone.

No matter what her answer would be.

She shuddered, as if snapped out of her reverie, as he sat up behind her, his large hand running over and stroking her full, soft buttocks.

"− speak −" He hissed, his hand slapping her bare skin so sharply and quickly that she bounced and squealed. He gave a reassuring stroke to the spot, red and throbbing in the indistinct shape of his hand − involuntarily his lips curved into a teasing smirk as he noticed the moisture glistening between her thighs, her folds pink, throbbing and swollen.

She liked this kind of games, he knew that.

"− I was the furnishings of his household − I loved him as much as his chair, his bed or his table could −" She muttered, and he looked at her, surprised, not knowing himself what he thought of her words. He stared at her face, her gaze fixed on his window, her lower lip trembling as if she was trying not to cry.

He hummed, intrigued, moving forward, placing his hands on either side of her head, his long hair tickling the bare skin of her back and shoulders, making her gasp loudly, her body quivering all over in anticipation and uncertainty, fear and curiosity at what he was about to do.

"− I am, I believe, in his debt − he taught my wife how to suck cock so well −" He whispered quietly with a hint of dark mockery and threat, her lips parted wide in a quiet moan as he slid one of his hands under her stomach, parting her legs with his knee, forcing her to spread them in front of him, his mouth ran over her neck as his fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood.

"− but did he fuck you good? − hm? − did he know your weaknesses? − your most sensitive points? −" He murmured, her whole body breathless, her buttocks bucking up towards him and rubbing against his hard cock, moving to the rhythm of his fingers as their tips dug into her tender skin, trailing around her bud, teasing her once in a while, his hand all sticky with her juices.

"− fucking answer me − he fucked you with his fingers 'till you mewled his name? − 'till you begged for his seed? −" He growled, crushing her with the weight of his body, his other hand clamping down on her neck, careful not to overdo it though − she whimpered loudly, writhing beneath him as he quickened his pace, running his fingers over her puffy slit again and again, leaking from her fluids, his fingers invading her fleshy folds with a loud, lewd click, his aching manhood hitting her buttocks.

"− yes − he's gained experience with whores and servants before, just like you −" She hissed out, her breath caught in her throat as his fingers tightened harder around her neck, his two fingers forced their way inside her, stretching her tight, hot, wet walls with sure, deep pushes to which her hips responded greedily with rocking, meeting him halfway.

"− shameless whore − maybe I should care less about your pleasure, hm? − fuck you so that you cry out in pain −" He threatened, and she laughed, struggling to catch air, her lips parted wide, her eyelids clenched.

"− objects do not know fulfilment or disappointment − love or hate − do what you want with me −" She breathed out, her eyes opened, releasing a wave of tears that ran down her cheeks, seeing this he slid his fingers out from inside her and let go of her neck, quickly untying his breeches, for some reason furious at her words, his nostrils twitched dangerously in accelerated breath.

His thumbs spread her folds wide to the sides, allowing the fat head of his cock to force its way inside her with her loud moan of surprise, his one, brutal push was enough for him to thrust deep into her with a sigh of pleasure and satisfaction.

"− listen − that sounds like disappointment to you? − like hatred? −" He sneered, panting loudly, placing his hands on either side of her head again, his knees spreading her thighs wide so that he slid fully into her, bucking his hips, his thrusts violent, sure and deep, each time his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture.

"− fuckin' leaking − all thirsty for my cock −" He gasped, feeling her muscles squeeze him tightly in pleasure, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, his hands in some subconscious, natural reflex found her breasts, caressing and kneading them between his fingers, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.

"− ah −" She cried out innocently, girlishly − he stifled a low groan hearing that sound, accelerating his pace, opening her slick cunt wide on his cock again and again with brutal, quick thrusts, his mouth sliding down to her neck, clamping down on her skin, sucking her so painfully hard that she hissed, grabbing him helplessly by the hair.

"− I promise you that when I'm done with you, you won't be able to sit up tomorrow − your stomach and womb full of my seed −" He growled out into her ear, his breath caught in his throat as her hands found his, clenching on his fingers, entwining them together, her hips responding to his thrusts so eagerly that he struggled to restrain himself from coming just yet.

"− don't stop − fill me, please, please, please −" She mewled so loudly and sweetly that he lost control completely; he could feel the sweat trickling down his back from the exertion, one of his hands slid down her stomach, giving her pearl a few encouraging strokes from which her whole body quivered.

"− good girl − say my name −" He muttered with his face pressed against her soft hair, no longer controlling his movements, his hips slamming into her involuntarily, aggressively and quickly, no longer sliding out of her, chasing his own fulfilment, her walls clenched against him greedily, sucking him inside, wet and hot.

"− Aemond, fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck −" She whimpered and that was the end of it, from her lips came sounds of pleasure and relief he had never heard before, sweet, girlish, innocent, vulnerable, he felt her moisture trickle down her thighs, soaking him all over, her core throbbing hard in fulfillment, giving him wonderfull squeeze.

He gasped loudly, letting go at last, coming so hard inside her that it went dark before his eyes, his fingers tightened on her body to make sure she wouldn't escape him, their bodies writhing in convulsions, overwhelmed by how intense the fulfilment was, slapping against each other.

"− oh gods −" He mumbled, stroking her smooth shoulders, breasts, hips, thighs with his large, rough hands − he felt as if the scent of her body, her hair and her moisture had completely overwhelmed him, filling his lungs and his head. He closed his eyes, panting loudly with her, only realising after a moment that the fingers of one of her hands were still entwined with his.

They lay like that for a moment, trying to calm themselves, his lips finding her cheek, neck and shoulder, placing hot, lazy, wet kisses on them. He heard her sigh softly, her words like honey to his ears.

"− I want to taste you now −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddessing @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[junggunz]

crew love | 🔞

summary: sometimes dick appointments don't go as planned... cw: fembodied!reader, there is ZERO plot, pwp, smut, fwb!samuel, fwb!eli, fwb!johan, fwb!jake, reader really said why have one bitch when you can have four-, fivesome-ish...each of the crew heads take turns with reader, mentions of masturbation, oral (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), lazy handjobs and blowjobs, c*ck drunk reader tbh, p in v, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, degrading dirty talk...mostly from samuel, jake calls reader 'pretty girl' once, everyone is 18+, bukakke ending, honestly there's a lot going on let me know if i missed anything. wc: 4.2k words that's crazy bc i shortened this by a lotttt. an: absolute insanity and peak degeneracy. a late merry christmas and an early happy new years from me to yall hehehe.

“And here I thought, my favorite slut was just a cute nickname for you. I never would have guessed that you were running around fucking these punks when I was too busy for you.” Samuel laughs dryly, his jaw clenching as his eyes drift over the other crew heads. 

Eli was just some runaway. Johan was a crybaby. But Jake Kim was a part of your little roster? You knew better than to even mention Jake around Samuel, but the fact you more than likely compared them when you talked about your sexual escapades with your friends was enough to get him seething with rage.  

It was truly an unfortunate coincidence when you sent a text to all four of your fuck buddies telling them to come over on the same day. While juggling so many guys at once, you anticipated that at some point, you would fuck up and remember wrong details about the wrong guy or even call one of them the wrong name at least once. But to screw up on this scale was beyond your imagination; you blame your overly chaotic life that caused you to seek out relief in the form of casual sex. Besides your schedule being all over the place and causing conflict, each of these men catered to a specific need you had.

Samuel provided you with rough, degrading sex that left you drunk on his cock. Johan gave you the illusion of having some sense of control in your life as you basically coached him into being the perfect fuck. Eli easily played the role of being a friend you happened to sleep with—oftentimes, him being the one you try out your new tricks with— And last but definitely not least, Jake was the one who could give you both a shoulder to cry on and a dick to ride on after a long day. They all had their own quirks and strengths that catered to whatever you needed throughout the week. Trying to pick a favorite was out of the question because you weren’t sure if you felt emotional attachment to any of them. There were no blurred lines or confusing boundaries, the basis of your relationship with all of them was just sex. And all four of them were good in bed or else you wouldn’t have bothered to keep their numbers.

“Well, now what? This isn’t the first time we’ve met under strange conditions and it probably won’t be the last.” Eli says, his tone even but with a flair of nonchalance as he sits down on your couch and looks at the other men in your living room.

Samuel alone is able to make the atmosphere tense with his disdain for Jake but everyone else in the room seems to be more baffled by the current situation you’re all in. It’s almost comical but it’s more awkward than anything and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“I came all this way to get my dick sucked and I don’t wanna leave with blue balls so, if you all could kindly fuck off—” Johan states bluntly only for Samuel to interject.

“What do you think I’m here for? Do you think I came to have a meeting with you fuckers again?” 

Jake who had been silently off in the corner, mind going at a hundred miles per hour as he contemplated his relationship with you after finally digesting the fact he had been sharing you with three other people, suddenly speaks up. When you hear the words that fall past his beautifully flawed lips, you swear that he has finally lost his mind. And to make matters worse, it seems like the madness is shared when everyone including Samuel agrees after taking a few moments to deliberate amongst each other; blatantly leaving you out of the conversation and not letting you know their gameplan.

Who would have thought that this day would be the ultimate test of how well these four could work together? Hands are all over your body, impatiently pushing you down the hall to your room and sitting you down at the ledge. Filling the spots on the bed on either side of you are Samuel and Jake; Samuel moving quickly to make the first move and assert his dominance. Inked hand roughly grabbing you by the chin, he turns your head to face him so he can plant his lips on yours. Lips parting in a salacious moan from his treatment, he seizes the opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth; tasting you before you could be tainted by one of the other three men surrounding you. Though Samuel is adamant on staking his claim on you first, Jake has no problem latching his lips onto the exposed column of your neck. The way his lips gently feather across your skin to make you squirm then gradually get more intense is the complete opposite of how Samuel is fierce with you from the get go but they both share the talent of easily turning you into a mindless, lust drunk mess with just their lips. With so many hands on you, you can’t tell who’s unbuttoning your shirt or who’s hands are snaking up your skirt to tease you through your underwear. You barely have any time to process Samuel pulling away from your lips because Jake occupies them as soon as the opportunity arises. You think you can recognize the feel of Samuel’s palms cupping your breasts and treating the tender flesh as stress balls. And you’re almost certain that it’s Johan who’s kneeling between your legs, pressing his face into your panty clad pussy while Eli is off to the side, keeping your legs spread.  

It’s only after Samuel’s hands have freed the supple skin of your tits and you have him and Jake latching on to your nipples, you’re able to see what’s going on to confirm everyone’s position. Even with the fabric barrier of your underwear, the way that Johan was greedily slurping your arousal through the fabric had your head lolling around dumbly. Your body was burning hot and the temperature was only rapidly increasing due to all the hands and mouths currently on you. Samuel’s tongue flickers over the perky bud of your nipple, leaving tepid trails of saliva in its wake. Jake’s mouth was surrounding the other, every so often grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin. When you look over at Eli with apologetic eyes, he only gives you a sly smile as his hand strokes your inner thigh; silently letting you know that you would always be worth the wait for him. 

So greedy to feel as much of you as possible, when Samuel moves back to your lips and Eli is able to have a taste of your breasts. Getting in just a few sucks and bites, Eli is more interested in getting back between your thighs when he sees Johan pushing your panties to the side. Kissing his way down from your chest and his lips marking every patch of skin exposed by your haphazardly arranged clothing, Eli’s teeth skim along your thigh and cause you to shudder. 

The moment Johan’s pretty fingers spread apart your sticky folds, everyone momentarily halts what they’re doing to look at the sight in awe before everything ramps up in intensity and your clothes are being pulled off your body. Easing a finger into your slick hole, Johan begins to move it in and out of you steadily; basking in the sensation of your tight walls stretching to accommodate the intrusion of the lone digit. Not too long after that, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and yanking you forward until your back falls flat against the mattress, your upper body no longer propped up Samuel and Jake. Even with the adjustment in position, Jake’s mouth had remained stuck on your chest; finally able to cup both tits in his hands when Samuel sits back on his knees after deciding he wanted something else, reaching for your hand and guiding it to palm the bulge in his boxers. 

Attention disproportionately divided between the four men as their hands needily grope you, Johan occupies the most of it when his fingers enter you again. Palm facing up with his ring and middle fingers pressing against the spongy spot within your walls, your breathing is uneven with moans getting stuck in your throat.  His fingers don’t move particularly fast or deep but they apply a consistent pressure against your sweet spot that makes your thighs shake and would have had your hips bucking if Eli wasn’t the one keeping your lower body firmly pinned against the mattress and your panties out of the way for Johan. With just a few firm pushes into the same spot, Johan makes your pussy squirt and Eli is quick to lean in and claim the first taste of your honey; earning a small glare from the man who had actually brought you to your orgasm. Immediately after Eli pulls away, Johan’s tongue is lapping at your clit to taste your release. Fingers still inside you, Johan repeats his same movements from earlier to make more of your nectar spill out of you before he leans in to drink your juices straight from the source. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” Eli coos softly to get your attention, now kneeling beside you with his cock out which you respond to by gently holding the base of his length and guiding it into your mouth. 

Only a few seconds into sucking on Eli, you feel Samuel slapping the heavy tip of his own erection against your cheek until you turn to him and give him the same treatment. You try your best to simultaneously stroke both of them and alternate giving them your mouth, but Johan is still having his fun between your legs and playing with your sensitive pussy, in search of other spots to make you see stars. At this point, any type of contact on your private parts gets you to thresh and writhe; your brain so muddled that it takes Eli and Samuel constantly reminding you that you were supposed to be giving them your mouth. 

Things had just started and you were already drowning in your own sea of selfish pleasure. Pushing you to lay on your side and accentuating the natural curves of your ass and hips, you watch with hazy eyes as Eli and Johan switch positions; Johan presenting his hard length before you to which you thoughtlessly take in your mouth while Eli’s tongue ravenously licking up the trail of wetness that dripped from your pussy to your puckered asshole that was now easily accessible to him. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feel of Eli eating you out so hungrily. By no means was Johan bad with his mouth and fingers, but Eli was simply a more seasoned lover. With enough practice, the two would be on similar playing fields at some point because they had a similar wild streak masked by their pretty faces. Messily smearing your arousal all over the place, the dominant sensation in your lower half is wet and downright sloppy. There’s a gentle pulsing within you due to the back to back orgasms brought to you by Johan’s fingers, but it is quickly diminishing and being replaced by a new coil of heat building in your stomach.  

Right when you think you’re gonna cum on Eli’s tongue, you see quick movement out of the corner of your eye. 

“I can’t fucking wait anymore.” You hear Samuel growl. 

Impatiently shoving Eli out of the way and lining his length up to your hole, sinking into you with one harsh thrust and starting off at a mean pace. The sudden stretch of Samuel’s cock stings like it always does, but with how wet you are and how heavy his thrusts are, he slips right in. With your senses zeroing in on the intrusion of Samuel’s length, your mouth comes off of Johan, only leaving him with the remnants of your saliva to lubricate his shaft as he jerks off to you being filled by Samuel. 

“Fucking pathetic. Inviting all your fuck buddies over and you can’t even mulitask.” Samuel chuckles darkly, giving your ass several hefty slaps that leave the skin stinging with an almost pleasant burn. 

Dizzy from all the movement and finding yourself on your back again when Samuel’s hands push both your thighs against the mattress so he could plow deep into you, watching your pussy greedily swallow his length. After observing from the sidelines for a bit, Jake joins in on the action and offers his thigh to rest your head on; the exchange being that your mouth was solely his for the moment. The lips on your face being stretched around Jake’s length while your lower lips were being plundered by Samuel, the sound of your moans have died out and the soundtrack of your bedroom consists of the sound of your poor bedframe trying not to break, wet skin slapping against each other with the low moans and groans of each of your fuck buddies. You don’t have to look at Johan or Eli to know that they were taking a breather, idly stroking their own lengths to the sight of you being wrecked by the two former colleagues. 

No one says anything but everyone can see it on your face. When your mind is venturing off into space as Samuel fucks your brains out, all it takes it Jake gently caressing your cheek or your stroking your hair to bring you back to Earth; looking up at Big Deal’s leader with a more affectionate expression while you suck him off. Of course, Samuel is the only one bothered by this minor quirk; plowing into you harder and deeper like he was trying to ruin your pussy for everyone else by molding you to only take him. But all his brutal thrusts do is knock the wind out of you, making it impossible to warn him before he’s pushing you to your orgasm and causing your walls to squeeze so tight, it forces his cock out as your juices are expelled from your loins. 

“You couldn’t hold it just a little longer, nasty slut?” Samuel groans, giving you another harsh slap but this time on your thigh as he reluctantly pulls away from you. 

The sight of your orgasm signaled that Samuel’s turn was up and since Jake was the closest, he’s quick to claim his spot between your spread thighs, slowly easing himself into your sensitive pussy. As much as it irritates to see Jake so eager to take his place, Samuel moves off to the side; hand wrapping around his angry cock to maintain his hardness. Seeing how Johan and Eli were holding up with only a fraction of his frustration, Samuel started to wonder what kind of things you got up to with either one of the two for them to be so patient in this situation. 

On a regular day, Jake would be better at taking his time with you and building up to a pace that brings you to your sweet release but after waiting so long to feel you and feeling the way your love canal rhythmically throbs around his cock after your finish, it’s like you have him in a trance. Not as rough as Samuel, but definitely more aggressive than his usual self, Jake thrusts into you needily. Your wanton moans mixing in with Jake’s are loud enough to drown out the sound of your bed squeaking in protest. Body so high strung, it comes as no surprise that you can only hold out for so long before you’re calling out Jake’s name between breathy whimpers. 

“What is it, pretty girl?” He asks you, voice wavering ever so slightly as your walls squeeze him even tighter and become more slick around him; his body torn between pushing deeper into your pulsing heat or halting his movements. 

“I’m gonna cum again—” You pant, looking up at him with glossy eyes to top off your sheepish expression; feeling bad for making him wait so long just to barely get any time with you. But Jake could never be mad at you for cumming too soon on his cock. The warmth of your walls gave him a comfort that simply couldn’t compare to other one night stands he had been with. Even in this situation where he had to share you, bringing you to orgasm filled his chest with pride just the same.

Reaching between your bodies, his thumb gently toys with your swollen clit in time with his thrusts, causing a shrill yelp to pour from your lungs before you tremble beneath him, your hips bucking wildly and your walls wrapped around him like you were made for him, it almost tempts into finishing inside you, but he swiftly pulls away. Dick throbbing after being denied of his own climax, his hand wraps around the end of his shaft, lightly squeezing the tip as he looks toward Eli and Johan to see who would call next. 

Despite his eagerness to kick everyone out of your apartment earlier so he could have you to himself, Johan lets Eli go first. Not out of politeness but simply because making mental notes of how everyone else treated your body. Johan may have been at a disadvantage by not having as much experience under his belt as the others, but he was able to make up for it with how quick he learned by observing. Watching the same type of porn you liked may might have given him some insight to what gets you off; however it just didn’t compare to actually seeing in real time how you liked to be fucked. 

Eli moves between your legs, ready to mount you until the wetness of the sheets against his skin nags at him. There had been countless times where he had been able to make a mess of you like this on his own but something about having to kneel in a puddle of your juices that were coaxed out of you by someone else bugs him.

“God, it’s wet everywhere. You’re so messy.” Eli teases softly, plucking you off your mattress and hooking your thigh around his arm as he stands at the end of your bed frame. 

With you no longer laying down, everyone is able to see the faint outline of your figure created by you sweating on the sheets along with the sizable dark, wet stain of your orgasms. It’s so vulgar and dirty, but it’s exactly the type of thing that seems to boost morale amongst the men and make them even more eager to wreck you. 

Balancing yourself on just one foot, it’s up to Eli to keep you stable; one hand tightly gripping your thigh and the other keeping a vice hold on your ass. The moment he sinks into you, your body tenses for just a moment before relaxing in his arms. Being taken at this angle somehow manages to wipe more thoughts from an already barren mind. You feel Eli’s length pummeling deep inside of you, you feel his lips ghosting along your neck and jaw but it’s almost as if there’s disconnect between your mind and body. You can’t even think about how loud you’re being and if you keep it up, you might end up with a sore throat because your moans just keep tumbling carelessly.   

Rutting into you with the perfect balance of passion and primal instinct, Eli genuinely contemplates giving you a nice, warm load right into your cervix so you’d have to keep him around. The only thing that stops him from asking if you want his seed at that moment is the fact that there were three other guys coping with varying levels of sexual frustration and would throw a fit if he came inside you so soon. In the back of his mind, Eli was more than ready to creampie you if you had begged even just a little. 

You don’t even have to string together the words to warn Eli that you were on the verge of another explosive orgasm. He could see it all over your face. He could feel it in how you clutched onto his shoulders and dug your nails into the skin. And the most damning of all, everyone could hear the way your moans escalated in pitch and volume. Your body feels like jelly as you gush all over his length, the only thought in your head wondering how were you going to make it through the rest of the night if things continued on like this? 

After Eli pulls out of you, it’s a literal hand off to Johan; feeling God Dog’s leader put his hands on your waist then bend you over while your hands still clung to Eli. Rough fingertips dig into the meat of your hip as Johan establishes a firm hold on your body, he pushes his hips forward; the harsh thrust cushioned by the softness of your ass. You gasp loudly, not expecting the tip of his cock to hit your sweet spot right away. If he continued to fuck you at this angle, there was no way you wouldn’t come apart with just a few more thrusts—Johan knows that and quite frankly, doesn’t care— It’s proven when he gives you a few experimental bucks of his hips and feels the telltale sensation of your walls clamping down on his cock that lets him know you had orgasmed. With how quickly you cum, your jaw hangs open in shock and no one else is the wiser so Johan continues to lose himself in the sensation of your warm, wet heat. 

“How are you still so fucking tight?” Johan groans out, a delirious laugh rumbling in the back of his throat while he ruts into you, pushing so deep that his full balls are squished up against your swollen pussy lips. “Is it because you’re waiting for someone to bust inside you?” He says, leaning in to whisper the words into your ear. 

You lose count of how many times you cum on Johan’s cock alone but at this point, your walls are so sensitive that even with the undulating, rapid movements of his hips, you feel every vein and ridge rubbing up against you.  

“N-no…” You whimper, despite the very obvious spasming of your walls after hearing his question.

“Just say the word and I’ll fill you up-” 

“If you cum inside, we’re kicking you out.” Jake quickly cuts in after overhearing the brief exchange between you and Johan. 

Rolling his eyes at the latter’s comment, Johan promptly shoves you off his cock; not wanting to deal with the bickering that would ensue if he were to finish inside you like he wanted. Never empty for long, as soon as someone pulls out of you, someone else is filling you up again or moving you into another position before entering you again. It’s truly a group effort to remind you to use your mouth or hands on the other guys when you have one of them balls deep in your pussy, your mind long gone and in a depraved daze.   

It’s only when you get to a point of being barely able to keep your eyes open, your bedroom is filled with an urgency to finish before your body finally gives out. It had been in the middle of one of Eli’s turns when everyone quietly came to the decision to wrap things out and he pulled out of you, your body tiredly sprawled out on the soiled sheets. Everyone stands around you and furiously jerks their dicks before you feel splashes of warmth all over various parts of your body. Even though your vision was mostly fuzzy by now, you could tell by just the locations who finished where. Samuel made sure to paint your face, uncaring of whether he got it in your hair or eyes but ensuring he slapped his tip on your tongue as he shot out the final rope. Eli came all over the outside of your pussy, fondly smiling at the sight as he did so. Jake had mostly aimed for your chest; letting a few stray ropes spray over the lower portion of your face because he knew it would get a rise out of Samuel. And Johan had opted to leave a nice pool of his seed right above your navel since your ass wasn’t an option for him today.

Fucked out and exhausted, you stumble to the bathroom to get yourself cleaned up and make it clear that they needed to change your bedding for you before they left. Once that’s all done, you don’t even bother saying bye to any of your fuckbuddies since it was a normal part of your routine to send them away after cleaning up. You hear your front door slam shut, the electronic deadbolt automatically locking it for you and you assume everyone has left so you could go to sleep but the sound of footsteps approaching your bedroom again makes you slowly sit up and look toward your doorframe. 

You thought you didn’t have a favorite crew head, but when you see that he’s the one who decided to stay behind, you perk up as you welcome him back into your bed. Whether it was simply enjoying each other’s company or just resting before going for another round of sex, you’re glad it’s with him. 

[the-blind-bard]

Parasite Shigaraki x Reader Pt. 2

|Part 1 | Part 3 (Soon) | Masterlist |

Synopsis: [Strangers/Lovers, Smut, Loser!Obsessive! Shigaraki] - |Shigaraki x Reader| Your family called your quirk "parasite", able to feed off of someone's quirk and make it temporarily your own. Luckily, the only other person on the subway happens to have the most powerful quirk you've ever seen and zero experience with women.

Content: MDNI, stalking, voyeurism, mention of masturbation, mutual obsession, reader has a quirk, submissive Shigaraki

You hadn’t heard from him at all.

Nights were spent pacing around your shitty excuse of an apartment, bitter curses leaving your lips and hands itching to destroy everything around you. 

You were irreparably mad that your lust for power must have -understandably- scared him off. 

For fucks sake, (Y/n). You killed a guy in front of him.

That might have been the most impulsive thing you’d ever done.

If only you had stuck to the friendly and cute act, not showing him the power-hungry monster that lives beneath your skin.

He would have been so easy. 

You could tell the minute you touched him that he would do anything you asked, clumsy and blushing. 

You were sure if you hadn’t scared him but instead had just pressed your lips to his and let your fingers pull his hair like pretty, blue ribbons, he would have been yours.

He was meant to be yours.

You could have both built him up and broken him down.

And now you sit in the silence of knowing what could have been.

What you could have been.

It threw you into a fit of rage at first. 

When a couple of days had passed without a single text or call, you thought surely you might run into him again on the subway.

Nothing. 

You got more and more desperate.

Taking long walks that were way out of your way, hoping to find out which direction he lived in. 

You were trying so hard to push down the obsession of finding Shigaraki, but every time you remembered the feeling of absolute destruction on the tips of your fingers, you took another hour-long detour home.

It had been a little over a week when you noticed it.

You were walking home from work, feet sore and not looking forward to the purgatory state of being on that subway. Today you were wondering if you should once again try to take some random stops home and seek Shigaraki out, but you were too tired for that today.

Good thing.

It had been another particularly bad day, leaving you with depths of unresolvable anger and an itch in your blood.

But things weren’t all bad.

 At least now you were comforted by the gentle footsteps lingering in the shadows behind you.

Leaving work, you noticed the feeling of eyes lurking in dark spaces. 

Red. 

Like you were being watched by a starved animal.

Flashes of blue.

Poor shy, pretty boy.

You were so sure he would either get on the subway and sit by you or he would approach you on the street, feigning coincidence. 

When you reached the subway, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You walked slowly to the subway stop, hands retreating from the cold and into your pockets. 

You could hear the softest patter of feet behind you. 

How cute.

The destructive little street cat wasn’t aware that he was chasing a panther.

And you let him think he was getting away with it too. 

You did for a couple of days, playing the role of the ignorant airhead, acting entirely unaware of the rapid increase in time he spent “with” you. 

Throughout the day and night, footsteps always echo from not too far behind you. 

You let him believe he had the power. 

You wanted him to get hooked to you like you were the memory of his quirk, unable to chase after anything else. 

When there were a couple of consecutive days where you were sure he’d been following you from morning till deep in the night, you decided he was ready.

Leaving work, Shigaraki was there.

Walking home, Shigaraki was there.

Dead of the night, purposefully leaving your bedroom curtain cracked open, Shigaraki was there.

Leaving for work in the morning?

Depends.

Looks like even he had limits on how persistent he could be. It made you wonder what else he did throughout his days.

What was he sacrificing in his daily life as he spent his time muffling whines in his throat as he peeked through your windows? 

On this day, though, he was there. His footsteps were a little more reckless. Sleep-deprived and dazed by you, he was far from stealthy. 

At this point in allowing him to follow you, Shigaraki is over-confident. 

He thought his girl needed him now more than ever. If she was too stupid to notice someone following her for this long, what would she do without him ever again? He couldn’t trust you to walk home alone. 

Not after that pretty but reckless mouth almost had that guy and his friends come at you like that. 

Tomura wasn’t sure of the extent of your quirk, but he hadn’t seen you use a quirk at all since that night. He was so sure now that you needed him as much as he needed to feel your hands caress his face again. Fuck, touch anywhere. He just needs you-

Tomura’s lethal confidence. 

He seemed to be a little bit bolder than you gave him credit for and it was obvious to you that he wasn’t as innocent either. You’d still grant him shy, but hearing him fail to stifle those pretty noises at night derailed some notions of innocence. 

No, you decided Tomura Shigaraki must be a closeted freak, perverted and nasty in the privacy of his mind and wherever he called home. 

That, you could certainly work with to your advantage. 

It was a little warmer today than usual, a murky and humid heat. 

Even the slight chill of the night did little to stop the sticky feeling of sweat on your skin. 

You dressed appropriately, clothes a little bit more revealing than usual. 

To anyone else, you were just a normal person dressing for the weather. 

But to the footsteps behind you, Tomura couldn’t decide if he loved the feeling of seeing you like this more than how disgusted he was when anyone else looked at you. 

You could hear every step of his, smiling to yourself.

You were near the part of the street where Shigaraki would stay hidden and watch -waiting to make sure you got on the subway- when you suddenly stopped walking. 

Your back was turned to him, but your smile never faltered. This was a drastic risk to take, but you had to do something.

“Would you like to walk with me instead of taking the subway today?”

You didn’t turn around, not wanting to startle the lurking man with sudden movement. For a while, you didn’t hear any response aside from the initial gasp at your question and the approaching sound of nails scratching angry skin.

A shadow was cast on the pavement from right beside you. Illuminated by the glowing street light, his shadow loomed over yours. 

Turning your head to him with a sweet smile, you could see the wild look in his eyes, fingers tearing at his skin with his other hand clutched in the pocket of his hoodie. 

Feral.

“Thank you, Shigaraki.” You started back on your course of walking.

It was odd. 

The two of you had been walking for a decent amount of time and no one made a move towards speaking. You tried to read his body language, but you were too worried about enacting his need to run. 

Meanwhile, he didn’t see anything wrong with the silence at all. He was reveling in your presence.

He was bitter about you finding him out, wondering how long you’d known, but he couldn’t find it in him to care now that you asked for him to walk next to you. God, he missed the smell of you. 

To be able to see every detail of you up close. 

This beats fogging up the window of your room, hand traveling dangerously low as he tries to justify the disgusting way your name leaves his lips in a pathetic prayer for mercy. 

How sweet and peaceful you looked, blissfully sleeping.

His angel. 

Surely angels were forgiving, right? 

You could forgive him as he relentlessly fucks into his own fist, brought to euphoria just by seeing you and remembering what your hand felt like on his skin.

“Join the league,” he mumbled to you so lowly your brows scrunched in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You kept walking, leaning in towards him to hear better.

His breath hitched slightly. Every inch closer you were to him the more alive he felt. 

“League of Villians. I saw you dust that fuckin’ guy the other day. But you’re not shit on your own, so you’d be a dumbass to not join us.” Perfect. Tomura was sure those words perfectly reflected that he simply wants you to come live with him, help him take over the world, fuck him stupid…

You were stunned by how boldly he spoke. This wasn’t the same whimpering man that sticks to shadows. Seems like when Shigaraki wasn’t needy, he was rude. 

Is it bad that it kind of excited you? That you felt goosebumps rise on your flesh in the middle of a summer night? That you like how unpredictable he’s proving to be? 

You like how he has the potential to be destruction embodied and maybe you can pave a path to being the only thing he wants to keep whole and to himself?

Hm. But he was proving unpredictable. 

League of Villians? Who the fuck is this guy?

Looks like you might have to be careful to not get attached to the boy more than the power.

Was this a joke? No way he could be this fucking perfect. 

“Villian, huh?” You smirked at him. “That’s why you’ve been my personal shadow lately? They have you on recruitment?” 

Shigaraku scoffed, but his heart picked up pace, anxiety prickling at being called out for following you. 

“I’m not some idiot lackey, side character. I’m the leader of the league. I also just had to make sure you weren’t some crazy bitch after being stupid enough to kill a guy in front of two witnesses and a stranger and not finish off everyone else.”

Fair enough. That wasn’t your brightest moment, but you could hardly be blamed for that when you were running off of the adrenaline of meeting someone like Tomura Shigaraki. 

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Shigaraki felt his heart physically pound, throbbing. Was this a fucking heart attack? God, you were going to kill him. 

You were holding back for him? Why the fuck did you care about a stranger like that? He’d never. 

It was all for him. You’re all for him. You’re his.

“Whatever.” Shigaraki shrugged, but the blush creeping up his pale skin told you enough.

Shigaraki tried to instinctively curl in on himself in flustered embarrassment. His shoulders were hunched forward, hands in his pockets, and his hair shielded his face from your view. 

You reveled in knowing all of his attitude was just a front. 

Carefully, you moved a hand towards him to tuck some of those loose, blue strands behind his ear. 

When his face was exposed to you once more, his eyes were blown wide, looking at you. You were the only person to ever reach out and touch him so boldly, and he thought there couldn’t be a sweeter feeling in this world. 

He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. Anything would come out as an embarrassing noise or he might not be able to stop himself from simply begging you to touch him again. 

Anywhere.

 However you’d like. 

A deep content flooded your chest like the warmth of an ignited fire. 

“Are there more members of this league?”

He nods. You hum, pretending to weigh a decision you’d already made. 

“Take me there.”

Who was he to not follow a command from you? His feet set forward on the familiar path to the decrepit bar he called home and headquarters. 

tag list: @milolooooong @shiggysgf890 @raccoonc0re @faithyinnitt @nymeriiiia @koreluvsspring @fudo-aki @tomura-complex @lovelylyana07 @chxrrybobaby-sin @confused-smol-fan

[girlgenius1111]

you can start a family who will always show you love

part 3 :)

warnings: mentions of self harm. nothing graphic. discussions of anxiety. angst + fluff.

You slept better than you had in weeks, curled up against the steady presence of Alexia. When you woke up the next morning, rolling over to find an empty bed, you were torn between feeling hopeful, and feeling embarrassed. You let yourself wake up slowly, enjoying the sun peeking through the curtains. You heard quiet voices talking in the living room, and felt a pang of anxiety, knowing the inevitable conversation would be difficult. You considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but your hand had been out of the brace for too long, and was throbbing painfully.

So, you stood, seeing a sweatshirt of Alexia's folded nicely on the edge of the bed, clearly left for you. It was odd to be taken care of in this way; it felt nice, you felt safe. Carefully tugging the sweatshirt on, you shuffled out into the living room, still groggy. You found your friends lounging with cups of coffee. Mapi and Ingrid were squished in the big armchair together, exhausted, and Alexia was tapping her foot rapidly from the couch, clearly thinking hard.

They all looked up as you entered, sending you kind smiles. Without letting yourself over think it, you plopped down on the couch next to Alexia, leaving a small gap. Your captain closed that gap immediately, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and pulling you to lean into her.

"Good morning, pequeña. How'd you sleep?" She asked, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

"Mmm," you responded, giving a thumbs up. You'd just woken up, it was too soon for words. The other girls chuckled. Alexia handed you your brace, having it ready for you, and you put it on carefully. You leaned your head on Alexia's shoulder then, eyes drifting shut again.

Alexia was still kind of surprised at the way you were acting, and if the other girl's faces were any indication, they were too. You were suddenly so willing to seek out the comfort from your friends that you needed. She was glad that you were, but still, worry remained; If you were allowing yourself to accept help, things must be really bad.

You blinked your eyes open after a minute, looking hopefully at Ingrid. "Coffee?" You asked. Ingrid rolled her eyes jokingly, pulling herself out from under Mapi, and heading into the kitchen. Ingrid often suffered from being the person on the team that made the best coffee.

The three of you remained, sitting in a comfortable silence. Ingrid returned quickly, handing you a mug.

"Thank you!" You said, with a smile.

"Anything for you, elskling." Ingrid said quietly, voice heavy with sincerity. You knew she wasn't just talking about making you coffee, and you paled a little, anxiety returning. You trusted your friends, you really did, but you weren't really sure what happened when you were honest with them, when you told them how bad it had gotten.

"Are you ready to talk, y/n?" Mapi asked, speaking for the first time. You nodded hesitantly. There was a long pause, where it seemed like they were waiting for you to say something.

"I'm not really sure where to start." You mumbled, taking a long sip of coffee. Your friends considered, before responding.

"What happened yesterday? When you hurt your hand?" Mapi asked. Alexia felt you tense next to her, and prepared herself for you to close back up.

"I don't really know. I was really upset about the card, and I felt really guilty, I knew you guys would have a hard game down to only 10. I was just... so upset and suddenly I was hitting the concrete." You told then, gaze fixed on the coffee table in front of you.

Mapi took a deep breath. "When you say you felt guilty. Were you trying to hurt yourself?"

You wanted to say no. But lying to them when they had just spent their entire night making sure you were okay felt wrong. Your silence spoke volumes.

"Pequeña, have you ever done anything like that before?" Alexia asked. You couldn't bring yourself to look at her, the pain in her voice almost too much. You knew you wouldn't get away with not responding to this one.

"Yeah." You said, trying to keep it simple and detail free. You felt Alexia inhale a sharp breath next to you, and you knew she was wondering how she missed it. You couldn't let her feel guilty though, not when this wasn't her fault, at all.

"Not often. Only when things are... really bad." You paused, wondering if you should continue. "And I'm really good at hiding it, you wouldn't have any way of knowing." You couldn't meet any of their eyes, instead focusing on the way Mapi's hand intertwined with Ingrid's, holding tightly. You hated that you'd made them upset.

Alexia hadn't spoken again, and you couldn't look at her, worried she was crying. You didn't think you'd be able to take that. Ingrid once again became the voice of reason, pulling herself together enough to ask you another question.

"Y/n," Ingrid began, and you knew what she was going to ask before she spoke. "Can you show us? Or we can leave, and you can show Alexia? We need to know if we need to take care of anything." She spoke soothingly, as if somehow knowing exactly the weight of what she was asking you.

You shook your head, swallowing your tears. "It's just scars right now. There's nothing to see." You told them. There was a hand under your chin, imploring you to look at Alexia. Taking a deep breath, you turned.

"Promise me that there's nothing except scars." Alexia asked. Her eyes were glittering, and even though she spoke harshly, you knew she was just trying to hold it together for you.

"I promise." You said sincerely. Alexia nodded once, taking a deep breath. You turned to look at the other girls then, finding them in similar states. If Alexia didn't cry often, Mapi cried... never. Seeing a few stray tears on her cheeks was jarring. Seeing tears in Ingrid's eyes was rather mundane; the girl cried at sad commercials. But still, present on all of their faces was determination. For what, you weren't really sure.

"Is that what you've been having a hard time with recently? Depression?" Alexia asked. You weren't really sure how to answer. That was part of it, definitely.

"Partly." You said, still trying to gather your thoughts.

"What is the other part?" Alexia insisted. For some reason, talking about your anxiety was harder than talking about being depressed. It felt more personal, so inherently connected to your insecurities. You'd come this far, though.

"I've been really anxious. Since the world cup really. Normally I can block out what everyone says, the pressure from the outside world. I haven't been able to do that recently." You told them, voice starting to shake. You were really tired of crying.

"That sounds really hard, elskling," Ingrid said gently, and you found yourself nodding, a few tears escaping. It HAD been really hard. It was only just hitting you how hard.

"Is that why you haven't been sleeping? You've been too anxious?" Alexia inquired. You nodded.

"Y/n, why didn't you tell us any of this? Why wouldn't you let us help you?" Mapi questioned.

"I don't want you guys to feel like you need to worry about me, or take care of me. I'm an adult, I can handle it myself. You guys have better things to do than sit around and listen to me complain."

"It doesn't really seem like you can handle it yourself, elskling. There's nothing wrong with that though. You're only 20. You don't have to have everything figured out, and you don't need to do everything by yourself. Not when you have people around who care about you, and want to help." Ingrid told you. You really weren't sure if you believed her.

"Look, y/n, obviously this isn't something thats going to fix overnight. But there are a lot of things we can do to get you help. Can you promise me you'll try them?" Alexia asked, ever the planner.

"Yeah. I guess." You responded. Alexia was a little disappointed in your lack of enthusiasm, but Rome wasn't built in a day.

"And, I want you to promise me that when you're having a hard time, you'll try to call one of us. I know that isn't easy for you, but you deserve to be helped when you're hurting, and we want nothing more than to be there for you." Alexia stated. "That goes for anything; if you're hurt, or sick, or sad, or anxious, or feeling like doing something to yourself. You can call any of us, night or day."

"Really? You won't be mad?" You asked, not really letting yourself believe Alexia's words.

Alexia shook her head. "Never. We'll never be mad at you for any of those things. And we'll never be annoyed at you for reaching out to one of us."

"Okay. I can try." You told her, feeling like maybe you could.

"That's all we're asking for, pequeña. Just try for us, okay?" Alexia said. You nodded, wiping at your eyes.

"Thanks, guys." You said, voice barely more than a whisper as you tried to keep it from breaking. Ever one to change the mood, Mapi got up then, jostling Ingrid, and came over to the couch, sprawling across you and Alexia.

"Good. Now I can nap. And keep an eye on you." She said, letting out a contented sigh. You and Alexia tried in vain to push her off of you, laughing. Ingrid rolled her eyes at her girlfriend antics, but came over too, sitting next to you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You smiled at her, at all three of them. You felt like, for the first time in a long time, maybe you could do this. Maybe you would be okay. You were going to try at least.

-----

thanks for reading!!!! someone requested r almost getting into a fight and her friends intervening, which didn't really fit into how i wrote the timeline, but if people are into that idea, i could do a oneshot of it. i also might follow this up with r reaching out to each of the girls when she's struggling, because recovery isn't a straight line, and inevitably relapses happen. keep things realistic, + I <3 hurt comfort. let me know if you guys want to see any of this :)

[sugurufic]

The Girl at the Cafe

Fushiguro Megumi x F!Reader

(megumi is such a babygirl and i love the violin scene so here it is)

Word Count: almost 1k

Content Warnings: none, just fluff

masterlist

Megumi has been seeing this girl daily now, sitting in the corner with a tea in her hands, looking out the window. Megumi sees you daily, and you see him too, but he has never had the courage to ask your name. He thinks you look beautiful, and now he has been looking forward to seeing you in your spot rather than his black coffee.

Today is no different, he enters the cafe and sits down in his unassigned-assigned place and turns to catch a glimpse of you. But today, you aren't there. He checks the time on his phone, he is there at the usual time. Maybe you were running late, a hopeful part of him thinks. Maybe you have already left, the pessimist in him thinks.

He orders his usual coffee and a pastry to pass the time, but it's been over half an hour and there is still no sign of you. After an hour, he leaves the coffee not tasting the same without having you to steal glances at.

Right as he steps out, he spots Yuji and turns away, not wanting him to see his usually antsy face upset over nothing. 

He is glad he does, because he bumps into you - well you run into him - but he is delighted to see you though his face still has the signature frown.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you say, and Megumi is mesmerised by your voice, already feeling it seeping into his dreams. 

“It's alright,” He says, hands involuntarily reaching out to steady you. 

“Isn't it later than your usual time?” You ask. He can see the curiosity in your eyes and he is delighted that you recognize him - else he'd be making a complete fool of himself.

“Yeah, school,” He says with a sad sigh. “You're late too, what a coincidence.” Megumi opens the door for you, letting you pass before entering again.

“Fushiguro, Megumi,” He says when you give him your name. He tries saying it out once, loving the way it rolls off his tongue.

Megumi takes another pastry and his black coffee, not worrying about the sleep it is going to steal from him. It's not like he could sleep tonight either. The barista gives a knowing smile but she doesn't say anything. 

Conversation flows easily between you two, and you are quickly done with your beverages and pastries. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door again as you exit a shy smile on your face.

He's asking how you are going to go just as two pairs of arms are swung around him, embarrassment filling his whole body.

“Fushiguro-kyun!” Yuji and Nobora smother him with embarrassing questions about things that never happened, about the nights they shared together about the nice things he has said to them. He wishes the earth would split open and swallow him, he's sure he's red in the face and cannot bear to look you in the eyes. What kind of man would you take him for, after these idiots? He's fuming and ready to lash out at his friends only to be beaten to it again. By Gojo Sensei, of all people.

“Could you not touch him so casually, please?” Gojo says in a soft voice, before yelling, “You homewreckers!”

“Ah, well,” Megumi accepts his fate, ready to never show up in this cafe again, ready to disappear out of your sight and never seek anyone else out.

Gojo is standing elegantly, his blindfold gone and sunglasses in their place - his glowing blue eye teasing from under a lens. “Megumi-chan has violin practice with me now.” He says with all the dramatic flair he is known for. “Let’s go home, Megumi-chan. Today I will have you master Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

He is ready to split the sky and fly away, but then you start giggling at their theatrics. He thinks it is the prettiest sight he has ever seen, seeing you giggle like that, he wants to make that sound come from you all the time. It's a strange feeling, for he has never had the urge to make people laugh.

“You've got wonderful friends, Fushiguro.” You say, sounding out of breath. Your eyes twinkle with laughter and he knows he will never forget it.

An embarrassed smile makes its way to his face, and Yuji, Nobora and Gojo all step back, staring at him in horror.

“Megumi?” They whisper under their breath, eyes dancing between the two of you.

“Same time, tomorrow?” You ask, holding your hand out. Megumi is a little confused, but Gojo says, “Phone number, Megumi-chan,”

“Oh, right!” Megumi takes your phone and dials his number, a shy smile on his face. “Same place?”

“Do you have any better suggestions?” You ask, eyes sparkling. He cannot bring himself to look away, wanting to drink in each second he has with you.

Megumi watches you walk away, he thinks you have an amazing walk - taking the runway straight to his heart. He's so blissed he's even forgotten his embarrassing friends, who had been suspiciously quiet all this time. The satisfied smile on his face quickly turns to a scowl as he turns, Yuji, Nobora and Gojo all with wide grins on their faces. And suddenly he can feel all his fury returning.

“What the hell was all of that?” He demands, not quite loud, but still sounding outraged. And he's surprisingly vocal about it too. “Gojo-Sensei, violin?  Really? Do you even play violin?”

“Fushiguro's got a girlfriend!” Yuji ignores all of that, right back to his bubbly self. Megumi hates Yuji so much at the moment, and his resting face reflects that, but he also thinks, if you two were to date - you’d better get used to his friends' antics.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part eighteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: hiii posting this early bc bestie and i are ab to start a 24 hour readathon! if i'm not active for the next day, that would be why. anyway wish us luck!! also i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i should have so i'm sorry lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You called out of work indefinitely, after that. You didn't want to quit, you wanted to love your job and you honestly couldn't see yourself doing anything else but right now, you just couldn't. Luckily, the girls who worked down at the library were incredibly understanding according to Lennox, who was sent to deliver your letter of leave and apology.

It had been close to a week when you finally ventured out to the back porch to read rather than rotting in bed all day staring at the ceiling. Your mother made you tea, and insisted she come sit with you. You enjoyed the company.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She asks, just as you're turning the page. Under normal circumstances, you'd resort to Romeo and Juliet, but now you feel like you couldn't stomach it. So, Much Ado About Nothing would have to suffice.

"I'm okay, Ma." You say softly, giving a slight shake over your head as your eyes fly over the faded lettering on the page.

"Lennox told us what happened, you know." She adds after a beat of silence.

You look up at her, frowning. "I'm sorry. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Don't be, dear." She shakes her head quickly, gently resting a hand on your thigh. "I wish you had told us. I wouldn't have invited him in that day, I could have told you he stopped by and we could have made a plan. I shouldn't have sprung that on you."

You sigh, pursing your lips and closing your book. "I didn't want you to dislike him, that's why I didn't tell you. I thought... I wanted to come home with at least something positive to talk about. And I thought that if I gave it enough time, thinking positively about him, I could try to contact him without seeing... that."

She smiles sadly at you. "You really love him, huh?"

"How could I not?" You admit quietly, staring at the cover of the book on your lap. "He was the first person there to show me kindness, to make me feel like I wasn't alone." You explain. "It felt... Like Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, because of course I didn't think I could really have him. I was living in a dream, in a way."

"And now?" She prompts you to continue, thrilled that you are finally opening up.

"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

She chuckles, gently rubbing your leg. "So that's a yes, then."

"How I wish it was not." You groan, reaching for your cup to drown your predicament in tea.

"Your brother," She sighs, gently removing the book from your lap. "came home that night just... just shaking with anger. And he looked me and your father in the eyes and said he was going to kill Coriolanus. He was set on it." She explains, and you look at her.

"He said that?" You ask, and she nods.

"I could see it in his eyes, he meant it, and we were so confused. Because, after all, it had been Coriolanus and Sejanus who came to the door seeking help for you, and your father told me Coryo looked like a ghost- bless him." She chuckles slightly.

"What I mean is... Your brother is not immune to violence, either. He would hurt someone for you, I know it. Just because you don't wish him to, doesn't mean he doesn't love you so much that he would do anything." You mull over her statement, chewing passively on your lip. "And boys... boys just do things differently than you and I would. Or Lucy Gray would. I bet if you asked her about Billy Taupe, Tam Amber, or little Clerk Carmine, that she'd tell you they've all had their moments. But boys aren't treated fair in this life, so sometimes, they don't fight fair."

"Coriolanus killed someone, Ma."

"Why?" She asks. "Lennox told me you saw it. Why did he kill that boy?"

"Because..." You shake your head. "He was trying to kill him, first."

"Okay, well-"

"But that I can understand, given the circumstances." You quickly explain, guilt settling in your stomach like a weight as you put your mug back down. "It was after. Bobbin had so clearly already passed on, and he hit him again. It was anger, and it was not necessary. A waste of precious time he didn't have but he did it anyway and that... that scared me."

She hums, listening to you intently. "If it helps, dear, and this is my honest feelings... I still think he is a good man, with a good heart." She says. "I know what you've seen is... gosh, it's unfathomable, and I wish I could take that pain from you, but I really do think that if you still feel anything for him you should talk to him."

Your eyes snap up to hers, and you look scared.

"I've only met him once, but gosh, the way he looks at you, and how he spoke about you, he thinks you put the stars in the sky." She grins, trying to relax you by taking your hand. "No problems have ever solved by hiding. And even if you turn out to be correct, that he's never been who you thought he was, you'll get peace by having answers. And even so, he deserves that peace too."

"I... I'll think about it." You nod softly, reaching for your book again.

"Hello? Boys?" Lucy Gray calls out, walking into the small house Coryo and Sejanus have been occupying.

"In here!" Sejanus calls back, and she follows his voice into the small kitchen where he's attempting to make something to eat.

"Ooh, what's for lunch?" She asks, sitting herself down at the dining room table.

"Eggs... I think." Sejanus laughs. Lucy Gray had been coming by to try and keep them company, and she did really like spending time with Sejanus. Coryo didn't have a whole lot to say, though.

"Yum." She giggles, sitting up straight to look into the pan. "Where's Coriolanus?"

"Guess."

"On the back porch staring at the trees?"

"Pretty much."

Lucy Gray sighs, pushing herself up. "Okay, well, The Covey and I are going to the lake tomorrow. It's a hike out, but it's beautiful. You guys should come."

"I'll be there, but I don't know if we can convince blondie." Sejanus nods toward the back door.

"Oh, I'll convince him." She smiles smugly, brushing past him and out the door.

Lucy Gray finds out quickly that apparently she had guessed wrong- he was sitting on the porch, like he had been every day, but today he was reading rather than just staring out at the mountains. "What are ya readin'?" She asks, standing in front of him.

"Nothing that's any of your business." He grumbles, not looking up from the pages of the worn down book.

She leans over him, attempting to read it upside down. "Ah." She grins. "Romeo and Juliet? Good choice."

"What do you need, Lucy Gray?" He asks, closing the book and glaring up at her.

"I've come to extend and invitation to you, we're all going to the lake tomorrow. I think you should come."

"No, thank you."

She rolls her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. "You didn't chop off all those beautiful gold curls just so you could never see Y/N again, did you?"

His eyes visibly brighten at that, only for a moment. "She's going?" This was the chance he was waiting for. He intended to go to your house that following morning, maybe pick up flowers on the way, a book, or some kind of peace offering, but Sejanus and Lucy Gray shut that down very quickly. Even though he cut his hair almost as soon as he got back to this dump they called a house, they said you still needed time.

"Mhm." Lucy Gray nods, smiling at him knowingly. "She hasn't been working, so I was able to book her for the day."

Had Lucy Gray talked to you about this yet? No. But she knew it would do him some good to get away from this house for a day, whether you were there or not, and she knew that deep down you would want to see him again. A group setting was the best way to do this for everyone. She knew he would be easy to convince, but getting you to agree would be the hard part.

"Okay, okay yeah. I'll come." Coryo nods, looking down. He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he feels like he should be doing something to prepare somehow.

"She's still... sensitive. So be nice."

"I have never not been nice to her."

"Never said you have." Lucy Gray raises an eyebrow at him. "I meant be careful. She may not want to talk to you. I won't tell her you're coming so I can at least get her out the door."

"Why not?" Coryo asks, immediately knowing how stupid that sounds when Lucy Gray lets out a laugh. "I mean, I don't want to scare her off, so she should know. Please be honest with her." He pleads.

Lucy Gray's eyes soften at that. "Okay, you're right. But I'm not tellin' you if she says no. You still have to come." She points at him and he sighs.

"Okay, whatever. Sure."

"You're both just rotting and making it worse for yourselves. You need to get out." She says as she walks back inside, leaving him alone to read.

Coryo smiles to himself as he picks the book up again, continuing where he left off even though he's already read it five or six times.

"You're gonna be fine just fine, Y/N/N. I promise." Lucy Gray assures you as you walk down the path toward the forest where the Covey and Sejanus were waiting. With Coryo.

"I won't let him near ya." Lennox adds, kicking a rock aside as he walks in front of you and your friend.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart. If you want space, tell him. I talked to him about this. He knows not to push you." Lucy Gray whispers to you and you nod, teeth digging into the softness of your cheek.

"I know." You say quietly, arm wrapped around hers. You loved going to the lake, and you've been a couple of times since you've been back, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't hesitant to bring him with you. If it goes poorly, you don't know if you could ever go back.

"Yeah, I gave him a stern talkin' to. Put the fear of god in him, he'll be on his best behaviour." She giggles.

"You didn't actually scare him, did you?" You laugh nervously.

"Of course I did." She says, but you know she's just joking.

"Is Billy Taupe coming?" You ask her after a moment.

Your friend wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. "No, lord, no." She chuckles. "He's off with that Mayfair. Real class act, they are."

You giggle, squeezing her arm. You take it as they're broken up, at least for now. "I'm sorry, Lucy Gray." You add and feel her shrug under your grip.

"I'm done with him this time." She tells you, shaking her head. "I can't trust him no more."

"One foot in sea and one on shore." You comment and she looks at you, a smile pulling on her lips as she gently pulls you closer, leaning her head on your shoulder.

"Y/N!" Maude Ivory greets the two of you first, running up and throwing her arms around your waist. You jump slightly at the sudden contact, making every effort to catch her with nothing more than a slight gasp and a smile. "I've missed you!"

"Hello, dear." You chuckle, running your hands over the length of her blonde hair. "It's only been a couple of weeks, and you do know where to find me."

"Your friend has a gift for you, come on." She grins, letting you go only to grab your hand and pull you up the rest of the hill.

When Coryo sees you, his instinct is to push his hair back out of his face. That can't happen, so he settles for shifting on his feet and gripping the flower he's holding in his hand as you avoid his gaze and he avoids your brothers. Of course you would hide from him- he doesn't fault you for it. You were nervous, he could tell. And of course Lucy Gray neglected to tell him that Lennox was coming, though, he understood why.

He just wished you were angry at him. That would be far preferable to you being afraid.

"Y/N, hi." Sejanus greets you and you smile at him, giving a quiet wave as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You packed your book and a blanket with some cherries you picked from the tree behind your house to share with everyone. You can see in your peripheral vision that Coryo has gotten a haircut, but you can't bring yourself to look at him just yet. Or comment on it.

"Alright, let's get movin'! The sun is only up for so long." Lucy Gray claps, not forcing you to have to say hi to Coriolanus before she's urging the group on.

Coryo looks at you as everyone else starts walking, and you nod through everyone to go ahead of you. You hate the idea of having people behind you that you can't see.

Then, finally, your eyes land on him. He smiles, hoping you would want to walk with him.

"Go ahead." You say softly, quickly looking up ahead and Lennox has stopped to wait for you.

"Oh, uh, this is for you." Coryo takes a step closer, holding the yellow daisy out to you that he picked on the walk out. Apparently, you didn't want to walk with him- you just didn't want him behind you. That was a thousand times worse.

You look down at it for a moment, reminding yourself quickly to take it instead of just staring. "Thank you." You reply quietly, delicately plucking the flower from his hold.

"Yeah, of course." He grins, not wanting to give up your attention just yet. "I... I'm really glad you agreed to come."

"It'll be nice. The lake is beautiful." You tell him, glancing over at your brother.

"Come on!" He calls out, impatient. "They're gonna leave us in the dust."

You hold back a sigh as you feel Coryo's eyes on you. You guess you will be walking with him, after all. "Coming!" You smile at him.

It's fine- he's fine. He won't hurt me.

You look up at Coryo, and his eyes are still on you. "Shall we?" He grins, gesturing to the path ahead of you.

Okay, he looks normal. His eyes are normal. Blue, sky blue. Gentle.

"Let us go." You grin at him, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag as it rests across your chest. You look back down at your feet as you walk, mindful of the roots and sticks that may trip or scratch you. You spare a glance at his feet as he joins your side on the narrow path.

Lucy Gray knew that even with her warning that Coryo would likely corner you, but she kept a close eye on you even from up ahead while she talked to Sejanus and practically dragged Lennox along with them so he would give you at least a little bit of space.

You walk in silence for a long time. The trees get thicker as you separate from the meadow and the town, isolating you only further, but you didn't feel unsafe. Not really.

Coryo would take what he could get, but he had to try to talk to you eventually. When he planned out this trip in his head the night before they were set to board the train, he had hoped that the days and nights would be spent together. That you'd say you understood, that you were happy and okay and yes! You would love to take him to the lake you frequented, just the two of you, and 'Oh, we should bring a picnic and just spend the whole day there. It will be so much fun!' And he'd get to see your smile without it quickly fading and he could hold your hand and get that second kiss that he never thought he would receive and everything would be perfect.

He never considered himself much of a dreamer, but something about you made that change. After he got to feel his lips on yours, then on the soft skin of your shoulder and his hands on your waist or locked in yours, there was no going back. He was all yours.

"So," He starts talking after only about an hour of walking. You were almost there, so you took a sharp breath in. You could talk for forty minutes. You could do it. And you wanted to, you remind yourself. "This is quite a hike, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes." You nod. "But we aren't far out now. It's worth it, I promise." You say, eyes still locked on the ground just in front of you.

"Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful walk, just... long." He comments. "And lots of bugs."

"Yes..." You chuckle nervously.

"What's it like?" He asks, desperate just to continue to hear your voice,

"The lake?" You ask, risking a look up at him. His lips form into a smile and he nods, urging you on. "Well," You swallow, trying to organize every detail you remember from last summer, before the games. "The water is very blue, and quite clear. There's a dock, we have the most fun jumping off of it."

Coryo watches your expression intently, trying to inhale every word. You pause, and your face lights up with remembered joy. "My Pa put a rope swing up here for us kids when we were young, and a few summers ago I went to take it- I climbed as far back up as I could before jumping. Then, I felt the branch jerk and I grabbed it tighter, it ended up wrapped around my leg on the way down and I got stuck." You recall the injury, but you're almost laughing. "I got this massive red burn all up the inside of my thigh, and then Lennox ripped the thing down." You giggle, and Coryo swallows. "He was joking, just pretending to even though it was my own fault, but the branch broke clean off and me and Lucy Gray tried to jump out of the way and ended up falling straight into the water."

He laughs with you at that, shaking his head. "Well, I hope your leg wasn't serious." He watches you and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, gosh no." You giggle. "Not worth pulling the whole thing down over, but it wouldn't have been kind to the next kid who swung- that's for sure. So it was probably for the best."

"Fair enough." He shrugs, eyes still glued onto you.

"I'd rather get a burn then have that big ol' thing fall on Maude Ivory or CC. They were just little at the time." He nods. That sounds just like you.

"So you've been friends for a long time, I take it?"

"Well, yes. Since they got stuck here, pretty much."

"Stuck here?" Coryo asks, looking up ahead at the group that was still just within sight.

You look up as well, just to make sure they weren't in earshot. "The Covey isn't District." You explain, voice lowered. "They used to travel everywhere to perform, but then when they got here peacekeepers rounded them up. Executed all their parents, and the kids got stuck here." You tactically leave out the part about his father being the commanding officer at the time.

"Oh."

"I think that's why Lucy Gray can't get over Billy Taupe." You add quietly, watching your friend as she laughs with Sejanus up ahead. "He's one of them, they have so much history. They're on and off, but she'll never abandon him. Not when they've been through so much together. They're the oldest- they've had to take care of the rest of them for almost their whole lives."

Coryo doesn't know what to say. "That's... yeah. I can imagine it would be hard to move on when they're so tied to each other."

You hum in agreement. "Anyway, we met when they were begging outside the market. They set their instruments up and were playing for tips just so they could eat, so my parents stopped and invited them for dinner. They've been with us ever since."

"Your parents are really good people." He comments.

You look up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I told you that, didn't I?"

"Well, you told me they weren't rebels. That doesn't mean they're saints." He jokes.

"Feels like anyone less than a saint these days is considered a rebel for one reason or another." You argue, but there's no harshness at all behind your tone.

"Regardless, your parents are safe." He says, hoping that you've forgotten about his father being a peacekeeper general.

"Well, thank you." You laugh slightly, shaking your head. "How is Tigris, by the way? And your Grandmother? Have you spoken to them since you've been away?"

"I've called a few times, yeah. They're doing well." Coryo smiles. "Tigris is taking some time off, she's working on some different projects at home."

"I'm glad to hear that." You smile. "They must be missing you."

"So they say, yeah." He chuckles.

"It's hard to be away from home." You tell him. "I know it all too well."

His smile drops steadily, but he just nods. "Yes. At least I have the guarantee of returning."

You try so hard to steer every conversation you have away from the games, but it never seems to work. People have so many questions, so many comments, and it's a shame that Coryo is no exception. You suppose that was inevitable. He's one of very few people who somewhat know what you went through.

You really wish you had met him some other way.

"I'm sorry." He quickly apologizes, sensing your shifted energy. "That was... I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no. It's okay." You insist. "I just... Everyone wants to talk about it all the time. I can't escape it."

"I should have known better. I'm sorry." He says again, taking in a deep breath. "I wanted to be different. I try so hard to not make you think about it and I should have remembered that before I said anything, I just-"

You shake your head, frowning as you look up at him. "I wouldn't expect you to." You tell him. "If I'm honest, you're the one person I think I am okay with discussing it with."

Coryo has to fight back the smile threatening to pull at his cheeks from the relief. You weren't planning on never talking to him again. This was a great sign. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears shouting from up ahead.

"We made it!" Lucy Gray cheers, and sure enough, he can see the lake appearing through the trees.

"Coryo, you gotta see this!" Sejanus's voice follows.

"We made it." You smile, happy to change the subject. "Come on, the water is going to feel so good."

Then, you're jogging up ahead of him and pulling your bag off to leave on the dock.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[loveswrites]

Omg I loved ur poly volturi!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm pleading for more!

Uno~ Poly Volturi x reader

Time it took me: I can't even tell you that hell a month? 26 days?

Word count: 1454

To lovely anon: I so happy you loved it! Sorry I took so long I'm trying to get back into my self! Your guys asks always make my day! Just cause I haven't answered doesn't mean That I haven't seen it! I love just about everyone that comes in! <3

Enjoy!

Poly Volturi x Reader

"That's just stupid." Alec said huffing looking at the table in distaste.

"You have to draw four. That's the rules." You Said shrugging.

You, Alec, Jane, Felix and Demetri were currently playing Uno. It took a while convincing everyone to play. Sure you live in a huge castle with the love of your lives but you are still human. You get bored. While Felix was down to play immediately the others were disinterested in playing with you. You got responses like "That's foolish, I have much better things to do, my love." From Caius.

A simple "No." From Jane.

"I'm sorry but I'm busy right now, beautiful." From Demetri.

"It sounds like a waste of time." From Alec.

You even asked Aro and Marcus. Marcus just straight up said he was too old for that shit in so many words. And Aro said he was too hungry to play games but maybe later. 

All the rejection from everyone put you in a sad mood. It's not like you could have friends in the Castle that wouldn't eat you the moment you get a paper cut. The receptionist is a bitch. And there aren't any more humans you have access to. So the fact that everyone said no you were distant with everyone. They all noticed.

You stopped going to trails with Caius. You stopped attempting to give Jane love. You stopped asking Alec to use his powers so you'd be entertained by the dark fog. You stopped asking Felix for piggyback rides. You stopped attempting to play hide and seek with Demetri. 

It had been days since you spoke more than 2 words at a time to any of them. You knew it was affecting them because of the tension that rested upon the castle in a thick fog. They were quick to temper. Quicker than normal that is. And that's saying a lot. 

Marcus had asked you why you hadn't been to any of the trials lately. As it happened to be one of your favorite parts of the day. "I just haven't been in the mood." You told him. He's been on this godforsaken earth way too long to be able to know when to call bullshit. But nonetheless the less he let it go. 

After that you noticed that your love's would attempt to talk to you more. Not just brushing it off as human attitude as Caius would call it. It was small talk but it was an effort.

"Yes I'm fine Demetrius stop asking me." You huffed slightly irritated.

"Did you eat today?" He questioned a little squint in his eyes.

"Yes I eat everyday." You rolled your eyes, gathering the book you were reading from the cold castle floor you were sitting on.

There was the random corner in the Castle that you would just sit in and watch as people- vampires walked through the halls. It had a lot of traffic coming through it which was what you loved. Cauis had offered to have something built for you so you wouldn't have to sit on the floor all the time. But you would always shake your head and tell him "No, just keep it clean for me please." And so he did.

"I fed today. The humans blood was a bit bitter but nonetheless tasty." Demetrius said following you in your attempts to run away from the conversation. 

"You sound like a child."

"And yet here you are acting like one." He snapped.

"I'm sorry?" You said, stopping in your tracks turning to face him.

"You've had this horrible attitude for almost a week for the stupidest thing!" He stated staring at you with his sharp eyes.

"I have not!" You said in attempts to defend yourself.

"Yes you have, don't bother denying it, the whole castle can smell it!" He yelled.

"The lies you tell!" You practically screamed upset you were getting called out.

"Oh really?" Demetrius questioned before you could even blink he had grabbed you by your waist and next you knew you were in a room full of all your mates.

Once you finally felt your two feet touch the ground you couldn't help but get angry. 

"What the fuck is this an intervention?!" You screamed. 

“If that’s what you want to call it, then so be it.” Jane said in a straightforward tone.

“Oh my god what do you guys want?! I just want to be left alone but you all keep bothering me!” You yelled.

“Us bothering you? You were practically begging for attention a couple of days ago now you want to be left alone? Foolish!” Caius yelled, taking you back a bit.

He would yell but he would refrain from yelling at you the best he could. So him yelling at you right now kinda shocked you.

“You wanted to play that card game the other day right? That was when you started acting like such a brat, so we're going to fix that and play it.” Alec stated holding his head high.

“No thanks, I'm good on that.” You said going to turn around to walk away.

“Sit down!” Your mates yelled collectively making you stop in your tracks.

“Sit down please, I’ll shuffle the cards to start.” Felix said in a softer tone.

That was about an hour ago. To not even wanna be sitting here right now it was quite entertaining watching your mates fight with each other about the fact that another was kicking the others ass. 

“I will do no such thing. I've drawn four four times!” Alec yelled, upset he was losing.

“It’s the rules of the game you have to Alec.” Jane said, rolling her eyes at her brother's temper. She was just happy she was winning. For now..

You were all sitting at a grand dining room table. Well Alec, Jane, Felix, Caius and Demtruis were. You were actually sitting on the table. Caius put you up there in attempts to make it harder for you to run away if you tried. 

You did.

You almost hit your head on the way down. 

“I don’t see the appeal of such a game, the cards don’t make sense.” Cauis said busy reading the rules that were on the back of the box.

“Don’t look at my hand! That’s an immature thing to do!” Dem yelled at Felix who kept leaning over to see what cards Dem had in his hand.

You had won the first round so you were busy spectating.

“Immature!? It’s not like we're taking a test!” Felix yelled back, plopping down in his seat.

“You're trying to cheat!” Dem yelled back furrowing his eyebrows.

“Cheat?! I am no cheater! Tell him Amore mio!” Felix said, turning to face you.

“You were cheating, I saw you.” You said blandly.

“Your human eyes don’t under the actions of mine-”

“Her human eyes are perfectly fine!” Dem yelled coming to your defense.

Tuning yourself out of the conversation-well the constant bickering. You found yourself just watching your mates. All were yelling or frowning about something but you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. Neither of them could stand human games. They hated it with the most of them. Minus video games Alec, Felix and Dem said that those don’t count. Though you always tell them they do, they insist that they don’t. A fight you could never win. 

All of your mates came together to do one simple thing that you’ve wanted to do for months. Once they saw how much the disconnection to just one human thing hurt you, They came together to try to make you feel wanted and seen. Though they can’t see the appeal at all there trying for you. And that’s all you could ever ask for. 

“That’s not four Alec!” You yelled when you saw him try to cheat his way into just grabbing two cards.

“Oh come on! I’m never going to win!” Alec yelled back.

“Not my problem.”

“Maybe winning is just not in your line of blood.” Cauis said with a slight smirk. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Jane and Alec said at the same time turning their sharp red eyes at Caius.

“I mean-”

“Nope! Nope! Draw two more cards Alec I’ll help you win!” You rushed out attempting to try to keep the peace. Well as much peace as it was going to get in the room.

“That’s not fair!”

“I need help as well, I deserve it!”

“So were picking favorites now?!”

“Felix, stop looking at my cards!”

“You can’t pick sides!”

You can’t even lie to yourself you had missed them so much. And the smile on your face told no lies.

[neet-elite]

─── HOW THEY WOULD COMFORT YOU (SDV)

hello! someone inquired privately about a request, and this is the result! it's formatted this way because it's more of a long ramble than anything else, so i hope that's okay.

SYNOPSIS: your fav has noticed that you've been a little down recently... so they'd like to cheer you up! here are my ideas as to how they'd go about doing that <3

SFW FLUFF, mdni.

INCLUDED: Alex, Sam, Sebastian, Elliott, Harvey, Shane WC: 1,938

ALEX: he's a man of acts of service, right? he's gotta be, i think. with his big muscles and strong work ethic, it's what he does best. when you're feeling down, Alex would be more inclined to helping you do whatever it is that you've gotta do over anything else- and he won't take no for an answer! any chores you need done? alex is picking them up for you. any work not finished? alex is doing it for you. need to make a phone call but don't have the energy? yup, alex is stepping in for you. you can forget about cooking too, because he's learnt a few sweet recipes from his grandma and will be baking your favourite treats to cheer you up!! catch him handing you cookies (jus tlike how grandma made em <3) and pulling you onto the couch, snuggling you into his big body with tight hugs and lightly peppered kisses. he's not one for sitting down and relaxing most of the time, but when all you really need is some comfort and affection he's more than happy to provide that in the form of blankets and movies. he might even end up napping with you on the couch, all snuggled up and warm... he's not the best at talking, but he'll listen for as long as you need. and more than anything, he'll make sure you don't have to lift a finger until you start feeling better again! just wants to make you smile again, and he'll do anything to make you feel better.

"Just sit your pretty butt down on the couch and I'll be back with a surprise in a second!"

"Have you ate yet? What about your water intake? Maybe you need a nap... Let's go lay down together and watch dumb videos on my phone together, okay?"

SAM: is the master of being silly. just a silly little guy with a heart of gold! and he's so sensitive too, i think, so he'd notice your mood changing as soon as it happens. in some respects i can see him being a little but overwhelming to deal with when you're feeling bad, because his go to idea for cheering you up is to be in your face laughing and joking around in hopes of making you laugh too, but he's just trying his best, even if he can be a bit much sometimes. he'd also like to make a fool of himself if he realises he's being overbearing, placing himself at the butt of jokes just to get you smiling again. compared to alex, i think sam is a very good talker, and an even better listener; he's a family man at heart, conflict resolution is part of the job. he might not come up with the most practical ideas to help, but you can be sure that whatever he suggests will at least be fun and entertaining! maybe he'd also play video games with you to help distract you from what's upsetting you, or if he can, sitting through and completing tasks with you together so that he can support you through your tough time that way. because he's so sensitive, if you're crying, he's liable to cry too. but at the end of the day you have this sweet, sunshine, genuine man doing his utmost to make you happy again. it's his life mission </3

"C'mon, lets play that game that you love! I'll even grab us some snacks, so get comfy!"

"It's okay, babe. I'm here, I'm listening. Tell me aaaaall about it."

SEBASTIAN: is more practical than the others, and by that i mean he's more worried about solutions than anything else. don't get me wrong, he'd help in other ways too... but he much prefers seeking an answer more tangible than your current circumstances. he's the type to distract you more than anything from whatever is upsetting you, enjoying physical touch as a means to divert your attention away from the bad feelings and back onto him. you can't be upset if his hands are squishing your cheeks to kiss your lips better! little kisses down your neck while you complain, light trails of his fingers up and down you back while you cry. he doesn't mind listening, but while you're rambling away he's already in his own head working out how to best resolve your issues. he'd do just about anything to make you feel better!! he'd smoke with you, if you were up for it. wanting you to relax as much as possible, joint between his fingers for you to puff at while you're sat between his legs. he'd stroke your hair in the meantime, humming idly as you tell him all about your feelings. idle not because he doesn't care, but because he's thinking. maybe he'd even encourage you to go on a short walk with him, just out to the lake. something about the water being calming, and he knows it to be true because it's one of his favourite spots in town; only made better by having you there with him. even better if it's night time and you can watch the stars with him while forgetting all about your issues!

"Trust me, you'll feel better after a while of sitting. Just be patient."

"Need a little distraction, yeah? C'mere, let me kiss you all better."

ELLIOTT: is heavy on words, isn't he? a fan of whisking you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed, and doting on you with all those sweet words you so often coax out of him just by existing. he'd empathize highly with you, which might lead to him tearing up a little as you're recalling what it is that's making you feel so bad. but he'd persist, whispering sweet nothings down your ear, encouraging words and shared upset. he might even play you some piano, expertly executing one of your favourite pieces just to cheer you up a little. and if you're feeling extra bad, he'd indulge you by singing along to the song, encouraging you to join because you can't be sad when you're singing! on days where it's sunny, he'll drag you out of the house if you're feeling up for it for walks, particularly to the beach. he'll listen to you ramble the whole way, attentively listening until you arrive at the beach and he takes a deep breath. he'd encourage you to just have fun for now, forget all about what troubles you for an hour or two, and then after you've calmed down he'll help you figure out a solution to your issues. but in the meantime, before you're in the right mindset to tackle your issues, he'd simply go with the flow and provide you anything you might need in the moment to feel better. a day or two later you might receive a letter, or a new poem from him. just a little something to make sure you're as happy as you should be <3! indulging in creative outlets would be his go to idea to help, because it's what he likes to partake in himself when he's feeling down.

"My love, would you like to collect seashells with me? They're very pretty, and I think we could use them in a future project..."

"Would listening to your favourite song help, love? If so, I'd be honoured to play it for you."

HARVEY: can resort to being a little bit too clinical at times, but he's trying to learn to rely more on others forms of help. still, he'll make sure that your health is in order first. need to nap? drinking enough water? been eating correctly? and if not, he'll help fix those issues first. however, after you're all fed and such, he'd love to get all cosy with you and just listen. i think he's the best listener of the bunch, coddling you and keeping you safe and warm in his arms while you ramble and cry into his chest. sitting on his lap while he cuddles you on his old man armchair? bliss. would highly encourage you take a bath together, allowing you to soak in the warm water while he bathes you nice and gently, setting out a fresh pair of pyjamas on the bed afterwards and giving you doctors orders to spend the day in bed with him! it doesn't matter what he had planned for the day, he has a sick patient under his roof now, and he'll do his absolute best to make you all better again. watching tv, drinking hot chocolate together, having him cook dinner for the two of you like it's some sort of special occasion. he'll pull out all the stops in an effort to make you happy again, a secret favourite tactic of his being to pull you into the middle of the kitchen to dance with you while dinner cooks. a genuine romantic, he hopes you make you feel better by showing you just how love you truly are, and that no matter what you're going through, he's right there with you.

"I tried cooking your favourite meal, because you deserve it after what you've been through. It's not much... But I hope you like it regardless."

"Are you comfortable? Please let me know if there's anything else I could do for you. I wouldn't want my patient to get any sicker under my care!"

SHANE: naps. naps naps naps, old man afternoon naps in the bed together, wallowing away in shared upset over your issues. he's not a good talker, he knows, so he'd try to make up for what he lacks by giving you the care he so desperately needed himself; the care you've taught him to show. which would highly include napping! just soft sheets and tight cuddles, letting you sob against him while he coos down at you under the sheets. his gruff voice encouraging you to let it all out, that it's good to feel these emotions, and that he'll be there the whole time. once you've calmed down a bit though, he'd simply ask what it is that you need in the moment to feel a bit better. and it doesn't matter what you need, he'll do it. it's the least he could do after you've helped him so much, right? which makes him the most malleable of the bachelors in terms of how they'd help- he doesn't have any set in stone ideas, he just does what you ask him to do. but some of his favourite tactics are: spending time with animals, loving on them and letting them nuzzle up against you, watching the way they just seem to know that you need extra attention. indulging you in some of your hobbies, even if he sucks at them! because even if he fails, so long as it makes you laugh he doesn't mind being the joke for a while. cooking and eating together. getting your hands busy, he thinks, is the best way to overcome your issues. something about physically making something, right? how you're not just stuck in your own head overthinking all the time, because you're too busy focusing on a manual task. he doesn't mind whatever your answer might be to what do you need right now? because he's already accepted that he'll do whatever you say next.

"Come help me with dinner, please. Could help you a little, I think... And at the end of it all, we get some yummy food. Sound nice?"

"We haven't seen the animals today, have we? Let's go together, I'll help out, okay?"

[randomdragonfires]

Moon Song | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!

WORD COUNT | 6.6k

A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)

RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.

A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…

The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.

Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.

Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.

“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.

She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!

He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.

He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it. 

As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them. 

I need you to believe me.

In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.

He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen. 

His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks. 

He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him. 

Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?

Why?

His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.

"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise. 

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.

What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.

How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?

THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.

In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.

This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.

Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.

This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.

“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying. 

Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.

In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.

During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.

In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.

Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.

As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.

As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.

"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.

Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud. 

"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library. 

Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?

And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.

The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.

His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.

ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.

But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.

Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.

He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.

How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...

But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?

He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.

Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.

The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.

Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.

Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.

He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.

Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?

The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.

As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.

She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.

Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.

A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye. 

Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.

He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.

THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.

“Wife.”

As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.

Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.

Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?

As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well. 

She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness. 

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back. 

“Are you… well?”

The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.

“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow?  I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?

He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”

“It was an accident.”

He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.

“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband

“You don’t believe me.”

“You killed him!”

She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?

Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces. 

Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.

“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”

He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage. 

“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”

It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.

As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.

In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them. 

And then Luke surfaces, yet again.

He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days. 

Not Luke’s. His.

“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.

The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.

“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.

He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.

“Mine.”

She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.

She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else. 

Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.  

The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.

Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions. 

Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.

He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?

His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.

He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.

As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.

As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.

She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way -  where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.

Cursed bastard.

Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.

In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.

This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.

And then, her breathing ceases.

The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.

She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.

As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.

Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side. 

Aemond is free.

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MASTERLIST

[pasukiyo]

Hey, I loved your Tom Riddle fanfic, Addiction! Can you please write a part 2 of this where he starts ignoring her after this cuz the ✨scary feelings are getting out of control✨ so she tries to make him jealous and *you can guess what happens next*?

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!ravenclaw prefect reader 4,221 words notes; this can be read as its own imagine. but, for a little more context, you can read addiction here. warnings; smut and a little angst

 “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with that Ravenclaw prefect, my Lord.”

 Tom said nothing, only glanced Avery’s way in acknowledgement over the top of his Potions book. Avery and Lestrange shared an amused grin as they eyed their friend, and Lestrange leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “She’s pretty,” he said, and again, Tom said nothing but he could feel his muscles tense, his jaw locking at Lestrange’s words. 

 Avery smirked over at Lestrange and scooted towards the edge of his seat, tilting his chin down so that Tom may hear what he said next. “She seems to fancy you, you know,” Avery whispered, and Tom glanced over at him again. His brow furrowed at their smirks, but again, he remained silent. “And forgive me if I’m wrong but… it seems that you… feel the same.”

 Tom set his Potions book down onto the table in front of him and leaned back into the cushions of his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap. He eyed the two boys before him, expression blank but still, his actions seemed calculated, as if everything he did was carefully planned. 

 “Since when did how I feel become either of your concerns?” Tom asked, and the two boys in front of him seemed to flush at this, and they both shared a look. A silence ensued, and Tom felt relieved to think that the conversation was over. That was, until Lestrange cleared his throat and leaned forward again. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, but…” he trailed off and glanced at Tom, his gaze sharp and daring him to continue. “…you’ve been spending quite some time with her lately. It almost seems to me, to us, that… you’ve gone soft.”

 Tom blinked at this, could feel his jaw tense again, his fingers curling into his palms to form fists. It was true that he had been spending more and more time with her lately but for them to think that he could’ve gone soft? 

 Foolish. They were foolish to think that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, did not have his priorities sorted. His priority, of course, was seeking information about Horcruxes, and to even begin thinking that she could deter him from this path made him so… so… 

 Tom blinked. What if Avery and Lestrange were right? What if this thing he felt for her— whether that be love or simply infatuation— was making him soft? The feelings he had only really acknowledged just weeks before on the top of the Astronomy Tower, the fluttery feeling he got in his chest when she was near, the panic and dread he felt at the idea that something could happen to her— it was a weakness. He told her that very night, and still, he couldn’t push her away, couldn’t resist the urge to have her as close as possible. 

 It was sickening, the way he felt, that he was even capable of feeling such things. Tom Riddle was many things, but a coward, he was not. But this premonition that he could potentially be falling in love… It frightened him. 

 He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure, pushing himself off of the sofa cushion to look down at the two boys still sitting before him. “I think… that the two of you must be foolish to think so poorly of me,” Tom said, and Avery and Lestrange scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads. “My Lord, that was not our intention—“

 Tom raised a hand to silence them, and the two boys pressed their lips together, practically shriveling away where they stood. “You are to never question where my priorities lie from now on,” Tom stated, and the two boys bowed their heads, their bodies shaking. “And please, don’t the both of you have essays for Professor Slughorn to write?”

 And with that, Tom strode off, heading for his dormitory, leaving both Avery and Lestrange shaking in the Slytherin common room. 

 Tom found that the easiest way to ignore her presence was to not look her way at all. He would usually avoid walking down the same corridor as her altogether, which was easy enough the first few days. But as time went on, he suspected she began to grow worried, and avoiding her seemingly became more and more difficult. So instead, he would walk by without so much as sparing her a glance, always leaving her dumbfounded and confused, wondering whether or not she’d done him wrong.

 She watched as Tom walked by, his expression blank, his eyes set to the hallway ahead. He didn’t even acknowledge her, and she could feel her heart stutter in her chest, and she swore she could even feel a few fragments tear from it and flutter down to the depths of her stomach. 

 Could she perhaps have done something wrong? She searched her brain for anything, anything she said or done that could’ve possibly upset him, but turned up with nothing. She couldn’t help but feel insecure, worried even that she messed up the beautiful thing she thought they had. 

 She had to talk to Tom. It was the only way to ease her growing concern, the only way to piece her heart back together. 

 However, trying to flag Tom down proved more difficult than she anticipated. It certainly was no help that she had no classes with him, since he was a year ahead, and couldn’t even rely on lunch or dinner since he never seemed to stick around for long after she arrived in the Great Hall. He never seemed to be on duty at night when she was, and it wasn’t like she could enter the Slytherin common room herself to track him down. 

 She felt helpless, with absolutely no way of finding Tom or grabbing his attention. 

 Until one night, as she patrolled up and down one of Hogwarts’ many corridors when she swore she saw the end of a student’s robes up ahead. She picked up her pace with the intent of catching whomever it was out of bed, only to find that it was none other than Tom Riddle himself, walking down the hallway. 

 “Tom!” She exclaimed, and she swore she could see his shoulders tense at the sound of her voice, his feet stopping in their tracks. She rushed towards him, stepping in front of him before he could even think to hurry away. For the first time in days, she gazed up into Tom Riddle’s dark eyes, and for a moment, she seemed to relax. Her lips curved up into a smile at the sight of him, and she stepped closer. “You’ve been terribly difficult to catch lately.”

 Tom said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared down at her, and her smile quickly faded. She tilted her head, her hand reaching for his but he did not let her hold him, slipping his fingers away from hers before she could grab ahold of them. She flinched at the action, gazing back up at him. “Is everything alright?” She asked. “You seem to have been ignoring me as of late.”

 Tom’s brow wrinkled as he watched her, her fingers now locked together and fondling with each other, her eyes darting from his down to the floor. “Have I… have I done something wrong?” She questioned, blinking up at him. He noticed the way tears brimmed the outskirts of her sockets, and he noticed the way she tried to blink them away. 

 His heart thud against his chest. Why did he want to hold her? Why did he want to draw her into his chest and feel her close? Why did he feel angry at her tears? Why did he hate that he was seemingly breaking her heart? Wasn’t this what he wanted all along? To keep her away? 

 “Tom?” She said after a while of silence, but she didn’t dare make any more moves to touch him. With the same blank and unchanging expression, he glimpsed down at her, pushing down every sick and wretched feeling he felt towards her. 

 “No,” he finally said. “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

 And with that, Tom walked away, leaving her to stand alone in the hallway more puzzled than ever. 

 Tears made her eyes sting and she rubbed at her eyes, desperate to make them go away. All she could feel now was anger, red hot anger at the boy she was watching walk away. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at his back as he turned the corner, and she glared at the place he once was too. 

 How could he do this to her? To practically admit to her just a few weeks before that he loved her— albeit, in his own strange and confusing way— on the top of the Astronomy Tower, to make love to her and to kiss her and hold her only to push her away? How could he play with her feelings like this, like they meant nothing? How could he be so selfish?

 She pressed her lips together in a firm line as she turned and walked away, patrolling the other empty corridors instead. She had to do something, something to grab his attention, something to make him regret ever taking her and the way she felt for granted. She was not going to let him throw away this thing they had, this thing that she knew had the potential to blossom into something beautiful. 

 And the next day when she caught the eye of a handsome Gryffindor named Warren Collins, she began to work on the blueprint of her plan. 

 Warren Collins was a year above her, a seventh year and Gryffindor’s Seeker. He was tall, not as tall as Tom was but still towered over most of the school. His eyes could make anyone melt, and she’d admit, she felt a little weak-kneed when she first gazed into his dark, angular eyes. They weren't as dark as Tom’s, and certainly didn’t seem almost sinister like his. No, Warren’s irises were warm, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. 

 She caught another glimpse at Warren Collins as he and the other players on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team headed towards the Quidditch pitch for practice, and she knew that this was her chance. She made her way over to the pitch and made her way up into the stands where a few other girls sat, and she wondered how many of them were there to watch Warren in action, like herself. 

 She sat alone at the top and in the far right corner, her hands clasping together between her thighs for warmth. She watched as the Gryffindor team huddled together at the very bottom of the pitch, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the top of Warren’s head, his hair wavy yet well-groomed and as black as a raven. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him when he looked up, staring seemingly in her direction. Her lips curved into a smile when he did, and he may have been far away, but she swore she could see his full, pink lips smile too. 

 It wasn’t long after this that the Gryffindor team hopped onto their brooms and began to practice. She watched as the Gryffindor captain released a used Snitch, and Warren soared through the air like a bird, tracking it down. She tilted her head up as he soared over her head, her skin littering with goosebumps at the chill his broom left in his wake. The other girls on the stands squealed and tried to tame their hair back down to their heads, adjusting their robes as they giggled. 

 And when the practice was over, she made certain that she was the first one to leave the stands, and she sauntered her way over to the entrance of the pitch, trying to make it less obvious that she was waiting for someone. The other girls from the stands soon joined behind her, giggling and murmuring amongst themselves about the players, Warren’s name definitely amongst their uttering. 

 And it wasn’t long after that that the team emerged from the pitch, and so did Warren. 

 She smiled when she saw him, his fingers weaving through his tresses, taming the black waves back down on his head. His skin glistened with sweat and he appeared the slightest bit winded, but he was all smiles, his grin only growing when he found her amongst the small crowd of girls. Two of the other boys teased and shoved at him when they saw her, and she giggled when Warren pushed them away, making sure to flutter her eyelashes as he jogged towards her, broomstick in hand. 

 “First time I’ve seen you out here for a practice,” he commented and she giggled, swiping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and faking shyness as she glanced towards the ground. “I hope I didn’t fly too close to you earlier,” he added, and she shook her head. “Not at all. And I enjoyed it, watching you practice, I mean,” she said and he smiled, cocking an eyebrow. 

 “Yeah?”

 She nodded. He pressed his lips together and hummed, looking her up and down. 

 “Well, maybe you should come to practice more often then.”

 She grinned, ignoring the dirty looks from the other girls when Warren gestured for her to follow him. “Perhaps I should,” she replied, following at his side back towards the castle. His smile widened, and he seemed to be staring, perhaps even a moment too long. She giggled at him and playfully shoved at his arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She questioned and he laughed, shaking his head towards the ground. 

 “It’s nothing, I just…” he trailed off, as if trying to find the right words. “…it’s just funny. We haven’t once spoken to each other in all our time at Hogwarts,” he said, and she tittered. “Plus, I was sure you had a thing for the Head Boy.”

 She flushed at the mention of Tom but made a quick recovery, shifting a little closer towards Warren so that their arms could occasionally touch. “You mean Tom Riddle?” She tittered. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. What I do know for sure is that he’s arrogant and definitely has a stick up his arse.”

 Warren threw his head back and laughed at this, and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he did so, how his entire face seemed to illuminate when he laughed. “Finally, somebody says it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Only been trying to convince the others for seven years now.”

 She smiled, it wasn’t like what she said wasn’t the truth. Tom Riddle was arrogant, and definitely did have a stick up the arse. She didn’t realize that there could be others who noticed it too, however. 

 She and Warren made their way to one of Hogwarts’ many entrances and pushed through the double doors, entering the warmth of the castle. “So, what’d you think of the team, then?” Warren asked as they made their way through the corridor. “You think Gryffindor may have a shot at winning the House Cup this year?”

 She cocked an eyebrow. “You forget I’m in Ravenclaw?” She questioned. “Surely you remember I don’t particularly want you to win?” Warren’s eyes glimmered with amusement at this, and just as he replied with some sort of snarky, but playful remark, she saw him. 

 There Tom Riddle was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as Avery and Lestrange talked to him. But she knew he wasn’t paying attention. Not when his eyes seemed to immediately find hers, flicking back and forth between her and Warren. 

 As Warren talked, she snaked her arm around his and pressed herself closer into his side, which seemed to take him aback at first, the pale skin of his cheeks turning scarlet but his smile widening all the same. She watched as Tom straightened his posture and his jaw clenched at this, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to suppress her smile.  

 Everything was going so smoothly, so beautifully. 

 Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

 She certainly didn’t waste any time, did she?

 Her arm locked with Warren Collins’… it made his blood boil. He knew what she was doing, he knew by the way she locked eyes with him, by the way she kept looking at him as she nestled closer into Warren’s side, by the way she laughed a little too hard at whatever it was Warren was saying. He knew this must be her idea of some game, of some way to tease him and to make him angry. 

 He was ashamed that he was playing into her hands, that the way he felt now was exactly the way she wanted him to feel. His chest burned, it ached with the unmistakable feeling of jealousy. He cursed himself for feeling this way, for wanting her so badly even though he knew he shouldn’t. 

 He cursed himself for waiting in the shadows outside of the Ravenclaw common room later that night, for feeling so obsessed with her that he’d wait for her to come out, which she did, and follow her as she made her way to the prefects’ bathroom. 

 He watched from the shadows as she slipped inside, and after a moment or two, he slipped inside as well. 

 He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her turn on the faucets to the bath, as she ran her fingers through her hair and set her towel down on the edge of the bath. He watched as she began to slip off her dress robes, leaving her in only her undergarments before he cleared his throat and she jumped, her arms instinctively hiding herself as she turned towards where he stood. 

 His eyes were darker than ever now. In the shadows, he looked nefarious. 

 “Tom?” She gasped as he pushed himself off of the door, taking slow, calculated strides towards where she stood, frozen. “What— what are you—“

 “Do you think I didn’t notice the little game you were trying to play earlier?” He asked, and she blinked, her initial shock melting away to give way for the amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyebrows raising. “I didn’t think you’d notice, thought you were still avoiding me,” she replied coolly as Tom stopped before her, towering over her and eclipsing the light behind him. 

 “Really? You think I and the rest of the school wouldn’t notice the way you were practically throwing yourself onto Warren Collins?” Tom scoffed, and she flushed at the comment. “I was not—“

 “You were,” Tom interrupted her, his hand grabbing at her waist and tugging her closer until his breath loomed over her face like fog, until their noses were almost touching when he looked down. “And if you think for a second that I’m going to let Warren Collins of all people think that he has a chance with you, then you are gravely mistaken.”

 For once, she felt intimidated standing in his presence, and she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden, as if Tom just being there made all the air escape her lungs. She kept her lips pressed together and held his heated gaze, but he knew he had already won. She watched as the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk. 

 Damn him. 

 “Yeah?” She muttered. “Then show me who I belong to.”

 Tom inhaled sharply through his nose as he searched her eyes, a raging sea of emotion mixed with anger, with love, with lust. With the hand already on her hip, he tugged her in closer until his lips were on hers, and she knew had lost the second he kissed her. 

 Tom never kissed her like this before, not even on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Never had he kissed her with such fervor, he never did anything that his brain hadn’t already calculated. But he kissed her now with reckless abandon, without any care in the world. 

 He kissed her as if his life depended on it. 

 She mewled into his mouth as he stripped her of her undergarments and he made quick work of stripping his own self down. She grabbed at his hand and guided him down into the bubble bath, his lips finding the sensitive spot on her neck as they settled down into the bath. Her fingers wove through the dark tresses on the back of his head as his tongue dragged along her throat down to her collarbone and down to her breasts, her chest heaving when he collected one of her nipples into his mouth. 

 “Oh, Tom,” she moaned, throwing her head back as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her nipple, kissing his way between the valley of her breasts to give her other breast attention. She could feel his cock against her thigh when one of his hands trailed down her waist, forcing its way between her legs. She tugged at the roots of his hair when the pads of his fingers rubbed against her clit, and all she knew now was that she needed more. “Please Tom, please I need… I need…”

 Tom hummed against her collarbone as he let his fingers slide up and down her slit, teasing her entrance, teasing her aching clit. “What do you need, hm?” He asked and she tried to answer, she really did but when he touched her like this— Merlin, she couldn’t even form coherent sentences in her head. “Do you need me to show you who you belong to? Just like you said earlier?”

 All she could do was nod, and Tom hummed against her throat, kissing her skin, leaving not even an inch untouched. She panted when he drew his fingers away, only to be filled up with his cock in one impatient thrust, and she tugged harder at his scalp. He drew her into his chest and panted as tears brimmed her eyes, droplets beading down her cheeks.

 Tom’s eyebrows knit together as she leaned back against the wall of the bath, and he grabbed at her hips, fucking into her with the image of her and Warren Collins together like the fuel to his fire. Her moans were bordering screams, and her incoherent mumbling permeated the bathroom, bouncing off of each of the walls and playing like a symphony in his ears. He wanted to hear more, to hear his name and his name only from her lips. 

 “Say my name,” Tom murmured into her ear and she cried when he picked up his pace, his thrusts animalistic, inhumane. “Tom! Oh fuck, Tom!” She cried and with one of his hands, he gripped her chin and forced her to stare into his dark, narrowing eyes, his thrusts never once faltering. 

 “No,” he shook his head. “That’s not my name,” he said again and she shook her own head, not understanding as he fucked her closer and closer to her end. “I want you to say my name. My true name,” he whispered against her cheek, his lips right next to ear. “I want you to call me Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.”

 She panted and nuzzled her cheek against his, his lips pressing kisses to the shell of her ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Call me by my name. Call me your Lord.”

 Her chest heaved as her cunt clenched around him, squeezing him so tight that he almost lost his composure for a moment, dropping his head to her shoulder. “SAY IT!” He shouted this time, and she cried out once more. “Please! Let me come, my Lord. Make me yours, Lord Voldemort.”

 Oh, how his name, his true name, tumbling from her lips made him happy, the happiest he thought he ever felt. He thrusted his hips into her harder, harder and harder until her body began to writhe and spasm with quake of her orgasm, and he fucked her through that too, chasing his own. 

 “Tom— Lord! Lord Voldemort!” She cried as he felt himself coming closer to the edge, closer and closer and closer until he spilled himself inside of her, his hips stuttering as they slammed into hers one final time. Tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers and her fingernails were etched so deep into the skin of his shoulders, she knew they would leave marks. 

 Lord Voldemort held her body close, breathed her in like she was the air itself. His palms soothed over the small of her back and her waist, over either of her hips. To think that she could have ever been his weakness seemed foolish to him…

 …because right now, he felt the most powerful he’d ever been.

 She whimpered as she let herself fall deeper into him, let him hold her as she tried to chase air back into her lungs. Lord Voldemort only held her to his chest, whispering into her ear how she was his, and if anyone, Warren Collins included, ever tried to take her away from him, it would be the last thing they’d ever do. 

a/n; i wasn’t originally planning on writing a part two but i actually liked this idea and… ngl i feel kind of proud of my writing here 🙈 ps… thank you for the request anon! i’m so glad you liked addiction!

🥹🤍✨

[lovemyavatar]

Songbird

Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

based on this request

Warnings: angst, fluff

A rough sigh falls from Neteyam’s lips, shoulders tense as he stomps through Home Tree.

His hands clench into fists at his sides, anger tightening his chest. He seeks you out before he even realizes what he’s doing, ears twitching as he listens for the soothing melody of your voice.

He finds you within minutes, sitting near the tree line by yourself. It’s how you prefer to be, isolated among the dense forest, humming quietly for only your ears to hear.

You are always making noise. Whether it’s the murmur of a song under your breath, or the soft rumble of a tune in your chest, there isn’t a time Neteyam can remember where you were silent. You always seem to be in your own world, big eyes faraway as you release the most beautiful sounds.

“Songbird.” The greeting comes out much harsher than he intended, but he’s still wound painfully tight from an argument with his father.

You jump, spine straightening at the unexpected voice. Your eyes widen as they flit over his tense frame, curious gaze finally catching his after an agonizing few seconds.

“Neteyam?” Your cheeks warm at the nickname he’d given you as children.

At first, you were a bit offended, being compared to a bird, but after much reassurance from him, you understood that it was just his adolescent brain’s way of saying he likes the way you sing.

He lets out a long breath, slowly folding into a seated position beside you. Without hesitation, you move the weaving supplies that previously covered your lap, setting them to the side. He doesn’t stop, fluidly laying his head down across your thighs.

It’s a practiced motion, a familiar position the two of you often find yourselves in. You know exactly what he needs, without him speaking a word. As he settles into your lap, shifting a bit to get comfortable, you begin humming his favorite melody.

His eyes flutter closed, shoulders instantly dropping in relief. Your voice washes over him, soothing his worries, his anger, within seconds. One of your hands moves to his hairline, fingertips drawing a gentle path down his temple.

You repeat the motion, soft touch trailing across his forehead, down his nose, over his cheeks. Even his lips, always pursed so tightly, relax and part beneath your warm caress.

This is how things are between you.

When Neteyam feels overwhelmed, burdened by the responsibility that’s been thrust upon him since birth, he runs to you. He can’t place when it first happened, when he first realized that you’re the key to keeping him calm. Keeping him sane.

But now that you’re his personal music box, he knows he can never go back. He’s reliant on it—on you. He needs the soothing sound of your voice to calm down after fights with his dad and Lo’ak, or hard missions. Hell, most of the time, he can’t even sleep without at least a quick song.

And you—his quiet, sweet girl—have never passed judgement. Never said a single word in opposition when he pulls you from duties, or friends, or even family. You simply send him a heart-stopping smile, let him drop into your waiting embrace, and sing.

That is, until one fateful day when he royally screwed things up.

He’d had what might possibly be the worst morning of his entire life. He woke to the sound of yelling, his father already grilling Lo’ak about his latest reckless behavior. He peeled himself from bed, suffering his dad’s leftover wrath as he demanded help with a raid.

It went terribly. His Ikran wasn’t listening, they barely made out with any supplies, and he nearly got himself killed. Of course, this led to more yelling, being grounded, and a light scolding from his grandmother as she patched him up.

By lunchtime he was so tightly wound, he knew the slightest push would make him explode any second. That’s when you showed up, singing your favorite song under your breath. Your face lit up when you saw him, despite the deep crease in his brow and downturn of his lips.

You plopped down beside him as he ate amongst the clan, humming quietly for the both of you. It was obvious he needed you, as he always did. You were happy to help, to aid him in any way that you could. Except, this time, he didn’t fall into you. He actually tensed further, broad shoulders bunching with irritation.

“Can you stop?” He barked harshly, catching you off guard.

You blinked up at him with big eyes, instantly falling silent. “What?”

He let out a rough sigh, narrowed eyes slicing to you. Anger tightened his chest, twisted his stomach with something ugly. He couldn’t help it, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head begging him to stop, to take a deep breath before his next words, he couldn’t fight the rising emotion.

“You’re always so—” He grunted with frustration, looking away. “Can I just get two seconds of quiet? For once?”

Your lips parted in shock, eyes rounding in his direction. He refused to look at you, jaw tensing as he picked at the food on his plate. You studied him for a long moment, heart clenching at his dismissal. Moisture blurred your vision, but you quickly blinked the tears away, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology was all you could muster as you gathered your things and rushed away.

One week.

It takes Neteyam seven days to figure out that something is wrong.

At first, he thinks he may be getting sick. He just doesn’t feel right. Something is off, and he can’t place it. He’s tense at all times, back muscles painfully tight. A constant frown mares his features, brow creased with irritation.

He isn’t sleeping well, either. He tosses and turns at night, mind racing to find the cause of his unease.

He tries to talk to you, to spend time with you, but you’re always busy. The second you see him, you’re tucking tail and practically running away. He’s heard your song a few times, when he searches for you in those moments of heightened emotion, but when your eyes catch his, you fall silent. If he happens to spot you within the clan, your soothing voice is nowhere to be found.

It’s eating him alive, the fact that you won’t let him hear you. It makes him feel on edge, wondering if he’s done something to upset you. Or worse, the voice of doubt whispers that you’ve gotten tired of him, that you’ve found the company of another more appealing.

Finally, he can no longer take it, and decides enough his enough. He’s losing his mind, completely unable to focus on even the most mundane of tasks. He needs you to calm him, whether you’re previously engaged or not.

He spots you around the raging fire one night, talking and laughing with your friends. His now constant frown deepens, arms crossing in frustration as he approaches the group.

“Song—ah, Y/N.” He scratches at the back of his neck, cheeks warming with embarrassment. “Can we talk?”

The smile drops from your face, making his stomach churn with unease. Your hips shift uncomfortably, hands clasping tightly in your lap. Your shoulders round, chin lifting as you try to muster the strength to avoid him yet again.

“I don’t think—”

Before you can even finish, he’s grabbed your bicep, firmly hoisting you to your feet.

“She’ll only be a minute.” He calls over his shoulder, the assurance met with a chorus of giggles as your friends watch him pull you away.

“Neteyam—” You try, but he simply ignores you.

Your legs stumble to keep up with his rushed pace. He doesn’t stop until he’s dragged you into the forest, brought you to a secluded section just outside Home Tree. He suddenly turns on his heel and drops your arm, causing you to take a step back in surprise.

“What is wrong?” He demands, voice rough.

Your breath hitches at the intensity in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours. You sputter for a few beats, mouth opening and closing as you search for the right words.

“I-I don’t…” Your heart thrums wildly between your ribs, having never expected him to confront you so directly.

“You haven’t been singing. Why aren’t you singing, songbird?” His tone softens, eyes rounding with concern.

He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you so that he can reach out, cradling your face in his palm. You blink up at him, chest heaving with pent up emotion. He’s so close. Too close to remain platonic, but neither of you move an inch.

You force down a thick swallow, throat hoarse. Moisture blurs your vision as you remember his words, remember the way he snapped at you. Though you know you have a nice singing voice, you’re aware that the constant noise can be irritating to some.

You’ve seen the sideways glances, heard the scoffs and sighs of annoyance when you’re around. But you can’t help it, music is always in your mind, swelling until you can’t contain it anymore.

The only reason you’ve embraced it, continued humming and singing despite the occasional comment from the clan, is Neteyam. The way he relies on you, uses you for comfort, it gives you meaning. Gives you purpose. Shows you that your voice can do good, that it isn’t just some annoying quirk.

But then…

“Oh, songbird.” He coos gently, thumb swiping away a falling tear. “Tell me, please.”

Your chin wobbles with the effort of keeping the words in, of sparing him the details he already knows. Realization suddenly dawns as his worried gaze flickers over your crestfallen expression.

His eyes widen, heart crashing into his stomach as his own stupid words replay in his mind.

“Is this about what I said?” The question rushes from his lips in a single panicked breath.

“No! No, of course not, I—”

Before you can finish the lame excuse, his arms are around you. He pulls you onto the ground with him, settling you into his lap. Heat prickles your skin at the intimate position. Though you've been close many times before, it's always him laying on top of you in some way. Now that you’re the one in his arms, nervousness grips your chest.

“Songbird...” His large hands engulf both sides of your face, guiding it up toward his. “I’m so sorry. I never should've said those things. I was upset with my father, and I never should've taken it out on you.”

Your eyes widen, unsure what to make of his sweet words. “It's okay, Neteyam, really—”

“No,” His head shakes rapidly. “No, you don't understand. I'm a mess without you. I can't sleep, can't focus. Can't even fly my damn Ikran right. I need to hear your voice. Sing to me, please?”

Breath lodges in your throat, brows lifting in surprise. You’ve never heard him so open, so vulnerable. It’s left you speechless, heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears.

When you don’t respond, his hands wrap around your hips, gently pulling you off his lap. Your eyes pop wide, but you make no move to stop him as he guides you back until you’re propped against a nearby tree. His eyes flick to yours in question before he slides down, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

You stiffen, spine straightening as he presses his face into your stomach, laying his body beside you. One of his legs tangles with yours, parting your thighs so he can nestle himself between them.

“I just need a good nights sleep, please, songbird? Help me?” He murmurs lowly, the sound vibrating the soft skin of your stomach.

Your skin is on fire, blazing in every spot he touches. All you can do is stare down at him, mouth agape, but his eyes are already closed. Your heart melts, any lingering resentment crumbing at the sight of him so desperate on top of you.

You can’t stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try.

Slowly, quietly, you begin to hum a familiar tune. Instantly, Neteyam sighs, relief flooding his system. You’re a bit hesitant, after not singing for an entire week. Your voice is hoarse, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Your hands fall onto his head, fingers tangling in his braids. He moans lowly, a soft tremor rolling down his spine. Your face feels impossibly hotter at his little noise of satisfaction. You’ve never seen him like this, so pliant under your touch.

Within minutes, you’re singing his favorite song, beautiful words washing over him. His breathing slows, eyes growing heavy as he finally feels at peace for the first time in days. Before you know it, he’s fast asleep.

You can’t help but smile down at him, fingers dancing across his scalp soothingly. Now that he’s back in your arms, everything feels right once again.

[safetycar-restart]

KINKTOBER DAY 1: FREE USE [POLY!LOGAN/OSCAR/READER]

NOTE: this is an nsfw imagine with Dom!reader, sub!logan and sub!oscar. If you are under 18 or uninterested in this, scroll past. If you think you might like it, then click read more and maybe come check out the rest of my blog :))

Every day of October I’ll be posting a different kinky concept with one or more motorsports people as well as discussing that concept more on my blog. So if you have any thoughts, feel free to stop by!

It’s no secret that Logan’s season hasn’t been going the best, and you’ve tried your best to make him feel better but there’s not much more you could do.

As far as the public was concerned, you were in a relationship with Oscar and only Oscar. Which meant you could only sit in Oscar’s garage, could only give Oscar a kiss before he gets in the car, could only hug Oscar when he gets back.

You wish you could sit in the Williams garage and give Logan a hug when he gets out the car, wait for him in his driver room to praise him and make sure he isn’t being too hard on himself. But unfortunately you have to wait until you reach Oscar’s hotel room and meet him there.

This continues for a few weeks and you can see how sad Logan is getting, isolating himself from you and Oscar, no longer asking for attention as much as he used to. He clings to you when you do hug him, whines when he thinks you might turn him away but he doesn’t seek it out anymore.

Oscar has noticed the same, and he’s worried. Logan even chose to sit out on a planned scene, so you knew it was getting too bad. And you needed to get creative to make him feel better.

And the solution? A free use day.

When you suggest it to Logan, he’s confused, asking what you mean, how that would work. He immediately thinks it would be Oscar that’s free use.

And you explain to him that no, you’d like a day when you can touch him however you want, where Oscar can kiss him and ride him whenever, a day at home where he’s just a play thing for his Dom and his boyfriend.

And well…. That certainly sounds like someone he would like.

He almost doesn’t believe it at first? Because why would you and Oscar want that? Why would you want him to touch him so much that you want an entire day for it?

It ends up being exactly what he needs.

And Oscar is so so excited for it. Oscar gets to be as possessive as he wants, refusing to let Logan out of his arms, whining until Logan kisses him and pushing him down to ride him because he’s Oscar’s to play with.

Logan is so overwhelmed with how much love he gets? He wakes up to you stroking his hair and Oscar sucking his cock, ends up crying out and spilling into Oscar’s mouth. You hold him close after, letting Oscar clean him up before joining you two in bed.

Logan gets about ten minutes to recover because you decide he should return the favour for Oscar, and he’s more than happy with that.

He spends the entire day between you and Oscar, getting touched and fucked and held close and he just lets it happen. He’s so so happy, feeling like a real part of the relationship not just an additive.

You do a scene with the two of them that night, and task oscar with kissing every inch of Logan before gently working a plug in him. You stroke Logan’s cock and push the plug in out, having your fun with him while his mouth is full of Oscar’s cock.

By the end they’re both so tired, especially Logan who has cum so many times by this point. You have to half carry them both to the bath, washing them down and putting them to bed early.

Logan wakes up the next day happier than he’s been in a long long time.