#d/s contract | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asterafroditis · 2 months ago

Note

hey so how do you think the house wardens would deal with a s/o who they find out is from rsa. They met outside of colleges. S/o was super nice and there wasn’t any competitive nature once s/o found out where their bf went too, most of the boys bragged at some point about going to their college. S/o is like “oh looks like we go to rival colleges :D”. “If anyone’s got a problem with me dating you they can suck on a lemon for all I care”?

𐔌 . ⋮ romantic rivals .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Housewardens x gn! reader

𓏵 1297 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

hopefully this fulfills your request! idk anything about RSA so I hope the info fits well enough (´◦ω◦`) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Riddle had always taken pride in his education. Night Raven College was a place of discipline, order, and prestige. So when he found out that his significant other—kind, supportive, and always willing to listen—attended Royal Sword Academy, he wasn’t quite sure how to react.

He finds out by accident when you come over to visit him at NRC. The two of you are sitting under a gazebo in the rose garden, your hands brushing slightly as you flip through a book of classical magic theory.

“You know,” you say offhandedly, “we studied this last year at RSA. My potions professor was obsessed with theoretical applications.”

He blinks. “…RSA?”

“Royal Sword Academy,” you confirm casually, flashing him a peace sign. “Looks like we go to rival schools.”

Riddle stiffens. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, his mind already racing through past conversations—had you ever mentioned this before? How did he miss it?

“You’re from RSA?” he repeats slowly.

“Yup! If anyone’s got a problem with me dating an NRC student, they can suck on a lemon for all I care.”

That derails his internal panic completely. “S-Suck on a—?!” He splutters, scandalized, but your smile doesn’t waver. There’s not a trace of competitiveness in your tone, not a shred of superiority.

You don’t see him as a rival. You just see him.

Later, when he walks you to the mirror, he brushes your fingers with his.

“I suppose… I shouldn’t be so shocked. You’re incredibly capable, regardless of where you study.”

You smile. “Thanks, Riddle. And for the record, I think NRC’s lucky to have you.”

His ears flush red. He huffs. “Flattery is unnecessary… but appreciated.”

─────────────────────────

When you finally told Leona you were from Royal Sword Academy, you expected him to scoff or roll his eyes. What you didn’t expect was the long silence.

You were curled beside him in the sunlit corner of the botanical garden, the warm afternoon breeze rustling your shared blanket.

“Mm, the campus flowers remind me of home,” you murmured. “RSA keeps theirs all organized and trimmed. Very picturesque. I miss it sometimes.”

He cracked open an eye. “RSA?”

“Yeah. Royal Sword Academy.” You stretched. “We’re technically rivals, right?”

He groaned. “You’re one of those goody-goodies in white suits?”

You grinned. “One of them, yeah. But don’t worry, I’m not here to compare your school to ours.”

Leona side-eyed you for a beat. “And you’re dating an NRC student like me, knowing the entire school system paints us as ‘troublemakers’ and ‘delinquents’?”

You shrugged. “You’re hot and smart. If someone’s got a problem with that, they can sit on a cactus.”

He laughed. A real one.

“Damn herbivore,” he muttered, fondness creeping into his voice. “You’re alright.”

And from that day on, he started calling you “RSA brat” with something like pride.

─────────────────────────

The moment you mentioned “Royal Sword Academy,” Azul’s pen froze mid-signature. You were helping him with some Mostro Lounge invoices, sorting papers with a cheerful hum.

“Ah, these contract formats remind me of home. Our student council at RSA uses something similar.”

“…RSA?” Azul repeated, slow and wary.

You looked up, innocent. “Yeah, Royal Sword Academy. Why?”

He went very still. “You’re a Royal Sword Academy student.”

“Technically, yeah. But we met off-campus, remember? You didn’t exactly introduce yourself as NRC’s rising businessman either.”

He stared, calculating. “Do you… intend to use this against me?”

You blinked, confused. “What? No? Azul, I like you, not your résumé.”

He sat back in his chair, processing.

“…You don’t care?”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hands. “Nope. You’re smart, dedicated, and always think five steps ahead. I admire that. And if anyone’s got a problem with you being from NRC and me from RSA, they can take it up with the sea.”

His lips twitched. “That’s not how the expression goes.”

“It is now.”

Azul laughed softly. “You’re a very peculiar person.”

You smiled. “You love it.”

“…Perhaps I do.”

─────────────────────────

You never really meant to hide being from RSA from Kalim. The topic just never came up until someone mentioned something offhandedly in passing.

“Wait—you go to Royal Sword Academy?!” Kalim turned to you, eyes wide with surprise.

“Yup,” you said with a laugh. “Didn’t mean to surprise you. I just didn’t think it mattered.”

He grinned. “No way! That’s so cool! We’re like—inter-school sweethearts!”

You blinked. “That’s one way to put it.”

He twirled you around like you were ballroom dancing. “You must have so many stories! And don’t worry, I don’t mind at all that you’re from RSA!”

“Even if people think we’re rivals?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “If anyone’s got a problem with me dating you, they can look away and cry about it!”

You snorted. “Is that your version of telling them off?”

“Yup!” he chirped. Then he pulled you close. “Besides, no school rivalry matters more than how happy I am with you.”

And you knew he meant every word.

─────────────────────────

When Vil found out you were from RSA, he didn’t immediately react. You were seated on a balcony after a shared modeling shoot, your legs swinging over the edge.

“Reminds me of campus,” you said softly. “Our towers at Royal Sword Academy overlook the mountains too.”

His brow twitched. “Royal Sword Academy?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Didn’t I mention?”

He sat back with a sigh. “No, you didn’t. Not that it matters much.”

“Do you… think less of me?”

He gave you a sharp look. “Don’t be absurd. You’re poised, well-spoken, and dress better than most NRC students. I just… didn’t expect that.”

You chuckled. “Well, rivalry or not, I’d pick you every time. If anyone’s got a problem with that, they can go exfoliate their negativity away.”

He smirked despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Admit it. You like me ridiculous.”

He brushed your hair aside, lips brushing your temple. “You’re tolerably radiant.”

─────────────────────────

Idia didn’t do well with surprises. So when you casually mentioned you were from RSA while gaming with him, he froze mid-button press.

“Wait. You go to Royal Sword Academy?”

You paused the game. “Yeah. Is that… bad?”

His hair flared blue. “Wha—you’re like—my arch-nemesis school!!”

You tilted your head. “So… are you breaking up with me?”

His jaw dropped. “NO?? I mean—no!! I just—I—omg…”

You laughed. “Chill. I don’t care about school rivalries. I care about you. If someone wants to judge that, they can either duel me and my god-built characters or shut up.”

He blinked. “…Okay that’s kinda hot.”

You winked, acting like the love interest in an otome game. “I know.”

He didn’t stop blushing for the rest of the night.

─────────────────────────

Malleus found out when he tried to invite you to a gargoyle lecture and workshop and you hesitated.

“I’d love to, but… my schedule at RSA is packed this week.”

He turned. “You attend Royal Sword Academy?”

You nodded. “Is that… bad?”

He thought for a moment. “No. I’ve always been curious about that institution.”

You smiled. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t care that we’re from rival schools. If anyone has a problem with that, they can go argue with the wall.”

He chuckled. “You are as fearless as ever.”

And when he next walked with you through the moonlit forest, he told you gently:

“School boundaries are mortal things. My regard for you is not so easily constrained.”

You beamed. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

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kittenan · 2 months ago

Text

Private Play Terms

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x Corporate Lawyer!Reader Genre: BDSM AU, Enemies to Lovers, Power Play, Office AU Tone: Tense, seductive, flirty, emotionally slow-burn, fluff Themes: First-time kink, trust building, contract-based D/s, slow seduction, reluctant desire → obsession Warnings: Consensual BDSM, Dom!Jungkook, Brat-tamer dynamic, Desk sex, Orgasm control, Dirty talk, Aftercare Word Count: ~7k

Jeon Industries’ glass tower dominates Seoul’s skyline, a symbol of power you now navigate. You stride through its lobby, heels clicking on marble, briefcase in hand. Hired to oversee a high-profile merger, you’re a force—sharp, meticulous, unbreakable. But no one warned you about him.

Jeon Jungkook, the 30-year-old CEO, is a storm in a tailored suit. Dark hair swept back, inked forearms peeking from rolled sleeves, and a smirk that could unravel a saint. In the boardroom, his eyes linger on your pencil skirt before meeting your gaze, his handshake deliberate, thumb grazing your knuckles.

“Welcome, Counselor,” he says, voice a smoky drawl. “I hear you’re the best at sealing deals.”

You tilt your chin. “I don’t just seal them, Mr. Jeon. I make them unbreakable.”

His lips twitch, the air crackling. “Good. I like a woman who can bind things.”

The merger is brutal—late nights, endless drafts, and Jungkook’s relentless presence. He’s infuriatingly charismatic, leaning too close over documents, his breath tickling your ear as he purrs, “Careful, Counselor. Your arguments make me want to confess sins not fit for boardrooms.” You scoff, but the heat in your core betrays you.

One night, at 2 a.m., you uncover a redacted clause in a merger appendix: Private Play Terms. It’s personal, unrelated to the deal. Curiosity overrides exhaustion, and you confront Jungkook the next evening in his corner office.

The city glitters beyond the windows, but inside, tension hums. Jungkook lounges in his leather chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos that make your mouth dry. You toss the document onto his desk.

“Explain this, Mr. Jeon.”

He glances at it, then at you, lips curling into a dangerous smile. “That wasn’t meant for your eyes. But since you’re curious…” He leans forward, voice a velvet growl. “I’ll walk you through it. Hands-on, if you’d like.”

Your pulse spikes. “This is inappropriate.”

“Is it?” He stands, rounding the desk, his cologne—sandalwood and sin—fogging your senses. “You brought it up. Tell me you’re not intrigued.”

You should leave. But his gaze pins you, and the thrill of his challenge sparks something reckless. “Fine,” you say, voice steady despite trembling hands. “Explain.”

Jungkook reveals the Private Play Terms was a consensual BDSM mentorship agreement with a former partners, outlining boundaries, safe words, and trust. It’s precise, almost legalistic, but the implications are raw, electric. He’s used these contracts before—purely for pleasure, no strings attached—but there’s something about you that feels different. You see it in his eyes, though he doesn’t say it.

“You’re intrigued,” he says, reading you. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m… processing,” you snap, crossing your arms. “This is a lot.”

He steps closer, voice softening. “I’m offering a trial. One session, strictly professional. No romance, just exploration. You set the terms. You can walk away.”

Your mind screams no. This crosses every line. But your body hums with his voice, his proximity, the idea of surrendering control. You’ve always been in charge—now, letting go feels intoxicating.

“Why me?” you ask, searching his face.

“Because you’re brilliant. Fierce. You don’t back down.” His eyes darken. “You draft clauses to protect. I write them to own. We’re not so different.”

You swallow hard. “One session. I draft the contract.”

His grin is victorious. “Deal.”

You craft a meticulous agreement: boundaries, safe words (red to stop, yellow to slow), and an exit clause. You sign it in his office, hands shaking as he countersigns.

“Ready?” he asks, voice a low rumble.

You nod, heart pounding. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.”

The first session begins after hours, the office silent except for Seoul’s distant hum. Jungkook locks the door, dims the lights, and pulls a silk blindfold from his desk. Your breath catches as he steps behind you, fingers brushing your shoulders as he ties it gently, the fabric cool against your skin.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice a lifeline in the darkness. “You say the word, and we stop.”

You nod, the blindfold amplifying every sound, every sensation. His footsteps circle you, deliberate and slow. “Kneel,” he commands, and the authority in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You hesitate, pride warring with desire, then lower yourself to the plush carpet, knees sinking in, skirt riding up your thighs.

“Good girl,” he says, and the praise ignites a molten spark in your core. He steps closer, his presence looming. “I was going to have you read your merger draft,” he says, amusement in his voice. “But with that blindfold, let’s try something else. Recite the key terms. You know them by heart, don’t you?”

Your mouth goes dry, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Then start,” he says, his hand grazing your jaw, tilting your chin up, thumb brushing your lower lip with a featherlight touch that makes you tremble. “And don’t stop, no matter what I do.”

You take a shaky breath and begin, voice quivering as you recite the merger’s core clauses—asset transfers, liability splits, timelines. Jungkook’s hands roam, slow and deliberate, tracing your collarbone with the pads of his fingers, skimming the edge of your blouse. Each touch is calculated, teasing, unraveling you. His fingers dip beneath the fabric, grazing the swell of your breast, and you falter, voice catching.

“Focus,” he says, voice firm, his thumb circling your nipple through your bra, sending a jolt of heat to your core. “Or I’ll make this harder.”

You try, but his touch is relentless. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips briefly before trailing to your thighs, parting them slightly. His fingers brush the edge of your panties, the fabric already damp, and you gasp, the merger terms slipping from your mind. He pauses, leaving you aching, your body screaming for more.

“Start again,” he orders, voice low and wicked, his breath hot against your ear as he kneels behind you. “From the top.”

You whimper but obey, restarting the recitation, voice shakier now. His hands resume their torture, sliding beneath your skirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He hooks a finger under your panties, pulling them aside, and the cool air against your slick folds makes you clench. He doesn’t touch you where you need it most, instead circling just close enough to drive you mad. Your voice breaks as you stumble through the clauses, each word a battle against the pleasure building inside you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “So wet for me, and I’ve barely started. Keep going, sweetheart.”

You push through, thighs trembling, core throbbing. His fingers finally brush your clit, a slow, deliberate stroke that makes you arch, a moan escaping before you bite it back. He chuckles, dark and approving, and rewards you with another stroke, then another, each one precise, building you toward the edge but never letting you fall. Your recitation becomes a desperate chant, each clause punctuated by his touch—fingers circling, teasing, denying.

When you finish the final clause, your voice is a breathless gasp, body taut with need. “Perfect,” he says, voice reverent. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them against your sensitive spot, and you cry out, hips bucking against his hand. His thumb presses your clit, and you’re so close, so desperate, but he pulls back, leaving you empty and aching.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “You haven’t earned it.”

He removes the blindfold, and the sudden light makes you blink. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s a softness there, grounding you. He kneels before you, brushing damp hair from your face. “You were incredible,” he whispers. “You’re made for this.”

You’re dazed, body screaming for release, craving more. He helps you stand, steadying your wobbly legs, and presses a glass of water to your lips. “Drink,” he says, watching with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. His aftercare is deliberate, hands gentle as he checks in, ensuring you’re okay. He wraps a soft throw around your shoulders, his fingers lingering, and for a moment, you see something in his eyes—admiration, maybe more.

You nod, catching your breath, but the session has shifted something. You’re hooked—not just on the power play, but on him. Yet, as the haze clears, doubt creeps in. This is unprofessional. Dangerous. You’re risking everything.

The next morning, you’re a wreck. Your reflection shows smudged mascara, hair wild from last night’s chaos. Your body hums with the memory of Jungkook’s fingers, his voice, the way he unraveled you. But your mind screams: What were you thinking?

You’re a lawyer. You live for ethics, boundaries, control. Last night was a reckless plunge into something you barely understand. The contract was supposed to protect you, but it feels like a flimsy excuse for crossing a line. You let your CEO blindfold you, command you, nearly break you in his office. This could ruin your career.

You avoid Jungkook all day, dodging meetings, burying yourself in work. By evening, you’re drafting an email to withdraw from the trial, fingers hovering over send. You can’t do this. Not with him. Not when his gaze makes your resolve crumble.

He finds you in the file room, door clicking shut. He’s in a black suit, tie loose, looking like temptation incarnate. “You’re avoiding me,” he says, stepping closer.

You clutch a folder. “Last night was a mistake. It’s unprofessional. I’m out.”

His eyes narrow, but he keeps his distance. “You signed the contract. You knew what you were getting into.”

“I didn’t know it’d feel like…” You falter, cheeks burning. “Like I’d lose myself.”

He softens. “You didn’t lose anything. You gave control, and you were perfect. You can walk away, but don’t lie—you wanted it. You still do.”

You shake your head. “This crosses every line. My career, my ethics—”

“Your ethics?” He steps closer, voice low. “You drafted the terms. You said yes. If you’re scared, say it. Don’t hide behind your job.”

Anger flares. “Don’t patronize me. You’re my boss, Jungkook. This isn’t a game—it’s my life.”

He watches you, then nods. “Okay. If you want out, you’re out. I won’t push.” His voice is calm, but his eyes are raw, like you’ve wounded him. “But you felt something. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

He leaves, and the room feels colder. You don’t send the email, but you don’t delete it either. For days, you’re a ghost—professional, distant. But Jungkook doesn’t give up. He’s used to women diving into his contracts eagerly, but you’re different. Your retreat, your principles, the way you held your ground—it’s new to him. He respects you more for it, and it’s why he can’t let you go.

His efforts start small but deliberate. He leaves your favorite coffee on your desk one morning, a note tucked under the cup: No strings. Just thought you needed this. You sip it, and damn it, it’s perfect. The next day, he sends a memo praising your merger work, cc’ing the entire executive team. It’s professional, but the postscript reads: Your precision is unmatched. I see you. Your heart skips, but you push it down.

At a late-night meeting, he sits across from you, his gaze lingering when others aren’t looking. When you drop your pen, he picks it up, fingers brushing yours, and murmurs, “Careful, Counselor. You’re slipping.” The double entendre makes your cheeks burn, but you don’t engage. Yet, each gesture chips at your resolve, his persistence both infuriating and intoxicating.

One evening, you’re working late when he appears in your office, holding a takeout bag—your favorite ramen from that small street food outlet you mentioned once. “Peace offering,” he says, setting it down. “I’m not here to push. Just… eat something.”

You eye him warily. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re worth it,” he says, voice soft but firm. “I’ve never met someone who challenges me like you do. Not just in this”—he gestures vaguely, meaning the contract—“but in everything. You walked away because you respect yourself. That’s rare. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His honesty disarms you. You take the ramen, and he leaves without pressing further. That night, you reread the contract, your own clauses staring back. You’d written it to protect yourself, but also to explore. To feel. You don’t decide anything, but the next day, you find him in his office.

“I’ll consider another session,” you say, voice steady. “But we renegotiate. Stricter boundaries. Regular check-ins. A clear end date unless we both agree to extend.”

His eyes light up, but he nods, respecting your terms. “Name your conditions.”

You revise the contract together, adding clauses for weekly check-ins and a one-month trial period. As you sign, his gaze lingers, and you feel it—the spark that never left. “You’re different,” he says, almost to himself. “I’ve never had to work this hard to convince someone.”

You smirk. “Good. I’m not like your other girls.”

His lips twitch, and the game is back on. But beneath the flirtation, you sense something deeper. His efforts—the coffee, the praise, the ramen—weren’t just seduction. They were proof he sees you, not just as a submissive, but as a woman who commands his respect. It’s the first crack in his no-romance rule, though neither of you knows it yet.

The sessions resume, tentative but electric. Jungkook is a paradox: strict yet caring, commanding yet attentive. He reads your body like a contract, knowing when to push, when to pause. At work, the tension is unbearable—his glances, his whispered “Good girl” when no one’s listening, the brush of his fingers.

You grow brattier, deliberately provoking him to spark the fire in his eyes. In meetings, you interrupt him mid-sentence, questioning his strategies with a sly smile. “Is that really the best approach, Mr. Jeon?” you ask, voice dripping with challenge. You linger when handing him files, letting your fingers graze his, watching his jaw tighten. Once, you “accidentally” drop a pen, bending to pick it up, giving him a view of your cleavage. It’s a game—you’re the brat, pushing his buttons, craving the moment he’ll snap. He notices, lips twitching with promise, but holds back, letting you push further.

Why does he tolerate it? Because you’re not just any submissive. Your wit, your defiance, the way you match him—it’s intoxicating. He’s used to control, but your resistance, your intelligence, makes him want more than your body. He wants your mind, your heart. Each bratty remark pulls him deeper.

One night, during a boardroom break, you push too far. You’d interrupted him thrice in the meeting, smirking when his eyes flared. Now, the executives are gone, and you’re alone. He locks the door, grabs your wrist, and pulls you to the mahogany table. “You want to test me, sweetheart?” he growls, pulling a silk tie from his pocket. He binds your wrists, securing them to the table’s edge, your body bent over, skirt hiked up to expose your thighs.

“Stay silent,” he orders, voice dangerous. “One sound, and I stop.”

He kneels behind you, hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slowly. His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your ankles, leaving you exposed. The cool air hits your slick folds, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. His breath is hot against your skin as he leans in, tongue flicking against your clit with a slow, deliberate lick that makes your knees buckle. He growls softly, the vibration sending shocks through you, and you grip the table’s edge, fighting to obey.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark with approval. “So fucking wet, dripping for me.” His tongue returns, lapping at you, slow and torturous, while his fingers spread you open, teasing your entrance. He pushes one finger inside, then two, curling them against your sensitive spot, and you nearly break, a whimper escaping before you catch it. He pauses, breath hot against your core. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

He stands, unzipping his trousers, and you hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt. His cock brushes your entrance, hard and thick, and you arch, desperate for him. “You want this?” he asks, voice low, teasing your folds with the tip. “Beg for it. Silently.”

You nod frantically, pushing your hips back, and he chuckles, dark and wicked. He enters you in one slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely, stretching you until you’re trembling. Each movement is precise, hitting every spot that makes you see stars. His hands grip your hips, controlling the pace, slow at first, then faster, deeper, the table creaking beneath you. Your silence is your surrender, your body his to command. The pressure builds, your core tightening, but he slows, pulling back just as you’re about to come.

“Not yet,” he says, leaning over you, lips brushing your ear. “You come when I say.”

He resumes, relentless now, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. When he finally growls, “Now,” you shatter, pleasure crashing through you, your body collapsing against the table. He follows, a low groan escaping as he spills inside you, his grip tightening. He unties you, pulling you into his arms, kissing your wrists where the silk left faint marks.

“You’re mine,” he says, soft but possessive. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, heart pounding. It’s not just the kink—it’s him. His intensity, his care, the way he sees you. You’re falling, and it terrifies you.

The merger closes, a success. Your assignment is done, your contract fulfilled. You should be celebrating, but leaving—losing him—is unbearable. You draft your resignation, planning to slip away.

Jungkook finds out. He storms into your apartment, rain-soaked and furious, eyes blazing. “You’re leaving?” he demands, slamming the door. “After everything?”

“It was a contract,” you say, voice breaking. “You said no romance.”

“I lied,” he snaps, cupping your face. “This was never just a contract. Not with you. Your mind, your strength, the way you challenge me—fuck, even when you walked away, I respected you more than anyone. You’re not just another girl. I’m in love with you, and I can’t let you go.”

You crash into each other, lips desperate, hands tearing at clothes. This session is different—slow, reverent, emotional. He lays you on your bed, kissing down your body, his mouth lingering on your thighs. His tongue finds your clit, slow and gentle, coaxing you to the edge with a tenderness that aches. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers sliding inside you, curling softly. “I could do this forever.”

You moan, hands tangling in his hair, and he hums in approval, the vibration pushing you closer. He takes his time, savoring every gasp, every shudder, until you’re trembling, begging softly. “Please, Jungkook…”

He rises, shedding his clothes, and enters you slowly, eyes locked, hands intertwined. “I love you,” he whispers, each thrust deep and deliberate, filling you with more than just his body—his heart. Your release is quiet, overwhelming, your arms clinging to him as you both come undone. He holds you after, bodies tangled, lips brushing your forehead.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “For me.”

You nod, tears falling. “I’m staying.”

A week after the merger’s triumphant close, you return to your office at Jeon Industries, expecting another exhausting day of tying up loose ends. Instead, a sleek black envelope sits on your desk, sealed with a crimson wax stamp that screams Jungkook. Your heart skips a beat, a mix of curiosity and that familiar heat stirring in your core. You glance around—no one’s watching—and slice it open, revealing a single sheet of parchment, the kind you’d expect from a royal authority, not a CEO. The title at the top makes you laugh out loud, earning a curious glance from a passing intern.

Contract of Commitment

You skim the first clause, and your laughter morphs into a grin, equal parts exasperated and charmed.

Clause 1: The undersigned will marry the CEO of Jeon Industries. Clause 2: The undersigned will still kneel when ordered.

You lean back in your chair, clutching the contract like it’s a love letter and a legal trap rolled into one. Jungkook’s handwriting—bold, looping, annoyingly perfect—marks the margins with a note: Sign it, Counselor. Or I’ll make you beg for it in the boardroom. The audacity of this man. You can picture his smirk, that infuriating tilt of his lips that’s haunted your dreams since the first day you met. Your fingers itch to sign, but you’re not about to make this easy for him. Not after everything.

The office is quiet, the Seoul skyline glinting through your window, but your mind is a whirlwind of the past few months—Jungkook’s relentless pursuit, the way he wore down your defenses with coffee, ramen, and those damn whispered praises. You’d nearly walked away after that first session, your professionalism screaming louder than your desire, but he’d fought for you. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet, deliberate care that made you feel seen. And now, this—marriage? Kneeling? He’s got some nerve.

You grab a pen, twirling it between your fingers, when your office door swings open without a knock. Jungkook strides in—black suit, tie slightly askew, inked forearms peeking from rolled sleeves. His hair’s a little mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and you curse your traitorous heart for stuttering at the sight.

“Caught you,” he says, voice a low drawl, leaning against your desk with that smirk. “What’s the hold-up, Counselor? Contract not up to your standards?”

You raise a brow, waving the parchment. “This? It’s more like a ransom note than a proposal. Where’s the romance, Jeon? No ring, no bended knee—just a clause about kneeling. Classy.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and dangerous, and leans closer, his cologne—sandalwood and sin—wrapping around you. “Romance? I seem to recall you moaning my name on this very desk last week. If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.”

Your cheeks burn, and you swat his arm, glancing at the open door. “Keep your voice down! HR’s probably got this place bugged.”

He grins, undeterred, and produces a small velvet box from his pocket, flipping it open with a flourish. Inside is a ring—a sleek band of platinum with a single, dazzling diamond that catches the light like it’s mocking your attempt at composure. Your breath catches, and he clocks it, his grin widening.

“Better?” he asks, plucking the ring and sliding it onto your finger before you can protest. It fits perfectly, of course, because Jungkook doesn’t do half-measures. “As for the bended knee, I’d rather have you on your knees, but I can compromise. Tonight, maybe?”

You snatch the contract, scribbling your signature with a flourish, if only to hide how flustered you are. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, shoving it into his chest. “There. Signed. Happy?”

He takes it, eyes scanning your signature like it’s a trophy, then tucks it into his jacket. “Ecstatic. But you didn’t negotiate, Counselor. Rookie mistake. Now you’re stuck with me and Clause 2.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “Clause 2’s negotiable. I’m not kneeling in the middle of a board meeting just because you get a whim.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to that velvet growl that makes your thighs clench. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need a boardroom. Your apartment, my penthouse, my office, the back of my car—I’ll have you kneeling wherever I want.” His fingers brush your jaw, tilting your chin up, and you’re half a second from climbing him right there when he pulls back, smirking. “But first, dinner. I’m not a complete savage.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up despite yourself. “Dinner? You? The man who once tried to seduce me with takeout ramen?”

“Hey, that ramen worked,” he says, mock-offended, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door. “And tonight, it’s Michelin-starred. I’m stepping up my game for my fiancée.”

The word—fiancée—hits like a spark, and you pause, letting it sink in. Jungkook notices, his expression softening, and he cups your face, kissing you gently, a stark contrast to the commanding Dom you’ve come to know. “You’re mine,” he murmurs against your lips, “but I’m yours too. Don’t forget that.”

You nod, heart full, and follow him out, the ring glinting on your finger. As you pass the intern from earlier, who’s blatantly eavesdropping, Jungkook winks at her and says, “Send a memo. Office closed tomorrow. Wedding planning.”

You elbow him, mortified. “Jungkook!”

“What?” He grins, unrepentant, slinging an arm around you. “Gotta start practicing for Clause 2. You’re not getting out of this one, Counselor.”

You groan, but you’re laughing, tangled in his warmth, his audacity, his love. This deal—marriage, kneeling, forever—is one you’ll never break.

A/n: I also need a CEO Jeon for Private Play Terms. What about you guys? 😈

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things

Important Update: Please check out this post and support on backup account.

Do Follow my backup account : @kittenan2

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jk fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #jk smut #jk x reader

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covenofagatha · 6 months ago

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hiiii <33

Could you write something about Agatha being a little insecure about being older than the reader?

Maybe they're at a party and someone the reader's age is going to talk to her and Agatha feels jealous and a little insecure, but pretend not to feel anything?

Then they go home and the reader shows Agatha that she loves her more than anything :)

If it's not too much to ask, the reader could have an obsession with Agatha's breasts and... really like eating her out? (like, a *really* big obsession) (sorry, Mrs Fletcher is on my mind a lot lately)

sorry for the details, lol, this came to me in the middle of the night

and by the way, I love your writing <33 you write very well

and I'm looking forward to the but you are my stepmother update :D

kisseess <3

I may have changed the setting a little bit (I've been watching Succession and was influenced lol) but hopefully you like! Also, Mrs. Fletcher literally changed my life so I completely understand

I combined this one with another request for being obsessed with Agatha’s breasts

Happy New Year to everyone!

Glitter on the floor

When Agatha gets jealous at the company New Year's Eve party, you remind her that she has nothing to worry about

Word count: 4300

Warnings: oral sex, oral fixation, breast fixation, marking

“Do you think anyone would notice if we just leave before the party even starts?” You ask, throwing a stress ball up in the air and catching it without even looking.

You’re laying on your back on the couch in Agatha’s office and she snorts from her seat at her desk.

Unlike you, when Agatha said she was going up to her office to quickly read over a contract before the company New Year’s Eve party, she meant it. You had just followed her up here to see if she was willing to get up to any funny business.

“You don’t think they would notice that the CEO and General Counsel of the company aren’t at the company party?” Agatha asks amusedly, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Spellbound Network is a multi-billion dollar news conglomerate that Agatha Harkness is the Chief Executive Officer of. She’s absolutely ruthless and doesn’t hesitate before tearing anybody and everybody down. Nothing will stand in her way of world domination.

As General Counsel, you’re a little less important, but you know that Agatha is right. The last thing you need is people speculating.

The two of you have been involved in a more than professional relationship for seven months now. It all started when you offered to stay late to help her finish up with some end-of-quarterly reviews before the deadline and the two of you had ended up going out for drinks when you had finally finished. Agatha had let her hair down and told you just how stressed she was, and you had stupidly told her that you could help her relieve some of that stress.

She had raised an eyebrow and you had taken it as a challenge. The next thing you knew, she was calling a car and the two of you were making out in the backseat on the way to her penthouse.

It had grown into a relationship, a relationship that no one else in the office knew about. Things were getting pretty serious, and Agatha had even brought up you moving in with her.

But you roll your eyes anyway. “It’ll be boring,” you drag out the last word slowly, sitting up to face her. “Wouldn’t you rather go back to your place, or even just stay up here?” You give her an impish grin and a wink.

It’s a lost cause. Agatha has never let you touch her nor has she touched you in the office.

She fixes you with a glare. “If you’re not going to behave, you can go downstairs and help set up for the party.”

You hum in acquiescence and you’re about to resume your position on your back when Agatha leans forward and props herself up on her elbows, pushing her visible cleavage together.

Your mouth runs dry. She’s wearing a long black dress with a low neckline that puts her breasts — that you may or may not be obsessed with — very much on display. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did it to tease you.

“Agatha,” you whine, trying to sound pathetic so she’ll take pity on you. You can practically taste her skin with how badly you want her.

She knows what you’re thinking, as always. “Stop,” she says without even looking up from her desk. “You aren’t going to goad me into touching you. Hasn’t worked any other time, isn’t going to work now.”

You pout. “What are you talking about? I’ve never tried to.” It’s a bold-faced lie and you both know it.

“Oh yeah?” She asks, at last looking up at you. “So when you got me that vibrator for the Secret Santa at the Christmas party, ‘not realizing that it was a public gift swap’; that wasn’t an attempt to work me up? Or when you just happen to come in here almost every day and knock over my pens so you have to bend down and shake your ass in my face?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the reminders of your brazenness. To be fair, you had genuinely thought that the Secret Santa swap would be done in a group but then the gifts would be opened alone. And much to your surprise, you were wrong and when Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, had announced that it was time for everyone to open their gifts, you had quickly dragged Agatha upstairs, making some excuse about a phone call about a breaking news story.

She had been furious at almost having to open your gift in front of the entire staff, and instead of having a very Merry Christmas Eve, courtesy of your generous gift and a well-placed bribe to the person who had actually drawn Agatha in the swap, she hadn’t touched you at all that night.

But Christmas Day was much better, when she had put you on your knees for almost an hour and you made her cum four times with just your mouth.

“You’re not letting those go anytime soon, are you?” You mutter.

She throws a paper clip at you. “Go downstairs and stop bothering me,” she orders, fondness still in her voice.

You huff a big sigh, one that tells her that just because you’re obeying doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, and walk over to place the paper clip and stress ball back on her desk. You straighten out your own dress, a long maroon one, and lean over to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

To your surprise, she lets you do it and she even deepens it, flicking her tongue against the entrance to your mouth. When she pulls away, her eyes are dark and you’re about to ask her to reconsider, but she ushers you away with her hand and turns back to the contract.

There’s not very many people in the lobby where the party is taking place, so you stand alone at a table and accept a glass of champagne from a waitress. It’s only ten pm and you know most of the staff won’t get here until closer to midnight, which would’ve been smart.

If only Agatha hadn’t insisted that you and her come in for the entire day and get ahead of all the stuff that’s coming up in the new year. She didn’t even let you go back to your apartment once you both had finished, instead letting you shower in her private adjoining bathroom.

And she wonders why you’re already so bored; you’ve been at the office for fourteen hours.

Still at least two more to go.

You take another glass of champagne and set it down next to your already half-empty glass. You’re going to need it once more people start showing up.

It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s just that…if the building was on fire, you’d only really think or care about saving Agatha.

“Hey there, General Counsel,” Rio says, slinking up to you.

You smile. She’s an oddball, but her wry sense of humor sometimes is the only thing that gets you through business trips. Besides Agatha, of course.

And it’s not exactly a secret that she has a bit of a crush on you. On paper, it would make more sense than you and Agatha. Rio is your age, and for all intents and purposes, doesn’t have any power over you, nor you her.

But you’re in love with Agatha, and older women have always been more your type anyway. You’re perfectly happy with being friends with Rio, and it seems that Rio is content with your relationship now too.

“Hey, Rio,” you greet, lifting your glass in a silent toast to her. She lifts up the other one and smoothly downs it in one gulp.

And then the elevator dings and Agatha steps out and you forget all about Rio and everyone else. Your eyes follow her as she glides through the lobby, not even looking at you once, and she picks up a plate of caviar while the Chief Financial Officer, Jimmy, goes to talk to her.

Rio taps her fingers to the rim of the empty glass. “So, I heard Harkness is thinking about acquiring Hex Industries for better tech.”

“Water cooler gossip,” you say dismissively, not wanting to talk anymore business for the day. You’ve done enough with that with Agatha. And then you lower your voice conspiratorially. “But I did hear that Jimmy got divorced again?”

It sends Rio into a fit of giggles and the two of you swap the details you’ve heard from various people and try to piece together what really happened. It does make the party go by faster and before you know it, there’s only about an hour before midnight.

You cannot wait to go home with Agatha and forget all about work and this party and just focus on her. Ever since she changed into the dress she’s wearing tonight, you haven’t been able to focus with how delicious her breasts look in it.

Some might call it an oral fixation, some might call it mommy issues, but there’s no denying how much you love to suck on her nipples. And to eat her out.

Fuck. You can’t be thinking about that. Rio is saying something, something now about Tony, the Chief Operating Officer, and you’re shifting your weight thinking about the sounds Agatha makes when you get your mouth on her.

You look around the room and you find her, standing alone, nursing her own glass of champagne. But what startles you is that she’s already watching you with a strange look on her face. You give her a small smile, your heart filling with adoration for the older woman, but she looks away.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” You say to Rio, who nods. You walk over to Agatha and slide up next to her, your hand brushing against her lower back. “You okay?” You murmur into her ear.

Agatha clears her throat and rolls her shoulders back and you have to make a pointed effort not to stare at her boobs that get pushed forward. “Just ready for this party to be over,” she says, voice clipped.

“Oh yeah?” You whisper, cocking an eyebrow. “What do you have planned for when we get home?”

She looks at you, finally looks at you, and you can see a guarded look in her eye. “We’ve had a long day, and this party won’t be done until after midnight. I’ll probably turn in.”

“Oh, Mommy, your age is showing,” you tease mockingly in a hush, wearing a dramatic pout, another joke about how much older she is that she usually rolls her eyes at and then makes a comment about how much you like it.

But she stiffens today. “Well, you’re more than welcome to go home with Rio if you want someone your own age.” The retort hits you like a punch in the gut and you’re left dumbfounded as she walks away, heels clacking on the floor.

Is she…jealous? Surely Agatha can’t be, she knows how much you want her and love her. She knows how willing you are to show her.

And maybe, just maybe, she’ll let you remind her right now.

You check your watch. Forty-five minutes until midnight. You can feel her gaze from across the room, but when you try to make eye contact, she pretends like she isn’t looking at you, and you make the executive decision to try something that will probably backfire.

Pulling out your phone, you pretend to take a call. You can feel her air shift; she knows that if someone’s calling you this late, it must be something urgent. You nod like you’re listening and then after a minute or two, you put your phone down.

You meet her eyes and tilt your head toward the elevator, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. This could backfire. She could get so mad at you.

But you have to try.

Agatha excuses herself from the small group of people that have congregated around her table and she follows you into the elevator.

“Who was that? What’s wrong?” She demands, and you almost feel bad for making her this panicked.

You shake your head. “Just wait until we get to your office.” You think it should be a hint, but she doesn’t pick up on it. Instead, Agatha chews on her bottom lip and tosses her hair back over her shoulders.

The doors ding open on the sixtieth floor and Agatha trails behind you, hot on your heels, as you take her to her office. You tell her to get on the couch while you draw the blinds to the glass windows facing the interior of the building, just in case anyone should happen to walk by. The television is on outside in the hallway and you can faintly hear the sounds of the New York Ball Drop show. A little over thirty minutes left.

“What is going on?” Agatha asks again, clearly exasperated by you dragging this out.

You turn around and almost moan at the sight of her sitting with her knees pulled up under her and her elbow propped up on the couch. This time, you really can’t help your gaze from darting down to her breasts and she snaps her fingers to get you to focus. “Rio’s just a friend,” you say bluntly, and Agatha scoffs.

“What does this have to do with anything?”

You slowly walk over and kneel down in front of her, pulling her legs out so that her feet are on the floor and you rest your chin on her knee and look up at her through your eyelashes. “There wasn’t a call,” you confess, already wincing on the inside at how she’s going to react. Her face remains stoic. “You were bothered by Rio and I talking.” It’s a statement, not a question.

But Agatha jeers. “Is this your excellent counsel that I pay you so much for? That I’m bothered? Don’t think I don’t know about the little crush she has on you.”

“So what if she has a crush? I don’t like her like that. You know I only have eyes for you,” you say, slowly inching the hem of her dress up her legs, waiting to be rejected.

Her hand slides up your head and fastens into your hair, tilting you back so you can look straight at her. “Oh yeah?” She asks, daring, challenging you to go further.

You swallow hard. “Let me show you?” You offer timidly, praying it’s the right answer and you’re not reading this wrong.

Agatha growls, a guttural noise deep in her throat, and she yanks you up and kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth and you moan at the feeling, settling into her lap with your legs on either side of hers. She tugs at your hair and the sting makes you keen, only making you need her more.

You can’t even wait, you’ve been on edge for too long, and you trail your lips down her neck, scrape your teeth against her collarbone, and then she helps you take the straps of her dress off.

The second her breasts are free, you’re on them like you’re starving and they’re your salvation. You cup both of them with your hands, feeling the sturdy weight of them, and you knead softly, running your thumbs over both nipples. The dusky rose color stands out against her pale skin and you watch with fascination as her nipples harden under your gentle touch. Part of you still can’t believe she’s letting you touch her in the office.

Not that you’re complaining.

You swoop down and take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the little bud, and Agatha’s back arches off the couch as her fingers dig into your hair to keep you there. You’ve never felt more content in your life than like this, and you happily suck on her as the most delicious sounding noises fall out of her mouth.

Her free hand finds your hip just as your fingers tug at her nipple that isn’t being occupied by your mouth and you can make out what she wants. Without moving away from her, you shift and place a leg in-between hers, able to feel the heat radiating from her pussy through her underwear and dress.

“Fuck,” you mutter brokenly when she grinds up against your knee and you can feel just how wet she is.

Agatha huffs out a chuckle. “You love sucking on Mommy’s tits so much, don’t you?” She asks and you switch sides and hum against her skin. “Mommy loves it, too.”

You groan and take a break from directly stimulating her, instead, opting to lightly bite at the skin around her nipples, taking extra care to mark the curvature under them. She’s especially sensitive there, and her little gasps only spur you on.

After you’ve left sufficient proof that you were there, you pull back and admire your work and you sharply inhale. Her breasts are absolutely painted with red marks that will surely fade into bruises by tomorrow and her chest heaves, a ragged look in her eyes. Agatha is still undulating against your leg and you can visibly tell how turned on she is.

“Am I convincing you yet?” You ask, your voice coming out a little hoarse, and Agatha barks out a laugh.

Her wicked grin has a thrill running inside you and she shifts underneath you until you figure out what she is trying to do. It’s a bit awkward, but she manages to turn her body so that her legs are on the couch horizontally but you’re still on top of her.

She hums thoughtfully. “Think I might need a little more. If you’re willing, that is.”

Only too willing. You can’t help yourself from leaning down and giving her a hard kiss, pulling away and sucking one nipple and then the other roughly until she moans, and then you move down her body and bunch up her dress at her hips. You put your hands on her shins and guide her legs up so they’re bent, her heels on the couch.

And then you settle between her open legs and mouth at her sopping cunt through her underwear. A groan tears out of you before you can stop it at tasting the wet fabric, thick with her scent which you’ve become addicted to. You suck on her underwear, pulling the moisture out of it, and Agatha jerks underneath you.

“We don’t have all day, pet,” she says tightly and you can hear the television outside saying there’s fifteen minutes left until New Year’s Day.

You chuckle at her impatience and finally pull down her underwear. You wish your dress had pockets so you could store it for later, but you made do for just throwing it somewhere in her office.

And then you drag your tongue up her slit and absolutely lose yourself in the taste. There’s something so indistinguishable and indescribable about it, and you lazily explore her pussy, getting as much of her wetness as you can into your mouth. You vaguely realize that she’s wrapped a leg over your shoulder and her heel is digging in, the sting only turning you on more.

Small gasps are pulled out of Agatha’s mouth and her hips buck, trying to get more stimulation, but to no avail as you are completely focused on just licking her slowly. You moan into her and the vibrations make her whimper, but you almost don’t even hear it. This is your favorite place on earth, between her legs, and you don’t want to ever leave. She’s so warm and wet and responsive against your tongue and you fucking love it. Love getting her wetness all over your face, love feeling her clench around your tongue, love the taste and smell and how she reacts when you lap at her clit.

You do that now, and her thighs tighten around your head and she sighs like she’s finally getting some of the relief that she needs.

“I love your pussy,” you say, but the words are garbled. She lets out a muffled sound and you look up through hooded eyes to see her head strewn back in pleasure, dark hair fanned out beneath her, bottom lip between her teeth, and her fingers tweaking her raw nipples. The sight makes you moan against her again and her hips jump.

She looks down to meet your gaze and you feel the fire inside you only being stoked more when you realize that almost all the blue in her eyes is gone, entirely swallowed up by dark desire. “Please,” she begs, sounding more needy than she ever has since you’ve started sleeping with her. “Mommy needs this so bad.”

And the only thing you love more than tasting her with your mouth is making her cum with your mouth.

So you oblige, thrusting your tongue inside her and almost losing all composure when her walls flutter around it. She lets out a loud whine when your nose brushes against her clit and you keep doing that, curling your tongue inside her and moving your head up and down so she can get some desperately needed stimulation to her clit.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth is so good,” she practically sobs, and you can feel her throb. She never takes long, which is almost a shame because you’d stay between her legs forever if you could. Building her up, feeling her legs tremble around you, that’s half the fun right there.

But she needs it, and you can hear that it’s getting closer to midnight. Only a few minutes left.

You double the intensity, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again, feeling it pulse. You slip a hand between your own legs and groan at the wetness you find, fingers strumming at your own clit through your dress and soaked panties. Nothing gets you more turned on than Agatha’s pussy in your mouth, absolutely coating your face.

She’s pinching her nipples now and you almost lose your rhythm from wishing you were the one doing that to her, but you don’t falter. Wetness is dripping out of her cunt onto the couch below and you almost smirk at the thought of seeing the stain tomorrow.

Agatha better let you fuck her in her office more often. You clench at the thought of being under her desk, eating her out while she’s going through contracts or in a meeting or having lunch. Anytime you can.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” she chants and you can hear the minute countdown start. You lick and suck and nip and her hips are moving furiously, grinding on your face and you can’t breathe but you don’t even care because she tastes so fucking good.

“Five…four…” You shove your tongue inside her and curl it up, stroking against the spongy spot that makes her gasp. “Three..two…” You scrape your teeth against her clit and she keens. “One…Happy New Year!”

You suck her clit into your mouth hard and that does it. She goes flying over the edge, wetness gushing out onto your face, and you blissfully lick her through her orgasm, not even realizing that she’s too sensitive until she’s tugging at your hair, pulling you away from her.

She brings you in for a kiss, a tradition when the clock strikes midnight on January First, but also something she always does when you eat her out, moaning at the taste of herself on your lips, and you don’t even care that you haven’t cum yet. You clasp her cheeks and your tongue sweeps into her mouth until you finally have to break apart to breathe.

“What a way to start the new year,” you joke and she laughs and fluffs her hair. She looks like a thoroughly-fucked mess, but also the hottest you’ve ever seen. You soften and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You know I love you, right? I don’t care about how old you are, you know I fucking love that. You don’t have to worry about Rio, or anyone else, no matter if they’re my age or not. I want you and only you.”

Agatha smiles and kisses you again, and then kisses your nose. “I want all your midnight kisses, baby. I love you too.” It’s the most romantic thing she’s ever said.

And of course you immediately have to ruin it with a joke. “Office sex isn’t that bad, hm?” She pokes your side and you giggle.

“Let’s get back downstairs before anyone notices that we’ve been gone for so long,” she says.

You whine but reluctantly get off her when she pats your hips and she finds her underwear that was thrown to the ground. You both fix your make-up in the mirror and then you’re back in the elevator, descending the sixty floors. If anyone asks, you’ll say it was an emergency with an acquisition. But you doubt anyone will. The champagne is flowing and it’s a party.

Before the doors open, Agatha takes your hand, squeezes it three times as if to say I love you and then there’s a ding and it’s back to reality.

But she gives you a wink meant only for you when she toasts to the company and all the good things yet to come and a warm feeling fills you.

What a way to start the new year, indeed.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along #covsfics #glitter on the floor

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yeoldenews · 9 days ago

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I'm not sure if you'll know the answer to this, but for the regency era, how common are contractions in letters and speech? Not the "Wm." for William kind, but your standard "couldn't," "wouldn't" and "shouldn't?" Thanks!

All common English contractions did exist by the Regency period. However, there is very limited period documentation or scholarly research as to whether they were viewed as "proper" English or not at the time.

Contractions were first used in the English language sometime in the last half of the 16th century, and by the late 17th and early 18th centuries were approaching what most people today would probably consider over-use.

By the time the Regency era rolled around however, many older uses of contractions had already fallen, or were in the midst of falling, out of favor. 'Tis, 'twas, ne'er, e'er, e'en, tho', thro', etc., were mostly confined to poetry by the early 19th century (though 'tis seems to have hung on a little bit longer than the others).

The last half of the 18th century had also already seen the almost complete disappearance of the most common use of English contractions in the 17th and early 18th centuries - using 'd in place of -ed - as seen here in an example from the 1736...

The frequency of use of contractions in the Regency period specifically, seems to have varied greatly from person to person. Jane Austen herself used very few contractions in her novels compared to some of her contemporaries. Couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't do not appear at all in Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility or Emma, and all other contractions were used very sparingly.

In P&P, I counted one appearance of "I'm", one of "you'll", one "won't", two "can't"s, three "shan't"s and six "don't"s.

I compared this to Evelina, by Frances Burney (published in 1778) which (just in Volume One) includes: 14 occurrences of can't, 4 of won't, 35 of don't (vs only 15 of 'do not') and 11 of shan't (3 spelled shan't and 8 sha'n't).

Though couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't all appear in Evelina as well (in an archaic forms which included a space between the modal verb and n't: could n't, would n't, should n't), I did notice they are used much more by lower class characters than by upper.

There seems to be some evidence that negative contractions (those ending in n't) began to be considered improper English in the latter half of the 18th century, and subsequently generally fell out of favor with the upper classes.

The Grammatical Wreath... by Alexander Bicknell, published in 1790, specifically cautions against using contractions in correspondence with social superiors.

"And be careful in not omitting any letter belonging to the words you write; as, I've, can't, don't, shou'd, wou'd, &c. instead of I have, cannot, do not, should, would; for such contractions not only appear disrespectful and too familiar, but discover ignorance and impudence."

This very interesting paper (which you can view in full if you have a free JSTOR account) analyzes the grammatical trends found through 50 years (1730s-1780s) of the correspondence of writer Elizabeth Montagu. The author marked a significant falloff in the use of negative contracted modal and auxiliary verbs over the course of Montagu's letters. In the 1730s Montagu used un-contracted negatives 62% of the time and contracted 38%, but by the 1780s Montagu used no contacted negatives at all.

Granted these are only the letters of a single person and, as the author notes, could have many other explanations (age, change in social class, familiarity with the correspondent, etc.), it does seem to reflect what I've personally observed in writing from this period.

So the answer to your question is - yes, contractions existed and yes, they were in fairly common use - with the asterisk that how they were viewed by society is not terribly well documented for the Regency period.

So I'd personally say feel free to use them in any Regency era stories you may be writing, but do so sparingly with very proper or upper class characters.

If you're aiming for very authentic period flavor, you could also try throwing in some contractions that have fallen out of use over the past two centuries - shan't, mustn't, needn't, mayn't, etc. I'd especially recommend using 'shan't' in place of 'shouldn't' where appropriate, and also remembering that if you're using 'can not' instead of 'can't' it is always one word - cannot.

One thing that is period authentic, but I won't personally recommend to any Regency era writers (unless you want to throw some meta commentary on the chaos that is the English language into an epistolary) - is that no one really agreed where to put the apostrophe in wouldn't/couldn't/shouldn't until well into the 19th century. It's very common to see the n't separate as in the examples from Evelina, but I've also seen wou'd'n't, would'nt, wou'd'nt, etc. etc. etc., sometimes multiple different ways within a single paragraph.

Hope some of that was helpful. I had fun digging into it!

#*I am not an expert in the history of English grammar I just read a lot of old things #so if anyone has more expertise please feel free to chime in #regency #regency era #history #1800s #1810s #grammar #english language #jane austen #linguistics #sociolinguistics #asks #long post #long posts

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baddywronglegs · 7 months ago

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Some contractions become standard English - isn't, haven't, didn't. But English is a horrible language, and we endeavour to use it as little as possible, so any more letters that can be dropped without losing meaning will be.

For one thing, a lot of British dialects also glottalise the t. You can view this as just a regional pronunciation of the letter t in some situations, as it's a common consonant in other languages and appears mostly in the same place that in American accents it's pronounced as a d instead, but our language was set in stone by people who don't do that so instead it's apparently lazily dropping the letter and must be written as an apostrophe instead.

So now we've got isn', haven' and didn'.

But the end od the word before not also gets dropped or glottalised (both happen, depending on dialect) so you're not unlikely to hear i'n', ha'n' and di'n'. This also means that have not and has not become the same sounds as V and S both go the same way into that great scrabble bag in the sky.

But then we're not big fans of aspirates either so that H has got to go. Meaning the actual pronunciation of "have not" and "has not" in some accents and dialects, my own included, is best rendered as:

'A'n'

(This isn't related to ain't, usually pronounced ain', which is from "am not" and was considered "standard English" until the 19th century when, again, over-educated ponces who didn't do that decided it was beneath them, as British English has long been a class war between the haves and the 'a'n's.)

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hyabbstay · 8 months ago

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2:17am - c.s.b

choi soobin x fem!reader

genre: smut (minors DO NOT INTERACT!)

content warnings: masturbation (m), grinding, multiple orgasms, blowjob, soobin has a big dick!, lots of cum c;

. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　

You were woken from your nap by the sound of the slapping of Soobin's balls against his hand, reaching your ears from across the hotel room. He was shameless as you slowly sat up in disbelief, languidly stroking his hard cock while gazing at you from beneath his bangs.

"Mm…" you heard him hiss at a twist of his own wrist around the leaking tip, followed by the rapid smack, smack, smack of his skin. The pleasure overwhelmed him, making Soobin's back slide down the headboard a bit. At a particularly hard stroke, he let his head fall back and his jaw slackened. You watched him at the mercy of his mounting pleasure, moans falling from his luscious lips. He ran his hot tongue over them.

You felt heat pool at your core, watching his brows knit together, sweat coating his neck where his Adams apple bobbed at each labored gulp and gasp while he tried to keep quiet. Soobin's eyes shut tight while he twisted his head to the side, riding out the pleasure on his cock. Your eyes intently followed the beads of sweat that ran from his temple, neck, and down to his heaving chest.

Slowly, his eyes opened, and he saw you watching him, and he moaned brokenly. He forced himself to stay conscious while the buzzing sensation on his cock enveloped him. Soobin wanted to savor the sight of you, sleepy but aroused, eyes blown with your nipples peeking through your loose tank top Slowly, you ground your pussy against your wrist.

"Fuck, baby," Soobin cursed, brushing his sweat-slicked bangs with his free hand then running it shakily down his glistening abdomen, "I want you s-so bad." You realize he had already came previously, cum streaks spread across his stomach. He swiped more of the spent cum from his abdomen to use as lubricant. Not that he needed more.

You silently watched the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the contractions of his stomach, his thighs tensing and relaxing. The slick, rapid strokes and the fucked-out expression on your friend's face sent a warm sensation straight to your pussy. Who would've thought shy Soobin had the hots for you - and wanted you this bad?

"Soobin-ah."

You didn't expect the effect his name on your lips had on him. Soobin blinked, stuttering in his movements. His palm caught his reddened tip, making him instantly gush out new spurts of cum.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cried brokenly, gripping his cock and gliding his hand up and down in time with each thick spurt of semen, "you d-dont know what y-you do to m..me."

New streaks of cum joined the ones already on his stomach. Soobin shuddered, sweat running down his temples and neck. He struggled to keep his hot gaze on you while his body spasmed at the intensity of his orgasm. It was so hot. Your unexpected roommate was masturbating to you. Soobin looked delicious in the warm light. As he drew out his orgasm by greedily taking in the outline of your wet pussy through your shorts, you made your way over to his bed.

Soobin cried out again, shivering as your lips found his erect nipples and began suckling. He shoved his cum-covered hand in your hair, guiding you as you traveled down his torso. You licked down his stained stomach until you reached his still hard cock. It was long and girthy, a delicious vein running along the underside.

You looked up, teasing him by just poking out the tip of your tongue. Soobin looked almost pitiful, drenched in sweat and cum. His pleading eyes and lustful gaze screamed give me more.

Finally, you stuck out your tongue and engulfed his huge cock in your warm cavern. Soobin bit his lip and bucked his hips in pleasure, sensitive from his previous orgasms.

You're most ready to take all his cum in your throat, Soobin thinks hazily, and surely, you won't say no to him spearing you on his heavy cock later, either.

You've got a long night ahead.

. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　

#soobin smut #choi soobin x reader #soobin x reader #choi soobin smut #tomorrow x together #txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #hyabbstay timestamps

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acalamity · 3 months ago

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author's note

it's been a while :,D I wasn't sure who to write for but I remembered I once wanted to write something like this at least once. this is my first time writing explicit NSFW like this so I hope it worked out well

synopsis: girls were beautiful, even in death or pleasure

⚠️ THIS POST CONTAINS MENTIONS AND/OR IMPLICATIONS OF 18+ CONTENT. THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK ⚠️

wuthering waves! cantarella x fem! reader

more under the wubbaboo!!

"Look at yourself. Are you staying still for me? Good girl." The alluring ring whispered into your ear, warm breath ghosting over your cheeks. In the reflection obscured by the waters behind it, you could discern your own reflection within the desolate aquarium's glass panes. Overwhelming warmth blossomed within your lower regions, spreading and unfurling hastily like pestilence through your pounding head. Once, twice— the fair lady shoved her fingers into you, molding your flesh according to her desires and urging forth bursts of suffocating pleasure, "Mm— ahh!"

With her other hand, Cantarella Fisalia held your chin, her finger crawling up to your lips with a deliberate slowness. Her dreamlike voice brushed against the top of your flushed ears as shivers ran down your spine, far too stimulated from her tongue lapping itself against your ears. Her glimmering tacet mark made itself evident amid the misty darkness, "Mm, you're so pretty for me. What a wreck."

"Canta. . . ella." Her finger prodded into your mouth, the back of her lavender manicure now layered in your incessant drool that trickled out of your parted lips. She readjusted her hand, taking her fingers out and letting her palm sit against your opening. Without another word, just when you could feel her finger hover over it— she squeezed your bulb, sending your knees buckling as jolts of rapture rampaged through your trembling nerves, "Ahh!"

"Yes, your lovely expression and overstimulation. . ." Silky purple hair brushed against your damp cheek, the lady's fingers rubbed against your numerous sensory endings with a deliberate patience. She brought her face next to your own, pressing her chest against your arched back as she licked her lips. Removing her hand from your tongue that swirled around it's warm gag, Cantarella promptly stared at her drenched fingers, "This is the most fitting decorum for you when you're in my hands."

The corners of her lips twitched upwards and before you knew it— you were completely restained, Cantarella's weight resting upon you as you felt her lips flutter through your back, biting and sucking at your skin like a starving man. She unhurriedly hooked her fingers inside of you, pressing against your front wall and sliding about a certain area.

"Mmf—!"

"It's here." Cantarella mumbled against your bruised skin. Amid your pants and moans, the frigid chill and seething warmth, you could feel Cantarella's smile against your throbbing skin. Ah, you slumped against the glass panes, meeting her eyes in the veil of darkness.

She gave a feather-light tap against your spot, tightening her arm against your hips, lifting your weight off your quivering legs. Another tap, and another— until the matriarch pressed.

Heat gathered throughout your tingling body, pulsing and contracting rapidly with insurmountable tension. Your palms fell onto the chilly glass— Cantarella pressed on the spongy area once again, rubbing her fingers in circles through your nerves. Lilac eyes peered into your bare self, every facet laid out for her to see. Unwittingly, as pearls of liquid squirted down, dripping onto her fingers slowly but surely, your breathing intensified, choked moans escaping you as shudders mercilessly overwhelmed your body, "Ahh, ah!"

In an instant, Cantarella pulled out, sending a frustrating knot swelling within your abdomen. Her hand flew up to your chest, squeezing the stiff tip like a toy. Through the aquarium's glass, her tantalising smile bore into your soul, "Now now, you're well aware I swallow whatever I'm served with poise. As nobility, it's a basic courtesy."

"Tonight, as a token of thanks, I shall go beyond the basic courtesies and. . ." The low words rumbled into your back as vibrations ruptured through your insides, overriding the brief emptiness you felt. The lady lifted you, setting you on the table's edge with impeccably fluid movements. With a deliberate enticing leisure, she knelt between your parted legs and licked her lips, ". . . show you the complete etiquette of House Fisalia. Look forward to it, we have an incredibly long night ahead of us."

#wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuwa #cantarella #cantarella x reader #wuwa cantarella #cantarella fisalia #wlw smut #smut

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dakusan · 1 month ago

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T h e B a s i c s / / B l o o d L o r e M a s t e r f i l e

🔞synopsis: What if vampires weren’t hiding? What if they were already famous? They walk in silk suits and stage lights. They run empires and whisper through your headphones. They don’t sparkle—they ruin. Slowly. Beautifully. With fangs at your throat and hands between your thighs. This Masterfile is your guide to Blood Lore—a universe where vampires run the world in secret, and sometimes…they feed while they fuck. Some bite for power. Some for pleasure. And some? Just to hear you moan.

💌a/n: OKAY LISTEN. I KNOW this isn’t a fic. I KNOW it’s not a thirst post. I KNOW some of you are gonna see the words “masterfile” and immediately scroll past like I haven’t been bleeding for this lore since I was 13. BUT. This world? This Blood Lore chaos? It’s the foundation for the entire vampire!SKZ series I’m building—yes, the filthy, unholy, fanged fics you actually want. Every bite, every contract, every glamour-drenched orgasm? They start here. So if you read this masterfile, you’ll catch all the threads I’ll be weaving into the fics—secret rules, power dynamics, bloodbonding effects, magical side effects, vampire politics… all of it. If you skip it? No harm, no blood-feud, I promise. But if you don’t skip it? You’re basically feeding me. And I bite nice when I’m fed. Love you. Stay sinful 🩸🖤 p.s. Welcome to Wreck Me Wednesdays. Your soul, your blood, your sanity—leave them at the door. I’ll take care of the rest p.p.s. Asks always welcome. Come scream. Come theorize. Come bleed lore with me

⚠️ warnings: blood mention & bloodplay — obviously. vampires, babe | NSFW themes (18+) — explicit sexual content, including biting during sex, bloodloss kink, power play, and obsession | violence & dark themes — mentions of murder, seduction as manipulation, soft captivity, and vampire politics | emotional manipulation & possession themes — vampires are pretty, but they’re not safe | addiction & obsession dynamics — especially in blood doll relationships | psychological horror undertones — yes they’re hot, but they’re monsters, too | Read accordingly 🩸💋

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Up All Night — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:51 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

✦ NORMAL VAMPIRES ✦ “pretty monsters with pretty rules”

✦ enhanced speed — fast enough to blur ✦ heightened senses — hear whispers, smell fear ✦ inhuman strength — beauty hides brutality ✦ venomous fangs — release both poison and pleasure (endorphins) ✦ sunlight weakness — enchanted jewelry keeps them safe ✦ charm you to death — seduction is instinct, not choice ✦ heart = kill switch — pierce it, and they’re gone ✦ witches with fangs — yes, some use magic too

Normal vampires follow tradition. They feed. They fuck. They survive. But they break under pressure.

✦ WEAKNESSES ✦

Sunlight ✦ Without enchanted protection: slow, painful burn ✦ Skin blisters, chars, disintegrates ✦ Prolonged exposure = death by ash

Heart Piercing ✦ Silver, wood, obsidian — one clean stab ✦ Instant death, no revival, no glamour tricks

Holy Relics ✦ Consecrated ground, blessed water, crosses — depends on bloodline ✦ Young vampires flinch; elders laugh ✦ More about energy than religion

Magic Overload ✦ Burn out their powers without feeding ✦ Collapse into bloodshock — a magical seizure

Emotional Bonds ✦ Blood dolls, sires, lovers — leverage ✦ The deeper they feel, the easier they shatter

Fire ✦ Slow death. Ugly. Final. ✦ Trapped in flame = done.

✦ ABNORMAL VAMPIRES ✦ “gods made wrong”

✦ speed that bends time — blink and they’re gone ✦ unbearable senses — they can see your heartbeat ✦ monstrous strength — subtlety optional ✦ fangs that seduce & destroy — endorphins first, venom later ✦ no sunlight weakness — they walk in daylight like it’s theirs ✦ seductive presence — feels like drowning in silk ✦ when hungry or angry, veins bloom across the cheeks ✦ bloodlust = feral mode — control is illusion ✦ magic is inherited, not learned ✦ heart-stab = explosive death burst ✦ only way to kill: stab the heart + decapitate simultaneously

They weren’t turned. They were born wrong. Too powerful to obey. Too hungry to stay good.

✦ WEAKNESSES ✦

Rage States / Hunger Cracks ✦ No target. No filter. Just carnage. ✦ They will kill lovers. Friends. Anyone warm.

Overload Feedback ✦ Too much power = blood leaks from eyes, seizures, screams ✦ Their magic eats them from the inside

Silver + Hemlock Resin ✦ Injected or smeared on blades ✦ Slows regeneration, scrambles senses

Dual Execution Required ✦ Heart stab = explosion ✦ To truly kill: stab + decapitate at the exact same time

Sound Magic / Sonic Resonance ✦ Blood-tuned frequencies rupture their internal channels ✦ Rare. Painful. Used by elite hunters only

Psychological Anchoring ✦ Some need rituals, charms, or lovers to stay sane ✦ Take it away = they unravel in hours

✦ SHARED VULNERABILITIES ✦

✦ Fire ✦ Magic exhaustion ✦ Emotional entanglement ✦ Starvation ✦ Bloodline corruption — curses, mutations, or rogue rituals

✦ BLOOD DOLLS ✦ “willing wrists, signed lips, and a heartbeat on loan.”

A Blood Doll is not a victim. Not a snack. Not a one-time indulgence. They’re chosen. Or—they choose.

What are they? Humans under magically bound contracts with vampires. They give blood—sometimes their body—in exchange for luxury, protection, and devotion. A relationship both symbiotic and addictive.

The Deal: ✦ Give blood freely. ✦ Intimacy is common, but not required. ✦ In return: — you are protected like treasure — fed, clothed, spoiled — emotionally obsessed over — untouchable by anyone else

Some call it soft captivity. Others? A beautiful kind of ruin.

Blood Doll Culture: In high society? It’s prestige. A whispered flex behind crimson lips. In underground circles? Rawer. Carnal. Addiction dressed as devotion. Some vampires keep one doll for life. Others? Rotating contracts. Disposable pleasures.

The Danger? ✦ A vampire too deep in hunger may drain a doll dry. ✦ A bond too strong can turn obsessive—on either side. ✦ If the contract is broken? — blood sickness — psychic withdrawal — or they simply… vanish.

But the truth? Some dolls fall in love with their vampire. And some vampires… Forget to see them as anything more than beautiful glass vials waiting to be emptied.

✦ VAMPIRE MAGIC ✦ “instinctual. inherited. never merciful.”

Blood Magic (Sanguimancy) ✦ clot wounds instantly ✦ control heartbeats ✦ pull memories from the blood ✦ trap someone with a drop

“If he’s fed from you, he remembers things you’ve forgotten.”

Glamour ✦ hide their face ✦ charm with a glance ✦ make you forget your own name

Dreamwalking ✦ enter your dreams ✦ plant thoughts, desires ✦ leave you gasping, unsure what was real

dangerous when done too often — it frays the mind

Binding & Contracts ✦ all vampire pacts are sealed with ancient magic ✦ a whispered vow becomes a chain ✦ if a doll breaks it → sickness, blood withdrawal, madness ✦ if a vampire breaks it → backlash that ravages body and mind

“He made you say it out loud. That’s how the chain locked.”

Flame & Shadowcraft ✦ rare, raw, and mostly Abnormal ✦ summon black flame — cold, soul-burning ✦ manipulate shadows that move on their own

Used for combat. Or punishment.

✦ THE PRICE OF MAGIC ✦ More magic = more hunger. Power burns through their reserves like acid. And the only refill? Blood. The more dangerous the spell, the more desperate they become after.

Abnormals? Their magic is chaos. They don’t always control it. Sometimes—it controls them.

✦ VAMPIRE SOCIETY ✦ “the gods don’t live above us. they walk beside us. in suits. in silk. with blood on their tongues.”

They don’t hide in crypts anymore. They walk your streets like they own them. Run your nightclubs. Fund your startups. Slip between hospital floors and studio spotlights.

Their world is layered over ours—Hidden. Ancient. Intimate. And bleeding into everything.

THE VEIL: The World Within the World The Veil is their secret society. A network of old bloodlines, city courts, silent wars, and ancient laws—governing vampires across the globe.

✦ Think: royal courts, underground cabals, centuries-old grudges ✦ Old-money sires rule from boardrooms ✦ New-blood elites pose as models, actors, politicians ✦ And somewhere between exile and chaos… Abnormals thrive.

THE BLEND: How They Coexist With Humans Integration > Isolation. They embed, not separate. They use you. Feed from you. Fuck you. Protect you. Keep you. Lose you.

✦ Blood Dolls are the cleanest way in—luxury, loyalty, control ✦ Elite blood clubs exist, masked as cocktail lounges ✦ Some vampires run hospitals. Others own record labels. ✦ You follow them on Instagram. ✦ You voted one into office. ✦ You cried over his choreography at that sold-out world tour.

One of them whispered into a mic last year and made half the arena scream. The other half… fainted. No one’s talked about it. Not out loud.

HIERARCHY: Power, Not Kindness Each region has its structure—Some modelled after monarchies. Others? Syndicates.

✦ The Eldest / Sires – ancient vampires, rulers of cities or entire countries ✦ The Enforcers – brutal, loyal, rarely seen (unless it’s already too late) ✦ Blood Houses – legacy families with land, power, and secrets ✦ Nomads / Rogues – unaffiliated, dangerous, beautiful ✦ Blood Dolls / Bound Humans – loved, fucked, used, protected

Abnormals? Most courts don’t want them. But the ones who do… crown them in secret.

THE MASQUERADE: Law & Leverage ✦ Don’t reveal yourself to humans—unless arranged ✦ No public feeding ✦ No unauthorized siring ✦ Don’t kill your doll—unless bound by ritual ✦ Protect The Veil. At all costs.

Punishment? Blood starvation. Exile. True death. Or worse—being turned into an example.

There’s a man who used to play violin in Paris. He broke a contract. Now he plays for the Enforcers. No hands. Just his voice.

THE TRUTH? They’re not surviving. They’re winning. They’ve mastered the art of blending—In fashion. In business. In sex. In sound. Some sit in courtrooms. Some run streaming platforms. And some? Some stand under spotlights with voices like spells. They don’t hide what they are. They dare you to notice.

✦ THE ABNORMALS IN HIDING ✦ “they weren’t destroyed. they evolved.”

They were feared. Hunted. Outlawed. Too unstable. Too powerful. Too hungry to be allowed into the pristine halls of The Veil.

But Abnormals? They didn’t die out. They adapted.

How They Hide “Survival meant strategy. So they learned to blend.”

✦ Blood charm suppressants. ✦ Faux feeding routines. ✦ Some even fake sunlight weakness just to sell the lie.

They present as “elite” normals—Charismatic. Brilliant. Seductive. Slightly unhinged. And The Veil? It loves brilliance. So they slipped in.

The Silent Coup: Power in Disguise Here’s the truth The Veil won’t admit: Its most powerful players? They’re not Normal. They’re Abnormal. And they’ve already rewritten the rules.

✦ The blood trade tycoon who never blinks—Abnormal. ✦ The court’s Enforcer whose kills are always “accidents”—Abnormal. ✦ The noble matriarch whose dolls never last the year—definitely Abnormal. ✦ The legal scholar rewriting Abnormal policy? One of them too.

They rose through seduction, brilliance, violence, and perfect control. They wear the mask better than anyone.

The Irony? Normals fear Abnormals for being unstable. But the ones who infiltrated? They’re the most controlled monsters of all. Cold. Strategic. Soft-spoken. Lethal. Some wear suits. Some wear crowns. Some wear leather and lace and velvet and red thread around their throat. But all of them? Are already in charge.

✦ WHEN THEY FEED YOU DURING SEX ✦ “you’re not just wet from bloodloss, are you?”

Some vampires are delicate with their dolls. Some aren’t. Some wait until you’re already shaking—already spread, tied, begging—and then they bite.

Because blood is better when you’re close. Sweeter when you moan. Hotter when your pulse is a drumbeat of want.

Here’s what you don’t know until it happens to you: ✦ When they bite mid-thrust, your orgasm doubles. ✦ When they drink while buried inside you, you go silent—except for gasps. ✦ Some keep their fangs in as they fuck you. They say it’s to “feed deeper.” You think it’s to ruin you harder. ✦ Blood loss makes you float. ✦ Blood bonding makes you cum.

And when they pull back, lips stained, fangs bared—you’re already sobbing.

“More?” they ask.

Like they don’t already own your throat. Like your legs aren’t shaking. Like your soul didn’t just leak out with your blood.

And when it’s over? Your thighs are slick with sweat, slicker with cum, and the bite marks throb like a second clit.

Some vampires mark your wrist. Some your throat. The truly possessive ones? Right over your heart. Because when you belong to them, they don’t just fuck you. They feed from you. They fill you. And they make sure you feel it for days.

✦ THE CHOSEN EIGHT ✦ “they don’t need to bite you to own you. but they will.”

THE LEADER // BANG CHRISTOPHER CHAN “he bites slow. he fucks slower. but when he snaps? there’s no going back.” He’ll ruin you with control. Makes you ask for every thrust. Every drop. Calls it discipline. Calls it love.

THE PRINCE OF TEETH // LEE MINHO “don’t look into his eyes unless you’re ready to cum from a whisper.” He’ll glamour you. Then fuck you while you beg to remember your name.

THE ENFORCER // SEO CHANGBIN “you think pain will make him stop. it won’t.” He bites too deep. Fucks too hard. Holds you after like you’re fragile.

THE SIREN // HWANG HYUNJIN “he’ll feed from your thigh just to watch you tremble.” Smiles with fangs. Dances with knives. Kisses like a curse you want to drown in.

THE SHADOW WALKER // HAN JISUNG “you never see him coming. only feel the teeth.” You wake up sore. Tied. Bitten. And loved—so sweetly it breaks you.

THE DREAMER // LEE YONGBOK FELIX “you’ve cum three times before he’s even touched you.” He dreamwalks into your mind. And stays. And feeds. And whispers filth until you’re soaked.

THE BELOVED // KIM SEUNGMIN “He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.” Always calm. Always watching. He’ll edge you with a smile, feed from your thigh like it’s routine, then say “again”.

THE SMILE WITH FANGS // YANG JEONGIN “he laughs while you break.” Playful. Cruel. Charming. You’ll think you’re in control. You never are.

#skz #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #vampire!skz series #wreck me wednesday

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starmaidengarden · 1 month ago

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Hey so how do you think Azul Ashengrotto would deal with a crush who’s kind of innocent and an airhead, but very sassy. Causes him headaches, but is oddly supportive. Like he comes over and this crush is like “Hi. You still doing your evil Businessman thing? :D… Cool!” He’s making a speech and while he was talking, crush stopped paying attention, and he looks back and s/o’s holding an animal in their arms or something pretty they just picked up off the ground, “sorry. I zoned out while you were talking. It’s cute/pretty”. He makes a good point about always reading contracts before signing them and nobody believes him cuz of his past antics and his crush is like “He’s right!” He’s like “being around you is gonna ruin my rep. I swear”. And his crush just hits with him, “actually. I think me being around you will make people like you more”? (He be looking like a villain constantly, but stick him next to this crush and he is humanised).

Azul Ashengrotto x Crush!reader, who is innocent/airheaded, sassy, and unexpectedly supportive

At first, Azul tries to convince himself he doesn't have feelings for you. You're flighty. Distracted. Sassier than a Leech twin on a sugar rush. And you always manage to make some comment that leaves him flustered or clutching his forehead. "Still doing your evil businessman thing?" "It’s called entrepreneurship, thank you very much."

But you're also… oddly loyal. In a way, he isn’t used to. You zone out during his long-winded monologues, sure, but then suddenly pipe up with a sharp observation that actually proves you were listening… kind of. Sometimes. And despite all your teasing, you're quick to stand by him when it matters. Like when no one believes his advice about contracts. "Of course he’d say that." "Don’t listen to him—he’s scamming us again." And then you, without hesitation, “He’s right.”

Azul short circuits. Briefly. Just a pause in his rhythm. But to him, it feels like a lightning strike. He tries to reason with you, one day after you’ve wandered off mid-speech to pick up a fuzzy animal or glittery rock. “You’ll ruin my carefully cultivated image if you keep doing things like this.” “Actually,” you reply with a cheeky grin, “I think my being around you will make people like you more.” He splutters. In part because… you’re right. But also because that thought has never occurred to him, and now it’s stuck.

The deeper effect you have on him: When you’re around, people stop seeing Azul as “scheming Octavinelle boss” and start seeing him as “the guy with the sweet, weird, shiny-thing-collecting partner.” The tweels tease him endlessly about how “soft” he’s gotten.

He doesn’t get why you’re so supportive of him, but it hits a deep, soft spot. You believe in him without needing him to prove himself first, and that’s a type of affection he’s never had.

He won’t admit it out loud, but he starts adjusting his speeches to be shorter, less convoluted. More to the point. Because you space out, and he wants to keep your attention.

And when he finally confesses? "Being with you is terrible for my blood pressure. You’re nosy, easily distracted, and you say things that make me question my entire moral standing—But” he sighed “…But I… would like to continue being ruined by you.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #twst azul

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mountainsandmayhem · 1 year ago

Text

God Bless The She Devil Who Made Joel Miller

Pairing: BFD!Joel x F!Reader

18+ only!!!

Summary: After a fight with your boyfriend, your best friend Sarah invites you to say with her at her childhood home with her dad.

CW: Joel be peekin, Joel is mean (but you like it). I’m choosing not to say anything else to not spoil anything so engage at your own risk.

AN: You can all thank @littlevenicebitch69 for this. She asked for being caught, but I am daddy and I know what she really wants 😉 thank you @mermaidgirl30 for being my forever beta xo

Graphics by @saradika-graphics

God bless the absolute angel who brought Sarah Miller into your life. She somehow convinced her dad to let you stay with them over spring break after your boyfriend locked you out of your shared apartment and then refused to answer the phone or let you in. Sweet, empathetic, and dependable Sarah was at your apartment minutes after you called her and didn’t have to say much to her dad to let him allow you to stay.

And God bless the absolute she devil who made Joel Miller and put him in close proximity with you. You have a boyfriend, maybe, you can’t be sure, but you do know you have it HARD for Joel Mother Fucking Miller. He’s exactly the type of man that would classify as a DILF, and you don’t even consider yourself into older men. But Joel isn’t older, he’s experienced and charming and every single thing he does seems to turn you on.

Sarah has been working a day shift at the local grocery store during the break and Joel is off running his contracting business. Joel Miller, sweaty and dirty and building things with his large calloused hands. Fuck, you try to shake that image from your brain because you certainly do not need another image of him to touch yourself too.

You have a job serving in the evenings so the house is quiet and all yours during the day. This afternoon the sun peeks through your curtains and wakes you. Sun dancing along the pale yellow walls of the spare bedroom. You pick up your phone and see that it’s clear and sunny, the perfect day to lay out by the pool that Joel said you could use, “make yourself at home, darlin’, any friend of Sarah is welcome anytime.”

You practically leap out of bed and into your ensuite bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready to lay out in the sun. You rush down the hall in the swimsuit Sarah lent you, a large blue and white striped pool towel tucked under your arm.

You love Sarah, but there’s no chance you’re wearing this ridiculous one piece swimsuit to tan, plus you’re alone so what’s the harm? Joel doesn’t get home until well after 5 pm most nights, Sarah usually around 3 or 4, and she’s seen you naked more than once. Plus the backyard is fairly private, most likely no one will see anything.

Fuck it, you think to yourself, slipping the red lycra straps off your shoulders and then shimmying the suit down your body. The sun immediately warms your skin and that boost of vitamin D already has you feeling lighter and happier. You spread the towel down on the chair and lay on your stomach, tying your hair on top of your head and then grabbing your phone.

You flip through Spotify before settling on the album Ten by Pearl Jam. As the first song floats across the backyard, you rest your cheek on your hands and let the fast paced grunge music wash away your thoughts of your boyfriend and what you’re going to do next week when you go back to school. All that matters now is the sun on your skin.

X•X•X•X•X•X•X

Joel was just about to start working on some paperwork for his next building when he heard movement in the hallway. You must be up for the day, he should probably let you know he’s working from home today, just in case. He wants you to be comfortable here, even if it’s killing him to see you wandering around his house in those small denim shorts you wear to work. Last night he was almost certain he could see your hard nipples peeking out from the fabric of your tight white t-shirt.

Absolutely not, Joel. He scolds himself.

He hears you pad down the hall and then the unmistakable swoosh of the sliding glass door to the backyard. He glances out the window in his office to see you slip the red swimsuit Sarah lent you off your body. His cock was already painfully hard behind his jeans.

She just turned 21. The Angel on his shoulder reminds the devil that’s tempting him from the other side.

His mouth waters as he looks at your body. Your tits are perky, pink little nipples hardening as the air hits them.

She's going through a hard time. The good side of his conscience seems to be losing but he finds an ounce of strength and looks away. He can’t be staring at you.

He tries to focus on this goddamn contract but even little deadline and “initial here” blend together and all he can see in the jumbled words of the page is that little strip of hair that leads to that bundle of nerves he so badly wants to suck on. When he looks up again you’re laying face down, round and perky ass facing his window and on display for him. She must not know he’s home, and now she’s going to think he’s a total fucking creep if he says something now.

She’s your daughter's best friend. No, she’s off limits. Beyond off limits. Get it together, Miller.

And then your music drifts through his cracked window. You’re listening to Pearl Jam. So now not only are you incredibly tempting but you also have the music of his teenage years blasting. He can’t resist anymore, glancing out of the window to see you still laying on your stomach and your plush ass bouncing along as you wiggle to Eddie Vedder singing about still being alive.

He’s not sure how it happens, his body seems to move without him knowing, and suddenly he’s standing at the window, staring down into the backyard at you. His muscular arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the large window frame.

He slows his breathing and focuses on you - every dip and curve, every freckle, every little bit of skin being absorbed by his heated gaze. Your legs are slightly parted, but not enough for him to be able to see your cunt, and fuck does he want to see it.

His palms tingle with the need to cup your ass, maybe spank you for being naked in the middle of the day. He has neighbors, they could see you right now. This is unacceptable and you should be punished.

Just as he’s about to head downstairs his cell phone rings loudly and you shoot up onto your elbows and look over your shoulder at him, eyes locking with his before a tiny smile crosses your face. Joel looks away quickly and grabs his cell, almost crushing the device in his grasp as he answers.

X•X•X•X•X•X•X

Joel Miller was fully lurking at your naked body, and while that should probably embarrass you, you need to get fucked. You need something, anything, to forget about that piece of shit boyfriend who locked you out and refuses to talk to you or let you get your stuff. Sarah told you when you first met that he had her when he was 19, so it’s not like he’s THAT much older than you. Plus it’s just fucking.

Yep, I’m going for it.

You gather the towel around your body loosely, hooking your swimsuit on your finger and twirling it happily as you head into the house, determined to confront him and then seduce him. When you head up the stairs he’s standing in the doorframe of his office, just across from the spare bedroom you’re occupying. He looks deliciously pissed, one arm propped above his head on the door frame, the other on his hip, knee popped out. Your pussy flutters at the thought of his large, angry body above yours.

The opening bars of Jeremy fill the silence between you two, almost daring the other to make the first move.

“Turn that off,” Joel snaps. “I’m working.”

“Didn’t look like you were working a few minutes ago,” you say back, matching his energy.

Joel’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing, but you can tell he’s fighting to keep his eyes on yours. You lick your lips, testing him, teasing him, pushing him to see if he’ll take the bait. The flick of his eyes to your lips happens so quickly you almost miss it.

You let out a scoff, “Ya, that’s what I thought.” You step towards him, so close that you can smell the coffee and sawdust on him. “Wanna take a break from all that work?” You say the word work teasingly, trying to entice him.

“Go to your room and put some clothes on. Don’t let me catch you naked in the backyard again,” He says deeply, then closes his office door in your face.

You smirk to yourself, dropping the towel at his door and wandering into your room leaving the door wide open. You hook your phone to the Bluetooth speaker as you lay on your bed completely naked. You hit the volume button and slip your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, little circles.

“Daddy didn’t give no affection, no

And the boy was something that Mommy wouldn’t wear

King Jeremy the wicked

Oh, ruled his world”

Joel whips his office door open looking absolutely furious. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of you. Bare, wide open, and soaking wet. You don’t stop, don’t even bother to look his way, as you dip your fingers into your pussy and cry out his name. Joel steps into your room and hits the power button on your speaker. The only sounds that film the room are your moans and the squelching of your arousal as your fingers slip in and out of your pussy.

“What the fuck did I just say, little girl?” Joel says darkly.

You open your eyes to look at him and the expression on his face sends your heart into your stomach. You’ve always been a little bit of a brat, getting in trouble lots growing up. Truthfully, you like the rush of it, the adrenaline of the unknown. But Joel looks dangerous, eyes blown out with rage and lust, hands clamped into fists at his sides, a slight blush pinks his cheeks, lips in a tight line.

You sit up, crossing your legs and covering yourself with a pillow as you turn towards him. You’re suddenly not feeling so confident, you may have pushed the wrong man.

“Y-you said outside,” you start, your voice wavering. “I’m inside.”

Joel moves so quickly that you don’t even have time to register what’s happening as the pillow is ripped from your grip and disposed of on the floor in front of you. You’re bare and exposed to him again.

“Spread your legs,” he says hungrily, voice a raspy whisper.

He watches your throat as you swallow hard, leaning back on your elbows and planting your feet on the edge of the bed. You look at him tentatively, jumping and letting out a little squeal when he barks, “I said spread your fucking legs.”

You relax, letting your knees fall open. His breathing is rapid, a growling moan leaving his parted lips. He takes one step, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

“Joel -” you start.

“Shut up. You knew what you were doing, you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes, but…” his hand slaps the inside of your thigh and your knees slam together as you cry out.

“Spread. Your fucking. Legs,” he repeats in a slow and deep command.

“That hurt!” You say back, squeezing your knees together tighter. It feels like he set fire to your thigh and you can already see the red handprint forming.

“If you’re gonna act like a little brat, I’m going to treat you like one. Now spread your legs so I can hit the other one.” He raises an eyebrow at you cockily. “If you keep them open, I might reward you.” You’ve bit off more than you can chew with Joel Miller.

You take in a calming breath through your nose, relaxing your knees as you exhale slowly. Joel can see the milky, sticky strings of your arousal as your pussy lips spread open for him. He has to swallow the excess saliva that pools in his cheeks at the sight. He wants to taste you so fucking badly.

“I think you liked it,” he taunts. “You’re makin’ a mess, you like being slapped around, don’t you? Treated like a little whore.”

Before you can respond he lays a hard smack on your other thigh. Your hips involuntarily buck upwards, your head falling back and a moaning, whimpering cry you don’t recognize as your own leaves your lips. You focus on your knees, fighting against your body’s instincts, keeping them pushed into the mattress.

“That’s what I thought,” he says as he kneels in front of you and yanks your ass to the edge of the bed. “Think you should get a reward now?”

“Y-yes, please, Joel. Please!” You have never had to beg for sex before, boys your age are usually fired up and ready to go, but men of Joel’s age know sex is so much more than just penetration - it’s a game, a tease.

He bites down on your thigh, “Please. Please, Joel!”

“You smell so fucking good,” he says as his hooked nose trails down your little line of pubic hair. You squirm under him as your clit twitches, aching for his attention. “And so goddamn wet. My little whore, aren’t ya?” His warm breath hits your needy clit and you flop down onto the bed, whining in need.

“Please -” but your words are cut off by the front door opening and Sarah’s voice calls through the house.

“Everyone can celebrate, I’m home now!!!” She yells jokingly.

“Fuck!” Joel huffs under his breath and bolts for his office, kicks your towel and swimsuit into your room, you follow and click your door shut quietly.

“Hello?” Sarah calls, heading up the stairs.

“Just getting dressed,” you call through your closed door. “I think your dad is in a meeting.”

“Put on your swimsuit, it’s gorgeous outside!”

Taglist

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

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