#relationship with himself and the sense of home who they are and what they can even be

[starshipsofstarlord]

she’s my woman | daryl dixon

summary. after escaping terminus, you hold up shelter in the church, and daryl realises that abraham has interest in you. he says nothing, knowing that you can more than take care of yourself (1.7k)

warnings. mentions of death and sex, reader smoking, abraham trying to flirt with reader, amused daryl, like one swear word, established relationship

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was a particularly warm day, leaving each person sweltering, including the priest Gabriel whom had held no choice in offering shelter in the church he had served before the outbreak and continued to maintain. The lot of you were exhausted, Terminus having exhausted much will and motivation from each of your persons, including the new survivors that had joined along the way; Rosita, Abraham and Eugene. Daryl found you seated outside, sat there lulling in the anguish that braced tension in each muscle of your body.

“That woman’s something.” Abraham told him as if he didn’t already know that fact, and Daryl grunted in reply, aware of how the redhead’s tired gaze trailed across your frame with interest - he had thought that Rosita was the last woman on earth, and he had certainly been proven incorrect on that matter. The archer did not like the way that the newcomer was ogling at you as you nursed a cigarette between your lips, one that you had found in the home of religion along with a lighter, stashed away beneath a pew, as though the sin was hidden from god himself. Someone must have really needed a breather after church.

The smoke wafted around you in relieving waves, contorting around your silhouette as a grey outline, the distinct scent imbedding itself within both your hair and the articles that you were clothed in, the strong tang despite being disliked by many others brought you a sense of comfort that seemed impossible to inhale. Yet you had found something to soothe your energised nerves, to momentarily distract you from the turmoil that contagiously followed any life that remained. You were oblivious to the men watching you by the steps, a machete resting upon the placement of your lap in the case that any walkers appeared.

It was almost peaceful, if you thought not of the forlorn past and those that hadn’t made it… those that still were missing. You held onto the cigarette tighter, pursing your lips as you exhaled a cloudy spill of smoke, watching intently as it danced in the air. Abraham heavily shifted his weight between each foot, as though he were preparing for something, and Daryl could only imagine what that would be. He squinted at the red haired man, as he sturdied a hand on his hip, the other brushing through his facial hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.” There hadn’t been much time for forming a bond with each of the new people, other than enduring the torturous confines of Terminus together, and it appeared that the large man was taking a shot.

Daryl quirked a thin brow at the motives that no doubt rested beyond Abraham’s intentions, though he chose not to get in his way, instead having faith and having witnessed it multiple times first hand that you had the ability to take care of yourself. And so Abraham moved onwards, towards you, with a confidence that you would no doubt deflate. It was what you did, you pushed those away that held no respect for your boundaries, hell, even Daryl knew when to give you time to yourself. Sometimes a moment alone was all that was needed to refresh yourself, to assert a newfound thought that drove you to keep pushing you in the direction of survival.

It took great strength for Daryl not to grab the man and make him reassess his prerogative; you were enjoying the hard to find silence that surrounded you, and the archer was not going to be the one to make a scene and disrupt the bubble of solace that you lulled in. That alone was a death wish for anyone,no matter who they were, and so he idly surveyed in your direction as you allowed your knee to jog up and down as you rested on the ground, breathing in the fumes of the cigarette without any regard.

“Hey pretty lady.” The sound of a voice made your head snap upwards, hand instantly finding the handle of your weapon that had taken many a life. It had not only been walkers that had received the sharp impact of the machete, humans had too when they had infiltrated the prison, breaking through the walls and destroying any aspect of security that had once been. With a glare in your eyes, you found the face of Abraham smiling down at you, and you had the impulse to scoff. “Those things will kill you.” He nodded towards the rolled up tobacco that was in its most popular form, the end singing as each second it grew shorter, wilting away from the flame that had touched its end.

“Better this than something or someone else.” To emphasise your point, you inhaled from it once more, squashing the lacklustre stub beneath the sole of your boot. “Did you want something?” The tone of your voice was tired, and tired it was for good reason. All of your energy had been exerted into getting this far and surviving this long. It seemed to deflate the arrogant confidence that Abraham had previously had when he stalked in your direction, and that was exactly what you wanted - for him and everyone else to leave you alone for a moment. Perhaps it was too much an ask for some people, you thought to yourself, releasing an audible sigh.

Your attitude had not been expected by Abraham, you spoke rashly and with a hardening edge, but he found himself to be fond of it. Not many people made their desires clear in the old world, but he expected that you had. “Wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” He appeared friendly, though you noticed his self serving motives as his round eyes sketched your frame with interest. The most you knew about each other was the basics, that the prison had fallen prompting him to meet Glenn, and of course your name. That was the bare minimum, and he wished to be filled with all the information that you would only share with another that you poised an intimate relation with.

“Ain’t much to it.” You nonchalantly shrugged, not understanding why you out of all others had peaked his interest, especially considering that Rosita and he seemed to be a thing, though you had not scraped for the details, caring not for the bond that others had with themselves. “So if you think that you can get in my pants, think again. I ain’t interested.” Stupidity was not a personality trait that was known to your mind, and your blunt words caught the man off guard, even though it had been blatantly obvious of his idea in disturbing you. You did not get up, you remained seated on the short grass, hugging your knees as you thought internally of where else you may find some more cigarettes, or something that could bring you a distraction that did not leave you to ponder on those that were now deceased or the whereabouts of Beth Greene.

“Why aren’t you interested?” Abraham did not mean the question to pressure you, he was genuinely curious. From his experience, sleeping with another proved to be something that lost focus to the present reality, the climate of looming death peering around every corner. “Don’t you not want to think for a while?” That was what you had been trying to do prior to his presence, but you bit back your temper, not wishing for it to explode. Even if you had not been in a relationship that Abraham clearly had no clue of, you wouldn’t sway entertainment in his direction. Things were tough enough already without pissing someone off, and whilst you did not know Rosita, doing that to another woman that had feelings for the man that she laid beside was practically traitorous.

“I don’t think your dick would satisfy me.” You jabbed as a reply, smirking as a scoff retorted from the red haired man, and he reluctantly walked back to the entrance of the church. He frowned when he saw the cocky expression on Daryl’s face, not understanding why it had appeared. It was acknowledged that the two of you had been companions for a time alongside a handful of others, yet he could not exasperatedly reason for the amused glint that shone from Daryl’s eyes. His interaction hadn’t gone as planned, and Abraham thought of the answers as to why. Maybe you were celibate, saving yourself for someone that had such morals that reflected the same, or you were not into his gender. He was going to pry at the archer until he was given an explanation.

“She wasn’t interested.” He stated to Daryl, and the archer quirked an all knowing brow,a short laugh expelling from his lips. “You know why?” Oh he did, and he could not wait for the expression that would fall upon Abraham’s face, it would no doubt be priceless. He hadn’t intervened, aware that you would send him running, possibly telling him to piss off or something else insulting. Within the prison other men had attempted to seek your company, whether that be for a one night stand or a steady relationship, and you had treated them all the same. It had taken him some time to realise that he was exactly what you wanted, even during your relationship, and he wasn’t going to argue about the matter in disbelief, knowing how lucky he was to have a partner that had his back at all times, and was strong willed and able to look after themself. You were all of those things and more.

“She’s my woman.” It may have seemed almost objectifying to others if they did not know Daryl well enough, however there was affection that underlined his words, affection that could be heard to anyone listening. “An’ I didn’t warn ya b’cause I knew she would send ya packin’. Tha’s what she does to men that wanna get in her pants.” He noticed both the surprise and the slight embarrassment that had overtaken Abraham’s face, smirking at it. It was indeed a priceless sight. As the other man that had tried to seduced you walked around the church to find Eugene, trying to act as though his pride had not been wounded, Daryl remained where he stood, watching you, allowing you the momentary silence that you wished for, knowing that the quiet peace was rare to come by and you deserved to enjoy it whilst you could.

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (EPILOGUE)

Summary: It's been a year since you and Seonghwa decided to commit to each other fully. You have a date night, casual teasing as usual, until you accidentally say something that makes Seonghwa doubt himself. Wanting to apologize, you do what you know he'll love. And it's not for the weak ones.

Word count: 11.1K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, SMUT

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), she accidentally hurts Seonghwa's feelings, our boy is sad and hurt :(, TEASING, Seonghwa is a menace, DOM/SUB Seonghwa, DOM/SUB reader, fingering, oral (fem and male receiving), LOTS of dirtytalk, sex while on the phone (omg yall it's so filthy i'm sorry), creampie, aftercare (<3), lmk if I missed anything!

Authors note: The very last chapter we're gonna get from this story and this Seonghwa.. A little bittersweet because I LOVED writing him and I can tell he's got you all hooked as well. But thank you so much for the support on the story, I can't put into words how thankful I am. I wish you all the best, stay tuned for the next story! <3

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been a year since you and Seonghwa officially started your relationship, and so much has changed. The time between you has been full of growth, personally, emotionally, and together as a couple. What started as stolen moments between two people who couldn’t help but be drawn to each other has evolved into something solid and unshakable.

You left your old life behind in more ways than one. The house you once shared with your ex-husband, the memories of your past life, all of it now feels like a distant chapter. With Seonghwa’s quiet, unwavering support, you packed up your things, everything from old photos that no longer held meaning, to the things that represented who you used to be.

Seonghwa helped you move every single item from your old house. He was there for the little things, like when you found the remnants of an old birthday card tucked away in a box, or when you had to call the movers to sort through the mess of broken furniture. Through it all, he remained a constant. His presence was a reassurance, his touch gentle but firm when you needed it.

You moved into his place soon after. His apartment, which already had the warmth of someone who lived there fully, felt like home in an instant.

And yet, the transition hasn’t been without its challenges. Your ex-husband, in the wake of everything, struggled to understand why you had chosen to walk away. Even after the day your ex-husband tried to lash out at Seonghwa and he had pulled a knife. The arguments had been tense, but Seonghwa made you feel safe.

Your ex-husband was charged with assault and carrying a weapon. The legal proceedings have been slow, but it’s clear he’s facing serious consequences for his actions. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s also a relief. You’re no longer tethered to a life that no longer made sense, and Seonghwa’s support through the entire ordeal has been everything you needed.

The candle flickers between you at the restaurant midtown, silverware clinking against plates, low conversations around you filling the silence as you have dinner with the love of your life.

“Wait, did you remember to move the laundry before we left?” you ask, mid-laugh, swirling the wine in your glass as you lean toward him across the table. There’s a tiny smudge of sauce on your plate and soft piano music humming through the air, but all you’re looking at is him.

Seonghwa pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. The guilt flashes across his face immediately. “...I absolutely did not.”

You gasp, faux-offended. “Seonghwa.”

“I got distracted!” he defends quickly, placing his fork down. “You were standing in the hallway wearing that dress and spraying perfume and looking like… like that-, what was I supposed to do? I barely remembered how to speak, let alone handle the laundry.”

You smirk, tilting your head. “So, we’re coming home to damp, probably mildew-scented towels. Again.”

He gives you a sheepish look, reaching for his wine. “I’ll rewash them. I swear. With lavender detergent. Extra soft cycle. Don’t punish me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I will punish you.”

He coughs into his drink, eyes flicking up to yours with a flicker of heat. “Not sure if that was meant to sound like a threat or a promise, but either way, I’m listening.”

The smile you give him is wicked and slow. “Depends on how the towels smell when we get home.”

He exhales through a breathy laugh, watching you like he’s almost tempted to skip dessert and drag you home right now. His fingers tap idly against the stem of his glass. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kick his ankle gently beneath the table. “You’re lucky I love you. You’ve ruined three loads of laundry in the last month and tried to blame it on the weather.”

“The weather was humid.”

You roll your eyes, but you're still smiling. His hand slides across the table to brush yours. Warm, calloused fingertips graze your knuckles, lingering. The light from the candles flickers against his jaw, casting shadows that make him look dangerously beautiful.

You intertwine your fingers with his. “Are you working late on Monday?”

Seonghwa’s gaze lifts to meet yours, his thumb still idly stroking along your palm. “No,” he says. “Switched a few things around. I’m all yours.”

You hum softly, your foot sliding slowly up his leg under the table, brushing along the warm skin through his trousers. The slow movement isn’t innocent, you feel it, and so does he. “Good,” you say, lips curving into a sly smile, the kind that hints you’re already miles ahead in your own head.

His eyes narrow just a little, curious. “Why?”

You glance at your wine, then back at him, smirking like you’re keeping a secret. “Because I already know how I want you Monday night.”

His fork freezes halfway to his plate.

“…You can’t just say that to me in public,” he mutters, eyes darkening slightly.

You tilt your head. “But I just did.”

His eyes flicker over your lips, then back up to your eyes, burning with a heat that makes your breath hitch. He raises his glass slowly, taking a measured sip, jaw tightening as if fighting a rising tide of want. The silence stretches, thick and electric.

He watches you over the rim of his glass as he drinks, jaw tight, eyes smoldering. “Tell me.”

You blink, pretending to play innocent. “Tell you what?”

His voice dips lower, more dangerous. “How you want me.”

You lean in just a little closer, your eyes locked on his, shining with that mischievous light he knows too well. The restaurant’s soft lighting brushes over your skin, but all he can focus on is your voice, smooth and casual, like you’re talking about the weather.

“Monday,” you say, slow and deliberate, “I want you to tie me up.”

He nearly chokes on his wine. The glass slips, and he coughs, hand flying to his throat as if trying to catch his breath. His eyes widen, flicking around the restaurant like he’s checking if anyone else heard what you said.

You sit back, innocently biting your lip, pretending to be utterly unaware of the effect you just had.

His fingers tremble slightly as they fumble with the top button of his shirt, loosening it with more force than necessary. He leans back, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the sudden rush of heat, but his eyes never leave you. “That’s not something you just throw out casually over dinner.

You shrug slowly, biting your lip. “I mean, you can. If you want to.”

He blinks, slow and deliberate, like he’s just recalibrating his thoughts. His usual steady composure flickers for a heartbeat, just a quick flash of surprise, but then he smiles, cool and collected, fingers tightening on the wine glass as if to remind himself who’s in charge.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes darkening with something sharper now. “But I can see exactly what it does to you… seeing me like this.” His gaze drifts to your lips for a moment before snapping back to your eyes, cutting through your teasing smile.

You bite your lip, slow and deliberate, watching him more than you speak. “Maybe I like seeing you like this,” you say, voice innocent, but the heat behind it is unmistakable.

He chuckles, deep and slow, the kind of sound that promises he’s not about to lose control, no matter how much you push. “Careful,” he warns, leaning closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “You’re tempting me in all the wrong ways, and I’m not sure I’ll play nice Monday.”

You settle into the challenge, your fingers tightening around his hand beneath the table. “Good,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want anything less.”

The evening ends with sexual tension and laughter still lingering between you two, the kind of easy, effortless laughter that fills the air as you walk down the sidewalk. The night is cool but not too chilly, and Seonghwa’s hand is warm in yours. You chat about nothing in particular, tossing around silly comments and inside jokes. It’s just the two of you, enjoying the simplicity of being together after so much time has passed.

“We need to pick up a few things for the week,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence between you as you step toward a convenience store. “I don’t feel like cooking tomorrow. Maybe just a quick, easy dinner.”

Seonghwa gives a nod of agreement, his smile soft and easy. “I got it,” he says, already heading inside with you. “You just tell me what you need.”

You follow him through the automatic doors, the familiar buzz of the store greeting you with its aisles of snacks, drinks, and everyday essentials as Seonghwa grabs a basket.

He picks up a few things, your favorite tea, the cereal you’ve been eating for months, a couple of random things that seem to just appear in his hands as if he knows what you like before you do. It’s easy, almost like you don’t need to say anything at all, and he just knows what to do.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty. “You always do too much,” you joke, glancing at him as you reach the pasta aisle. “I don’t need all of this. I can do it myself.”

He laughs, a light sound that makes your heart feel full. “I know you can,” he says, but his tone softens slightly. “I just like to take care of you. I want you to feel good at home.”

You stop for a second, glancing at the shelves and picking out a jar of pasta sauce. “Yeah, I know. It’s sweet of you.” You pause, a teasing smile playing at your lips as you turn to him. “But don’t get too comfortable, you know. You’re not the only guy who can win me over.”

You say it offhandedly, your tone light, more as a joke than anything else. But as soon as the words leave your lips, you don’t notice the shift in Seonghwa’s expression. His smile falters for just a second, his eyes clouding over with something that catches him off guard.

He doesn’t even know why it stings so badly. It’s just a joke. A stupid, offhand remark. But suddenly, he’s questioning everything.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze drifting toward the shelves in front of him as he forces a smile, but it’s tight, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You’re already moving on, picking up a carton of milk and dropping it into the basket. “So, should we get eggs? I’m kind of craving some scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow.”

Seonghwa just nods, quiet, as he grabs a few more things off the shelves, his movements slightly slower now. He keeps his distance, trying to figure out what to say, what to do, but the uncertainty in him is louder than anything else. He’s unsure of how to move forward without feeling like he’s overstepping, unsure if being this sweet, this attentive, has been a mistake all along.

You don’t notice it, but for him, it feels like a reality he’s been dreading, a quiet reminder that no matter how much he tries to be perfect, no matter how much effort he pours into showing you he’s there for you, there’s always the possibility that you might slip away.

You push open the door to the convenience store with your hip, arms full of snacks, grinning as Seonghwa keeps it open for you without a word. The cool night air hits your skin, and you shiver slightly as you step out under the glow of the parking lot lights.

“I swear, we went in for two things and came out with enough for a sleepover party,” you say, adjusting the bags in your arms. 

You glance at him, expecting a grin, maybe a sarcastic comment, but his face is neutral, lips drawn into a soft line, eyes focused on the pavement as you walk to the car.

The ride back is quiet. You talk most of the way, telling him about a trailer you saw earlier for a movie you want to watch, asking him about the weekend. He gives short answers. There’s no more teasing tonight. No warmth in his voice. But you’re still caught up in your own good mood, not quite catching on.

When you pull up to the apartment, he takes the bags without a word. You thank him, distracted, already going on about what movie you might watch while unpacking things in the kitchen.

He helps, silently passing things to you or putting them away himself. No jokes. No small touches. Just a quiet presence.

At one point, you bump into him while reaching for the fridge handle. He steps back quickly, avoiding the usual playful contact.

You don’t think about it. You’re already talking about something else.

Later, when you crawl into bed and call out to him to hurry up, he just murmurs, “Coming,” from the bathroom.

He slides in beside you a few minutes later, settling stiffly on his side of the bed. His arm is warm when it wraps around you, but there’s hesitation in the way he holds you, like he’s not sure he should.

You let out a happy sigh, burying your face in his chest. “I love nights like this.”

He smiles, but you don’t see that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

But inside, your words still echo.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not the only guy who can win me over.”

You’d said it like a joke. Something flippant. Light. But it hadn’t landed that way.

Not to him.

Because he was comfortable. Not with the idea of being safe, but with you. Because he didn’t think of this as temporary. Because he'd been trying so hard to be everything you needed.

And maybe that was the mistake.

He stares at the ceiling long after your breathing slows. He wonders if he’s been too much. Or maybe not enough. 

He closes his eyes, and holds you tighter anyway.

***

The apartment is quiet when you wake. The warm morning light spills through the curtains, soft and golden, but it does nothing to soothe the weight in your chest. You turn over expecting to find Seonghwa asleep, but he’s already up, sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, hunched slightly, hands resting on his thighs.

You blink the sleep from your eyes, sitting up slowly. “You okay?”

He turns with a small smile, one that barely brushes his lips. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep much.”

There’s something distant about him. You watch as he pulls on a hoodie, movements slower than usual, like his body is weighed down by something heavier than tiredness.

You hesitate. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nods, still avoiding your eyes. “Do you want coffee? I was about to make some.”

You climb out of bed, following him to the kitchen. He doesn’t reach for your hand like he usually does. He doesn’t tease you about being a sleepyhead or offer you the first cup like he always does without fail. Instead, he pours two mugs silently, sliding one across the counter to you without looking up.

“Thanks,” you say softly. He just nods.

Something’s off. Really off.

“Are we okay?” you ask quietly.

There’s a pause. Just a breath too long.

“Of course,” he says gently. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

You look into his eyes with worry, brows furrowing. “Because you’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.” He smiles again, but it’s too quick. Too practiced. He leans against the counter and sips his coffee, eyes down. You study him for a long moment.

“Seonghwa.”

He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to his coffee. “I don't want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Out of what?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Seriously. Let’s not-”

��No,” you cut in, your voice soft but steady. “You always tell me to be honest with you. That I don’t have to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.”

That stops him. His eyes lift to yours. For a second, they just search your face, like he’s trying to gauge how much to say. Whether it’s worth the risk.

Then something gives. A crack in the surface.

“…Right,” he murmurs, voice quiet.

“So…” you continue gently. “Can’t you do the same with me?”

His jaw tenses a little, he looks like he’s thinking through every possible way to respond. His lips press together, and he exhales through his nose like he’s been holding it in all night. He sets the cup down slowly. Then finally, he speaks.

“That thing you said last night,” he says. “About me not being the only guy who can win you over.”

You feel the air still. Your heart dips.

He gives a soft, humorless chuckle, but there’s no real amusement in it. “I know it was a joke. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“But it hurt,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. It did.”

You wait, quietly.

“I know it was a joke,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “But I’ve been trying so hard to be good for you. I don’t expect anything back. I just… I want to be the person who makes you feel safe. Loved. Like you’re not alone. And hearing that…” He pauses again, swallowing thickly. “It felt like none of it mattered. Like it could be anyone. Like I could lose you just like that.”

He lets out a breath, voice more fragile now. “And it made me wonder if I’ve been doing too much. If I’m just overwhelming you.”

“No, Seonghwa-” you begin, but he gently raises a hand.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” he says quickly, softer this time. “But I need you to know that I’m not trying to be some perfect boyfriend. I just want to be someone you don’t want to leave.”

You don’t speak, your chest is too tight.

“I spent the night wondering if I’m just… trying too hard.” he took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if I did everything right, I wouldn’t have to worry,” he says, his tone finally beginning to crack. “But when you said that, when you laughed and told me not to get too comfortable, it was like… I don’t know. Like I could do everything right and it still wouldn’t be enough. That maybe I am too comfortable.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s my worst nightmare. That I’m doing everything I can and I’d still lose you. And I can't lose you again.”

You step closer, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch instinctively, eyes closing for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted to hurt you. I was careless with my words, and I’m so sorry. You do so much for me, more than I deserve, honestly. I’m grateful every day that you’re here.”

His eyes finally meet yours, and for the first time since yesterday, you see the mask drop completely. The hurt. The quiet fear beneath the surface. Like something delicate in him has cracked open.

He gives a slow nod as he closes his eyes briefly, jaw working as if holding back something. “You don’t have to say that. I know. I see it too.” 

You smile softly, the corners of your lips lifting with genuine warmth. “I want you to know, I see everything you do. And I see you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to prove yourself to me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He opens his eyes, shimmering with something tender and real. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he cups your face and pulls you into a kiss, Slow, deep, full of all the unspoken words between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his lips. Stroking your thumb along his cheek.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice raw.

Then his hands find your waist again, sliding gently over your sides, grounding himself in your warmth. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours again, not rushed, not needy, just full of quiet emotion. A kiss that says we’re okay.

You melt into him, arms winding around his shoulders as his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. He kisses you again, and again, soft and slow, like he can’t get enough of you. Like he’s memorizing the way you feel, the way you taste when it’s safe again between you.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, your noses bump and you both laugh under your breath, forehead to forehead. His thumb brushes beneath your jaw as he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead.

Then you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in as he breathes you in like he needs it, like he missed this even in the smallest absence.

You smile again, a little crooked now, brushing your nose against his. “Can we go make breakfast now? I want to pretend this morning started in the kitchen. Not me being an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” He laughs, low and genuine, kissing your forehead. “Maybe a little,” he teases gently. “But you’re my idiot.”

You smile, cheeks flushed, and slide your arms around his neck. “So… should we start the day over?”

He grins, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Fingers laced, hearts lighter, you head further into the kitchen together, ready to begin the morning again, this time side by side.

You start pulling ingredients from the fridge, working in easy rhythm together. He’s in charge of eggs, and you handle the toast and coffee. Every time he passes behind you, his hand brushes along your lower back or waist, and you steal a kiss on his cheek each time he reaches for something near you. It’s sweet, almost ridiculous, like you’re teenagers in love for the first time, unable to keep your hands to yourselves.

You’re standing at the counter spreading butter when your phone buzzes in your hoodie pocket.

You pull it out lazily. The name on the screen makes your stomach twist.

Ex-husband Can we talk? Please. I just want to see you. 

The sight of his name alone used to wreck you, stir up all the confusion and pain. But now… now it just feels distant. Faint. You stare at the screen for a second, lips parting in surprise. Not because it’s unexpected, he’s been sending messages like this every few months, but because of how numb you feel reading it now.

Your eyes drift to Seonghwa. He’s by the stove, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed slightly as he cracks an egg with one hand, effortlessly graceful even in a hoodie and sweats. He glances over and smiles at you, the kind of smile that says you’re his favorite part of the morning.

Something swells in your chest. You lock your phone without replying and leave it on the counter. 

Then, quietly, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

He freezes for half a second, then leans back into you with a breathy little laugh. “Again?”

“Mhm,” you mumble into the fabric of his hoodie. “Can’t help it.”

Your hands slide up under the hem of his hoodie and find the bare skin of his stomach, soft at first, then slowly tracing over firm muscle with featherlight fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

His breath hitches. “I love you too but,” then, low and warm: “you need to be careful.”

You bite back a grin and slowly release him, stepping away like nothing happened. “Sorry,” you sing innocently, moving back to your toast.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at his lips as he stirs the eggs. But you act like you didn’t just get a reaction out of him. Like you didn’t just wake something up.

He chuckles, but then pauses when you lean over the counter just a bit too far, the curve of your body on full display. Your hoodie rides up just enough to tease his imagination, and your little satisfied sigh as you sip your coffee doesn’t help.

Even with the tension rising between you, there’s something light and beautiful in the air. You steal bites from each other’s plates, wipe crumbs off each other’s lips, laugh too loudly when you burn the first toast. You kiss over the coffee pot. 

It’s not dramatic or extravagant, but it’s everything.

The quiet gratitude that you don’t have to wish for love anymore. You’re living it.

The rest of the morning flows in that slow, perfect rhythm. Dishes done together, sunlight spilling through the windows, occasional kisses stolen in the hallway. It’s one of those quiet days that doesn’t need a plan. No errands. No meetings. Just two people wrapped up in each other, moving through the softness of a lazy Sunday.

By early afternoon, Seonghwa is curled up on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the backrest. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and an old black tee, barefoot, hair a little messy from your fingers running through it earlier. His phone rests beside him, untouched. Some documentary plays in the background, but he isn’t really watching it. He’s just… existing. Content.

You peek around the corner from the hallway, heart fluttering as you tighten the belt on your robe. You come padding into the room, soft steps on the hardwood floor. He glances up casually at first, then does a double take.

You’re wrapped in your short silkrobe, cinched tight at the waist, hair still slightly damp from the shower, skin soft and glowing. Something about the way you carry yourself is different. Intentional. A quiet tension hums beneath your slow approach, and it draws him in immediately.

He’s watching you too closely now, sensing something in the air.

“Hey,” you murmur, stopping a few feet from where he sits.

“Hey,” he says back, voice a little rougher now. “You okay?”

You nod, gaze flickering down as you toy with the edge of your sleeve. “I was just… thinking about last night again.”

His brows pull together slightly. “You don’t have to keep thinking about that. We talked-”

“I know,” you say quickly. “I know we did. And I know you said it’s okay. But I still feel bad.”

​​He tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a touch as he studies you. “You don’t need to. Really.”

You take another slow step forward, the robe shifting slightly with your movement. His eyes follow the delicate sway of fabric, the way it clings and parts at your legs just enough to hint at what’s underneath.

“But I want you to know,,” you say, eyes flickering to his and away again. “That I really hate that I said something that made you feel like I didn’t love you enough. Or that you weren’t enough. You are. You’re… everything to me.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. His throat bobs as he swallows, caught off guard by how soft your voice is. How close you’re getting. How goddamn breathtaking you look under this lazy afternoon light, skin glowing, lashes casting shadows, mouth pink and nervous.

You take another step, and he shifts a little on the couch, legs parting instinctively as you drift closer into the space between them. You’re not touching him, not yet, but the tension is a livewire stretched between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes meeting his. “I’m really sorry.”

He blinks slowly. “You’ve said that like… four times now.”

You smile, just barely, lashes lowering. “I know. I just need you to understand how much I mean it.”

“Mmhm,” he hums suspiciously. “And this doesn’t feel at all like the start of something else?”

You widen your eyes innocently. “Like what?”

His gaze drops to where your robe has shifted slightly, just the faintest hint of something darker, softer, underneath. Not skin, not yet, but something lacy and out of place for a lazy Sunday.

Your smile grows, sweet, cheeky, utterly full of mischief. The robe shifts again as you step even closer, until you’re right in front of him, standing between his legs, barely breathing. You pull at the belt just slightly, just enough that it loosens at your waist.

“I just want to say sorry properly,” you murmur, the robe loosening, parting just slightly at the top to reveal a delicate strap against your shoulder. “That’s all.”

“Uh huh,” he says, dry but breathless, leaning back into the couch like he’s trying to maintain some sort of composure. “Just a pure, heartfelt apology?”

“Exactly. Nothing more.”

His gaze flickers over you, jaw slackening as more and more of the robe shifts, revealing the delicate curve of your waist, the high cut of the lingerie hugging your hips, the way the lace kisses your skin in all the places he loves most.

You drop the robe entirely, letting it slide off your shoulders and down your arms in one fluid, quiet movement.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He’s completely paralyzed, unable to form anything coherent, his eyes glued to you, his gaze scanning the curve of your body like he’s memorizing every detail.

You’re standing above him in the most stunning set of black lingerie he’s ever seen, something sheer, something lace, something you bought weeks ago but never wore. You’d told yourself it had to be the right time. Something meaningful. Not just lust, but love. Trust. A real connection.

And today,  after the talk, the honesty, the sweetness. Today feels like that day.

But it’s not just the outfit. It’s you. The confidence in your posture, the softness in your expression, the way you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. 

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing underneath your fingertips.

His hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t dare touch you, not yet. Not until you allow it.

You lean forward, just enough for him to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. His eyes flutter, and you smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. You move your lips closer to his neck, brushing softly at first, testing the waters. You pull his hair gently, just enough to tilt his head back. Your lips trail lower, over his pulse, down to his collarbone, leaving light, lingering kisses.

Seonghwa’s body tenses with every touch, his hands curling into fists beside him. His lips part again, but it’s still only a soundless gasp.

"Seonghwa..." you whisper, your hands sliding down his body, fingers tracing the muscles under his shirt, teasing him with just enough contact to drive him crazy. You look up at him, your eyes glimmering with mischief as you drag your fingertips along his abs, taking your time.

He’s shaking, his breath coming in uneven pants now, but still, he can’t speak. He doesn’t know how to. There’s nothing to describe how beautiful you are, nothing he can say to capture how stunning, how perfect you look standing before him, so in control.

One thing you’ve learned about Seonghwa this year is how he adores when you take control. When you take the lead, tell him what to do, all while behaving so innocent. It weakens him and you love it.

And when you reach the hem of his shirt, he finally mutters something close to a whisper, his voice thick with need. 

Your heart races as you drop down onto your knees, placing yourself between his legs. He doesn’t move, his eyes wide, drinking in the sight of you. You gaze up at him through your lashes, your hands resting lightly on his thighs. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, one that tells him exactly what you're about to do.

“Seonghwa,” you murmur softly, still looking up at him, “I don’t want to make you feel like you're not enough,” you continue, your voice sweet but layered with something deeper now, something he can’t ignore. “I feel so bad for saying what I did.”

You let your hands slide up his thighs slowly, the touch light and teasing. He’s growing noticeably harder under your touch, his body betraying him, but he’s still silent, completely at your mercy. You smile softly, knowing the effect you’re having on him.

“Do you know what it does to me… watching you try so hard to take care of me?” you ask, voice airy, adoring. Your fingers moving higher now, brushing gently against his waistband. You let the edge of your fingers trace the fabric, feeling him react to every light touch. “How strong you are? How patient?”

Seonghwa swallows, the tension in his jaw obvious. “Y/N,” he manages, but his voice is shaky, low. “What are you doing?”

You look up at him, your expression innocent, yet full of mischief. “I’m just trying to apologize properly,” you reply, voice sweet and slow. “Don’t you want me to make it up to you?”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He’s breathless, completely caught in the spell you’ve woven around him.

You give him a playful, teasing smile as your fingers tease the waistband of his sweats. 

Seonghwa's eyes flicker between your face and your hands, watching your every movement as you tease him. 

You finally slide your fingers under the waistband of his sweats, your touch just light enough to make his body tense. Slowly, you begin to touch him, gently, at first, just over the fabric, and he inhales sharply, caught between breath and moan.

“Does that feel good?” you ask innocently, your voice sweet, but there’s no hiding the teasing tone. 

His chest heaves with another shaky breath, and he finally speaks, though his voice is hoarse and strained. “Y/N… you’re killing me…”

You don’t stop, your hand moves lower, wrapping around him just slightly through the fabric, feeling the full length of him, the heat of his skin through the material. He groans softly, his eyes closing for a moment as his grip tightens on the couch.

“I love you,” you murmur softly, voice tender but with a hint of playful fire. “You’re the strongest, most incredible man I’ve ever known. You make me feel safe, loved... like I’m the most important thing in the world to you.”

He swallows hard, jaw tight, eyes dark and fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters. He’s completely under your spell now.

Your nails skim lightly beneath the elastic, just enough to make his breath catch again. You glance up at him through your lashes, lips barely parted.

“Still okay?” you ask sweetly, voice soft and full of false innocence.

He swallows hard, then gives a weak, breathless nod. “Y-Yeah,” he manages.

You hum approvingly and begin to ease his sweats down slowly, your fingers careful and unhurried. He lifts his hips just slightly to help, and you smile at his obedience. The fabric drags over his skin until the waistband of his briefs is exposed, then those too, bit by bit, revealing the unmistakable evidence of how much he’s aching for you.

He’s fully hard now, flushed and heavy, resting against his stomach. You pause for a moment, eyes fixed on him, before looking up to meet his gaze again. He’s watching you like he’s dreaming, his lips parted, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“You’re so quiet,” you whisper, teasing. “No words for me?”

He tries, but nothing comes out. Just a soft, guttural sound in the back of his throat as you lean in, breath ghosting over his skin.

You place a single kiss just above his hipbone, your hands spreading over his thighs, holding him still. Then another kiss, lower this time, close enough that his body jerks ever so slightly.

You run your fingers along the inside of his thigh, nails grazing delicately as you keep your eyes on him. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice rich and low, “So strong, patient, and completely perfect.”

His hand twitches against the cushion, and he exhales sharply.

“You always make me feel so good,” you go on, brushing your lips over his lower stomach, so soft it’s barely contact. “And now it’s your turn.”

You trail your fingers to the base of his length, light and slow, and he groans, finally breaking the silence.

“Please…” he whispers.

You smile. “Please, what?”

His eyes meet yours, dark, dazed, desperate. “Just… please.”

You press one more kiss to the base of him, just above where your hand rests. Then your lips part, and you finally take him in your mouth, just the tip, warm and slow, and his head falls back against the couch with a quiet, broken sound.

You hollow your cheeks slightly, tongue teasing the underside as you start to move. Soft, steady, deliberate.

He’s unraveling already, hips twitching beneath your hold, one hand leaving the couch to bury itself in your hair. But even then, he doesn’t push or guide, he just holds, grounding himself.

You pull back just enough to speak, your voice low and sultry. “Do you want to touch me?”

His eyes darken with need, flickering between your face and your body. His breath hitches, voice rough and eager. “Please… can I?”

You smile, slow and knowing. “Not yet.”

His hand twitches in the air, hesitant, like he’s begging for permission, utterly captivated by your control.

With a playful gleam, you reach for the thin rope from your robe, twisting it between your fingers. Before he can protest, you loop the soft fabric around his wrists, knotting them together gently but firmly. His breath catches, a mix of surprise and thrill sparking in his eyes.

You smile, satisfied, and then take him in deeper this time, tongue curling, hand stroking what you don’t fit. He groans again, louder now, the sound raw and unfiltered. His hands tied tightly, leaving him utterly helpless. All he can do now is watch you, eyes wide, breath hitching.

You’ve got him exactly where you want him, breathless, speechless, and completely at your mercy.

And the best part is: you’re just getting started.

“Say something,” you purr, kissing the sensitive tip again, tongue flicking out ever so lightly. “Or are you already too far gone?”

He tightens what little grip he has, hands bound, clutching at the air, then shakes his head as if trying to clear the fog.

“I-, fuck-,” he rasps, voice low and hoarse. “You’re… unbelievable.”

You giggle sweetly, like it’s the most innocent thing in the world, dragging your tongue slowly along the underside of him in a long, languid lick that makes his hips jerk and a choked moan escape his throat.

“Mm. You liked that,” you say smugly, then take him back into your mouth, a little deeper this time, slow and warm and deliberate.

You pull off with a soft pop, saliva connecting your lips to his skin for just a moment before you lick it away, hand replacing where your mouth was, stroking him in that perfect rhythm that makes his head fall back with a desperate groan.

“You’re shaking,” you tease gently, voice full of amusement. “Is that for me?”

He barely nods, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah. You-, fuck, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

You pout mockingly. “Awh, I know you can take it.”

He lets out a broken laugh, half-disbelief, half-plea, and you grin, proud of yourself.

“I’m here to take care of you,” you say sweetly, licking the tip again, giving him one slow stroke from base to tip. “You know you’re doing so well, don’t you?”

His voice is barely there now. “Yes… I try.”

You pull back, breath warm against his skin, eyes sparkling.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not stopping until I say so.”

Your mouth returns to him, slow and hot and wet, and this time, you suck just a little harder, swirl your tongue in just the right spot, and the noise he makes? It’s ruined. Absolutely ruined.

His breath is ragged now, chest rising and falling like he just ran miles, tied hands clenched into fists, thighs trembling under your touch. Every time your mouth pulls off him, he lets out the softest sound of frustration, like it’s physically painful to be denied.

And you love it.

You press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh, then lick slowly back up to his hip.

“Y/N-” he groans, his voice cracking around your name.

You glance up at him, lips glistening, cheeks flushed. “Hmm?”

His eyes are wrecked, pleading, helpless, needy. “I’m-, fuck, I’m close. Can I-...”

You give him one more long stroke, slow and tight, then let go completely, hands sliding back up his trembling thighs instead.

“Can you what?” you ask sweetly, feigning innocence even as your eyes gleam with control.

He swallows hard. “Can I… can I cum?”

You tilt your head, pretend to think about it, even as your hands press into his thighs to spread him a little wider between your knees.

“I don’t know…” you murmur, lips curving. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathes out instantly, no hesitation, no shame. “Please.”

You trail one hand up his stomach, nails scraping lightly over his skin under his shirt, just to feel the shudder it sends through him. Then you lean up, mouth at his ear.

“But wouldn’t it feel better,” you whisper slowly, “if you came inside me instead?”

He practically whimpers.

You pull back, just enough to see the complete desperation in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks, the way he’s barely holding himself together.

“Do you want that, baby?” you ask gently, your thumb brushing over the head of his cock, making him jolt. “Want to be inside me?”

“Yes-, fuck, yes, please.”

You smile, satisfied. Then, your hands move to the rope binding his wrists, fingers working carefully to loosen the knot. His eyes widen, breath hitching as you free him, letting his hands fall to your skin.

Then you pull back just enough to meet his eyes and murmur:

“Then take me.”

And in the next instant, he moves.

His arms shoot around you, strong and sudden, standing with you in one smooth motion as if he doesn’t even feel the weight. He’s carrying you before you can blink, mouth crashing to yours like he’s starving.

You laugh into the kiss, breathless, triumphant, dizzy with how much he wants you.

He’s hard. So hard, the outline of him straining against his sweats still burned into your vision, and now it presses hot against your thigh as he carries you. His jaw is clenched, breath shallow, like he’s using every ounce of strength to not lose it completely.

By the time he reaches the bed, he’s trembling.

But even now, even now, he sets you down with care. Like you’re too precious to just drop. Like he worships the very feel of you.

His eyes flick over your body, dressed in lingerie, glazed with hunger and awe.

You shift onto your elbows, spread your legs just a little more, watching the way he swallows hard, so hard it looks like it hurts.

“Cat got your tongue?” you tease, voice syrupy sweet.

He exhales shakily, running a hand down his face. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you purr, trailing one finger down your stomach. “You’ve been so good, baby. Letting me tease you. Beg. You were gonna come just from my hand, weren’t you?”

He groans, like the memory physically pains him.

You crook your finger at him, eyes heavy with heat. “Come here. Let me feel how badly you want me.”

He moves like a man possessed, kneeling on the bed, hands already reaching, but he doesn’t dare touch until you nod.

Only then does he slide a hand up your thigh, mouth parted like he can’t believe this is real.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he breathes. “Let me. Please.”

You smile, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him moan.

“Then make me feel it.” you whisper.

He moves without hesitation.

One second he’s on his knees, eyes locked to yours like he’s praying, and the next, he’s lowering himself between your thighs with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

His shirt is off in a second, his hands slide under your thighs and pull you closer to the edge of the bed, lips grazing the soft skin there as his breath shudders out of him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers like it’s hurting him, tugging your panties down as he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing.

You rest back on your elbows, heart hammering in your chest as you watch him kiss up the inside of your thigh. 

He dives in slow, teasing at first, tongue sliding between your folds like he’s savoring every inch, every sound you make. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but it’s not about control, it’s about devotion.

He moans softly the first time he tastes you fully, and the vibration sends a jolt through your spine. You reach down, fingers weaving into his hair, and tug just a little, guiding him, grounding yourself.

“Right there,” you gasp, and he groans again, like your pleasure is his reward.

He flattens his tongue, licking deep and slow, then flicks it exactly where he knows you need it. He’s relentless, not rough, not rushed, just overwhelming in how thoroughly he focuses on you. Like you’re the only thing that exists in his world right now.

Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and you feel the first wave of heat beginning to build, steady and sharp, curling low in your belly.

And Seonghwa knows.

“Already?” he murmurs against your skin, lips glistening. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice breaking.

He doesn’t. If anything, he doubles down, lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks just enough to make your legs start to shake. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you still, and when your hips buck, he lets out a deep groan that goes straight through you.

You’re teetering on the edge, eyes squeezed shut, breathing shallow.

Then you feel his hand leave your thigh, only for a second, before a single long finger slides inside you, slow, deep.

You cry out.

His mouth doesn’t stop moving.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice wrecked and reverent. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And with one more deep flick of his tongue and a curl of his finger, you fall apart for him, back arching, fingers fisting in his hair, legs clamping around his shoulders as your orgasm crashes through you.

But even then, he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, eyes fluttering closed like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Only when your hips twitch, too sensitive to take any more, does he finally pull back, panting, lips swollen, chin wet with you.

He looks up at you, completely gone.

“Can I have you now?” he whispers, voice rough and full of need.

Seonghwa leans in, his lips brushing over your collarbone as he kisses his way to your neck. His hand slides down, finally reaching the waistband of his sweats. 

“I want you, Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, and before you can respond, he’s pulling down his sweats, his cock springing free, fully hard and pressing against your inner thigh.

His eyes don’t leave yours, blazing with hunger, a slow burn that sears through you. He leans over you, pushing you back into the sheets, his weight settling between your legs, strong thighs caging you in. He takes your wrists in his hands, pinning them gently above your head.

And then, to your surprise, you hear a familiar sound.

A soft pull of fabric. The faint slide of a knot being tightened.

Your breath catches as you realize what he’s done.

He brought the rope.

The same one you used on him earlier.

You hadn’t noticed, hadn’t seen when he grabbed it, but now it’s there, looped around your wrists as he secures it snugly, expertly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Your wrists press together above your head, bound tightly to each other. Not painfully. But firmly. Completely.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, wide with surprise and heat, and his expression is dark with satisfaction.

“You didn’t think I’d let that little stunt go unanswered, did you?” he says, voice low and dangerous, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You tied me up and made me beg.”

He dips his head, kissing you slowly, deeply, until you’re breathless beneath him.

“Now it’s my turn.”

You whimper against his mouth, hips rising instinctively to meet his, but he pins you down with one strong hand on your thigh, not allowing you even that much freedom.

“I said no more teasing,” he growls softly. “You’re going to feel me, Y/N, every inch of me, and you’re not going to move until I say so.”

His words are devastating. Delicious.

But he’s doing it for you. Because you asked. Because he remembers everything you said.

And because, right now, he wants nothing more than to make you come completely undone.

His words make your pulse race, but there's something else, a deep trust in him, the way he makes you feel safe while still pushing you to the edge.

You feel him shift, one hand moving between your legs to line himself up with your entrance. The anticipation is unbearable, the air thick with tension.

But just as the thick head of his cock begins to press into you, slow and deliberate, he stills.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his voice quiet but firm, his eyes locked on yours.

Your wrists tug instinctively at the rope above your head, bound tightly and useless now. You’re completely at his mercy, and he knows it. “I want you,” you whisper.

And that’s all he needs.

With a powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you in one smooth, possessive motion. The sudden fullness knocks the air from your lungs, a soft gasp spilling from your lips as your body arches beneath him.

He doesn’t hesitate. He starts to move, slow at first, purposeful, but it builds fast, his hips snapping harder, deeper, each stroke more intense than the last. His hands leave your thighs only to clutch at your hips, dragging you down onto him with every thrust, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he needs to feel you everywhere.

Your wrists are tied together in front of you, still flushed and trembling from how he bound them, and now they’re pressed against your chest as he pounds into you with maddening control.

“You feel that?” he growls into your ear, teeth grazing your jaw. “Every inch of me inside you, just like I said.”

You nod helplessly, unable to do more than moan and cling to the sheets with your bound hands, the rope tight and biting into your skin in the most perfect way.

But then, your phone rings.

His gaze shifts to the nightstand, where your phone buzzes insistently.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. If anything, he grins, that wicked, knowing smirk spreading across his lips like he’s been waiting for this.

Seonghwa leans over, eyes glinting with mischief, and grabs it. Glances at the screen.

“Well, well…” he hums. “Look who wants your attention.”

He smirks. Looks down at you, flushed and wrecked beneath him, helpless in the knots he tied.

“It’s your ex-husband,” he murmurs, his voice dark and teasing, still thrusting into you like he owns the moment. “Answer it.”

He holds the phone above you, just out of reach, taunting. His pace doesn’t slow, not even a little. And the look in his eyes?

It says you’re his now.

Your body goes rigid as the phone keeps ringing, your heart pounding, your breath hitching, but the last thing you want is to speak to him. Especially now. Especially like this.

Your bound hands tremble as you take the phone from him, just barely able to clutch it between your fingers. You hesitate for half a second, but one dark look from Seonghwa, one slow roll of his hips that makes your eyes roll back, and you obey.

You barely manage to slide your thumb across the screen to accept the call, your voice a whisper as the line opens. “H-Hello?”

Seonghwa doesn’t pause. He fucks you through the word, drawing out the breath at the end of it, making your voice shake in a way you know your ex will hear.

He watches you with a crooked smirk, fucking into you slowly now, deliberately, dragging it out, because he wants you squirming, wants to see how long you can keep your voice steady.

“Y/N?” your ex’s voice crackles through. “You sound… are you okay? I’ve been calling-”

“I’m f-fine,” you manage to breathe, fighting to keep your tone level, even as Seonghwa shifts his angle and thrusts up hard, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through your spine.

Seonghwa’s smirk deepens, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, lazy circles that nearly make you cry out. “Tell him you’re better than fine,” he whispers against your jaw, his breath hot and cruel. “Tell him you’ve never felt better.”

You bite your lip hard.

“I’m just… busy,” you murmur into the phone, your voice breaking as your hips jerk from the next thrust.

Seonghwa chuckles darkly against your ear, his breath hot as his lips graze your skin.

“Busy,” he echoes under his breath, and then drives into you again, harder. “That’s one way to put it.”

Seonghwa’s tongue drags up the side of your neck, slow and possessive. “Hold the phone still, sweetheart. Let him hear how happy you sound.”

You try, god, you try, but your hands are shaking, wrists straining against the rope, voice catching with every deep thrust he gives you.

You don’t even hear your ex-husband’s voice clearly anymore, everything fading into the background as Seonghwa takes you to the edge. 

He grins, knowing you won’t be able to speak much longer, that the pleasure will soon take over completely.

“Such a good girl,” Seonghwa murmurs, voice thick with lust. “Answering your ex like this with my cock buried inside you… God, look at you.”

You’re barely holding on, your bound hands wobbling as the phone threatens to slip from your grasp. Seonghwa notices, of course he does, and with a soft laugh, he plucks it from your fingers effortlessly.

He leans back for a moment, letting you feel every inch of his length as he pulls out slowly, teasing. His cock glistens in the low light, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he brings the phone to his ear.

Your chest rises and falls quickly, your whole body aching from the edge he keeps dragging you along.

Seonghwa tilts his head slightly, listening to your ex's voice, panicked and confused, on the other end.

Then he smiles. That smile.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, and his voice is just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding in your chest.

“You’re not really interested in hearing this, are you?” he whispers, his tone amused, taunting.

And then, with an audible smirk in his voice, he leans back again and speaks into the phone.

“You know, buddy,” he drawls lazily, thrusting back into you with just enough force to make you gasp, “we’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“Wait-, what? Is this—Seonghwa?” your ex stammers. “What the fuck is going on? I just want to talk. I’m still—”

Your cheeks burn, humiliation and arousal tangling into something electric, something dangerous. Your bound hands twitch, instinctively trying to reach for the phone, but Seonghwa catches your wrists easily, wrapping his fingers around them like it’s nothing.

He pauses, hips grinding into you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you cry out. His grin widens as he watches the sound punch out of your chest.

“She’s not really available right now,” he says into the phone, voice thick with satisfaction. “But don’t worry. I’m taking good care of her.”

Your ex’s voice spikes in frustration. “What the fuck are you doing with her?!”

Seonghwa laughs softly, clearly enjoying this. “Well, that’s none of your business. Excuse us.”

And then, casually, like it means nothing to him, he taps the speaker button and tosses the phone onto the mattress beside your head.

Then he fucks you harder, brutal, relentless. The rhythm, the pressure, the humiliation of your ex’s voice being drowned out by the filthy sounds of your pleasure, your moans echoing through the room. Seonghwa’s hand tightens around your wrists, keeping you grounded, keeping you his, as he drives you closer to the edge.

You try to hold it back, but it’s useless.

Every inch of you is trembling, raw and exposed, as you finally let go, the orgasm tearing through your body in an overwhelming wave that makes your vision blur.

It’s like everything else disappears.

The only thing you can feel is him.

You’re a breathless mess beneath him, barely holding it together, your body trembling. But Seonghwa isn’t finished. He grabs the phone again with a smirk when he sees the call is still going, his voice low, commanding as he speaks directly into it.

“Oops… guess I forgot to hang up.” A smirk lifts the corner of his lips as he presses the button, ending the call with a casual flick of his thumb. The room falls into heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing, unsteady and wrecked, and the faint echo of your pulse in your ears.

He leans down slowly, his mouth brushing your ear. “Now, where were we?” he whispers, voice low and smug.

His eyes lock on yours, dark with lust, satisfaction, and something more. Something possessive.

Before you can answer, his lips are on yours, not rough this time, but slow and hungry, like he wants to taste the way you’ve fallen apart for him. He kisses you deep, teasing, savoring, like the rest of the world still doesn’t exist.

Then he starts moving again.

His thrusts pick up pace, fast and relentless, slamming into you with the kind of rhythm that makes your legs shake. You’re already so sensitive, your nerves shot, but he doesn’t slow down. He won’t. He chases his own high with the same control he’s had from the start, hands gripping your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re barely aware of the choked cry that escapes your throat as he pushes you straight into another climax. It crashes through you like lightning, your wrists trembling where they’re tied together in front of you, fingers clenched uselessly.

And Seonghwa groans against your neck, finally giving in, his hips snapping forward one last time as he spills inside you.

You feel every pulse of him.

He stays there, buried deep, chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and ragged in your ear. His hand slides up your side, slowing, grounding you. Neither of you speak, the silence somehow louder than anything.

Eventually, Seonghwa shifts, his fingers grazing the knot at your wrists. There’s a tenderness in the way he unties you, like his own quiet form of aftercare. The rope slips away, and your hands fall loose with a sigh of relief.

And then, finally, you reach for him.

Your arms wrap around him weakly, pulling him closer, needing him. Not just the way he fucked you, not just the way he ruined you, but the way he stayed. The way he held you there after. The way he gave you all of him.

He lets himself collapse against you, careful not to crush, just to be there.

Skin to skin. Chest to chest. His warmth wraps around you like a second blanket, his head resting in the crook of your neck, the softest sigh falling against your shoulder. One of his hands slips into your hair, fingertips massaging lightly at your scalp, the other resting protectively over your hip, holding you close without a word.

Then, slowly, with care you didn’t know he was still capable of after all that intensity, he begins to guide himself out of you. You whimper without meaning to, not in pain, just from the loss, the ache of being that full of him for so long, and now not.

He hears it instantly. Feels it.

His lips press to your shoulder before you can even breathe his name.

“Baby,” he murmurs, guilt softening every syllable. “Don’t move, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You hum, melted into the mattress, and he presses one more kiss to your skin before slipping away.

You hear the faucet, the rustle of towels, drawers opening. He returns within moments, quiet, collected, but his hands shake when they first touch your skin again.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, kneeling beside you on the bed.

The first press of warm cloth between your legs makes you exhale, your lashes fluttering. It’s gentle, so gentle, like he’s afraid to touch you too firmly, as if you might break. He dabs softly, cleaning you with the kind of reverence most people wouldn’t even know how to give.

To him, this isn’t a chore. It’s devotion.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, threaded with concern.

You hum. “Mhm. Still floating.”

He smiles, even though you can’t see it. You turn over on your stomach, resting your face on a pillow as you close your eyes. You can feel his love in his kiss when he leans down to press his mouth to your lower back, right at the curve of your spine. He kisses you again, a little higher. Then again. His mouth moves over your skin like he’s rewriting the story he just left behind in red, not erasing it, just softening the edges.

“I didn’t mean to mark you so much,” he murmurs, tracing a thumb over one of the faint handprints on your hip. “But God… the way you feel… the way you sound when you fall apart for me…”

His voice cracks a little, like the emotion is catching up to him.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair instead. He leans into your touch instantly, sighing into your skin.

“I like the marks,” you whisper, smiling softly. “It means you wanted me. It means you couldn’t help it.”

His fingers are so soft, so careful, tracing every mark he left behind, like he’s trying to memorize them. Then, his lips follow.

Kisses. Dozens of them. Scattered like stars across your back, your shoulders, your neck. Tender and slow and endless.

His breath hitches, and then he’s leaning over you again, pulling the blankets up carefully over both of you before tucking himself behind you, chest pressed to your back, one leg tangled with yours, his arm sliding beneath your neck to cradle you. You can feel him everywhere.

He nuzzles your touch immediately, pressing his nose to the side of your face with a long exhale. “Does anything hurt, my love?”

“No,” you breathe. “Just sore. In a good way.”

“Too much?”

“Never.”

His arm slides around you, and he reaches for your hand, the one you wear the ring on. The promise ring. The one he gave you after everything. After you chose him. But you didn’t know that he bought it before you knew you’d be his forever. When he had no right to. When all he could do was hope.

He finds your fingers and threads his through them, bringing them up between you.

And then, he kisses your finger with the ring.

Not quickly. Not casually.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes your breath catch.

It’s slow. Gentle. Reverent.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling out.

He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around you.

“I love you more,” he breathes. “And I’ll keep choosing you. Every day. Just like I always have.”

And that’s how you fall asleep, his fingers laced with yours, the promise of forever resting warm and golden between you. His kisses don’t stop. Neither does his touch. Neither does his love.

And he’ll never stop.

Not in this lifetime. Not in any.

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[mysteriouslybluepirate]

A small loving essay about Fem Buck/Eddie fan fiction

I love WLW Buck/Eddie(9-1-1) fan fiction. I've never been in a fandom where reading a gender swap comes with a disclaimer, but I chuckle every time I see one with the following warning.

'If Eddie and Buck were women, they'd be treated much differently in universe, and be different people on screen. Please ignore that and enjoy.'

The truth of it is that these authors are 100% CORRECT and I wanted to just sit with the idea and think about how much of this show would change if genders were swapped, given what we know about Buck and Eddie post S8.

PLEASE comment your thoughts and your own head canons down below! I'd LOVE to make this a conversation in the tags/weblogs/comments :) PLEASE disagree with me even!

9-1-1 is likely the most grounded fandom I've been in-in actual ages. Seeing how gender roles, especially religion and internalized pressures from broader society, impacts these characters has been delightful. For AO3 authors, the challenge is determining what parts of their backstories to keep without making things...really fucking sad, considering the differences in how men and women's actions get perceived.

Let's look at Buck and Eddie and what I find interesting when you write them as gender swapped form S1ep1 starting with the character who didn't pop up until S2:

Eddie Diaz

In the show Eddie centers his entire self-worth in being the provider. He can't be sweet and nurturing, not at first, but he can do what he can to give his family the best life possible. Sacrificed his early twenties to the military, who left home to provide a better life for Chris. His role to the family is that almost of a wallet, up until he comes home and opens up with Chris to be a better dad.

If Eddie Diaz were written as a woman from the start, who went into the military as soon as she was healed from the pregnancy, she'd be seen a mother who 'abandoned her family'. Her renlisting would be seen as selfish from the get go, versus now where the show can't decide if it was selfish for Eddie to leave or not. (Personal opinion of the author: Eddie leaving was due to his discomfort and inability to view himself as a good parent, so him being gone was the best that he could have done for his family. Again, who knows what that would look like if Eddie were a woman)

This is not taking into account how the Diaz' parents would treat her after 'failing' to be a good mother.

If we assume the teachings of what Eddie's church taught him growinng up, as a man, him leaving for war is still doing what is best for his family, in the church. If Eddie did this as a woman, almost from the moment we meet her in S2 she has failed that expectation to be a good mom. Which is insane, considering how Eddie's guilt in being a provider is still one of the few consistent story arcs this show still gives him(#giveEddieAnInternalArcS9). If Eddie were a catholic woman, it would be broken and struggling from the get-go.

You can argue a Fem!Eddie would not go into the army. That Fem!Eddie would stay home, but if we do that, I can not see how that Eddie and Show Eddie would be similar at all. The truth of that is, if a female Eddie followed the teachings and expectations of her surroundings the way show Eddie did, she would have never left El Paso.

The Shannon of it all: Most wlw Buddie fic write Male!Shannon as having career goals, who stays home with young Chris, how would that change the Shannon/Eddie dynamic? Moving a bit further into the timeline, post-Shannon death, instead of entering the dating scene as a 'responsible single dad' she'd be a single mother who gave birth to her child. From what I remember from past seasons, Eddie in the show usually waited a while for his partners to meet Chris, often hinging his relationship over if Eddie thought Chris would like them. But we never got the sense it was out of fearing for Chris' safety. Compare that to what it would be like for a fem!Eddie, who has a kid at home to bring home a man. How would her career as a firefighter be seen socially with her being a single mother?

Gay??? As for the 'Gay!Eddie' of it all, there's still the catholic guilt, but who knows how fem!Eddie's relationship with the church would be after everything surrounding Shannon. On top of that, affection is common between two women, especially close friends. I've read fic where Fem!Buck and Eddie get together quickly after meeting but SOOOO many of Buddie's more affectionate/touchy scenes could be generalized to 'well women just do that for each other' (cough cough shoulder touching scene cough cough). I go into this more at the very end, but making them women doesn't actually fix the things that are making them not view the other as an option.

Society: Eddie Diaz goes from strong war hero with a child, who can't give Chris another mom. Into an 'irresponsible' woman who left her child, who now goes into a dangerous field every day. Who is destroying her body and failing to find a stable male figure in her son's life. Shannon expressed some guilt over being responsible for Chris' disability, and I don't think it's unrealistic to also see Eddie also feel those feelings.

His personality: in canon Eddie closed off, parental, cautious but silly- if flipped and Eddie were a woman? This same behavior would likely be translated as 'bitchy'(speaking from experience here). I blame his canon rush to anger as being a man encourages many to not learn to emotionally regulate. Anger is an easy emotion that hides what the real problem is. Who knows how THAT would translate across gender presentation- that's honestly up to author discussion. Eddie's swapped personality is my favorite part of these fics TBH.

This weird limbo of what Eddie's true personality is also comes from the writers not giving this man a stable personality in years. We the audience haven't seen the inside of this man's thoughts since maybe the sniper. S8 failed to give Eddie's Texas arc any actual development that pushed him forward. The writers could have talked about the expecations of being a dad, or how Catholicism impacted him, or what it meant to go to a regressive town after living in LA. Or Shannon, or anything else really. I really love that after a season of making Eddie look at what he wanted in life, he wasn't the person who made the final decision to come back to LA. Great writing on that y'all. Totally doesn't make S7B-> S8B pointless for Eddie's arc. Especially since his grief over Shannon hasn't been fully explored...

ANYWAY enough of Eddie Diaz. Lets go to Buck.

Buck

Traditional Masculinity: Very early on in the show, set up in S1 is that Buck isn't a fuck boy who will do anything to just have sex. He admits his ''womanizing'' phase was him desperately seeking attention and affection in any way he could. He's the big strong firefighter who picks up chicks on the side.

The plus side of Buck being a firefighter, is that his job encourages him to be big, masculine and strong. I never get the sense that he bulked up to get women, only that being strong allows him to become a better firefighter, which in the end, is a major life goal for him. This mentality would also translate to if Buck were a woman. But the social consequences wouldn't be the same.

Physicality: Her bulk, instead of being something that makes Buck conventionally attractive, would be something against convention. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hot(TRUST ME I'm really not), but I am saying fem!Buck would still probably aim for a stronger, bulky build to overcompensate for not being 'enough' of a fireman. I've seen 50/50 in the fanart sphere on if Eddie and Buck are visibly muscled, irl not all women who work in the fire service aren't necessarily visibly yolked out, but I love to see it, so I thought I'd throw it in. Buck literally had an expensive system set up to test his body fat, I can 100% see Fem!Buck work hard as shit to keep up with and surpass her male coworkers.

The Sex of it all: Buck's 1.0 days, instead of being seen as a sign of overcompensating youth, would be her being a ''''slut''''. As much as canon Buck talks down his Buck 1.0 days, would there be more judgment in and out of show universe if Buck were a woman?

Also, would Buck still date the same type of people if he were a woman? Show Buck tends to date strong personalities who know what they want in life. He seeks out the stability he wants in his relationships, with the goal of having a future with these people.

Fem!Buck might have a harder time doing this, given that she would be a single woman, in a male dominated field where she is surrounded by big and overbearing personalities 24/7. Dating men her age means finding mature men ready to find a forever partner in their late 20s and early 30s. Add to that, if she wants to date outside of first responders, she would likely be stronger than a lot of the men she's dating.

This could cause insecurity in her partners, further narrow her dating pool, and on top of Buck's habit of clinging? Oh yeah, the universe would not be kind to her.

Bi??? As for sexuality, in the show Buck finds out he likes men when he's kissed by one. He grew up in the pre Glee world, and was surrounded by the idea of being into men as 'not normal'(yeah, it's not canon, but he's a millenial and the world still sucked when Buck had impressionable views on sexuality. Just because he came out in a post Glee world didn't mean he wasn't affected by it). In the show, it seems like he just never thought about it. I can see Fem!Buck as just...also not thinking about it. That or she finding out a lot sooner due to female friendships being SO close and touchy. Modern views of fluidity in sexuality is generally more accepted in women than in men, so either way you lean, I agree.

We already had 2 Fem!Bucks parallels? Funnily enough, we already know how the show would write and treat a female Buck. Lena Bosko and Lucy Donato were already written as a fem!Buck parallels. Lucy Donato and a lot of the 'fun' aspects of Buck's risky behaviors become a bit less fun when it's a new woman who is doing it.

A lot of the fun goofball traits seem just a bit less endearing on an underdeveloped character like Lucy and Lena. This idea is what inpired me to write all this. It made me wonder if Buck would still come off just as likeable if Buck had always been gender swapped.

Small tangent: The funny thing is, I can't really see a woman in the show who parallels Eddie? Maybe you could spin Lena into an Eddie mirror, but I still say her willingness to call out Eddie, and her literally taking Buck's spot, makes them too similar to label her as an Eddie mirror. Also, Buck made out with a mirror of himself, which caused him to break up from a relationship where they were each too motivated by their own goals to move forward in the relationship. Yeah, I hate it, Taylor deserved a better boyfriend, and they should have just stayed friends but it is funny.

Buck's ADHD: (This section talks about my own experiences being a woman with ADHD so skip if you find me getting off point). As a woman I experience the same inattentiveness, hyperactivity, fidgiting, poor planning, distractability, low self esteme, excessive talking, and hyperfixation as Buck. Generally, I am criticized more than my family of men who have the same symptoms. People are more likely to call me out, judge me, or belittle my thoughts and opinions because I tend to act more erratically. I am never given benefit of the doubt, people assume I don't get jokes or can't understand complex thought because of this. Going back to my previous point, a lot of Buck's goofball traits would not be viewed as kindly for Fem!Buck. If current Buck is seen like a well meaning idiot who grows into a man with seemingly better managed symptoms, Fem!Buck 'Bimbo Blonde' would not be treated well, and would not be given the same amount of grace as she matured.

Family: The one trait where things might be better for Fem!Buck is how her relationship with Christopher would be a bit more 'normal' from an outsiders' perspective. Generally, a lot of single men don't step up to help their friends take care of their kid. Today, it's weird for a man to genuinely enjoy being around kids, this is why Eddie sees Buck as being special from the earthquake on.

While canon Buck shows how loyal and responsible he is by stepping up, thanks to gender roles, it would almost be expected for Fem!Buck to help out and be amazing with Chris. Is it shitty? Absolutely. But from an outsider's perspective, their family unit of 'parent+kid+friend' matches closer with female friendships than male friendships. While being a highlight of Buck's personality, his want to keep a family. I wonder if these scenes were shot in the exact same way, would that same devotion come through on screen with a Fem!Buck?

There's also the downside of Buck's want of a family being a seemingly 'femanine' trait in society. Buck and Eddie, as portrayed in the show, parent in similiar yet differnet ways. Unlike Eddie, Buck loves being a parent in the ways of connecting, communicating, and teaching Chris. Buck is Chris' guardian about the little things in life. We see it how Buck throws himself into tasks to spend time and further Chris' love in the world around them. While Eddie, being a single dad, has to be the emotional rock, Buck is always there to help in the parts of parenthood Eddie struggles in.

The reason why show Buck's relationship is so amazing, and such a highlight of his character, is partially thanks to how subversive it is.

It would just be another traditional expectation Fem!Buck might want to live up to. Another goal to throwherself at, and while Fem!Buck would absolutely succeed in the exact same way show Buck does, would it still be seen as one of the highlights of Buck's personality? Instead of a man willing to be emotionally vulnerable for a kid- it's a woman being a second mom. Where this vulnerability would be expected.

I can 100% see Fem!Buck picking the first guy who seems stable enough to give her the family she always wanted growing up, having a quick wedding, and over years of a bad marriage realize that she was never happy, and now she's stuck to raise a kid alone...(Canon Eddie Diaz has entered the chat)

THE BUDDIE OF IT ALL

In my personal opinion: Swapping genders wouldn't immediately make either of them get their heads out of their asses and see whats in front of them. A big part of fanon writing centers around Eddie finally seeing Buck's devotion to his family and realizing he needs Buck to stay as a foundational part of their family. Of Eddie realizing what makes him happy, and that is with Buck. This would not change at all with Fem!Eddie, only that what Buck is doing would be slightly less 'special', since Buck is a woman who loves being around kids.

For fem!Buck, being a woman wouldn't magically make her see the family she has with Eddie as the family that is hers. That she could have a greater part in it, than she has already been given.

They'd be stuck in the same rut of expectations, shitty relationships to fill the void, trying to find stablility where it doesn't exist.

What to you think? What headcanons do you have? How similar would Male!Eddie and Fem!Eddie be personality wise? Would Fem!Eddie somehow have a worse dating history? How would Buck's sexuality and view of his world impact how other people on the 118 treat them? Would Buck and Eddie be even worse as to female presenting people? How many times would they have to sleep in eachothers laps before the 118 says anything? LET ME KNOW!!

[ishgard]

Hi. I love the AU. May I ask how Fourchenault takes the news? :D (scrollsfromarebornrealm)

Hiii!! thank you so much!! ☺️♥ I'd say his reaction is a bit more complicated/messy than Ameliance's. Whatever one's thoughts are on his actions, there's no doubt in my mind he deeply loves his children, he's just not always great at showing it. (Slapping this under a cut!)

So after 7.0 going home and seeing his parents is one of the first things Alphi does once things have quieted down a bit. (It's something I really want to do a set of but the emotions I want to convey are a bit above my gpose level still lol).

(Also please imagine with me the pain of Alphinaud staying in his childhood room, turning over once precious items that haven't seen nary a bit of the weathering of time in his absence.)

Once some of the initial shock wears off, Fourchenault goes a bit stiff and distant. Even if he got better about it through Endwalker's events, he has a harder time letting go of his kids, and while this definitely is not the worse case scenario, there is absolutely a deep sense of loss.

After Day One and the initial unraveling of everything that happened, while Ameliance is carrying the conversations, Fourchenault is more avoidant. He gets called away to the Forum, he simply... has important matters that must be attended to. He's glad he's safe. They'll talk later. (He knows it's foolish of him, he knows. The self-condemnation it brings only makes it harder.)

His son is suddenly older than him. Towers over his mother (I haven't compared yet actually but very likely towers over him.) He's as polite and well-mannered as ever, but there's no denying the ways he's changed. The shadows that lurk in his eyes, the scars on his body. The way he hugs them tightly, like he hasn't seen them in ages - because he hasn't. The way he holds himself, and the way he speaks, rough edges of youth smoothed over in the seeming blink of an eye.

He saw what his son was capable of during the Final Days, but even those were, in his worst imaginings, things he was capable of imagining. In part, his harshness (and protectiveness) stems from knowing how brutal the world can be, the things that can happen. But thirty years gone in a blink?

He knows he should be grateful it wasn't worse, but why did it have to be like this at all? He know he shouldn't blame the Warrior of Light, but how could she let this happen?

But Alphinaud is still Alphinaud. Some things have changed, yes, but the core of who he is remains the same as ever, and that shines through abundantly clear to the people who love him. It only takes a couple of days for Fourchenault to get his shit together again (record time for him, I think). Ameliance has, of course, been quietly pushing him in that direction, but he finally goes to speak with Alphinaud alone and yes, there are a hundred things he wants to say and ask.

But in the end that's his son, and that's the most important thing of all. It's not as the love suddenly left. There's just thirty years worth he wasn't able to share, and plenty of regrets that his son could have died without him saying so many things he ought to have. So he does. Well, he gets started anyway.

The scene, I think, culminates in tears shed and a strong embrace, finally fully mourning what was lost and reveling in the knowledge there is still plenty of time left.

Thereafter, he still slips sometimes, catches himself in a fit of melancholy or taken aback by his sons new capabilities or appearance (particularly when Alisaie is there to really enhance the difference), but gradually their relationship grows closer than ever. Like Ameliance he wants to support him as much as he can, and focuses on the immense pride he feels to know his son grew so well.

There is (ideally), I think, a mostly ego-less parental relief to see your child succeed. To think, I don't know what I did, right or wrong, big or small, and I know I made mistakes, but I'm so glad you are you. Whatever else, his son has adapted, thrived, and continues to be such a deeply good person, unchanged by what he has endured in the most important ways, and that makes it all a little easier to accept.

(It was an emotional few days in the Leveilleur Estate :'D Painfully, Alphinaud kind of anticipated all of this. He didn't hold it against him, he was just so happy they were all alive and the same as he remembered and awhiugahege his relief knowing he hadn't left his parents for untold years never knowing what happened and grieving him!!!)

[chronologically-challenged]

Everything around the Isabeau confession is so well written.

Firstly, the set up. When you're playing the game, killing the King is just a vague goal. A natural one! But other than the vague desire to hit an end point, there isn't really a strong emotional reason compelling the player forward. But Isabeau!!! Telling you he will tell you something once you beat the King!!! That!!! That is a tangible goal to lean onto especially over time as you get more and more endeared to the whole party. Even if you're not aware of it being a love confession, getting to Isabeau to hear what he has to say is still a compelling reason get to the end.

And if you're Aware of how these things go for stories like these, you may also say, "Well shit, we're not gonna get a confession until the end of the game, are we?"

Second, the interruptions. The order of the interruptions are so quietly brilliant. I can't get over it. Bonnie interrupting first is such an excellent choice. You know Bonnie!!! Bonnie has been jumping into conversations all game so far. So interrupting Isabeau doesn't seem all that out of place. Then Mirabelle interrupts next time. And you go, okay. Thats two of three.... but surely Odile won't interrupt, right? By this point, the player has seen Odile tease Isabeau multiple times about him liking Siffrin, so surely she won't interrupt... right? Right??? But she does. And despite it being obvious that she would, the player is still left in tension if she would.

The way things are set up, there's a plausible deniability each time. You don't expect the first interruption, Bonnie naturally would interrupt so Mirabelle could be surprising, and Odile interrupting feels so outside of what she'd usually do that you don't expect it.

And yet!!!! Saying all this!!! This is very tropey!!! Very time loop tropey!!! Stopping people from messing things up so you can have your moment is quintessential time loop tropes and yet!!! It doesn't feel tropey due to good characterization and story structure.

(And if you do realize that all three are going to interrupt from the beginning, you get a wave of DREAD when you realize that you're going to be here. Again and again. That you have to beat the King again and again and again... and as you watch the confession fizzle, seeing the Head Housemaiden there, despite Siffrin's happy demeanor, you can't help but feel it all about to crash down before it even happens. In that moment you have a taste of what the game is about to put you through).

Third, the family quests. I have two points here. Firstly, "yelling at your screen like it's a telenovela" is the best summary of my feelings on the stargazing scene. Even if you KNOW Isabeau isn't going to confess until the end of the game bc that's how these things go, it won't happen until the end because that's how good writing works, You Still Want It To Happen. So Badly. You want Isabeau to confess to Siffrin!!! You want that tension to release!!! But you have to watch and see that perfect confession slip away every time and it hurts to watch, especially if you do the quests multiple times. Second point is the fact you can't continue the Isabeau confessions on a family run kills me. It's so good. Like you're never going to get everything in one go no matter what you do so you have to pick and choose. And!!! That plays into Siffrin feeling like he's manipulating Isabeau!!!

Of course Siffrin isn't actually manipulating Isabeau but when you're so aware of what you're doing and how events could have played out, it's difficult not to see a situation where you changed the outcome as manipulation. Which... of course leads us to Siffrin's feelings at the end of trying to stop the interruptions...

Fourth, Isabeau stopping himself when confessing. It hurts so good. Idk just. Denying the player that payoff. Denying Siffrin that moment of confession. Because really Siffrin didn't learn the lesson needed to actually get this moment of vulnerability between the two of them. It's such a genius choice that brings that awful dread and hopelessness. And in the end, I suppose all five of them stop the confession from happening because from that point onward, Siffrin interrupts the confession every time. Siffrin doing everything they can to get what they want only to accept that they're never going to get it. Never CAN get this because he doesn't deserve it.

Finally, bad touch. People have talked about bad touch enough, so I dont need to go too far with it. I will say I appreciate how much it doubles down on subverting the "romancing someone in a time loop" narrative. These loops while in some ways made Siffrin more perceptive, they're also PAINFUL. They mess with his head, lean towards making worse and worse decisions, and a large part of that is his role in his family's lives. Especially with Isabeau!!! So yeah. Of course the surprise kiss doesn't go well. Especially with the context that Isabeau doesn't think Siffrin wants to be touched let alone kissed? It ends in disaster just like most of the sidequests do.

In general, the ongoing Isabeau plot is very well implemented. The seeds for it are planted immediately, and it takes a lot of commitment to see all the parts of it. As a result, unless you try to do a ton of runs in act 3 immediately just to get the confession, it's a very slow burn part of the story, doing well to parallel Siffrin's mental state and the growing hopelessness in the loops. It grounds the story in a tangible goal from the beginning and in many ways, once you get to the end of it, get to bad touch, you're left bereft. Something... lost after you spent so much time being aware of Isabeau. That tangible feeling that you're slowly running out of things to do, of ways to spend these two days.

(And of course, then you have act 6 confession, and the pure relief, the joy in finally having the confession after it being set up from act 1. Siffrin doesn't need to reciprocate for it to have its impact. Something has CHANGED they have changed. And finally FINALLY after all this time, the moment can happen. And it's beautiful).

[hibernating-stag]

It's definitely more building on the events of my fic than anything that implied in canon, but I still really like the idea that Robo-Ky and Venom were living in a skeleton of an apartment while the bakery was taking off and it slowly gets filled with more furniture and personal effects as time goes on.

I think it might take a bit for it to properly sink in that the bakery someone else's home that they happen to live in. It's theirs and theirs to do what they want with it and that gets reflected in how it looks, yk (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ?

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Sorry if you've already talked about this but with Maria being deceased, who do you pair Shadow with in the present? (I've mostly been focused on your sontails content so I don't know if you have any other favourite pairings.)

It's no problem!

As for Shadow, it really just depends on the question. For ships with him in general (aside from Shadow/Maria of course), I really like Shadow/Mephiles, Shadow/Tails, Shadow/Sonic, Shadow/Knuckles, Shadow/Silver, Shadow/Omega, Shadow/Commander, Shadow/Infinite, etc. I...ship him with a lot of people😂

But in terms of Shadow's future (like, the kind of person I could see him staying with given the present state of canon) the pool really dwindles for me. If we're going as close to canon as possible, I really think that Team Dark is a great place for Shadow to be. While Shadow/Omega is the only angle that I explicitly ship, I really love this trio's general relationship. They're enablers for each other, but they're also good for each other too. They trust each other. They care for each other.

If we step a bit farther away from canon, I can see him having something casual with Tails. Maybe not a commited "we're settling down" relationship, but definitely the kind of thing where Shadow can confide in him when he needs, and Tails does damage control/provides him funding without Shadow knowing. There's also something interesting about the idea/potential headcanon that Tails' home/lab is always open whenever Shadow needs it too, just like Sonic, just that Sonic isn't aware of this. I also happen to be into aus where Tails is essentially if Maria was (1) trans and (2) "her" personality/consiousness was essentially uploaded into/copied into a mobian body as a failsafe (in the event that she's dying and Gerald can't save Maria as he'd planned). Something like that kind of reveal would add another layer to Shadow and Tails' relationship (particularly increased softness and protectiveness from Shadow's end), while also providing some delicious angst. Under that kind of outcome (depending on the circumstances and how it turns out), I can definitely see Sonic and Shadow ending up having to share Tails (a scenario called "this is how sonadails can still win"😂)

And my final leaning, is probably Shadow/Commander (Abraham Tower). I only got into this one recently, but there's just something to me about the idea of Shadow (who'd never really reached out before) ending up finally taking that step to hang out with Abe (since they are the last living people who knew Maria). Like the Tails one, this answer is more self indulgent, but I like the idea of these two bonding over Maria and eventually coming to find comfort in each other through this. I haven't decided whether it's a funnier situation for Abe to cheat on his wife with an anthropomorphic hedgehog as his lover, or for Shadow and Abe to start reconciling and building bridges of the heart while Abe is going through a quiet divorce. I couldn't see them settling down together and building a life together or anything, but I could see Shadow having something committed yet casual with Abe, where he pops into Abe's life kind of whenever he feels like. And Abraham, who is living and organizing life largely normally, leaves his home open for Shadow (and is probably secretly not so secretly jealous of the idea that Shadow might have something going on with other people lol)

So yeah. Tl;dr: I ship Shadow with a lot of people. Realistically, I think no matter his romantic prospects it's good for him to remain part of Team Dark for the forseeable future and for them to continue getting closer with each other. If we step into self indulgence area I can't see him settling down with anyone per se (or not easily), but I personally can see him having a casual relationship (more of a friends who happen to have benefits) with Tails or Abrabam Tower

ㅤ

Thank you for the ask btw, anon! If you do end up having any other questions re: my ships or any explanation you'd like to hear out of me, or anything else, feel free to shoot me another ask🥰💖

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[kimstills]

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

[heartyluv]

Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington, who has a very “in name only” relationship with his parents, the people who claim they love him lots but have simply given him cash for his last six birthdays without bothering to send a card. 

Steven Harrington, who lost his connection to the only adults in his life who actually parented him when he had his final fight with Tommy and Carol-- not that they ever really did that much. Having an adult put a bandaid on his knee and complimenting him for being tough was plenty enough. 

Steve Harrington, who drove Dustin and co. to the Byers house that one Christmas and was told by Hopper not to come in; that Joyce was still mad at him about the ‘demodog in the fridge’ and figured his exclusion was fair--it wasn’t like Hopper actually liked him. Joyce certainly had no reason to. It wasn’t like he was doing anything for Christmas anyways. 

Steve Harrington, who is fairly certain Robin’s parents have clocked her as queer but who still treats him in that careful way many parents do when he’s hanging around their daughter. There’s a barrier there, in the way of firm handshakes and “get her back safe”’s that keep things formal. (It’s never bothered him before, and he swears it doesn’t bother him now.) 

Steve Harrington, whose relationships with adults are defined by words like “networking”, “proper connections”, “favors”, and “finances”, who has at best been treated like a miniature version of his father and at worst as a spoilt moron, who encounters Wayne Munson and has no idea what to do with the man. 

Wayne Munson, who asks him actual questions about his life. Who asks him to watch the game with him. Who calls him “boy” and “son” in ways that sound affectionate and not frustrated. Wayne, who shoos him away from the dishes and compliments his cooking, who has invited Steve over when Eddie isn’t even home.

Steve Harrington, who keeps apologizing to Eddie because “I’m not trying to steal your Uncle man, I promise.” and doesn’t believe Eddie when the latter just laughs at him.

(“You can’t steal Wayne, Steve.” Eddie says with a snicker, when he finally figures out what Steve is apologizing for.  The guy apologizes a lot for things that make no sense, it’s a bad habit Eddie’s working on him with. “Though I do believe he has been trying to steal you.” 

“Oh.” This does not relieve Steve. In fact, this seems to make him more nervous looking, which Eddie does not want. 

“I uh. I don’t want to come between you guys so I guess we can just hang at my house…?” The voice he trails off with is downright painful for Eddie to hear, and he’s already slashing his hand in the air in a wild ‘No’ before Steve can even finish speaking.

“Dude you’re fine. I’m glad you guys are getting along! Wayne needs someone to talk sportsball with and clearly so do you because you keep trying to talk about it to anyone who will listen.”

“I guess if you’re alright with it…”) 

Steve Harrington, who allows himself to be adopted by the Munsons much in the way a feral cat lets itself become domesticated, and who starts looking at Wayne like the man hung the moon. 

Wayne Munson, who is referred to by Steve as “Dad” exactly once, and feels so fucking happy about it he misses the panic attack Eddie has to talk Steve through. 

He also misses that that is the moment when Steve accidentally confesses his feelings to Eddie in the Munson’s (new) cramped bathroom, on grounds that “I can’t date you and also call Wayne dad like that, that’s weird! Isn’t that weird!? It feels weird!” 

(“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, trying not to smile and failing entirely. “I get what you’re saying, but I think in your panic you missed something kinda key, there.”) 

Steve Harrington, who gets himself an entire family in the end (and gets to both call Wayne “dad” and Eddie as his boyfriend, without issue, because “we’re not related babe, you can call your inlaw whatever you want.” 

“Now who's skipping steps? When did we get married?”

“The very second it’s legal, that’s when.”) 

--and has never been happier in his life.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[lovscb97]

— stray kids links [hyung line]

tags: hyung line!stray kids x fem!reader, established relationship, rough sex, unprotected sex (plz wrap it before u tap it), creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, mild dacryphilia, begging, use of collars/leashes, spanking, strength kink, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting, car sex, slight exhibitionism, slight choking, use of nicknames (baby, princess, angel, kitten, etc), degradation (slut, whore, etc), dirty talk, edging, overstimulation, etc

wc: 2.73k

add. notes: hai …. sorry i made this post instead of giving u guys nerd!chan pt. 2 I FUCKIN SWEAR IT’S COMING but it’s just taking the piss out of me n i needed this out for a new post. anyways plz dni if u r a minor like i mean that w my whole chest n also lmk if some of the links stop working or if u can’t see them idk what i can do abt that . but at least i will be aware LMFAOOOOO yea anyways enjoy :3

maknae line ver.

. . .

⥽ … BANG CHAN: 

link one.

chan is packing. he is absolutely packing to the point you felt like he was going to tear your womb apart when you first got intimate with him, his thick cock stretching you out past your limits as fresh sobs fell from your mouth. since then, he's trained you to take him with enough prep, always making sure to milk at least two orgasms from you before he even thinks about letting his dick near your pussy regardless of how hard it might be throbbing. that wait becomes worthwhile though when he finally sinks inside of you, dirty words and throaty groans rambled in your ear as he releases himself deep inside once he's reached his peak. he loves the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in, never leaving you alone until he's dumped his load empty.

"fuck, baby. how are you so tight?" chan hisses incredulously, wet thumb still circling your clit as you shake in his hold. you're extremely sensitive at this point, twitching from the slightest touch after having cum for the third time, but the only thing in your mind right now is your boyfriend breeding you, the request made obvious with how you tighten your legs around his waist to pull him in. "cum in me, daddy. please!" you plead, teary eyes blinking up at chan whose orbs roll to the back of his head at your keen expression. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's shooting ropes of hot cum inside you, gripping himself to ensure he stays in place. you sigh in content at the warm liquid flooding you, and chan just smiles tiredly, leaning in to sweetly kiss you. "i love you, precious girl." he whispers, resting his body on top of you to keep you plugged up for the rest of the night.

link two.

you're chan's favourite destress toy, that much is obvious. every time he comes home from a long day at work, he knows it'll be worthwhile because you'll be there waiting with open arms and your wet hole longing to be filled up. he'll even take you right then and there in the living room sometimes, making sure everyone around you two knows exactly whose name you're screaming. certain days when he's had it particularly bad though, he'll collar you up and attach a leash to it that he can pull back on, bending you over with your ass up in the air as he slams himself into you repeatedly. it gives him immense pride to have that sense of control over you, to be able to manoeuvre you into whatever position he desires. if he's feeling especially mean, he'll edge you until you're crying into the sheets, cooing at how fucked out you look, knowing he's the only one who can make you feel that way.

"please.. i wan' cum, please." you slur out mindlessly, drool dripping down your mouth as chan slowly drags his cock in and out of you, its mushroom tip pressing deliciously against that spot inside. your boyfriend just chuckles from behind you, his hand yanking on the leash that's tied to your collar which makes you lean back in an instant. his hand sneaks down to grip himself as he pulls out for the nth time, and you whine at the loss of fullness in you, bottom lip jutting out as he slaps the head of his cock against your clit. "yeah, princess? you wanna cum? wanna cum all over daddy's dick?" he mocks you, laughing sadistically when you desperately nod your head. he continues to rub up your little nub, and you're soon about to fall over the edge, gratitude on your lips when he suddenly stops. "oh, baby, you're not cumming that easily tonight." chan growls, causing you to shiver under his hold as he pushes you back onto the bed. it looks like you're in for a long night.

⥽ … LEE MINHO: 

link one.

you love pissing minho off. it's one of the little things in life that gives you so much pleasure, aside from when your boyfriend fucks you, of course. minho, on the other hand, doesn't take lightly to your teasing at all. on days where you're acting out by wearing revealing clothes in front of his friends or sitting too close to one of them for his liking, he'll drag you out with some lame excuse and a clenched jaw, mumbling something about how you're both going home now. he doesn't even care that you're probably smug by the end of it, because that feeling of triumph soon dissipates when he has you bent over his lap, veiny hands kneading the plush of your ass before he's landing a harsh smack on it. he'll spank you and make you count your punishment, and if you lose track, he'll just have to start all over again.

"fucking slut." minho tsk's, cold fingers running themselves against the bruised skin of your butt. he takes a moment to admire his work, tracing the red imprints of his hand on your ass and even the outline of your white panties, which are absolutely soaked by now. "min, please! 'm sorry, it won't happen again." you cry out, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes although you can't see it. another series of repeated spanks land on you, and you yelp in response, legs kicking up from the stinging impact. your body burns by now, every touch minho provides it leaving behind a searing sensation, but you know your boyfriend is far from done with you. "we both know that's a damn lie." he clicks his tongue. "you're always acting out, so it seems like i gotta really start putting you in your place, hm?" you're about to protest when he smacks again, drawing a sob from you; the sound goes straight to his core. he licks his lips, a smirk stretched across them as he readies his palm once more. "now, stop crying and start counting, whore."

link two.

it's no secret that minho is a certified ass man. he loves you, but god does he love your ass just as much. everything about it sends him reeling, from the way it's accentuated in the clothes you wear, to the plump flesh of it that jiggles every time he's got you on your hands and knees. you'd argue he puts you in this position at least once every time you two fuck because knowing your boyfriend, he just wants to watch the way you push back on him when he's bottomed out inside you. he'll give you a few smacks here and there on it too, kneading the skin in his palms before he's snapping his hips into yours. most of the time, he'll refuse to cum inside of you, instead pulling out just before he tips over the edge to release all over your behind and back. you're not complaining though, you love the feeling of his seed dripping over it just as much as he does.

"mm, shit, you look so good right now, kitten." minho groans from behind you, cockhead practically battering your cervix with the way he's shoving himself in and out of you. your whines are high in pitch with how he's fucking you, and you stutter to speak when you try and respond. "y-you say that every time." you eventually manage to heave out, and minho chuckles breathlessly, fingers gripping the flesh of your ass in them as he bites his lip, moaning lowly at the way it bounces back against his dick. "can't help it. you're too hot." he grunts, pistoning his hips at a frenzied pace that knocks the breath out of your lungs. it only takes a matter of minutes before you're both cumming, loud noises filling the room as minho pulls out just in time so he can splatter his release all over your backside. his thumb dips into the seed that now decorates your ass, and he swipes to collect it, pushing it into your mouth. a grin decorates his face as you suck on it. "atta girl."

⥽ … SEO CHANGBIN: 

link one.

changbin is a gym fanatic through and through, and with his rigorous work out routine eventually came his well-built physique, chiselled and bulked up to the point you think you would barely recognise his past self. it refects in the way he walks, talks and holds himself; he loves his strength and he loves showing it off, especially to you. that's why every time you're both entangled in his sheets, it results in him urging you to stand up before hoisting you in his arms. some days he'll hold you in them and bounce you up and down his cock, relishing in the way your cries echo through the room alongside the slapping of skin. other days, he'll toss you around and headlock you as he pounds you from behind, groaning filth in your ear as he pushes you to the edge of tipping. either way, you love what he does, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"hng, so strong, binnie!" you wail, hands clutching your boyfriend's broad back and shoulders as your nails dig into his soft skin, sure to leave marks the next day. changbin just grunts at your sounds of pleasure, too immersed in fucking you onto his cock in your current position. he's got you clinging onto him for dear life as he enters you repeatedly, pride blooming in his chest when you acknowledge how hot it is that he can pick you up so effortlessly. "y-yeah, pretty? like when binnie fucks you like this?" he stutters slightly, too wrapped up in how your pussy clings to his girth. you nod your head rapidly, babbling about how close you are and how hard you're going to cum, spraying all over your boyfriend in due time when he slams into that spot hidden inside you. you're not even given a chance to recover afterwards, changbin manhandling you onto the bed on your stomach before he's sinking back inside. "just a little more, baby. binnie's gotta cum too, okay?" he's whining, and you keen despite the sting of overstimulation rushing through, not knowing you're going to end up letting him use you for another hour.

link two.

you've always known changbin is a romantic at heart, his soft-spoken nature despite the daunting aura he gives off due to his frame often sending your brain spiralling. it gives you whiplash, the way he treats you. some days he'll fuck you like he hates you, growling dirty comments to your face and spitting in your mouth as you shake through an orgasm. other days, however, he'll craddle you in his arms, caging your body underneath him as he rocks his hips against yours in deep, fluid motions. one of his favourite things to do during these instances is hold your hand. he loves the feeling of your fingers lacing through his, holding onto him as he delivers sharp strokes inside of you. something about it feels so raw, like both your souls are intertwined in one big hug. he'll kiss you dizzy, burying his face into your neck as you both whimper 'i love you's' to each other.

"baby.. fuck, baby." changbin moans, his breath fanning hot against the sticky skin of your shoulder from where he's nosed himself in. his hand clings to yours amidst his movements, and you mewl loudly when he thrusts particularly deep inside of you. "i love you. love you so much, my baby. my pretty, perfect angel." your boyfriend pants, head moving to bring his lips to yours in a messy meeting. it's filled with so much love and care, your mouths moulding perfectly against one another's as you exchange kisses. your stomach feels like it's filled with butterflies, but you're not sure if that's because of how fucking in love you are with him or because of changbin rocking his hips into you. either way, you pull apart from him, trying to say it back in the middle of your noises of pleasure. "l-love you so much, binnie. fuck, you always give it to me so good." you praise, and changbin visibly shivers, burying his face back where it was between your neck to continue making love to you until at last, you're both coming undone together.

⥽ … HWANG HYUNJIN: 

link one.

one thing you adore about your precious lover boy is his mouth. his pretty, plump lips that kiss your tears away, or his dangerously addictive tongue that's always finding it's way between your thighs when he feels like it, which is basically all the time. hyunjin can't help that you taste so sweet, or how you're always so perfectly wet for him by the time he's journeyed down to your legs where you truly need him. he'll spend hours buried between them, parting you with his slender fingers and holding you open for him to lick into. he finds extreme satisfaction in the way you push back against his body when he's having a go at you, too weak to move him in your futile efforts of running away from his mouth once he's had you cum twice without stopping. he'll continue anyways though, because to him, there's no better treat after a long day.

"hyunie, s-slow down." you whimper, the lewd suckling sounds of your clit being wrapped in your boyfriend's mouth resonating through the room as he messily eats you out. his movements are filled with fervour and desperation, something you'll never get used to experiencing despite how long you've been together. each time almost always feels like you're starring in some obscene porno with the way hyunjin always drawls out the most nasty sounds from you. this instance is no different either, because before you can even react, you're spraying droplets of clear liquid on his face, your boyfriend groaning into you at the feeling of you squirting on him. he cleans it all up with great pleasure, breathing heavily as he finally rises from his position to slot himself between your legs. his lips find yours in a dirty kiss, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. "you're insatiable." you murmur when he pulls away, and hyunjin chuckles, mouth hovering over your jaw as you tremble at his next words. "not my fault my baby's got the tastiest cunt in the world."

link two.

hyunjin is a freak through and through. you've known for a while that he gets off on all sorts of things, and one of them is primarily the risk of being sneaky in public, regardless if it's planned or not. there have been one too many occasions of the latter where you've both been out on a date together with you looking a little too good, too good to the point that the waiter starts flirting with you and leaving hyunjin seething. it's only high time after that until he's dragging you out of the restaurant and into his backseat, too lazy to even undress properly before he's sinking inside of you to fuck you as he sees red. he'll get so possessive too, groaning how you're his and his only whilst pulling you back by your hair. it's true that your boyfriend is a big lover, but when times come down to this, he'll drill into you like he absolutely loathes you.

"dirty slut, letting me fuck you where anyone can see. you'd even let that server find you like this, wouldn't you?" hyunjin grits out, his sweat dripping onto your back as he shoves his long length in you. you're sure the windows are fogged up by now, his car rocking with his movements, but neither of you care about that. "n-no, only want you to see. just you, hyune." you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the way his cock slams in you with each thrust. your boyfriend lets out a low moan at your words, yanking you back by your hair to lick at your neck. "that's right, princess. only i get to look at this pussy, hm? only i can f-fuck it right, yeah?" he grunts, slender fingers coming up to wrap around your throat as you nod shakily, taking a deep breath as hyunjin squeezes slightly. "gonna cum in this cunt and fill you up with my babies so everyone knows who you belong to. then, i'm taking you straight home to fuck you full again. got that?"

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[tojicide]

⠀ REMIND ME! ☆ SYLUS.

summary. six months after your breakup with sylus, news broke of you moving on, which is something he simply cannot allow—not if he can help it.

warnings. fem!reader, infidelity, pet names, established history, hair pulling, face sitting, oral ( fem. receiving ), doggy style, missionary, creampie, aftercare. wc. 6.1k.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Once news broke the N109 Zone of a prospering romance in his district, Sylus couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. It was when he heard whispers of your name adjacent to another man’s that he began to listen.

He was out the front door of his home within a second, his leg swinging over his bike before Luke and Kieran could have a say in the matter.

The two men stood side by side, shouting a frantic ‘it’s normal to move on, man!’ and a ‘it’s been six months!’ from the doorstep as they watched their white haired boss speed away.

Sylus was sure that if he gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle any tighter, they’d certainly break off.

If he was willing to harm his most prized possession over the pure frustration you’ve stirred within him, you should consider yourself the most lucky yet damned woman alive.

He liked to think he was headstrong, but when it came to you, he lost all of his sense. All rationale was long forgotten. You consumed him and he gladly let you, because all in all, it truly was a blessing and a curse.

For how much he loved to put the pedal to the metal, he’s never once arrived at your apartment as fast as he has just now. He didn’t even bother to properly leave his bike in between the lines of a parking spot before he was practically flying towards your front door, knocking rapidly until you answered.

Surprise is etched into your facial features as you crack the door open just enough to see who your uninvited guest was, but a strong hand pushed it open until it was agape. “What the fu—”

“Where is he?” he cuts you off with a question, his red eyes scanning your cozy living room like a predator on the prowl.

“Excuse you, I— what? Where is who?” Your questions stammer out as your brain tries to catch up to the scene in front of you.

Sylus forces himself to turn around and face you, realizing that his erratic behavior was likely confusing you. As expressed, his common sense was truly slipping from him. God, he’s missed you, and he absolutely hates the look you’re giving him. It was one that made him feel like a pure inconvenience to you (even though he certainly was behaving like it).

“Your… boyfriend,” he clarifies, almost choking on the word. The fact that the title was no longer his was already a problem in and of itself, but losing it to another man was something he simply could not allow. “Where is he?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as you give him a once over. “You think that you’re going to barge into my apartment and pummel the ever living shit out of my boyfriend?”

“More or less,” he answers, his long strides continuing a bit further down your hallway. “Preferably more.”

You scoff, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watch your ex–boyfriend scope out your apartment that he’s all too familiar with.

“He isn’t here.”

“So I’ve gathered,” he replies, his head poking into your bedroom.

Sylus did his best to sound nonchalant, as aloof as can be, though his heart rate was through the roof. He saw no signs of any male presence—no messily discarded clothes, no misplaced shoes, no second toothbrush in the bathroom—which meant that your relationship wasn’t as serious as he’d imagined.

And boy, was he relieved to figure that much out.

You straighten off the wall as he enters your bedroom, hurriedly walking behind him as you speak, “Y’know, since your objective for coming here can’t be achieved, you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Did I say that was my only objective?” he simply asks, eyes scanning your bedroom.

A bit had changed since he’d last been in here. You changed your comforter to a floral pattern, and you even matched the drapes to the shade of your bedding. Your attention to detail was something he admired about you, and his attention to detail was something you used to love, though as his eyes fell to your open underwear drawer—you’re growing to hate it. A lot.

“Get out of there!” you exclaim, rushing to shove it closed, only to catch his slender finger in the crossfire.

He winces slightly, lifting his already bruising finger to your line of vision. “You’ve wounded me, sweetie. Kiss it better?”

You scoff, slightly pushing his hand away from your face. In any other context, you would have apologized, but given the fact that Sylus had entered your apartment without invitation and threatened to harm your boyfriend within five minutes of his arrival was enough to make you think that this made the two of you almost even.

A small smirk tugs at Sylus’s lips as he presses his finger to his tongue, soothing the stinging that you caused. Your eyes linger on his mouth for a bit longer than they should, and if he noticed (which he certainly did), he didn’t say anything.

“I see you went shopping,” he mumbles, his eyes falling to your now closed underwear drawer. “That’s a shame, baby. A damn shame.”

You can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth. “Why’s that?”

“I hate the idea of another man seeing what’s mine,” Sylus answers, tilting his head to the side as he gives your body an agonizingly slow once over, “in such pretty fabric, at that.”

Heat rushes to your face at his implication, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable or if you’re flustered by his forwardness. You figure it’s a mixture of both, but you mask it with an annoyed huff.

“I can do what I want,” you refute, crossing your arms over your chest. “And if what I want is to buy panties that you’ll never have the privilege of seeing me wear, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head with the slightest smirk curving upwards on his lips. He finds your attitude to be just as adorable as it is frustrating. With the way you look, arms tightly crossed over your chest with the tiniest wrinkle in between your eyebrows, he’d liken you to an angry kitten.

“If you’re trying to rile me up, you’re succeeding,” he states, drumming his fingers on your dresser.

Your eyes flit away. “I’m not trying to do anything. In fact, I want nothing to do with you.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It’s the first time he’s looked remotely upset with you from the moment he arrived. “Your boyfriend may fall for this little act of yours, but I won’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sylus straightens up, his tall frame towering over you. You almost feel antsy under his gaze, but you do your best to hide it.

“I am what your heart truly desires,” he quietly murmurs, his finger tracing from the middle of your collarbones to the valley of your breasts. “And you can lie to him, you can even lie to yourself—but you cannot lie to me. I can see your deepest desires, remember?”

Betrayal is your body’s first instinct. Your breath hitches in your throat the moment the pad of his index finger runs across your skin, and you physically have to fight off a whine from escaping your lips.

In an attempt to salvage the situation, you straighten up, glancing towards your bedroom door. “That’s… bullshit, Sylus. Get out of my head.”

“It’s nothing of the sort,” he replies with a much gentler tone than the one he possessed prior. “And I’ll do no such thing. Your mind is my favorite place to be.”

He studies his reddened finger for a moment, silently deciding to steer the conversation from its more serious direction. “It still won’t feel better until it gets a kiss from its favorite girl, you know.”

Against your better judgment, your eyes betray you by studying the reddened pad of his finger. It shouldn’t be as enticing of a view as it is. You find it to be almost criminal.

“You can lose that finger for all I care,” you scoff, trying not to remember how good it used to feel inside of you.

“So brash.” Sylus forces a pout on his lips, though it doesn’t last long. He presses a kiss to his own finger before he extends his arm to rest on the edge of your dresser, keeping you caged against your drawers.

“You’re awfully lucky that I’m a forgiving man,” he murmurs, his red eyes trained to yours. “You can do almost anything to me and I’d allow it.”

Judging by the way your expression lights up, that seems to give you an idea.

“Really?” you inquire, narrowing your eyes. “Say, if I punched you square in your face, would you allow it?”

“I’m not opposed to finding out,” he answers, his eyelids fluttering as he continues to drink in your beauty. “You know I love it when you’re rough with me.”

That comment forces a flush to your face, and you almost have to pinch yourself to keep your mind from bringing forward all of the memories that proved just how true that statement was.

It infuriates you how easily he could get a reaction out of you, no less than six months after you broke up with him. Perhaps that was why, in a split second decision (one that you’re hardly aware you’re making), your fist goes flying towards his face.

Sylus firmly stops your wielding hand before it can make contact with his cheek. His fingers unwind your fist and bring your hand close, allowing him to press a few chaste kisses to your knuckles.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the kisses he’s peppering along your palm and wrist. “So, so beautiful.”

Only he would say such a thing after you attempted to inflict bodily harm upon him. You wish you could rationalize his behavior, but you can’t—that’s just Sylus.

Your body betrays you in every way, shape, and form. Your face is flushed, your eyes are half lidded, and the mere contact of his lips on your knuckles is enough for butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

Grasping onto the last bit of common sense you have, you pull your hand from his grasp.

“It’s time for you to go,” you insist, beginning to slide against the dresser to escape his gaze.

Sylus allows you to create a bit of distance between the two of you, lifting his arm up from your dresser to let you walk away. The last thing he wants is to make you feel suffocated—the very reason you broke up with him in the first place.

He tried to do better, but when it came to you, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t an animal, though. He loved you more than words could ever describe, and he’d allow you anything you wanted. And if physical space was what you wanted, he’d grant it to you.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he quietly says, his voice carrying an unforeseen vulnerability to it, “but I can’t do what you’re asking of me. I can’t let you give yourself to a man who doesn’t deserve you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “How can you be so sure he doesn’t deserve me?”

“I know you, baby. That’s how.”

A beat of silence passes, and he conjures up the courage to continue. “And I’m positive there isn’t a single soul who could possibly deserve your favor,” Sylus reasons, loosely crossing his arms, his toned biceps showing through the sleeves of his black button–up shirt. “Not even myself. I’m man enough to recognize that.”

His answer catches you off guard, but you do your best to maintain your front. You don’t want him to see how his words seem to squeeze at your heart.

“Then why are you here?” you genuinely ask.

Sylus knows he’s backed himself into a corner, and contrary to what you might think, he’d intended to do just that. He wants you to give him the green light to speak every word that he’s longed to say to you from the moment he’d seen you last, and now that you have, the floodgates are open.

“I’m selfish,” he admits, taking a tentative step towards you. “I’m drunk on you, and I can’t bear the thought of sobering up, even after all this time. It’s unfair, it’s horrible, it’s cruel—I know this, sweetie. But… I find my serenity in your eyes, and with you gone, my life is purgatory. The confines of hell must be more pleasant than what it is that I feel when I’m without you.”

Internally, you’re floored. Gobsmacked, even. Externally, you’re looking at him with the same soft expression you’ve worn this entire time.

Met with your silence, Sylus begins to internally panic. He slowly takes a few steps towards you, and when you don’t attempt to maintain the distance between you, his hands move to cup your face.

“Rid me of this life,” he whispers, his mouth so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips. “I cannot go on, not without you beside me.”

You truly hate how easy it is for him to reduce you to nothing but putty. You have a new boyfriend, you’ve moved on, you’ve allowed the love that you and Sylus shared to be nothing more than history.

You wanted to believe that moving forward was the best thing you could do, but if that was true, why is it that your heart hadn’t felt full until you laid eyes on Sylus? It seems to beat differently, like it’s finally come back to life in his presence.

Noticing the softening of your eyes, Sylus can’t help himself. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, holding both of you there for a few seconds. The sheer tenderness of his action was enough to make you melt, and you were sure you would’ve if his hands on your face weren’t grounding you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, tilting your head up so that he can look into your eyes.

Sylus was never one for verbal affection (or being desperate for a woman’s favor) prior to you, but he’d make this exception a million times over if it meant he could have you however you’d let him.

You’ve nearly forgotten all of your allegiances, and you can’t even blame yourself for it. You know that indulging in him is like eating a forbidden fruit, and even then, you can’t forbid yourself from its taste—not when you know how sweet it is. What you feel goes beyond want; it’s pure, unadulterated need.

“No response for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. You carefully slide out of his grasp and sit on the edge of your bed, his eyes trailing you as you do so.

You’re a firm believer that nothing is real until you’ve said it out loud, Sylus is more than aware of that. He doesn’t want to push you too hard, too fast, too much, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

As you sit, your thighs naturally part and your skirt rides up just a bit, enough for the pink fabric clothing your pussy to be shown. That sight alone was able to elicit behavior that you’ve never once seen from Sylus.

“God, you are a privilege,” he murmurs, taking a few steps towards you. Without hesitation, he slowly descends to his knees before you, his hands trailing up your thighs. “Such a sight,” he adds his eyes flitting to the dampening fabric of your underwear, “such a beautiful sight.”

If his words weren’t enough, the sight of him kneeling in front of you was enough to make you faint. (Or scream. Or cum. Maybe all three at the same time, you’re not sure.)

“Allow me the night,” Sylus pleads, his desperate red eyes finally locking onto yours. His hand moves to brush your hair from your face, tucking it loosely behind your ear. “Just the night. One night to indulge you.”

Lying would be no use, all things considered. He’d already shamelessly eyed the needy area between your thighs, knowing that the arousal collecting there is for him. Your stomach swirls with a mixture of guilt and need, and you honestly feel like you’re in an impossible position.

“Sylus,” you breathe, your heartbeat thumping so hard that you’re surprised your chest hasn’t burst. “This is so wrong.”

He shakes his head as his large, gentle hands move to rest on your knees. “Your pleasure means more to me than a simple case of right and wrong.”

“I wish it was as simple as you make it seem,” you say, a long sigh leaving you.

“Can’t it be?” Sylus questions, his thumbs idly stroking your knees. “Allow me this one night to remind you of how I feel about you, how you feel about me. If you want me to leave you alone by the time morning comes, I will accept that with a smile.”

You’d like to imagine that you’re stronger than this, that the idea of a final night of lovemaking with your ex-boyfriend to get him out of your head for good isn’t appealing—but it is.

It’s something you’ve thought about before (in the dead of night with your hand stuffed down your shorts), but never did you think it could become a reality.

Only now, with him kneeling in front of you, it was.

“Okay,” you sheepishly murmur. “Remind me.”

You know this is absolutely horrible of you to do, but you can’t find the will to deny yourself this. As much as you tried to get Sylus out of your head, you never could. Not long enough for it to make a difference, anyway.

(Perhaps this, a final intimate night between the two of you, will be just what you need to move on for good.)

Sylus knows that his time with you is limited, but he plans to make it the best night of your existence.

(Perhaps if he can remind you of how much he’s willing to give, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you—you’ll change your mind.)

His large, strong hands trail up as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, pressing a few kisses to your calves and inner thighs. He presses a kiss to the fabric of your underwear, his tongue drawing out to taste the wet spot.

Sylus isn’t sure what’s come over him, but he honestly feels like he’ll either implode or cry at the sight of you right now. To have you again is something he’s dreamt about more than he’d like to admit, and he plans to show you just how much your absence has affected him as his fingers slide beneath your skirt to hook under the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Thank you,” he mutters against your skin, tugging the clothing piece down your legs. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters aloud the moment his eyes land on your heat.

He could seriously cum in his pants right now, and if he’s not careful, he will. His hands lock onto your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed to give him better access to your glistening cunt.

“Pussy’s all mine,” he breathes, licking a long stripe up your slit.

You would have replied if he hadn’t buried his face in between your thighs. His tongue laps at your wetness before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly at it with hollowed cheeks.

A cry leaves your lips at the sensation, your hand gripping onto his white hair as you revel in the feeling his tongue is giving you.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, his own moans rumbling into your cunt, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. Sylus could do this for days if you let him, but after not having you like this for so long, he can’t help himself from needing more.

Within moments, he’s slowly pushing you higher on your bed, still licking at your pussy until he’s physically unable to. He looks up at you with crazed eyes, licking his spit-slick lips as he kicks his shoes off.

“Sit on my face,” he murmurs, moving to lay on your bed. When he’s met with your hesitance, he’s grasping onto your arm to carefully pull you towards him. “I might die without it.”

You’ve never once seen a man so pussy drunk in your entire life, but you’re in absolutely no position to deny him. So, you move to hover above him, your hands resting on your headboard. You hear a satisfied moan beneath you, and he’s soon hooking his arms around your thighs.

“You won’t die without it,” you grumble. “In fact, you might die because of it. Suffocation—”

“Suffocation of this kind might be the best way to go,” he cuts you off, licking a faint swipe against your folds. “In fact, when we’re old and withered, it might be my last ask of you.”

Your face flushes, and you can feel heat rushing to both your cunt and your cheeks. Noticing the coy face you’re making, Sylus can’t help himself from laying a faint smack on your ass, squeezing its plushness as he stares up at you.

“For now, though,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want you to let go for me. Can’t have you dangling this pretty cunt in my face without letting me taste it.”

As you hesitantly begin to relax your thighs and lower on top of him, he lifts his head up to meet you halfway and gather your slick on his tongue.

“Very good, baby,” Sylus purrs, dropping his head back onto your sheets as he pulls your hips down the rest of the way, “now sit.”

When all of your weight crashes down on him, a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sheer passion behind the movements of his tongue. He almost seems to be more incentivized. His eyes flutter shut as he mouths at your pussy, the moans leaving his mouth in combination with the absolute filthy sounds of his tongue are enough to drive you insane.

Sylus feels like he’s finally left purgatory and has transcended into heaven. With his pretty girl on his face, taking her on his tongue, making the most beautiful little noises—he’s honestly never felt better.

(Well, there is that whole new boyfriend thing looming in the back of his mind, but he’s sure that you’ll take care of that once he’s done taking care of you.)

One of your hands leaves the headboard to grasp onto his hair, your eyes screwing shut as you rock your hips over his tongue. “Sylus,” you breathe out through a moan. “I’m— oh, shit—”

Sylus’s cock twitches as you moan his name, his eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands help to guide the rocking of your hips. With his other, he palms himself through his trousers, his mouth working tirelessly to make you feel good.

Even as self-admittedly selfish as he is, he can’t bear the idea of putting his pleasure above your own—even if the ache is physically eating away at him. With you writhing above him, the sounds you’re making, the look on your face, it’s all too much—even for him.

Your mouth lulls open as you let out the most beautiful whine he’s ever heard, and his tongue slows down, working you through your first orgasm of the night. He eagerly collects your juices with his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he finally presses a final kiss to your swollen clit.

“I can stay this way forever,” he says against your inner thigh, placing a kiss to your warm skin, “you and me,” he places another kiss, “together.”

You shift to lay beside him, out of breath and looking beautifully disheveled. Sylus licks his lips and lies starry–eyed beside you. Soon enough, a huff of laughter escaped his throat, realizing he might’ve said too much there.

Sylus turns his head to look at you. “Was that enough to get an ‘I miss you too’ out of that mouth of yours?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hand running over your face. “No,” you lie.

That was the best orgasm you’ve had since your breakup, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You’ve developed quite the attitude,” he muses, rolling on top of you. He slots his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “That boyfriend of yours must not fuck it out of you like he should,” he adds, the low volume of his voice rumbling against your skin as he kisses along your jaw, “like I can.”

Before you can think twice, you’re lifting your hips against the bulge in his pants, a soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the very prominent shape of his hardened cock. With a grunt, Sylus pushes your hips down, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs.

“Such a needy little thing,” he chastises, his hand moving to cup your mound. “First you’re insisting I leave, and now you’re hoping I’ll give you my cock. You’re sending me mixed signals here, sweetie.”

You’re seeing stars, and your hand grasps onto his wrist, feeling the way his muscles tense as he begins to toy with your clit.

“I want it,” you whine, your toes curling as the pad of his middle finger circles your entrance, “you’re… you’re being a tease.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, licking a long stripe up your neck. “If you want it bad enough, you’re going to have to prove it, baby.”

Your head tilts to the side as Sylus pulls away from your neck to look down at you. His fingers move to work at the button of your skirt, tugging it down your legs and tossing it onto the floor of your room.

“How?” you ask.

He presses his lips to yours as his hands tug up your shirt, breaking the kiss to carefully pull it over your head. His large hands palm at your breasts, bringing your perked nipples in between his fingers.

“Pick up the phone,” Sylus answers, releasing your breasts to sit up in front of you, his hands moving to undo his belt.

Your curiosity soon turns into something much more lustful as he pulls his trousers and boxers down his thighs. His shirt goes next, the articles of clothing decorating your floor. His cock looks even better than you remember, but he snaps his fingers in front of your face to gather your attention.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, shaking your head to snap yourself out of your trance.

“Pick up the phone,” he repeats, reaching to your bedside table to hand you your cell.

You take the device from him, looking at it with confusion. You were embarrassed that you hadn’t even noticed it ringing, far too distracted by the sight of him stroking his hand along his length, but your embarrassment soon turns into dread as you read the caller ID.

It is, of course, none other than your boyfriend.

“Sylus, that’s— that’s crazy,” you stammer out, looking between his eyes, his dick, and your phone.

He snickers, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands grasp onto the plush of your hips to pull your ass up. “What’s crazy is the fact that you expect me to fuck you without your boyfriend’s knowledge.”

“You’re above adultery?” you gasp out.

Sylus shakes his head, his hand moving to prod your entrance with the tip of his cock, his other hand grasping onto your hair to pull you back against his chest.

“Obviously not,” he replies, licking along the shell of your ear. “Just want to show him how beneath it you are.”

Your heart slams against your chest as he takes the device from you and answers the call, holding the phone to your ear.

“Let him hear,” he purrs, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. “The noises you make with my cock buried inside you are such a prize. It’d be a disservice to not share.”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as he tugs on your hair, tilting your head to give himself better access to your neck as he bottoms out inside of you. “Tell him what you’re up to, sweetie,” he simply says, sucking a faint mark onto your neck.

On the other end of the line, your partner begins to blab on about his day, though you’re hardly able to listen, not when Sylus is pushing his cock inside of you like a madman. Your body tenses as he stretches you out, the sensation forcing a moan out of your mouth, though the man on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, resting his chin on the crook of your shoulder to press an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “taking my cock so nicely. Missed this pussy so much.”

“—so then, I told him… wait. Are you with someone?”

Your heart rate skyrockets as Sylus draws his hips back only to pound the length of his cock inside of you. “Oh, fuck… y-yes,” you choke into the phone, almost breathless.

“Thank you for your confession, my dear,” Sylus teasingly remarks, knowing that your response was a reaction to how good he feels inside of you rather than an answer to your boyfriend’s question.

He presses a faint kiss to your shoulder as he thrusts into you again, using his grip on your hair to push you back onto your stomach. A hand smoothes over the curve of your back, his long fingers hooking around the plush of your hip to remind you that he’s still present despite the situation. He then brings the phone to his own ear, watching with a wide grin as you arch your back to take as much of his cock as you can.

“Our friend can’t talk right now,” he says into the receiver, grunting as your walls clench around him. “She’s gotten lost and found herself on my cock, which is such a positive turn of events, let me tell you,” the pace of his hips thrusting into you only seems to get more intense with each word he says, “considering it’s right where she belongs.”

“W-what? Who the fuck are you? I—”

“I can’t stay on the line to talk much either,” Sylus continues, his free hand grasping a bit tighter onto your hair as he tugs on it to fuck deeper and harder inside of you, his skin slapping against yours with each heavy thrust. “Have to make her cum for all the times you couldn’t.”

You’re lost in a whirlwind of sensations, your mouth gaped open as you moan out with each thrust he makes, your back arched as much as you could make it. You can feel a pool of warmth building inside of your lower stomach, and you let out a cry of pleasure.

You haven’t been fucked this good in, well… six months. That much is obvious to the both of you, given the way you’ve been losing your mind with each forceful push of his hips. He knows your body in ways you’ll never understand, and luckily for you, you don’t need to understand in order to receive the pleasure that he’s desperately trying to give you.

“Sylus!” you gasp out, serving as a warning for how close you already are.

“Mm, I have to go, duty calls,” Sylus says into the phone, releasing his grip on your hair to move his hand between your legs, two of his fingers circling your clit. “Call my woman again and I’ll kill you.”

Tapping the screen to end the call, he tosses your phone mindlessly, and it’s only when you hear it drop against the floor do you turn around to look at him.

“Sylus!” you scold.

He gives you a wry smile as he slowly pulls out of you, rolling you onto your back. “I’ll buy you a new one, pretty. Don’t worry.”

You open your mouth to protest, but when he slowly pushes his cock inside of you again, you’re hardly in the protesting mood at all.

Sylus towers over you, his forearm propping him up as he slowly fucks into you, his red eyes trained to yours. “God, baby, I’ve missed you.”

Almost instinctively, your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. There was a hidden intimacy of this position that you’ve always loved. He obliges to your request, resting his forehead on yours as he thrusts harder inside of you.

“You take me so well,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “So, so beautifully.”

You mewl at the softness of his praise, your eyes glossing over as he continues to fuck you into oblivion, your walls tensing around him. He hisses at the feeling, dipping his head to press a kiss on your cheek.

He can tell that you’re close, and he knows just what you need. He won’t give it to you so easily, though.

“Sweetie?” he breathes out.

You nod your head before breathlessly replying, “yeah?”

Sylus gives you a smirk as he raises his bruised finger to your lips. “Kiss it better. Let me use it on you.”

Protest is not on your agenda anymore, not by a long shot. You kiss the pad of his finger without hesitation, and you proceed to capture it with your mouth, your tongue soothing the bruising.

He smiles at the sight, a groan leaving his lips as he continues to thrust his cock inside of you. “So pretty, baby. God, you’re beautiful.”

Sylus retracts his finger from your mouth to bring it to your clit, his spit-slick finger rubbing it in beautiful, moan-earning circles. He watches as your eyes almost immediately haze over at the stimulation.

He lowers his head to suck on your nipple, his free hand palming at your other breast as means of stimulating you in any way he can. After a moment, he latches onto your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak.

“God, ah— Sylus!” you moan, your hands wrapping around his neck.

He nips at your breast before he pulls away, a guttural moan leaving his mouth as he feels you clench around his cock. “Going to come for me again, beautiful?”

You nod your head, rising up from the pillow to press a kiss on his lips, and his large hand moves to cup the back of your head as he kisses you through your orgasm. His fingers gently thread through your hair, giving you the best of both worlds.

“Cream my cock, baby. It’s all yours, always will be,” he mutters against your lips, his thrusts growing slower as he twitches inside of you.

Sylus breaks the kiss to look down at you, a heavy pant leaving him. “Where do you want me?” he breathlessly asks.

As if that were a question you ever responded differently to, he still needed to ask, even though you answered just the same. “In… in me.”

He nods his head as he thrusts inside of you a few more times, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek as he bottoms out inside of you, stuffing you full of his thick, white cum.

A moment passes in which the two of you simply pant breathlessly to each other, your sweaty foreheads pressed together. It was a beautiful scene by all measures.

“I missed you too,” you finally pant out, a smile breaking your lips. “I missed you a lot.”

He chuckles breathlessly at that. “I missed you even more, sweetie.”

Sylus presses a soft kiss on your cheek before he slowly pulls out of you, traveling slowly to your bathroom before returning with a damp towel. He settles in front of you again, using the warm towel to gently clean up the mess he’s made of you between your legs.

You stare at him with the most lovestruck eyes he’s ever seen, and it only makes him smile. “You tired, baby?” he lowly asks.

Nodding your head, you extend your arms to him, and he pulls you in without question. He lies down on his back, holding you against his chest. His large hand runs over your back while the other one tugs your blankets over the both of you, giving you a bit of warmth.

Not that he needed anything more than your presence. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, holding the woman that he loves, running his fingers over her hair just as he used to.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your ear, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. It’s almost concerning how much he loves you, but he can’t help it.

“I love you,” you lazily return the sentiment.

As you cuddle into his chest, you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up today, if he’d left you alone, if he let you move on.

You know it’s crazy to think about.

After all, it’s Sylus. Your Sylus. He’s the only person you’ve ever needed, and now that he’s reminded you of that, you won’t forget it.

note. thank you for reading! please interact if you enjoyed!! <3 i don’t even know what the hell this is—we have possessive, dominant, and soft sylus in one go. but hey, it works for me, so i hope it works for you. pls pls pls give me ideas to write more for this sexy man—i never get tired of him!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

“The Captain’s beloved…wait, what?!”

Capitano x Gender Neutral Reader one shot

Work count: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship

Rating: General Audiences

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: The fatui discover that their Captain does, in fact, have a life outside of work and gossip between the ranks ensues. (Cue silly fatui shenanigans)

Ao3 Link

Capitano, the Fatui’s first lord and harbinger, contrary to popular belief, was respected and admired by his platoons rather than feared. There was a widespread misunderstanding both in and outside the organization that the Captain was a harsh and dangerous leader due to his mysterious nature. However, the people who worked under him knew better as they had grown to admire him the more they interacted with him.

He held himself with pride and treated his soldiers the same way he wanted to be treated: with respect and dignity. And in return, they learned the depths of this man’s strategic genius and strength. His strength was unmatched in combat and led his people well with good decision making and training. They could only hope to be as good as him in his various fields of expertise.

He was strict, and quick to discipline unruly fatuus, yes, but that did not stop others under his command from admiring him. And to emphasize this even more, it was clear that his fellow harbingers and even the Tsarista respected him, whether their goals and morals aligned with his or not. However, this made the people around him curious about aspects related to him outside of his work and title. He was a revered public figure and people were naturally curious about his personal life.

This is where you came in. You, his one and only beloved, the only person who held his whole heart in your hands. Not many people knew of this, but the Captain was a gentle man at his core, and you had somehow managed to uncover all of his being and see him fully as himself, without his title, without his strength. You knew this man inside and out, just as he had come to know you. It was a mutual love, one which even he did not know he was capable of feeling, and that made him all the more enamored with you.

This, however, people did not know. So you can imagine the surprise on their faces when you, an ordinary civilian, came to the Zapalyarny Palace and asked for directions to the Captain’s office. The clerk at the desk looked at you blankly, as if she were staring at an anomaly. This prompted you to try and explain yourself.

“..I’m here to drop off his lunch. So, if you don’t mind..?” You asked.

No response. The blank stare continued.

You already knew that you looked out of place in this grand palace with no Fatui uniform or mask on. But you were determined to make sure your beloved got his lunch, which you had specifically decided to make for him that day as a special treat for how hard he had been working while preparing for a business trip to Natlan.

“Excuse me..?” You said a little louder this time. That seemed to snap her back to reality.

“You cannot enter this place, only authorized personnel are allowed inside. If you’d like to meet our lord, please book your appointment accordingly.” She replied on autopilot, as if she’d rehearsed the same sentence multiple times.

“I’m sorry, I know you have your duties, but I’m here just to drop off his lunch. You can check with him yourself if you’d like..”

“He’s busy at the moment, please leave your package here and we will deliver it to him.” She replied. It seemed like you were being studied like a suspicious person who was attempting to sneak in.

Fair enough.. you thought. I was hoping I would get to spend a few minutes with him and see how he was holding up at work but that can wait till he’s home. And she’s not wrong, I did drop by without notice, so it makes sense for them to be suspicious.

Fatui soldiers passing by had also been glancing at the ongoing conversation at the front desk, eyeing the lunch box wrapped in patterned cloth in your hands with raised eyebrows. You decided to leave the food there, getting one last word in before leaving.

“If you could, please make sure it reaches him soon. It’s his favorite meal and I would prefer it didn’t go cold before he ate it.”

And then everyone watched as your ordinary self left, unaware of the number of eyes on you.

…

A pyroslinger skirmisher stationed near the entrance asked dumbfoundedly, “Did..did they just say that was the Captain’s favorite meal? Our lord harbinger?”

A cryogunner skirmisher who had also watched the whole thing go down as he clocked in asked another question right after, in the same state of confusion as the previous fatuus. “..Has anyone seen them around before? They don’t look like someone who would be seen standing next to Lord Capitano.”

And as the just as confused clerk left the scene towards his office with your goods in hand, excited chatter filled the halls.

Chaos would be the right word for it. You had left chaos in your wake with a simple visit to his workplace.

…

That night, as you and Capitano settled in to relax in your shared home after a long day of work, you asked him how his lunch was.

“It was delicious, my love.” He replied, gently caressing your face with his hands while looking down at you through his mask. “It felt like a treat to have your home cooked meal at work. You didn’t have to, but thank you. It made my day.”

You smiled and took his hands in yours as you nuzzled into his touch. “I’m glad you liked it. I was going to give it to you myself but I couldn’t enter the place.”

“You should visit more often. I’ll let the security personnel know to let you enter so you can come and go as you like.” He paused, clearing his throat. “..Seeing you in the middle of a long day would bring me relief.”

You felt slightly flushed at his straightforward choice of words. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being so..open with me. But I like it, of course. I would like that as long as I’m not disturbing you at work.”

Capitano chuckled. It was like the angels decided to bless you today, really. “I will always make time for you, my love. Just as you do for me.”

You beamed. “Okay, okay, let’s get some sleep now, Mr. Loverman. We still have work tomorrow in case you’re forgetting.”

A kiss on the forehead and the rustling of sheets was all you heard before you were whisked away to dreamland.

…

Unbeknownst to you and Capitano, however, word about you spread like wildfire across the next few days between the excited fatui soldiers. Some from even the different departments under the other harbingers might’ve heard. The person who looked like a civilian, dropping lunch packed in pretty cloth for their Lord did not go unnoticed.

This was the only time someone unrelated to work had been seen asking for their Captain and questions about your relation to him were on the tip of everyone’s tongue during break times.

Two fatuus gossiped as they watched the Captain spar in training with his fellow soldiers, admiration evident in their eyes.

“Someone dropped off lunch for him? I thought he would be too busy having meals with high rankers from across Teyvat.”

And after a short pause the other replied, “Dude, hold on, does he even eat? I thought he was superhuman or something.”

“I know you’re dumb, but I didn’t know you were that dumb, my guy.”

“Hey! Just saying… anyway, are we even sure the people weren’t hallucinating when they saw the person drop lunch off for him?”

“I heard it was his favorite meal, freshly cooked, apparently. Who knows, man? Maybe it was a fan or something. Our lord does have a pretty big following, y’know.” The fatuus stated proudly.

Their lively chatter continued until they were called back into training.

…

A few days later, as soon as you found the time, you decided to visit Capitano at work with yet another home cooked meal. You wanted to make most of your time with him before he traveled to Natlan and having meals together would be a good way to wind down a little.

You entered the palace yet again, determined to meet him this time. It should be fine, right? He did say he would inform them..

And as you had hoped so, he did, in fact, inform them. As soon as the same clerk from before saw you, it seemed like her eyes were bulging out of her sockets. All you had to do was reach the desk and she confirmed your name and led you to the training grounds, where he was currently working. It seemed like some sort of training session was in the works, with all kinds of combat taking place between the soldiers in the distance.

Before you could ask her if you were even allowed to enter this place, she bowed and hurried back in the direction of the front desk. The strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you but now you had to find your way to Capitano across the opposite side of the field. Since you were here at last, why not just see things through?

The middle of the field was the most densely occupied with various people fighting in different groups, while what you recognised as skirmishers were practicing their aim at dummy targets on the right side. The soldiers were hard at work even in the harsh everlasting winter of Snezhnaya. The left side of the field, however, seemed less crowded compared to the rest as people seemed to be setting up their gear or resting. Your Captain, opposite to you across the field, was busy conversing with a group of soldiers who seemed to be listening to him attentively.

You decided your best option was to take the left side. It would be easier to walk through the calm atmosphere over there.

As you made your way through the crowd, people started to notice you. They were pretty intimidating with their weapons and muscled bodies at display so you decided to be extra careful to not bump into anyone and quickly made your way across, and as you got closer, Capitano’s voice became clear.

“The heat in Natlan will be unbearable. You will be stationed in the wild all day, so make sure you have the appropriate supplies to get you through the day. It is of the utmost importance that...what, what is it? Why are you all staring at me like that?”

The group’s attention shifted from him to you, as you stood behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“Capitano, do you have a moment..?” You asked as he turned around, his armor clinking from the movement.

“Oh, my love!” He exclaimed in a soft voice. “What brings you here? Hold on, let's get you back inside. You’ll catch a cold here.”

The group (and everyone nearby) watched in complete awe as his demeanor from before completely switched from authoritative to somewhat… joyfull? Was Lord Capitano being affectionate?

“I brought you lunch, but I can leave it in your office if you’re busy right now.” You said hurriedly, not wanting to keep him busy.

“No, that won’t do, my love.” He took the package from you and placed his hand on your back. “Eat with me inside.”

He then turned back to the group, who jolted straight up at his sudden change. “Finish the supply preparations once you’re done training. All of you are dismissed.”

“Y-yes, my lord!” They replied in unison and bowed. And yet again, they watched in awe as he guided you back inside the palace, ever so gently, one hand on your back and the other carrying a box wrapped up in a floral patterned cloth. A stark contrast to his all black and blue outfit.

…

As soon as both of you were out of sight, chaos erupted yet again, more loudly this time, with multiple voices talking over the other.

“”My love?” Did he just call them “my love?” Did I hear that right?!”

“What was that? What did we just witness?”

“That was so romantic, holy shit! Was that the same person we take orders from everyday? What the hell?!”

“DID THE LORD HARBINGER JUST… GET VISITED BY THEIR SPOUSE?”

“I thought that ring on his finger was for fashion…”

And that is how they found out that their beloved Captain, who seemed to have no soul outside of his work, was a married man with a loving spouse.

This proceeded to be the hottest gossip in the Fatui for the rest of the month, until they discover more about you from another future visit.

…

BONUS:

Sitting in the privacy of his office, you enjoyed your meal together.

“..You seem to work with very strange people, Capitano.” You said to him.

“Do I? How so?” He asked before you fed him a bite.

“Hm.. actually, nevermind. It would be even stranger if they weren’t strange, considering they work with you.” You chuckled.

You enjoyed your time together and went back home, leaving your beloved in confusion from your conversation, and the sight of you fondly feeding him for him to think about for the rest of the day.

[nunyabznsbabes]

Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games (which is arguably a facade to trick Coin), but later definitively stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, and thinks that he sees the ghost of his own past: bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He reads her wrong, obviously, but it means that in his mind he's up against the version of himself that he could have been, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.