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kenntolog · 21 days

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𝝑𝝔 an: soooo i hope u like this!! read more here!!

cool boyfriend sukuna, who lives with his older brother jin and his little nephew yuuji, bringing you home for the first time since you started dating.

he was always reluctant about you meeting his family because he knows they will make a fuss about it and overall sukuna hates it when people pry into his personal life, which is what they usually do.

of course, jin itadori has noticed that he’s been absent — coming home from university to change and then leave or sometimes just not being home until late night — and has made sure that he isn’t hanging around with druggies or something like that like the responsible adult he is(he just annoyed sukuna into saying ‘fuckin’ hell, i’m not into drugs, i’m just hanging out with my girl!’ while yuuji makes sound effects for the drama of it).

so it’s not long before sukuna finally tells you to get ready to come over to his place. the excited squeal you let out makes his ears bleed, but it’s okay, he thinks with a small smile as he stares up at your window from below your building and waits for you to call him a little later so he can pick you up. he waits for you dutifully and you don’t disappoint him when you come out of your block; looking like an angel sent from above in your white sundress and pretty hair and soft makeup.

he can’t stop his lips from stretching wider as you shyly approach him, looking at him with an expectant gaze, waiting for him to say something.

“aren’t you all dolled up and pretty. ‘s that for me or my brother?” he teases, keeping his hand in his pocket to not ruffle your neatly straightened hair.

he doesn’t expect an answer but you still surprise him, holding onto his shoulders to peck his cheek softly and then move to his ear to whisper, “for you, ‘kuna~”

sukuna sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a second, contemplating whether he still wants to go to the dinner or push you back into your room and have fun with you on your bed.

“let’s go, ‘kunaa! don’t wanna be late!”

he rolls his eyes and settles you into his(jin’s) car before taking his spot at the driver’s seat and stepping on the gas.

the ride is filled with the soft tunes of your favourite songs(yes, he loves you that much to let you connect to his speakers). you sing along quietly, too immersed in your own thoughts to notice sukuna covering his smile with his free hand, and watch the road, letting the wind blow back your hair and grinning softly. seeing you this excited about meeting his family spreads warmth through his chest.

though, when the car reaches his building, you seemingly get nervous, hand shyly holding onto his to stop him from leaving as you look up at him unsurely.

“what if they don’t like me?”

he flicks your forehead with a roll of his eyes while you shriek and rub the spot soothingly, “if they tolerate me, there’s no way they won’t like you.”

“you’re not that bad, ‘kuna.”

“oh, you don’t even know, baby.”

he tries to ease your nerves on the elevator ride; hand tickling your waist so you smile, lips planting soft kisses onto the revealed skin, reassuring you that his brother and nephew are far less judgmental than he is. the walk to his front door consists of you trying to run away while sukuna tries to tug you back.

and it’s really inconvenient that his front door opens exactly when his hand is raised to hit you on the back of your head so you come to your senses and stop you from being a dumbass. sukuna sighs, scratching his neck instead, while you bow down hurriedly in a greeting.

you feel your face heat up until there is a pair of much smaller feet with different socks in sight and lift your head to lock gazes with a carbon copy of his uncle, little yuuji itadori. he beams at you like the sun itself, so bright and intoxicating, “i’m yuuji! nice to meet you!”

you can’t help but smile back at him before standing straight to introduce yourself to sukuna’s brother and nephew properly.

to sukuna’s surprise, the dinner is far more pleasant than he ever imagined it would be. it’s filled with your and jin’s soft talking, occasionally mixed with sukuna and yuuji’s bickering, but mostly jin asking you about yourself and you responding. you treat jin with respect, evident from the way you think about your answers and ask if it’s okay for him to answer his own question too, and sukuna is happy to see that you two clearly like each other already.

not even talking about yuuji, who can’t seem to take his attention off of you; his small fingers playing with the dangling charm of your bracelet, eyes trained on your pretty face as he listens to whatever you’re telling just as attentively as his father and uncle. sukuna isn’t even gonna deny that it’s a very cute sight.

at some point, before dessert, jin tells him to come and help with the dishes after politely declining your offer to help.

“she’s very sweet.”

“yeah.”

he smiles when he hears yuuji’s laughter from the other room along with your giggles. jin smiles too, continuing to wash the dishes.

“and very smart.”

“damn right she is.”

jin nods, nudging him so he starts drying off the plates. “so how come she chose you?”

as much as sukuna wants to jump on his brother for the implication that he’s not the best of choices(before reluctantly accepting that it’s not that far from the truth) he knows the answer to that question, the corners of his lips curling upwards as he busies his hands with work.

“i chose her first.”

at that, jin stares at him with a surprised look in his bright eyes. they finish washing the dishes in silence and move to the living room once tea is ready.

meanwhile, yuuji is sitting on the couch with you by his side. he’s making origami for you(well, at least he’s trying) while he rambles on about his day and you listen so attentively that sukuna even wonders whatever the hell he’s talking about.

he enters the room with lazy steps and falls back on the armchair with a heavy sigh, catching your gaze and winking at you. you look away with a small smile, refocusing on yuuji who’s gone silent at the moment. the little boy sits closer to you, urging you to lean down with a chubby hand. you oblige, waiting for him to say something in your ear. you giggle at that, hand coming up to cover your mouth before you whispered something back into yuuji’s ear. that makes yuuji all giggly and excited as he wraps his small arms around your neck and places a smooch on your cheek.

sukuna watches the interaction with a soft expression on his face, eyes halfway open and a sweet smile playing on his lips, his fist barely covering the lower half of his face, before he hears a ‘click!’ and turns to see his brother with a camera in his hand.

jin’s smile reminds him of the smile he had when he first had yuuji in his arms. so warm it’s probably enough to melt away a whole iceberg. sukuna feels his chest tighten before wondering if he can make you something more than just his girlfriend for the first time.

+ bonus!

“what did that little dipshit whisper to you?”

“he asked if he was cuter than you.”

“and you said?”

(you said yes.)

“heh, i told him you were the cutest, ‘kuna.”

#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader

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mypoisonedvine · 8 months

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𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | boyfriend's dad!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | for some reason, your first instinct after the breakup was to talk to his parents; maybe because you'd come sort of uniquely close to them, for a relatively short relationship. you might not have gone to their house if you'd known you'd find mr. murphy there alone...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!! unprotected sex, creampie, oral m and f receiving), age gap (reader's age unspecified, cillian is 45+), hurt/comfort (but, you know, sexual comfort), infidelity, slight manipulation/coercion since the reader is very vulnerable at the time, somewhat inexperienced reader, degradation and praise, a little bit of breathplay, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia?, reader is slightly implied to be an immigrant/foreigner

note: yes I use his real name but this is just fiction and not meant to have anything to do with the real cillian murphy or his life/family so please keep that in mind!

He had a smile on his face as he opened the door and greeted you, but it fell instantly when he saw you biting down on your quivering lip, looking down to hide how red and watery your eyes were.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, voice heavy with concern as he reached out and rubbed your shoulder. "Oh, god— come in, come in— what's going on?"

He ushered you into the house, shutting the door behind you and wrapping his arm around you as you sniffled. "I-I'm sorry—" you began instantly. “I thought— I don’t know why I even came here…”

But, actually, you sort of did. You’d been wanting to talk to Cillian’s wife, hoping for some motherly advice, until he answered the door and you abruptly remembered she was in England on business for a week or something. And you couldn’t exactly show up on somebody’s doorstep crying and say ‘oh, sorry, I thought your wife would be home— I’ll come back in a few days’.

You weren’t disappointed by running into him instead, really, you just felt a little weirder about it. The two of you had never actually been alone before.

"Don't apologise," he soothed, "it's okay, just tell me what's happened. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you sighed, trying to compose yourself a bit as he guided you to sit on the couch with him. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just... um, well, it's sort of stupid—"

"I'm sure it's not," he offered with a small laugh, "if it's got you this worked up."

"We, um... I think we broke up?"

"What?" he breathed, knitting his eyebrows together— he cared more than you expected... but it sort of made sense, Mr. Murphy had always made you feel welcome here. Mrs. Murphy too, maybe ina different way. Yes, it's bizarre to respond to being dumped by going to visit the guy's parents, you needed a sort of... mature, familial presence right now while you were so far from your own.

You took him through the whole drama as efficiently as possible, trying to regulate your crying so he could actually attempt to make out what you were saying. He listened thoughtfully, perhaps with too much attention compared to what you expected— after all, this was stupid college drama and he was so much more mature than all that. Still, you appreciated a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.

"And, uh, that's how he ended it," you finished with a sigh, sniffling as you recalled the heartbreaking conversation. "He basically told me that he's too young to be stuck with one person, and he needs to 'explore his options'..."

"Then he's an idiot," Cillian groaned, "and I hate to say that about my own son— but he's a fuckin' idiot."

"Well," you mumbled, "I don't know— I thought maybe he had a point. I mean, we're pretty young..."

"But look at you, honey," he offered pityingly, "you can't tell me this is what you wanted."

"No, but—"

"And yes, you're young," he added, "but not too young— not if it's real."

You bit your lip to stop it from shaking any more, and he cooed at you gently as he reached up to rub your shoulder.

“Poor girl,” he breathed. “Honestly, I always… well, maybe I shouldn’t say it now…”

You looked up at him expectantly, and he smiled nervously as he glanced away.

“Well… I guess I always thought that you could do better,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but, you know, I didn’t want to say anything, of course. He was lucky to have you, and I just hoped he would treat you right, but…”

“I thought I was the lucky one,” you replied with a thin smile and another little sniffle. “He could be really sweet, you know— he used to be. And I always thought he was, uh, sort of… you know, out of my league.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Cillian frowned, moving his hand up to your face and holding your cheek, wiping a small tear away with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous.”

You laughed awkwardly, not sure what to think— or how to think— with him looking at you like that. “I… I don’t know, you’re sweet, but—”

“No, really,” he assured, and only when you met his gaze did you realise how close he was. You wouldn’t call it too close, only because it didn’t bother you like you knew it should. “You’re so beautiful.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing actually came out… there was nothing to say. He was coming closer, you knew it, and you wanted to reach up to stop him just as much as you wanted to shut your eyes and give into it. You ended up sort of splitting the difference: you rested your hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away, and gasped slightly just before he kissed you. Even a second of resistance could’ve given you some plausible deniability, but no, you fluttered your eyes shut and kissed him back; it didn’t help that you could feel how warm and strong he was through the t-shirt, holding on tighter to his shoulders with a hum.

His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you into him— and you were like putty, embarrassingly enough. With him kissing you like that, you really couldn’t do anything but let him pull you around wherever he wanted. His lips were soft and gentle, his tongue teased you so carefully, and he even sighed against your skin in the sweetest way… you were totally helpless already.

Sure, some part of you knew how fucking bizarre this was— that you were kissing Mr. Murphy, your boyfriend’s dad— well… ex-boyfriend’s. You weren’t blind, you noticed how attractive he was when you met him, but you’d managed to successfully ignore it since then. It made sense, after all, since the first thing you’d noticed about your boyfriend was his good looks… but Mr. Murphy was handsome in a totally different way. Strong and broad— not especially massive or anything, still a lean guy— with thin streaks of grey in his hair, a patient sort of smile, subtle wrinkles around his eyes that added a sense of wisdom to his expression… really, he was a bit more of your type. But that was something you had forced yourself not to acknowledge— until now.

You sat up slightly, holding onto his neck, breathing in sharply through your nose as you kissed him back a little harder. You could feel him smiling— god, even just that made you feel so desperate— and he even moaned ever-so-quietly when you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips, breaking away just enough to make you open your eyes— his lashes seemed especially long as he looked down at your legs curled up on the couch (and his hands petting them slowly. “You haven’t been treated properly for a long time, have you?”

You whined in the back of your throat involuntarily as you nodded— how could he see right through you like that? It wasn’t like it was bad with your ex, it was just… not good. Not enough. You wanted to feel wanted, not used— not a means to an end.

“Will you let me?” he asked softly, breathing beside your ear on his way in to kiss your neck. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, head falling back to give him as much of you as he wanted. His tongue was fucking fiendish, the way he used it to tickle along your pulse, the sharpness of his teeth making you jolt only for him to soothe you with his plush lips.

“Yes,” you panted, “fuck— I, god, I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

He laughed a little. “I can,” he admitted. “All I could fucking think about since I met you…”

That surprised you— you’d never noticed anything that would’ve made you think he thought of you that way… but knowing that he, apparently, had made a shiver run up your spine.

He certainly hid it well, playing the part of the slightly-embarrassing dad and polite husband so well that you never would’ve known… oh god, his wife. You didn’t want to think of her now, yet the unavoidable memory stirred arousal alongside guilt in your gut. You had no idea you were this sort of person— but you weren’t really operating logically right now, anyway.

He held your face again as he pulled back, petting your cheek— it made you feel especially juvenile when he did that, holding your chin to examine you. This wasn’t really the ideal state for you to be looked at, in your opinion, with you having been crying all evening. But he looked amazed by you, even if it was just for a moment before he looked down at your body and smirked.

“Take this off,” he instructed, tugging at your shirt slightly. You thought it would’ve been a little more romantic if he helped you out of it, but it was alternatively a bit sexier that he was just going to sit back and watch you strip for him. It must have been his way of demonstrating his power over you, that you were just going to take it off and toss it aside without question. Which, of course, you did.

He smiled proudly at the sight, and before you could even get your bra off, he started to carefully tease you through it— fingers running around the edge, moving the straps off your shoulders, tickling up your sides as you shifted nervously on the couch.

“Look’t that,” he whispered proudly, and you took a second to realise that he was referring to your nipples getting hard enough to poke visibly through the fabric; you felt self-conscious all of a sudden, even if he was clearly enjoying what he was seeing. “So needy, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you admitted, whining when he reached inside the cups and ran his fingers over your breasts— they usually weren’t so sensitive. “Fuck,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as a way to try to escape his gaze. “I… I need you.”

“Fuck, baby, don’t talk like that,” he groaned, “m’gonna try to take my time with you— how am I supposed to do that if you say such lovely things?”

His lips were on your neck again— and he was leaning you back, laying you down under him, tugging your shorts down with a bit more urgency than he’d had before.

When you were basically naked— or at least, your bra and panties pushed out of the way enough that he could see what he needed to— he purred at the sight, grinning as you hastily undressed yourself the rest of the way.

"Of course he couldn't appreciate this," Cillian sighed, baring his teeth just a bit. "Of course he couldn't appreciate a perfect fucking body like this— a perfect little pussy like this..."

You were about to open your mouth to say something, though you hadn't even decided yet what it would be, but only a low moan came out when he held your legs open and dove between them, humming as he lapped at your clit. You couldn't imagine why you were so sensitive, but your whole body was shaking already just from the gentlest motions of his tongue...

"Fuck," he said, muffled against your skin, before he pulled back enough to bite playfully on your thigh. "Fuck, darling, you taste delicious. Christ. You're too perfect..."

He devoured you again, exploring all over you with his tongue as your thighs kept instinctively clamping down on his head. He kept looking up at you through it all, even when you couldn't stand to meet his gaze and had to arch your back from the pleasure. "Fuck!" you yelped, grabbing tightly onto his hair. "Fuck, Mr. Murphy, I— oh, god..."

"He never made you come like this, did he?" Cillian realised with a groan, nearly growling when you shook your head. "Has anyone?"

"N-no," you shakily admitted, and he moaned around you as he suckled harder on your clit for a moment until you whined loudly.

"Oh, poor thing," he cooed, "how could anyone taste this sweet cunt of yours, and not want to spend hours between your legs?"

He didn’t need to spend hours, though— the taboo nature of the situation seemed to turn your body into overdrive, making you so sensitive and desperate… or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, but it was hard to say.

The point is, all too soon, you were shivering under him, back arching up off the couch, holding on tightly to his hair. He hummed approvingly, even moaning against you as he slid his tongue inside; he must have been able to feel you pulsing, moving closer and closer to the edge, because he shut his eyes tight and seemed to focus harder and pushing you further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck, fuck!” you sobbed, thighs shaking around his head; there really was no exploration to it, no teasing, he just went right in and expertly played you like he’d done this a thousand times. Maybe he had… but, obviously, he’d never done it to you. Were you that easy to solve?

Obviously, that question suddenly became the last thing on your mind as your orgasm wracked through you. He growled encouragingly, still keeping his pace, but you could barely hear it past the ringing in your ears— and your own cries of his name, of course.

He only broke away when your squirms turned into real avoidance: you could only take so much, especially with him suckling on your clit like that.

You were almost nervous to open your eyes again— and you were right, he looked so gorgeous between your legs, obviously smug with having just made you come, it was nearly criminal.

“Is it really that easy to make you come, honey?” he laughed, petting your legs sweetly as he pulled back, looking up at you with a proud grin. “That’s so fucking cute, baby…”

As he sat up again, wiping the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, you got this weird, clingy feeling— wanting to chase him even just as he barely moved away.

But he’d sat up for a reason, and you started to realise it when you sat up, too, and noticed the thick bulge in his jeans.

"Why don't you show me what you can do, sweetheart?" he encouraged with a smile, opening his belt for you. "I'm sure you've learned a thing or two..."

Though you still felt terribly nervous about it, you leaned forward towards his lap. Would it be awful to admit your mouth watered when he freed his cock from his jeans and boxers, holding it out for you as a little bead of precum formed at the tip?

"Show me, baby," he whispered again, "and look up at me."

You nervously blinked up at him, meeting his gaze from his lap, as you wrapped your lips around his swollen head. He bit his lip right away and reached up to hold onto your hair, groaning as you swirled your tongue.

"Fuck," he smirked, "you're sort of a tease, aren't you?"

You weren't trying to be, really, but it didn't sound like he minded too much...

"Oh, fuck," he moaned deeply, making you pulse inside as he tilted his head back. "Fuck, baby, that's good— your mouth is so fucking warm..."

He gasped and panted as he held your head, guiding it to bob just a little faster than you had been moving. "Sweetheart," he choked, "you're so fucking good... fuck!"

The praise made your chest fill with warmth, even if there was still some part of your brain that was recovered enough from the orgasm to remember how horrible this all was. It was horrible, but perfect— and feeling his cock throb against your tongue was perfect, too.

You’d never been told you were so good at this before, but he kept moaning and petting your head encouragingly, whispering the most wonderful and filthy things. “Just like that, honey,” he cooed, “mm— pretty thing… knew that mouth of yours would feel so fuckin’ good… just keep sucking my cock, sweetheart.”

That you did— harder and faster, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit, moaning softly around him. As you tried to take it deeper, desperate to please him, you gagged on his thick head.

“God, it’s so cute when you choke on it, baby,” he chuckled. “Do it again.”

This time it was almost too much, but he held your head down and groaned deeply. It would’ve bothered you more— not being able to breathe— if he didn’t sound so sexy right then…

Thankfully, he pulled you off just in time, making you yelp as he held you by your hair— only to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning, you melted into his arms, and let him guide you to straddle his lap. Feeling his jeans against your thighs and his shirt against your chest made your heart skip.

He took another long look at you when he broke away, a new darkness in his bright eyes.

“You’re so sexy,” he laughed softly, running his hands over your nude form and raising a brow as he watched goosebumps break out over your skin. “God, I need to be inside you…”

You bit down on your lip but it didn’t do much to suppress your whimper; lifting yourself up a bit, you grasped his cock and slid it through your folds, guiding him to your entrance.

You both gasped when he slipped inside, even when it was the slightest penetration— his whole head wasn’t in yet, and you just knew it would stretch you more than you were used to.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned loudly, tilting his head back, “you’re so wet, sweetheart…”

Lowering yourself, you took in a shaky breath, whining slightly as he opened you up one inch at a time... and each one seemed somehow thicker than the last. His fingers seemed to dig deeper into the skin at your hips and ass the lower that you sank onto him.

You could barely believe that you took it all; that you relaxed into his lap fully even when you feared being split in half by how thick he was. “Oh my god,” you blurted out, operating on instinct as you started to move— grinding back and forth, desperate for friction despite having been satisfied by his incredible mouth just a few minutes ago.

"Fuck, there you go," he encouraged with a growl, looking down at your hips rocking in his lap. "Ride me, just like that— fuck, ride my cock, little fuckin' whore..."

You whimpered at the insult, holding tighter onto his shoulders, but it only made you move faster. "S-so... so deep, Mr. Murphy," you whimpered.

"Yeah? You can take it," he promised darkly, holding tighter onto your waist as he dropped his head back with a low groan. "God, you're tight— fuck."

You gasped as he bucked his hips up, creating more pressure against your over-sensitive clit. "Oh, fuck," you breathed, struggling to cope with all the sensations he was giving you.

Both of you settled on the right pace, and he switched between resting his head back against the couch (giving you a nice view of his gorgeous neck, how could just a neck be so sexy?!) and looking down to watch you go. “So fuckin’ cute,” he praised— though you were sort of surprised to hear him describe you that way at a time like this. “So needy, honey… you want more, don’t you? You wanna go even faster.”

Now that he said it: yeah, you did. You bounced up and down, your moans coming out all shaky and uneven because of the movement, and he grinned proudly.

His hands wandered up from your waist to your chest, groping you eagerly as you gasped out his name in response. “Love these tits of yours,” he informed you, sounding oddly sweet for how dirty of a compliment it was. “Took everything in me not to stare at them when you’d come over for dinner… see what you do to me, sweetheart? Haven’t felt this desperate since I was your age.”

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, reminding you of how much older he was at a time like this. He purred when he felt you clench on him, obviously affected by the comment.

“Should’ve known you’d give in right away,” he went on, softening his voice to nearly a whisper as he watched you move with heavy eyes; you angled your hips back and moaned louder, his cock rubbing against just the right spot every time now. “Hungry little thing like you— now I wish I hadn’t waited so long. We could’ve been doing this the whole time… I could’ve shown you how much better it can be, when somebody really takes care of you.”

Whimpering, you felt another heady pang inside you— if he kept talking like that, you wouldn’t be able to keep your head on straight… then again, the fact that you were here proved that you were less stable than you thought.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he ordered again suddenly. “I wanna see how desperate you can get.”

You furrowed your brows together, almost pouting, but did exactly what he wanted— you wondered if you looked as pathetic as you sounded, riding him recklessly, chasing another peak even when it took all of your strength in those shaking legs.

He grabbed you by the jaw and guided you into another desperate kiss— all teeth and tongue and low moans. “Good fucking girl,” he snarled. “Good little slut.”

“Fuck,” you panted, moving faster. “Fuck, I’m close—”

“I know, honey,” he cooed, nodding as he moved his hand down to your neck. “Show me how bad you need it, sweetheart. Let me see it, I wanna see you come for me.”

Tossing your head back, you cried out his name again— why did you always do that when you came?— and felt it overtake you. It was even heavier than the last one, even more numbing and draining, and you didn’t even notice how hard you were digging your nails into his shoulders.

When your body failed and you came to a shaky stop, he didn’t give you much time to catch your breath: he grabbed you tight, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, and began to buck his hips up into you quickly.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” you whined, overwhelmed by the feeling, holding onto him tightly just to have something to keep you grounded.

“Fuck, m’gonna come inside you,” he warned with a growl. “Gonna fill you, baby, you’ll be so fuckin’ full of my come—”

You sobbed and buried your face in his neck, starting to cry again for a completely different reason than before.

“Tell me you want it,” he ordered, speaking roughly right against your ear.

“F-fuck, I want it,” you gasped, “I want you to come— fuck— come inside me—”

He choked out a few more swears, he held you tight enough that you started to imagine what his bruises would look like on you tomorrow, and with a low groan of your name, it all suddenly slowed to a stop. You moaned weakly when you felt his cock flexing against your walls, even more heat pooling inside you. With what little energy you had left, you softly kissed his neck— until he seemed to come back to reality and pushed you back enough to be face-to-face with you again.

You realised suddenly that you were still sort of crying from the intensity of it all, and got nervous with him staring at you like that. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled as you wiped your face.

“Don’t apologise,” he told you again, moving your hands away so he could look at you himself. “Besides, you look even cuter when you cry.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #dilf!cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy rpf

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wolfythewitch · 19 days

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what reason would you give someone for them to convert to christianity? /gen i’m very curious to hear your answer as an atheist(?) going to a catholic school where every chapel boils down to ‘jesus can solve all your problems’. hope this isn’t taken in an offensive way, i’m genuinely curious what reasons people have!

See I don't really want to convert anyone to Christianity? Nor am I looking to. Need to make that clear before I continue.

A lot of people believe in a god because it offers to them a sense of comfort. Some people do it because they genuinely believe in a higher power. Religion is a very personal thing, you can't really boil it down one way or another. That's why any church who tries to tell you why to believe in God, well they might get some people but they won't get all. Believe in Jesus cannot solve all your problems. Or, well. I'm sure he can. But you will still hurt and life is a bitch. You can't reel people in with the promise of a perfect Christian life because then people will be sorely disappointed.

And. That's not even really getting into how corrupt a lot of the churches are out there. Unfortunately the problem with any organized religion is belief in a higher power can only go so far when any institution acting as its mouthpiece is human. The language of the gods tends to get a little mistranslated along the way. And then hypocrisy starts wading into the mix. And people like to use god to excuse their own actions.

And I mean I don't even really know why I'm religious. It could be many things. I've said before my relationship with faith is complicated. It could be guilt making me stay. It could be my parents converting me at a young age. It could be because I do believe there's a higher power out there. It could be because it's easier. Who knows? But my reasons will not be your reasons.

I'm not trying to dissuade you or anything haha but. Well. If you're ever thinking about converting, you can get a second opinion, join a community, go to Sunday church, but you can only ever really ask yourself why

#raspb3rryyyyy #wolfy tedtalks #wolfy religious tedtalks #this mightve gone a little off topic sorry HAHA #im npt saying dont go to church #community is important!#but you also have to think about that community critically #whats worse than going to hell? going to hell in jesus' name

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blue-jisungs · 6 months

Text

wounds

author's note. let’s gaur another zoro piece ☝️

++ i stated it before, i’ll say it again: i never watched the og opla! i think there was a medic? but yns is a medic here so i just hope like,, it makes sense? also if some characters are ooc, i’m sorry!! i’m still slowly learning about them hehe

summary. zoro realised his feelings for you through unfortunate events, whereas you come to a conclusion that his actions speak louder than words

word count. 3k-ish

warnings. oh boy. violence, swearing, blood, a guy throws a weird comment or two at reader, reader gets called bitch :( , m*n, medical stuff but nothing too crazy since i’m not a professional, daggers (stabbing), yn being kinda an idiot for trusting strangers, brief mention of drugs ++ pls lmk if i missed anything 🙏

zoro stole a glance at you, the soft rocking of the ship causing some bottles with strangely-looking fluids to move around your desk. luffy grinned and patted you on your back, causing a small smile to bloom on your lips.

“so, we’re arriving in a moment. let’s get the meds we need and have some free time! How does that sound?” he asked with enthusiasm.

“and i’ll buy some fresh ingredients. i would lose my mind if i had to work with almost-rotten vegetables for even a day longer…” sanji grunted, causing zoro to roll his eyes “is our medic craving something special?”

“hmm, maybe… what about a sweet pudding? i haven’t eaten one in a while” you hummed. luffy’s eyes shone with excitement. sanji winked, drawing a disgusted face from the green-haired man.

“your wish is my command. and you, mosshead, should respect this lady more. she’s really saving our asses” the blond haired man commented.

the truth was, it was mostly sanji or usopp who you were saving. while zoro made it safe and sound out of his fights, so did luffy and nami. usopp, well, he was more on the clumsy side, while sanji occasionally had some wounds when he accidentally cut or burned himself while cooking. after almost losing zoro, the crew knew that a medic would be a useful addition to the crew… and just one day luffy found you on your island, working as a volunteer in a local health care centre. and persuaded you into joining them. (a certain tall, green-haired man also had an influence on your choice).

“we arrived!” usopp suddenly bursted into the room. you grabbed your bag and looked around the room.

“does anyone want to go with me?” you asked.

“to buy meds and smell herbs? i’d rather take a nap” zoro mumbled and lazily left the room, secretly hoping sanji would turn down your offer too.

“i’ll go with sanji! maybe they’ll have some local food to offer…” luffy hummed. you nodded and then all three of you left going merry.

usopp left later, causing nami and zoro to be the only ones left.

as you strolled around the cozy city, you took in the sight of people and the sound of the rustle. living on a ship can get quite lonely sometimes, so you enjoyed the chaos of the town. even though zoro kept you company most of the time. he’d just… come into your room and watch you brew tea for sanji or study your medical books. you both enjoyed such closeness, even if not a word was said. sure, you had conversations too - and you were surprised to realise how funny zoro is. you couldn’t lie, you were aware that you have a crush on him. zoro though, seemed uninterested. like now, just saying that he’ll pass. his answer made you a little disappointed - besides buying new meds, you were hoping for some time alone with zoro.

“well, he’s the one missing out” you mumbled t6o yourself and shook your head as if to get the swordsman off your mind.

suddenly, you smelled a delicious aroma of fresh bread. walking closer to one of the shops, you realised it’s a bakery. maybe you’ll grab a snack and ask if there’s any herbalists around…? sounds like an idea.

when you disappeared inside the local, someone smiled mischievously and backed away to return to his boss.

“... herbs?” the man repeated, thinking out loud. he didn’t look like a regular bakery employee but you ignored that. he was selling delicious chocolate buns! “down the road. there’s a pharmacy but we do have a local herb seller, he wanders in the woods often. after i’m done with my shift, i can lead you to him”

“oh, that would be great! i’ll go to the pharmacy then and be back!” you hummed, smiling. what a nice guy!

you spent way more time in the pharmacy than you intended to: the lady working there was really lovely and professional, the products she was selling were top quality. you chatted about meds and certain ingredients, shared recipes. and when you mentioned that you use some herbs to make teas, she seemed intrigued so you explained to her the purpose.

in the end, you left with two more bags than you planned to. while returning to the bakery, the sun started to set; sky was painted in deep oranges with purple strokes, announcing the farewell of the bright day.

“sorry i was late…” you started and saw the guy get up immediately. he had a slight frown on his face.

“no worries. let’s go” he mumbled and grabbed your wrist, urging you to leave. you stiffened and your jaw clenched but you followed him, too curious about the herbs to let an alarm ring in your head.

“why does he wander in the woods?” you asked quietly, observing how people closed their stalls and shops in hurry before it gets completely dark.

“dunno. he’s just a weirdo. probably there’s a lot of wild plants there” he huffed. nodding to yourself, you gulped. good thing he’s accompanying you, it wouldn’t be too safe to walk around the woods alone, at night.

after what felt like hours, you realised you left the city far behind. the sky was decorated with blinking stars, open navy sky embracing you.

“i… is it far away?” you mumbled, stopping in your tracks. he turned around, the darkness surrounding you didn’t allow to read his facial expression.

“five more minutes, i promise” he said… his voice more calm now.

“o-okay. i need to go soon, so we better be quick” a quiet murmur left your mouth. you started to regret not urging zoro to go with you.

the man was right; you soon enough found yourself in the middle of woods.

“so… um, where’s the guy?” you asked, looking around. your hands started to hurt from the bags you had to carry. besides, there was a rumbling in your stomach.

“he’ll show up in a second, trust me. so, what did you buy in the pharmacy?” he asked.

luffy entered the ship, humming something underneath his breath, with sanji carrying a bag. usopp looked at them curious.

“so, what didya buy?” he asked, almost jumping out of his seat “what are we having for dinner?”

“something fancy, for sure. i still need to think about it. we’re having a pudding for dessert though because y/n wanted it… speaking of which, is she in her room? i forgot to ask if she wanted a vanilla or a chocolate one”

“what?” zoro asked, stopping in his tracks, swords halting mid-air. the guys looked at each other.

“what ‘what?’? we thought she was back already” luffy blinked slowly and noticed nami approach.

“she didn’t, i thought she joined you” usopp stuttered and shifted his gaze to zoro “didn’t you leave at some point too?”

“yeah, to look around? but there was nothing interesting to do so i came back and took a nap…?” he mumbled.

“you did not just let y/n wander around here” nami said, fear in her voice.

“well, apparently, we did” luffy gasped “why?”

“this city is like, known for being totally not-women safe. especially after dark! that’s why i didn’t want to go there, luffy” she hissed “and why i didn’t leave the ship! god! y/n can’t even f–”

“she’ll be okay, she can fight–” usopp started.

“fight” nami finished.

“y/n can’t fight…?” zoro’s heart skipped a beat.

“there’s no time to explain. we should go look for her, idiots!” nami grunted. zoro, full of regret and worry, followed her. he wasn’t sure why he got so scared why nami said that but all he knew for now is that he had to find you.

you didn’t even realise when that happened. a group of muscular and tattooed men appeared from nowhere, not looking like herb enthusiasts at all.

“so this is the pretty lady, huh?” one of them stepped out. he was bald and definitely scary-looking “you have something we want… but before i take it, tell me. is this your first time here?”

you nodded weakly when he approached you.

“and it will be her last!” one of them snickered, drawing laughs from the rest.

“aren’t you a cute little thing, trusting strangers in a city you’ve never been to… ah” he laughed and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes “why did you buy poppy seeds?”

“t-to make medicine…” you stuttered. you noticed the one from bakery standing behind the bald one’s back.

“medicine! ha! you’re pretty funny! you know what we make here out of poppy seeds?” he hummed, leaning in way too close to your liking. you could smell his nasty breath, your hands going limp. you dropped the bags, its content spilling around your legs “drugs”

you gulped and tried to move back but he yanked you by your wrist. this action caused you to bump into his chest.

“so, we’ll take them. and the other goodies you bought, too. and then… we’ll take you!” he laughed.

shaking your head, you pushed him away and tried to run away.

you failed, a sharp yank of your shirt causing you to trip and fall on the ground.

“by take i mean two things” the bald man chuckled and kneeled down, looking for the poppy seeds amongst the scattered products.

you tried to crawl away when he did so, heart thumping against your ribcage. if only you could fight… you wouldn’t be so scared and-

“where do you think are you going?” he growled and pulled you back by your leg. your head hit the ground, a unpleasant tinnitus-alike sound overtaking your ears.

“leave me alone!” you yelled out. the man must have said or do something that caused two other guys to grab your hands and tie them.

“only after i’m done with you!” he grunted and suddenly you felt his weight over you, caging you between the ground. starting to squirm around and kick, you were yelling your throat out; tears starting to spill from your eyes. “shut up, bitch!”

then you felt it. a sudden, stinging pain spreading in the left side of your face.

he just hit you.

the impact was so strong that you immediately felt the blood trickle from your nose.

“i’d hate to kill you because after we’re done, we’d sell you… but if you keep squirming…” he grunted and leaned in. he put a hand on your hair and stroked it gently. he leaned to your ear and licked your earlobe before adding: “then i’ll have to slit your throat��

you hoped that the scream you just left out was hearable from afar.

“get off her right now or its your throat that’s going to be slit first”

you gasped, trying to look for the source of the voice: zoro. zoro is here. or are you dreaming?

“and who the fuck are you?” the bald man said and laughed, his hand landing on your neck “i’ll do whatever i want”

his fingers tightened the grip on your neck. he was either lucky or skilled enough to know which places to squeeze because you felt your flow of oxygen being cut off.

“says who?” zoro huffed and with one swift move yankled the man by his shirt and got him off you. taking a deep breathe in, your vision went blurry - it was either the tears or the result of sitting up too fast.

“you’re a real piece of shit to attack girls, huh” zoro grunted and after effortlessly defeating another one of the bald man’s minions. the swordsman wanted to destroy the others, let them suffer and die in pain. normally, he’d take his time.

but it was about you. which made it even worse – he wanted to kill them slowly, one by one… demolish to the ground because they hurt you. then again, he wanted to make it quick so he can check if you’re alright as fast as possible.

and just when only the boss was left, he heard your scream. one that was full of pure pain.

turning his head back, but not losing focus from the guy, he saw one of them stand above you. he must have slipped away when he was busy with the bald guy but…

then he saw it, shining in the moonlight.

the dagger’s blade shun with silver tints, stuck in your ribcage.

zoro didn’t hold back. it took one swift move to throw one of his swords right between the attacker’s eyes and one precise move to synchronise both of his hands, cutting the bald’s man body in half.

then he ran up to you, grabbing you in his arms gently. your face looked pale, whether it was the moonlight or just the color draining off your face.

“don’t take this out” you grunted, moving your hand to his arm “and… take the meds…”

“fuck the meds, you’re bleeding” for the first time in ages zoro felt helpless. and disappointment in himself. you tried to scoff, the action bringing more pain to your body than you predicted

“don’t… the meds are just as important” your voice went quieter and quieter; zoro noticed that you struggled to keep your eyes open. which was, he assumed, a bad sign.

“don’t pass out on me, okay? keep it together, doctor” the green haired man breathed out and in one swift move he carried you in a bridal style. someone from the crew was supposed to arrive here too, if he passes them by he’ll just say that they need to take the meds.

zoro felt your body going limp in his arms, his heart dropping. running for his (and your) life, careful enough not to hurt you, he felt the strange heavy sensation in his chest.

for the next two days, a sinking feeling of guilt in zoro’s stomach wouldn’t go away. you were unconscious, the atmosphere on the going merry was tense.

“we didn’t know she can’t fight. if we did, we’d obviously accompany her” sanji grunted, hands never stoping mixing whatever he was mixing.

“why y/n never told us?” luffy sighed, voice small. as a captain, he felt disappointed he wasn’t able to protect you. on the other hand, he was glad you’re here now. nami bit her lip and looked at zoro.

“she didn’t want to seem weak” the orange-haired girl explained “i promised her i’ll teach her some basic moves but… we never…”

usopp entered the room, he was just talking to your unconscious state. well, more like to himself but–

“the doctor said she’ll be okay, right?” he asked, sitting next to zoro.

they figured that if you got medication somehow, there must be someone who knows at least has basic medical knowledge. in no time usopp came back with a pharmacist that talked to you – the lady was really saddened by your wounds too.

she scolded them for letting you go on your own (as if zoro haven’t already made a mental promise to himself to never do that again) and then proceeded to take care of you, telling them to change the bandages and apply some meds.

zoro left the dining space and slowly padded to the captain’s room. they figured that i’d only be safer if you stayed in a more stable position (rather than a hammock) for the time being.

entering the room, he stopped in his tracks upon seeing you… sitting at the edge of the mattress, changing your own bandage. sweat was dripping down your forehead, face pale.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked calmly, stepping closer to you. your eyes widened, meeting his.

“hi” you breathed out, shaky fingers halting.

“hi” zoro replied softly and then suddenly placed his hands on your arms, gently pushing you to sit against the wall.

then he grabbed the old bandage and threw it away. he desinfected his hands with a special liquid and grabbed new bandage.

“how long have you been up?” he asked, looking at the wound. it still needed some healing but it wasn’t open and bleeding anymore.

“dunno, moments from usopp’s leave. how… how long i’ve been asleep though?” you asked wearily and pointed at a cream on the nightstand “apply this first, then the bandage”

“two days” zoro replied, grabbing the container with a herbal smell. he was trying to find a good way to word out his worries, but (as usual) they came out harsher than he intended “why didn’t you tell us you can’t fight?”

a heavy sigh left your mouth, which caused a glimpse of pain run through your face.

“i just didn’t want to be a burden” you mumbled. the man noted the slight difference of what you said and what nami said your reasoning was.

zoro’s calloused yet tender fingers applied the cooling substance on your wound. you hissed due to the sting, your hand flying to grab his free one.

“you’re not weak nor a burden” he said, letting you squeeze his hand; he didn’t mind and found it quite… warming “i will teach you”

you smiled. he didn’t offer, he didn’t insist. he stated that.

“thank you. and i’m sorry for scaring you all like that” a whisper left your lips, watching as zoro started to put the bandage now. you leaned a bit closer so he could wrap it around your back, causing your breath to hit his neck. zoro tried to stay focused, the sudden realisation of how close you were making him hyper-aware.

“you scared some of us to death” he answered suddenly “next time just… don’t be such an idiot. if it weren’t for me…”

“humble as always” you snickered and watched him finish bandaging you.

“i…” the green-haired man hesitated. for a moment your eyes met and you saw it in the mirror of his ebony irises: i’m sorry. i was worried. so fucking scared and angry, feeling guilty and terrified. he smiled gently “just don’t do this again, m’kay?”

“i’ll try. and… thank you for saving me” you returned his smile.

you stayed like that for a moment, your hand still on his. too afraid to move, to speak out – yet the silence was speaking volumes.

roronoa zoro cared for you.

he just didn’t know how to say it out loud yet.

but just like wounds, he needed some time. and you were - oh so - willing to give him it.

masterlist <3

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pomefioredove · 27 days

Note

i just noticed on your 'yuu gets sold' sorta series that there was a good ending, by chance could you do a bad ending one? if not that's totally ok! keep safe and stay healthy ❤️

oh god. I have a very evil idea for this.

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim

summary: a bad (or good, depending on your stance) ending type of post: short fic characters: surprise :) additional info: yuu is gender neutral, this is short, HELP

Everyone waits.

The chatter and banter which once occupied the courtyard dies down to dull whispers and foot tapping.

Everyone waits, and there's no Crowley.

"Wonderful," Jamil sighs. "He's probably taken all the money and run off. I told you all that-"

"Maybe he's late!" Kalim shouts. A few in the crowd murmur in hopeful agreement.

Silver coughs. "Maybe he realized this whole thing is ridiculous and is processing everyone's refunds,"

They don't like that option as much.

The sun hangs lower and lower in the sky, threatening to shroud everyone in darkness as the minutes tick on.

"Well, I've had enough of this," Vil says, turning towards the exit. "I've put off my afternoon long enough."

"For once, we can agree on something," Leona murmurs, dragging Ruggie along with him.

No one is exactly surprised with this turn of events- but there's a definite sense of disappointment that everyone is sharing.

"He probably just forgot or 'somethin," Epel says, walking alongside Ace, Deuce, and Jack back to Ramshackle to update you on the happenings.

Jack shrugs. "He's definitely not the most organized, but there's no way someone could just "forget" about this. I think Jamil is right, he probably ran off with the money while he could. The swindler..."

Deuce is the next to add something to the pity party. "And yet, we should've known this was a possibility,"

"Shoulda seen it coming..." Epel murmurs. "I shoulda listened to Vil and pulled out while I still had the chance. Dang it..."

The lights are on in Ramshackle as the four approach, a warm and welcome sight after their disappointing afternoon. And the front door is open- were you expecting them?

"Hm. Well, think of it this way," Ace pushes the door the rest of the way open. "We may have been scammed, but at least nothing changes. I mean, it could've been worse."

"A lot worse," Deuce murmurs, following him inside.

The four make it into the foyer and stop dead in their tracks.

There are many things to expect walking into Ramshackle- cobwebs, dust, ghosts, you- Crowley is usually not one of them.

"You- you've been here this whole time?!" Epel shouts, throwing his arms out. "We were all 'waitin for 'ya like a bunch of idjits!"

Deuce and Ace wince. "Dude, chill... but seriously, where were you?"

Crowley doesn't have the chance to answer before something else steals away their attention.

You walk into the room, suitcase in hand. "Guys?"

The four turn to greet you, eyes wide at the luggage you're carrying. "What's that... Crowley?"

The man himself just stands there, pretending to ponder something. "I could have sworn I sent someone to break the news... how peculiar,"

Epel's brow knots. "What news?"

"A third party somehow got wind of our little... venture and donated a very high sum at the last minute. Along with a very passionately worded letter about our dear prefect's safety here at school," he pauses. "Or lack thereof."

Crowley sighs. "The name rung a bell, but... I couldn't imagine how or why anyone outside of NRC would be following the prefect's moves so closely,"

Deuce's eyes narrow. "Crowley. What are you trying to say?"

"Well, I..." he says, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm afraid to say that our prefect is being transferred to Noble Bell College,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #okay. admittedly I had a little TOO much fun with this concept. mostly because I've always wanted to write an 'everyone fighting over yuu #just for him to swoop in at the last minute' type thing. because it's funny and I actually really like mr. catholic guilt #I'm a big fan of the character he's based on anyway

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mysticheathenn · 22 days

Text

What Booktrope Is Your Future Love Story?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all about what book trope is your future love story.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

Who is your book trope lover? w/ Book Recommendations

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Wedding, Children, Love Yourself First, Calling in Your Soulmate, Passion.

Soulmates X Sworn Off Love. Pile l you probably have been through the ringer when it comes to finding "the one". Time and time again people have disappointed you and you have mostly given up on love. You are in the headspace of if love happens great if not, you don't care because you are currently focusing on yourself right now or will soon be focusing on yourself. I always find it wild because usually when you give up on finding love and you focus on yourself you end up meeting your soulmate. For clarity, when I mean focusing on yourself I mean better yourself and seeing growth of who you are as a person and growing your career not just sitting at home pretending to not think of love. When you focus on yourself it has to be for yourself not to bring in a relationship. It kind of defeats the purpose, it's like washing and drying off at the same time. Did you work on the parts of yourself that needs to be "fixed" so you arent doing more harm than good (energetically attracting the same people)? During this time of swearing off love you need to be healing and reminding yourself that you are worthy of a healthy love, nothing is wrong with you, and you are amazing. Your soulmate is out there waiting to love you out loud, passionately, and whole heartedly. Patreon Link

Pile ll:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Free Yourself, Passion, Engagement, Playfulness, Pay attention to red flags, Chemistry

Enemies to Lovers X Alpha Hero X "Insta love". Because you have been burned in the past, you refuse to let another person smooth talk their way into your heart so you put up a wall for some of you. You may also have been attracted to Pile l but for others of you, there's something about this person where you feel the need to look for red flags every time you hang out with this person. You don't know if it's your paranoia or if there is indeed something wrong with this person but either way you slowly but surely lower your defenses and see this person for who they are and end up seeing that this person actually wants to get to know you and not waste your time. There will be an instant connection and for some of you this may possibly be one of the triggers to up your defenses because maybe you aren't the type to believe in "Love at first sight" but either way you will definitely give this person hell for a little bit. What I mean by that is you will be sarcastic (playfully) and basically make them jump through hopes in order to prove their worth to you and boy do they love jumping. Patreon Link

Pile lll:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Trust, Stay Optimistic about your love life, finances and career, Romantic feelings, Give your relationship a chance, & Healing family issues.

Second Chance X Workplace X Opposites Attract. This pile has multiple messages but overall I feel this pile is mostly for those who have an on again off again relationship. Some of you may be with no contact with your person while others of you are in contact but not together and want to get back together but aren't sure. The few of you the other message is this person you could possibly know from work and you aren't sure whether you should give this person a try because of the saying "Don't shit where you sleep." Trust your gut to know if this will be a good idea or not it's never a bad thing to test the waters. If this person is mature and not a man-child where you will regret even considering this, I say go for it. You never know how far it will go. Now, for the vast majority of you with exes and on-again-off-again relationships...there seems to be some healing that needs to happen within the relationship. Some of you or maybe even your person acts the way they do because they never had a good example of how to treat, act, and go about relationships in a healthy way so they act out. My suggestion if you can afford to is going to couples therapy or establishing boundaries and better communication with each other on what is okay and what is not. Maybe even doing a trial period if you still aren't sure if you should give in to this person. Patreon Link

Pile lV:

What book trope is your future love story? Oracle: Chemistry, Playfulness, Engagement, Worth Waiting for, New Love, Free Yourself, Express Your Love, Attraction.

Friends to Lovers X Fling. This pile was kind of tricky to place into a book trope it was as if the possibilities for you are endless but I settled on Friends to lovers and possibly a fling-turned relationship. Either way, this person coming in could either be a new person in general who becomes a good friend that you develop feelings for a fling that is someone new and you develop feelings for either way this relationship is playful, fun, and light-hearted. You feel this person is exactly what the doctor ordered. Some of you may not want to get into a serious relationship right now because of either trauma or you just aren't ready for it so being with this person will feel very casual and fun. For whatever reason I feel like this person will make you feel like a kid at the fair. No worries, just fun in the sun. There is definitely a lot of attraction for each other and you will feel free to be yourself as well. For some of you, this may lead to an engagement while for others of you this is just something that will pass the time. Patreon Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

#spirituality #witchblr #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image #bookblr #books

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cultofdixon · 2 months

Text

Within Your Warmth

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Y/N finally found a place to sleep and Daryl was going to hit anybody that disturbs her • SFW • TW: Sleep Deprivation

Requested by: Anon

“You coming to the bonfire Rick has going on later?” Rosita asks Y/N while she was in the middle of her fifth task of the day, pantry restock.

“Yeah, if I’m not too exhausted”

“Well there will be alcohol. The new dude Greyson found a case of beers on his run the other day with Eugene.” Rosita hopped up on the only stool in the pantry watching her best friend work. “Even Eugene found a good scotch”

“Now that’s what I’m here for” Y/N laughs lightly finishing the canned goods and about to start putting away the new jarred stuff from Oceanside. “Do you know if Daryl is gonna be there?”

Y/N could sense the smirk on her face resulting in a groan as Rosita quickly popped off the stool bringing herself up behind her bestie.

“The Daryl Dixon? The one you’ve been crushing on since longer before I came along?”

“Yes. That Daryl Dixon”

“So…if Daryl were to come then you’d for sure come?”

“I guess—“ and with that Rosita left the pantry, leaving a confused Y/N to continue doing what she was doing before heading onto the next task.

The bonfire was happening at Alexandria. They rotate through the communities every couple days to keep the connection between their families…even if Maggie doesn’t want to step foot in Alexandria as long as he lives. Daryl was currently residing in the Sanctuary after being tasked to keep an eye on the community which felt more like a punishment and only two people understood that. Carol and Y/N. When Rosita left to find him, she half expected him to be inside yelling at someone. Instead he was working on the gardening plots with a green thumb from the Kingdom and a few Saviors that turned for good.

“Dixon” Rosita brought on her tough exterior when talking to the man in hopes that her asks would be given a positive answer. “I have to ask you something”

“If it’s about the bonfire bullshit, I’m going”

“It’s about——“ Rosita paused, relaxing her shoulders. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Rick asked, so did Aaron. You just missed them” Daryl handed the hoe off to one of the Saviors so he could get close to Rosita. “Why are you askin’?”

“It’s more so trying to get another to go tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Y/N said she’d go if you do…so does that confirm the mutual feeling that brews between the two of you?” Rosita smirks trying to get more out of the archer but he continued to have the same deadpan look from before. Her shoulders instantly slumped and the smirk faded. “Alright, loverboy…I’ll see you tonight”

“Mhm” Daryl let out a small chuckle before returning to work while Rosita headed off.

As the night came and the bonfire was starting, Daryl leaned against the picnic table holding all the goodies they brought out scanning around the intimate event in search for Y/N. Who so happened to be the last to arrive even if she lives in the vicinity.

“Where the hell have you been?” Rosita pulled Y/N aside when she was about to make small talk with someone.

“Uh. My watch shift? I just got relieved”

“What the hell?”

“What? I wasn’t gonna halt my work load for the day to doll myself up for a man who’s probably equally as tired as I am”

“Well hate to disappoint but the man is question” Rosita gently took a hold of her chin, directing her to look at Daryl while he was in the middle of a conversation with Gabriel. “Seems to have showered and dressed nicer than usual. I wonder who it’s for”

Y/N can’t deny that Daryl did indeed look extremely well put together. Did everything they used to beg him to do when they first arrived to Alexandria.

“I’m gonna go see how he’s doing” Y/N shot a smile his way which definitely caught his attention, but when she parted from Rosita to make her way over…she got stopped by Ezekiel and couldn’t just cut her friend off.

Daryl felt his small smile falter when she got pulled away not just once, but a handful of times throughout the night. He hasn’t even seen her eat or drink anything. Y/N was very popular that night and everybody wanted to talk to her, he wanted too as well but no window opened.

Until she was sat in one of the outdoor chairs by the fire, Daryl instantly took the empty one beside her and watched her tiredly look at him.

“Sorry was this—-“

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all night…” Y/N sighs, finally relaxing and keeping her attention on him. “I miss you”

The heat instantly made itself present on the tips of his ears as he tried to fight back a smile.

“Missed yea too sunshine”

The two caught up on what the other has missed regarding their community, ending with Y/N talking about how much Rick is an idiot for having Daryl watch the Sanctuary. A few share that same thought but hers had a whole other meaning.

“You staying the night here?”

“Yeah, figured they’d survive a night without me” Daryl scoffs finishing his beer as Y/N curled up slightly in her chair to get more comfortable.

“Well…I still stay at Rick and Michonne’s. No one touched your room if you’d like to stay there”

“I was actually planning on it…”

“Good” Y/N continues to hold her smile that he will always take a mental picture of. Before she could get another word, Rick quickly cut in to ask Daryl himself about any updates for the Sanctuary.

Which lead the exhaustion to finally hit Y/N after a long day.

When his conversation ended by Rick running off to catch up with Ezekiel, Daryl was going to return to his with Y/N but noticed she fell asleep in her chair. So instead of waking her, he sat with her and made sure no one disturbed her.

Daryl shooed away people, even tossed his empty beer bottle at Aaron who tried to start a conversation (thankfully he caught it)…eventually he got up from his spot and carefully picked up Y/N bridal style which led her to stir awake enough to realize what was happening.

“Oh…”

“You’re alright, imma take yea home”

“Okay, long day” Y/N mumbles resting her head against his chest closing her eyes once more.

On the way to the Grimes residence, Rosita and Michonne went up to make sure Y/N was okay but Daryl quickly gave them a look to back off gently. Nothing was wrong. Thankfully they both understood.

“Who woulda thought it took having Y/N do a lot of shit today to have this tonight” Michonne stated, taking a sip of her scotch as Rosita choked on her beer.

“You’re also trying to get them together?”

“Please. I’ve been trying since our prison days. At least she can finally rest easy tonight…it’s been hard for her with Daryl at the Sanctuary”

“I bet…” Rosita continued to watch the two walk off before leaning close to Michonne with a smirk. “What’d yea win in the bet with Carol?”

“Three night shifts for the bridge camp”

“Nice”

Once they got inside the house and upstairs to Y/N’s room, Daryl gently laid her in the bed before grabbing a blanket draping it over her carefully. What he least expected, Y/N gently took his wrist tugging him back to the bed as he caught the hint or so he thought by bringing him low enough for her to wrap his arms around him.

“Lay with me…”

“Are you su—-“

“I’ve missed you so much Daryl, I’m not letting go of you that easily”

The archer didn’t wait another moment and quickly kicked off his shoes before climbing into the bed laying on top of her. Y/N let him adjust to where his head rested comfortably on her chest letting her run her fingers through his hair.

A satisfied sigh left Daryl’s lips holding her as she held him in a way where she wasn’t going to let go easily.

And he’s thankful for that

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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ohimsummer · 5 months

Text

DARK RED ft. BULLY!SATOSUGU

— minors dni, angst w/comfort, mostly bully!satoru x reader, ft. bully! suguru, one implication of male masturbation, some fluff, also one (1) kiss

summary; bully! satoru manages to seriously upset you, and now he’s scrambling to give you a genuine apology

wc 2.8k

"I thought love was supposed to be easy."

Geto pauses mid-sip. "Oh, is that what you're calling this?"

Satoru leans further into his hand. His cheek smushes against his palm, muffling his grumbles. "Duh. What else would it be?"

"You being a dumbass."

Gleaming, white hair sways over Satoru's forehead, brushes his skin. "She wasn't supposed to react like that." You don't usually react like that, he thinks.

He toys with you all the time. The constant teasing and insults towards you is a regular occurrence, as much as you seem to hate it, but you always end up angrily leaving Gojo in the dust, and then the cycle repeats the next day. Only it was different last time; they’re your usual cries and shouts, but it’s a different type of outburst. Real tears in your eyes, your choked words of 'you suck!' and 'why can't you ever take anything seriously for once?' piercing through Gojo's heart and leaving a still-bleeding wound. They don't have your usual, pissed-off bite to them, but instead sound miserable. Heartbroken and disappointed, like the victim of a betrayal. Your expression shriveled any incoming words up in Satoru's throat, leaving him wide-eyed and dumbfounded as he watched you messily wipe away flowing tears and shove past him. That was last Wednesday, and he hasn't seen you since, not a glimpse or even a whiff of you on campus. It's like you never attended this college to begin with.

Satoru looks at his text messages with you, the last one being a dismal 'princess?' that you hadn't even read. He'd thought about threatening to leak one of the many sex tapes he had of you in his phone, but usually those coercions were bluffs, as Gojo nor Geto would dare leak their precious videos of you like that to anyone else. Besides, somehow forcing you into showing yourself made Satoru's stomach queasy. Like he'd vomit up his own heart.

"There."

He looks up at the sound of Geto's voice, following his pointed finger to the drink machine in the cafeteria. After loitering around for 2 hours, you'd finally shown up, alone and looking a little worse for wear. Even from a distance, Satoru can spot the dark circles under your eyes.

You stand idly in line, awaiting your turn to fill your cup. Eyes flitting from person to person, looking out for a fray of white strands or dark hair. It's hard to discern when the cafeteria is so busy at this hour, though you're not too concerned. Gojo and Geto don't usually frequent the cafe, not unless they're here to cause trouble. And you've been avoiding Satoru for about a week now with no complaints from either of them, so you're hoping you can get in and out without being spotted.

It’s an easy walk out of the cafeteria building, and you’re on your way back to your dorm when a familiar nickname stops you in your tracks. "Hey, princess!"

Fight or flight kicks in, and unfortunately your feet cement to the ground. His presence grows stronger as he draws near, until you can sense Gojo right behind you.

"Been avoiding me, Y/N?"

It feels off. He never really calls you by your actual name. "Why do you care?"

A few seconds of silence pass. Then, "Guess I missed my pretty girl is all."

Your heart aches for a second, before you scoff. "Sure you did. What, it's not the same making some other girl cry?"

Gojo doesn't answer, and you finally force your legs to pick up, heaving yourself towards your destination.

"Sorry."

Aaand, they're stuck again. Blinking, your head eases to the side, catching sight of Gojo in the corner of your vision. He looks awkward, staring at you with hands in his pockets and scuffing the ground as he kicks at the concrete. A knot forms in your stomach, hearing him utter an apology without his usual sarcasm or malice. It almost makes you want to talk things over, until the pain of your previous encounter comes flooding back, and you leave him standing there by himself. Rejected.

Day turns to darkness, and Satoru is stuck with another night of humping his fist like a desperate virgin. Suguru’s out, no telling where, leaving him alone with regretful thoughts to torment him. The next day passes. Then two. Then three. Satoru feels like he's going insane, and it's not just because he misses fucking you on the daily. He never realized just how much of a constant you were in his life until suddenly you weren't. Fuck. He groans into his pillow.

"Maybe give her a non-half-baked apology, like a normal person.," Geto complains. "And stop making so much noise, you're distracting."

"Fuck off."

"Fine, she can stay mad at you forever for all I care. You're the one who can't get in her pussy, not me."

Satoru jolts up, jaw falling slack as he glares at who was supposed to be his best friend. "Wha–, you're still fucking her? I just saw her for the first time again like three days ago!"

A smile stretches across Geto’s face. "Do you think our darling is stupid? Why would I get punished for your wrong-doings, she knows I’d fuck her up for that. "

Gojo flops face-down back onto the bed. "Not fair. We should be suffering together."

"Hell no, this is a personal problem between you and Y/N."

He groans again, legs kicking in the air. "Suguruuu, what do I do?"

"...Give her a genuine apology? I coulda sworn I just said that.”

"I already said sorry!"

"Genuine, I said. Not lazy. Give her something she likes."

Satoru turns slightly, brows furrowed. "What, like flowers? I don't know her favorites."

"Sunflowers."

Gojo pauses, directing a curious stink-eye towards Suguru. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I asked?"

Satoru rests a cheek against his arm, thoughts wandering off as he thinks of all the things he knows about you. Small things he's noticed. Like how you wear necklaces more often than any other jewelry, what certain colors catch your eye, things you've mentioned in passing when arguing with him. And now he does remember offering you a random weed he plucked from the ground as a joke, and you muttering 'what the fuck? for future reference, i like sunflowers’ before walking away from him.

"Suguru!," the mentioned man jolts at the sudden bellow of his name. "I'm making Y/N a bouquet!"

"Right." Geto rolls his eyes. "Do you even know how to do that?"

"Do you?"

"Not really–“

"Excellent, cancel your plans tomorrow, we're going out to get flowers!"

Suguru sighs. "Fine."

Both men, well Satoru, and a very grumpy Suguru after being shaken to consciousness, get up bright and early the next Saturday morning in search of a florist.

"Are these vibrant enough, ya think?" Satoru questions Geto, rubbing a hand over his own chin in contemplation. These flowers needed to be perfect, he wanted only the best for his ba–, you.

"These for someone special?," the lady behind the booth inquires. She smiles politely as she admires the golden petals. "A girlfriend, or wife, perhaps?"

"Uh–“

"Wife.," Satoru cuts Geto off. "So yes, very special, indeed."

He narrows his eyes at Suguru, who poorly muffles a chuckle behind his hand. "What?"

"Nothing. Didn't know you were married, is all."

Satoru shrugs, turning to examine the sunflowers again. "Hmph. That just shows you know nothing about me."

“I know you’re a jackass.”

“Anyway,” Gojo brushes him off. “I think these look terrific, perfect for my girl. I’ll take them all!”

Silence passes. The florist’s lids flutter in astonishment. “All of them?”

“Yep! This bouquet needs to be huge!”

Suguru places a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for several bouquets.”

Gojo’s grin widens. “Even better! Give ‘em to me.”

The looks both men get as they walk the streets with giant armfuls of sunflowers are…peculiar, but Satoru is too busy firing off his own praises on how he’s going to give you the best apology of your life to notice.

“I’m gonna make her cry!,” he beams, pauses, before adding, “Happy tears this time, though.”

Shoulders bounce as Suguru laughs, unable to stifle it with his hands full of shining yellow flowers. “She might just tell you to piss off.”

“Would it kill you to have some faith in me?”

“A little, yes.”

Geto curses under his breath. ‘Shit!’ as he goes stumbling forward right over Satoru’s foot, almost loosing his grip on the assortment in his arms.

“Hey, don’t you dare drop those.,” Gojo pouts. “These are for my wife, and they’re her favorite.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

It takes Satoru hours before he’s happy with the final product. Along with countless tutorials on how to organize a bouquet properly.

“Hold it this way.,” he commands Suguru, who rolls his tired eyes, ready to catch up on the sleep he missed this morning. “There, perfect! Wait, hold on, let me just redo this.”

“Can you hurry up?,” Geto frowns at him. “You’ve redone it like a million times already, damn.”

“Hey, my marriage is at stake here, excuse me for trying to make this look like the best bouquet she’ll ever see!”

“I’m letting go.”

“Nonowait! Okay, I’m done, promise.”

The bouquet comes out stunning, given the fact it was whipped up by two college boys who’d never created a bouquet in their lives, and especially when one of those college boys was Satoru Gojo. He boasts to Suguru, who’s yanking a blanket over his head, how it’s “his best work yet”.

“Maybe be a little more humble when you give it to her.,” Suguru grumbles as Satoru heads out, eager to present you with the display of his apologetic affections.

There’s a certain pep in his step, an excitement Gojo doesn’t often feel unless it’s to see your pretty face. Elated can’t even begin to describe it. The image of your soft lips curling into a smile, eyes sparkling as you see the large array of your favorite flowers, pushes Satoru closer and closer to your dorm building, which stands tall before him. He can’t help but mentally pat himself on the back. Heart swelling, Gojo can see it now, this surprise is going to make you ecstatic–

“Gojo?”

He halts mid-stride, foot hovering in the air, arms loosening around the bouquet. Satoru turns towards the sound and there you are, standing ten feet from him. Your mouth is open in a small ‘o’ as you notice the gift in his hand. Both of you stand there for a moment, eyeing each other, before you eventually break the silence.

“What’s that?”

Satoru snaps back to life, fumbling terribly to stuff the large bouquet behind his back, and he damns himself for making something so awkwardly huge. You watch, biting back a giggle, as he tries to hide what you’ve so obviously seen already. He stutters “u-uh, nothing!’ as a few petals flutter down from his hard work, and he curses ‘fuck!’.

It's easy to sneak up on Gojo when he's so busy floundering with the bunch of flowers. Your mouth threatens to grow into a smile, teeth sinking into your lips at the outlandish sight of him struggling to completely conceal the massive bouquet from your sight. The sharp pinch of your fingertips on his shoulder snatches Gojo from his frantic thoughts.

“Is this your way of apologizing again?”

“No!,” is his instant reply, startling you until Gojo averts his gaze to the concrete. “I mean...yeah. You ruined the surprise.”

This interaction feels more routine, less delicate. The way his lips jut out in a pout, his teasing banter. Crossing arms over your chest, you give Gojo an unamused look. “Ummm, it’s huge. How did you plan on hiding that from me?”

“…”

Satoru thinks his heart stutters as you hold out your arms, hands gesturing for the bouquet, and he slowly reveals the assortment of flowers behind his back. Through his panicked, rushed efforts to hide them, the paper has torn, some of the flowers are missing petals, and some aren’t in the exact position he and Suguru had so meticulously arranged them.

“Dumbass.,” you huff, wrapping fingers around the stems, which are adorned with a crinkly, cream colored paper and a dark green bow. “I’m still mad with you.”

Satoru’s breath hitches as your fingers brush his, as if it's the first time he's ever touched you. He relinquishes hold of the bouquet. “You like ‘em, though? Don’t lie, I can tell.”

“Just shut up.”

He flashes you a toothy, boyish grin, one that makes your heart beat a little faster. “It’s all for you, my pretty Y/N.”

Eyes rolling, you intently study the bouquet, raising it to hide your flustered expression. A warmth creeps over your body at the way Satoru utters your name, like if he says it too loudly, it will break apart into glass pieces. The paper creases under your restless fingers.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

The flowers are striking, but Gojo doesn’t think they compare at all to your beauty. Blue eyes admire you, at the way you marvel over the bunch of sunflowers, beaming at how fresh and vibrant and downright captivating they are. You glance up to meet Satoru’s eye, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

“So, uh,” he starts, avoiding your gaze. “I’m sorry about what I said. Really didn’t mean to upset you that much.”

Your eyes narrow. “That much?”

“Well, you know you’re really hot when you’re mad, but I didn’t mean to do that–“

“And did I look hot then?”

“No! Well, you weren’t ugly, but I didn’t like seeing you so upset–, usually it’s a turn on when you’re all angry but it felt different that time and Suguru didn’t tell me until later you were having a super rough day so I figured I might have hit a nerve–“

You cradle the bouquet to your chest, thoroughly enjoying the clumsy flow of his words, determined not to dig himself a deeper hole or upset you all over again. His lips pause, and then Gojo interrupts another sentence with a new one, before the downturn of his brows as he catches your gleaming eyes.

“My point is that I’m sorry.” He spots the twitch of your frown. “I know you wanna smile, let me see it.”

You can’t help but grin as your mouth opens. “No I don’t. And I guess you’re forgiven, now get away from me so I can enjoy my bouquet in peace.”

“Wait, that’s not it!” Before you turn away, Satoru reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small, white, silk bag with a white ribbon securing the opening. “I got this too. Here.”

You recognize the design of the tiny sack from a rather expensive jewelry store, one you could only dream of buying from. And now here you were, in possession of something from that same store, mouth gaping open as Satoru snickers.

“You just gonna stare, baby, or…?”

The fabric of the bag is soft in your hands, smooth and easy on your fingers. Hugging the bouquet to your side, the ribbon loosens to reveal a dainty, silver necklace inside, adorned with a small, heart charm engraved with your initials.

“Oh, wow . .” You’re awestruck at how delicate and pretty it looks. Turning it over, you find a “G.S” on the other side of the heart. “And Suguru’s initials on the back? How sweet.”

“Don’t play.”

“Whatever.,” you giggle at his downturned lips. “It’s very nice, I like it.”

Satoru can’t help pat himself on the back. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Cost a hefty chunk of change, especially since I wanted it so quick and on such short notice–“

“Uh huh.” This big dummy. Your smile grows at the thought.

“–and you know I just had to get the best for my pretty girl, plus I got kinda hard at the thought of my initials on your chest–“

Gojo’s words catch in his throat at the soft press of your lips to his cheek. Blood shoots to his face, instantly, and you can’t help bursting into a round of giggles, barely gasping out ‘you look like a strawberry!’. He’s so embarrassed that the realization that you willingly kissed him of your own accord doesn’t even register. All Satoru feels is a burning heat on his cheeks and a tightness in his chest, desire squeezing a fist around his heart as you smirk up at him through a fit of laughter.

“You are really somethin’ else. Bye, Satoru, also learn to stop talking sometimes.”

All Gojo can do is wave as you depart, leaving you with a ‘see ya, princess’ as you disappear into the building, sparing him one last glance. His phone vibrates as you leave his line of sight, announcing a text from Suguru.

asshole🤮: you give it to her yet?

s: i thought the sleeping beauty was getting a nap in?

asshole🤮: she told you to fuck off, didn’t she?

s: stfu

#bully! satosugu #bully! satoru #satoru gojo imagine #satoru x reader #Satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #satoru gojo angst #jjk angst

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randomdragonfires · 1 month

Text

Moon Song | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!

WORD COUNT | 6.6k

A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)

RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.

A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…

The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.

Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.

Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.

“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.

She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!

He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.

He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it.

As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them.

I need you to believe me.

In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.

He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen.

His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks.

He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him.

Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?

Why?

His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.

"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise.

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.

What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.

How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?

THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.

In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.

This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.

Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.

This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.

“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying.

Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.

In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.

During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.

In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.

Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.

As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.

As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.

"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.

Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud.

"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library.

Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?

And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.

The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.

His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.

ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.

But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.

Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.

He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.

How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...

But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?

He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.

Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.

The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.

Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.

Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.

He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.

Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?

The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.

As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.

She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.

Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.

A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye.

Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.

He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.

THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.

“Wife.”

As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.

Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.

Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?

As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well.

She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness.

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back.

“Are you… well?”

The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.

“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow? I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?

He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”

“It was an accident.”

He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.

“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband

“You don’t believe me.”

“You killed him!”

She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?

Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces.

Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.

“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”

He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage.

“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”

It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.

As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.

In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.

And then Luke surfaces, yet again.

He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days.

Not Luke’s. His.

“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.

The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.

“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.

He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.

“Mine.”

She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.

She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else.

Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.

The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.

Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions.

Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.

He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?

His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.

He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.

As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.

As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.

She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way - where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.

Cursed bastard.

Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.

In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.

This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.

And then, her breathing ceases.

The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.

She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.

As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.

Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side.

Aemond is free.

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MASTERLIST

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toruro · 1 year

Text

— ✧ desperate

i don't know what i'd be doing without you (raise y_our glass / huh yunjin)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

description: when your husband starts to get more and more busy, you naturally grow needy. it’s only after long game of cat and mouse that he finally gets you to fess up about what's been bothering you, and it's safe to say your answer is definitely not what he's expecting.

tags: smut (18+), husband!wonwoo, fluff, oral (f receiving), bulge kink, angst and miscommunication but it's resolved ^-^

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: inspired by this ... so sorry it took me so long to get to this, it's been sitting in my drafts for SO long ... but i hope u all enjoy! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated :3

You’re convinced you’ve gone crazy. This shouldn’t be right—your fiancé being exhausted shouldn’t turn you on—it’s wrong. Isn’t it?

It’s been bothering you recently, but you’ve held back.

When he comes home and immediately drops his black suit jacket on the floor and his jaw is tight, you turn away and ignore how it reminds you of the way he clenches his teeth when fucking into you. When he unbuttons his white formal shirt at the top, revealing the chiseled curve of his chest, you leave the room for a few moments, hoping that the burning ache between your legs will soon ebb away. It’s exhausting in its own way, you think.

Coming home every day to a quiet house, with nothing but you and your hand slipping under the waistband of your panties trying to do anything and everything to make your fingers feel like his; Wonwoo walking in hours after your futile attempts to make yourself cum, muttering sincere apologies of, “I’m sorry, there’s just this one deal we’ve been trying to make and—“

You’d have to shush his words, wrapping your arms around him saying, “It’s okay, I understand—you’re working so hard.”

"I hate being away from you," Wonwoo would admit, and you'd kiss his cheek softly. He'd melt in your arms and in the moment you'd feel so guilty for feeling so needy earlier, but you can't lie and say the way that his arms are so large and hard under your touch has you throbbing.

You'd get into bed before Wonwoo is out of the shower, doing your best to lull yourself to sleep so you don't have to be awake to feel his bare skin against your body, because you just know your poor pussy won't be able to handle it.

Tonight, he comes back around the same time as others—weary after a long day at work—a small frown etched on his lips as he runs a rough hand through his tousled hair, noticing that you aren’t by his side to greet him like normal. A twinge of disappointment runs through his body as he glances around, waiting silently to see if you're just a few seconds away from walking up to him,

To be honest, you’ve been horny all evening—like pretty much all other ones—so when you hear him unlock the door, you just can't bring yourself to go see him, knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to just sink to your knees in front of him and unbuckle his pants.

Wonwoo, still standing by the doorway, is frankly quite confused. "Baby," he calls out, wondering that maybe you just didn't hear him walk in.

But when you only let out a low hum and say, "Yeah?" in response, he feels...dejected? No, that it's the right word.

To be honest, Wonwoo has been sensing something's wrong. He brushed it off earlier, thinking that it was probably just him being too tired to tell the difference between you being tired too, and you avoiding him. Up until right now, he had convinced himself it was the former—you two both had been swamped in work, so he figured that you were just as exhausted as him.

Now, Wonwoo isn't too sure of himself. Those thoughts that 'what if she's not interested anymore,' are creeping back into his mind, but when he walks into the living room to see you curled up in the couch, he tries to push them away. Absentmindedly slipping off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, he walks over to you and sits next to you on the couch.

"How was work?" you ask him, not really looking up from your phone as you lean in slightly to his side. Fuck, he looks so good with the way his glasses hang low, collarbone on display, eyes gazing intensely at yours—fuck, fuck, fuck, you just can't take it.

"Good," Wonwoo hums, wrapping an arm around your side and you might just combust with the way the rough pads of his fingers brush against your skin because—fuck—you can't stop thinking about the way they rub the inside of your cunt. "How was your day?"

"Tiring," you reply honestly, and just when Wonwoo thinks you'll sink deeper into his hold, you're pulling away, leaving him cold and confused. "I'm going to get into bed now," you murmur, "'m really tired, you know?" Sitting up from the couch, your fiancé just stares at you for a few moments, blinking, before you force yourself to turn away and walk hastily to your bedroom.

If Wonwoo thought something was wrong before, he definitely knows something is wrong now. You and him, you're good at communicating. Wonwoo expects you to tell him if there's anything bothering you, and you expect the same of him; so now that there's obviously something you aren't telling him, he's more worried than anything that there's something you aren't comfortable telling him.

After snapping out of the somewhat shocked state he's in, he doesn't hesitate to stand up and follow behind you. You're crawling into bed when you hear his footsteps thudding up towards you, and this is when you think your luck has run out—your patience is running thin, and if you look at Wonwoo any longer, you know you won't be able to handle it, turning yourself over in the bed to smush your face in the pillow.

Maybe if you pretend you're asleep he won't talk to you. Unfortunately for you, like you said: your luck has run out.

"Baby," Wonwoo coos softly, as you feel the mattress dip next to you with his added weight. There's a hand on your shoulder and you think you might just crumble right there and then. "C'mon, I know you're awake." Maybe if you just hold out a little bit longer—"Okay seriously."

You open one eye and let it flicker to the direction of Wonwoo's voice, finding him sitting on the bed on his knees next to you, eyes pleading. "'m tired," you try to tell him, turning back before he grabs your shoulder again.

"Something's wrong." Yeah, maybe it's the fact that you haven't been able to make yourself cum in weeks.

"Yeah," you say bluntly, the words coming out harsher than you'd anticipated. "I'm tired and you aren't letting me sleep. That's what's wrong." Wonwoo gives you that look and now you know you're really in for it.

"You're avoiding me."

You open both your eyes, sitting up and leaning against the headboard with a frown. "I'm not."

"You didn't say come hi when I came home."

"I was cozy on the couch."

"Angel, you always come say hi to me," Wonwoo says, and you can swear there's almost a pout on his lips. You rub your eyes with your hands, trying to distract yourself from the way you can see under his shirt when he leans forward, revealing his pretty set of hard muscles.

"Sorry, I don't know I just—I was really tired today," you try to say sincerely, looking at your fiancé with eyes practically begging him to just let it go.

"Did I do something wrong?" Wonwoo blurts out, and your eyes widen.

"What, no?" you exclaim, nearly mortified that he would even think that. "No, why would you think that?"

Wonwoo's eyes furrow, and you can't quite read his expression. "You've been so distant..." his voice trails off. "If I did something wrong I want us to talk about it, not have secrets." You sigh as he reaches his hand over to intertwine with yours, squeezing your eyes shut when you find yourself focusing in on the thick, prominent veins.

"It's embarrassing," you murmur under your breath, not daring to look Wonwoo in the eye while a series of downright filthy thoughts run through your mind.

"It's okay," Wonwoo whispers, inching closer to you, so sincere that it's driving you crazy.

"I—" your voice hitches in your throat, and he looks at you worriedly as you pull your hand away from his so you can bury your face in your palms, inhaling deeply. He places a hand on your back immediately and the proximity has you squeaking out his name.

"What is it, baby?" Fuck, his voice is so deep and it's slightly hoarse and it's strumming your heart in ways that you can't even describe.

"It's just—you're just gone so—so much," you finally manage to say. You know it's vague, but it's the only thing that you can muster up.

Wonwoo's face scrunches up, and he looked at you confused. "I—I know," he sighs, getting frustrated with himself for leaving you like this. You catch the somber look on his face, and your heart tightens at the idea that he thinks this is his fault because it's not.

Not his fault his cock is so fat and long and pretty in ways that has your mouth salivating when you even just think about it. Not his fault that whenever you close your eyes and press your thighs together, all you can think about is his length carving its shape into your aching cunt. Yeah. Totally not his fault.

"I'm sorry," Wonwoo continues when you don't respond. "Have I been neglecting you?"

Your pussy, yeah. "N-no, it's not that," you stutter out, trying to push the thoughts away. Maybe there's still some time for you to back out of this.

"Can you not lie? I can tell you're upset with me."

"No!" you say quickly, bringing up a hand to catch his wrist. His skin burns against yours, and you aren't sure how much longer you can put this up. "I guess I just...I missed you a lot..." your voice trails off hoping that Wonwoo will understand what you’re getting at, but the dazed look on his face tells you he hasn’t got a clue.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says with a frown, linking his fingers with the ones on his wrist, pulling you close. Fuck, you really should pull away because his gentle tug is reminding you of the way he pulls you on top of him when you're about to ride him and—“Work has just been a lot lately,” he explains sadly, looking down at you as he pulls you flush against his chest.

Your face is burning and his exposed skin pressed against you is just too much, and you need to pull away. “Wonwoo, just—“

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blurts out and you freeze.

“What?!” you gasp out. “What the hell—no, Wonwoo.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and now you know that you can’t let this go on any longer.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’ve been so so distant and you keep pushing me the fuck away and—“ he rambles, clearly frustrated when he rakes a hand through his hair.

Your eyes well up with tears and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how sad Wonwoo looks or how bad you feel for letting it all build up to this point or how you feel guilty for being so needy in the first place.

“It’s not you, it’s not you, it’s me!” you finally manage to tell him. Wonwoo stills, watching tears leak from your lashes as you go on. “I’ve just been missing you so much, Won,” you blabber, “and when you come home so tired and exhausted I don’t wanna bother you and—sometimes it hurts to be in the same room as you because I just wanna feel you but—”

“Wait hold on,” Wonwoo murmurs, his faced scrunched up. “That’s what this is about.”

You look away bashfully, burying your face in your hands. “I told you, Won—it’s embarrassing!” Wonwoo stares at you for a moment, blinking as he lets your words sink in. You're scared of his reaction, keeping your eyes shut tight—afraid you'll see him looking down at you and seeing you for the desperate, needy girl you are.

The anticipation of his response is still killing you though, and you're about to murmur something more when you hear Wonwoo stifle a little laugh. Peeking up at him through your fingers, you catch him watching you with a rather amused smile.

"You were just horny?" he murmurs, bringing his hand up to pull your fingers away from your face.

Quickly averting your gaze, you mumble, "I—I wasn't just horny...it's just—it's been weeks and you look—" you bite your lip wondering if you should go on. The smirk on his face tells you yes. "—you look really nice when you get home."

"Pretty sure that means you were just horny," Wonwoo teases, and although you feel like the world might as well swallow you whole, a lot of the tension that's been weighing down on your shoulders has vanished. Since your confession, Wonwoo has traced his hands up your arms and down your body so they now rest on your waist, pulling you close to him as he shifts his own body so he can lay against the headboard.

"No," you huff, easing back into a more comfortable setting now that you're sitting on his lap, the heated mess between your legs growing even more dirty. "Missed you. Missed this." You punctuate the last word with an peck on his lips that has you both grinning.

"Missed my dick, is what you're trying to say," Wonwoo says with a roll of his eyes, and you slap his shoulder.

Pouting, you reply, "Hey. Stop doing that, or you're going to make me start feeling like I'm the only one who wants this..."

"This?" Wonwoo's eyebrow is cocked up, and you feel yourself shrinking under his gaze. Your hips are resting dangerously close to his, but his firm grip on you has you stuck in your place.

"You know..." your voice goes quiet, and you look up your husband pleadingly.

"I've really left you needy, huh angel..." he mutters under his breath, running one finger along your bottom lip as you lean into his touch. And then his lips are crashing onto yours, a wet mess of tongue and saliva as you both lick into each other's mouth.

Whining, you grind down onto his pelvis when lets go of his bruising grip on your waist, allowing you to find that friction that you've been craving for weeks. Your hands instinctively fly up to tug at his button up, the flat rounds of plastic slipping through his fingers as you claw your way to feel his skin against you.

Wonwoo lets you work his shirt off of him, pulling away so he can fix his own attention on your pajama pants, wondering how many times you've tried to make yourself cum in them. He shoves away the thought of leaving you so needy that you felt the need to fucking play with yourself, instead bringing his hands to the elastic waistband and yanking down and over the curve of your ass.

"I missed you so much, Won-won," you mewl into his shoulder, legs instinctively wrapping around his bare torso once you successfully rid Wonwoo of his shirt and kick off your pajamas off.

"You could've—" he cuts off with his own grunt as he adjusts under you, trying to push his pants off of himself as he grows harder by the second, "—said something earlier. You should've."

You look up at him meekly once he finally get's his work pants out of the way and thrown off the bed, squirming in your own panties and loose shirt. "I know but you're working so hard," your voice trails off. "Coming home everyday, all tired and all."

"I always have energy for you," he murmurs, nipping at the skin of your neck, allowing himself to taste as much of you as you'll let him. Quickly and firmly, he flips the two of you so that you're leaning against the cushions and he's on top of you, settling in between your legs. Sucking hard, Wonwoo vaguely thinks about how you might complain about the hickey in the morning, but the thought is swept away when you thread your fingers into his hair and tug gently.

"Wonwoo," you coo, and you don't need to say any more for him to know what you want. He briefly considers teasing you a little longer—making you plead with him, tear up as you beg for him to fuck you, but he knows that you've been thinking about this for too long to have the will to make you wait any longer. Wonwoo can save the edging for another time, he reminds himself, as he slowly makes his way down your body so that his lower half is resting flat on the mattress, strong arms wrapping around your legs and hips.

"Missed seeing you like this, pretty," he murmurs, nuzzling his cheek into your inner thigh, placing wet kisses on the sensitive skin.

"Missed you too," you mumble, growing shy by the way Wonwoo's staring down at the wet spot that stains your panties in front of him.

"Yeah?" he hums, bringing up one hand to pinch the nub of your clit between the fabric, causing you to gasp loudly and throw your head back. "I can tell baby...you're soaked." The tips of your ears burn and you bury your face into the crook of your arm.

"Won-won..."

"Sorry baby, you just look so sexy right now...take your shirt off for me," he responds with a cheeky grin, pressing a kiss onto your soiled panties before peeling them off while you shimmy off your own top. You hiss when the cool air hits your slick folds, hips bucking for some friction. "Easy," Wonwoo orders, grounding your hips down with one strong arm, "Let me take my time with you."

"But I can't wait anymore!" you whimper, watching him bring his face dangerously close to your core. A choked moan rips from your throat when Wonwoo heeds your body's request, liking a warm stripe up your cunt, swirling his tongue over your aching clit. He hums against you as he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, sucking so hard it has your arms flying down to grip at his hair.

Without anymore words, Wonwoo glides his tongue through your folds, pressing against them flat and hard and fuck, does he move so languidly, it's like your bodies were made for each other. He lets you tug at his hair, loosening his grip on your waist so that you can buck your hips in a shallow motion while he swivels his head up and down in sync, allowing you to grind against his face perfectly.

"Fuck—Wonwoo—I missed you so much," you cry out when he prods one finger at your hole, the gyrating of your hips taking its opportunity to suck him right in. And before you know, he's got two fingers plunged knuckle deep inside your cunt as he continues to lap at your clit. His name runs from your lips like a mantra and you wonder how you'd gone more than day without having him go down on you like this, because right now it feels as if Wonwoo is all you can breathe, smell, feel, and think.

"Yeah? Think you can show me how much you missed me?" he manages out, finally pulling his face away to catch his breath before diving right back into your filthy cunt, allowing the glistening mess that runs from his lips and down his chin to grow even messier.

"Yes!" you moan as he slips in a third finger, curling them up into that one spot that is burned into the back of his mind—the one spot that has your legs shaking and eyes shutting tight as you cry out his name when your orgasm hits. Wonwoo finger fucks you through the high, and suddenly you're trembling for his touch, to feel his skin against yours, to have him so close you wouldn't be surprised if you mold into one.

Intertwining your fingers with his clean one, you pull him up so fast that he nearly falls over you, grunting a little as he climbs his way up to have his body hovering over yours. It's not enough, you think dazedly, wrapping your arms around his torso to yank him down on you so that your bodies are pressed up right against each other. "Baby," he huffs as his clothed cock rubs up against your bare cunt.

You push your lips against his in an awkward, sloppy kiss as you body roll around in the sheets as Wonwoo tries to shuffle off boxers and you try to wrap your legs around his bare torso as best as you can. As soon as you're both successful, he's pulling away from your lips for a moment to gasp when he slides his cock through your dripping folds. Fuck, it really has been too long, he thinks.

Wonwoo is drunk on the feeling of your wetness alone, and then you're holding him so close—tits pressed up against his chest and pelvis pressing into his and god, he can't take it anymore. He'll apologize later for giving you no warning, but right now he just needs to be inside of you, sinking his fat length into your warm cunt with no hesitation.

The stretch is delicious, and you're reminded of just why your fingers were never able feel the same—he's splitting you in half, and you can't help but crave for more and more and more. Your skin burns and it feels like you might just pass out from the pleasure, but you don't mind if you meet your end—not if it's by Wonwoo's hand.

And then he shifts inside you just a little but that's more than enough for you both to feel it. Wonwoo's stomach is pressed up against yours and it'd be impossible to not feel it. He grabs your hand in his and slips it between the little space that's left between you two so you can both smooth your hands over your stomach and the realization is more than enough to have your feeling another orgasm bubble up in your core.

Because at the base of your belly is the imprint of Wonwoo's cock inside of you, so deep that you're body forced itself to make room for him and the thought alone is enough to have you moaning into each other's mouth as your lips meet for another filthy kiss.

It's about to be a long fucking night.

#wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo fluff #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen fanfic #📝 writing

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mothhball · 3 months

Text

Beneath me

Pairing || professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader

Warnings || 18+ SMUT, NON-CON, DUB-CON, forced breeding, fingering, p in v sex, housewife kink(?), humiliation, dumbification, misogyny, unprotected sex, age gap (professor and student, everyone’s an adult), brief dacryphilia, condescending use of petnames, jon is a prick in this but gets better towards the end (if you squint hard enough)

Summary || The professor suspects you cheated on your exam, but you’re determined to prove him wrong.

Words || 3.7k

Notes || First ever fic and it’s smut because I love suffering. English isn’t my first language, so I hope everything makes sense. Please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the warnings

Afternoon lectures. The bane of many students’ existence, yours included. You’d been on campus since 9 am, trying to catch up on homework and study material for the most dreaded class of the day. Abnormal Psychology, presented by none other than Professor Jonathan Crane. Crane with his smart suits and piercing eyes. Crane with his condescending remarks and off-handed insults. Crane with his ridiculously handsome face and –

“Are you even listening to me?” The man in question is now standing in front of you, staring you down with narrowed eyes as his lips pull down into a frown. Yes, right. It’s 5 pm now, almost the end of the lecture and time to get your exam results back. You shake yourself out of your stupor, glancing down at the paper he left on your desk. But instead of a grade, you only see a bold red question mark which takes up almost a fourth of the entire first page. Crane clears his throat impatiently, and his mood sours more and more the longer he has to stand next to your seat.

“I said, you will meet me in my office after class. Is that understood? And I’d suggest you get your head in order until then,” he hisses, icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Your heart sinks, and you can feel the blood leaving your face as you manage to nod rather stiffly.

“Of course… Professor Crane, “ you murmur in reply, and upon hearing that, the professor quickly resumes his round around the lecture hall, handing back grades to your fellow students. As the first people pack up their things and begin to file out of the room, you slowly pack up as well. Your hands are cold from anxiety as you zip up your bag and get up from your seat. Meeting Professor Crane in his office was the last thing you wanted to do right now. The plan was to go home, grab takeout on the way and curl up in bed with a movie starring this forty-something year old actor you have the hots for. But God forbit anyone in Gotham wants to have a nice time.

Soon enough, you find yourself in Crane’s office, taking the seat in front of his desk and folding your hands in your lap to keep from fidgeting. The professor runs a hand through his hair, looking you over with a skeptical glare before he straightens his posture and gets to the point.

“I’m disappointed, shocked and quite frankly, I feel personally insulted.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, he pulls out two stacks of paper, smacking them down on the desk. You quickly recognize one stack as a copy of your exam, but as you look over at the other, it feels like someone froze time for a moment. It’s someone else’s exam, but they wrote down the same answers. Not word for word, but in a way and structure that’s quite obviously plagiarized. Squinting at the name, you remember the guy sitting next to you, and anger bubbles up inside of your chest.

“He cheated off of me,” you mutter, trying to stay calm.

“Brennan said the same thing. Funny how that works, huh? And in case it went over your head, I don’t find it funny at all. But I will have to fail one of you. The question is, which one will it be?”

He takes his glasses off, gingerly setting the spectacles aside before he pinches the bridge of his nose. A little dramatic, but very much expected from him.

“Look, I’m not saying you were the one cheating off of Brennan,” He starts, sounding exhausted and absent at the same time. Like this is all beneath him. Like your future in his class has as much importance as the piece of lint he’s picking off of his sweater vest. “But there’s no real proof that he cheated off of you either. It’s a case of ‘he said, she said’. And it’s not like Brennan had much reason to cheat. He has had consistently good grades, whereas you-“

“I’ll prove it, “ you interrupt him without thinking, clenching your hands so tightly that your nails dig into the skin of your palms. Crane looks visibly taken aback, perplexed that you have the gall to intercept before he could expose your rather mediocre academic history in his class. You know you’re average. A face in the crowd; one of many names on an attendance sheet he barely pays attention to.

“I’ll prove it to you,” you repeat, swallowing dryly. Your mouth suddenly feels like you ate sand, and you really want to clear your throat, but you’ve done so thrice within the past five minutes, and you can tell it’s starting to piss him off. “Give me a chance, please. Please, Professor Crane. I know the material, I swear.”

Crane’s eyes briefly dart down to your lips, and his eyebrows furrow in thought before he nods slowly, thoughtfully. He’s making a show of it. Portraying himself as the generous teacher while you’re desperate for even the smallest chance of passing this goddamn class.

“Alright,” He sighs, and the weight seems to lift off of your shoulders. A smile begins to spread on your face, and –

“Get out a pen. And paper. You’re going to write an essay.”

Eyebrows raised in confusion, you tilt your head a little. You almost feel stupid to ask.

“What, right now?”

“Of course, right now. At home, you’d get the chance to cheat again, wouldn’t you?”

Again. He’s still convinced you were the one to cheat on your exam. His tone is bitingly condescending and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he gets up from his chair to head over to the almost overflowing bookshelf next to his desk. You’re still sitting there, hands in your lap until he lets out an exasperated sigh, signaling for you to get a move on. Not wanting to incur even more of his wrath, you dig through your bag to get out a pen and some loose sheets of paper.

In the meantime, Crane has chosen a book from his shelf, and he’s wordlessly flipping through the pages until he lands on a fitting topic for an essay. He snaps the book shut and returns to his desk, fixing his tie as he nods to himself.

“Alright. I want 5 pages on fear conditioning. If you truly studied for the exam, this should be a piece of cake. If you didn’t, this will be an embarrassing little lecture you’re in dire need of learning.”

Your eyes widen, and you stammer for a moment, unable to find the words while staying respectful.

“That many? But it’s already –“

“Five-thirty pm? I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight. And you should be grateful that I don’t have plans either. I’m staying late for your sake. Because you convinced me to give you a chance. I don’t have to do this, you know? I could just fail you and go home. So, I think a little gratitude would be more than appropriate.” There’s an odd expression in his eyes. Halfway between hunger and conflict. He’s usually so composed. You must really be testing his patience.

“Thank you, Prof –“ “Thank me by getting to it already.”

You nod meekly, grabbing the pen and beginning to jot down the date and your name in the corner of the first page. While you’re focused on the introduction part of your essay, you miss the way that Crane folds his hands on the desk, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white. His icy gaze is focused on every twitch of your muscles, every swoop of your handwriting, every time you softly bite your lips in thought. If only you’d look up. You’d see the way his jaw is set and his pupils expand. You’d realize the situation you’re in. A bunny with its neck in the jaws of the wolf.

You’re about two thirds done with the first page when he wheels his chair around the desk, closer to yours. Once his arm brushes against you, you pause to lift your gaze, looking at him with equal parts confusion and curiosity.

“Uhm… professor? What are you doing?”

“Checking on your progress,” Is his curt reply, but he leans in even closer, staring down at your half-baked essay. “Eyes on the paper.”

You comply, getting back to writing after a short second of sorting your thoughts. It’s more difficult to write with him basically breathing down your neck, and your heart skips a beat when he scoots even closer. Despite this, you keep on writing. Until his hand lands on your thigh.

You tense, looking up at him. Your lips part, and you’re about to say something before he speaks first.

“Eyes. On. The. Paper. We’re going to simulate a stressful, distracting environment. Not unlike a lecture hall during an exam. If you can keep your cool, I’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“Or I could fail you right now, and you’ll prove me and my suspicions right.”

Back to writing it is. Your hand is a little shakier during the next few sentences while the warmth of his fingers seeps through the fabric of your skirt into your skin. But you get back into the motions, almost able to ignore him until his hand flexes and begins to wander. A shiver runs down your spine as his touch slips underneath your skirt, feeling the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“That’s it. Keep writing. Try to show me how smart you are.”

Crane’s voice is a snide whisper right next to your ear. His breath sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep your focus on the essay. Well, at least some of it. Once his fingers brush over the crotch of your panties, your breath hitches as heat builds in your core. But you can’t even get a word in.

“Run your mouth and your final grade drops to an F. You’re on my time now, understood? Not a fucking word to anyone or else a failed class will be the least of your worries.”

You’ve never heard him curse before. The man sitting beside you, the man with his hand under your skirt isn’t the professor you’ve known throughout the semester. No, at this point, the mask is slipping and the difference is startling. Crane pushes your skirt up with one hand and your legs apart with the other, letting out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of your wet panties.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through the lace, aren’t you? I didn’t even touch you yet… Are you always this easy? Almost adorable… Keep writing for me.”

His words make your ears burn with embarrassment, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as you get back to your essay. It’s getting harder to think. Especially once his fingers slip underneath your panties, running between your glistening folds. Crane quickly finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves for a deliciously brief moment before he moves his hand further down to your entrance.

“Now you’re being grateful, hm? Is this what you were thinking about while everyone else was making an effort during my lectures? While everyone else was busy doing their work… you were getting worked up in your seat thinking about me. Thinking about me playing with your little cunt.”

The corners of his lips pull up into a self-satisfied grin as he plunges a finger inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s not meeting any resistance from your sweet pussy, so he quickly adds a second one. The slick noises are obscene, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide your flushed face and focus on the essay, but it’s futile. You’re writing complete and utter nonsense at this point, and he knows it. Crane scoots his chair even closer, pressing up against your side as he works his fingers inside of you, caressing that spongy spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. As he looks over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your writing, he scoffs out a laugh.

“Goodness, sweetie. That’s what your pretty little head managed to come up with so far? All this talk about wanting to prove yourself, and you deliver this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more pathetic attempt at an essay in all my years of teaching.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the harshness of his words, and the sight of it makes Crane’s cock harden in his slacks. He licks his lips, curling his fingers inside of you with a little more urgency as he leans in to whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Let out those noises. I guarantee they’re worth more than every brainless contribution you’ve ever made in my class.”

It’s an order, not a request, and you find yourself unable to keep quiet anymore as his thumb comes up to rub your clit again. Your wetness is starting to drip down onto the seat below you while you let out a breathy moan, and you begin to doubt yourself. Maybe you really are as empty-headed as he says. To your dismay, this thought only causes the tension in your core to build up even faster.

“There we go. Close to cumming from being fingered by your professor. You’re so needy, so eager for the slightest bit of attention. A toy that needs to be played with 24/7. Aren’t you ashamed?”

You let out another moan of pleasure and humiliation, clenching around his digits as he stretches you open. When did you forget how to speak?

“Trying to play in the big leagues while you’re just a dumb little fuckpet for my enjoyment,” he hisses, before he sinks his teeth into your earlobe, causing you to squeak. It hurts. But that’s the point. You’re so close to the edge, toes curling inside of your shoes. And then suddenly, he withdraws his hand. You catch a glimpse of his glistening fingers, and you turn your head just in time to watch him lick your juices off of them. He lets out a groan, satisfied by your taste.

“Get up. Hands on the desk.”

You scramble to get up, standing on wobbly legs as you bend over Crane’s desk. The professor wastes no time, grabbing onto your sopping wet panties and ripping them off of you. The fabric shreds beneath his hands, leaving your skin stinging where it cut slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, exposing your rear to him, and he moans out another sound of appreciation. His hands come up to grab onto the meat of your ass, spreading them apart to allow him a perfect view of your dripping cunt.

“Lord knows you’re not made for higher education.”

Crane leans in, licking a stripe up between your folds, and you bite down on a knuckle to keep in the pathetic moan that hangs on your lips. Your body is desperately begging you to just let him take what he wants from you, but your mind clings onto the last shred of dignity you have. When the sound of his belt being undone tears you from your thoughts, you turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Wait –“ You start, suddenly struck by the reality of it all.

Crane chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed apprehension on your face.

“You’re not braindead already, are you? What did you think was going to be the logical conclusion of this? Of course, I’m going to bury my dick in you. Fuck, if you were this tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock….”

“No, I –“

“Shh, no need to worry. Judging by your essay, you don’t have the mental capacity anyway.”

Crane roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek meets the wooden surface of his desk while he hurriedly unzips his slacks. He’s painfully hard at this point, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a relieved hiss once he’s finally freed himself. He leans over you, pressing his weight into your back and aligning himself with your tight hole before he pushes his hips forward. You’re immobilized under him, squished against the desk as he fills you with his length. Crane’s lips find your pulse, licking and nibbling at your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, shuddering from the sensation of your plush walls around his cock.

“Good girl… you’re so wet. All for me, huh? Yes… just for me.” He moans through his teeth, leaning back a little to watch as your pussy stretches around him when he begins to slowly thrust into you. You let out a soft whine in response, not quite adjusted to him yet. But if you know anything about him at this point, it’s that he doesn’t care.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot. Just relax – shh, shh, that’s it. You feel so good, squeezing me like a proper toy. All obedient and sweet… you really were built for this.“

He lifts his hand, landing a smack on your ass before he pulls out all the way and pushes back in, letting out a condescending laugh at the way you shiver. You can feel how deep he reaches, hitting every spot while he stretches you out with calculated thrusts. His pace begins to speed up, and his other hand wraps around your throat to keep you close as he pounds into you. Coherent thought becomes difficult for you, and even if you did want to say something, it’s suddenly made impossible when Crane pushes two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Needy little thing. Bent over and babbling like a whore. But you -fuuuck - you take me so well, don’t you? All tight and sopping wet for my cock to stretch you out...”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, yanking you back by your hair to make you lift your torso up from the desk. The carefully crafted persona of a calm, reasonable Professor Dr. Jonathan Crane has completely slipped from his face now and shattered by his feet like Fine China. His hands move quickly, urgently as his rhythm begins to stutter. The fingers that are now soaked with your saliva make their way back between your legs to circle your clit while his other hand leaves your hair to tear open your blouse, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

His teeth find your neck again as he grabs at your chest, kneading your soft breasts as he marks you up. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. He leaves them behind to claim. To own. Your climax hits you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks you through your orgasm, not faltering for a second. Stars fill your vision for a moment, and you’re only vaguely aware of the kisses that he’s pressing to your cheek. Your walls are clenching him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

Crane swallows heavily, rasping into your ear between shallow breaths.

“Tell you what… No more thinking about essays. In fact, I don’t want you to think ever again. No more exams… no more studies. As if you’d ever be someone of importance in this field to begin with. No, no… I won’t let you waste your time on a silly little Bachelor’s anymore... Fuckpets like you only need to be bred. I’m gonna be generous and fuck a child into you.”

Your eyes snap wide open, and even with your cock-drunken brain, you realize just how serious he is about this. In an attempt to get away, you begin to struggle in his grasp, but he replies by kicking your legs further apart, forcing you down against the desk again. The wooden edge digs against your thighs, keeping your hips in place for him as he plows you into the piece of furniture. Your cheek is pressed up against your unfinished essay, reminding you of your failure on all accounts as you drool onto the paper.

Your hands are clawing at the desk, trying to find purchase when his own hands find yours, linking your fingers together in a frighteningly intimate gesture. Crane continues to moan your name, pressing his face into the crook of your neck before he pushes his cock as deep as he can into your poor cunt, filling you with his hot cum. He lazily rocks his hips back and forth a few more times, trying to push in his load as far as he can before he finally stills, panting against your skin. He stays on your back for another few moments, breathing in your scent and idly squeezing your hands with his.

Once his breathing has evened out once more, he straightens up, kissing the top of your head before he pulls out. Crane watches as his seed drips out of you, a glint of amusement and possessiveness in his eyes as he pushes it back into you with two fingers. You feel completely boneless, crumpled on the desk as you try to make sense of what happened and what will happen. The silence doesn’t last long before Crane speaks up again.

“In the morning, you’ll make me breakfast, and in the evening, you’ll cream on my cock. Like a proper little housewife. And I’ll get to see your tits swell and your belly expand as our kid grows inside of you,” He muses, running his hands over your shoulders and down your back, a gesture that’s more meant to ground himself than it is meant to soothe you.

His voice is soft, yet eerily determined. A man that’s planning the future out loud. Unbeknownst to you, he’s reaching into his suit pocket behind you, pulling out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“And if you get bored again and your mind starts to wander, I’ll knock you up again and again until you know your place. Face down, ass up. Beneath me.”

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