#★ THOUGHTS N PRAYERS.

[kissracing]

POC!READER AND ASIAN READER I LOVE U SM🙏🙏 there’s not enough!!

YIPPEEE !! i’m glad you liked it 🫶🏽 ILYT 🙂‍↕️🤲🏽

it’s actually insane on how little asian!reader x f1 driver fics there are?? same with any other race that isn’t white

i js want my blog to have poc!readers feel represented :D! esp because i’m black myself.

[bruisedboys]

jj maybank being the clingiest most touchiest boyfriend known to man. he has to be touching you at all times or he’ll die. you’ll be talking to your friends and he’ll just stride over and stick his chin over your shoulder, his hand squeezing at the bump of your hip. you’re sitting in the back of the twinkie while he’s in the passenger seat, and he’ll reach over the back of the seat to hold your hand (cue pope & kie gagging). his all time favourite is sliding his hand into your back pocket while you’re walking — it’s slightly inconvenient and he has to be careful he doesn’t step on your feet with his massive boots, but it’s worth it to see you get flustered like that.

[winxanity-ii]

SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

[starlessnightsblog]

7 minutes in heaven with… Hyunjin?! ~pt 2~

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

18+ | fluff/smut | wc : 5.5k

╰─..★.────────────╯

what the actual fuck?

you thought. Hyunjin had flipped your world upside down, and it only took well, 7 minutes.. give or take.

and you dreaded monday.

you and him had a class together so seeing him would be inevitable.

and you felt, almost, bad for just storming out the other night, maybe even a hint of guilt.

you had told him to his face that you didn’t like him, and sure he was arrogant, and adorned with annoying popularity, but it simply wasn’t all that true.

you hated this, you couldn’t think straight. all you could think about was that night. Hwang Hyunjin, of all people. him and his tantalizing aura. his persistence. his closeness, his dark eyes.. his hands that swallowed yours.. those same hands on your body.. his fingertips roaming your skin. how he gripped at your curves, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. how soft his lips were and how they moved against your own—full of desperation. the sweet sinful taste that lingered. the words that poured out, quiet moans and his husky tone. the push and pull of the whole exchange. all desirous and needy…. was he like that with everyone? or was it just you?

that couldn’t be it, you thought. no way in hell. but would it be so bad if it was all you? deep down you wanted that to be true.

the memories clouded your thoughts so bad you couldn’t focus in class. it was no use, no exchange had ever been as captivating. no one had ever made you feel the way he did. you had to snap yourself out of it, you were literally in the middle of 2nd period, pressing your thighs together, growing more anxious by the second.

you didn’t see Hyunjin till your last period.

you were already sat at your desk when he had walked in.

the eye contact was magnetic as soon as he walked through the door. time fell still and you both froze. you looked down at your book. and he walked to his desk, right past you. and that was that.

it hurt a bit when he didn’t try to talk to you, but maybe that was your fault. you had some hurtful things and you started to doubt your previous assumptions, you had been delusional, of course. thinking what had happened between you wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him and that he didn’t really care.

figures.

⟡

Hyunjin had messed up, he knew that. he didn’t even attempt to talk to you, he couldn’t, one: he wanted to give you space. two: he didn’t know what words could fix it, what could he even say?

hey sorry about the other night i actually have the biggest crush on you and im sorry im such an ass and i shouldn’t of taken advantage of you, i just couldn’t help myself??

yeah ok sure.

in defense—for him, you were a siren. even if he had been the one who initiated the whole thing, you were hypnotizing, with your dulcet gaze and seraphic smile. it’s all he had been thinking about since. he couldn’t help himself, it was like the universe had answered a prayer for him or some divine intervention bullshit like in the animes he watched. he was a ‘P’ type after all. he believed in things like that, ironically.

but thursday, when the guilt had eaten him down to his bones, when piled up words got lodged in his throat after an awkward glance or pass in the hall—when he had enough of only seeing the back of your perfect pretty head, he thought, fuck it.

he walked in this time and sat right behind you in the empty desk, invading your personal space immediately.

“can we talk?” he whispered close behind you.

you ignored him.

he bit his lip, “pri—(y/n). …. at least hear me out.”

you rolled your eyes, sighing, “there’s nothing to say.”

“really? i can of think of a lot.”

silence.

he hesitated, “i- i can’t stop thinking about you.”

he felt strangely childish for revealing that, but fuck, it was true. you deserved the truth.

you turned your head slowly to face him after letting his confession linger in the air for a moment, now peering over your shoulder.

you still didn’t say anything.

he held his bottom lip between his teeth, feigning innocence, his eyes burned holes through your own.

he looked serious—melancholic. not like how he usually was, upbeat and relaxed. he genuinely looked like he had been losing sleep over this, over you.

you felt your heart ache at the sight. you didn’t know what to say. in what way did he even mean that? you or your body… that night?

but for Hyunjin, he just missed you. he missed your smile, he missed your voice, he missed your hands in his hair, around his neck, your lips, god, did he miss your lips.

when you didn’t say anything, he took it as a sign of defeat, and left to go back to his usual seat.

⟡

friday night your friend was dragging you to another party, not so much a drag this time, as you had hoped Hyunjin would be in attendance. so you put more effort into your appearance, hair freshly washed, extra attention to details, and even used your expensive perfume that was designated for special occasions. you wanted to try to finally speak to him, and you knew if that was gonna happen you would have to initiate it.

and finally after an hour of sipping the same drink, sitting on the same couch, you spotted Hyunjin out the corner of your eye in the midst of his usual friend group. and you didn’t move, just watched him, talking, laughing.

you had to admit, he looked good, like always. his hair was fluffy, falling on his shoulders. he wore all black, baggy jeans and adorned in sliver jewelry.

the whole week had been hell. his plead from the day before stained your brain like a glass of red wine spilled on the sofa.

you couldn’t help but miss him too, even when you felt like you shouldn’t.

your friend noticed your staring, the look of curiosity and longing in your eyes, she knew everything, you had cried in her lap the night before. she patted your knee, pulling your attention away from him.

“hey, how about some shots, yeah?”

you didn’t turn her down, maybe getting drunk would help.

wrong.

another drink and 5 shots later you found yourself walking straight up to Hyunjin who was mid conversation.

“we need to talk.” you state, and loudly over the music.

he looked at you wide-eyed, confused at your sudden presence. he didn’t think he would see you here, he smiled awkwardly.

“here, right now?”

he eyed his now confused group of friends who tried to hide their sneers and obvious confusion.

“right now.” you stood your ground. you favored an angry kitten, he thought.

he scoffed, pulling you aside.

“you’re drunk.”

“and? you’re impossible.”

he furrowed his brows, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you think on it, not actually knowing.

he rolled his eyes, “we can talk. when you’re sober.”

“no.”

“no?”

“did you mean it?”

his face twisted, he didn’t know what you were talking about at first.

“when you said you can’t stop thinking about me… what did you mean by it?”

people were starting to stare at you two now, Hyunjin noticed, he didn’t like it. he never liked unnecessary attention.

but he liked that you were finally giving him the time. less enthused that it was only because of the liquor, but you were still cute nonetheless. a pout on your lips, cheeks a little red, acting all demanding, slightly angry. it cheered him up a bit.

“i’ll tell you, but first, i’m taking you home.”

“i don’t wanna go home.”

he ignored you, grabbing you by your wrist. “where’s Chrissy?”

you sighed. “the kitchen.” you mumbled, over being unruly all of a sudden.

Hyunjin quickly found your friend and let her know that he was taking you home, he made sure it was all okay and you nodded when your friend looked at you for reassurance. maybe that was best, especially since the room spun when you walked.

Hyunjin led you to his car, helping you in gently.

the ride was quiet mostly, he turned on some music, it sounded indie? and romantic. you found it endearing, even in your state. something you didn’t expect from him. you looked over at him, he was so beautiful—breathtaking. the street lights catching his sharp features in the shadows as they passed, skin like wet glass. you probably stared at him for too long, either he didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

you felt yourself coming more to your senses, the cheap alcohol wearing off little by little.

his voice broke through the soothing ambience after awhile, “how ya feeling?”

“thirsty.”

he let out a tiny laugh, “we’re almost there.”

he didn’t take you home, instead it was his place you ended up at.

when you got back to his apartment, Hyunjin led you up the stairs, holding you so you wouldn’t fall. you let him be attentive, it was nice, attractive.

“thank you.” you mumbled while he tried unlocking the door.

“of course.”

“this okay?”

“what? you being here?”

it swung open, and he flicked the lights on.

“yeah.”

“you didn’t wanna go to your place, so.”

“yeah, my roommates suck, when it comes to having guys over.”

“you were gonna have me over?” he smirked.

you hit his arm playfully, rolling your eyes. you both giggled.

you stayed close behind him as you walked in. he stopped to take off his shoes so you did the same. but stumbled trying to get them off.

Hyunjin was there to catch you before you hit the wall. his large hands firmly on your waist and the small of your back, pulling you against him.

“you sure you’re okay?”

“these shoes are too small, they’re Chrissy’s-“

and when you looked up at him, there was those taunting, dark eyes.

you felt the blood rush to your cheeks and you swore, in that moment, he could hear the kick drum that was now your heart. your palms pressed against his chest, he was so warm, and you were so cold.

your eyes traveled down to his plush lips, like it was the first time all over again. he was such a good kisser you suddenly remembered. gentle and sweet—yet demanding and almost, possessing in the most perfect way. kissing him felt so right. your stomach did a cartwheel at the thought and you knew it wasn’t the cheep vodka this time.

“uh, can i.. can i shower?”

he quickly removed his hands from you and you took a step back.

“yeah, yeah sure. of course.”

“thanks.”

“i’ll get you some clean clothes, they might be a bit big, that okay? oh, and some water.”

you nodded, he pointed down the hall behind you, “bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”

“thank you.” you smiled.

he watched you make your way down the hallway, making sure you didn’t hit the wall a second time.

“of course princess.”he said under his breath, too low for you to hear.

a shower should help you sober up more, he thought. he was surprised you asked for one, surprised you were here at all, in his apartment. he wasn’t complaining though.

he’d gone to school with you for years, always sharing at least one class together since senior year, the year he transferred. who knew you would end up at the same university. maybe that was why you were so comfortable around him. you’ve kind of known each other forever it seemed, and you weren’t so bad, even if you acted like it, but he knew that already.

the bathroom was surprisingly clean for a man’s bathroom. you showered quickly.

you wrapped a towel that was hanging neatly on the rack around your dew dropped skin. when you opened the door, steam poured out and a shirt and some boy shorts? were laid neatly on the floor, and a bottle of water.

they were warm and smelled of fresh linen. Hyunjin must’ve thrown them in the dryer for you.

and now you felt like an idiot for being so obnoxious at the party earlier and a bitch at the last one. Hyunjin really wasn’t that bad. in fact, possibly the complete opposite of what you had always assumed he was and he had shown you that tonight without even trying.

after you put on his clothes you walked back out into the living room. Hyunjin laid on the couch, he had changed into something comfy too.

the tv glowed cool shades of cyan in the dark, providing the only source of light in the room besides his phone that his face was glued to—until you stepped out, it dropped on his chest.

Hyunjin held his lip between his teeth, his arm that was supporting his head shifted as he sat up a bit, making room for you on the couch. you looked comfy, cute. for some reason, he found you the most beautiful in this moment. drowning in his shirt that was too big for you, falling over your shoulder, bare faced. he felt his chest tighten at the sight. his thoughts ran wild for a split second and came to when you stood in front of him.

“last weekend.” you started.

he looked up at you.

“you said you didn’t want me like that…”

you placed your knee on the side of the couch, near his thigh.

“so…. how do you want me?” you whispered, your tone light as a feather.

Hyunjin straightened his posture and his jaw tightened—gulping for air. did he fall asleep on the couch? was he dreaming? his eyes scaled your body and he bit back a boyish smirk.

he reached his hand out slowly and traced it down your arm, you were warm, real. when he reached for your hand he intertwined his fingers with yours, he hadn’t dare met your eyes yet, if he did, he’d falter.

his other hand laced around the back of your knee—without hurry—testing the waters.

he drew you close, until you were straddling him.

“just like this.” he murmured.

“yeah?” your tone a mere whisper, settling into his lap now. a familiar position you had been missing since you left it the first time, your hands now rested on his shoulders.

“mhm.” he hummed, admiring you, bathing in bliss now that he had you close again. he couldn’t believe his eyes. he wasn’t dreaming—no. this was better than any dream he could have.

he’d been craving your warmth for what felt like years, he’d wait years for it too, it was that sweet.

his hands roamed from your thighs to your waist, you could feel the heat building up in between your legs, his touch was antagonizing—slow and soft. it burned your skin.

“i wanted to apologize.” he broke through the silence, “you should know, i wasn’t gonna go any further in that closet.”

“i know.” you tugged lazily on his shirt collar.

“you deserve a lot better than a shifty closet in a frat.”

you nodded, some of his hair fell in his face, you moved it out the way, letting your fingernails trail down, tracing his jaw and ending up back at the hem of his shirt.

your faint touch giving him goosebumps.

“show me.” you whispered, looking into his stormy eyes, batting your lashes.

a corner of his mouth raised as he inched closer till his lips were dangerously close to yours.

they hovered there for a few seconds before they just barely brushed before gently pressing them to yours, but it ignited your entire body.

as your lips melted together, the kiss grew into something greedy, hot and heavy. until you were both devouring each other. his hands found their way under your shirt to grip at your hips. it was everything Hyunjin had been craving for days, hours, minutes. desperately curving into one another, your hands in his hair, on his neck and down his back

you pressed down on his growing hard on, you could feel the heartbeat beating between your thighs. the softest moan escaped from your lips against his, causing both of you to break away for air.

he pulled back to kiss your neck.

it was a pleasure in it’s self the way he did it—hungry and sloppy.

he steadied himself, catching a glimpse of you, like this. “you’re so beautiful.” he whispered.

you opened your eyes to catch him staring at you with adoration in his eyes, a smile growing on his face.

you felt your cheeks get hot and you smiled softly. “you just know how to say all the right things, huh?”

your hands cupped his jaw, you rubbed his cheek with your thumb, then just under his bottom lip.

“only if it’s true.”

you coyly rolled your eyes.

he pulled you closer—as if you could get any closer—his grip tightening on your hips again.

he whispered close to your ear, “i wanna show you something.”

you leaned back, raising a brow at him.

and he bit back a smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkled as the words left his lips.

⟡

Hyunjin was chasing your lips as you hit the door to, what you assumed, was his room. he had you pressed against the cold wood. his hands around your neck. you took one of yours to search for the doorknob, finding it, you twisted it and it swung open.

the two of you stayed glued together as you stumbled back into the room. Hyunjin knew exactly where he was going, leading the way best he could whilst preoccupied.

you hit what felt like a mattress and had to pry him off of you to catch a breather, both of you giggling like love sick teenagers.

but for Hyunjin, breathing was the last thing on his mind, as he wasted no time dripping kisses all over your skin. to your jaw and cascading down your neck. he sucked on your flesh, leaving light bruises just above your collarbone. causing a breathless whimper to escape your lips.

Hyunjin had kept his composure all night, but now in your presence, with you so beautifully bearing your neck beneath him. he simply wanted to consume your entire being. to show you how much he wanted it—you. to devote himself to you. if you’d have him. he was experiencing catharsis. his dream girl all his finally. he’d make it well worth the wait. show you everything you didn’t even know you were missing, everything you deserved. you had so asked so nicely after-all.

“you sure you wanna do this?” he murmured.

you nodded, “im sure.”

“positive?”

you nodded again.

“we can stop, just say the w-.”

“Hyunjin!”

“hm?”

“shut up.” you pressed your lips to his, he smiled against the kiss.

you both sank into the sheets, your hands in his hair, his hands roaming your body. his fingertips snaked down to lace around the shorts you were wearing, still kissing you.

he lifted your shirt enough to expose your mid drift. his hands around your waist, he broke away, to plant a kiss below your rib cage, trailing a few more down on your plush skin till he reached the waist band of the shorts. you eyed him intently.

he pulled them down, taking his time. it sent shivers down your spine as cold air hit parts of you it hadn’t yet. then you felt his warm breath on your skin again.

he kissed right on your center. your head dropped back and you bit back a ‘fuck’. knowing exactly what was about to happen now. thank god you shaved, you thought.

Hyunjin watched your head fall, he didn’t take his eyes off of you, transfixed on your movements, your reactions to his touch.

he grew restless as the sight of your already wet cunt as he groveled between your legs.

he felt his dick pulsating in his pants, but all his focus was on you.

he kissed your center again, sucking this time, letting his tongue dance around, getting you more wet by the second. it was a sensation you hadn’t recognized, it was maddening.

he worked circles around your clit with his tongue, watching your rig cage rise and fall.

inhale,

exhale,

you cursed under your breath. he took his fingers and rubbed them upwards between your folds, finding your sweet spot, then began rubbing small slow circles around your already sensitive bud, picking up pace the longer he went.

after a few seconds he slipped one finger in, slowly curving it inside you. he left a gentle kiss before he started sucking again, just where it felt right before slipping in a second finger, pumping it in and out slowly as he worked on your high with his tongue.

you shivered beneath him, gripping at the sheets beside you as his slender fingers joined together inside you.

Hyunjin took his other hand and laced his fingers with one of yours when he noticed you grabbing at the fabric. his tongue danced laps around your clit, as his fingers pumped steady to the beat of the sweet elicit sounds pouring out your lips now.

you tried holding in your moans, but it only made it worse, the louder you got, the harder he went. knowing you were getting close.

Hyunjin had a way with his words, his eyes, his hands, his lips …so of course this was no different. heavenly was the only way to describe it. your chest heaved up and down quicker, curses like smoke out your mouth.

his eyes didn’t leave your shivering body, he was in awe.

he was eager, eager to please you, eager to watch you melt like honey in front of him, because of him. until you finally yelped, your legs twitched in his grasp. and he could feel your walls convulsing against his fingers, sending waves of bliss throughout your being as you came on his tongue.

Hyunjin lifted his head, breathing deeply. his lips and chin glistened with wetness. he licked his lips, savoring the taste.

you inhaled deeply as your high settled.

Hyunjin sat up, his hands tracing your lower body. his gaze lingered on yours as you watched him.

“so fucking pretty.” he murmured, holding his bottom between his teeth.

“stoppp.” you covered your face with your hands.

“but i mean it.” his tone faint.

“i know, but..” you blushed softly, holding your fingernail in between your teeth. “im not use to this.”

you were use to getting compliments, sure. but them coming from Hyunjin just felt different, he was so gorgeous, so unreal. you couldn’t put it into words how it made you feel, like he was really telling you the truth.

“i’ve always thought you were pretty.” he spoke, sincerity in his tone.

“you’re pretty.” you spoke, barely whisper.

he took your leg and draped it over his shoulder as his lips latched onto your inner thigh, he didn’t dare break eye contact with you as he made out with your velvet skin. he shifted his focus to your lips, missing the taste already. he leaned down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

you could feel his erection through his sweat pants pressing down on your bare cunt as he curved into your body. it ached for another release.

“Hyunjin?” you whimpered.

“yes princess?” he groaned between your lips.

you draped your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing him into you more, just slightly. enough for him to notice.

he smirked at that, he pressed against you more. it started slow, easy. rolling his hips into you barely brushing your entrance. then it got hungry, harder.

you whimpered sweet sounds when his mouth latched to your jaw, then letting his lips drag down your neck, only to leave the softest bit on your collarbone.

your hand moved down to help him, rubbing his hard on against the fabric.

he moaned into your neck.

“princess….” his tone filled with agony and desperation.

“need you so bad.” you whispered in his ear.

Hyunjin wanted this so bad, he wanted this to happen, he did. it felt so good, but he couldn’t help but hesitate. he stopped all movements to look at you. your face was slightly red, lips bruised, eyes low. you looked angelic.

“you still sure? we can stop if..”

you cut him off. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want too.”

you reassured him, you kissed his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, as extra reassurance.

“now… take off your pants.”

he let out a low chuckle, sitting up off the bed.

you had to admit, you were curious as to what was underneath his clothes. you watched him with a glint of desire in your eyes.

first was his shirt, he pulled it over his head in one swift motion. and next his pants, then his black briefs and—

your jaw fell slack when your eyes landed on it, though you fixed it quickly.

he smiled. “you’re staring.”

Hyunjin didn’t seem like the shy type, yet he was blushing.

“can’t help it.” you smirked.

he clicked his teeth, coyly rolling his eyes.

“okay okay, your turn.” he scanned your still clothed figure with a sense of wonder.

you sat up on your knees, removing your—his—shirt slowly, seductively, tossing it on the floor. it took everything in Hyunjin to pull his eyes away, his brain fighting between modesty and unquenched desire. he bit his lip and crawled back on the bed, both of you getting back into the previous position you were in, getting tangled in the duvet. your nails trailed up his arms, till they rested at the nap of his neck.

“condom?” you asked.

he reached in his top drawer above the nightstand, and felt around for a little too long. “shit.” he hissed, pushing his hair back.

“what is it?”

“i don’t have any...”

“im on birth control. okay… well… when’s the last time you…?”

“had sex?” he tried to think. “can’t remember.. a while.”

“uh huh.”

“you think im a whore, huh?”

“well..”

“im not easy either, princess.” he smirked. “and you?”

“a while.”

“hm, good.”

you shot him a look, he chuckled under his breath. “sorry, sorry.”

“fuck it.”

you pulled him down to meet your lips, he captured your them in a tender kiss, positioning himself firmly in between your legs at the same time. he really liked kissing you, you were good at it. he liked to think he was too, but fuck, you knew exactly what you were doing.

He brought his hips down to met yours. grinding against your opening and shuddered at the feeling.

he took two of his fingers and brought them in between your warmth, that was still very much dripping.

“fuck,” he murmured with an exasperated breath.

he took his length and lined it with your entrance, still kissing you. then he dipped into the ocean between your legs, getting a taste.

Hyunjin wasn’t abnormally huge, but he wasn’t average either, so when you felt him break through, you moaned into his mouth, your nails gripped his skin harder.

he eased all the way in, letting you get use to it. then slowly he rolled his hips in, then out. like a deep breath.

inhale.

exhale.

he bit back a moan and buried his head in your neck. your lips on his shoulder, you kissed his salty skin as he fucked into you gently, letting you get use to the sensation.

then he picked up his pace, carving himself into you. quicker now. pushing deeper and deeper till he bottomed out inside you. sharp breathes escaping between his lips as he did so. like calm waves crashing against the shore under moonlight. only Hyunjin was the tide and you the soft buttery sand.

there was no warning when he started going faster, harder. his teeth leaving imprints on your neck to silence his own curses and breathing.

you nails dug into his toned back, as you began to see hints of stars, you arched into him, and he held you closer. one of his arms snaked around your leg, hoisting it up to reach even deeper into you, you were so soft, he noted to kiss your thighs later with his teeth.

exhales turned into whimpers turned into moans pouring out from both of you.. Hyunjin looked at you, your cheeks were flushed. he kissed you, it was desperate and ravenous.

it was more intimate than it had any right to be.

“fuck princess, you feel—so good.”

“more, more.” the words no than sighs fell from your bruised lips.

his hips roll into you harder, faster, deeper. your grip tightened on him, only making him want it all the more. you took him so well he thought, so good, like you were meant for him. you moaned into his neck, as his lips left sloppy kisses on yours. letting you know he’s here, he’s taking care of you.

his name, a jagged breath out your lips.

“don’t stop, fuck-“

he knew you were close, as your eyes started to roll back, can feel it like clouds forming before a thunderstorm, as you sing louder next to his ear.

he cursed under his breath. he chased your pleasure with his own, your legs kicked out, and he can see the tears that threatened to spill out your eyelids.

he watched it unfold, rolling his hips into you still.

inhale.

exhale.

sharp—quick.

you cry out as you ascend into nirvana, your walls clench around him as you cum, the feeling sending Hyunjin over the edge as well, he slips out of you with a hiss through gritted teeth. letting go all over your sheen skin, just below your belly button.

the only noise is both of your labored breathing and your heartbeat pounding in your ear.

Hyunjin admired your fucked out expression, you looked divine. he took his thumb and wiped the single tear that escaped from your lashes.

you cup his face in your soft palms, as he melts back into your touch. after a few moments, Hyunjin untangles himself from you, he leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a towelette he ran under hot water.

he takes it and wipes his mess clean with the most gentle motions, making sure to get every drop before throwing it in the nearby hamper, and climbed back on top of you. he kissed you deeply, you taste like sweet sunshine and salt.

hyunjin laid his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, it was desperately suffocating. you ran your fingers through his soft locks. your breath finally steady.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you whispered.

his head shot up, confusion plastered on his face.

“you just fucked me like that.”

“like what?”

“like… good, like so good.”

a lopsided grin appeared on his face, he hummed.

“you were better… i wanna do it again.” he whispered, hovering his lips close to yours.

you bit your lip at the thought.

“how do you want me?”

your eyes had the most devilish affair.

“on top.” he grinned.

“yeah?”

“and on your side, on your back, on the floor, in the shower, on the couch-”

you giggled. “okay okay, we can arrange all of that.” you ran your fingers through his hair.

Hyunjin adored you. you were soft, diabolically soothing to him. something about you made him weak, pathetic with yearning. it was a new sensation for him, to want something so badly the way he wanted you. dulcet and delicate, you were human apricity. he wanted to drown in your touch, your kisses, your sweet nothings and so on.

“i really thought you hated me, Hyunjin.”

“i know. i thought you hated me.”

“i did….”

he chuckled. “i know.”

“im sorry.”

“don’t be. we both had our reasons.”

“missed this,” you started, admiring his features. “missed you.”

he smiled, getting giddy at your sudden confession.

“yeah? i missed you too, princess.”

you held you tighter. his warmth was more than soothing, it was needed, there was something about him that felt like home.

the two of you stayed like that for a a while, in each other’s arms.

“are you free tomorrow night?” he asked.

“for?”

“are you?”

“well, hmmm, i’ll have to check my schu-“

he sighed loudly, causing you to giggle.

“yes hyunjini, why do you ask?”

“i wanna take you out, like on a date. possibly, maybe? unless this is a one time for you. i’ll respect it.—but just know, i’ll remember, even when im married with kids, i’ll still think of you, on nights when im drinking and self inflicted or-”

“you’re so dramatic, you know that?”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words. “but no, i don’t think that’ll happen, you just created a problem.”

“how so?”

Hyunjin propped himself up on one arm beside you, he took his slender fingers and traced the center off your body all the way down.

“because you’re gonna have to rip me off of you, pretty boy.” your tone like silk.

“hm, it might be the other way around.” he grinned.

you pulled him into a tender kiss. letting it linger, there was no rush, Hyunjin felt warm and familiar. he felt solid and safe. you wanted to cling to his skin. bury yourself in his chest. he touched you like you were everything he had asked the heavens for. the pretty boy with pretty eyes and pretty hair, all yours in this moment.

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

omg omg, hi this took forever, life has been so hectic, i apologize. i hope the wait was worth it :,) i had so much fun writing this. i plan to post more hyunjin x reader so i hope u stay a while. ty ty for reading. <3

[nicholaschavezslut]

MAKE YOU MINE - father charlie mayhew

★warnings: nsfw content (dni if you're under 18), smut, degrading, blowjob, cussing, oral, use of "father" during sex, size kink, (m! receiving)

!! English is not my first language, sorry for grammatical mistakes!!

The soft glow of the scented candles danced through the stained glass of the church window, casting gentle, colorful reflections that flickered across the stone walls. You had been sitting on the kneeler of the old, traditional church pews for quite a few minutes, silently whispering your prayers in your head. Suddenly, faint footsteps echo in the distance, growing louder and louder. "It's not often I find someone so young so late here. Is there something on your heart you'd like to share y/n?" the moment you heard that low-pitched, warm voice, you knew it was Father Charlie. A young, handsome priest who had just moved to this lonely town a few months ago. Word had spread quickly- every girl in town seemed to have found a reason to attend mass. Whispers of Father Charlie's striking looks and commanding presence echoed through the pews, as if the very sight of him was enough to draw them in. He was aware of the effect he had on many young women, but it never seemed to faze him. His passion for the sharing of the word of God was evident in every prayer he spoke, every prayer he led. It wasn't just his looks that drew people in ; it was the way he lived his purpose so wholeheartedly, without a hint of ego, that made him truly captivating.

She hesitated in telling him the truth, torn between the respect for him and the uncomfortable feeling of guilt building up inside her heart. She was afraid that he might see through her and know the sinful thoughts she couldn't shake. Cause the truth was, she had been falling in love with the priest. No matter how many times she tried to suppress those thoughts, they would just grow back and stronger. You took a heavy sigh and replied reluctantly: "Hello Father, uhm- I've just had some thoughts and decided to come here, nothing special."

Father Charlie studied her carefully, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He didn't quite believe her- something about her words didn't ring true. His voice was gentle, but insistent. "Come with me." , he said, nodding toward the confession booth. "Let's talk more privately. I think there's something you need to share." Y/n follows him, heart racing and uneasiness building up inside her. When they entered the booth, the air was filled thick with anticipation, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them. He looked at her, gaze steady as he motioned for her to sit. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she should speak the truth or continue to hide behind her shame. But Father Charlie, sensing her nervousness, gently encouraged her, his voice low and steady. " Take your time.", he would say, his tone warm yet firm. "This is a safe space."

The priest leaned slightly closer, offering a reassuring warm smile. After a long pause, she finally spoke quietly "I-it's him..." she murmured, her gaze dropping to the floor, utterly ashamed of herself. "The way he carries himself, the way he speaks..I can't stop thinking about him and I feel so guilty..." She couldn't bring herself to say it outright, but the truth was clear- her thoughts were consumed by a man of God.

"Who is the man you're referring to Y/n?" Charlie softly asks with a genuine hint of concern in his tone. Y/n stays silent for a few more seconds until she softy replies: "It's so embarrassing father, I cant speak these impure thoughts...you might think differently of me after this. He nurturingly chuckles and reassures her: "Y/n, I promise you can tell me. We get more confessions like these than you think. it's human nature and it's completely normal. No wrorries."

"It's you, Father" she confessed, barely above a whisper. "I never meant for it to happen, but it's you..and- God I can't stop thinking about you. I feel so guilty.." The room goes silent. She doesn't dare to look up. She braces herself, expecting to be thrown out of the church any moment now. All of a sudden, she feels a big, warm hand holding up her chin. "Look at me, I'm not mad. Now get up and get on your knees." , The handsome man speaks up, feeling the buldge in his pants growing. She could barely comprehend what she had just heard, the words swirling in her mind like a blur. "you heard me, get on your knees." he speaks up again.

She obeys and slowly gets up, her hands shaking of emancipation, nervous about what was going to happen next. Without warning, he pushed her to her knees, forcing her into a position of submission. She looks up at him in admiration, knowing she's deeply in love with this man and everything about him. The best thing about him being his beautiful dark brown eyes. "What are you waiting for? unbuckle my belt you slut." , he aggressively speaks. She does as he says, and slowly moves her hands toward his belt, slowly unbuckling the belt and letting out a heavy sigh, nervous about what was about to come. She was soaking and was hoped he wouldn't notice. Once she pulled his pants and boxers down, his cock jumped out. It was huge, the biggest she's ever seen. The tip was bright red and dripping with precum. She slowly stroked his cock a couple of times and then started licking his slit, making him moan. "Fuck..." Charlie breathed out. Without warning, His hands started pushing her head and gripping her scalp, and even though it hurt, she liked it. More than she shouldve. She took him further in her mouth, the church filling up with disputable and obscene noises. There was no doubt that anybody in the radius of 20m would hear everything. She sucks off what's left that she couldn't fit in her mouth.

"mmm fuck, just like that baby, such a fucking good girl for me" she finally feels him twitch. He puts her hair up into makeshift ponytail to make the process easier for her. He looked so done, but she didn't care, cause in her eyes he was the most handsome man to ever exist, he was majestic. Instantly, he finished in her mouth and pulled away. "You did so good baby, but we don't have time to finish this anymore, the service is about to begin."

It's safe to say, her wildest dream came true.

[starmocha]

call me master (and i'll call you mine) [Sylus/MC ★ 666 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Lines blur between the hunter and the hunted, fantasy and reality. A/N: No, I will not explain myself.

There is a hunter in Linkon City who has set her sight on him as her prey, not knowing that she is about to fall into his trap.

Under the dark cloak of night, the city sleeps, lulled to a deep slumber by harsh raindrops. Within his bedroom, Sylus lays upon cool, soft satin, unperturbed by the distant rumbles of thunder, his own mind occupied with endless thoughts of the woman pursuing him and his organization.

How cute, he thinks, that she believes he is the prey.

“Fuck,” Sylus hisses softly, his fingers wrap around his cock, his eyes closed as he envisions this sweet little prey in his grasp. His mouth parts, letting out little gasps, as his hand strokes the hard member in a slow steady rhythm, his mind already drifting away.

Gonna dress her in the prettiest little lace just so he can rip them apart. Have her body on display beneath him, her every curve just waiting to be memorized and mapped along with his kisses and touches. He groans softly, imagining his hands traversing across her smooth skin, eliciting gentle gasps. Pepper kisses along her neck, feel the swell of her breast within his hand, a soft squeeze as she writhes beneath him, her control slipping as she begins to whine for him, her words becoming incoherent the more he taunts her.

Gonna make her his, her eyes will only see him and her body will only crave him. Spread her soft thighs, sink slowly into her wet folds. Look at me, he murmurs, grabbing her chin and forcing her to face him, Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart.

Let her get used to him, the feel of him buried deep inside her. Teasingly slow, he pulls out and thrusts into her again, the languid movements enough to make her resolve begin to slip away. Memorize her expressions, watch her fall apart because of him, her resistance weakening before she breaks, finally begging him to take her completely. He laughs, her desperate pleas awakening a desire within him. His hand finds hers, fingers interlocking, as his hips rock against hers, building a faster rhythm.

What sweet begging, he croons, his hands trail down to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulls her to him to meet his thrust. Is this what you want, my sweet little hunter?

Gonna wreck her until she cries and comes undone by him. How sweet her voice will sound, spilling soft mewls and pleas for him, his name a desperate prayer on her lips as he takes her like a beast, fuck her hard and make a mess of her.

Sylus lets out a deep groan, his heart and breathing quickening as he opens his eyes, the evidence of his aimless thoughts on his hand. He sighs and leans back in bed, his head cradled by the soft pillow as his eyes wander up to the ceiling. The little hunter continues to linger in his mind, his idle fantasy of her still has him ensnared with images of her covered in him, lips bruised so prettily by him, her mouth still calling for him, aching for him.

Him.

He laughs, mirthless, the very thought stirs something within himself. To be needed in such a way, why, he could perhaps let himself be addicted to this feeling, to have a sweet little thing helpless for him.

Thunder continues to rumble outside, the rainstorm showing no sign of passing any time soon. Fatigue takes over and Sylus could feel sleep calling for him now, his body relaxing under the cool satin cover as he allows himself to drift off into a deep slumber.

The soft patters of raindrops mingle with her gasping cries, resounding within his mind. What a sweet lullaby, he thinks before he dreams of her, perfectly flushed and helplessly trapped in his embrace.

In Linkon City, there is a hunter pursuing him, but little does she know, he is waiting for her.

[wordbreaker]

The Red Wolf ★ Prologue

For centuries, the Gods⏤Old and New⏤have flipped coin after coin to decide the fate of the Realm. Now that all seems lost, for the Dead are too strong, the Long Night, too thick, the Winter, too cold, it is now men's turn to play this terrible game. May the Red Wolf bend Time and Blood, Fate and Death before Winter comes and swallows the Dance of Men.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x GOT!Snow!FemReader* & Aegon Targaryen x GOT!Snow!FemReader*

*Y/N does have a given name at some point in the story, being a bastard and all.

Word count: 5.2K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief allusion to SA

Note: In honor of Season 2 dropping in a few hours... Enjoy a good ol' time-traveler fic from yours truly. As always, English is not my first language. I do apologize if some typos and grammatical errors managed to sneak into this.

HIDDEN BEHIND the few battlements where bodies were not yet piling up, you whispered a prayer to the Old Gods⏤your eyes closed to avoid seeing the battlefield that had become of your childhood home. Desperation made people do funny things. Stupid, naive things, like praying. The Gods had abandoned you long ago, for what kind of Gods would destroy their creation in such manner?

The Long Night had plunged Winterfell into a bath of fire and blood, with the singular smell of Death emanating from it and turning stomachs inside out. You had been soaking in the puddle of your own vomit for several minutes. 

It was too much. Too much for you. Death was coming for them all. An unstoppable Death. A Death that walked, that fought, that killed without ever tiring. 

You tightened your grip on your sword, Endbringer, forged from the blade of Ice, the last memento of your father, Lord Eddard Stark. It would not be long before you joined him. He and Catelyn and Robb and Rickon. The Stranger had feasted on the Starks without mercy. Soon he would taste your frightened flesh. Would you find them on the other side? Or did Hell reserve a particular place for bastards? 

A roar pierced the deafening din of the battlefield and the ringing of your ears. Up there, far from the burning barricades and piles of bodies, Jon, your twin, was riding Rhaegal and burning the White Walkers. 

But Death always came back. 

Winterfell, seat of the North, was ablaze with dragonfire. The irony would have pleased the rhapsodists, had they been there to sing the fable. 

The bards will sing no more when Westeros is but an open grave, a voice whispered to you. You buried it⏤along with everything else⏤under the smell of burning flesh and the clash of swords. 

You stood up on wobbly legs. A white strand of hair blocked you vision but you did not care, for nothing could be clearly seen anymore. The smoke from the dragon's fire, the bodies throwing themselves on top of each other, the Dead leaping into the courtyard, the cannonballs flying over the ramparts, the arrows whistling through the air, the buildings exploding. It was all chaos. You dived in it head first, sword in hand. 

You had lost sight of Arya an hour earlier. Your little sister was probably fighting for her life in the corridors. You prayed for her. You prayed for Jon, who was fighting the Night King. You prayed for Theon and for Bran. Most of all, you prayed for Sansa, imprisoned in the crypt, perhaps the only place in the North where the dead did not yet walk. 

Your thoughts drifted to your father, whose remains lay among the women and children, the weak and the new, the Ancestors and Descendants. As foolish as it sounded, seeing him reborn, even for a moment, in the skin of a White Walker, would give you the courage to fight. 

The Old Gods knew you sorely needed it.

You shut out your memories and stumbled to the entrance of the tower. Above your head, arrows pierced the wind and stuck into the ground made of flesh and blood. Enemies, allies, the dead, the living, all merged into one agonising, shapeless mass. Miraculously⏤perhaps the Gods had heard you⏤you managed to reach the tower and immediately rushed down the stairs. You stepped over the fallen bodies, for Death had already stained the stones of the castle, and counted the remaining steps. 

It would only take a few minutes to reach the lower rooms. 

Of Winterfell, you remembered everything. Seven years had not been enough to erase the precious memories of your childhood. It had gone too quickly, tainted by the horrors and scheming of the South. For a long time, you had wondered what had killed your carefree spirit. 

You had first thought your childhood had been crushed along Bran's legs but⏤forced to flee King's Landing at a mere four and ten because you were seen not just as a bastard but as the bastard of a traitor⏤you had soon realised the truth. 

Your innocence had died the day Jon Arryn had been murdered, for Death brought naught but bad omens and destruction. 

The Starks had gone South and, in doing so, had sealed their doom. 

You longed for the years before Robert Baratheon had visited and destroyed everything you knew and held dear. You⏤eager to forget the ravaging war⏤closed your eyes and let yourself be basked in what had been and would never be again. 

Sheltered by the porch at the entrance to the Great Keep, Vayon Poole, Maester Luwin and Father were discussing the affairs of the people. You, seven years younger and sitting next to Arya and Sansa, were trying to embroider a flower without pricking your fingers and lamenting over the fact that you could not join the boys who, further down in the courtyard, were practising their swordplay with Rodrik Cassel. Bran was still walking. Robb was breathing and Theon had not yet betrayed them. Familiar faces were everywhere: Hodor, Mikken, Farlen, Hullen, even Gage the cook. House Stark was alive, far from the shenanigans of the Lions and the capital that had damned them. 

In the distance, a frail voice mumbled tales from another age. 

Old Nan would always knit far-fetched stories.

Except they were anything but. The Long Night had well and truly begun again and, in its darkness, it would swallow up everything you loved: your family, your friends and your people, if they were not already walking with the dead. 

A growl echoed through the corridor. You raised Endbringer, ignored the trembling in your hands and continued forward⏤to stop was to die, you told yourself. In silence, you plunged in the darkness of Winterfell's corridors. You squinted your eyes, trying to make out a silhouette, a noise, anything, but the dead entangled on the floor remained dead. 

For how much longer? you thought darkly. 

Another growl, close by. You swallowed and turned. Two sparkling blue eyes were staring back at you. Shivers ran down your spine. Your hand trembled around your sword⏤your lifeline and perhaps your only chance of escape. You thought of Old Nan and, with only fear and adrenaline for a brain, attacked. 

The White Walker let out an inhuman scream, somewhere between a shriek and a hiss. 

The sound of Death. 

It was tolling your bells. 

It put so much force into its blow that you had to take several steps back when you parried it. For a brief moment, you wondered whether Endbringer would resist. Was Valyrian steel mere iron in the face of Death? 

Your years of combat training seemed to disappear. No reflexes, no tactics, just your survival instinct to guide and defend.

You did not stand a chance.

The pack survives, a voice whispered to you. But where was Sansa? Arya? Jon? You were the only one in the corridor⏤a Lone Wolf against Death. 

You raised Endbringer and brought it down hard on the Other's shoulder. It split the air and the putrid remains of flesh. Its arm fell to the ground, but it began to twitch and reached for your ankles. Its fingers snaked to avoid your heavy sole and came dangerously close to your heel. 

A kick and the arm disappeared further away, entangled in a pile of bloody limbs, but you knew it would be back, disturbing as that thought was. 

Exhaustion made you heavy and slow. Your blows grazed the creature in front of you without ever bringing it down. Death never wavered. It delivered blow after emotionless blow, the only evidence of the soul that once resided in its body being those two big blue eyes, too bright to be the work of the Gods. 

A guttural howl split your throat. Then came a stabbing pain, which burned through your flesh and blood. 

The Other had thrust its sword into your shoulder. 

You felt the blood trickle down your collarbone, colonising your flesh and armour. 

Then you heard it. Above you, a desperate voice screamed.  

Dracarys. 

You stumbled to the wall and snatched the nearest torch, throwing it at the White Walker. Immediately, the creature writhed in an agony that might have been pleasurable had you had time to admire it, for you seized your only chance of survival and, ignoring your heart pounding against your temples, ran. 

You ran and never looked back. To look back was to die, you repeated to yourself. And you, Y/N Snow, were not done with Life yet. 

Death would have to wait.

The thick walls of Winterfell were not enough to drown out the shrill cries of the dragons. They shook the centuries-old walls around and above you. The smell of burning flesh tickled your nose and stirred your stomach. The terrible smell reminded you of funeral pyres. 

Winterfell was nothing but a pile of rumble and dead, you realised as you passed the disjointed body of a young soldier, too young to fight. You prayed to the Old Gods to spare your twin, your other half, and continued your journey to the lower halls. You passed the library, stepped over more disfigured bodies and made your way through the burnt carcasses of the Others. Everywhere, fire and death embraced in a touch that gave you goosebumps.  

The journey from the tower to the halls took an eternity. Fear and fatigue slowed you down, as well as the weight of your armour on your slumped shoulders. 

Your body was giving up. 

At the turn of yet another corridor, you finally came across a small room, which you hastened to enter. Glancing around, you realised it was meant to be used by servants. The mattress still retained the shape of a body, which was probably no longer breathing. 

A sudden howl ripped through the corridor and startled you. Someone banged on the door but you threw yourself against it and held it shut. With a trembling hand, you closed the latch, then the chain, and kept your shoulder pressed against the wood. 

"Help me!" someone screamed. "Please! There's too many! I've got a wife... A boy… My boy… Please! Have mercy! Let me in!"

Already, the cries of distress had mingled with inhuman gurgling. You turned your head and closed your eyes before sliding back against the door and bringing your hand to your trembling mouth. 

Valar morghulis. 

You soon lost track of the minutes, as you weaved your agony through the darkest hours of Westeros.

Other soldiers pounded on the door, but all died at its threshold. Their bodies, still warm, rose up immediately, animated by an evil and ancient force. You ignored their nails scratching against the wood and the inhuman growls that shook it. Blood stained the stone-floor and snaked its way up to you, further staining your already-crimson armour, but you kept your eyes and lips closed. The black behind your eyelids was only slightly different from the Long Night, but it gave you an illusion of protection you could not refuse. 

With a trembling hand, you wiped your face, bathed in tears, blood and mud, but the wounds on your cheeks remained open and your tears, wet. The ringing in your ears continued to torment you. 

"Pull yourself together, damn it," you whispered angrily. 

But already your vision was blurring. The adrenalin had left your muscles, leaving you paralysed with pain and fear. Soon came the sobs that shook your shoulders and tore at your lungs. 

At last, your body and mind were coming together to cry out their agony.  

A whistle pierced the din of your sadness and put an end to it. You raised her head, frowning. You turned and, just in time, avoided the axe that suddenly slashed the door. 

You screamed.

The blade disappeared, leaving a hole large enough to see blue eyes, and came down on the wood again. A hand reached into the hole and tried to grab you, but you threw herself to the floor and crawled away. You clung to the mattress. Behind you, the growling intensified and sent shivers down your spine. No human could make that noise. 

The walls of the room closed in on you. 

The Old Gods had exhausted their mercy. 

It was time to die. 

The axe whistled through the air and lodged itself in the mattress⏤a mere centimetre away from your hand⏤scattering strands of straw and bits of flesh on the floor. 

How many men had lost their lives on that blade? How many throats slit? Decapitated heads? How many mutilated bodies? 

Your hands fluttered around your belt. Your fingers brushed against all the weapons within your reach without ever grabbing one. You looked up. The door wouldn't hold for long. The White Walker was pounding on it relentlessly. 

You grabbed the dragonglass dagger Jon had given you⏤I won't be there to protect you. Come back to me alive, he had told you, unaware of the years you had spent defending yourself alone in Westeros. Trapped in the cold at the Wall, how could he have known? How could he understand what had happened to you? 

You shook off these thoughts and took a deep breath before standing up on trembling legs. The biting north wind blew through your armour and chilled you, but the sweat dripping down your back still clung to your skin. 

You had to leave, but where? Your childhood home, reduced to a graveyard of endless rebirth, was falling into ruin. Soon, the White Walkers would have invaded every room and soaked the stones in blood. How many of your brothers in arms had already joined the Night King’s ranks? 

On the other side of the door, the Dead was going mad, his movements, more abrupt. You clamped your hands over your ears and curled up on the floor. You let the dagger drop. Your breathing quickened. You were going to die. Like all the others. 

Robb was dead. Rickon. Father. Uncle Benjen. Catelyn. Was Arya still alive or had she abandoned you too? What about Jon? What was the point of staying alive when everyone else was dying? 

Another knock rattled the door. You jumped and stepped back, but your shins collided with the mat. 

You did not stand a chance. 

The door burst open. 

The wood exploded in deadly splinters. 

The White Walker pounced on you. 

An unparallelled smell enveloped you. You screamed and struggled. You clawed at mouldy flesh, struck fragile bones and tore off dirty rags. Blood beaded on your fingers as you deflected a blade from your throat, which the creature's rotten teeth lunged at. You pushed against it with all your might. 

The Other fell to the ground and stopped moving. 

Your breathing was all you could hear as your heart raced. For a second, you thought it was over, but the White Walker suddenly stood up and crawled towards you. 

Death never tires. 

You tried to fight it off, kicking it wherever you could reach: on the head, on the shoulders, in the neck... but the creature kept moving. Axe in hand⏤when did he get it back?⏤its skeletal arm split the air and scraped your ankle. You fell to your knees screaming and, in a desperate move, plunged your dagger into its accursed blue eye. 

The creature exploded into fragments of ice. A few of them grazed your face. 

You swept them away with a wave of your hand. 

Down here, caught between your Ancestors and the Dead, victory had a bitter taste. You limped out of the room and wandered through the corridors, which you did not recognise. Winterfell was becoming unknown before your eyes, ravaged by Death and the despair of the unlucky Survivors. 

Several times, lone White Walkers blocked your path. You managed to get rid of them, but never escaped unscathed. Their dull blades always pierced your armour and flesh, leaving you aching. 

It was not until you reached the west wing of the castle that the screaming stopped and, at last, the calm of the North enveloped you in its thick cloak. The silence made you shiver. How it contrasted with the din of war... It was almost terrifying. 

Finally, at the end of a staircase, a new door. 

You wasted no time in entering and barricading the room. You slid the wooden palisade into its notches and stepped back, frightened to see a new axe appear. 

When you turned round, you gasped at the awful sight the Gods had painted for your eyes. The fireplace at the back of the room lit up a pile of tangled bodies in one corner. The shadows played and illuminated the severed arms, the decapitated heads, the men turned into trunks. Nothing on the canvas was complete; everything had to be put together to become human again. 

You staggered back, nauseous and swore before pressed one hand against your stomach. The other covered your mouth in a last-ditch effort to save you but the smell of decay, so characteristic of death, delivered the fatal blow. You turned your head and bent down to vomit your guts out. 

"A Wolf far from her pack," a seductive voice said. "Snow seems to have numbed the blood."

 You spun around and squinted but could only make out a red cloak. The flames swirled and licked at its ends, but always left the fabric intact. The stranger stepped forward and revealed a familiar face, a worrying face. Her eyes sparkled, hiding secrets that made you shiver. Stories of New Gods and diabolical powers, everything you hated⏤for you were a child of the North and the North prayed to nameless Gods. 

You placed one hand on Endbringer's pommel, sat down against the wall⏤opposite the bodies⏤and wiped your lips. The steel of your armour was an icy kiss against them. You relished in the sensation and remained silent. You no longer had the strength to answer riddles. You no longer had the strength for anything. 

You just listened to the Living and the Dead killing each other, head against the wall, eyes closed to ignore reality.

Minutes passed, until finally you grew tired of the sound of swords and the agony of men. You opened your eyes and immediately met the gaze of the red witch. Melisandre, you remembered. Ser Davos had said that name with such that you could not have forgotten it even if you wanted to. 

You jerked, your armour digging painfully into your ribs, and cleared your throat, but the witch's gaze never wavered. 

In the distance, a man screamed for his life. You winced and finally broke the silence. 

"I hear the clamour of battle, the cries of pain, the prayers shouted over the blows of swords, but the Night does not give way and the Dead still march. We won't win," you murmured. 

You met the witch's eyes but quickly looked away, towards the fireplace where the flames were still dancing, untouched by the torments of men. 

"Can't you ask your Lord to save us from this hell?" you mocked.

"The Lord of Light does not interfere with destiny," replied the sorceress, who chose to ignore your blatant irony. "The New Gods weave everyone's prophecies and they have seen just to–"

You scoffed. Your chapped lips stretched into a smirk. You shook your head and laughed. Your lungs hurt like hell but the hilarity made the pain sweet. 

"The Gods," you giggled. "Old... New... Seven or one... The Gods abandoned us to our fate a long time ago. Perhaps this is our punishment... to die here without even the comfort of Faith. Our shroud shall be neither prayer nor forgiveness, only the putrid smell of death and the warm bodies of our fallen brothers. Isn't it time to just give up?"

"Why aren't you out in the courtyard then? Among the corpses, looking for Death you so desperately seek? Why are you hiding in this room when your sister and twin are fighting hard against it and heading off to their destiny?"

You looked up at the witch.

"Arya?" you whispered hoarsely. "Did you run into Arya? Is she alive? What of Jon? Why is he here? Wasn't he riding Rhaegal just a few minutes ago?"

The witch sighed, suddenly so human, as terrifying as it sounded, and knelt down in front of you, who watched her with teary eyes. The red-haired woman took your hand and clasped it in hers. Her cold skin sent shivers down your spine, but you made no attempt to free yourself from the embrace. 

"Rhaegal is no more. Even dragonfire is no longer enough against the Night King. The darkness is already feasting on his scales."

You pressed your hand against your chest. A nameless agony seized you and tore at your heart. Poor beast, you thought. 

There was a time when dragons would only fly from verse to verse in the history books you loved dearly, the ones recounting the fables of the Targaryen dynasty. How many times had you told their fables to Arya, when your sister could not yet read? 

Dragons had danced in your imagination throughout your childhood.  

Then, miraculously, they had danced over Westeros, brought back to life by Daenerys Stormborn, whom your father had spared. You had not believed the tales at first and had regretted it when the dragons finally danced over Winterfell.  

Tonight, dragons no longer danced. Like everything else, they were dying. A tear rolled down your cheek. You wept for this majestic creature, who had also fallen victim to the War of Men. 

"No one is immune to the vicissitudes of fate, Rhaella, not even dragons."

You blinked, frowned, and tore your hand away from the witch's grip before grabbing Endbringer.

"My name is Y/N," you corrected, your voice sharp. 

"Are you quite sure? Didn't your twin tell you? Of his discovery? Of his destiny? I've told you. No one is immune to his vicissitudes," the witch repeated. "Not even you." 

"I don't understand..."

The witch moved closer and took one of your hair, wrapping it around her finger. You clenched your jaw but made no move to interrupt her. Don't struggle or it'll be worse, a snarling and masculine voice whispered. You closed your eyes and tried to bury the painful memories that were clawing to the surface. Hands on your body and in your hair. On your lips and cheeks. Under your dress... 

"Did you never wonder where that colour came from? Such white…. You don't see hair like this in those parts. Even your grey eyes, no doubt those of the Wolf, can't hide the warm blood that runs through your veins. Your twin was luckier in that respect, I must admit."

You violently shook yourself off and stood up, your eyes raging, vile memories once again buried deep.

"You do not know what you’re talking about, witch," you spat out the last word. "Flames make your head spin. My father was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King. My mother was but a whore whose true name was lost when that cunt Joffrey Lannister killed my father. Stop this nonsense, or I'll not hesitate to kill you."

"And this fiery rage, this bloodlust? Does it come from the Quiet Wolf, whose honour and calm cost him his head?"

You growled and grabbed the woman's hair. You drew your dagger and pressed it against the woman's milky throat, ready to draw blood. Would it be the singular colour of flames or the common red of mortals? 

The witch grabbed the dagger with her bare hand and deflected it. Her fingers remained intact. No blood spattered against the flesh. You blinked, but the skin remained white, immaculate. 

Impossible, you thought. 

"I can show you. The truth, first. Your destiny, then."

You did not understand at first. It was only when the witch moved towards the fireplace that your eyes widened. You sheathed your dagger and took three large steps back. Your back hit the wall with the sound of steel and for that you were thankful. 

"I have no use of your false God."

The witch ignored you and pulled a coin from her cloak before turning to face you once more. It looked like a Gold Dragon, worn and battered. 

"Perhaps you would prefer to play a game, then. A game the gods have been playing for centuries, long before you were born."  

The witch threw the coin at you. You caught it by reflex and turned it over to look at it. For a while, you caressed it and enjoyed its rough surfaces. The dirt, which the endless passing of hands had collected, masked the King's head, but you knew it was neither that of Robert Baratheon nor of Cersei Lannister's Bastard. Frowning, you began to scrape the coin with the tip of your fingernail. It first revealed a notched crown, then a lean neck, long hair and, finally, a name.

A familiar name, engraved just below the royal silhouette. 

A series of shivers ran down your spine as your lips formed the cursed name. 

AERYS II. 

The Mad King.  

"What are you waiting for? Flip it," Melisandre asked. 

You opened her mouth, ready to insult her and demand her to stop jesting, but growls cut you off. You turned around. 

In the corner of the room, bodies were stirring. 

The coin was soon forgotten. 

You unsheathed Endbringer, but the sword had lost its frightening glint. It was a miracle of the Gods that it did not slip from your weak and trembling hands. You could feel the burns and wounds that lacerated your palm and weakened your grip.

"What's going on?" you asked as panic ran up your spine.  

Fear had already taken hold of your soul and made your knees buckle. Your stomach churned but you swallowed down the nausea. 

"The Dead are waking up," the witch simply said.

You could not find the strength to scream. A feeling of despair crawled through your body and numbed your mind. There was no respite from the horror. How much longer would they have to fight? How much longer before everything died and was reborn as something evil? 

The flames in the fireplace were still dancing. You glanced at the witch, but she was muttering unknown words, her hands clasped around her necklace. 

She wouldn't be of any help, you realised. Already, legs and hands were emerging from the hill of flesh. They charged at you. You stabbed them with your dagger and ran to the fireplace. Growls rose up behind you but you ignored them and buried your fear deep inside before glancing over your shoulder. One of the Walkers was already hopping on one leg in your direction. Melisandre still hadn't woken up from her lethargy. 

You did not have much time. 

You turned back to the flames, which seemed to whisper incantations to you. They glowed brighter, twisting in a hypnotic dance and brushing against your armour. 

Dracarys, they screamed at you. 

You did not think, for there was no time, and plunged your hand into the fire, grabbed a burning log and turned to throw it into the pile of Dead. You clenched your fist and watched as the flames engulfed the rag of one of the bodies before spreading to the rest of the pile, turning it into a pyre.  

The Dead began to sing out their agony. 

You begged them to shut up but they never did.

Several creatures managed to escape the deadly embrace of the flames but, each time, you were there to stab them with your dagger or sliced them with your sword. You defended yourself for what seemed like hours, throwing torches and firewood at the crawling corpses, stabbing the few spared with your dagger and even decapitating the rare bodies that were still whole. 

The Dead stopped singing after several long minutes and, at last, the pile of bodies came to rest. This time for good, you hoped. A naive thought, really. 

Down here, the Dead never stayed silent for long. 

You turned frantically towards the witch. 

"We must lea–" 

Air ran down your spine. You met Melisandre's wide-eyed gaze, fixed on a much lower point, and followed it. A blade was protruding from your armour. Not your dagger. Not Endbringer. A rusty, broken blade. You frowned and looked up at the witch. 

"What is–"

"Do not speak," she ordered. 

You touched your lower abdomen, suddenly dizzy. A warm liquid stained your fingers. It was only when you brought them into view that you realised what it was.

I was blood. 

Then came the pain. 

Everywhere. 

Unprecedented. 

"J... Jon..." you hiccuped. A wet cough shook your lungs. Drops of blood stained your lips and the witch's porcelain face. "I want... Jon." 

Before your frightened eyes, the witch picked up the coin from earlier and placed it in your palm. She closed your fist and enveloped it in hers. You watched her do it, eyes blurred by the pain. Your body was already giving out on you. It was cold, too cold… 

Winter is coming, your father said. 

My father is dead, you replied.

"Āeksiō ōños." 

A voice pierced the fog that was gradually inhibiting all your senses. You blinked. 

"W-what are you...?" you managed to whisper between coughs. "... doing?" 

Your breathing quickened. Your knees buckled. You tried to free yourself but the witch dug her nails into your hand. 

"Stop!" you screamed, terrified. 

"Āeksiō ōños. Āeksiō ōños. Āeksiō ōños!"

In your grip, the coin caught fire. The flames devoured the Mad King's head and, with it, your palm. You screamed, feeling your skin getting torn apart by the fire. Nausea turned your stomach. You choked on a mixture of blood and bile and staggered backwards, but the red witch did not let go. 

"Obūljagon se jēda se ānogar. Kostagon se mele zokla lilagon isse vīlībāzma se ērinagon toliot vējes. Lord of Light! Come to us in our darkness. Cast your light upon us. For the night is dark and full of terrors!" 

Everything went up in flames. 

When you opened your eyes, the dead were no longer singing. An entirely different cacophony resounded. Swords and screams deafened you. You tried to speak but your body, numb, remained motionless, your mind, confused, your lips, closed. 

Had the Long Night ceased? 

The lights were blinding. 

There was no light in Winterfell.  

Nausea turned your stomach in waves. Too weak to lift an arm, you let yourself drown in it and choked on your vomit before closing your eyes.

"...ko...b…sa?"

Someone was talking to you, you realised, but you did not have the strength to find out who. 

"Skoros aōha brōzi issa?"

Your voice faded in your throat. The metallic taste of blood colonised both your palate and tongue. You coughed, the wet sound hurting your chest, and tried to sit up but could not find the strength to do that either. 

"Stomach... Blood..." you managed to stammer out before everything went black. Again. 

[txtmetonight]

Sick ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ You hate being sick. But at least Jay is there to save the day.

pairing *. * Park Jongsong x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ fluff

warnings *. Extreme fluff lol

call duration⋆ ★ 1.8k

a/n*. * I'm so stupid omg. I accidentally queued this to this morning before I even finished it and it was published omgomgomg. if you saw this earlier no you didn't. remember to like and reblog!!

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

You’re sick. And you hate it.  

Your nose is sniffly and red, and you’re in dying need of something to cool you down before you pass out. And your teacher’s constant talking isn’t really helping your ever-growing headache that was starting to sprout. You suppose that it was caused by playing out in the rain yesterday—even after Jay told you not to because you would be sick—but you would hate to admit that because then that would prove that your best friend was right. 

Jay was somehow always eerily right though. Like when he said that you liked him as a joke while playing a truth or dare game—he thought that he was fibbing in purely comedic fashion, but your wide eyes and everyone else’s shocked faces said something else. 

Blowing a stand of hair from your face, your cheeks feel hot when you place them down onto your arms, slightly groaning as the feverish feeling sends chills down your spine. Your notes were starting to become rather illegible as you tried to write down whatever was on the board, but you eventually gave up. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” Chaewon pokes your side with her pencil, receiving no response from your end. “(Y/n)? Helloooo?” You don’t even murmur, instead opting to ignore her. You felt like you were on fire. 

“Oh, hey Jay!” Chaewon exclaims excitedly, making you shoot your head and knock down your water bottle to greet the boy, only to find him not there and half the class staring at you for the ruckus you created. The teacher in his pointed glasses glares at you too, and you gulp down in your seat to avoid his killer eyes while pinching your friend in the thigh angrily. She swats at your hand without making much movement. The older man just sighs and returns to his lesson, prompting you to turn to the girl and scold her quietly. 

"Chae, what the hell?!” 

She shrugs her shoulders and just giggles. “You weren’t answering me.” You roll your eyes and sigh as another wave of sickness jerks your body—you're starting to feel as though the room is starting to spin. Chaewon furrows her brows at your behavior before she places the back of her hand on your neck, wincing when her touch feels too hot to be normal. “You’re burning up. (Y/n) You should go to the nurse.” 

You nod sadly at her and slowly gather your supplies. “I guess so.” 

When you finally scooch out of your chair and very timidly ask the teacher to go to the nurse (which he then sends you a very nasty look once more), you carefully lug your bookbag with you in a very depressing manner, as if your back were severally hunched over and your feet were dragged on the floor. Still, you were determined to go home and take a much-needed rest, but with the halls moving side to side, you’re not really sure if you could take another step without crumpling down in a heaped mess. 

And thankfully, someone must have heard your prayers because suddenly a rather warm hand wraps itself around your waist and holds you upright. The hold is familiar, and even in your dazed state, you find yourself recognizing the tight grip on you, stumbling back from the rush of butterflies in your stomach. 

“Let’s get you to the nurse without fainting.” 

You let him drag you to the nurse without many complaints, sinking very well into his tender comfort as you sway back and forth. You slightly giggle when he grumbles underneath his breath, reprimanding you from last night. “You never listen to me,” he sighs. “And now I have to go take care of you.” 

“Who said that you had to take care of me? I can take care of myself just fine.” You whine. He laughs quite mockingly at you before he loosens his grip just a little. “Right, so if I let you go completely, you would be able to walk fine?” 

You shake your head furiously and pinch his biceps. You’re sure you could, but it wouldn’t do much harm if you stayed a tad bit closer to him just for a while, no? 

“You’re such a baby,” he chimes, but he leaves you be until you both get to the waiting room. The nurse is in her appointed chair, and then she looks up at you two when the bell above gently dings, letting her know of her new patients. 

“Yes, how may I help you two?” Jay doesn’t even let you open your mouth to let you speak. "She's sick.” The lady, well over her middle age, saunters over and pats at the firm mattress as she drags over her thermometer. Your best friend very carefully lets you sit on the green bed, and your cheeks seem to flush a little more when you realize that his fingers on your waist haven’t left you yet. 

“Open your mouth—oh, the phone.” 

The phone rings just in time, and you curiously watch as the nurse apologizes with her face and picks up the loud tone, holding the device to her ear. Seconds go by, and her face seems to contort into worry in the middle of her blabbering towards what you suppose is another teacher before she cuts the call rather harshly and stands up to her full height, grabbing a first aid kit that was just below her desk. 

She then faces you and Jay. “I am so extremely sorry. Gosh, another student had just busted his head open!” Your eyes grow wide at her ramble, exchanging glances with the boy next to you. “If you’re truly sick, because you do look paler than normal, I figure that you could go home. Just check her temperature, I suppose. Do you have anyone to pick you up?” 

Your parents had (un)fortunately left you home alone for the week for an important business trip to come. And so, you shake your head. “No–” 

“It’s fine, I can take her home. It’s almost the end of the school day.” 

Turning towards him in his arms, you question him, but he just smiles smugly at you and shrugs his shoulders. The nurse, who seemed in a very quick hurry, doesn’t say anything but instead writes you two an excused note before she’s on her way, closing the door shut in her wake, and a silence consumes the room as you stare at her tray of peppermints. You thought Jay was too, yet when you turn to look at him, his gaze lies on you. Your stomach flips. 

“Well, aren’t you supposed to check my temperature or something?” You ask, fiddling with the string of your cardigan. “Oh right…” He very quickly (in a red face that you don’t notice) brings up his hand to your forehead but halts it just before he touches you. 

"Wait, hold on, I saw another way that should be more accurate.” 

His fingers move to your chin, which he very gently squeezes, and then he places his other hand on top of yours for stability, which he finally (before you can even chide him about his weird credibility) lets his forehead land on against yours, crushing your wrist when you both stare at each other. 

You’re going to pass out. 

He’s close—like super close—as he nudges your head a little bit more, and you feel like your heart is thrumming loudly against your chest, your face is heating up even more, and you assume that you look like you’ve fallen into a clutter of bashfulness.

Jay’s cologne invades your senses while your nails seem to dig into your back more, but not once does he flinch, choosing to let his eyes flicker down to your lips just before he smiles softly. 

“You definitely have a fever.” He then pulls himself off you as if whatever stunt he just pulled was just completely normal. You’re not sure if you’re going crazy, but your gut seems to be riding its own roller-coaster—words that you’ve meant to confess on the tip of your tongue while you stare at him weakly. 

Jay’s going to be the death of you. 

"What the–where did you–huh?” 

“I told you; I saw it online. And you’re for sure running a fever. Let’s go.” He tucks his hands under your arms and makes it his priority once more to safely guide you back home, only this time his words consisted of promising you to make his infamous chicken noodle soup. 

By the time that you both made it back to your house, there was sweat running down your back, and as you panted in exhaustion from either fighting off the fever or walking, your eyelids drooped heavier and heavier with each passing second. 

“Jayyyy” You whine, sighing, when you hand him the keys. He unlocks the door with his one free hand and quickly makes a beeline to your room, muttering apologies for trespassing just before he enters.

He’s fast when he’s determined and always has been; his eyebrows furrowed, his lips casted into a slight frown—he’s utterly too handsome for you. In a daze, you watch him bring over a cold washcloth to put on your head, and for some reason, your heart seems full of him—and you realize that it’s always been filled to the brim for him to take. You’re in love. And ill. 

“How’d you know to find me in the hallway earlier?” You ask, your eyes closing when his warm hands lightly pats your cheeks. You can practically see him smiling even with your eyes shut while he proceeds to run his knuckles up and down your collarbone. “I dunno. I think it was my (Y/N) senses.” 

You weakly grin at him as you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into a sense of comfort—into the awaiting arms of sleep. Jays knows too, and he places a chaste kiss on your ring finger. “Go to sleep, pretty; I’ll be here when you wake up.” You nod into his touch and a sudden urge of words spill from your mouth.

“Jay I really like you...” 

The boy stiffens, his pupils fluttering between your eyes and lips to the point where they break into another round of silly giggling. You’re cute, you really are, and so he can’t help but linger close to where he wants to kiss you. 

"Hmmm, I think I need to check your temperature again. I have another way, though. Will you let me try it?” 

You snort, “Did you find it online again?” 

“Maybe…” He softly settles his lips against yours, not caring once that you were sick. It’s light and mellow, and you feel an air of love and adoration when he pulls back, hovering just above you. “Am I still sick?” 

He tilts his head. “I can’t tell for sure. I’ll check again when you wake up.”

[nxzz-skz]

Bound by contract (a bangchan x reader series)

Chapter 12

ᯓ★arranged marriage between nonidol!bangchan and fem!reader

ᯓ★ warnings: fluff, kissing, suggestive, mdni

ᯓ★ note: send an ask or comment to be added to my taglist! (please specify which one :D )

chapter 11 - masterlist - chapter 13

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Dinner was quiet but comfortable. For the first time in a long time, things felt normal.

You sat across from each other at the dinner table, sharing stories you'd never shared before. He told you about his first "business" - selling candy to kids in school - and you laughed so hard you nearly choked on your food. You told him about the time your roommate tricked you into dying your hair blue in college, and he laughed so hard it bought tears to his eyes.

It was easy. Too easy.

Later that evening, when you were washing the dishes, you felt him behind you before you saw him. His warmth radiated against your back, his presence so close you could feel the heat of him on your skin.

"Need some help?" he asked, his voice low, right next to your ear.

You froze.

"You offering or just trying to be nice?" you muttered, trying hard to focus on scrubbing the bowl in your hand.

"Both," he muttered, stepping closer. His chest was now practically pressed against you back, and his breath was warm against your ear.

"Careful, Chan," you said, placing the bowl in the drying rack. "You're playing with fire."

"Yeah?" His voice dropped, quieter but somehow deeper. "Maybe I don't mind getting burned."

You didn't turn around. You didn't trust yourself to. Your heart was a mess of pounding beats, and every inch of you was suddenly aware of him - of how close he was to you, of how his hands hovered just shy of your waist.

"Stop it," you said softly, your voice uneven.

"I'n not doing anything though," he whispered.

You turned, looking up at him, face a lot closer than you'd expected. He was staring at you with that look - the one that made it feel he could see right into your thoughts.

"Chan," you warned, barely louder than a whisper.

"Say it again," he said, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering to your lips for just a second. "Say my name again."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Don't do it. Don't let him win.

But you did.

"Chan," you whispered again, his name barely a breath.

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, leaning forward so that his forehead rested lightly against yours. His breath was hot against your cheek, steady but not at the same time.

"I should stop," he murmured, his voice so soft it was barely there.

You didn't say anything.

Because you didn't want him to stop.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The line between you wasn’t just crossed.

It was obliterated.

His lips were on yours before you even realized you’d moved. Soft at first, testing, asking for permission. But the second you gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, he broke.

His hands found your waist, fingers firm but not demanding. His lips moved against yours, slow at first, like he was memorizing the way you tasted. But soon, it wasn’t enough.

You felt it — the shift from caution to need.

He kissed you deeper, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand the space between you. Every breath, every sound, every movement was raw, desperate, real.

“Tell me you want this,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough, broken.

“Shut up, Chan,” you said, pulling him back in, amused at how needy he sounded.

He laughed against your mouth, and you could feel it — the weight of everything that had been building between you, finally cracking open.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling lightly, and he groaned, his hands tightening on your waist. Your back hit the counter, and you gasped, but you didn’t care.

He kissed you like it was the only thing he knew how to do. His lips traced down your jaw, over the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Your name left his lips like a prayer, hushed and reverent.

“Y/N…” he breathed, pulling back just far enough to look at you. His eyes were wild, his lips swollen and shiny from kissing you.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your hands tugging him closer. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

When you woke up, you expected him to be gone.

But he wasn’t.

He was still there, his arm draped over your waist, his breathing slow and steady against the back of your neck.

You stared at the ceiling, your mind a mess of thoughts, but one thing kept repeating over and over.

He stayed.

He always left before. Always. But this time, his warmth was still there, grounding you in ways you didn’t think you needed.

His arm tightened around you, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“You’re thinking too much,” he mumbled, voice rough from sleep.

“Yeah,” you admitted, eyes still on the ceiling.

“Stop.”

You finally turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were barely open, his gaze lazy but soft.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you muttered.

He grinned, pulling you closer until his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

“Then tell me what you want,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

You.

“Breakfast,” you said instead.

He laughed.

But this time, he didn’t let go.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

ᯓ★ Reblogs and follows appreciated!

ᯓ★ taglist: @bluesoobinnie @lynastrawberry @nappynapnaps

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[kissracing]

Hi there, very happy to have found your profile. I was wondering if you are accepting requests. If so, can you please write on social media where the other drivers find out that Charles Leclerc's girlfriend is the Princess of Wales? (Prince William's eldest daughter)

okay woah wow!! hi lovely! i’m so glad that you found my account.

unfortunately, i’m not taking requests right now.

not to say that i will never take requests, it’s just that i feel like right now, i’m not able to fulfill anyones specific wants.

especially because i’m sort of a new writer 😭!! i’m glad that (i assume ofc) you liked my lando fic enough to request me your idea but i just can’t right now

not to say that i won’t keep this idea!! hopefully i’ll get around to doing requests and trust me yours will be the first one i do! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🫶🏽

[nofingjustaninchident]

ᯓ★ i hate you more.

summary jason and y/n finally got to the camp. but at what cost?

warnings third person writing, drew tanaka, not proofread

word count 3k

now listening to you get me so high by the neighbourhood

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

As the chariot soared through the sky, off to who-knows-where with a potentially homicidal blonde girl and an overly buff guy who looked like he could easily throw Y/n off the chariot if he was so inclined, she decided she liked flying with Jason better. 

But, as quickly as that thought came up, she pushed it away. How could she even think about liking flying with Jason? She didn’t know him. She knew she hated him, but she didn’t know him.  

Standing beside her, he gazed out at the horizon, his troubled expression mirroring her own confusion. She took a moment to study his face while he was distracted, absorbing the familiar features she couldn't recall encountering before waking up on the bus. It was a frustrating sensation, feeling so certain of knowing him yet unable to find any trace of him in her memories. 

Or rather, not having any memories to search through in the first place. 

He was handsome, but Y/n had known that from the moment she first saw him that afternoon, holding her hand as she slept on the bus. A few strands of his blond hair grazed his forehead, suggesting it had been a while since his last haircut, though she couldn't pinpoint why she thought so. His eyes resembled the clear blue sky on a sunny day, a stark contrast to the gray clouds they were currently navigating through. Her gaze caught a small scar on his upper lip, prompting her to wonder if he had ever shared the story behind it, if such knowledge remained locked away within the rest of her memories. 

Jason pulled his eyes away from the horizon, meeting her gaze. His lips tilted downward in a small, nervous frown, and she couldn't really point why that felt so...  hurtful, to say the least.  

"This is so cool!" Leo yelled. He spit a Pegasus feather out of his mouth, sputtering for a moment. "Where are we going?" 

"A safe place," Annabeth answered. She'd been quiet since they took off, and there was something sad in her eyes as they looked out at the horizon. "The only safe place for kids like us. Camp Half-Blood." 

"Half-blood?" Piper crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes hard as she scowled at Annabeth. "Is that some kind of bad joke?" 

"She means we're demigods," Jason said. "Half god, half mortal." 

Annabeth glanced back at him. "You seem to know a lot, Jason," she said, her tone suspicious. "But yes, demigods. My mom is Athena, goddess of wisdom. Butch here is the son of Iris, the rainbow goddess." 

Leo choked on a laugh he tried to suppress. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?" 

"Got a problem with that?" Butch said. 

"No, no," Leo said. "Rainbows. Very macho." 

"Butch is our best equestrian," Annabeth told them. "He gets along great with the pegasi." 

"Rainbows, ponies," Leo muttered. Y/n couldn’t hold back the laugh that threatened to escape with each of Leo’s remarks.  

"I'm going to toss you off this chariot," Butch warned.  

"Demigods," Piper said. "You mean you think you're... you think we're—" 

Lightning flashed through the sky. The chariot shuddered and Jason yelled, "Left wheel's on fire!" 

Y/n looked over and sure enough, it was burning, white flames beginning to lick up the side of the chariot. The wind roared around them with a vengeance. She glanced behind them and saw dark shapes forming in the clouds - more venti spiraling toward the chariot, though these looked more like horses than angels. 

She started praying, or at least what she thought was a prayer, to any god that would care to hear her. She really didn’t want to die that way.  

Piper started to say, "Why are they-?" 

"Anemoi come in different shapes," Annabeth explained. "Sometimes human, sometimes stallions, depending on how chaotic they are. Hold on. This is going to get rough." 

Going to get?!, Y/n thought. It already is!  

Butch flicked the reins. The pegasi sped forward and the chariot blurred. Y/n held Jason's hand in a vise grip, her vision going black for a moment. When it went back to normal, they were somewhere entirely new. 

An ocean stretched out to their left. Snow-covered fields, roads, and forests spread out on the right. 

Directly below them was a green valley, like a lonely island of spring surrounded by snowy hills on three sides and water to the north. She saw a cluster of buildings that didn't look like they belonged in the twenty-first century, ball courts, a lake, and a climbing wall that looked like it was on fire. 

Then the chariot's wheels came off, and they dropped out of the sky. 

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Y/n let out the curses, still holding tightly to Jason’s hand. She felt like he was the only person close enough that she wouldn’t have to walk to reach out.  

Annabeth and Butch tried to maintain control, but the pegasi seemed exhausted, and bearing the weight of the chariot and six people was clearly too much for them. 

"The lake!" Annabeth yelled. "Aim for the lake!" 

They plummeted like a torpedo into the water. 

The lake was freezing. She'd already been shivering on the chariot, what with the wind and the high altitude and her damp clothes from the rain at the Grand Canyon, but now she was submerged in freezing cold water to boot. 

After falling into the Grand Canyon and fighting off evil wind spirits, she was going to die of hypothermia. Or drowned. Probably drowned.  

How nice. 

But suddenly, the whole freezing part was over. She couldn’t feel the freezing water, just... nothing. She looked at her front and saw a figure. She could swear she heard the thing telling her to breathe, but she was probably just hallucinating. Luckily.  

She broke into the surface soon, trying to float. She discovered that there was something in her eyes, and she couldn’t open them to discover where the shore was. Suddenly, she felt hands under her arms, and someone pulled her. She didn’t know who it was, but considering the muscles on the person’s arms, she figured it’d be Butch.  

Y/n and the person got to the shore, and she let out a long, contented sigh. Piper and Leo ran over to her with a towel, which she used to take the thing off her eyes, and Y/n realized Jason was the one who'd pulled her back to the surface. It was the second time he'd saved her life that day.  

Jesus, he's like a blond Superman. 

Life's a bitch.  

Once she was pretty sure she'd taken the thing off her eye, she forced herself to straighten. 

"Are you okay?" Piper asked, her voice high-pitched and terrified. But before Y/n could answer, Annabeth spoke up, her face dark and curious at the same time. 

“You’re dry.” 

Y/n grimaced. “I’m- wait, what?” she asked, and looked down at her body. Outside her damp clothes, her hair and skin were completely dry. “Oh, my fucking god, what the hell?” She asked, her own voice high-pitched and desperate. 

“How’s that even possible? You’re not that warm.” Leo muttered. 

“That... that just happened before with, uh... one person.” Annabeth said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. The girl was wringing her wet hair out, studying y/n with a furrowed brow. "If you and Percy have this in common, then... no, it can’t be." She said, her tone uncertain, but there was a lingering suspicion in it. 

"Great," y/n grumbled. "I love being the exception." 

A detail of campers ran up with big, bronze-colored leaf blowers and blasted the soaking wet demigods with hot air. In a few seconds, y/n was dry and far warmer than she had been just a few moments ago. 

Thank fuck. 

A blond-haired guy (what is it with y/n and blond dudes?) with a bow and quiver strapped to his back pushed through the crowd of orange-shirted people, pulling a small bottle of some kind of amber liquid out of a fanny pack. He handed it to y/n, who just stared at it questioningly until he explained, 

"Nectar. It'll make sure your lungs are clear and prevent dry drowning. Drink." 

y/n didn't know how she felt taking orders from someone who looked younger than her, but when Annabeth nodded along to his explanation, she decided to trust the blonde girl. As scary as she was, she had helped Jason save her from drowning. 

y/n downed the mini-bottle, but she didn’t feel any different than she already was. 

The young blond guy turned to Annabeth. "And you! I said you could borrow the chariot, not destroy it!" 

"Will, I'm sorry," Annabeth sighed. "I'll get it fixed, I promise." 

Will scowled at the remains of his broken chariot. 

Then he sized up y/n, Jason, Piper, and Leo. 

"These are the ones? Way older than thirteen. Why haven't they been claimed already?" 

"Claimed?" Leo questioned. 

Before Annabeth could explain, Will asked, "Any sign of Percy?" 

"No," Annabeth admitted. 

The campers around them muttered. Whoever Percy was, his disappearance seemed to be a big deal. 

Another girl stepped forward. She glanced at the four newcomers, her eyes moving over Leo and y/n with a bored expression before she fixed her eyes on Jason like he might be worthy of her attention. The girl then glanced at Piper, her lip curling in a vague look of disgust. "Well," she said, "I hope they were worth the trouble." 

y/n scowled at her, taking offense. She had a gut feeling that this girl would be nothing more than a pain in the ass.  

Leo snorted. "Gee, thanks. What are we, your new pets?" 

"No kidding," Jason said. "How about some answers before you start judging us - like, what is this place, why are we here, how long do we have to stay?" 

“Why did your lake people just talked to me?” y/n tacked on silently. 

"Jason," Annabeth said, her tone placating, "I promise we'll answer your questions. And Drew," - she frowned at the rude girl -"all demigods are worth saving. But I'll admit, the trip didn't accomplish what I hoped." 

"Hey," Piper said, "we didn't ask to be brought here." 

Drew sniffed. "And nobody wants you, hon. Does your hair always look like a dead badger?" 

y/n and Piper moved at the same time. Jason reached for y/n’s hand again, a pleading look in his eyes as if he was saying please don't. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand from his, but didn’t really move. Annabeth stopped Piper, who y/n was pretty sure only backed down because of how intimidating Annabeth looked at the moment. 

Or at any moment, really. 

"We need to make our new arrivals feel welcome," Annabeth said, shooting Drew another pointed look. "We'll assign them each a guide, give them a tour of camp. Hopefully by the campfire tonight, they'll be claimed." 

"Would somebody tell me what claimed means?" Piper asked. 

There was a collective gasp. The campers backed away, a faint orange glow encompassing the crowd. y/n frowned, following everyone's gazes to Leo. Floating above his head was a blazing holographic image - a hammer engulfed in flames. 

"That," Annabeth said, "is claiming." 

“Holy shit...” y/n and Jason muttered at the same time, quickly exchanging an annoyed look. 

Leo reacted as if his hair was on fire, swatting at the air in panic. 

"This can't be good," Butch muttered. "The curse-" 

"Butch, shut up," Annabeth said. "Leo, you've just been claimed-" 

"By a god," Jason interrupted. "That's the symbol of Vulcan, isn't it?" 

Everyone's eyes turned to him. 

"Jason," Annabeth said carefully, "how did you know that?" 

"I'm not sure," Jason admitted. 

"Vulcan?" Leo demanded. "I don't even like Star Trek! What are you talking about?" 

"Vulcan is the Roman name for Hephaestus," Annabeth said, "the god of blacksmiths and fire." 

The image above Leo's head faded, but he kept swatting the air as if it might still be following him. 

"The god of what? Who?" 

Annabeth turned to Will. "Would you take Leo, give him a tour? Introduce him to his bunk-mates in Cabin Nine." 

He nodded. "Sure, Annabeth." 

Will led Leo away and Annabeth turned her attention back to Jason and y/n. She studied the two of them like there were two variables in a complicated math problem. Finally, she said, "Jason, hold out your arm." 

y/n frowned; she wasn’t quite sure what Annabeth was looking at. She followed the blonde's gaze to his forearm. He'd taken his windbreaker off, leaving his arms exposed, and on the inside of his right forearm was a tattoo. The letters SPQR were etched into his skin, with a dark silhouette of an eagle above it and a dozen straight lines below it. 

"Do you have one, too?" Annabeth asked, looking at y/n. 

y/n rolled up the sleeve of her - Jason's – sweatshirt (she still had to take it off, but she was way too comfy to do so), exposing her right arm. Just like Jason, she had a tattoo on the inside of her forearm, though hers looked a bit different. 

Unlike Jason, she didn't have an eagle above the SPQR on her skin - instead, she had two symbols, one beside the other. It had a trident, in a style that she was sure she didn’t do the tattoo willingly. Kinda entangled with it, there was a lyre. Under the SPQR, there were ten lines, just a few less than Jason.  

y/n brushed her fingertips over the tattoo. She couldn't remember getting it, but she had the faint feeling it had hurt, and she had a suspicion it wasn't made with ink. 

"I've never seen marks like these," Annabeth said. "Where did you two get them?" 

Jason shook his head. "I'm getting really tired of saying this, but I don't know." 

When Annabeth looked at y/n, she shrugged. "Nah, no clue." 

"They look burned into your skin," Annabeth noticed. 

"They were," y/n said, wincing as she tried to recall a specific memory. It made her head hurt even more than it already did. "I... I think they were, anyway. I can't remember." 

Everyone looked to Annabeth. It was clear she was something of a leader in the camp, and they were all waiting to hear her verdict. "You two need to go straight to Chiron," Annabeth decided. "Drew, would you—" 

"Absolutely." Drew sauntered forward, lacing her arm through Jason's. y/n scowled at the sight, her scowl deepening when Drew pulled him away, resulting in his warmth being pulled away from hers. 

Not that she minded. y/n was hoping for Drew to get him far, far away from her. 

"This way, sweetie. I'll-" 

"y/n needs to see him, too, Drew," Annabeth reminded her, giving y/n a look that she suspected was a silent apology for Drew's behavior. 

Drew rolled her eyes, but didn't object as y/n joined her and Jason. She kept talking as if y/n wasn't even there. "I'll introduce you to our director. He's... an interesting guy." 

They walked toward the big blue mansion y/n had seen just before their chariot plummeted into the lake. 

A heavy sense of dread filled y/n’s stomach as they made it to the house. If the way Jason tensed at the sight of the house was any indication, he shared her anxiety. 

She was suddenly struck by how grateful she was that she wasn't the only person who seemed to have lost her mind along with her memories. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest thing in the world to only remember the person who she seemed to hate the most, but it was still better than having absolutely no one. She wondered if that was the only thing linking the two of them together. 

His name was the only concrete memory she'd woken with. That had to mean something, right? 

"Here we are!" Drew said cheerfully. "The Big House, camp headquarters." 

The Big House didn't look threatening, not at first glance, but that didn't stop y/n from feeling like she was on the border of enemy territory. She touched the small lump in her pocket, feeling the key. 

At least she wasn't defenseless. 

"We are not supposed to be here," Jason said, voicing y/n’s exact feelings. The girl looked at him with a questioning look. Perhaps, besides being extremely handsome and skilled with a sword, he was also a mind reader.  

Is always an option, right? 

Drew circled her arm through his. "Oh, please. You're perfect here, sweetie. Believe me, I've seen a lot of heroes." She glanced at y/n like she was a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "You, I'm not so sure about." 

y/n touched the key in her pocket and almost flipped her off. "Wanna test that theory?" she said. "I have a sword with your name on it, princess." 

"So testy," Drew said, rolling her eyes. "What, are you two together or something?" 

Jason and y/n’s eyes met, neither of them quite sure how to answer. Before either of them could say anything, though, the sound of footsteps sounded from the front porch. 

No, not footsteps - it sounded like hooves. 

"Chiron!" Drew called. "This is Jason. He's totally awesome." She side-eyed y/n. "And y/n." 

y/n made a face at Drew and rolled her eyes.  

Jason backed up so fast he almost tripped, his arm reaching out to pull y/n back with him as if to pull her away from danger. She looked down at Jason’s muscular arm around her torso and pulled away from him, the nagging feeling that they hated each other poking the depths of her mind. The girl watched as a man on horseback rounded the corner of the porch.  

No, he wasn't on horseback - his lower half was a horse. 

It's official, I've lost what was left of my sanity.  

Chiron started to smile at y/n and Jason, but the color drained from his face as he looked at Jason. 

"You..." The centaur's eyes flared like a cornered animal's. "You should be dead." 

TAGLIST @maybxlle @sunshine-of-ur-life @liviessun @bellamysnatblida @mp-littlebit @cinemaconrad

[voidsatoru]

.°•★ boards shouldn't have wheels

— nanjo kojiro x surfer!reader (feminine terms used)

contents: fluff, established relationship, swearing, kojiro teaching his surfer partner how to skate

“How did I let you convince me into doing this."

You grumbled as you looked up at the green-haired man in front of you, watching as he secured a helmet on your head.

"It's cause I'm extremely sexy and charm- hmph!" he groaned out as your elbow collided with his stomach. "I mean, I'm a very convincing person."

"Yeah, okay," you muttered, swatting away his hands as he attempted to pat you on your head like you were a toddler who needed assurance from a parent.

"Come on, then," he encouraged as he placed the skateboard on the floor in front of you and held out his hands.

You sighed as you stared down at the board, towards the slope, and back towards Kojiro again.

"Is it too late to quit?"

"Come on, you've got this," he gently spoke, still reaching out towards you.

"Okay," you mumbled, hesitantly placing your hands into his larger ones. The board shook slightly as you placed one foot on it, causing you to squeak and instantly want to take it back off again.

"No you don't," Kojiro said, firmly planting his foot on top of yours. "I'm right here. I've got you."

Your grip on his hands tightened as he released his foot from on top of yours, and you uttered a quick prayer under your breath before fully stepping onto the board.

You shrieked slightly as the skateboard began to roll underneath you, and only calmed down when Kojiro wrapped one arm around your waist to steady you.

"Position your feet like you would as a surfer to balance yourself."

You listened and shifted the positions of your feet, bending your knees slightly as if you would on a surfboard. It wasn't that different, right?

"Okay, princess, I'm gonna let go now-"

"Don't you dare, Kojiro, I'll kill y- eeee!"

Your threats clearly fell on deaf ears, as you were now slowly rolling down the slope.

"Boards shouldn't have wheels, what the fuck, what the FUCK," you yelled as you began to speed up, arms desperately flailing as you attempted to keep balanced.

You screamed as you felt yourself lose balance, immediately clenching your eyes shut in fear as you felt yourself topple towards the fast-moving ground beneath you.

You opened your eyes in shock and gasped as you felt an impact, but instantly realised that you were now in the familiar arms of your boyfriend and not on the ground.

"You did it- ow!" Kojiro yelled offensively as you smacked him around the back of the head, but proceeded to pull you closer into his body as he continued to skate down the rest of the hill with you in his arms. "What was that for?" he questioned as he finally stepped off his board, but still held onto you.

"I could've died you idiot," you yelled as you smacked him in the chest. "That wasn't anything like surfing, you're a liar."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved off with a shit-eating grin on his face. "I was skating right behind you, you were fine."

You only grumbled as you finally stepped back onto the ground.

"So when are we going again-"

"Never," you cut off as you began to stomp back up the hill. "I'm never stepping back onto a skateboard ever again."

"Baby, pleaseee," Kojiro whined as he ran after you, clutching both skateboards under one arm. "We have to be a cool skating couple, come on-"

"No."

"Please-"

"No."

"I'll cook dinner for you?"

"You do that anyway."

"I'll.. um.. um.." he started as he ran in front of you and began to walk backwards. "I'll get you a new surfboard."

You paused, eyebrow raised in thought. "Any board I want?"

"Absolutely any."

"Hm... okay. But no more death hills.'

"You got it."

You couldn't help but grin as you began to walk beside your boyfriend, hand reaching to grasp onto his. "You have no idea what you've just agreed to. Your bank balance will never recover from this."

a/n: we need more sk8 content on here tbh

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Howdy! EVERY TIME you write Paulie I eat it up. Leaves me kicking my legs and giggling every time. I love the way you write him so, so much!!! Only if you have time, can I request a Paulie yandere imagine similar to the one you did for Sam in March with him getting rid of an admirer? if possible, with a darling/so with a lame leg?

-★!

A/N: I got you sistaa. sorry this took a while to come out, iv'e been in a mortal kombat kick rn lol. i did include the fact that you have a lame leg in this because anything for youuuu. i hope you enjoy/

warnings: toxic and abusive themes, violence, obession, etc..

requests: open 24/7

masterlistt

There weren't many things that brought much joy to the old brute anymore. Paulie carried a lot of baggage and sorrow on his shoulders that continuously weighed down on him. He hated every aspect of his life, his job, and his crappy apartment. He so desperately wanted an escape. Anything that could possibly take him away from all his misery...the bottles of booze and endless gambling no longer sufficed. Something had to give and soon.

As if his long-awaited prayers were finally answered, you so miraculously entered in his life. it was something out of some kind of romance movie. really. It all happened when you were moving into your new apartment building. Trying your utter best to get up the rather inaccessible steps with your walking assistant when you unfortunately misstepped, causing yourself to become unstable and fall backwards. you braced for the impact of the cold, disgusting concrete ground but was surprisingly swept up by large arms.

"You okay there, missy?"

His amused voice asked while helping you get back onto your feet. You took a second to regain composure before looking up at him. shinning an aloof yet cute smile at him, you thanked him for saving you from your certain demise. A short but friendly conversation took place where he welcomed you to the building...offering his assistance whenever you needed it. Thanking him and exchanging names, you went about your way, not thinking much of the interaction.

For Paulie on the other hand..it was all he thought about. Oh how cute your smile was or sweet how your voice and manner were. But what he couldn't shake was how perfect your meeting was. It had to be fate..no? If he hadn't walked in at the time he did, you would've been severely injured. everything about that meeting consumed him and he was so eager to see you again..

From that day forward obsessed. You'll find that he was just always there,, I mean you lived in the same building but he was somehow always in the hallway when you'd come out of your apartment or at the same places you were. He's so friendly and energetic too, you gave him a new sense of life.

You didn't mind it much though, Paulie had a heart of gold and you became quite good friends. He never judged you for your leg issues and was far more helpful than anyone you ever met. He'd bring you food and items you needed during your flare-ups and you returned the favor when he worked late. You could speak to him about literally everything, he was funny and quite charming. You loved being around him and so did he..just in a different way...

His "innocent" questions are really just him poking to find out your interests, likes and dislikes so he can put them into use later. Especially the ones about your ideal man. He'll do anything to become your perfect mate. Any traits you expressed disinterest in him will change. He's already stopped smoking and gambling plus started to keep himself up more...just for you my dear. Any compliments he receives from you drive him wild and fuel his delusions more. He's convinced he is on the right path to be yours very soon. I like to think Paulie wouldn't be straight up about his feelings at all tho. He's had so many heartbreaks and rejections that he's far too scared of your response if he comes straight out about it. He doesn't want to scare you off or make things awkward so he plays it slow...

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to all of this. He's like the older coworker you've somehow become besties with..nothing more. You didn't think of him that way. Unbeknownst to you, you'd be making a horrible mistake because of this. The next time you saw him, you gushed over a guy you had met at the library. You went on and on about how he was perfect, handsome, and everything you dreamed about. You asked Paulie for advice on pursuing your newfound crush, only earning a cold and stoic "idk" from him before going into his apartment. you brushed it off as him just having a long and bad day from work but in reality...Paulie was heartbroken. Another woman he thought loved him back was actually just interested in someone hotter, younger, and better than him.

he tried his best to convince you out of being with him, that you should be careful of the men in this city. How did you know that he truly accepted you and wouldn't make fun of you? You should just stay safe with Paulie,,,trust him. He know best...please..this is eating him alive right now.

but that devastation quickly turned into anger when each day that passed, a new set of flowers and gifts were found at your door. it was like fate was rubbing it in his face that it was never truly meant to be. His obsession with you was far too deep to just be let go. He invested so much time, and Paulie knows you better than that little crush ever could. Sure, your admirer might've been more romantic but he knew what makes you cry and what makes you happy...even your deepest darkest secrets.. Paulie actually knew you and loved you. He could love you so good if you'd just let him.

"meet me at Tony's dinner tonight at 8. I have a surprise for you"

-your admirer

You ran up to Paulie as he was walking in the building and practically jumped in his arms in joy. You could barely contain your excitement and you handed him the note you just received. His smile faded as he read the words on the paper.

"well- isn't this great Paulie!? I think we are officially going to go steady"

"..."

"paulie..?"

Maybe, he shouldn't have drunk so much heavy liquor and maybe he should've told one of the guys what happened so they could've talked him out of it...but he went to the restaurant. The image of you being so happy over this other guy festered in his mind. You were slipping away from him...soon you'd completely forget about Paulie for your pretty boy...no. He can't lose you too. He can't go through this again. He's getting old. Paulie needed happiness and a quiet life with you so badly.

The clock read 8:15 and you guys had just been seated at your table. Paulie arrived shortly and drunkenly got out of the taxi. Though stumbling his way around the place, it surprisingly didn't take him long before finding your booth.

The two of you were at a table, exchanging flirtatious glances and banter when Paulie's body appeared, staring daggers into your lover. He hated how he looked at you, how happy each other appeared with each other. That should be him instead.

"...Paulie? what are you-"

In a jealousy-fueled rage, Paulie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and began dragging him outside. Only muttering for you to 'stay put' while he handled things.

Of course, you didn't listen and followed them out of the building, shouting for your neighbor to stop and tell you exactly what was going on...Unfortunately, Paulie was far too gone and drunken to even register your presence. All he was deadset on was making your date pay for taking you away from him.

Taking your admirer to the back of the parking lot, he forcefully punched him down onto the rough gravel. a plea for mercy being cut short by the bottom of Paulie's shiny black shoes connecting with his face, slamming him further into the ground. Your body completely froze at the sight of what was happening. Suddenly everything clicked...the suit...the accent..the days he's come home smelling like gunpowder with bruised fists.. How could you be so freakin stupid? How could you be so naive to believe this man was just an "innocent" friend.,

Paulie continued beating your lover down until the amount of blood that pooled satisfied him. A sick pleasure overtook his body observing how ugly and limp he knew was. He hadn't any chance with you anymore, even if you still found him to be beautiful or perfect...he would be too scared to even come within ten feet of you.

A loud and sudden thud snapped Paulie out of his trance when he turned to find you. Your walking assistant had been left inside the restaurant and it was becoming increasingly difficult for you to stand any longer, so you dropped to the ground, falling back on your ass. The sight of you merely sobered him up. Burning guilt quickly overtook the pleasure. Your eyes were wide with tears trickling out of them, and you sat in a daze. Your body was still in shock and far too weak to move..

"no...no..no paulie, what did you do?" he regretfully spoke to himself, as he carefully made his way to you

You wanted to back away, scream, cry...anything but you just couldn't. You stayed as you were as he approached and sat down in front of you. One of his hands slowly came up to the side of your face, gently caressing it. Your body reactively began to tremble, terrified of him hurting you next..

"I'm so sorry-" his own eyes began to swell with tears. Paulie once again ruined something beyond repair.. He just couldn't;t do anything right. His addictions and temperament once again reminded him who's really king.

He threw his head down onto your lap, taking your hands in his and squeezing them tightly. His speech was a bit slurred and sloppy due to the alcohol still pumping through his system..

"please. please forgive me. I'm so sorry. I'll give you whatever you want, take you where you want. I just didn't want anyone else to have you. He was taking you away from me and I could love you so much better."

The pathetic cries of a lonely, desperate man flooded your ears. You didn't care for anything from him. He took the one thing you wanted away from you..you hated Paulie

[this-loser]

Silent Prayer

─────────────────────────✩★✩─────────────────────────

Author's Notes: So, I actually haven't written in a while and for those who liked my previous stories I apologize. I deleted them from the account and forgot that I didn't have them saved so they are gone forever. Recently I have been hard on myself about that plus my writing. I ended up going inactive and recently going into the DC fandom, especially because of my love for Jason Todd, I got back into writing again. This is the first time I've written for Jason, bunch of scrapped ideas before this, so if it feels out of character I must apologize. Anyway, enough of my talking. Please enjoy!

────────────────────

「WC: 863」

「Summary: He's unable to sleep but maybe a little music will coax him into sleeping」

「Warnings: I don't use Y/N, This might be a little sad tbh, Nothing explicit just wholesome fluff, This is shorter than I originally thought it would be but I'm okay with this」

────────────────────

「Song name: "In Dreams" by Roy Orbison. In case you'd like to listen to it while reading look it up on either YouTube or Spotify.」

───────────────

It was never silent. Not in Gotham City. From the police sirens to the neighbors or the people outside the apartment building going on about their lives. No one pays any mind, depending on where you're looking, to the fact that this place was one of the biggest shitholes. No one could tell Jason otherwise.

He'd lived on the streets. Did things that he shouldn't have done, but he needed to survive and witnessed firsthand how god-awful the people in the city can be. All of that had been seen through the eyes of a child.

Was he proud of his past? Depends, but for the most part, no.

Reflecting doesn't help.

He knew that. It only made things come back, and the emotions left him sour. Especially when the original point was to sleep, something he was having trouble doing. Again.

Jason sat up, the blanket pooling at his hips as he ran a hand through his hair. The sound of a vehicle honking caused him to lift his head, looking at the window blinds. A few seconds pass by before he relaxes.

"Hmm..." The softness of your voice drew his attention, along with the blanket moving as you turned over onto your left side. "Jason," "Go back to sleep, baby." He crooned, stopping you from continuing your sentence and then leaning down to you, his hand pushing some of your hair out of your face as your eyes fluttered open. "Shh, just go back to bed. Everything is alright."

He was bullshitting, but not to worry you. Jason knew that you'd be up without another second if you knew his insomnia was bothering him again. "Just sleep." His hand gently cupped your cheek as he kept whispering coaxing words to ease you back into sleep, blissfully unaware of his suffering.

"Jay," Through tired eyes, you look at him. The darkness hides his face; however, you can make out the look he gave you. A soft reassurance that would have fooled anyone if they didn't know him well enough. That is, if they ever broke past that permanent scowl he always had. The look alone drew a huff from you. "Liar." He froze, the look quickly morphing into a disappointed frown. "Please, sleep. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." He brought forth a weak smile, his hand caressing your cheek. "Trust me, you need more sleep than I do, I'll be alright." "Jason..." He shook his head, stubbornness kicking in as he leaned closer, pressed his lips against your temple, then pulled away. "You're gonna go back to bed. No arguing about it." You whined at his stubbornness, and although that made him chuckle, he didn't let up.

You pulled a hand from under the blanket, lifting it and grabbing his arm. "No. I'm not giving up that easily, Jason." He bit back a groan at your stubbornness, internally kicking himself for hoping that you'd actually give in to his demand. You sat up slowly and let go of his arm as you reached over the end table on your side, grabbing your phone.

It was still early morning, and Jason clearly wasn't having a good night. "Jay, it's 4:37 A.M." He groans at the observation and leans back against the headboard. "I know, Genius..." He grumbles, looking away from you. "You're welcome." You mumble, now going through your phone. A few seconds of silence go by before the room is filled with soft music from your phone.

"I softly say, a silent prayer like dreamers do,"

He glances at you, the song playing as you set your phone back onto the end table. "Music?" You nod, looking at Jason. "Why not? Might help you sleep." "Not really my type of music." "Too bad. You've got to deal with it since it's my choice." You lay back down, moving over to him and throwing an arm over his hips, burying your face into the side of his thigh. "Who's the artist?" "Roy Orbison." He nods his head slowly, the name not sounding familiar to him. "Melancholy as hell, though." He added, looking down at you and resting his hand on your head. "Mm." Your eyes flutter closed, the soft tempo of the song starting to lull you back to sleep.

"In dreams, you're mine all of the time,"

He leans his head back. Taking in the lyrics and how melancholy they are. "Actually, they are kinda peaceful." He whispers, his fingers running through your hair. "Except for the "Candy-colored clown" bit... That part doesn't sound all peaceful to me." A light scoff comes from Jason as he stares at the bedroom door and feels his eyelids become heavier as the song continues to play.

"In beautiful dreams"

He blinks a few times as a wave of sleepiness crashes over him, but he pulls himself back and gently pulls your arm from his hips. You make a noise of protest as he lays down, pulling you into his arms once he's lying on his right side. You sigh in contentment, relaxing again and peacefully resting as Jason's eyelids close. The melody of the song coaxes him into a dreamless sleep.

[viviettezheart]

{3} Ghost - Yato

Note! Smut, ghost!fem!reader, blowjob, not proofread…

★👻

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: a god meets a ghost…what could possibly go wrong. One cannot die the other one is already dead…

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: sorry for not being on time with the dates i was like really motivated but now i kinda lost motivation to write…

👻★

Laying on your own grave in the cemetery was a weird feeling. You’re only 22 years old but died last year unfortunately because of a drunk truck driver who hit you as you were walking across the pedestrian path. The last thing you saw was your best friend waiting on the other side for you.

Its been now a year but no one visits your grave, not even your parents nor your best friend who saw you die in front of her eyes.

It made you sad as you saw all the other graves being visited from the family members while you visit your own grave in your ghost body. As you were laying there with your eyes closed until suddenly you felt the sun disappear…weird so you open your eyes only to be meet with a pair of ocean blue eyes. “Wa-Who are you?!” You asked, eyes widen as you noticed he could see you.

A human? Seeing a ghost? I don’t thinks so. “Or what are you?…”

“Name’s Yato!” He said enthusiastically with a big grin and hold his hand out for you. Does he not realize you’re a ghost. Ghosts can’t teach human but as you streched out your hand to shake it, you’re hand didn’t seep through it. “Are you human? Or also a ghost?” “No sweetheart i’m a god!” “A god?! “yes a god!” “…Oh god am i dreaming?” “Nope its all real…” “what is a god like you doing here at this cemetery?…” “your friend Maria prayed to me so i thought i could meet you in person and tell you her prayers!” The god spoke almost happily. How could he be so happy. Does he do things like that all the time…so many questions began to pop up in your head but you brushed them aside.

“What did she say?…” you gulped and looked up at him. “Dear y/n i hope you forgive me for that i couldn’t visit you…i deeply apologize and i miss you…i wish i could talk to you in person again…” He quoted. Tears began to escape your empty and hurt eyes. The god’s happy façade faded into a soft and empathetic expression. Thumb sliding along your lips as you turned your gaze away from the other graves and into his blue eyes.

“Don’t cry name your to pretty to cry…” yato bends down and smashes his soft lips against your cold ones. It took you by surprise as you hesitated to kiss him back but you felt like you could trust him so you kissed him back. It didn’t take long for him to pick you up and walk you bride style into his shrine…where you then meet Yukine.

Its been months now since you meet the god yato and his shinki Yukine. You three are basically like best friends except for the fact that yato and you are a thing. Yukine knows it but pretends to not know it. You were sitting with yukine at yato’s old shrine at the table on the floor when the door suddenly got slammed open making you two shriek. “Hello my two favorite people!” He said enthusiastically like always but this time it made you giggle. You actually found some people who visit you by being by your side 24/7.

You three have been sitting on the floor for a while now, watching a movie on the small tv that he found on the streets. It was a boring rom-com where you can’t really tell who loves who so when Yukine has fallen asleep with his head on the small desk on the floor you both decide it was a good idea to have some intimacy.

Quietly you sat yourself on his lap, facing him while wrapping your arms around his neck. One of his arms sneaked itself around your waist while the other one held your your underthigh as you were only hovering over his lap instead of fully straddling him. Sliding your hands down his torso to meet his crotch only to feel him already getting hard from nothing, you were only looking into his eyes but you guess your looks are this seductive to get him hard without even having to kiss or touch each other.

Yato began to blush a bit as you slide your body down while also sliding his pants with his boxers down. Freeing his hard cock. Your eyes widen a bit at the sight, licking your pink lips and stroking his dick. Yatos head falls back. Blue eyes staring at the run down ceiling but once you put your mouth on it his head falls forward, staring down at your innocent smiling face staring up at him. Yukine was still sleeping head down, deep in his slumber.

The tip of your tongue grazed his pink tip, licking the pre cum away and using is as lub for your hands to stroke the rest of his cock which wasn’t in your mouth. Moaning with him as yato whimpers almost whines as his hups buck up to meet your up and down bobbing head.

After a few minutes of him grabbing your hair and pushing your head up and down…helping you. Yato came inside your mouth and being the innocent girl you were you looked up at him again while opening your mouth, showing him the white cum his white cum just sitting in your tongue waiting to be swallowed which you did after giggling when yato blushed again…

“Thanks for the meal…” you kissed yatos lips as yukine slowly woke up at the same time as the movie ended.

[yumiyue07]

Through Fire and Blood

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★ POV: K-idol x reader

H/N = His name Y/N = Your name

Trigger warning: swearing, violence ｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

Disgust mingled with the fear of losing H/N surged through you as his touch lingered upon your cheek.

"Never," you asserted firmly, recoiling from his grasp with a sharp movement. "Take your filthy hands off me."

His grin widened at your defiance, his tone taunting. "Oh, a wildcat. Are you as spirited in bed as well? Don't answer that. I'll find out soon enough," he jested, eliciting laughter from his cohorts.

Jun Ho's smile faltered, a flicker of something akin to disgust crossing his face. He looked at you from the side, his gaze filled with a complex mix of anger and regret.

The queasiness in your stomach intensified, a silent prayer for H/N's timely rescue warring with the dread of the potential consequences.

"They'll come for me. Your stupid grin will be wiped off in seconds," you retorted, steeling yourself against the rising tide of fear.

His laughter rang out, mocking and cruel. "And how will they find you?" he countered, his smirk widening as he revealed the pendant from your necklace, its tracking device removed.

A chill swept through you at the realization, your gaze snapping upward to meet his. "Are you looking for these?" he jeered, the chain dangling tauntingly from his finger. "We've disabled the tracker, of course. Perhaps we should send it to him," he mused, his gaze darkening with malice. "But first, we should adorn it with your blood. Just to make sure he gets the message, you know."

The threat hung heavy in the air as one of his men brandished a knife, prompting a surge of fear within you. Yet, defiant resolve anchored you, refusing to grant that pervert the satisfaction of surrender. Your gaze briefly fell on Jun Ho, who was standing there with his jaw tensed, looking expressionlessly at the floor in front of your feet. He wouldn't help you, would he?

As the man behind you awaited further instruction, the boss's gaze locked with yours, a silent challenge passing between you. You held his stare, refusing to betray an ounce of fear, your resolve unyielding. "I’m H/N’s fiancée, the greatest boss ever. I’m as strong as my man is. I won’t beg for help or mercy. He wouldn’t either," you thought.

"Finger's enough," he said curtly, his voice emotionless.

With deliberate intent, the man behind you took hold of your index finger, poised with the knife. Your heart raced in your chest as you braced yourself for the anticipated pain, drawing upon the resilience instilled in you through combat training with H/N. In the aftermath of a prior incident, you had implored H/N to impart his martial arts expertise upon you, driven by a fervent desire for self-defense and independence.

To your astonishment, the pain was minimal—a mere stinging sensation akin to a shallow cut. Blood trickled from the wound, staining the pendant below, eliciting a derisive laugh from the leader.

"Did you think I would maim my future bride? Foolish girl," he taunted, his laughter tapering into a chilling silence. "Unless you prove deserving of it."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the realization of his twisted nature settling heavily upon you.

"What a psychopath," you mused internally as he issued orders for the necklace to be sent to H/N.

"Pack up the necklace and send it to him. Take photos as proof and send them to him as soon as the letter is delivered. And take it back to her room." Without sparing you another glance, he departed, leaving you to grapple with your confinement.

Jun Ho came to your side without giving you a glance, hoisting you over his shoulder and hurrying you back to your chamber. You didn’t protest like before, letting him do his job. Perhaps you were too tired to fight, or perhaps there was something about his touch that felt strangely comforting.

Once there, he gently laid you down on a mattress that must have been brought there while you were meeting their boss. He provided you with water and draped a blanket over you before vanishing without explanation. "What was wrong with him?" you thought. "No stupid line he wanted to get rid of?"

Just a few seconds later, he returned with a first aid kit. He knelt down next to you, his presence filling the room with an unexpected sense of calm. He took your injured hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle. He disinfected your wounded finger first, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. He froze for a second, then proceeded more carefully as if he were handling something precious.

He released your hands from behind your back and then bound them in front of you, granting you a little more freedom. Like this, you could at least reach for the water bottle without waiting for anyone to come.

Once he was done, you turned around and looked at him. He was still avoiding your gaze, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He simply nodded, took his stuff, and left without a word. As he disappeared, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Jun Ho than met the eye.

Alone with your thoughts, despair washed over you as you pondered your predicament. How could you escape without endangering H/N and his team? At the sight of the bloodstained necklace, he would surely panic and go berserk with rage. "Oh, H/N, I just wanted to spend some time with you. How did it all go wrong?" you lamented silently, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

Jun Ho hurried out of your room, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know how much longer he could have controlled himself.

He went into the meeting room where the other men were playing cards and threw the first aid kit on the table.

"Hey, don't you want to join us?" one of the men asked, noticing his agitated state.

"Not in the mood," he replied curtly, disappearing from the room.

"What's wrong with him today?" he heard him say.

He went out into the grounds, the fresh air doing little to calm his nerves. He picked up a few stones and threw them one after the other with full force into the void. What was wrong with him? Since when was he interested in a woman again? Relationships had always been a nuisance to him. But the sight of you...

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Why had he revealed his real name to you? It was a foolish mistake, a lapse in judgment that could have serious consequences.

He had been on the verge of attacking his boss just to protect you. "Aish!" he shouted, running a hand through his hair.

The revelation filled him with a sense of shame. He had always prided himself on his control, but now he was questioning his own judgment. He knew he couldn't allow his feelings for you to jeopardize his loyalty to his boss. He had to pull himself together, or this would end badly.

To be continued...

♡

Oh Jun Ho...what's happening with you...

Stay tuned for part 7!

Love, YumiYue 🌙

(⌒▽⌒)♡

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