#Bellis ow oc

[tallglassofchoccymilk]

So anywayyy uhhhh *gives Gabbro a twin and a dead older sibling cutely*

For this universe, twins are pretty commonplace among Hearthians. Though, the hatchling mortality rate is decently high, so oftentimes, only one twin will make it. For Gabbro and Hubeite’s case, they turned out fine! Physically.

Hubeite is a bit of a good for nothing. They call themselves a singer. The older Hearthians don’t get it. Gneiss sympathizes, at least, though the concept of adding voice to music isn’t unheard of…Just uncommon. Hubeite dreams of a big audience that Timber Hearth will never have. Aside from that, they deflect their loneliness with arrogance, and are kind of known as being a prick in a charming way — or pitiful way — taking that Hubeite never did well academically 😭😭😭

Here’s a slew of other OCs, Hubeite included <3

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time���newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The holiday pretense -2-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, idiots in love, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, they are absolute idiots. like, there is no way about it. pure idiots. anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 2-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: We’re already in December. Damn… Enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: here

Namjoon peered down at your sleeping form, his tired eyes tracing the soft, quirky murmurs that drifted from your lips as you burrowed deeper into his chest. What started as a faint whimper blossomed into a quiet, endearing snore, drawing a gentle smile from him.

He hadn’t planned to wake this early, but sleep had eluded him for the fast few hours. These quiet pre-dawn moments usually brought him peace—a hushed pause before the day took over. Today, however, his mind was restless, skimming over scattered thoughts until it inevitably circled back to you.

You looked like a dream. The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, bathing you in a warm, golden glow even as you nestled deeper into his body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the delicate lines of your face. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your lips—the same lips he’d kissed just hours before…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize how intently he was staring, until your eyes suddenly fluttered open. Instinct kicked in, startled, you both reacted at the same time, and you jumped up just as he tried to lean back. The both of you groaning in unison as you cradle your forehead, which had slammed painfully against his chin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you cry, urgency quickly replacing the sleepiness in your voice.

“You were snoring. I’m sorry,” Namjoon defended, rubbing the spot where you collided.

“I don’t snore!” you glare up at him, eyes finally focusing enough to see the blood gushing from his nose. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You leaned over him to grab a napkin from the bedside table. But still half asleep, the hand you’d placed between his legs couldn’t support your weight, and you crashed right onto his belly, eliciting a loud “oof” as he fell back on his pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your face smushed against him as you struggle to grab a napkin. In your frantic attempt, you knocked the tissue box off the table, sending tissues whirling to the ground.

“Just- ow!” He winced when you pressed the napkin to his nose, confusion evident on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected blood or to be in such a vulnerable position so early in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the third time, slightly loosening your grip on his face.

“Stop apologizing,” he mumbled “It’s my fault too.” Namjoon took the tissue from your hands and pressed it harder against his nose trying to suppress the stinging sensation.

You lingered there for a moment, captivated by the tissue grazing his lips, until the warmth of his skin under your cheek snapped you out of it. His shirt had ridden up in the altercation, baring a sliver of his toned stomach, now conveniently pressed against your face.

As if sensing your awareness, Namjoon furrowed his brows and gave you a quizzical look, prompting you to sit upright, the blanket trailing behind you like a cape.

“Yes, it is! What’s wrong with you?” You scolded. “Do you always stare at people when you sleep next to them?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Namjoon’s head shot up; his voice defensive but laced with amusement. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” you shot back, despite having no evidence to support your claim. You struggled to untangle yourself from the blanket, nearly tripping in your haste to escape. The bathroom door closed with an accidental slam behind you, leaving you momentarily alone with your spiralling thoughts.

Leaning over the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, the chill biting at your skin and grounding you—if only for a moment. Yet your heart refused to cooperate, its erratic rhythm spiking again when you heard the faint shuffling from the bedroom, followed by a soft, frustrated “Damn it.”

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, meeting your own wide-eyed, dishevelled stare. Tangled hair perfectly framing your flushed cheeks, the hoodie you’d borrowed from Namjoon sitting askew on your shoulders and remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to your face.

Charming. Just the image you wanted to project.

Then, your gaze drifted to the mint toothpaste sitting on the counter, and a fresh wave of emotions washed over you. It hit you all at once—His lips pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the look he’d given you after.

 The way he looked at you…like he was searching for something. Or maybe you were imagining it. God, you hoped you were imagining it.

You gripped the edge of the sink, leaning into it as embarrassment burned its way down your spine.

But deep beneath the flurry of second-guessing and distress, you manage to find a crumb of courage while quietly going through the motions.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright and finished the small, familiar task of brushing your teeth. As you twisted the faucet shut, you stole one last glance at your reflection, your eyes searching for reassurance.

With resolve that felt both flimsy and monumental, you stepped back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

Namjoon was still lying on the bed, a new tissue pressed against his nose. He looked up as you enter, and an unexpected flicker of self-consciousness crept in, making you hyper-aware of every step you took.

 “Are you okay?” You asked, attempting a softer tone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the napkin to inspect the bright red spot there. “Just a bit of a love tap, you know?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you shoot back, but the words only made him laugh softly, easing some of the tension in your chest.

You grab a clean tissue and lean in closer to inspect the damage. "I'm really sorry," you say, perching on the edge of the bed. You take the napkin from his hands with little resistance and replace it with your own. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies, his voice soft. "But next time, maybe warm me about the snoring.”

"I don’t snore!" you exclaimed, the defensiveness in your tone spiking and earning another heartfelt laugh from him.

“Okay, fine. You don’t,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But just as you were about to relax, he added under his breath, “Next time, I’ll record you.”

You narrowed your eyes and considered actually pinching his nose.

“You’re impossible.”

Namjoon only grinned, dimples deepening, as you carefully pulled the tissue away to dab the remains of the nosebleed. The softness of your touch seemed to quiet him; his teasing replaced by something warmer. There was a tenderness in the way you focused on his injury, small lines of worry forming on your forehead. He wanted to laugh, seeing as you dealt with more dramatic injuries in the past, yet he didn’t want to disturb you as you carefully touched his cheek with your free hand. The warmth of your palm contrasting sharply with the chill of the morning air.

As if you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, you look up, meeting his eyes.

“You’re blushing again.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, your cheeks heating further as you refocused on his nose, cleaning the surrounding area as if he were made of porcelain. You kept your attention on the injury, desperate to ignore the proximity—and the gentle warmth of his breath against your skin and the inexplicable tightness in your chest.

“There,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the stillness as you placed the tissue aside. “All better.” To diffuse the tension, you gave his cheek a light pinch before standing up to tidy the room.

Turning your back to him, you busied yourself with cleaning, scooping up the crumpled tissues littering the bedside table. But Namjoon’s eyes never left you. He watched the way you moved, the way your hair caught the light, and the way you scrunched your nose in irritation when you realized how much of a mess you’d made earlier.

When you bent down to retrieve a stray napkin from under the bed, you caught him staring again. This time, a soft laugh escaped him when he realized he’d been caught red-handed.

Before he could say anything, you grabbed the discarded blanket and tossed it at him.

 “So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked quickly, moving toward your suitcase and fumbling with the zipper, your voice a little too casual.

“I’m taking you to a bakery,” his voice was muffled as he poked his head out from under the covers. “And my dad asked us to pick up a Christmas tree.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a Christmas tree. Even though the holiday spirit felt far away in this moment, a surge of excitement stirred in your chest. “A Christmas tree?” You echoed, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice with an air of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his messy hair. “I thought we could decorate it together tonight.”

“You hate decorating the tree.”

“True,” he chuckled, “but I’d rather suffer through it with you than alone. Besides, my parents have some ornaments that I think you’ll like.”

You paused, makeup bag in hand, feeling his words settle over you. In the two years you’d lived together, Namjoon had never once shown a shred of enthusiasm when it came to decorating the apartment. He was more the type to lounge on the couch with a book or a video game while you tangled yourself in string lights and sparkling baubles, only for him to chime in at the end with a “You missed a spot”. Still, he always helped place the star on top —mostly because you couldn’t reach it, and he was taller.

“You’re volunteering for your own torture?” You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised, just as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms high above his head.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning back, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the muscles flexing underneath. The morning sunlight steamed through the window, contouring his skin with an irresistible golden hue.

Quickly you turned back to your makeup bag, rummaging unnecessarily for a lipstick as warmth crept up your neck and onto your cheeks

“My mom will force us either way.” He declared, the faint defeat in his tone punctuated by a dramatic sigh ash he strolled towards the bathroom.

You let out a small laugh at his resignation, but it got caught in your throat when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing in onto the bed.

Your gaze betrayed you for half a second, flickering toward him before you could stop yourself. The lean lines of his back, the soft stretch of his shoulders, the way his skin gleamed faintly in the light—everything you weren’t supposed to notice left an imprint far too vivid in your mind.

Heart pounding, you forced your eyes back to your bag, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. But it was too late. You were certain he’d seen your reaction.

“See something you like?” His teasing voice reached you just as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Your face flamed, and you whipped around, glaring at the now-closed door. “You’re impossible!” You called out, loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the running water.

~~~~

The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as you stepped out of the room, mingling with the faint hum of life coming from the kitchen. The soft click of the bathroom door shutting behind Namjoon grounded you, though your thoughts still spun wildly. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, but the sound of running shower only stirred your imagination further—steam rising, droplets tracing the contours of his bare skin. Heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head sharply, chastising yourself. Get it together.

In a desperate attempt to regain control after the completely unfair sight of your sun-kissed, shirtless friend, you decided a little distance might actually do you some good. Grabbing the first cozy sweater and pair of jeans within reach, you tugged them on and practically bolted out of the room.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself firmly, though the mantra did little to steady the pounding heart in your chest.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Kim and Minhi were seated at the dining table, morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The golden light bathed the cozy space, catching on the delicate wisps of steam curling up from their teacups.

“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Kim greeted warmly, lifting her head to meet your gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, pushing away any lingering thoughts from earlier, and took a seat at the table. “Yes, thank you,” you replied, carefully avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.

“Is Namjoon taking you out?” Minhi asked, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity over her teacup. You could almost swear there was a hint of a smirk forming on her lips.

You confirmed with a shy nod, but a new wave of heat crept up your spine, igniting your ears as if someone had turned up the thermostat.

Mrs Kim’s face broke into a broad grin. “Do you want me to whip you up something to eat first? Coffee or tea?” she asked, already rising from her chair.

“No, no,” you quickly interjected, waving your hands “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Namjoon’s just getting ready.”

Naked in all his glory in the shower…

You forced your mind back to the present as Mrs. Kim’s kind gaze lingered on you. Smoothing down your sweater, you took a steadying breath, doing your best to appear collected. You really had to pull yourself together.

“Is he taking you to Ajumeoni’s bakery?” Mrs. Kim asked, settling back in her chair with a huff. “At this rate, he’s paying for her grandkids to go to college.”

“C’mon Mom,” Minhi piped in. “The strawberry tarts are just-” She closed her eyes and inhaled dramatically, as if savouring the scent of sweet pastries. “They’re heavenly, I swear.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Mrs. Kim merely waved her off.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, her own smile softening the mock exasperation in her voice “Just be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded dutifully, resolute in your mission to be the perfect pretend-girlfriend today —a supportive friend, and nothing more.

“Jackson’s picking them up after work, mom, don’t worry.” Minhi said, her laughter cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“He is?” you asked, blinking in surprise but taken in by her contagious laughter.

“Did you think you’d carry the tree in the metro?” Minhi giggled, her gaze flicking to the hallway as hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Moments later, Namjoon appeared, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.

“Good morning!” he called out, running a hand through his freshly styled hair, the effortless charm in his voice matching his appearance. The brown sweater he’d chosen hugged his tall frame perfectly, drawing your attention to the way it accentuated the broad lines of his chest. The golden necklace at his collarbone caught the soft morning light as he bent down to plant a sweet kiss on his mother’s cheek.

Then, his eyes found yours, playful and warm before winking your way. “Are you ready?”

You fought to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks, admiring him for a fraction too long. The vivid memory of his shirtless body flashed in your mind, and for a moment, words seemed to escape you.

“Hey, yeah, I’m all set,” you finally managed.

Namjoon’s smile just widened, a teasing softness in his eyes as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne, fresh and warm, mingled with the aroma of tea as he leaned down toward you.

“You look really good.”  He said, his voice low and sincere.

All your mental preparations evaporated.

You glanced down at your grey sweater and jeans, disbelief flickering in your mind. Were you two looking at the same thing?

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” You replied, attempting a casual tone, despite yourself, but you’re certain your tomato red face gave you away.

Minhi and Mrs. Kim were shamelessly observing, their amusement barely concealed. Minhi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, while Mrs. Kim hid her laugh behind her teacup.

“Are you two going to stare at each other all day, or are you leaving?” Minhi nudged, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin.

Namjoon chuckled, breaking the moment as he pulled back slightly. “We’re going, we’re going,” he assured, offering his hand to help you up.

As you stood, his palm rested briefly on the small of your back, sending a warmth through you that lingered. He shot his mother a cheeky smile as he led you toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” he added with mock innocence, ushering you down the hall, and earning himself a pinch to the side form you.

~~~

The morning light was bright, yet it did little to chase away the frost in the air. All bundled up in your puffy winter coat, you walked through the bustling neighbourhood streets, the wind nipping at your cheeks as sunlight glinted off fresh snow. Beside you, Namjoon strolled at an easy pace, his tall frame hunched slightly against the cold.

 The shop windows glittered with seasonal displays- strings of lights, shimmering ornaments and snowy landscapes. Every so often, Namjoon would break the silence with a light-hearted comment or snippets from his childhood- stories that warmed you despite the cold.

“Look at that,” he nodded towards a window filled with beautifully wrapped presents underneath a grand Christmas tree. “I used to think those were real. I’d stare at them for hours, hoping someone would let me take a peek inside.”

You giggle, picturing a younger Namjoon, starry-eyed and full of wonder. “Did you ever get to sneak a peek?”

He shook his head, the soft pink on his cheeks deepening in the cold. “No way! My mom had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. She always caught me.” His warm laugh carried over the frosty air, lifting your spirits even as the chill settled in your bones. Without thinking, his hand found, fingers curling gently around yours as he led you down the street.

A little later, he stopped again, his gaze stolen by a snug bookstore with a charming display in the window. The small shop exuded warmth, its large front window showcasing a centrepiece of fake snow, big red bows and a collection of carefully arranged books. His eyes lit up as they landed on a particular title propped up prominently in the centre.

 “Would you mind if we go in?” he asked, nodding towards the book, excitement brightening his face.

You followed his gaze, your heart sinking and cheeks flooding with heat the moment you recognized the book. Panic sets in as your mind scrambles for an excuse. It was a book from a Korean author who had recently burst onto the literary scene, earning praise for their intricate storytelling and philosophical metaphors. Naturally, Namjoon had fallen in love with their work, dissecting every layer of meaning in conversations that you secretly loved, but teased him mercilessly for.

You had heard so much about the author, that when you saw the newest release weeks ago, you knew it was the perfect gift for him.

“No!” you blurted out quickly, voice sharp enough to startle him.

“What?” He turned to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because…” you hesitated, heat still rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find a good enough reason. But after a few seconds, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms. “Because I already got it for you. You can’t buy it.”

His expression softened, a big grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer to you. “You got it for me?”

“Yes,” you muttered, averting your eyes as your blush deepened. “So, you can’t ruin the surprise. Keep walking, Kim Namjoon.”

He chuckled, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance as he gave your arm a playful squeeze, holding you in place. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you see the decorations?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in the topic and followed his gaze. He was nodding toward the shop entrance, just a little further away, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and festive greenery. Your eyes drifted upward, landing on the small spring of mistletoe dangling above the doorway. Its pale berries glinting like snow in the soft light.

His hands burrowed deeper into the pockets of his coat as he tilted his head toward it, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Better be careful with that,” he teased, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the delicate plant sway slightly in the winter breeze. “It’s bad luck not to kiss under it,” Namjoon clarified, watching you with a hint of challenge in his expression.

“Since when are you so superstitious?” you asked, a laugh escaping you as you shook your head in disbelief.

“I’m not,” he admitted with a shrug, though the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips made his intentions clear. “I just like covering all my bases.”

Before you could answer, Namjoon leaned closer, his breath a soft warmth against your skin. His lips brushed your chilled cheek in a quick, fleeting kiss—a touch so warm and unexpected it made the cold air around you feel sharper by comparison.

You stood frozen for a moment, your cheek tingling where his lips had been.

Namjoon pulled back, his grin deepening, dimples carving into his cheeks. “There,” he said lightly, straightening his coat as if nothing had happened. “No bad luck now.”

 Normally, you’d brush off his antics as harmless teasing meant to get a rise out of you. But this time, it managed to frits your brain. You stare at him, a mixture of indignation and disbelief sparking in your chest. “Kim Namjoon, you-”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, already stepping back towards the bakery door he’d been guiding you all along. “Don’t blame me, blame the mistletoe,” he quipped, holding the door open for you, the bell above it chiming softly.

Your cheeks still burned as you stepped past him, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.

Inside the bakery, the scent of sweet cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The bell above the door chimed softly again as Namjoon followed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain mugs.

The interior was just as inviting as the aroma —a rustic charm, with walls lined with wooden beams and subtle golden accents. Twinkling fairy lights cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the rows of pastries displayed behind a pristine glass countertop.

Puffed-up croissants sat beside glistening hotteok, their caramelized centres looking absolutely delicious. Spiralled kkwabagi dusted with sugar and candied sweet potatoes. And then there were the cakes — delicate, crowned with fresh berries and swirls of vanilla cream, their perfect edges almost too beautiful to disturb.

Namjoon walked over to the counter, his tall frame leaning slightly as he studied the pastries with an almost childlike delight. The faint flush on his cheeks from the cold only added to his charm, softening his sharp featured and making him just the more endearing.

You couldn’t help but watch him, captivated the way his eyes shone with delight. There was something so disarming about his enthusiasm, so pure in its simplicity, that it made the flutter in your chest impossible to ignore.

“Will you let me order for you?” He asked, suddenly interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, of course,” you smile, the slight flutter in your stomach making you laugh softly. As he turned to the counter, his brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, you couldn’t help but admire him anew.  Namjoon has always been thoughtful, but this moment felt particularly tender, as though he was putting in the extra effort to make it memorable.

The bakery was alive with the bustle of other patrons, their laughter interlaced with the clinking of kitchen utensils in the back. A barista was busy steaming milk for lattes, while the warmth of the oven diffused toward you, chasing away any lasting chill from outside.

Namjoon finally ordered a selection of absolutely mouth-watering cream filled croffles and piping hot coffee. The lovely old lady at the serving counter lit up when she recognised him, leaning over to pinch his cheeks playfully. She gushed about how tall he had grown and how handsome he was, even calling her husband from the back to see Namjoon after all these years. You giggle softly, enjoying the lively exchange as Namjoon laughed, clearly relishing in the attention while trying to dodge her affectionate teasing. In the end, he walked away with an extra serving of milk bread as a ‘parting gift’ which he gratefully accepted, beaming as he thanked her.

The table Namjoon chose was tucked in a quiet corner, its window overlooking the bustling streets outside. The festive neighbourhood, framed by twinkling lights and snowy sidewalks, looked like a scene pulled straight from a snow globe. And as you settled into your seat, snowflakes began to drift gently from the sky, only adding to the hallmark-movie charm that seemed to influence the day.

“Here you go,” Namjoon settled the croffle in front of you. It was golden brown, with a crispy exterior that cradled the rich cream filling inside, adorned carefully with gingerbread crumbs — arguably, it was a masterpiece on a plate. He didn’t sit down yet, instead turning to fetch the coffee from the café counter

“Kim Namjoon?” a voice called out, and you looked to see a beautiful girl with big doe eyes shining once she looked at him, her pouted lips curving into a charming smile “I’m Min Iseul, do you remember me?”

Namjoon seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, his smile widening as he replied, "Oh my god, yes, hi! How have you been?"

“You know,” she smiled “life in a small town tends to be quiet. But what about you-?”

You watched from the corner of the table, feeling a tightness in your chest as Iseul place a hand on Namjoon’s arm. A frown formed involuntarily on your face as a pit began to settle in your stomach. Their conversation continued, the sound of their voices becoming a distant murmur as you forced your gaze downward, glaring at the croffle on your plate.

It felt horrible to realize that the sudden pang was indeed jealousy —raw and undeniable, it seemed it had taken root in your heart without your consent.

What was happening to you? You had always viewed Namjoon as a friend. You had watched him flirt with countless girls without a second though, yet now, here you were, on the verge of snapping at the mere sight of a pretty girl touching his arm. And of course she was perfect for him. She looked up at him as if he single-handedly hung up the stars, with her perfect hair, perfect smile, and that perfect body that made even the bakery apron look like high fashion.

It wasn’t just about Iseul, though. It was about something deeper, something you couldn’t quite explain. It was about not wanting to be replaced and a fear that quietly whispered to you that perhaps, you already had been.

As they continued their chat, the world outside quietly transformed. The snow began to blanket the streets in a delicate layer, framing the moment like a quaint, picturesque postcard. Inside, however, it felt like a different story. You picked at the croffle, the rich cream suddenly feeling too sweet compared to the bitter twist in your mood.

Finally, Namjoon returned, coffee in hands, a bright smile still lighting his face. “Sorry about that! Iseul and I used to be in the same classes at school,” he said, then paused when he noticed your expression. His brows furrowing in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out, taking your hand in his.

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. “Yeah, just… it’s nothing.” You lied, tasting the bitterness on your tongue. God, you hated lying.

He studied you for a moment longer, and for a brief second, you swore you saw something shift in his eyes.

“Alright,” he said slowly, a hint of uncertainty lingering. “Well, let’s dig in! You have to try the milk bread. I promise it’s worth it!”

As you took a bite, followed by a big gulp of coffee, you resolved to push away your insecurity, even if only for today. After all, the reality of your friendship was simple: while you may never make his heart flutter like Iseul seemingly did, you could certainly raise his blood pressure.

Namjoon started a new conversation about the last book he read, and you fell into the familiar flow of dialogue as the snowy scene outside continued to unfold. But every now and then, your gaze would drift to the window, catching a glimpse of the town dressed in white. You found yourself wondering if it was possible to be both happy for him, and fearful of losing him, all while managing to still be his friend amidst the chaos of unbidden feelings.

“Do you remember Hoseok?”

You answered Namjoon’s question with a nod, seeing as he pulled you too abruptly from your thoughts. “He’s the pretty one that stayed over for spring break?”

Namjoon laughed, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable light that made your heart skip a beat —even as you fought against it. Usually, his laughter would unravel the tight knots in your chest, but now, it seemed to tighten them further.

You remembered the visit well — Hoseok rolled up all the carpets in your living room, turning it into an impromptu dancing studio. He was kind, like all of Namjoon’s friends, but he also ate all your snacks and took great pleasure in flirting with you every time you ran into each other, much to Namjoon’s discomfort.

“Yeah, you two broke my laptop,” you started, but he cut you off.

“And I got it fixed!” he countered, defending his clumsy actions, which only made you laugh.

Namjoon chuckled, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “He invited us over for a Christmas party tomorrow. It’s a little get together, if you want to go,”

“Definitely,” you replied, though your enthusiasm felt forced. The prospect of a party sent a thrill through you, but underlying that was a twinge of uncertainty. Would Iseul be there? Would it be just another night of watching Namjoon flirt with someone else knowing you’re just playing the part of girlfriend?

As you took another bite of the croffle, its sweetness still felt bitter, much like the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to be happy for Namjoon, wanting to fulfil the role you signed up for, but now, beneath your smile, there was a complicated mess of fear and longing. More than ever, you felt like all your walls might come crumbling down.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Namjoon’s voice cut through your thoughts again, concern lingering beneath his words “You seem distant.”

 You force a smile, but the ache in your chest screamed at you to be honest, to share your doubts instead of masking it under a façade of indifference.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” another lie. How could you possibly explain the heaviness that sat at the bottom of your stomach, the envy bubbling silently inside of you, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breath?

Namjoon leaned back, his warm gaze unwavering, clearly unconvinced. But for the rest of the meal, he didn’t press further. You both continued to eat in comfortable silence, even as the air thickened with unspoken words.

The snowfall outside intensified, painting the windows with a blur of white by the time you were done, and you feared, once again, that the outfit you had chosen was ill-fitted for the icy weather.

Namjoon picked up a box of strawberry tarts for Minhi on the way out, and as he opened the door for you, you saw Iseul waving at him—a darling wave that ignited a firestorm of nerves deep within you.

In that moment, logic fled your mind. Without thinking, you grabbed Namjoon’s coat collar and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and confusion flickering across his face. The warmth of his body felt so close, yet the distance between you —created by your impulsive actions — seemed insurmountable.

You can’t believe what you were doing!

Namjoon was frozen for one second, but then he melted into the kiss. His free hand gently cupping your face, as if he were afraid, you’d run if he moved too quickly.

Namjoon’s lips were soft against yours, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and spreading through you like a slow burn. The world outside seemed to blur even more, the cold, the noise of the streets, the snow rushing into the bakery, it all faded into an unimportant backdrop. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours —gentle, hesitant, yet impossibly comforting.

For a moment, you almost didn’t regret it.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Namjoon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if seeking reassurance. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for something.

You felt the rush of heat flood your face as reality hit like a ton of bricks. What did you just do? The panic set in, an overwhelming wave crashing against your chest. You tried to swallow it down, but the vulnerability felt raw, exposed.

“I-I’m,” you stammered, stepping back slightly, your hands trembling as you pushed them into your coat pockets. “Mistletoe!”

Namjoon blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained where it was for a moment, as if unsure whether to pull away or reach for you again. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was grounding, but the panic in your chest made it difficult to breath. You could hardly believe what you’d just done, but somehow, you still managed to squeeze out the most absurd explanation you could think of.

“Mistletoe,” you repeated, almost too quickly, the word falling past your lips like the snowflakes around you, each syllable hanging in the frigid air like a whispered secret.

His hand dropped to his side, the warmth from his touch slipping away as a flicker of something—concern, confusion, or maybe disappointment—crossed his face. It was hard to pinpoint, but whatever it was, it left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then glanced at the mistletoe above the door. His expression shifted again, more uncertain now, and for a brief moment, there was a palpable silence between you, the world around you swirling in a soft flurry, but it felt like everything had stopped.

“Mistletoe?” he repeated, almost tentative. His eyes didn’t meet yours immediately; instead, they lingered on the mistletoe, as if searching for an answer in the small plant.

You nodded, fighting to keep your voice steady, but your throat felt tight, like the words were getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

“Yeah,” he concluded, “I guess we could always put the blame on the mistletoe…” he said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was still trying to grasp what had just happened.

You were about to argue further, to say something—anything—that would ease the tension building between you both, but just then, someone called out from inside the bakery.

“Hey! Make up your mind! Are you leaving or staying? You’re letting snow inside!” The voice was half-joking, but the discomfort in it made the moment all the more awkward.

Caught off guard, you and Namjoon exchanged a glance, and you both quickly moved toward the door, apologizing profusely to the patrons and the owners as you stepped outside.

“Sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to make a mess,” Namjoon said, his words coming out rushed as he quickly pulled the door closed behind you, sealing off the chilly gust of wind that had followed you out.

You stood for a moment on the snowy sidewalk, the light of the bakery still visible through the frosted windows. The snowflakes seemed to have grown heavier, each flake falling in delicate patterns, as if trying to make the moment less heavy. But it didn’t. The air was cold, the street quiet, and despite the wintery beauty around you, your stomach twisted further and your heart beat erratically. Now it was just you and Namjoon in the silence of the day, both lost in thoughts you wouldn’t put into words.

Namjoon shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the ground before speaking up. His voice hesitant, but there was an underlying softness to it that made your face heat despite the cold.

“So…” he began, trailing off as if searching for the right words. “No tongue this time?”

You blinked at him, your heart skipping over a few beats. The cold seemed to freeze in your lungs as you tried to process what he had just said. For a second, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. You turned your head slightly, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not, but his expression was unreadable.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your voice coming out in a small, nervous laugh. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he was just poking fun at you.

“I mean,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck, “if we’re going to blame it all on the mistletoe…” He trailed off, his tone playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, a flicker of curiosity behind his words.

That’s when you caught it. That familiar teasing glint in his eyes, the expression he had whenever he managed to make you fluster, and you huffed out in indignation, your breath transforming into a small cloud.

You crossed your arms, trying to gather your composure as you glared at him. The cold air biting at your skin, but the warmth of your embarrassment was far more overwhelming.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, your voice teasing but with a hint of defensiveness, as if you were trying to cover up how much his words had affected you. You couldn’t help it. The playful look in his eyes had a way of making your pulse pick up, and it didn’t help that every word he said seemed to sink deeper into the awkwardness of the situation.

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin on his face only growing wider “No, no! I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he said quickly, trying to reassure you, though the amusement in his voice didn’t quite match his words. “Just—y’know, I thought we were sticking with the mistletoe excuse. But, uh, it’s all on you now. You started it.”

“Me? I—” You opened your mouth, searching for a retort, but your brain was still scrambling to catch up with everything. Nothing coherent came to mind, and his look wasn’t helping in the slightest. “You kissed me first!” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, his smile turning smug. “Yeah, on the cheek,” he countered, giving a little shrug as if that settled the matter entirely. He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised as if he was waiting for your response, but when none came, the smugness in his expression only grew. For a moment, you considered whether it was worth the effort to argue with him. But then, his look softened, just enough for you to notice the shift in his expression —something that made your heart pick up again.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The absurdity of the situation—the way it had spiralled from a jealous outburst into whatever this was—left you feeling strangely vulnerable. His presence, so close beside you in the cold, seemed to magnify everything.

“Fine.” You finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, almost chasing the cold away.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened; the teasing look in his eyes returning full force. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “Is that you admitting defeat, or are you too cold to keep arguing?”

He collected your hand in his free one, leading you down the street towards the Christmas market.

You gave him a fleeting glare, narrowing your eyes. “Neither,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed the confidence you were trying to project. “I just don’t see the point in arguing with someone who twists everything to suit their narrative.”

Namjoon’s heartfelt laughter made any of the lingering tension dissipate, his expression taking on a look of sheer mock offence. “Twisting everything? Me?” He shook his head, his expression turning playfully solemn. “I’m just stating facts here. You’re the one who escalated things. I was perfectly content with a friendly mistletoe kiss. No drama. No tongue.”

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped at his audacity. “I did not escalate—oh my god, would you stop saying that?” you hissed, your voice low but filled with exasperation.

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining,” he replied smoothly, his voice softening just enough to send your thoughts spiralling. “But I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Gah! You’re insufferable!”

Namjoon’s grin grew as he watched you fume, his fingers tightening around your hand, as he led you down the snowy streets with easy confidence. The twinkling lights of the stalls cast a soft glow over the scene, the cold air whipped around you, but somehow, the heat between you kept the chill at bay, even if your cheeks were flushed from both the cold and the heated banter.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” you scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the way your beet-red face betrayed you. “I’m not jealous. I’m just…” you trailed off, realising you had absolutely no excuse lined up. The last part came out quieter than you meant, your voice showing more vulnerability than you were comfortable with, and you quickly buried your face in your scarf.

Namjoon tilted his head slightly, his smile not quite fading, but the glimmer of something more thoughtful flickering in his eyes. He slowed his pace, just enough to match yours, the quiet hum of the market and the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet filling the space between you.

"You’re just... what?" he prompted gently, his voice laced with curiosity and that familiar edge.

“Just acting like a good fake girlfriend would.” You concluded, trying to keep your tone casual, but you felt your stomach churn slightly as you lied, like you were trying to brush off something that had begun to feel a lot more real than you expected.

Namjoon’s expression shifted — just a little. His face softened as he thought it over, then he gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder, his voice light as he responded, “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll admit, you’re pretty good at it.”

His tone made your heart settle a bit, but you couldn't shake the underlying tension that had suddenly crept in. You hadn’t meant to sound so serious, and yet there was something in his eyes now that made you second-guess everything. He gave a small chuckle, the kind that felt like distance—just enough to make you realize he wasn’t leaning in any closer, but not pulling away either.

He let go of your hand for a moment, running it through his hair, then casually reached for it again, as if nothing had changed.

“Well, as long as I’m the good fake boyfriend, we’re golden.”

You nodded, still completely flustered, but grateful for the shift back to something a little more familiar. He wasn’t pressing anymore. He wasn’t trying to read your true intentions. He was just… being Namjoon, your friend, your roommate, the guy who could make you laugh and leave you absolutely wrecked emotionally.

The rest of the walk was quieter, but not in an uncomfortable type of way. He kept walking besides you, hands stuffed in his pockets, occasionally throwing out a random comment or nudging you along with him as you made your way through the busy market and to the small Christmas tree lodge.

You two picked a tree without much debate. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air as you threaded through the festive area, the twinkling lights surrounding you. Namjoon’s presence besides you was oddly comforting—like an anchor in the whirlwind of noise and flashing lights. As you both made your way to the tree lot, he casually pointed out the skinniest, most scrawny-looking trees, joking about how much he’d like to buy one just to see his mother’s reaction.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his commentary, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. The awkwardness in the air had faded, at least for the moment, and you were thankful for it, seeing as you didn’t need more things to overthink tonight.

After a bit of back-and-forth, you both finally settled on a tree—a little taller than you both had anticipated, but perfectly symmetrical, with just the right amount of fullness.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You two stopped to grab lunch at a modest-looking food stall, the inviting scent of fishcakes winning Namjoon over. You both enjoyed the warmth of the food as the wind continued to bite at your cheeks, the steam rising from your cups offering the briefest respite from the cold.

You tried mulled wine for the first time—warmed, spiced, with a tangy sweetness, but most importantly, warm—and to your surprise, you liked it.

The two of you wandered a bit more, chatting idly and laughing at each other’s jokes, not caring much for the crowds around you.

And before you knew it, Jackson had pulled up in his car to take you both home. The drive was quick and quiet, with the warm glow from the streetlights casting soft shadows across the interior of the car. Namjoon leaned back against his seat, looking content, while you sat in the front, trying not to overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours.

Namjoon teasing you about ogling his naked chest felt like it happened an eternity ago.

And now, here you were, getting ready for bed again.

The tree got decorated under Minhi’s careful supervision, looking more like a Pinterest masterpiece than a simple holiday decoration when she was done with it, and Namjoon, to his credit, managed to break only one bauble during the whole process.

The evening wound down quietly after the tree was finished. Minhi insisted on taking a dozen photos of her work, including some with the whole group in front of the tree. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery, while Minhi tried (and failed) to strike a serious pose before dissolving into laughter in his arms.

You stood off to the side, trying to figure out what to do with your hands, but Namjoon made the decision for you. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The flash went off, capturing the moment forever, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond the warmth of his body and the quiet weight of his laughter in your ear. It felt so unguarded, so easy, that for a fleeting moment, you could almost forget it was just pretend.

Later, Minhi pulled a mistletoe plant from her bag with an exaggerated flourish, announcing it was tradition. She delighted in the awkward reaction it drew from both you and Namjoon, who immediately avoided eye contact with each other, mumbling something about “respecting personal space.” But Minhi didn’t press too hard, instead planting a sweet kiss on Jackson’s cheek that had him grinning like a fool in love.

After that, their parents got home, dinner was served, and you finally got your turn taking care of the dishes.

You quietly tiptoed your way to the bed, shivering slightly once you felt the coldness of the room, but careful not to make a sound. Your nighttime routine had taken longer than usual, and you were doing your best to avoid waking Namjoon, who fell asleep while waiting for you. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the little reading lamp he left on for you, casting a soft shadow across the space.

Slipping under the covers, you turned off the light and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. But before you could settle, Namjoon stirred, and with almost no time to react, he turned around and wrapped an arm around you.

Your breath caught as he pulled you close, his chest warm against your back, his movements unhurried and natural, as if this was something he did all the time. You felt him bury his head into your hair, his voice low and groggy as he murmured, “It’s cold. Don’t stay so far away.”

The weight of his arm was grounding, but your heart was anything but steady. You lay there stiffly for a moment, your mind racing again. But his breathing slowed, steady and even, and the warmth of his presence started to seep into your bones, melting the tension little by little.

You didn’t move or speak, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over the moment. Instead, you let yourself slowly relax into his chest, his arm tightening slightly as if he could sense your shift.

The cold, the overthinking, the lingering awkwardness—it all faded, replaced by the quiet sound of his breath and the calm rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

You were absolutely hopeless.

[y-so-hungry]

could you do 💙? for any of your OCs, i love your writing! :)

This was written in the spanse of about three hours in a horny fever dream. It's got my OC Adam with @lotsa-viscera 's OC Joseph!

Content: lots of hunger, eventual NSFW (masturbating), hungry character eats at the end!

Blue Food, Blue Belly

“Blue?” Adam moaned, scratching his brown beard as his top lip curled up at the word on his screen. Joseph was away visiting family, and had proposed a game to play long distance. Joseph would send a color, and Adam could only eat foods of that color for the day. 

The worst part is, food coloring didn’t count. Or at least, it didn’t count if he put it in. Sure he could eat blue lollipops all day but a pancake with a couple drops of food dye mixed in the batter? No dice. Had to come out of the package blue as the sky itself. 

Adam’s stomach rumbled and he put a hand on it, feeling the vibration under his fingers. Who knows how the hell he would work with this.

Adam started looking around in the cupboards for his breakfast. Somehow he could see nearly every color of the rainbow in here, except blue. Blue packaging, yes, obvious by the hunger pang he felt looking at the blue package of cereal. But blue food? If only Joseph had sent brown, then I’d be having a goddamn feast, he thought. 

He checked the fridge next, and didn’t find much better. It was only when he looked in the freezer that he found something that might work: frozen blueberries. 

His stomach gurgled at the sight, seeming to understand that Adam had found it’s meal. He sighed, getting out the blender. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he could put more into the smoothie? He had some protein powder, and milk, and those would be blue when mixed with the blueberries, right?

It would have to be right, because there was no way he was eating ONLY blueberries for breakfast. The smoothie probably wouldn’t be enough by itself anyways, Joseph would still get the hungry belly he wanted. 

So Adam set about making his smoothie, his stomach giving the occasional rumble along the way. He poured in the milk, blueberries, protein powder, and ice, and began pulsing the blender until the mix became smooth. But as he did so, his heart sank. 

The smoothie was obviously, undeniably, purple. Not blue. Honestly he wasn’t sure how he could have forgotten, there’s not really naturally blue foods, they’re usually actually purple, and blueberries were the classic case. He sighed, leaning back against the counter, rubbing his belly as it gave a mournful rumble. It was getting deeper now, the growls shaking his hand harder. 

Adam sighed, wondering what the hell Joseph expected him to eat. Clearly he must’ve thought he could eat something since he didn’t just skip over the color, but what blue foods did Joseph know of that Adam didn’t?

The tan fingers of Adam’s hand dug into his belly as he thought, trying to think back in his mind to a time where he might’ve seen Adam eating something blue. There was blueberry muffins, blue corn tortilla chips, blue lollipops, and… a blue drink?

He could remember it now, Joseph had been drinking a blue tea of some kind, and called Adam over to see something. He watched as Joseph squeezed a lemon over the tea, and it turned bright pink. 

Joseph quickly moved over to the cabinet where Joseph kept his tea, and there! Butterfly pea flower powder! Adam laughed in triumph and quickly pulled it out. There wasn’t much left so he dumped the rest of the bag in and pulsed the blender. 

Lo and behold, the smoothie began turning a brilliant bright blue. His stomach moaned loudly at the sight, and he quickly poured a large glass full, chugging it until a sharp pain went through his head. 

“Ow! Fuckin brain freeze…” Adam muttered. He looked at the clock as the pain went down and sighed. It was almost time for him to go to work, no time to stop by somewhere and see if he could get a proper blue breakfast. 

Not that he knew of many places that served blue pancakes. Or blue croissants. Blue breakfast burritos…

His stomach moaned again, grumbling thickly around the few gulps of smoothie in it. He texted Joseph a picture of his small breakfast before downing the rest. Dammit… I’m still hungry.

He sighed and went to his room to get dressed. 

~~~

Adam was shelving books at the bookstore when his stomach rumbled again. The smoothie had only lasted him a couple hours, even with the protein powder in it. Luckily it hadn’t gotten loud yet, but the hunger still gnawed at his belly. He wished Joseph was here, he would be able to rub his belly, tease him for the noises it made… If he had to be hungry it would at least be nice to have someone there to tease him for it. 

“Excuse me sir?” Adam jumped and turned to see a woman standing there, holding up a book. “Do you know if I could return this book? I didn’t notice one of the pages was ripped until I got home.”

Adam glanced at the book and felt his stomach shift ominously. It was a cookbook. On the front was a picture of some kind of grilled sandwich, bright and so, so delicious looking…

“Oh, um, yes, of course!” Adam led her to the counter, where he started the return. The whole time he could feel his stomach shifting hungrily, and all he could do was try and get through it as fast as possible and silently beg his stomach not to make any noise. 

Eventually the transaction finished and he handed her a return receipt with a smile.

“Thank you, have a good–”

*Groooooooowwwwwlll*

Adam’s face blushed under his dark skin, a hand instinctively moving up to clutch his belly. 

“Hungry?” the woman said with a laugh, apparently not minding the interruption. Adam however hoped the ground would open up and swallow him. 

“Heh, a bit! My break is soon though so I can eat then!”

She laughed and waved goodbye, but as soon as he was out of sight Adam groaned and put his head in his hands, fingers scrunching up in his long wavy hair. His stomach rumbled again and he slapped a hand to it. 

“Shut up.”

~~~

A couple hours later and it was finally lunchtime. Adam could hardly stand it now. His belly was rumbling so much his coworker had sent him on his break early, and his ears still felt hot from the interaction. He held his stomach in his hands, feeling it growl desperately under his fingers. It felt so good in some ways, but goddammit he wished he could properly enjoy it. His mind was caught between work, his starved belly, and all the horny thoughts that come with said starved belly. 

The grocery store right next to his work wasn’t helping much either. He was walking around, looking for a blue food to eat, but that meant he also had to walk past microwave pasta meals, meat and seafood, the entirety of the snack aisle that made his stomach moan louder than it had all day. Each growl felt like it was getting louder by the minute, and he couldn’t tell if his knees were weak from arousal or hunger. Probably both. 

There were few times he felt lucky to be trans but this was one of them. He was hard as a rock but at least he didn’t have to try and hide it. 

In the end he turned down the chips aisle and found a large bag of blue corn tortilla chips. Blue enough for me, he thought. He also went and got a blue gatorade as well. It was his least favorite flavor but being so hungry he figured maybe it would help. He also bought some packets of blue kool-aid, and blue takis, and some blue sour candies. Guess that’s dinner then. Especially since they were out of that blue tea at home, couldn’t pull off that trick again. 

Eventually Adam settled down in the breakroom and began eating, hungry rumbles sounding between each chip he stuffed in his mouth. Eventually his stomach quieted down a bit though, especially as he guzzled down the gatorade, muffling the rumbles under the weight of the liquid. 

But just as he thought he might actually be able to eat enough to be full, he put his hand in the bag and found… nothing. His heart sank as he looked inside and found only crumbs. He sighed and checked his watch. 4 more hours until he could go home. 

He texted Joseph a picture of what he ate and then sighed and threw away the empty bag and bottle, rubbing his stomach and hoping maybe this would last him longer than the smoothie had. 

~~~

The noises Adam’s stomach was making on the drive home were so loud he could hear it over his music. His dick throbbed at a particularly loud growl and he shifted in his seat. It felt like every sound was going straight to his crotch. 

When he finally got home he tore open the bag of takis and ate them as he set down his things, stomach howling with each bite he swallowed. It wasn’t long though before those were gone, as the bag was even smaller than the bag of corn tortilla chips. Soon the sour candies and kool-aid were gone too, and he sat back on his couch with a heavy sigh. 

Still not enough. 

It made sense, he was a big guy. He worked out often, and even though he skipped his workout today it seems his body was desperately missing the calories it normally got. But he was out of blue food today. This was all he would get. 

It was only an hour later when his stomach growled again. 

He’d been looking at cooking videos. A terrible idea given the circumstances but gods he was hungry. It was all he could think about. It came in waves, the sound rolling in his stomach like thunder. He pressed his hand into his stomach and bit his lip, swallowing hard as it moaned against his hand. He was so hungry, stomach shaking and growling so much…

Adam was about to reach down his pants when his phone suddenly rang. 

It was Joseph. 

“Hey baby,” Adam said. 

“Hi! How ya doin?” Joseph answered. 

“Ugh, fucking starved.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm, my stomach’s been growling all day.”

“Aww, poor hungry boy. Blue food’s not enough to fill that belly is it?”

“Of course not, but you knew that.”

Joseph laughs. “I sure did. Your stomach must be making so much noise.”

As if on cue, Adam’s stomach gave a desperate rumble, loud enough to shake his ribcage. 

“Wow,” Joseph said with a laugh. “You sound starved.”

“I am,” Adam groaned. “I’m so hungry. You could probably hear my stomach even if you weren’t on the phone with me. It won’t stop rumbling, Joey!”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re hungry.”

Adam laughed, and his stomach growled again. His dick throbbed again and he groaned. “Gods it’s turning me on too, fuck…”

“Oh? Getting excited from your own stomach are you? Usually it’s my stomach getting you all riled up.”

“Well with you gone I gotta stoop to a lower level now don’t I?” Adam teased. His stomach rumbled in protest however, pulling him back to the space between his legs. “Mmh, fuck…”

“Hey, why don’t you go get that vibe I bought you? The blue one?” Joseph said, his voice low and smiling.

“Hm? Oh, the one you said had a ‘surprise’ with it?” Adam said, shaking his head doggedly to clear it of the arousal. 

“That’s the one.”

It took a moment for Adam to find it, but eventually he did, and got undressed, laying down on his bed. 

“Now how the fuck do you turn it–”

Suddenly the vibrator turned itself on in his hand, a low, rumbly buzz. 

“It’s remote control,” Joseph said. “Figured it would be fun for while I’m gone.”

Adam grinned. “You’re damn right.”

He put it against himself and immediately moaned with pleasure. His stomach growled again, making his dick throb against the vibrator. 

“Good boy,” Joseph murmured into the phone. “Hungry thing, aren’t you? You barely got anything to eat today.”

“Mmh, I’m so hungry, I can’t stop thinking about food,” Adam sighed, his breath heavy. 

“Getting so worked up will only make you hungrier won’t it? Poor thing you won’t be able to catch a break.”

Adam’s stomach growled again, and his back arched, drawing out the sound even deeper. 

“Aww, your stomach is begging for food isn’t it. I bet you wish you could have all your favorites. Especially meat, you poor thing, I bet a nice, juicy, red steak is just what your belly needs right now.”

“Mmh, fuck, Joseph, I’m so hungry, I want that so bad–”

The vibrator suddenly kicked up a notch, buzzing harder against him and shifting in waves, making him gasp and squirm on his bed. 

“Oh gods, oh that feels good,” he panted. His stomach groaned desperately again with the increase in his heart rate, and he gave a breathy laugh. “My belly doesn’t like that at all–mmh.”

“I bet it doesn’t. Poor thing doesn’t want you getting so worked up,” Joseph said. “All it wants is something warm and filling, but all it’s gotten are chips and berries. Not nearly enough to fill you up, big boy.”

“F-Fuck, Joseph, I think I’m gonna–”

“Mmm, not yet, hold on a little longer, I want your belly to growl one more time. Really show me how hungry you are.”

“I-I’ll try, this thing has a mind–fuck–mind of it’s own though, I don’t know if–”

*GROOOOOOOOOWWWWWLLLLLL*

“That’ll do it,” Joseph said, and suddenly the vibrator kicked it up one more notch, rumbling hard against Adam’s dick and he gasped, unable to hold back anymore and he came, waves of pleasure shaking his legs and arching his back. 

It was a minute two later before Adam found the ability to speak properly again, panting out a few words at a time. 

“That… felt so good… fuck… ugh my stomach…”

“You okay?” Joseph asked, his voice now the more gentle one he had when helping Adam in aftercare. 

“Yeah, just hungry,” Adam laughed. 

“Of course,” Joseph said, laughing himself. “I already ordered you some doordash, it should be there in a few minutes. Just make sure you’re wearing pants when you go to the door. It’s your favorite Chinese place.”

“I thought I was only supposed to eat blue food?”

“Yeah, but I’m not dumb, I’m not making you go to bed hungry,” Joseph said, and Adam could almost hear him roll his eyes. “You were good today, you deserve a nice reward. Also you need it, that’s how humans function and all that.”

“‘And all that,’” Adam echoed, sitting up slowly, still feeling a bit dazed from arousal. “Thanks Joey. You’re the sweetest.”

“Ya damn right,” Joseph said. “Now go eat, I don’t want you going to bed until every last noodle is in that belly.”

Adam laughed. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Swearing, smut, incest

1.18

Notes: Massive thank you to everyone who's supported this story!💕

You start to grow nervous waiting on the carriage arriving from Winterfell. After waking up earlier than normal, you skipped breaking fast and went straight to the courtyard to wait on your children, your heart beating rapidly with excitement at the thought of seeing them so soon. The maester was supposed to change the bandage on your hand first thing, but this was too important; you didn’t want to miss such an important moment.

“I hope nothing has happened. It is a long journey.”

Jace tightens his grip around your waist. “Daemon is out flying on Caraxes, to make sure nothing happens. If something was wrong, we would know by now.”

Turning your head back, you look up at him and say, “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying.”

“All your fears will settle once you see them.” Jace smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek. “I don’t know who will be more excited to see us—our children or Clara. She will need a few moons to recover—Lyarra!”

The gates to the courtyard open, and a carriage with a banner of House Stark comes into view. Hand in hand, you and Jacaerys run down the steps to greet them.

“My babies!” You smile so much that it starts to hurt your cheek. Bliss was the only word to describe how you felt. “Oh, my love's are finally home.”

The carriage stops just before the steps, and as soon as the door is open, Avery and Aethan burst out, and Jacaerys picks them both up. You kiss the backs of their heads.

“Mother! Kepa!”

Before Aemma can even step foot on the ground, you pull her into a hug and say, "My girl, my sweet girl.” You hold out your other hand for Rhaenys to take. “It’s okay, my darling.”

Looking behind her, Rhaenys reaches her hand out to touch something and says, "Come on, pup.” She jumps out and comes towards you, as does a direwolf pup. She cuddles into your side, “mummy.”

Jace places your sons back down to go to the carriage to receive your babe from Clara.

Tears sting your eyes when your son’s hold onto your skirts. The noose you felt around your neck had loosened since Aegon’s demise, but you never felt completely free of it until now. All you needed was for your five children to be at home, and your world should feel whole again.

“Where is Prince Daemon?” Jace asks; his eyes are trained on the handmaiden’s empty arms. “Where is our son?”

For a split second, you fear the worst until you see an unfamiliar young handmaiden appear from the opposite side of the carriage with your babe sleeping in her arms. “The lady of Winterfell kindly allowed one of her handmaidens, Lady Mormont, to assist me in bringing the children back.”

Tears of relief swell in your husband's eyes. He takes Daemon from her and holds him close, kissing the crown of his head. You would have the chance to hold your babe soon enough, but for now, you were content seeing him in his father's arms.

Quietly, you ask, “I’m presuming she is trustworthy.”

“I would not allow her near them if I didn’t believe so.”

You catch Jacaerys eye, and the two of you share a look and smile.

—

Lightly rocking your babe you watch as his brown eyes start to close over. His belly was full from feeding, so he would be settled for a couple of hours. His dark hair was starting to curl, closely resembling his father’s. He was truly beautiful.

“Ow!”

“Boys, be more gentle with your toys,” you say softly.

You feel the warmth from the fireplace against your back as you sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the rest of your children. Avery and Aethan were playing with their toys, wooden horses, and dragons. Rhaenys was curled up beside her pup, which, according to Clara, Lord Stark gave her as a gift since the pup followed your daughter everywhere. Aemma tried to fight sleep but has fallen asleep on your bed.

The excitement of being reunited with you and Jace, seeing their new rooms, and trying to comprehend their grandmother now being the queen was exhausting for your children.

“It is rude to stare, my love.”

“I’m only admiring,” Jace chuckles.

He had entered the room silently moments ago, but you had felt Jacaerys watching closely, taking everything in. He sits beside his sons on the floor, and Aethan hands him a toy and says, “Thank you.” Jace inspects the miniature dragon in his hands and asks, “What is this one called?”

“Arrax. It looks like Uncle Luke’s dragon.”

Jace’s eyes are full of tears; he ruffles the boy's hair. “That it does, son, that it does.”

It was hard coming to terms with all the deaths and betrayals your family has suffered, but you prayed time would help. The wounds of losing two brothers would never completely heal, but hopefully it would hurt to speak about them one day.

Five moons later

“I’ve written to Lord Stark, like we spoke of. He and his son Rickon will be our guests of honor in Dragonstone.”

Jace tilts his head, waiting for you to continue. He was sitting across the table from you while breaking fast with your children. “Dragonstone?”

“We are the prince and princess of Dragonstone; what better place to host them than our own castle? I spoke to her grace, and she wants to throw a grand feast to thank Lord Stark and his army for their support.”

He swallows down the food in his mouth while nodding in agreement. “Perhaps once things have settled and the realm has healed, we should return. It’s only a short distance on dragonback; we could still do our duties and spend time with our mother, Daemon, and brother while learning how to rule in our own name.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” You smiled. Jace had a point. As much as you loved watching your mother become queen, you had started to miss the island you called home.

“Mummy.”

Feeling Avery tug on your nightgown, you help him sit on your lap. Unlike his other siblings, who all settled into their new routines and lived in the keep, your sweet boy had only clung to you and spent most nights crying until he was in bed beside you and Jacaerys. Avery reaches his small hand out and takes a piece of fruit from your plate, then rests his head against your chest.

Jace leans over and strokes his silver hair. “What do you think, my boy? Should we return to Dragonstone soon?”

Seeing the way your son’s face lightens up at the mention of returning home was all the confirmation you needed to know it was the right thing to do.

—

The library was empty aside from yourself and Jacaerys, although he hadn’t noticed you yet. After spending the morning in the training yard while Daemon continues to teach you, Rhaena, and Baela basic swordsmanship, you went looking for Jacaerys. There was no queen council being held until later in the day; your older children were attending their lessons, and your babe asleep with a stomach full of milk.

Jace jumps when you sneak up behind him, placing your hands on his waist. “You are a sneaky thing,” he laughs. “How did training with Daemon go?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I had you alone, dear husband.”

“Lyarra,” his breath stutters when he feels your hand rubbing over his clothed cock. “You will be the death of me. Please, don’t tease.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jace turns his head around, grips your face, and presses his lips against your own. “Gods, no.”

Grinning, you untie his breeches, then fall to your knees, freeing his cock as you did.

You take Jace’s hardness into your mouth; your tongue swirls over the tip of his penis, then you start to bob your head back and forth as you suck and lick him. Tears roll down your cheeks when you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. It had been a while since you were intimate, and the last time Jace was focused on your pleasure, and it doesn’t take him long to come undone. He moans loudly while spilling his seed into your mouth.

You wipe away the saliva from your mouth and stand back up, just as Jacaerys fixes his breeches. He pulls you into his embrace and kisses the side of your neck. He whispers, “My love, I need to confess something to you.”

“What?”

“I’ve fantasized about taking you in many different ways in Dragonstone. The council room, the gardens, the great hall…” Jace holds you closer to him. “And when we return, I intend to do just that.”

The thought of Jace bending you over the table in the great hall causes heat to pool between your legs. Giggling, you shake your head and say, “Well, your fantasy will be a reality soon enough.”

“Come, let us go back to our chambers. I’ll have a bath drawn for us.”

Two years later

“Is it true Alicent has died?"

Clara nods and explains further while braiding your hair. “The winter fever took her, princess. The maester had her confined to a secluded room in OldTown when she started showing signs. They say that in her final days, she began asking to see her sons and daughter again.”

You had no love for Alicent; she was the bitch who made your mother's life as awful as she did yours. But you also had no room for hatred or ill-will in your heart. Now that Alicent was at peace, perhaps she was reunited with her family. You twirled the rings on your fingers; the reminder of outliving a child was painful. Aemma has already declared that if she is to have a son, he will be named Rhaegar.

“That’s…sad. How did you hear about this so soon?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “My friend—who currently serves as a handmaiden in OldTown mentioned it in her last letter to me.”

Her friend was the same handmaiden who traveled back with her from Winterfell, a pretty Northern girl with copper hair. You were more than certain the ladies were closer than most friends, but to avoid rumors spreading, they stopped visiting one another as frequently. “Princess Aemma will be in need of her own lady-in-waiting soon,” you point out. “Perhaps Lady Mormont would want the position as she is familiar with my children.”

Clara smiles and nods her head. “I shall say to her. That’s the braiding-finished princess.”

“Thank you—” You’re cut off when you hear fast-paced footsteps entering your room. The door to your chambers is opened, and Rhaenys runs excitedly. Her hair was styled identically to the way you wore it most days. “Reni, what have I told you about running in the halls?”

The walls outside your chambers were decorated with dragon statues. As a girl, you bumped into the solid objects many times and knew how painful it could be.

“Sorry, mother,” she says as she steps in front of you and twirls. “Do you like it?”

The dress Rhaenys was wearing was the first one she had designed for herself. The gown was olive green with pale orange ribbons and embroidery on it. The smile on Jacaerys face when he saw the dress with colors identical to his own dragon was priceless; he almost became teary-eyed.

“You look beautiful, my girl.”

When Clara finishes the last touches to your outfit, you hold your hand out for your daughter to take.

It was Avery and Aethan’s name day, and a small celebration was being held in the great hall. A ship with Daemon, your siblings, and Lord Corlys arrived the night before. Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor would be present as well; both children inherited their gentle nature from their mother.

Her grace, the queen, had flown to Dragonstone Syrax a few days prior. The longest you had gone without seeing her was a week. Even living apart you had remained extremely close.

Four years later

Hearing your agonizing screams of pain, Jacaerys barges into your shared martial chambers. The maester and midwives kept assuring him that nothing was wrong and he should remain waiting outside, but he could take it no longer. You are thankful this labor was quicker than the last; your water had only broken the night prior, and now that the sun is rising again, you are only a few pushes away from the pain being over.

“Jacaerys!”

He comes to your side and takes hold of your hand. “I’m here, I’m here!”

“It fucking hurts!” You sob, “It hurts so much.”

“The pain will be over soon,” he says, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead. “And you’ll have the babe in your arms.”

“One more push,” the midwife orders.

Screaming, you use all your remaining strength to bring another child into the world. Holding out your arms, desperate to hold your newborn for the first time. The seconds it takes for the midwife to wrap the babe in a blanket feel like it's never ending.

“A strong boy, kicking like a goat.”

Tears roll down Jace’s cheeks as he watches the babe finally be placed in your arms. “I’m proud of you, Lyarra.”

“My sweet boy,” you say, taking in the newborn's appearance. He has typical Targaryen features aside from his dark hair, like his fathers. “He’s so tiny and perfect.”

—

After your handmaidens help you change into a fresh gown and the bedding is changed, Jacaerys assists you over to the chairs by the fireplace in your chambers. You take his arm before sitting down.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen her grace this delighted in a long time,” Clara, who had followed closely behind, “As are the children, they are keen to meet the newest prince to grace us in Dragonstone.”

Since the day the maester confirmed your pregnancy, your mother and Daemon have been overjoyed with excitement. Rhaena was expecting her first child within the next moon, so it only added to the joy of knowing you got to bond over experiencing being with child at the same time.

Jacaerys opens the door for your mother to enter the room, and he and Daemon go to inform your children and siblings that it’s a boy before bringing them through to be introduced to him. “Lyarra, my sweet,” your mother says, walking over to you with tears in her eyes. “The gods have been kind and granted you another beautiful babe, have you thought of a name yet?”

“No, not yet,” you say, lifting your gaze from the babe to meet hers. “Can you stay longer than a few days this time?”

She brushes fallen hair out of your eyes and says, “I will stay however long you want me, my love. If I’m needed at court, I can go on Syrax, then come back.”

You rest your head on her shoulder when she sits beside you and says, “Thank you.”

“You are my daughter; I’ll always be here for you.”

—

Hearing footsteps, Jacacerys looks up from the book in his hands, smiling when he sees you walking towards him. The room is almost in complete darkness, aside from a few candles and the moonlight.

“It’s late; you should be resting.”

“As should you, my prince.”

Jace puts the book down and offers you his hand to help guide you down onto the chair beside him. He kisses the back of your scarred hand. “I swear by the faith of the seven, you are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop,” you blush. “It’s a sin to lie, husband.”

“I speak only the truth,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

The day had been overwhelming, to say the least. It was hard to believe your son was almost a day old and was still yet to be named. “I’m exhausted, but I reckon the babe will wake up for a feed soon.” You cuddle into Jace’s side and say, “I’ve thought of a good name, one of great honor.”

“What is it?”

“Jacaerys.”

Jace plants a kiss on the crown of your head and says, “I love you, now and forever.”

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘯, 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯.

[magpiepills]

Aquarius

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x new (f) secretary at the embassy

Word count: 1.3 k

Summary: Javi is an unrepentant whore and fucks the secretary on his lunch break.

Warnings: gosh. Sort of mean/careless Javi, he does not remember her name. PWP. Unprotected PIV, use Of sex toy, oral (f receiving) deep throating, panty hose, mentions of m receiving oral, mention of anal, big dick Javi, probably more, I can’t recall now. Third person pov, oc I guess but minimal physical description of female partner. She is wearing a skirt and panty hose, and is shorter than Javi. Use your imagination and make this you if you want. It’s totally you. Javi wouldn’t be able to resist you, you minx.

A word from the author: sorry, I was horny. I read a blind item that gave me thots and now here we are. He’s a whore, father.

Javi doesn’t know why the last secretary left. They went through a few a year. They were always young and pretty and he didn’t mind the fresh scenery while he did his paperwork in the office.

Who was this one? Emily? Heather? Allyson? He couldn’t remember. He knew she had a skirt on and he knew he owed her a pair of panty hose after he had ripped through the pair she had on. He was delighted to find she didn’t also wear panties. He wanted to devour her. He didn’t even buy her dinner or take her out properly. He walked her straight from her desk to his Jeep, then ushered her into his apartment.

He bent her over the kitchen counter so her feet barely touched the floor. Fucked her hard and fast with one hand on her hip and the other pulling her hair back so he can see her face and how wrecked she is by his cock. She didn’t even ask him to wear a condom and he didn’t offer. He pulled out slow then thrust in hard and deep, making her cry out. He tapped her cheek when she closed them. “Uh uh. Eyes on me, querida.” The pet name was the only tenderness he offered.

Javi’s cock was big. It was no secret. If you didn’t know from the office gossip whispered by every woman in the embassy that he had taken in the file room, his back seat, or in his apartment, you could see it well enough through the tight fabric of the pants he wore. He was long and thick, always on his left. He had a knack for knowing when anyone looked at it and he enjoyed how they blushed when he caught them, winking and giving them a salacious little grin.

He easily turned her over without pulling out. A fun little party trick that he liked hearing about second or third hand back in the office. Stripped of everything but the ruined panty hose, he pushed her knees up and cupped one bouncing tit in his hand while the other trailed down to rubbed expertly at her throbbing clit.

He knew if he could get the angle just right he make her squirt on the kitchen counter. He wondered if it would be her first time and if she would get shy about it.

He didn’t have time to make her soak his belly and counter, she came anyway, thrusting her hips right up into his own, taking him easily the way she was dripping slick, but gripping him tight in her little pussy. He watched intently at the way he entered her, stretching her little cunt. He loved ruining pretty little pussies. No matter how many dicks she took after this, she’d remember his best. The rhythmic spasm of her orgasm triggered his own. Javi gritted his teeth, pounding into her and unloading deep inside, a warm, abundant mess of cum to drip out of her the rest of the day.

She whimpered when he pulled out, followed by a trickle of milky white that slid down the letting her ass.

Normally Javi would give her a cigarette and take her back to work. He was on the clock and his lunch hour didn’t last forever,after all. The way she was so delirious, so cock drunk for him, though? He couldn’t resist.

He pulled a chair away from his kitchen table and made room for himself between her legs. Licking slow, deliberate stripes along her puffy lips, he used his thumb to push the leaking cum back into her. “Javi…” she breathed, and clenched at his shallow intrusion.

When he sucked her swollen clit into his mouth, she gasped, winding her hips up for more.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t get enough? Fucked out little pussy need more?” He teased in faux incredulity. Whining, she reached for his hair, trying in vain to pull him back to her aching clit. She knew better than to expect him to be ready to go again so soon. “Please, Javier. Make me come again.”

To hell with work. He kissed up over her mound, over the soft skin of her belly, and to the stiff point of each nipple, licking and sucking at each one before smacking her thigh. “Don’t move. I’m gonna call Steve, tell him we got stuck in traffic.” He went to his bedroom and quickly called his partner and told him not to look for him the rest of the day, that he was going to be inside the new secretary. He forgot to ask Steve her name. He hung up quickly and opened his nightstand to retrieve just what the little slut on his counter needed.

Back between her spread thighs, he smacks the thick dildo against her pussy, making her jolt. “Listen to how wet you are.” He positioned the fat head of the toy cock at her entrance and twisted it as he pressed, teasing her. He worked slowly, gently opening her once again, and admiring how it was covered in his cum each time he pulled it back out. He fucked her with the dildo, listening to the squelch of her pussy and her panting and moaning. He loved to pull it all the way out and circle her entrance with his thumb, delighted in the way her little hole clenched desperately around nothing. He licked her firmly from where she dripped up to her clit. The sounds she made grew louder and shriller, bound to draw the attention whis neighbors, but bringing the blood rushing back to his cock.

Fully hard and needing a warm wet hole to fuck, he pulled the dildo from her and brought it to her lips. “Clean it up for me. You’re so messy, querida.” He tsked. He held it while she licked the heady mix of their fluids, and began to stroke his cock while she sucked it. He pushed it deeper, curious to see how much cock she could swallow before she gagged. Her eyes water and she whined around the wet toy, but she took it deep. Javi considered pulling her down to her knees and feeding her his cock instead.

His cock throbbed and he lined himself back up, pushing in with less resistance this time, he set a vigorous pace, his eyes flitting from her flushed, mascara smeared face to her bouncing tits, to where he rammed into her. “Rub your clit. Make yourself come. Come on. Show me what you’re gonna do when you’re thinking about this cock later.” It was his turn to fall apart. “Fuck, Javi. Never going to stop thinking about your big cock. Gonna think about you every night. Gonna think about you fucking me at work. Feels so good, Javi. So fucking big.” Her last orgasm was every bit as intense as the others, crashing over her like a wave, with Javi not far behind, filling her once again with his spend.

As they caught their breath, she didn’t bother getting off the counter. Too boneless to stand yet, she sipped the glass of water he gave her. Javi sat back down in the chair he had pulled over and lit a cigarette. They passed it back and forth in silence, he wondered if she would last long at the embassy, how many more chances he might get to fuck her.

As he thought he mindlessly stroked her thigh, runninghis big, warm hand over the smooth Lycra of her ruined nylons. He liked the contrast of how the darker material looked and felt next to where it was ripped

Open and exposed the silky skin of her thighs. He let his hand roam down to her mound, stroking the soft curls there, then lower, ghosting over her slick and swollen folds, and dared to explore further, pressing the pad of his thumb against the taut ring of her cum-slick asshole. He wondered if she’d let him…

[steddieunderdogfics]

For theme weekend Rockstar Eddie, Normal Guy Steve:

I've got this burning desire to set you on fire by strangersatellites

I've got this burning desire to set you on fire by strangersatellites

@strangersatellites

Rating: Explicit

13,217 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: characters are my OC's now, Therefore, They ARE out of character, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Modern AU, Teacher Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Eddie owns a bar also, as a side hustle, Established Relationship, sex tags everybody cheer, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, AS I SAID, the relationship is established, off-screen kink negotiation obviously, Choking, Eddie wants to be a mean Dom so bad, but he is so soft for Steve, Belly Bulge, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Subspace, its not that serious, lot of plot, little porn, but good porn, Oh My God, Steve is a groupie, how could i forget - Freeform, corroded coffin is low-key big, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington

Summary:

“Alright gang, don’t forget to have reports on classical literature that has been turned into film submitted by the end of the day tomorrow! I will be grading them during my office hours on Friday! I have a hot date this weekend and I will not be missing it because you hooligans didn’t get your work done on time! Got it?” A chorus of wolf whistles and peals of laughter sound out over the zipping of book bags and students flooding the halls. His front-row class clown, Lucas, cheers, “Ow ow! Get some Mr. H! Who’s the lucky lady?” Steve props up against the front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. “My partner finally has a Saturday night off so we made plans.” Stopping on his way out of the room, resident boy genius Dustin spins on his heel. “Wait wait wait. You’re like, dating dating someone?!” He shrieks. The teacher huffs out a laugh, these kids are not very observant. “Uh, I’m engaged actually.” Or, the one where Steve thinks his students can guess who he is engaged to. Rockstar Eddie Munson was never on their radar.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Rockstar Eddie, Normal Steve.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

dave mustaine x nore burton (oc) | word count: 1514

✦ on this fic: NSFW!!!, dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff burton's cousin, +18, language, romance, mxf sex, period sex (in the shower), unprotected sex, blood mention, period pains

✦ a/n: this is just Dave showering Nore with affection because I missed writing about these two in a happier setting. From my Heartbreaker fanfic. This is set somewhere between parts 16 and 17. Hope you enjoy the read ❤

I could tell right off the bat that something wasn't right when I cracked open my eyes.

For starters, it was way too dark for morning. A dull, gray light sneaked through the curtains, barely lighting up the room. Just enough for me to make out the shape of the living room door. I rolled over with a groan, and that's when it hit me: a stabbing pain in my gut, and a warm, sticky feeling between my legs.

"Oh, crap," I moaned, burying my face in the pillow as a sharp pain shot from my gut down to my legs, making me curl up tighter. As much as I wanted to cocoon myself in blankets, I knew I had to get up if I wanted any relief. With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and trudging to the bathroom.

Flicking on the light, I shut the door behind me, letting out a frustrated groan when I spotted the bloodstain seeping through my underwear. I plopped down on the toilet, wincing as another wave of pain hit me. I knew a hot shower and some meds would help, but right now, I could barely move, my eyes drooping with exhaustion as the pain pulsed through me.

I jumped when I heard a knock on the door.

"Nore? You alright?" Dave's voice floated through, followed by a big yawn.

"I'm good," I mumbled, but my voice sounded weaker than I'd hoped. "Sorry for waking you."

"You sure you're okay?" His concern was palpable, snapping him awake instantly.

"Yeah, it's just... Ow," I winced as another contraction hit hard. That seemed to do it for Dave; he swung the door open and barged in, eyes wide as he scanned the bathroom. I flushed with embarrassment. "Dave!"

"Oh," he whispered, catching on as he saw me doubled over in pain on the toilet, my clothes in a messy heap on the floor, stained with blood. "I'm sorry, babe. You sounded like you were really hurting."

"I am hurting. But you didn't have to bust in here," I muttered, my face still red hot in embarrassment. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Have you taken anything for it? Want me to grab you some clean PJs? And socks, to warm your feet. You said that helps with cramps, right?" he asked, instantly slipping into caretaker mode, which made me smile.

"I'd rather you let me clean up and hit the shower first. But yeah, fresh PJs and painkillers would be great."

"Got it. I'll be quick. Don't move," he instructed, ducking out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. I let out a soft chuckle. Like I could go anywhere in this state. With a sigh, I got myself up, flushed the toilet, and stepped into the shower.

I leaned back, soaking up the steamy water as it washed over me, easing some of the pain pulsing from my belly. A shower, some meds, fresh clothes, and back to bed, preferably snuggled up with my boyfriend. Seemed like the perfect game plan for that early morning.

I cracked an eye open when I heard Dave tiptoeing back in.

"Brought you clean PJs, pain pills, and your towel," he announced, poking his head into the shower. I smiled softly, thankfully. "Want me to hop in?" he offered.

"What, you wanna join me?" I raised an eyebrow, and he shot back a cheeky grin. Without a word, he stripped down, and I couldn't help but giggle as he pulled me close, peppering my face with kisses – on my lips, my cheeks, my forehead.

"You know what I heard? Orgasms supposedly help with cramps," he whispered in my ear, and I could feel my cheeks heating up.

"Dave, I'm..." I started, but my words trailed off into a sigh as his fingers found their way to my clit. "D-Dave, I'm bleeding, we're gonna make a mess..."

"It's all good if we’re in the shower, right?" he countered, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against my neck. I let out a soft moan as he began to circle my clit, his other hand holding onto my lower back, pulling me closer as I tangled my fingers in his hair. His lips pressed against the sensitive skin of my neck, a slow and deliberate kiss that sent shivers down my spine. "Let me take care of you, babe…”

"Dave..." I breathed out, not in protest this time, but in pure pleasure as I surrendered to the warmth of his touch. The heat from the water and his body was soothing, mingling with the tension building in my abdomen as he traced slow circles around my clit. A moan escaped me as I felt a slow contraction, but this time it wasn't from pain; my breath hitched as his lips descended to my breasts, taking one of my nipples between his lips, teasing me with his slow movements. I let out a surprised gasp as he lifted one of my legs, pulling me closer as he entered me slowly. "Dave, I'm… I’m too sensitive today..."

"I'll take it slow," he whispered, and I let out a low moan as he drew me in closer, fully inside me, filling me up in a way that made me clench around him. He groaned softly, his lips meeting mine as he started to move with a gentle rhythm, his tongue exploring my mouth lazily. I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out soft moans. "I just wanna make you feel good," he murmured against my lips, and I gasped as he pushed back in slowly. "Wanna make you cum for me."

"Oh, Dave..." I moaned, nuzzling into his neck. He grunted, holding me against the wall and lifting my other leg, wrapping it around his hip, pulling me closer, pushing deeper into me. I gripped his back, the pain ebbing away as pleasure took over, coiling tighter and tighter in my belly, my body begging for more. "Dave, please..."

"Hmm?" he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he started to move again, drawing out another soft moan from me. "What do you need?"

"Please... Oh, harder..." I begged, and he chuckled softly, a hint of breathlessness in his voice.

"Are you sure it won't make the pain worse?" he husked, his voice thick with desire, and I nodded. "If it's too much, you gotta tell me, okay?"

"Okay... Oh, fuck!" I gasped as he pushed harder, picking up the pace, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. He chuckled softly, letting out a groan as he held me close. "Dave, I'm... I'm almost there..."

"I feel it. You're so tight..." he groaned, clutching me tighter, his words igniting small sparks inside my belly. "Fuck, Nore, you're perfect, you’re so wet, oh, shit..." I could tell he was close too, his movements growing more urgent as incoherent praises left his lips.

I moaned as he reached down to touch my clit, sending shivers down my spine. He grunted, intensifying his thrusts, and I held onto him, my eyes shut tight as pleasure surged through me. Dave squeezed me close as my climax hit, and he groaned as he reached his own peak.

Breathing heavily, I leaned against him as he set me down, blushing at the sight of the mess between us, a mix of blood and fluids.

"Oh, no," I muttered, cheeks burning. "Dave, I’m sorry..."

"Sorry? You just made me cum and now you're saying sorry?" he replied, sounding amused, and I chuckled, shaking my head.

"I meant for the mess," I clarified, and Dave laughed.

"Babe, we make messes every time we fuck, period or not. It's just blood. C'mere, I'll help you clean up."

After our shower, I got dressed, grateful for the fresh clothes, and popped one of the painkillers Dave brought, even though the cramps had eased a lot. Turns out, orgasms really did work wonders for period pains.

Snuggling under the blanket, I sighed happily as we lay down. Dave pulled me close, and I nestled my head on his chest.

"Feeling any better?" he whispered, running his fingers through my hair.

"Yeah, I am. Thanks, Dave," I mumbled, yawning. The room was getting brighter with the sunlight, but it was still too early to think about anything other than getting some more sleep in our comfy bed. Dave planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

"When we wake up, I'll whip up some hot chocolate for you. How's that sound?" he offered, and I let out a soft chuckle.

"You're spoiling me," I murmured, and he laughed.

"Of course I am. You're my everything," he replied, and I smiled, feeling sleep pulling me under. He held me close, his breath warm against my neck. "Love you, Nore."

"Hmm... Love you too," I whispered, feeling myself drift off.

I sighed happily, letting Dave's arms wrap around me as I surrendered to sleep, feeling safe and warm, knowing that happiness was right there: with him.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777 @whatsupvic @70srogah @genswine9 (tagged everyone from the regular story tag list for this extra content. hope you guys don't mind!)

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

***NSFW CHAPTER 18+ ONLY!!!***

Chapter 44

The horses held a steady speed until dawn rose on the horizon. As the sun grew brighter, they veered off of the main road into a secluded area before daylight would give them away. Eventually, they came up on a small stream and dismounted near it to allow the animals a chance to cool down and drink.

Robbet found his place on a long fallen log, letting out a long sigh as he pulled a piece of bread from the pack. Viserra, however, refused to sit, unable to let her guard down enough to enjoy the moment of rest.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” She asked, her voice relaying both suspicion and curiosity.

Robbet chuckled, not ashamed of his amusement at her persistence. “I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation,” he admitted. “But I do not think it would hurt to first hear just a bit of appreciation for getting you out of that castle.”

Viserra pursed her lips and shot him a look. “I am thankful for your help, but how am I to know you do not have ill intentions as well?”

Robbet rolled his eyes and offered her half of the bread that he had taken out. “Come on Viserra,” he sighed. “That would be quite the risk to take just to harm you after. If it eases your concerns, I have worked many years now for someone who knows most of the royal happenings in this land. Someone you trust.”

Viserra did not need him to say the name out loud, knowing without a doubt that he was in some way affiliated with Larys. Though she thought it bold for him to assume she trusted the man. Truthfully, only a fool would do such a thing. “And what about my chambermaid, Cassella? Has she been in his service as well?”

“I had not met her until my arrival in King’s Landing,” he explained. “Truthfully I am not sure who her point of contact is and was only told I would be working with a girl fitting her description. From idle chatter, I believe she might come from somewhere close to your home.”

This revelation took Viserra by surprise. “Home?” She asked.

“Yes, Volantis I believe?” He answered with a shrug.

The ambiguity of his responses annoyed her, but part of her understood the need for him to remain cautious. Even now, they were still well within reach of those who would already be on the road searching for them.

Processing it all, Viserra finally allowed herself to sit. But even with the new information, she still remained on edge. Finally, she accepted the piece of bread from Robbet, racking through some of what had been revealed to her. If Cassella was indeed from Volantis, or at least had some connection there, had she been sent by her father or someone close to her from home?

As the morning light filtered through the trees, they both ate in silence. Viserra wondered how long it would take to get to Harrenhal and if they had allies along the way to stop and rest when it would be needed most. The plan would be to travel quickly under the safety of nightfall and divert off the Kingsroad during the day.

Robbet reassured her that they would find time to rest when safe, but Viserra pressed that making the best time to Harrenhal was to be of utmost importance. Neither could deny the unease that came from knowing ravens would have already traveled to those loyal to the Blacks. Because of that, Viserra made sure to keep her hair wrapped tight and let Robbet do the talking when they came across others. Each stop was brief but needed to fill their bellies and let the horses rest.

By the morning of the sixth day journeying north, Robbet kept them traveling on the Kingsroad. Viserra, sensing that something had shifted in his plans, pulled her horse up to his to question his reasoning. But before she could voice her concern, Robbet spoke up, knowing exactly what she was going to ask about.

“We are close now,” he explained. “Just up ahead, we will go west to arrive at Harrenhal by sundown.”

The revelation that they were closer than she had thought sent a wave of emotion barreling in her chest. She felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, only just now realizing that she had suppressed so much in the last few weeks.

Quickly, Viserra wiped the tears before they could fall, embarrassed by the show of emotion but unable to completely push the feelings back down. “Let us not waste any time then,” she pressed, pushing her horse ahead of Robbet’s.

Robbet glanced at her, furrowing his brow before catching up. “Do not worry, we will make good time. There is no need to rush anymore than we already have.”

They rode for the morning and afternoon at a pace that Viserra felt was too slow for being so close. But the feelings of frustration were quickly replaced by alarm as the distinct smells of dragonfire hung faintly in the air. As they continued on, they approached a village that had been devastated by the fire she had smelled from afar. The lands there bore the unmistakable signs of violent destruction.

Amidst the charred ruins of the structures there were also remains of villagers as well. Viserra’s heart dropped into her stomach at the realization. Everything had burned here, the fields, the people, the animals, the buildings. Worry struck her deeply, was it Aemond’s doing? Or possibly another dragon and its rider?

The uneasiness stayed with her as they passed through the village and she wondered what the state of Aemond’s mind was. The weight of power and need for victory could drive any man to madness, but one born with the blood of the dragon most certainly could produce such needless destruction.

Viserra urged her horse to continue without any more delay as soon as they reached the end of the burned village. Robbet followed her close, nudging his heels into his own horse to follow her in a gallop. He could see that something troubled her but did not think it a good time to pry.

Over the next hour, the visibility around them slowly developed an eerie haze. Soon after, they reached a large body of water, and Viserra realized they had made it to the Gods Eye. The shoreline was easy to follow and they had only made it a few more minutes before seeing a group of men in the far distance.

As each soldier came into view, Viserra recognized them easily as Aemond’s men. Not slowing her pace at all, she pulled ahead of Robbet, wanting even more to get to Harrenhal quickly. As she had expected, the men quickly gathered themselves into defensive positions. While she understood where they were coming from, it did not annoy her any less.

“I am Viserra Targaryen,” she began. “It has been a long journey and I would like to be taken to the Prince Regent without any more delay.”

The men looked at each other for a moment, seeming to bear some confusion over who she was. “Viserra Targaryen is in the Black Cells.” One argued, spitting on the ground in front of him.

In an attempt to strengthen her word, she pulled at the fabric wrapped around her head, letting her silver hair fall down over her shoulders.

Another took a few steps closer, squinting his eyes and looking her up and down. After a moment, he seemed to relax and turned to address the others. “‘Tis her,” he declared. “I had seen her around the camps on the way up to Rook’s Rest. No doubt about it. I’d reckon to not forget such a girl in the middle of such a cock-heavy march north.”

Viserra was relieved she did not need to press any further on the matter, but ignored his distasteful comment. “It was no easy feat to get here. I would like nothing more than to continue on without delay.”

“Where’s your dragon, girl?”

The question caused Viserra’s jaw to clench. Not only did she wish to try and keep it out of her thoughts, she did not feel she owed them any explanation. “I was only able to escape myself,” she spoke, keeping her words short. “My dragon is back in King’s Landing.”

The soldiers seemed satisfied with her answer and two of them agreed to escort them to Harrenhal. Climbing atop their own mounts, they started back towards their destination.

The mist might have faded around some of the lake’s perimeter, but overall, the visibility remained poor. As they neared the fortress, the true size of Harrenhal came gradually into view. The massive towers were intimidating and she realized it was just as grand as the texts had described it. They continued to approach the large castle until arriving at the main gates. Standing in front of it made Viserra feel small, with no doubt that this structure had been an unbreachable fortress before Aegon and Balerion had proven it to be susceptible to dragonfire.

“An audience with the Prince Regent has been requested at once.” One of the soldiers called when they finally made it to the gates. The men stationed atop quickly began the process of opening them, letting them in as their shouted commands towards each other could be heard ricocheting off the stone.

The true thickness of the gates was revealed as they walked their horses into the courtyard and Viserra was amazed to see such a fortress. Briefly, she glanced at Robbet, noting his calm demeanor and wondering if he had been here before. 

Once inside, the gates began to shut quickly behind them and Viserra realized they were indeed trapped within. Dismounting her horse, her eyes continued to scan everything that was not visible from outside the walls. There was a large main castle and five massive towers to its right side. Everything was made from black stone and she thought it seemed to fit quite well with the overall climate around the lake.

The men dismounted their horses and both Viserra and Robbet followed in suit. Without delay, they were led through the main doors of the castle into an enormous hall. Viserra felt that Harrenhal had been built for a significantly larger number of inhabitants than there was at the moment, noting the hall was large, dark, empty, and cold.

Turning again to Robbet, she began to ask him if he had any knowledge of the great hall. But before she could get out a full sentence, a familiar, sharp voice suddenly cut through her own and the words were taken right from her mouth.

“Viserra.”

Her chest tightened at the sound of her name.

Snapping back to the source of the voice, Viserra’s eyes widened as she settled on a figure who she hadn’t seen in a great while.

“Aemond,” she answered, her voice thick with emotion as she held back the urge to run to him.

For a moment, she did hesitate, caught in the uncertainty of how to approach him in such a setting. But with just the sight of him, after everything she had endured, she quickly broke through all of her reservations.

Viserra’s steps began cautiously but they soon quickened until turning into a near run. When she reached Aemond, she did not even attempt to slow down, colliding herself into his chest and letting her arms wrap around his thin, yet strong frame.

For a brief moment, everything around them stopped. Though she knew she would find him here, having Aemond physically there in front of her seemed like a fever dream. He reached up to hold her face in his hands, searching her features with an expression she surprisingly could not read.

“I said she would return, did I not?” Another voice cut through the air and Viserra turned her attention away to see who it belonged to.

A woman stood just a few paces behind them. Her pale, thin frame and long, dark hair made her appearance somehow both beautiful and unnerving. A dark green dress that hung off her body, contrasting with her skin and flowing loosely to the ground. Her eyes were sharp and full of knowledge, perhaps with something deeper than what ordinary eyes could see.

“Who are you?” Viserra asked, slightly stepping away from Aemond. Her instincts told her to be wary of this woman and she knew better than to disregard her own gut feelings.

“My name is Alys,” she began. “I have served Harrenhal for many years, likely longer than you have been alive, my dear.” Her voice did indeed sound wise of many years, something that did not match the youthfulness of her face.

Viserra’s brow furrowed with skepticism. But before she could inquire further, Aemond’s voice brought her attention back to him.

“I thought you to be dead,” he confessed. “There was word that your dragon was struck down when King’s Landing was taken. That the fall from the cliffs alone would have been near impossible to survive,” he paused for a moment, his brow now furrowing. “But then, word reached us again that you had been seen in the Red Keep, seemingly allied with those you once called our enemies.”

The accusation in his tone was undeniable and it brought a rush of anger and hurt up through Viserra’s chest. She opened her mouth in defense, but Aemond continued on, cutting her off instead.

“They said you looked rather comfortable amongst them,” he added. “That you had even been seen sparring with my uncle in the training yard.”

Aemond’s words were cold but Viserra could hear the hurt behind them. She met his gaze squarely, her own eyes burning with sharp intensity.

“You have no right to judge the decisions I made to end up back to you,” she snapped. “Each step I took was a move towards finding a way here, to Harrenhal.” Her voice was steady despite the betrayal she was feeling inside her. “When Rhyn and I were struck down leaving King’s Landing, we were trying to fly to you.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, though his eye remained narrowed. There was a long moment of silence as he seemed to think through her words. But finally, the rest of his face softened and he took a step closer to her.

“You will tell me everything,” he demanded. “But it can wait until you have been fed and had a proper bath.”

Viserra felt his resolve waver enough that she knew he had not turned on her. “And for you as well,” she replied. “I would like to know everything.” Her eyes then quickly darted back to Alys as she fought back the urge to assume anything about the woman.

Aemond did not agree or disagree to her request but she knew she would not leave it at that. He then looked past her, his gaze landing on Robbet who had been standing there patiently. Narrowing his eye once more, he could not hide the suspicion and curiosity of the man that had arrived with her. “You brought her here?” Aemond asked sternly.

Robbet met Aemond’s intensity with a level of confidence that somewhat surprised her. “Indeed, Your Grace,” he replied. “Not only did I escort her here from the Red Keep, but if it were not for me, she would not have escaped the castle before things took a turn for the worse.”

Aemond’s eye darted back to Viserra, seeking both confirmation of this claim and also gauging her reaction to his words.

“He is telling the truth,” she confirmed. “I will explain it all once I have had a moment to collect myself. But he did indeed aid in my escape and then led us through these lands which I am not familiar with.”

Aemond softened his expression once more, giving Robbet a small nod. “Then you have my deepest gratitude. If we were to lose another dragonrider, it would be a substantial hit for our forces. Make yourself comfortable, enjoy what hospitality this place might have to give.” He then looked back to Alys, gesturing for her to go to him. Without hesitation, the woman smiled and carried on as she took over gracefully.

Aemond’s hand found the small of Viserra’s back and he guided her in the direction from which he came. They moved out of the great hall and entered into a long corridor, their footsteps the only sound echoing against the stone walls.

Despite the small amount of tension still between them, she stayed close, her steps matching his. Finally, they reached the end of the hallway where two guards stood at attention beside a heavy wooden door.

After the door was opened and they walked through the archway, Viserra observed a lower room to the right and a winding staircase to the left. She began to take notes of each place she would familiarize herself with when given the time, but for now, she followed quietly behind Aemond.

There were more stairs than she would have liked, each flight carrying them higher and higher in the tower. As they reached the top, the stairway opened into another large room that was warmed by a fire and had only a few small windows. To the back was a simple, yet large bed covered in various furs and blankets in the most unkempt ways. In the center of the room was a long, wooden table, littered with various items such as papers, trinkets, and bottles.

Something seemed off, but Viserra could not place exactly what it was. It was an observation she would need to put more thought into eventually, but now was most definitely not the time. Turning back towards Aemond, she began to speak his name in order to get his attention. However, the attempt at speaking was cut short as he was suddenly right beside her. His firm hand pulled her in at the nape of her neck and his lips silenced any words before they could leave her mouth.

The intensity of the kiss said more than words could have. It was obvious that his usual capability to restrain himself had been at play in the hall but as soon as they had been secured behind closed doors, he let himself go.

Aemond did not waste any time pushing his tongue past her lips. The heat between them was almost overwhelming as he grappled with pulling her even closer. The way that her curves fit against him was comforting and familiar and gooseflesh prickled her skin as his hands began searching for the means to separate her from her clothing.

Viserra pulled back to take a breath just to see that his eye looked at her with more unbridled intensity than she had ever seen before. Her hands came up to his shoulders, her nails digging into the leather of his doublet as she watched him unravel in front of her.

He did not let their interaction stop for more than a brief second before taking her mouth again, this time successfully pulling the fabric of her shirt, ripping it at the neckline. The action surprised her, but she felt too intoxicated with the overwhelming attention to care. The sound of the shirt tearing down past the arm filled the room and she felt the cool air now brushing against half her torso.

As the fabric fell away, Aemond ran his hands over her now bare skin. The pace at which he touched her made him seem uncharacteristically desperate, like he could not possibly get enough with just two hands and his mouth.

The sensation of his rough fingers on her skin left her silently begging him not to stop. It had been well over a moon’s turn since she had felt any sort of real affection radiating from another human. And for the first time in a while, she remembered what it was like to have the fire in her blood making it impossible to even consider rational thought.

Aemond’s mouth broke away from hers, finding its new place on the delicate skin of her neck. She let one of her hands run up into his hair, pulling him in like she wanted him to melt into her. When she was suddenly hoisted up off of the ground, she had been so distracted that a squeal escaped from her mouth from the surprise. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she held onto his shoulders for the brief journey over to the bed.

Aemond’s thin frame was deceiving so that it might surprise another how effortlessly he lifted Viserra off the ground. But as he tossed her on top of the already disheveled bed, he quickly worked on undressing, revealing his muscular tone and strength that hid underneath.

His eye watched her with a hunger that matched the way she felt inside. And as he climbed onto the bed, he hovered just above her, taking the remainder of the shirt in his hands and tearing it down the rest of the way.

Viserra’s hands came up to rest on his now bare chest, grounding her and bringing her sense of peace. There was an overwhelming comfort knowing that he was indeed very real and there in the flesh.

Aemond’s hands focused next on untying the laces of her breeches, pulling them to her thighs when loosened just enough. Digging her nails into his chest, she shimmied her hips in an attempt to get them all of the way off, though she knew he did not actually need her help.

In the exact moment she was totally freed from the binds of her clothing, Aemond pulled her hands and pinned them above her head. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrists and she watched as his eye trailed down her completely exposed body.

Carefully, he adjusted his grip to free one of his hands, letting it come down and begin roaming over her body once more. His lips came back down to hers in a kiss that had just as much intensity, but was much slower and more deliberate.

It was clear that he needed to control the timing of each movement, that there was some sort of internal battle he was having with their reunion. When Viserra attempted to pull her hands free with only minute effort, he pushed harder on her wrists and darted his eye back up to hers.

“No,” he spoke firmly. It was clear there was no room for negotiation, that he needed to keep the control in that moment. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, though if she was being honest, even though the trust was there, it was shakier than it had been in the past.

Most people did not know of the things that plagued Aemond’s mind but Viserra had been able to see glimpses of what it looked like inside there. If it had been in another moment, she might have put up a bit of a fight, but right then, she actually enjoyed being able to give him what he needed. Especially since it was all under the illusion that he was the one in complete control.

Her wrists were still tightly pinned above her head and Aemond brought his mouth down to her neck once more. This time, instead of leaving a trail of kisses where his lips had been, he sucked a bit of her skin into his mouth and bit down onto her flesh.

Viserra winced at the pain, but she did not find it unwelcome. He worked down in a line to her breast, continuing to leave the marks with as much care as there was discomfort. She took a sharp breath in as his lips closed around her nipple, anticipating that he would use his teeth there too. But to her surprise, he reigned in the roughness and gently sucked and nibbled instead.

The attention to her breast did not last long as he broke the suction from her. His free hand came down to push her knee aside and he leaned his weight onto the other. Without warning, he thrust himself into her, filling her completely before she realized what was happening.

A gasp left her lips at the suddenness of it all. Feeling him within her after the weeks of separation and the events that had happened brought more than just physical pleasure. Viserra felt a wave of emotions whirl in her chest as she took all of him. And by the way that Aemond momentarily fumbled the grip on her wrists at the same time, she realized he too, was overwhelmed by it all.

Neither moved for a few moments as they savored finally uniting in the most intimate way. But when Viserra wrapped her legs around him as if she were worried he might disappear, he quickly found his rhythm.

There was a shift in Aemond’s focus and he released her wrists as a bead of sweat formed on his brow. She ran her hands over his skin, refamiliarizing herself with the way his muscles contracted and moved as he drove himself into her. When she realized he was putting significant effort into ensuring that he did not finish before her, a smile teased on her lips as she quickly felt the tight ball building within her lower abdomen. Together, there was only the two of them, and even if just briefly, the rest of their slowly collapsing world seemed absolutely irrelevant.

Viserra’s body rolled into an orgasm sooner than she had anticipated and it was only a split second before Aemond let himself go as well. Coming down to rest on his forearms, they both let themselves recover listening to the other slow down their winded breathing.

Aemond eventually fell to the side, and even though she saw his eye still burning with a similar intensity, the hunger behind it had quieted. Perhaps he could not have even begun to focus on the logistics of things until that tension had been released.

“I want to know what happened and how you have ended up here,” he pried, the light tone of suspicion coming back once more.

Viserra shifted to her side to mirror him, taking in a deep breath as she tried to bring herself to a place to begin talking about it all.

“They came when we were anticipating your word that you had made it here safely,” she spoke, her voice steady. “There was little to no time to react. It was nightfall and they arrived from the skies and also from the sea.”

Aemond did not waver for one moment as she detailed the aftermath of it all. She explained that she had tried to escape and come to him but was stopped while leaving the city. That she had not even seen her dragon since that day, and that his actual wellbeing was still unknown to her. Watching his reaction carefully, she explained how Aegon and the children had escaped with Larys, yet his mother and sister still were prisoners of the castle.

His expression darkened with a scowl at that revelation. “Of course my brother would leave the others behind,” he spoke bitterly.

A surge of annoyance built up as she listened to his remark. “It was not Aegon’s idea to leave anyone behind,” she argued back. “He was hardly in a physical state to escape himself. It was not really a matter of choice.”

It almost looked as if Aemond rolled his eye at her defenses.

“I speak the truth,” she rebutted once more. “Your brother could barely make it out of the castle himself and there were not many who followed them through the passageways.”

“Hm,” he hummed before looking away from her. 

Dropping it altogether with a huff, Viserra continued on. “I had nearly escaped too but it was Daemon who found me in the skies.”

Aemond turned his attention back to her with talk of his uncle. She explained how she awoke imprisoned and injured, that she had been forced to sit with Rhaenyra on the same night and why she had decided to play the victim when realizing how poorly her odds were at surviving if she did not.

Detailing the rest of the days there, she stopped just before the events of the feast and the night of her escape. A knot twisted in her stomach at the thought of how close she had come to being in a situation she really had no idea how she was going to get herself out. Choosing her words carefully, she attempted to brush past that moment, but her fears were confirmed when Aemond did not miss her omission.

“They let you leave for your rooms alone on the night of a feast and then by chance Daemon stumbled upon you sickened from the poison?” He asked, his mouth turning down into a frown.

Viserra rolled her eyes, irritated that he had picked up on her evasiveness. “There is more, but it does not matter. I have told you what is most important,” she replied, hoping to steer him away from the details. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the direction their conversation was heading, she reached for the blankets behind her and pulled one around her.

Aemond’s face hardened and it was clear he was frustrated with her hesitancy. “I want to hear it all, Viserra,” he insisted. “The truth of what happened that night.”

After pausing for a moment to work through the discomfort of it all, slowly spoke of the full extent of the night. “They did not let me retreat without an escort,” she began, hugging the blanket tighter around her. “Initially it was to be one of the guards, but after Rhaenyra had left, Daemon took it upon himself to do it alone.”

Aemond’s eye was now wide and his attention sharp as he listened. His initial frustration at her withholding information was now transforming into an anger that was beginning to boil under his skin.

“The poison’s effects began right before reaching my rooms and I found myself on the ground expelling everything I had consumed for the evening,” she continued on, not letting her voice falter. “I was lucky it happened when it did.”

“Did he lay even one finger on you?” Aemond asked through his teeth.

“No,” she responded quickly, knowing that depending on how she might have interpreted his question, her answer was not entirely a lie. “I could not get up and was grateful for guards to stumble upon us and that is when he called for a maester.”

Aemond looked as if he were struggling to find his next words, but when he spoke, the anger had not left his tone. “And what would you have done if you hadn’t accepted the wine? How would you have gotten yourself out of that situation?”

Viserra snapped her head in his direction, now feeling irritated at what felt like some kind of accusation. “I do not know, Aemond. But I would have figured something out,” she retorted. The mere fact that he seemed to question her actions when he had not been in her place not only offended her, but hurt.

Shaking off the hurt with another eyeroll, pulled the blanket closer and stood. He had no idea how awful those days and moments had been and she would not hear anymore of what he had to say unless it was in support of her.

To her surprise, Aemond’s reaction was quicker than her intent to distance herself from him. Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back.

“I am sorry,” he spoke, his voice now much gentler. “I do not mean to judge the decisions you made. It is just that Daemon-” he paused, appearing to bite his tongue for a moment, “-believes he can take whatever he pleases.”

Viserra relaxed slightly but still did not look to him. When she did not respond, he gently wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her down onto his lap. Feeling the warmth of his body next to hers again washed away most of the negativity that had quickly built up but she knew she would not let it slide without addressing it.

Finally, she turned in his arms and faced him directly. “You are right to realize I might have found myself in a much worse position. But this is war and much more terrible things happen to people in war.” Her voice was quiet yet firm. “Do not let your feelings for me cloud your judgment. ”

Aemond kissed her bare shoulder, then met her eyes. “My feelings do not cloud my judgment,” he disagreed. “And I am sorry that I have made you feel as if I questioned you. ”

Viserra let out a long sigh, realizing that she was foolish to think that he would be able to recognize that he let jealousy drive his actions. And as he pulled her close to him once more and his lips dragged softly across her skin, she decided she would hold her tongue for just a moment longer.

Author's Notes: It has been a long couple weeks! Here is a 5k update for your patience in the meantime. Thank you for the reads, kudos, and comments. I am completely in awe at having 21k hits on this. It drives me to continue to write!

Also, only 12 more days until season 2 comes out! Holy moly, I cannot wait!!!

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

not hungry anymore | werewolf!rhett x oc

Summary: Rhett and Tessa, two young pups playing in the fields, quickly realize that it's time to grow up. Their pack is dying, some even say it's cursed, and the only saviors anyone can see...are them. (wc: 4781)

Warnings: made-up werewolf lore (part of the echo universe), violence, blood, injury description, trevor tillerson is a creep, time skip, and a cliffhanger

✎……to round out falltober, the spookiest of all, a werewolf au! i have more of this au planned, so if you would like to see more please let me know!

✎……MAIN MASTERLIST || FALLTOBER MASTERLIST

Tessa chased him through the wide, open fields that made up the Abbott land. Her four pawed feet thumped into the ground, large claws digging into the earth — kicking up dust in the dry season. A laugh echoed in her mind as she banked sharply to the left in her pursuit.

Rhett was faster, though. His big, wolf face turned to look at her over his shoulder as he ran. Dark brown coat covered in blades of grass and dirt stains. Eyes sparkling golden in the fading light. She could hear his returning cackle like her own thoughts as he evaded her.

“Com’on, Tess! Keep up!” he called. 

Her breathing quickened as she tried to pump her legs harder. “M’tryin’! Y’know m’small!”

He just laughed again. His head thrown back as he howled and kept on galloping.

“Oh, m’gonna get you,” Tessa grumbled to herself, knowing that Rhett could hear her in his own mind.

She didn’t feel tired, not yet. That would take hours upon hours of running through the Wyoming fields and wild country men feared to venture into. But she could only go so fast and Rhett was nearly a head taller than her — in both wolf and human form. There was no way she would ever catch him, trailing him like this. So she stopped and skidded to a halt, leaving overturned dirt in her wake. Rhett kept on going. They were running along the edge of the forest that skirted the west pasture. They didn’t usually go here. The east pasture having the creek to roll and splash in, and the north having more dense forest to get lost in. 

A snort escaped her as a plan formed. Tessa trotted into the woods, the shade beneath the pines darkened as the sun tipped under the horizon. But it gave her the perfect cover as she ran west after Rhett. 

“Tess? Where’d you go?” Rhett’s question appeared in her mind. 

She could hear his giant paws stamping in the earth as he turned to look for her. But, she didn’t respond. Kept every thought and word silent as she ran through the trees. 

“Oh, com’on, tha’s not funny,” he said. 

Her lips pulled back in a snarling grin, showing sharp canines and pink gums. Suddenly she saw him, standing out in the open, turning in circles as he searched for her. Ears perked, listening. His head jerked at the sound of her breaking through the brush. There was no time to waste. Tessa charged into a sprint and broke the treeline. Head ducked down and shoulder turned, she slammed into Rhett’s unsuspecting side. He let out a surprised yelp as they tumbled to the ground together.

They rolled once, twice, and then Rhett was flat on his back — Tessa standing triumphant over him. 

“Ha! Pinned ya!” 

He huffed. “Only ‘cause ya scared me.” 

“Still counts,” she replied.

Rhett glared. Then suddenly two paws were kicked into her belly. All the air got knocked out of her lungs as she fell to the side, Rhett quickly rolling over to pin her to the ground. 

“Pinned ya,” he mocked. 

Even in his wolf face, she could see his smirk. Smug and victorious. She knew she would never get out of this the way he did. Rhett was not only bigger but stronger than her too. She had only been able to turn into a wolf for a few months, but still, she had learned tactics in order to get away from enemies even twice or three times her size. She bit his leg. Not hard enough to break skin, just play, but he still yowled and rolled off of her. 

“Ow! Tess, cut it out! Cut it out!” Through his protests, he was laughing. 

He returned her bite with one of his own, nibbling at her side and making her giggle and howl. And they continued to roll around in the long grass, laughing and biting and tussling. A soft, warm breeze blew through the fields. The sleeping sun turned the clouded sky into brilliant shades of pink and purple. Crickets began their chorus and an owl hooted as its hunt began. Two young wolves forgetting the world for a moment. 

“Well, what do we have here?” a new voice asked, their low, whispering voice cold as ice in their minds. 

Rhett and Tessa instantly sat up, dust settling around them as they searched for the source. Their hackles stood on end, the skin beneath cold and tingling despite the heat. It had to be another wolf, the voice wasn’t spoken aloud. And only wolves could talk to each other through their own thoughts. But the source wasn’t hard to find. 

Two larger wolves were approaching them slowly from the west. Each of them with coats a dirty blond and bigger than even Rhett. Nearly fully grown. Their eyes shown bright as stars in the coming darkness, white, devoid of all color. Omegas. Tessa’s heart sank into her stomach, anchored down by a fear garnered from scary stories told around bonfires. 

“Looks like new toys, t’me,” a different voice said, one of the wolves’ lips pulling back in a snarl. 

Rhett and Tessa scrambled to their feet. Tessa huddled close to Rhett’s side, ears pinned to her head as she stared down the approaching wolves. Unable to look at anything else. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhett’s ears remained upright. Pricked for any noise. She wondered if he was forcing them to be that way to appear braver than he was. 

“Tillersons,” Rhett spoke low, hoping only Tessa would be able to hear him. 

But he was wrong. “Tha’s right, kid. You’ve earned y’rself a prize.” 

“What’d he win?” 

“A warning.” One wolf stepped forward, the smaller of the two staying behind, circling the younger wolves with his head hung low. “Gettin’ too close to our land, kids. If we find ya out here again, m’gonna —”

“This ain’t your land,” Rhett spoke up, head swiveling to keep up with the stalking Tillerson wolf. “We c’n be here.”

“Rhett,” Tessa hissed, coming in closer to his side with her tail tucked between her legs — unable to hide the terror flooding her veins.

“By the moon, Billy, get over here!” the circling wolf called to the other, then he looked back with a wicked grin. “We got ourselves the spare son himself.” 

“Who’s the other one?” Billy asked as he stepped closer. 

“Abernathy by that fur.”

Tessa glanced back at her wolf body, at her creamy-white coat now dulled with dust. A trait inherited from her father, passed from Abernathy to Abernathy for generations — distinct to anyone who knew better. Billy got closer, sniffed at Tessa as she cowered into Rhett’s side. She wanted to just turn tail and run. Never look back and never go to the west pasture again. But she wouldn’t dare leave Rhett behind, knowing he would stay and fight if he had to. 

Anything to prove himself. 

“Hey!” Rhett snapped his teeth at Billy’s snout, who backed off with a surprised wail. “Stay away from her!”

The other wolf laughed and jeered. “She’a bit of a soft spot for ya? Huh, Spare?” 

“Quit callin’ me that,” Rhett growled, front paws widening like he was going to pounce. 

“She’s a pretty lil’ thing. Maybe, if ya don’come near our land again, I’won’t jus’take’er for myself.”

Tessa could feel her legs shaking as she backed away from the wolf’s pale hungry gaze. Feeling only slightly comforted when Rhett put himself between them. 

“We’re not on your land,” Rhett answered, low and growling. 

“Close enough!” the wolf shouted, making them both flinch at the harsh sound only in their minds. “Y’re old enough t’turn, y’re old enough t’know our history. Honestly, we should jus’kill ya righ’now. One less Abernathy — one less Abbott to worry about.”

“Trevor,” Billy warned — but it appeared his brother didn’t want to listen. 

“One less thing standin’ in our way of runnin’ Waya Pack.”

Trevor stalked closer. Hackles raised, ears back, teeth bared to show his red gums. The air was dry and hot, the light of day gone. Replaced with the vigilant eye of the moon who seemed content to watch how this played out. Silence fell upon the world as a blanket, even the chirping of crickets had ceased in the presence of the oncoming violence. Tessa’s heart pounded in her chest, she could hear her own blood flowing in her ears, as she stared wide-eyed at the Tillerson wolf ready to kill her. Just for her name. Just for their history she barely understood. 

“Tess, run!”

Rhett swept at Trevor with his great paw. Slashing him across the face with his claws. Trevor yelped, red blood instantly flowing from the cuts and into his snarling face. 

She didn’t have to think twice. Taking off in the opposite direction, she didn’t even look back. Her legs pumped hard with real and present danger at her heels. Her heart raced, dry air like a thousand needles in her lungs. Why didn’t she remember that the Abbott’s west pasture abutted Tillerson land? Why did she let Rhett convince her to come out there in the first place? They both knew better than to go messing with a Tillerson. That werewolf family that wanted them dead. That walked around with no alpha to lead them all because their patriarch didn’t think Rhett’s father was cut out for the job — despite his right as the latest in a long line of Abbott Alphas. Who would stop at nothing to see the Abbott line ended and Waya Pack under their control. 

She didn’t want to look back. She wanted to forget. She wanted to play in the creek and bite at Rhett’s ankles and be a wolf pup. But Tessa did look back. When she heard a whimpering bark echo through the dark behind her. From a voice she knew all too well. Whose pain she felt somewhere deep within her chest.

Rhett was on the ground, covered by a blond mass of fur with a bleeding eye. They rolled around in the grass, much like he and Tessa were only minutes before, but these bites were meant to draw blood. Claws digging in and growls rumbling the very earth. 

“Rhett!” Tessa cried as she turned, fumbling over herself like a fawn on ice to get back and help him.

Even if it hurt. Even if it cost her her life.

How could she go back to being a kid after this?

She roared as her shoulder collided with Trevor, using all her momentum and all her weight to knock him off of Rhett.

“S-Stay back!” she barked, shooting for confident but hitting terrified. “We’re goin’ home. We w-won’t come back here’gain. Please, jus’leave us alone.” 

Rhett groaned on the ground behind her as she backed up over his form, covering him as best she could with her smaller frame. Her limbs shook, her fur stood on end, as Trevor got up and snarled at her. Blood poured from his face, blotching out his right eye in red. Rhett’s blood glistened on his sharp teeth as he bared them at her, stalking closer. 

“Such a pretty lil’thing,” he repeated. 

It made her sob. 

Then, a great and mighty roar echoed in the clearing. Deep and booming, a noise from a crack in the earth. An Alpha’s roar. Tessa instantly bowed her head, forced into humble submission by the call of the Alpha. Instant relief, instant calm. Her Alpha was here. Everything was going to be okay. Even Trevor, an Omega belonging to now pack, could not resist. Curling in on himself as he halted in his tracks.

Not a moment later, Royal Abbott lept over Tessa and Rhett, who still lay on the ground. He growled low in his throat as he landed with a thud, his wolf form as big as a truck. Brown fur spotted with grey glittering in the moonlight. Trevor could do nothing but cower in the face of such power — even though he claimed not to submit to it. 

“Get lost before I rip out y’r throat,” Royal sneered.

Trevor scrambled to his feet and ran off whimpering. Billy followed quickly behind.

As soon as he was gone, Tessa turned to Rhett. She could feel her muscle and bone shifting, fur receding — the wolf retreating back inside her human form. The calm brought on by her Alpha’s presence and the oncoming exhaustion forced her to change. Just as Rhett seemed to have done as he lay there just a boy, twitching and bleeding. 

“Rhett,” she sighed as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh god.” 

There were claw marks on his neck and collarbone. An indent of teeth and canines torn through his t-shirt at his side, blood still weeping to the surface. He clutched at his stomach, where the bleeding was the worst, fingers digging in as he tried to make it stop.

“M’gonna be fine, Tess,” he rasped out, his free hand curling around her wrist. “Don’cry.” 

She didn’t even realize she was. But she could feel it now. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and blurred her vision to vague shapes as she clutched at his torn shirt. Put her hand over the cuts on his neck to somehow make the healing go faster. Imbue him with some of her own power just to make it stop.

She had never seen so much crimson in her life.

“What the hell d’you think y’were doin’?” Royal bellowed suddenly, rounding Rhett’s prone form to stare his youngest pack members down — eyes still burning red even in his human state.

Beyond her control, Tessa felt her mouth open and words begin to fall out, “We-We were just playin’. Horsin’ around. Th-They came outta nowhere.” 

Royal put his hands on his hips. “You cross the fence line?”

“No!” she shouted, tears making her throat burn. “Couldn’t even — see it.” 

“Dad, let off’er,” Rhett croaked, trying to sit up. “We weren’t doin’ nothin’. Swear.”

Royal was silent for a moment. His shoulders heaving and nostrils flaring as he stared down at the two of them. His youngest betas, freshly turned born wolves only fifteen years old. So much to learn. So much they didn’t know. So must he wanted to keep from them just to preserve them as they were when they left the ranch house an hour ago. Laughing together. Playing together. As young pups should.

But now his son lay bleeding. The girl who would follow him anywhere by his side, blood all over her hands and clothes. Fear in both their eyes. In the tremble of their hands. In the way they looked to him for answers he didn’t possess.

They couldn’t go back to being those children now.

“Com’on,” he spoke simply, quietly. 

In a moment, Royal was overcome by his wolf once more. Standing tall and proud before lowering his belly to the ground. Tessa helped Rhett to his feet, then with her arm around his waist — careful of his injury despite it no longer hurting him — she assisted him over to his father. The exhaustion was really starting to set in now. Deep in her bones. Not only from the horror with the Tillersons but merely from the transformation. Girl to wolf and back to girl again. She wouldn’t be able to get back to her wolf form until she was rested even if she tried. 

Rhett climbed up onto his father’s back first. Smearing blood into his fur. Then Tessa followed, settling in front with her fingers tangled in the long coarse hairs.

“Hang on,” Royal’s nearly imperceptible rumble sounded in her thoughts. 

And then they were off at a trot. She squeezed her legs around Royal’s middle, much like she did when she rode her horse. Rhett slumped against her back, hands bracing himself against her thigh and waist. He groaned as they bounced along, forehead coming to rest against her shoulder. 

“They hurt you?” he asked quietly.

The crickets were chirping again. An owl hooted somewhere — mouse in its talons.

“No,” she replied, looking over at his sweaty hair drenched in moonlight. “M’okay.” 

He only grunted in reply. A confirmation. A sound she had heard so many times before but this time it made her smile. A relieved sort of thing as she leaned back against him just a little more. It was a sound she could have never heard again. The thought scared her. Made her blood run cold as she looked back at the west pasture one final time. A line of trees and swaying grass disappearing as they turned north. Never to return. Her Alpha didn’t even have to say it for her to know.

When they arrived back at the Abbott ranch house, her parents were standing outside waiting for her. Her father with his hands on his hips, her mother holding a shawl around her shoulders, hand pressed anxiously to her neck. Rhett’s older brother, Perry, stood on the porch with his mate under his arm. Rebecca, turned by the bite only a year ago, her hand resting on her rounded belly. Rhett was no longer leaning on her as much, hands retreating from her as his strength returned. He didn’t even need help getting down from Royal’s back — sliding off first as soon as his father came to a stop.

Once on solid ground, her parents rushed her. Her mother squeezed up and down her arms, looking all over for any sort of wounds or marks. Her father cupped the back of her head and gently forced her to look up at him. His face was stern but his eyes swam with a fear she had never seen before. 

“M’okay. M’not hurt,” she assured, even as her mother continued to fuss. “S’Rhett that needs tendin’ to.” 

She looked over her mother’s shoulder to her friend as he lowered himself down onto the porch steps with a grimace, clutching his side. It was true that his wounds were already beginning to heal. What would have still been bleeding and most likely killed an average person, was already clotted. But precautions still had to be taken, wounds bandaged and sealed together to help the healing along. 

Tessa’s mother, as Waya Pack’s healer, turned to the young boy. But stopped when Royal growled. 

“In his room, June,” he gruffed out as he walked past, blood stains on his jacket. “I wan’both of’em inside and kept tha’way till mornin’. Burn their clothes.”

He pounded up the steps past his son, barely sparing him a glance. Then he disappeared inside the house, the screen door slamming shut behind him. Perry and his bride followed suit. Only Rebecca looked back at Rhett with a kind of sympathy Tessa had never seen an Abbott display before, pretty blonde hair flicking over her shoulder.

Her father came to collect her clothes an hour later. T-shirt and jeans covered in dirt and blood and darkness and glowing white eyes. He wouldn’t meet her eye and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. Tessa’s hair hung damp around her shoulders as she passed off the bundle through the small crack she had made in the door.

“Y’alright, bug?” he asked softly, clothes held at his side.

No she wanted to say. She wanted to burst into tears like a child and have him hold her in his lap like he would back then. Put on cartoons and give her a treat to help her forget. But those days were over and done. Her friend almost died. She almost died. The Tillersons were still out there. Watching them from only a few miles away. Waiting to strike. 

She just nodded instead. “S’Rhett okay?”

Her father sighed and smiled, a small knowing thing. “He’s jus’fine. Should be all better come mornin’.” 

Tessa nodded again and he shut the door with a goodnight. But how could she possibly go to sleep? When she still heard Trevor’s cold whisper in her mind like an icy wind and saw the tearing of flesh from bone? She lay in her bed, quilt pulled up to her chin, and stared at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. It made sense why they didn’t return to the Abernathy home across town. The pack needed to stay together after such an event. But so much like the child she felt she could no longer be, she craved her own bed. Her own quilted blanket her mother made while pregnant with her. Her own popcorn-textured ceiling. For her and her friend never to have gone into the west pasture in the first place.

After what felt like several hours of trying, Tessa threw back her blankets and got out of bed. The floorboards creaked and groaned as she crossed the room to the window. The world was a black void. Only illuminated by the bright, shining disc of the moon. Almost full. She could feel its power tingling in her chest, in the tips of her fingers.

Cecelia Abbott, before she passed on from this life, used to say that the Moon Goddess had cursed Waya Pack. Abandoned them to a world set against them. Why else would the Tillerson family turn away from the pack and their numbers shrink to barely seven? Waya was a pack the Goddess wanted dead — for what sins Cecelia could never say. But Tessa did not think, as she looked up into the pale moon’s comforting face, that the Goddess could be so cruel. She was of blessings and curses, but she cared for her children. Even in the bleakest of hours. 

Opening the window, knowing the whole house could hear her, she climbed out onto the roof. The shingles were rough beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. With the night came cooler air, still dry, but somehow more tolerable.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” a voice asked. 

She jumped and turned, only to see Rhett sitting there in his pajama bottoms, hugging his knees. Shoulder and side held together with crimson-stained bandages. His blue eyes looked swollen from crying in the moonlight, but she didn’t comment on it. 

“No,” she said as she crawled over to sit next to him.

Rhett took a shaky breath. “M’sorry. We shoulda…Shoulda jus’gone t’the creek.” 

“S’not y’r fault.” 

He didn’t say anything to that. Only sniffed and leaned back on the heels of his hands, legs outstretched. “Waddaya think’s gonna happen now?”

“I don’ know,” she said with a shrug, looking up at the stars spattered across the sky like spilled salt. “Now tha’we’re full wolves, I guess we’ll find out.”

Now that we’ve seen blood. Now that we’re not kids anymore. 

Rhett grunted that familiar low noise and Tessa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Not yet boy and not yet man. His hair was cut short like his mother preferred but Tessa knows he hates. A lone curl brushed his forehead. Blue eyes like stormy skies turned towards the moon. To the goddess who felt so far above. 

She knew they weren’t mated. If they were, they would know by now. Her mother having long before told her the signs. That unexplainable draw to them, that connection. She knew she didn’t have that with Rhett, but it didn’t stop her from feeling something for him. It didn’t stop her heart from racing anytime they shared looks across rooms or tables, secrets and jokes and promises to laugh later. It didn’t stop her stomach from filling with butterflies anytime he touched her. It didn’t stop her from dreaming about one day, maybe, them being together. Taking residence in the little cottage on her parents' land and filling it with pups of their own. It was a fool's dream, but a good dream. 

It didn’t stop her from wondering if his actions today were some evidence that he felt the same.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” she asked, he just turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, so she went on. “Why’d you…Defend me like that to the Tillersons?”

Her hand inched across the shingles towards his own, grating against her palm like sandpaper. A fool’s hope. What if…?

The corner of his mouth ticked up before he said, “‘Cause y’re my best friend. Couldn’t stand’em talkin’bout you like that.”

Heart no longer racing. Butterflies put to rest. Of course. They were friends. Nothing more. Always would be. Tessa drew back her hand. Turned her face towards the moon, the Goddess’ eye hung so high, high up in the sky, and said nothing more.

Two years later, Rhett and Tessa were still just pups in everyone else’s eyes. Though Rhett was now nearly as big as his father in wolf form and even taller than him as a boy. Strong and powerful — ready for a fight. Tessa remained the smallest member of the pack, but she was stealthy, quick and quiet — her eyes keen.

The two of them grew even closer. Sticking together both in and out of school. Tessa never brought up her feelings for Rhett, no matter how much they grew as they grew too. They were friends, best friends, and always would be. Wolves in the same pack. Together until the end.

And nothing further had happened with the Tillersons. That Omega clan. But Waya Pack remained ready, vigilant, cautious.

Until one day Rebecca went on a walk to left off some steam after a fight with Perry. 

She never came back home.

They searched for three days on their own, wolf noses turned to the earth, following her scent. Eventually, they crossed the west pasture and the smell of death. Perry howled, a sorrowful sound that rattled the trees, ready and willing to go onto Tillerson land and kill them all. But they were too many, and Waya was too few. Even more so now that Rebecca was gone.

So Royal turned to the law. Hoped they could find something to lock Wayne and the rest of his spawn away forever. But the sheriff couldn’t find a shred of evidence, going so far as to turn the blame back on Perry after hearing about the fight they had. 

They searched for a year, but eventually, the police just stopped looking.

Their little daughter, Amy, was only two years old. Eyes as big and blue as the sky and bright blonde hair down to her ears. The spitting image of her turned-wolf mother. Tessa held the toddler on her lap as the sheriff delivered the news that Rebecca was gone — and there was nothing to be done.

Waya Pack, settled in Wabang and ruled by Abbott blood for over 200 years, was down to six fighting wolves. Dying — on the brink of extinction. Cursed. For what sins Tessa still didn’t know, but she tried to repent of them regardless. To save her family, her friends, her way of life. 

Her everything.

Seven days after the police gave up on their search for Rebecca, three days after Tessa’s eighteenth birthday, Royal asked the Abernathy clan to come to dinner. 

Not an unusual occurrence. In fact, the families had dinner together multiple times a week in those days. When the world seemed to be caving in around them and their only hope was each other. But the air felt…Off as they sat around the cramped kitchen table and ate their chicken and potatoes. Gone was the usual quiet calm, the strength that comes with being together as a pack. It was replaced by a tense silence, parents sharing sidelong glances, and the uneasy scraping of cutlery against China. 

She glanced at Rhett to see if he was feeling the same and he gave her a look back. He was. He felt it too. They wondered if the storm would break during or after their meal.

After, it seemed it would be. As Royal led everyone into the living room and her parents decidedly sat in the armchairs on either side of the couch, Royal choosing to stand by the fireplace. Rhett and Tessa shared another look. Eyebrows furrowed, lips turned down in frowns. What is going on? They sat down on the couch together slowly, looking around at everyone with shifting eyes — noticing that Perry did not join them. The storm clouds were dark, ready to burst at any moment. Their parents kept looking at them anxiously, almost with pity. 

Rhett opened his mouth to tell them to just be out with it. 

But Royal beat him to the punch: 

“The Abernathy’s’n I’ve been talkin’. You two’re goin’t’get married.” 

The storm had only just begun.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

[narcolini]

caught out

frank castle x gn!reader, 1164 words

warnings for canon typical behaviours, reader’s one of the bad guys basically

for day 29 of whumpril: surrender & ‘final warning’

a/n: honestly i was almost tempted to make this into an oc fic becaue id made the reader character so fun and specific buuut i dont have the time or facilities to right now BUT maybe i will return to the idea in the future 👀 ps. love you madani im so sorry sweetie

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @ashlingiswriting @hausofmamadas​ 

You’ve got a sight on her. Quite literally, your sight is lined up with the back of her head. Through the window she’s dumb enough to leave open after dark, curtains pinned back by the sides still. You adjust your grip. Your hands on the sniper, the rifle’s belly on the ledge, your knee in the gravel covering the roof-top. It’s a perfect shot from the perfect position. Better than you’ve ever had, and ever will again, really. Not by fucking luck, but patience, of course. Sheer fucking will.

You take a moment to check the sound again, turning up the volume of the radio pack attached to your waist. It crackles to life into your ear piece. Still watching television, Madani? A movie by the sounds of it—action, with a loud soundtrack, and louder gunshots. She’s still alone, still fixing her eyes to the phone in her hand. There’s no reason to wait. Distracted, unaccompanied, clueless. It’s all set up, just how you intended.

You stretch your trigger finger out, then put it back into place. Take a breath, exhale—completely. Hold.

‘Put it down.’

You freeze, because what the fuck else can you do, when there’s a gun set to curve of your skull, and a cold voice from behind you? There shouldn’t be anyone else up here, wasn’t, until now. And you hadn’t heard him approach, because of the fuzzing movie in your head.

You know who it is, of course, because it’s always Frank lately. If not for you, then for anyone else you talk to. He’s quicker than the cops nowadays. Has fucked up more plans and schemes, and just-fucking-revenge than anyone on Madani’s team.

He reaches around to tug the ear piece free of your ear, tossing it to the ground. ‘You didn’t hear me?’

‘I was on the phone,’ you lie, putting no effort at all into making it convincing. You’re leaning away from the sight now, looking at Madani’s apartment with just your own eyes, and watching her move from the couch, away from the window. He’s made you lose your chance. Stolen the moment from under you. You sigh. ‘You messed up my shot, dude.’

He doesn’t laugh—because of course not. Too serious for his own good. He already has you, he may as well take a load off.

‘Try wearing black next time,’ he comments, dryer than you were.

‘You mean camo doesn’t work in urban environments?’ You try to look back at him, just for the nose of his pistol to push your head forward again. Chin almost into your chest. Fucking ow, he could break the skin doing that. ‘Thought we had the same goal, Castle,’ you say, altering your angle. ‘I do this, and you got one less bloodhound on your trail.’

They’ve got him in the news now. Face on every TV screen. With Madani dead, it’d be a Hell of an easier job for him to do the same. Fake death, new life, start all over. He should be begging you, honestly. Should be lining your rifle back up and giving you a countdown.

‘Final warning.’ The gravel crunches as he stresses it, bringing himself closer. ‘Hands up.’

For a moment, you consider testing him. How final is final, after all? Boot to your shoulder, rifle forced to the floor, final? Or you over the edge of the fucking building, a pancake on the ground below, before you’ve even had chance to fight back, final?

‘Alright.’ You straighten, lifting both palms to the air by your head, so the gun swings loose on its strap. Over your shoulder like a birthday sash. ‘No killing today.’

He grabs you before you can even finish your laugh. Turns you roughly, violently, until you’re on your ass, back to the short wall between you and the sidewalk, ten stories beneath. He’s knelt like you were now, in your spot, with his fist twisting in the material of your collar. Knuckles to the bone, face inches from yours. Jesus, you pant a laugh, you’ve already conceded. There’s no need for all this. If he wants to make-out, he should’ve just said so.  

‘Y’know,’ you say, smiling through the ache in your back, and the pressure he’s applying to your chest, ‘I think we’d make a great team. If we worked together.’

‘I work alone.’

‘Eh, but that’s not true, is it, Frank?’

His eyes squint a fraction, then flick away from you. Then he’s talking over your shoulder like you aren’t even there. ‘Yeah, well, you’d be the last name on my list if I needed help.’

‘But I make the list?’ You suck a breath through your teeth. ‘Damn, I’m better than I thought.’

He pushes against you again, gaze coming back to yours. Fun’s over. You can see it in his face. You’re one sarcastic comment away from a bloody nose, a black eye. ‘What’s your deal with Madani?’ he asks. Right to the point.

You wind your head to the side. ‘That’s classified, I’m afraid.’ And it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Your vendettas are no less worthy than his own. ‘You wanna fight for it? Loser tells all their secrets?’

His fist turns another fraction, the cotton around your throat tightens.

‘Sure,’ you pant, ‘choke me out. But you gotta stick around til I wake up again.’ You paint a smile onto your lips that you know, you know, pisses him off, just for fun of it. ‘I don’t wanna miss saying goodbye.’

You watch the cogs turn, slow behind his eyes. He’s debating it, that’s for certain. Make you pass out, or bring you with him. Hell, maybe going other the edge is still an option, you should never assume death is out of the question for him.

Eventually, after thirty—two minute long—seconds, he grunts, pulling you up as he stands. No free-fall sky diving for you today. He’s dragging you back with him toward the rooftop’s exit, feet stumbling after his own. You’re trying to stay parallel with him, or even walk ahead to gain some advantage, but you can’t fucking get your feet straight under yourself. Boots catching, rifle nose bouncing by your knees. He may as well have knocked you out. It’d be smoother for him to drag you by the heel, than continue like this.

‘You don’t wanna talk?’ he says. ‘Fine, I got time.’

‘You gonna torture it out of me, Frank?’ He hasn’t hit you yet, he’s barely even grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark that’ll last. ‘Somehow I don’t believe you.’

‘Yeah,’ he breathes a laugh, ‘that’ll change.’

And is it wrong to say you’re excited, just a bit, in a weird, fucked up kind of way? That you hope he’s actually right? That his threats become real and he forces the answers out of you, somehow. That you get to see the Punisher, finally, in all his bloodied glory.  

[tallglassofchoccymilk]

At long last, I have redesigned Bellis, Pye’s horrid grandmother.

….Anyway. Would.

WHAT. WHO SAID THAT.

[gumnut-logic]

Along the Way (Part 3)

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Oh my goodness, September last year! Early September last year - was the last time I posted a part of this fic. I didn't forget it! Here is Part 3!

Thank you to @onereyofstarlight for her amazing support and for listening to my whinging and my migraine as we proofed this together. Also to @womble1 and @idontknowreallywhy for their contributions to this universe :D I had much fun rereading the whole series over the last couple of days - enough to get me writing again :D And, of course, Thunderfam at large - your support for Alexander Sweetapple as an OC has been overwhelming and I love all of you :D

Anyways, here's an answer to my evil cliffhanger from Part 2 :D I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

He woke in the dark.

Damnit, he’d fallen asleep at his desk again.

A few disconnected seconds and he realised he was not sitting at his desk - but something equally as hard was in his lap, jammed into his belly. There was grit under his fingertips.

His head hurt like that time Erica had conned him into drinking with her and Fred.

He blinked. Erica and Fred. The big Scotsman was very polite around her, and she did smile often around him.

But then Fred was always polite and Erica smiled all the time.

Somewhere water was dripping.

Alex groaned.

What the hell happened?

He reached up to touch his head and amongst the grit and dirt a sharp source of pain explained clearly why he didn’t remember.

Really, lying down and going back to sleep felt like the right thing to do.

His head drooped.

But…

What remained of his brain started putting things together and the sum of his circumstance did not add up well.

Blink.

Orientation at Tracy Industries had a mandatory safety class. It involved first aid and a huge list of things to remember in an emergency, symptoms and things to look for in situations. Alex had paid a lot of attention as part of the course was delivered by a holographic recording of Mr Scott Tracy, and the fanboy in him had lit up like a Christmas tree. Of course, that was before he actually met Mr Tracy, and Gordon…

And Virgil’s eyebrows.

Blink.

Disorientation was a symptom.

Sleepiness was a symptom.

Pounding headache was a symptom.

Darkness and dirt were likely a cause. Darkness and dirt. He clenched his fingers on the surface in front of him. Grit caught in his fingernails.

Light. He needed light.

His phone.

He fumbled for his back pocket. Found it empty.

A whimper to his right.

Blink.

The whimper became a sob and he found himself twisting in that direction.

He still needed light.

“Are you okay?” Apparently he had a voice, cracked and dry, but a voice nonetheless.

“I’m stuck.” High-pitched and frantic.

“I’m coming.” He shifted, pushing out from under what was trying to pin him. The movement set off a cascade of creaking and rumbling, dust puffed into the air and he was coughing.

Ow.

Ow.

But then everything began to shake. Tremor!

Screams around him spoke of several distressed people he couldn’t see. The shaking was intense and the structure around them groaned and creaked, dust clogged his lungs. Somewhere in the distance something snapped with a sharp crack and his world moved sideways.

Shit!

But then everything stopped almost as suddenly as it had started.

All that was left were the sounds of water, and crying, terrified people.

It was startlingly sobering.

Something crucial must have moved in the chaos because there was now the faintest of light in the dark, as if someone had turned on a desk lamp down the hall and around several corners. Not much, but enough to see shapes, barely.

Something above creaked alarmingly.

People were still crying.

“It’s okay, I’m coming.” He shifted his body, ignoring its twinges and complaints. His ankle caught on something but he pulled it out of the dark and ended up on his belly, crawling towards the closest person in distress.

“Hey.” He reached out and found what felt like a shoulder. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

Was it?

“I’m stuck.” She, because she sounded like a she, moved and the whole world around them groaned and shifted.

Dirt fell in Alex’s hair.

-o-o-o-

“Hold still, big bro.” Calm and reassuring, Gordon was running his hands over Virgil’s tangled limbs, scanner in hand.

“I’m fine, Gordon. We have a job to do.” There were so many more lives to save. He tried to sit up, but found himself still entangled in his exosuit.

“You can afford to stay still for a moment, Virgil, and let Gordon check you over.” John’s voice was calm but a little threatening. Virgil knew the routine. Behave yourself or the Voice Who Answers will tattle-tale to the Commander Who Frets and will kick Virgil’s ass if he doesn’t stay still.

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes a moment.

It would be so nice to just sleep.

But then Alex smiled at him and Virgil’s heart wrenched.

There was no time. Lives needed saving.

He engaged the exosuit and its hydraulics whined.

“Virgil!”

But Virgil wasn’t listening and no brother could prevent the exosuit from moving. Gordon scurried back, scanner flickering and beeping, and Virgil rose into a scene of destruction.

The centre of Gisborne was little more than piles of rubble, a few random buildings still standing, but so many not. He could see clear to the fork in the Tūranganui River.

GDF forces were finally landing, their rescue experts deploying equipment. No doubt IR would be coordinated shortly.

“Sit rep!” Virgil’s voice was harsh and grated across his throat.

Gordon glared at him. “Bruising and a stubborn ass.” He slipped his scanner back into his kit. “Aftershock. We got targets one through fifty-two. Alan’s working on the rest.” Gordon turned back to his pod, stomping off his worry as anger.

Virgil sighed and straightened his shoulders. Bruises bitched in reminder. “Thunderbird Five, targets to my HUD.”

His space-bound brother’s voice was about as pissed as Gordon’s. “Sending now.” A grunt of frustration. “Take it easy, Thunderbird Two.”

Virgil grunted at him and went back to doing his job.

Refusing to ask the status of Scott’s situation.

He couldn’t afford it.

-o-o-o-

Scott’s situation…was getting more dire by the moment.

They were down to one lifesign and his big brother heart was aching.

All but Erica and Alex were accounted for and if he was honest with himself, he was terrified

He had worked with both the engineers…well, not extensively, that was more Virgil’s area. But he had seen the smiles on his brother’s face regarding Alex, and Erica reminded him of Gordon, except with more pink…or blue…or…hell, one of them was probably dead!

The Commander stepped in and shoved the emotion into that box he kept at the back of his mind. What happened, happened, and he would deal with it as it came.

The lifesign blinked on his HUD.

“Ready to lift!” Fireman Fred had a crane attached to the final slab of concrete.

The team of TI Māhia was formidable and Scott couldn’t help but feel proud of them. They were a great group of people.

The slab began to lift and he held his breath, body poised to move.

The team had made it abundantly clear that they didn’t like their leader diving into the rubble, but today he was International Rescue and there was no way he was risking anyone else.

“Clear!”

Acknowledgement from Thunderbird Five and Scott was moving. Nimble on winged boots, he leapt over the rubble and beneath the hanging slab.

Darkness, dirt, broken furniture, a smashed laptop…and a small figure curled up in a fetal position.

Too small to be Alex.

Too pink-haired to be Alex.

His scanner out, he waved it over a prone and injured Erica Stoltz as his heart both broke and burst with guilt at the same time.

Bruising, broken arm, she blinked up at him, dirt falling from her hair. “Mr Tracy?” Her voice was whispered terror.

No spinal threat, possible head injury, safe to move. “Hey, Erica.” His voice was soft, aimed to reassure. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He reached down and gently scooped her into his arms. Dirty pink hair rested on his shoulder. “Inter…national Rescue.”

“Yeah.” He shifted into a crouch, balanced her weight in his arms and stepping over the remains of the lab, climbed up and out of the rubble. “We’re here to help.”

A cheer met him as the crowd caught sight of Erica. Tia was smiling through the tears in her eyes.

Alex…

An image of the engineer letting go of an exhausted Virgil on the beachfront of Whitianga, eyes wide as he stared up at Scott. Virgil smiling over a shot of whisky in the evening air on their balcony, Alex’s name on his lips. Alexander dropping his computer in heroic reverence over Scott himself and later Scott’s father…again.

As he strode towards the TI team, triumphant at another member found safe, Scott’s mind was roiling over the member they had lost.

They were friends. Only friends.

Friends forever.

Fuck.

The medical team swooped in and Scott gently deposited Erica on a hoverstretcher.

He smiled down at her. “You’re safe now.”

She stared up at him wide-eyed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned away to face both Fred and Tia and what now must be done.

His HUD had no more lifesigns to give any hope. “Thunderbird Five, confirm rescue complete.”

There was silence for a moment, an unusual hesitation in the air. “Confirmed, Thunderbird One. All lifesigns accounted for.”

Perhaps he still had hope because those words dashed whatever was left.

Tia looked up at him and Fred looked down. Both faces spoke reality.

Scott cleared his throat. “We need to find Mr Sweetapple. Where was he last seen?”

Tia blinked and it was her turn to clear her throat, but she straightened, as professional as he. “Mr Sweetapple had just returned from visiting his mother in Napier. He was still technically on leave, but I suspect he returned to his lab anyway.” She drew in a breath. “He loved his work.”

Past tense.

Past tense always hurt.

He straightened again, his hand reaching out to touch Tia’s arm. “We will find him.”

She stared up at him, tears welling in her eyes again. “I know.” Her lips pursed. “Thank you.”

He turned back to the rubble that had taken so much. Beside him, the medical team finished their examination of Erica and activated the hoverstretcher, ready to take her to the ambulance waiting…

Scott blinked.

Spinning on a heel, he pushed his way towards the engineer. “Erica, do you know where Alex was before the quake hit? We need to find him.”

Wide blue eyes look up at him…and frowned. “Alex?” She looked out over the remains of the labs. “So glad I kicked him out. He could have-“ She hitched in a breath.

Scott froze. “What?”

“He is going to be so pissed. All his work…” She blinked as if suddenly realising exactly she who she was talking to. She moved to sit up. Both Scott and the medical team hurrying to stop her.

“Erica.” Scott crouched down, his heart missing beat after beat. “Where is Alexander Sweetapple?”

“In Gisborne. With his mother.”

-o-o-o-

Next

[rayslittlekitten]

Crankypants

“Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: I'm slowly but surely clearing out my WIP. This is also helping me get back into some sort of creative flow. I'm so grateful for all the positive feedback I've been getting regarding this series and all these snippets into this family's life. Thank you so much for all the love!

Rating: G

Word Count: 848

Pairing: Dad!Will "Ironhead" Miller & Daughter OC (Lucy) & Wife F!reader

Plot: Lucy throws a bit of a fit when she doesn't get what she wants.

Contains: banter, humor, cranky baby, breast feeding

"Ow! Lucy, what are you doing?" Will asks his toddler daughter who is yanking on his beard.

What started as father and daughter having a low key afternoon watching cartoons while she's sitting in his lap and mindlessly rubbing his beard with her small hands suddenly turned into her being fussy and agitated. Those tiny fingers can really get a good grip on his short hairs. Lucy proceeds to pull on it again, bringing his face closer to hers.

"Ow, stop! What is it?" Will follows her lead, mostly to prevent her from causing any more pain.

Lucy babbles as she continues to tug on her father's beard.

"W-what do you want?" Will asks.

She whines and pulls on his beard again. Will then rubs his face against hers and peppers kisses all over her face, but she whines, pushing his face away from hers. Trying to communicate to her father, she sputters and spits as she "talks" to him again. She grabs two little handfuls of hair on his face again, pulling it towards her.

"Ow! Lucy, stop!"

For a toddler, her fine motor skills and strength are pretty strong. He tries to remove her hands from his face.

"I don't know what you want. You want my beard?"

Lucy makes a noise that sounds like a confirmation while reaching for his beard, but starts screaming incoherently when his beard won't come off his face.

"Okay, I think it's naptime for you," Will tells her. "You're getting cranky."

Lucy shrieks and slides out of his grip as Will tries to scoop her up to bring her to her room, but she kicks and fights to get out of his arms.

"My child..." Will sighs deeply, watching her as she squirms and flails her limbs while laying on the couch, wailing so tragically.

"What's going on?" you ask as you walk into the living room.

"She's throwing a fit because I won't give her my beard," Will answers.

You only respond with the most confused look on your face.

"My beard won't come off my face. That's what it seems like she wants. She keeps pulling on it, and throws a tantrum when she can't pull it off of me."

"My silly girl," you laugh.

"I'd like to see you laugh when she yanks on your hair," Will throws back while scrubbing his face to soothe it.

"Oh, trust me, I know how that feels. Isn't that right, Little Miss Grabby Hands?" you coo as you effortlessly scoop Lucy up into your arms. "I think you need a nap."

"How the..." Will vaguely gestures his hands at you.  "She was fighting me when I tried to pick her up."

"Maybe she just wanted her mommy, isn't that right, sweetheart?" you coo at her again while gently caressing the top of her head.

Lucy is still crying and sniffling while laying her head on your chest but she's more calm, especially when her attention is now focused on your shirt. She starts pawing at it, reaching in trying to access your breasts.

"Okay, let's feed you and put you down for a nap," you tell her while rocking her.

"Is it feeding time already?" Will asks.

"It’s a little early but it's fine. She's hungry now it seems."

You sit next to Will on the couch and get Lucy in a comfortable position, cradling her head in the crook of your elbow while lifting your shirt. She's already grabbing at your bra and reaching with an open mouth before you can expose your nipple to her. She immediately latches on as soon as she sees your nipple. She coos and gurgles as the warm milk fills her belly.

"She was just hangry," Will points out.

As he watches Lucy feed, they make eye contact.  He playfully narrows his eyes at her, pointing two fingers at them, then turning them to her. She just continues to nurse while looking at Will dead in the eyes, unaffected by his silent threat.

"Will," you chuckle and roll your eyes. "Are you seriously competing with your own daughter - a baby, right now?"

"Nah," he replies, scrunching his nose.

"Maybe just competing with you," he laughs. "I see your game, Luce. You love daddy until it comes to feeding time. I see how it is."

"You're so silly." You roll your eyes again.

When Lucy is done, you hand her over to Will and clean yourself up.

"Oh, sure. I get burping duty."

"She falls asleep quicker when you're holding her. You know that."

"Yeah, when she doesn't throw it all up."

As if on cue, Lucy lets out a guttural burp right into Will's ear.

"That's not very lady-like," Will tells Lucy and then a giggle escapes from her.

Her fingers begin feeling around his face as her head rests on his broad shoulder. He gently rocks her and she finds the comfort she's been searching for. This time, no grabbing or tugging. Just her stubby little fingers rubbing his beard. He continues to lull her until her hand slips from his face.

[theunsweetenedtruth]

Promises (5)

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Ada Moore (OC)

AN: Originally written in 2018

They were seated across the room from each other, putting some much needed distance between them. Ada needed to have her mind clear of Erik and having him close, his touch, his smell, sent her into a tailspin. She wasn't that woman he left behind and she wasn't willing to fall back into old habits. Half truths and omissions wouldn't do anymore. At best she'd get her answers and they could move forward as co-parents. At worst, Erik would be on his bullshit. Ada expected a mixture of the two.

She could tell the distance between them irritated Erik. He was seated in the armchair, his legs spread, hands clenched on his thighs. His eyes roamed the room, looking at the person effects he recognized from their old place mingled with new pieces. He looked uncomfortable at the signs of a continued life, one without him.

"You owe me an explanation Erik," Ada started after a few moments of awkward silence. She expected push back but Erik just nodded. It was true and he couldn't deny it.

So he started with Klaue and the robbery of the museum, killing Klaue and heading to Wakanda. He talked about how he was king for all of forty-eight hours before T'Challa's return. When he spoke of wanting to die on the mountain, more tears welled up in Ada's eyes and he crossed the room to kneel at her feet.

"T'Challa offered to save me," Erik said annoyance in his voice, "but I thought it would be more heroic to just die there. My mission was complete, I didn't think I had anything to live for." Ada sobbed and closed her eyes. "But then I kept thinking about you, and how I promised I would come back. I ain't never broken a promise to you so I let them heal me." He caressed her cheek and she nuzzled into his hand. "I've been there this entire time, getting my head right and trying to get people to trust me." Erik scoffed. "They still don't trust me but T'Challa does and they trust him. I'm the protector of Wakanda now, the Golden Jaguar. I'm like an advisor because I know shit about how the world works that none of them do. They want to do things the peaceful way and I'm there to make sure they don't get screwed in the end. But as soon as I was allowed to leave Wakanda, I wanted to see you first. Ada, you're the only thing that kept me going. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you for this," he gestured to her belly, "but I'm gonna be there from here on out."

He pressed a tentative hand to her stomach, his thumb stroking. "Why didn't you let me know when you'd made it?" Ada asked. She was still unsure. Yes his story made sense but Erik was a man of action, not words. She was waiting for him to prove his words.

Erik swallowed roughly. "I was in a rough place when I got there. Nothing made sense to me but making sure I got revenge on the people that made our lives hell. But I would've come once I had full control of Wakanda. People were resistant even though I'd killed their king. My two days as king was a pain in the ass," he joked. But Ada wasn't in a laughing mood.

"So...what now?"

"Well I have an obligation to Wakanda. My freedom in the U.S. is based on my commitment as advisor. So I was hoping that you would want to come home with me."

"Erik...I don't know." His face fell and Ada hated the power he still seemed to have over her. "I can't just move to another country. My life is here, my job is here."

Erik stood up and began pacing back and forth. "What kind of life is it?" he spat at her. "You don't have anyone and you wouldn't have to work if you came with me."

Ada rose to her feet to block his path. "It's a life I created. It doesn't have to make sense to you but I'm not ready to jump back into our shit with you!" Erik went to interrupt but she held up a hand. "You had your chance and it's my turn now." She swallowed, wanting to get her point across without hurting him.

"When you left, I thought my world was collapsing. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. You're right that I have no one because I dedicated my entire being to catering to you when you were home and wondering when you would come back when you were gone." Erik averted his eyes from hers. "You were selfish with me and you kept me to yourself and I allowed you to. You lied a lot and left shit out and I let you. But when I found out I was pregnant I had more to live for besides you and someone else who needed me to dedicate my time to. So I figured this shit out. And you don't get to come back and make demands of me. I'm not that person. I can't be that person. I have someone else I have to put first and you need to earn my trust again."

Ada was out of breath at the end of her monologue and Erik was standing there clenching his fists again. Abruptly, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Of course you fucking leave when you don't get your way, asshole," Ada muttered under her breath.

Two hours later, Erik walked back into the apartment wearing regular clothes and carrying a duffle. Ada stood in the kitchen washing her dinner dishes.

"What's with the bag?"

He slowly met her eyes. "You said you weren't coming with me and I can't earn your trust halfway around the world. So I'm gonna crash here, if that's alright with you?" He arched an eyebrow at her. She nodded, shocked at him acting like an adult. He crossed to the couch–the same one from their last apartment–and began pulling equipment from the bag. Ada watched in disbelief; he was really there in her apartment, setting up what looked to be his home office, wanting to get to know this new version of her and earn her trust. She was already impressed at his nerve but she tried to beat it back. And her hormones.

Erik looked just as good, if not better than when he left. Him being back in Ada's space, suffocating her with his presence had her ready to lay on her back and spread her legs open for him. His dominating aura and smell was setting her body off. She thought pregnancy had gotten rid of any libido she'd had but all she had to do was get her baby daddy in the room again.

"Plus I figured you look about ready to have that baby," he continued, interrupting her thoughts. "It's not safe for you to be alone here."

"What about your job?" She came around to perch on the arm of the couch, watching him type codes into the laptop.

"It's fine. I let T know what was going on. I can advise from here."

"Okay...I'll, uh, get you some sheets for the couch."

"Cool," he said meeting her eyes. Ada felt like he could see through her, to where she was suppressing her desires for him. They were bubbling up to the surface and ready to explode. Ada jumped up from her seat to gather the linens for him, breaking eye contact in the process.

When she returned with blankets, he'd stripped down to just his boxers, his ring on his chain glinting in the light of table lamp. Ada swallowed roughly before setting the blankets the chair farthest from him working on the computer and turning to escape to the relative privacy of her bedroom.

"Hey," Erik called out. Ada turned back to him in question. "What are we having?"

She smiled. "It's a girl."

His face softened before he cleared his throat and ducked his head back into his work.

"Cool," he resumed typing. "Goodnight, Ada."

"Goodnight, Erik."

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

I've got this burning desire to set you on fire

by strangersatellites

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Will Byers, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson Additional Tags: characters are my OC's now, Therefore, They ARE out of character, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Modern AU, Teacher Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Eddie owns a bar also, as a side hustle, Established Relationship, sex tags everybody cheer, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, AS I SAID, the relationship is established, off-screen kink negotiation obviously, Choking, Eddie wants to be a mean Dom so bad, but he is so soft for Steve, Belly Bulge, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Subspace, its not that serious, lot of plot, little porn, but good porn, Oh My God, Steve is a groupie, how could i forget - Freeform, corroded coffin is low-key big, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington Words: 13,217 Chapters: 2/2

Summary

“Alright gang, don’t forget to have reports on classical literature that has been turned into film submitted by the end of the day tomorrow! I will be grading them during my office hours on Friday! I have a hot date this weekend and I will not be missing it because you hooligans didn’t get your work done on time! Got it?” A chorus of wolf whistles and peals of laughter sound out over the zipping of book bags and students flooding the halls. His front-row class clown, Lucas, cheers, “Ow ow! Get some Mr. H! Who’s the lucky lady?” Steve props up against the front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. “My partner finally has a Saturday night off so we made plans.” Stopping on his way out of the room, resident boy genius Dustin spins on his heel. “Wait wait wait. You’re like, dating dating someone?!” He shrieks. The teacher huffs out a laugh, these kids are not very observant. “Uh, I’m engaged actually.” Or, the one where Steve thinks his students can guess who he is engaged to. Rockstar Eddie Munson was never on their radar.