#I don’t remember why I decided that but

[stxrslutrestored]

BE STILL

pairing; rafe cameron x sweetie!reader

summary; rafe works a lot, and you need a lot, that means sometimes you have to come to a compromise 

content; ddlg dynamics, subspace, slight dry humping, cockwarming, female masturbation

authors note; lowkey I rushed the ending but I wanted to have at least one new full blurb out on each of my blogs

rafe is working in his office, doing some pointless admin work on his laptop that he claims is crucial, you know it’s not.

all day you’ve been huffing and puffing. hot and bothered, unable to calm yourself down. you need to be taken care of. you’d told rafe as much but all he’d done is promised you that he would later. you don’t want it to be later. 

it’s about midday when you decide enough is enough and go to see rafe. your mind is already starting to go fuzzy and you fear you won’t be able to stay stable by yourself. you pad down the hallway in your bare feet towards his home office. 

he doesnt turn back when you walk through the door, approaching from behind. you go up to him and he swivels his chair round momentarily, letting you climb into his lap and straddle him. you immediately cuddle up as he turns back to face the desk. 

you sit in silence for a moment before he speaks “what’chu doin’ up here huh?” he murmurs, still working around you, fingers tapping away at his keyboard. 

you bury your face in his chest “need you rafe.” you tell him, “need to stop thinkin’ please.” you say. 

rafe nods, rubbing your back with a free hand for a moment, “thought I told you to wait for that baby? don’t remember that?” he asks, still not looking. 

you whine, “can’t wait daddy.” you tell him, “just can’t wait. tried so hard but… but need you daddy.” you look up with your best wide eyes, needing him to take care of you right now. you notice that you’re absentmindedly starting to grind forward, your crotch starting to rub up just a bit against his. 

he sighs, “you really can’t wait huh?” you shake your head, affirming his question. he sighs again and then nods, “I’ll take care of you baby.” he tells you, “but gotta let me finish my work. gonna sit n’ be nice an’ quiet for me okay?” 

“okay,” you nod, feeling immense relief as you finally let your thoughts begin to melt away. you’re grinding on him now, weakly, but surely you are. his hand comes to your back to support you for a couple of seconds. 

“wanna kiss. c’mere real quick, yeah?” you immediately comply, starting to suck on his bottom lip with great vigor. he kisses back for a little bit before slipping his thumb into your mouth and pulling you away. “gonna sit on dad’s cock now. yeah? but gotta be real still.” 

barely registering his words you move back, ketting him undo his fly and then pull your panties down from under your short skirt. he takes you by the hips and brings you forward, gently lowering you onto his cock. 

you whimper at the stretch, it stings just a little but you quickly get settled. the first few seconds are okay, because you normally don’t move to start with anyway. but after those seconds pass it starts to feel weird. you have the urge to squirm around and stimulate yourself but the moment you even make a hint of a movement he stops you and murmurs “be still.” 

you whine, “dad,” you fall into his chest, propping your head up on hsi shoulder, “lemme cum first please.” you ask him, “gonna be still after that daddy. promise.” 

rafe shakes his head, “why don’t you rub that little clit of yours, then. can make yourself feel good on daddy’s cock by yourself, but I aint doing any work until later.” you huff at that response, but mind ever so cloudy, you decide to do it anyway. 

your hand snakes down to where your pussy is wrapped around rafe’s cock, you start to rub little circles. while it’s exhausting and irritating at first, it eventually feels good, and you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling. 

rafe may be a busy guy, and sure he doesn’t take care fo you in the most conventional way. but really, you wouldn’t wish to be doing anything else right now. 

[matheoxs]

[THIS IS GONNA BE HARSH

No way you're not assuming things in your favor and expecting your desires please, make it make sense.

I'm going to speak for all bloggers because I know some of them are tired and scared to say it. But don't come to me asking how to manifest, for the love of fucking God, READ READ FUCKING READ.

No way we are going to 2025 and your ass still asking how to manifest this and that.

Assume and let it BE, that's it. What do you want me to tell you? Jump five times and roll or something? There's literally nothing else to do.

Not only that, but those anonymous asking if the Law of assumption is real? Like, until this day, bro, get a fucking grip. Jesus Christ.

You're going post by post trying to find something that will click for you and not even applying it. You're wasting your time. I'm not saying you can't read posts or whatever, but if you're not applying it, then you're wasting your time.

It's annoying, yes it is. When are you going to decide enough is enough? Because me and other bloggers can make posts every single day, but at the end of the day, it's you. It's literally you. It's your choice.

Enough is enough.

we are literally going to 2025, enough is enough. Stop with the bullshit. You know why you don't have your desires right now, you know it, and I don't have to tell you.

Someone can spread a rumor about somebody without proof, and you will believe it.

There have been many times in your life where you assume things without proof. Yes, there have, and you probably don't even remember, and it manifested itself in the 3D.

Why are you waiting for the blogger to come back? Are they your God? Stop the glaze, please. It's getting too far to the point where you see those bloggers bigger than you.

They manifested a big house, so can you?? They're not special, I promise you.

They manifested appearance change, so can you. They manifested being able to shift every time they want, so can you.

You can talk to those bloggers in real life, and you will realize they're just regular people. They're not that special, I'm not that special.

It's really not that serious.

Because of the likes they get on their posts, it makes you think that they're bigger. They're just numbers. Knock it out.

Now, let me get real with y'all. There's no such thing as unrealistic or big desires. You're the one labeling it as unrealistic or big desires.

Do you really think that the 3D says something like, "oh no, I can't reflect that, it's too unrealistic and big"?

Do you really think that the 3D looks at your desires and says that? Think about it for a sec. Now, YOU tell me, do you really think that the 3D thinks that?

Or is it just you labeling them as big and unrealistic? You see how you're always the one who assumes things???

I KNOW, SURPRISINGLY RIGHT? Well, it shouldn't be a surprise to you. You should already know that.

I don’t want ANY ANON coming in my asks asking me dumb ass fucking questions when you can just get your ass to read and try to actually understand

It’s actually really easy to understand if I’m being fr

There’s many bloggers who literally breaks it down in the most EASIEST WAY to understand

So stop with the excuses.

Stop trying to look for motivation especially shifters Omds

Im gonna write another post on this im not done yet call me mean wtv idc it had to be said loa bloggers ARE TIREDD

And I also think that’s why the loa community is kinda dying.

[ang3lc]

merry christmas, ya slags.

cw: none, johnnys oiled up and under your tree this year.

you’d been ranting about your latest dating disaster for the past twenty minutes, sprawled across johnny’s couch like it was your personal therapy session. johnny, on the other hand, was perched in his recliner, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he listened to you bemoan your fate.

“i just don’t get it,” you sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over your forehead. “why is it so hard to find a decent man? like, is there some sort of curse on me or something?”

johnny’s jaw clenched. he’d been biting his tongue for months, listening to you complain about men who weren’t good enough for you, all while ignoring the fact that he was obviously the best option.

“maybe you’re just blind,” he muttered under his breath, though you were too busy lamenting to hear him properly.

“what was that?”

“nothin’.” he waved you off, trying to keep his frustration in check. “keep goin’, 'm riveted.”

you sat up, squinting at him. “you’re being sarcastic.”

“nah,” he drawled, smirking in that infuriating way of his. “'m hangin’ on every word, promise.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t press him further, deciding to let it slide. it wasn’t until later, when you were at home scrolling through instagram, and you saw a simple post from a meme account—neon pink background with text saying: “need a 6'3 man oiled tf up under my tree. santa, i’m begging.”—straight to the close friends.

it was meant to be funny, nothing more, but johnny was, in fact, a close friend. when he saw it, it was like a switch flipped in his brain.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. you’d gone on and on about not finding the right man, and here you were going on about it again. if this wasn’t his cue to finally make a move, he didn’t know what was.

christmas morning was supposed to be peaceful. you’d planned on sleeping in, maybe making yourself a nice breakfast while you watched cheesy holiday movies. instead, you woke up to the faint sound of movement coming from your living room.

your heart raced as you shuffled out of bed, grabbing the nearest “weapon” you could find—an empty water bottle—and tiptoed down the hall. you cursed yourself for not locking your bedroom door, or maybe the front door. but as you peered into the living room, weapon raised, you stopped dead in your tracks.

there, lying shirtless—and oiled up—beneath your christmas tree, was johnny.

“mornin’, sunshine,” he greeted with a lazy grin, propping himself up on one elbow.

“what the fuck?” you sputtered, staring at him in utter disbelief.

he stretched out languidly, looking entirely too comfortable on your living room floor. “just fulfillin’ yer christmas wish, bon. ye said ye wanted a man oiled up under yer tree, yeah?”

your jaw dropped as the realization hit you. “johnny, it was a meme! i was joking!” no you weren't.

he shrugged, his grin widening. “aye, but ye’ve been complainin’ abo' not havin’ a man for months, so i figured i’d do somethin’ abo' it.”

“this is insane,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you took in the absurd sight before you. his toned chest gleamed under the soft glow of the christmas lights, and you couldn’t help but notice how good he looked, even if he was driving you insane.

“Nae, 'm brilliant!” he countered, gesturing to himself. “look at me, lassie. ’m the full package—oiled, under the tree, and wrapped in nothin’ but me boxers.”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed. it bubbled out of you uncontrollably, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation breaking through your initial shock.

“you’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“and yet,” he drawled, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees, “here ye are, not kickin’ me out. by the way, a water bottle's a shite excuse of a weapon.”

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “you broke into my house, johnny.”

“did nae such thing,” he said, feigning innocence. “ye gave me a key months ago, remember? said it was for 'emergencies'. this felt like one.”

“i've changed the locks since then, and this is not an emergency!”

he stood up, towering over you with that cheeky grin still plastered on his face. “depends how ye look at it.”

before you could argue, he stepped closer, his expression softening. “listen,” he said, his voice quieter now. “’m nae jokin’ when i say 'm tired of watchin’ ye pine after blokes who don’ see ye for who ye are. ye want someone under yer tree, yeah, someone to make ye happy? 'm right here, love. always have been.”

his words hit you like a ton of bricks, and for the first time, you saw him not as your goofy best friend, but as something more. and it definitely wasn't because of his resemblance to a fresh baked glazed donut.

“you’re serious,” you whispered, your chest tightening.

“dead serious,” he replied, his blue eyes locked on yours. “but it’s up to ye. tell me to go, and i’ll leave. but if you give me a chance, promise ye won’t regret it.”

you stared at him for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears. then, without thinking, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his skin.

“aye,” he said, holding you tightly. “but ye love me for it, don’ ye?”

you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “maybe.”

his grin widened. “that’s good enough for me.”

and as the snow fell quietly outside, you couldn’t help but think that this might just be the best christmas gift you’d ever received.

mlist

[aerospectrum]

“I didn’t mean to stand you up I promise!” Dean exclaimed softly, almost quieter than just speaking like normal. The guilt of secret keeping was already creeping in, but Dean swallowed it down.. not willing to tel her if she didn’t care to know… if she didn’t care then.. then he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong, him and Cas hadn’t kissed so why did he feel so guilty?

when Madison apologized he shook his head no. “You didn’t act stupid because you aren’t stupid, don’t say that.” He was serious; he never wanted her to talk shit on herself. He didn’t want that to be any sort of habit she held.

laying there flopped back in the couch blanket Dean waited for Madison to decide she didn’t want to be there anymore or that attempting to date wasn’t worth it with him, but he nudged the blanket off the side of his face and green eyes locked on her slightly bloodshot brown eyes when she said he deserved another chance. Slowly he sat back up and leaned an arm up over the back cushions to look at her for a while longer. “I haven’t dated in a really long time, I don’t know how the process is supposed to look.” He looked down with a defeated, dejected pout on his lips, pulling at the fabric strands on his blanket. “You don’t look awful or gross… Not to me.” His cheeks burned with a pink shade. “I’d introduce you to my friends but.. I’ve only got three of them and you’ve already met them all…” he sighed into a shrug. “And you’ve been to my work, and we’ve been to a movie, we’ve watched the stars. I don’t know what’s next and I don’t…

I don’t want you to think that I’m this guy who’s just waiting to treat you like shit and dump you when I get bored or stand you up for.. others without explaining. I want to explain- I think honesty and transparency is important; especially right now.” He sighed and pressed his hands to his face. “Do you remember any of last night, anything you said or… claimed— or anything I.. said?” He shook his head. If she didn’t care or even care to try to remember last night this was pointless, he didn’t want to be the thorn in her side. “I’ve gotta change these clothes I’ve still got blood on me and I don’t know what else I just… you can shower here if you want.. I won’t make you borrow my clothes I can throw your dress in a speed wash and have it mostly dry by the time you’re out if you want.”

When Dean forced her lips closed she was a bit taken aback. Her eyes widened but she didn’t try to pull away. She just blinked.

She took his hand & pulled it down & away from her mouth. But she didn’t pull entirely away. She held his hand in hers listening. “It doesn’t matter why…. Look… I think… we skipped a few steps. The last few days have literally been life changing & so much has happened between us… it almost feels like we would be taking steps back to act like we don’t know eachother very well.”

She bit her lip, “but I think that’s what we should do…. So… it’s fine. You stood me up & as much as that hurts…. It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me why. Infact…. I… I don’t really want to know.” Madison kissed his knuckles one by one. “I’m sorry I acted so… stupid.”

He looked cute slumped in the couch she had to admit that. And she very much adored the way he expressed himself. “You deserve another chance. And…. I want to make up for what I did.” Her small hands squeezed his & she sighed. “What do we do now? You’ve slept in my bed, I’ve slept in yours…. How do we… move forward by going backwards?” She frowned.

Dean had come into her life & rescued her, then they were stuck in some little fantasy week, but they were still strangers. Technically. It was confusing. “I must look awful. My face feels I gross right now.”

[manicmanuscription]

Solstice Morning

Azriel x Reader

Summary: It's the morning after Solstice and Azriel is perfectly content with you in his arms.

Word Count: 746

Warnings: None just pure fluff.

─── ♡ ───

The sun softly filtered through the half closed curtains, small streams of sunlight illuminating your sleeping form. Azriel had been awake for hours, content to watch you sleep. You just looked so peaceful, your hair strewn across his chest as you curled into him and the occasional snore all made his heart flutter with happiness. Hundreds of years being mated and it was his favorite thing to do. Reminding the intense bond that never seemed to settle that you were safe in his arms.

He trailed his scarred fingers up and down your arm absentmindedly. He could hear your children bickering with their cousins not very quietly a few halls down. A very hungover Cassian (having been the delegated babysitter for the morning so the rest of the Inner Circle could sleep in after the Solstice activities last night.) was trying and failing to keep the peace. Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother’s muffled pleas for quiet. 

You stirred softly in his arms at the noise, years of training had your body on alert even if a pinned drop. He kissed your forehead murmuring softly that you should go back to sleep. You nuzzled into his chest at that and his stomach flipped at the action. Even after all these years he still had a massive crush on you, everything you did awed him and every breath you took had him in wonderment of your beauty.

Azriel was pretty sure Cassian had fallen asleep on a surface somewhere in the house because soon he heard familiar giggling outside his door. Your daughters whispered to each other mischievously before the door clicked open softly and the twins tip-toed inside the room, flinging themselves on the bed at the last second and yelling boo. 

Azriel chuckled as they crawled closer and sat on the other side of you, doing their best to not step on the giant wing laid out underneath you. “Did we scare you daddy?” Venora whispered. “Yes you did sweetheart.” he whispered back and Cerys bent over your sleeping form. “Is Mama sleeping?” Cerys asked, trying and failing to be quiet, lunging to poke your shoulder and Azriel reached over you and gently grabbed her tiny hand in his before she could disturb you, putting it back in her lap and brushing a piece of her curly hair behind her ear in reassurance.

“Yes she is so we have to be quiet and use your inside voices remember?” “Why can’t she wake up?” Cerys whined. “Because she’s tired. Do you want to go back to sleep?” Although the way your breathing changed Azriel was almost 100% sure the twins had succeeded in waking you up. 

“NO!” They both answered immediately, voices raised and he gently sushed them, reminding them that you were still resting. “Ok than you don’t have to but this room is for sleeping people so unless you want to go back to sleep can you go find Uncle Cassian and ask him to help you get your coats for the snowball fight later?” Ever since more and more little ones had been slowly added to the family Azriel and his brother’s decided to start introducing their children to their years old Solstice morning tradition. 

“But I want you to help us daddy.” Venora said stubbornly and Cerys started asking him a million questions about when they’d go. Finally Cassian came and corraled them out of the room with an apologetic look and as soon as the door snicked shut once again and you opened your eyes, yawning and readjusting so you were somehow snuggled further into him. “Cassian is a horrible babysitter.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before you settled on his chest once again, throwing a leg over his. “They’re sneaky, I don’t blame him.” You hummed in agreement and he started playing with the ends of your hair. “Sorry they woke you up, I tried.” He murmured and you scoffed dramatically “It’s ok, I’m fine with never sleeping ever again.” He poked your side at your antics and you giggled, his heart beating faster at the sound. A few moments of silence passed, both of you content in each other’s arms until you leaned up and straddled his waist, letting the blankets fall and he watched you carefully, a rare smile gracing his features as you placed your hands on his chest leaning down to kiss him properly. 

“Goodmorning baby.” He rasped and you smiled. “Morning.” 

[marauder-misprint]

Permission

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff, swearing

Sirius makes it his mission to find Regulus before dinner. He doesn’t have any idea how he would convince Regulus, but he figures he’d start with asking him. Worst Regulus could say would be ‘no,’ right? And then Sirius could work on wearing his brother down until he said ‘yes.’ You may be a dear friend of Regulus, but Sirius was confident he could sway him.

Sirius makes his way to the library. He is almost certain Regulus would be there. He had seen you walk down toward the Slytherin Common Room so all he can do is hope Regulus is in the library and not awaiting you in the dungeons. He feels uneasy as he opens the library door. He doesn’t visit the library often so the thick scent of old parchment and ink takes over his senses. Madam Pince gives him a cautious look from her desk. 

As Sirius walks in, he scans each table for his brother. He passes shelf after shelf, looking down each one. Each table is filled with students but none of the Slytherins are Regulus, and none are ones he could ask for his location. However, he’s on a mission. He has to find Regulus. Sirius looks throughout the entire library and stops right before the last shelf. He takes a deep breath. If Regulus isn’t at the table at the end of this aisle, he’ll have to search all of the castle. He takes a step forward and turns his head. 

There he is, sitting at the table which is covered in stacks of books. Sirius can’t help the massive grin that spreads across his face as he casually strolls down the aisle. The younger boy doesn’t notice him until he’s practically leaning over his shoulder.

“I remember Flitwick assigning that essay,” Sirius says lazily. 

Regulus stops moving for a moment. Then, slowly and mechanically, he turns his head to look at Sirius and sits up straighter.

“Sirius.”

His blank stare quickly turns unnerved as he sees Sirius’ smile. Whenever Sirius hunted him down, it was to give a message to their parents and therefore, he usually had a grim or annoyed look on his face. This unbridled joy is a new look. 

“I need to ask you something,” Sirius says.

“Then ask it, brother.”

“I need your… permission.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

“To take your friend on a date.”

He blinks at Sirius. 

“My friend?”

“You know which one.”

“Yeah… The dog person.”

“So, can I take her out?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. She’s her own person.”

Sirius pulls out a chair and sits down. 

“She said you have to think it’s a good idea. Otherwise she won’t go with me.”

Regulus hums and looks back down at his essay. “That’s interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“After she came back smelling of you twice, she said she’d tell me if you made a move,” he laughs. “Didn’t know she was going to make you tell me yourself.”

“She isn’t making me do anything,” Sirius says, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

“She’s making you get permission, isn’t she?”

“Yes…” Sirius pauses. “So can I take her out on a date?”

Regulus sighs as he takes a long look at Sirius. Sirius sits there silently, trying to get a read on his expression. He couldn’t quite tell which way this conversation was going.

“What do I get out of it?”

“Anything.” 

That was a dead giveaway for Regulus. If Sirius was willing to owe him anything, he really wanted to take you out on a date. It was also a game changer for him. Regulus had been planning on saying no the entire conversation; if you sent Sirius his way for permission, you figured out that Sirius wasn’t taking no for answer from you and needed someone he might actually listen to. 

“She thinks you’re pretty, by the way,” Regulus finally says. “But if you hurt her in any way, I will personally make your death look like an accident. Or they’ll never find your body. I’ll decide on that later.”

Sirius gapes at him. 

“She thinks I’m pretty? Did she say this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, you said if I hurt her. So you think me going on a date with her is a good idea?”

Regulus snorts a laugh. “Well, no. But we’re going to say I do. I think it’d be good for her. And you.”

“Huh,” Sirius says, not completely sure what his brother meant by that but he wasn’t going to ask.

“Huh?” Regulus echoes.

“Yeah. … What else did she say about me?”

Regulus rolls his eyes before actually returning to his essay. “Fuck off. Be glad I think it’d be funny to hear about a date with you from her perspective. Go.”

Sirius claps a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before he leaves the library with a new spring in his step. Was he technically in Regulus’ debt? Yes. But Sirius is certain it will be worth it, and there’s always the chance that he will never redeem this favor. 

He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Regulus at dinner. Dorcas and Pandora sit on either side of you. Sirius spends far too much time watching you with a permanent smile on his face during the meal.

“Did… something happen?” Remus asks cautiously.

“Mhmm.”

“Okay so what happened?” Peter follows up.

“She’s going on a date with me.” Sirius’ voice is giddy.

James nearly chokes on his juice. “She agreed to a date with you?”

Sirius shoots him a look before saying, “All I had to do was get Reg on board. Surprisingly easy.”

“I don’t believe that,” Peter says through a mouthful of food. He swallows. “Why would your brother need to be ‘on board’?” 

“They’re friends, remember?” Remus answers. 

“Probably thought he’d say no or something,” Peter says. 

“But he didn’t. And now we’re going to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

Sirius continues to watch you for the rest of the meal. You don’t look his way once. You think there is no way that he’s already talked to Regulus and managed to get him to say it’s a good idea. You don’t even bother to tell your friends about it. You’re certain it’s not happening. That’s why you sent Sirius to Regulus; the brothers never agreed on anything. They never talked. 

After dinner, you’re leaving the Great Hall with your friends when you hear Sirius calling your name. You turn and cross your arms. Dorcas pulls Pandora away with her, somehow understanding that Sirius would want to talk to you alone again. 

“We’re on for this weekend,” he says confidently with the same giddy grin that was on his face all meal.

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

“Regulus gave me permission. Said it was a good idea. Whatever you want to call it. I have his blessing.”

“No. No. No.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, my darling,” Sirius replies, his eyes lighting up. “We are having a Hogsmeade date and you can’t get out of it.”

“No. No. No. No. No,” you keep repeating.

“Come on, love. It won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” you say before running a hand through your hair with a groan. “I’m not believing you until I hear it myself from Reg.”

“That’s fine. But I talked to him in the library before dinner. We’re in the clear.”

You turn away from Sirius and walk away. Your mind is spinning from the idea of actually going on a real date with Sirius Black. There is no way Regulus actually said it was a good idea. He wouldn’t betray you like that. You’re suddenly at the common room entrance. Your body had gone into autopilot while your thoughts and worries about the possibility of this weekend swirled in your mind. However, worry quickly melts into anger as you descend into the common room and see Regulus lounging on one of the couches. 

“Black!” you yell from where you stand at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to murder you!”

He glances over at you. Even from a distance, you can see the slight glimmer of fear in his eyes. You approach the couch with purpose in your steps. You grab his shirt collar and pull his face close to yours.

“What the fuck did you say to your brother?” you hiss. 

“You kept saying no to me. Thought you might like to go on a date with a different pretty bloke. At least he’s occasionally funny,” he teases, although there is a slight tremble in his voice.

You furrow your brows as you drop his collar. 

“You were supposed to say no!” you groan, moving around the couch so you can fall down next to him. “You were the one accusing me of dating him!”

“I’m giving you the chance to find out if you actually like him. See if it does go anywhere beyond him being pretty like me.”

“Regulus. I might actually kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because of you, I’m spending my Saturday in Hogsmeade with your goddamn brother!”

“Yeah and thanks to you, Sirius is now in my debt.”

“No,” you gasp. 

Regulus’ lips twitch upwards. 

“He said he’d do anything.” 

“I hate you.”

He shakes his head. “If it’s really so bad, you can decide what Sirius owes me.”

“I think I should get to decide that anyways.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine

[silencesscreams]

hiii, idk if ur still active but I love ur writing and I was wondering if u could maybe do a james smut with a Christmas theme! tyyy💓

Merry Christmas, I miss you

james potter x f!reader

summary: you and James have been broken up since Halloween. Until he calls you on Christmas Day after finding out that you both were spending the evening alone. (muggle+modern day au)

warnings: use of y/n, reader is shorter than James, swearing, smut (MDNI!), afab reader, nipple sucking, oral/fingering (f receiving), praise!!!, penetration, multiple orgasms(2), slight dom!james, reader has hair long enough to be stroked, kind of make-up sex tbh, unprotected + use of the pill, creampie, not proofread at all 😭

a/n: thank you so so much for requesting! I immediately thought of this song, hope you like it <3

You hated spending Christmas alone.

When your family was getting plane tickets two months ago, you said you’d spend Christmas with James, who also cancelled his plans with his family, just for him to break up with you two weeks later.

There was no one you could spend the end of year holidays with, all of your friends were with their families or together.

James absolutely hated the silence in his apartment.

Sirius and Remus were spending the holiday together at cabin they found online and Peter had gone home to his family.

James hated having brought this upon himself.

Were you with somebody else out there? Were you meeting their family? Were they in your apartment?

It was killing him.

What he hated most of all was breaking up with you during a stupid fight which he didn’t even remember the reason why it happened. He just remembers being drunk and stupid.

So he called Sirius, because that was what he usually did when things went to shit, and also because Sirius was close to you and he would probably know what James had been asking himself for the past hour.

The phone rang about six times until he finally picked up.

“What do you want?”

“What do you think y/n is doing right now?” He heard Sirius groan.

“Why do you care about what she’s doing?” James didn’t answer. “She’s alone at her place, don’t call her.”

“You think I should call her?” He decided to ignore any advice that went against whatever he wanted.

“God, he’s so fucking confusing.” he heard Remus say.

“Moony, do you think I should call her?”

“James, you’re going to do whatever you want, aren’t you?”

“Always, but that’s not the point.”

“Do what your heart says and leave us alone pleeeeaseee!” Sirius said and hung up.

James dialed your number on his phone, he memorized it so there was no real meaning to why he deleted it a while ago.

When you read the name on your phone’s screen once it started vibrating you thought you’d faint.

You wished that he had butt dialed you, or that maybe he called the wrong person. You knew you were wrong.

“James?” You said as you picked up and paused the TV in front of you.

“y/n. Hi, merry Christmas.” He sat up straight on the couch. “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t believe him.

“What?” You asked, even though you heard him clearly the first time.

“What are you doing tonight?”

So he was booty calling you on Christmas, was that it?

“I’m currently watching every single sitcom Christmas episode I can think of. You?”

“I’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours. Are you by yourself?”

“Yes.” You replied, almost whispering. You couldn’t understand him.

“Me too. Can I come pick you up? We could maybe watch every single sitcom Christmas episode together. I have some food here.” He was already getting up and putting on his shoes outside of the apartment.

“Sure.”

You sighed after hanging up, what could go wrong? You’d go, you’d eat his food, you wouldn’t hook up with him and you’d be home by midnight. It was fine. Everything was under control.

Until you got into his car.

Until you felt his smell, the three in one shampoo that had the sweetest smell a three in one shampoo could ever have.

“Hey, you look great.” He said, looking at you as you put on the seatbelt.

“Thanks, you too.”

“Did you change your hair?” James asked, starting to drive.

“Kind of, yes.” You looked out the window and then back at him. “You look the same.”

He let out a small laugh. “I do.”

It was usually a 10 minute drive from your apartment to his, in which you awkwardly played with the hem of your skirt and made small talk.

“I have some frozen pizza at home, we could make popcorn too if you like, I bought one of those air popping machine things a few weeks ago. Actually, Sirius got that.” He said as he parked the car on the empty street in front of the apartment complex.

“I’d like that.”

Maybe you believed everything was still in control until you entered his apartment, the floor was cold and you left your shoes at the door. He locked it behind you.

“You remember the place don’t you?” You nodded. “There’s a few blankets and a sweater on the couch and you can turn on the TV if you want to. I’ll take the pizza out of the freezer and get the popcorn machine ready.”

You decided on starting with The Office’s season two Christmas episode, then you watch the other eight. Or you’d move to New Girl, then maybe Brooklyn 99, possibly Seinfeld.

“Bad news!” You heard James say from the kitchen. “Theres no corn to pop” he said, coming out and looking at you sitting on the couch.

“It’s alright, how about we watch this one and then I can help you out with the pizza?” You moved to the right side of the couch, inviting him to sit on your left.

You did realize you had no control over anything once he sat and instinctively wrapped his left arm around your shoulder. That might’ve also been when he realized he had no control.

“What are we watching?” He asked as you covered your legs with the blanket on the couch, he pulled some of it to himself and shared with you, your knees touching under it.

“I thought we could start by the office, we obviously won’t watch all of them, so we can move to New Girl afterwards, then maybe we could do Brooklyn 99 or Seinfeld because I know you like those two.” You looked at him and he hummed.

“That’s a good plan.” You smiled at him and started the episode.

When Micheal started talking about the Yankee Swap, James took his left arm from off your shoulder and put it under the covers to scratch his calf. You missed the feeling of him over your shoulders, until he rested his hand on your upper knee.

You felt your entire body go hot until the end of the episode, when he took the blanket from off you both and supported himself on your thigh to get up from the couch, ‘accidentally’ giving it a light squeeze. You thought you were about to go insane and paused the TV, maybe it really was a Christmas booty call.

“I only have pepperoni, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Can you put it in the oven? I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Sure.” He brushed his hand against your waist as he moved behind you to open the fridge.

“There’s Diet Coke, wine and orange juice.” He looked back at you.

“Wine.” You answered, watching him take the bottle out along with a can of Coke.

“Aren’t you going to drink with me?” You grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and moved next to him.

“I have to drive you home.” He smiled at you.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” You smiled back at him.

“I can’t let you walk or uber home.” He put your hair behind your ear.

“I could crash here, if there’s space for me.” You almost whispered, looking at him doe eyed.

“There’s always space for you in my bed.” He stated, his voice low as he poured wine into both of the glasses.

He watched you take a sip and realized you were holding back a laugh.

“What is it?” He smiled.

“This sucks.” You giggled softly. He took a sip from his glass and made a face.

“Oh my god,” he laughed “you have to blame Remus though, I don’t think I bought wine more than once in my entire life.” You smiled, remembering the bottle he brought to your house on your third date. He moved closer to you, resting his hands on your waist.

“I’m sorry about the wine.” He whispered and you felt his breathing against your face, you hummed and looked up at him, moving your hands to the back of his neck, gently stroking his hair.

“Fuck.” He whispered, looking into your eyes. He slowly leaned in, you could feel your heartbeat as he got closer to you. You felt his lips brush against yours and then his phone’s alarm went off, scaring the both of you.

“The damn pizza” he muttered, turning off the oven but not taking the food out. You leaned against the counter and looked at James, who put his hands on your waist again, asking you “Where were we?”, making you laugh for the first time in a while.

You threw your hands over his neck as he hugged you so tightly that you thought maybe you both could merge into one.

“I missed you.” You whispered into his ear.

“Yeah?” He teased you and you hummed. “I missed you so much, love.” He started kissing your neck, holding you tightly by your lower waist.

“I’m so sorry. For everything.” He pulled away, looking into your eyes. “Let me make it up to you, please.” You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours and kissed you quickly.

“Use your words.” He muttered against your mouth and your breath hitched.

“Yes, please.” You replied and he brought his lips back against yours, this time you parted your mouth and he let his tongue slip into it. His lips moved hungrily against yours, the hands on your waist quickly moving to cup your ass firmly. Before you knew it, you were moving against him, glad you’d chosen to wear a skirt as breathy moans slipped from your lips against his.

All of a sudden James pulled his lips away from yours,

“Go to my room, I’ll be there in a second.” He said, pointing to the corridor.

You left the door open and sat on his bed, waiting for him. Everything was the same, except for the photograph of the both of you he had framed and left on his desk, which was now nowhere to be seen. He came into the room with something behind his back.

“I got this for you in November, in case we saw each other today. I know it’s not much but it reminded me of you.” He handed you a black corduroy box, which had a gold necklace with a small heart pendant.

“Oh James, this is so pretty.” You looked at him smiling and closing the box and putting it on his nightstand “I’ll put it on later, thank you so much.”

“Let me make everything up to you, I truly am sorry.” He said, taking off his glasses and sitting in front of you on the bed. You put your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, kissing him gently as he moved closer to you, his knee between your legs.

You laid down and his mouth started to make its way to your neck, giving it soft kisses then gently biting and sucking, making sure to leave a few marks. Meanwhile, his hands trailed their way to your breasts, going under your already loose bra and playing with your nipples. He quickly helped you take off your shirt, also removing his own.

James quickly kissed your mouth and started to trail small kisses from it to your right nipple, which he brought to his mouth and sucked on, nipping at it with his front teeth every once in a while, meanwhile his left hand stimulated your other nipple.

Your hands moved to his hair, stroking it and tugging on it every once in a while, leading to groans that would send vibrations to your breasts.

Suddenly, he pressed his knee against your damp underwear as you desperately tried to get more friction from it, until he held down your hips.

“Let me help you, baby.” he hummed against your chest. “I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry.”

He helped you take off your skirt as you raised your hips, tossing it next to the bed and kissing your tummy, making his way down to your underwear, lowering it and kissing the skin right above your slit, almost where you needed him the most. He started to kiss your inner thighs, going up to your clothed core, pressing another kiss right on top of your covered clit, making you moan as he took off your panties, carefully placing them on top of your skirt on the floor.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath fanning against your pussy.

He started slowly at first, licking from your entrance to your clit, sucking it in the most careful way he could. Until you couldn’t hold back your moaning and you remembered how James Potter gave head like a starved man.

He held your thighs open as he sucked on your sensitive bud and fucked two fingers into you, making your back arch and causing you release the most incoherent sentences from your mouth, a mix of swearing, the word god and his name, but really, in that moment, the later two were probably the same to you.

Your hands tugged onto his hair as you reached your high, he looked up at you and kept stimulating your clit with his thumb, inserting a third finger into your hole.

“Cum for me, honey.” He said, sensing you were close to your high and going back to sucking your bud.

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as you moaned out his name, squeezing his head in between your thighs as he carried you through your orgasm.

Once you were finished, James moved up to kiss you. His mouth moving hungrily against yours.

“I want you.” you said as you pulled away, looking into his eyes.

“You already have me, sweetheart.” He smiled, getting up to get something to clean you up with. You pulled him back by the wrist.

“No, I want you in me. Please. ‘Need more.” You said lowly, giving him a quick peck.

“You sure?” You knew he wanted it too, he just wanted to make you feel good and forget about himself for the rest of the night.

“Yes, please James.” You replied, pulling him by the wrist again once he went to reach for a condom in the nightstand drawer. “I want to feel you. I’m on the pill, please.”

He smiled, taking off his sweatpants and going on top of you, his knees pressed against the mattress next to your thighs as he kissed you, tilting your head to deepen it.

He started kissing your neck, giving soft pecks on the marks he had left behind earlier, while taking his length out of his underwear and lining himself up against your entrance, teasing you with his tip as you practically begged him to get inside of you.

“Patience, baby.” He muttered, slowly starting to thrust into your needy hole whilst pulling your right leg up and bending it, almost making your leg shin touch your thigh as he tried to go as deep as possible.

You couldn’t help but moan out his name once he started thrusting and kept hitting the most perfect spot he could whilst stimulating your bean with his thumb. You clenched around his cock as he started to thrust rapidly into you.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so good.” He’d whisper in between grunts in your ear while you scratched his back in pleasure. “So- mhm so good for me, baby.” He said, his mouth clashing against yours, his tongue entering your mouth as you opened it. You clenched your pussy around him and you both can’t help but moan into each other’s mouths, his thrusts getting faster and his grunts and moans only louder, showing you how close he also is.

You felt your second orgasm building up as he pinched your clit and you squealed onto his tongue, your teeth clashing, causing him to pull away and smile against your mouth, his teeth against your lips.

“Are you close, princess?” He whispered and you replied with a nod, your nose against his cheek. He thrusted quickly and made circular motions on your clit at the same pace. “Hm, cum for me baby, cum on my cock.” He commanded as you reached your second high, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss you again. The kiss was sloppy as he shot his load into you and you clenched around him, his thrusts faltering.

He collapsed right next to you, grabbing his glasses on the bedside table to look at you properly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He praised you, smiling as he stroked your hair. “Thank you for picking up. Thank you for being here. For everything.” He whispered.

“Thank you for calling.” You smiled.

“The pizza’s probably cold.” He muttered, looking at his bedroom door.

“I don’t care.” You gave him a peck. “Merry Christmas, James.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[castiwls]

invisible string .ᐟ

Paring; anakin x reader

Prompt; 'And isn't it just so pretty to think. All along there was some Invisible string tying you to me?'

Requested; anon

Notes; reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Fate wasn’t something you truly believed in. The force sure, but fate? That was something children were told to help keep them optimistic or explain coincidences which were just slightly too perfect - parental intervention or not.

Things happened for a reason - but fate was not a reason.

Anakin Skywalker however seemed to be determined to make you believe that fate was real and that it was fate that the two of you ended up in the hallway and the same time at the exact moment a droid decided to trip you up and right into his arms.

Of course, you’d heard of him but you’d never met him. Your master had once described life as being led by a little golden string. Every event was linked and sometimes some people's strings intertwined together when those people were meant to meet.

Anakin seemed convinced that your strings were meant to intertwine and he was doing everything he could to make sure you knew this. First, it was the fact that you were both born on Tatooine and then it became the fact that you both were in the same youngling group (you never spoke) and finally the fact that you both just happened to have quarters in the same wing.

You continued to push that “it’s just a coincidence. It’s not fate, we’re the same age of course we’d be in the same temple group.” Every time Anakin would simply laugh before shrugging and making a comment about how. “A coincidence is fate.” He’d grin wrapping an arm over your shoulder and joining you on whatever errand you were running.

Though Anakin Skywalker was anything if not determined. And he was determined to make you see that your meeting was years in the making - every little action had led to your strings intertwining more and more until that one day in the corridor. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Can I help?” You jumped slightly as a voice broke through the silence and you whipped around to find Anakin grinning back at you, half his body hidden behind the door frame. 

“How did you even find me?” 

“I have my ways.”

“You asked half the temple didn't you?”

“...No” 

You huffed as he stepped closer to where you were currently sat hunched over a droid which you’d spent the last three hours trying to fix. “You look a bit stuck there.” Anakin gestured to the parts strewn all over the floor before crouching down to pick one up. 

“Use this. It’s easier to tighten the smaller bolts.” He pressed the tool into your hand with a small smile. You frowned blinking at him for a moment before nodding and taking the tool. “Thanks.” You did as he said and quickly found him to be right. 

The bolt tightened almost immediately and Anakin made a small noise of satisfaction as you stared down at the bolt. You’d spent the last half an hour trying to get the damn thing to tighten and he’d solved it in less than a minute.

“See. Like I said, much easier.” He squeezed your shoulder before moving to sit down properly beside you. “Here.” He reached over to gently take the tool and the droid. “Let me.” 

He worked in relative silence for a while as you watched. “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of befriending me?” Your words surprised you - the thought not meant to have left your lips but Anakin simply smiled. 

“Because, I think you're an interesting person.” His shoulder bumped yours “And like I said it does seem kinda like fate that we just happened to have so much in common before we even spoke.” You huffed rolling your eyes as he laughed quietly.

“Remember that little thread that we were taught about?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah, that little thread is like fate-”

“Anakin-”

He simply cut you off placing the droid down. “I like you. And I don’t think it's a coincidence that we met.” You pursed your lips. He really wasn’t going to leave this alone. “It’s too perfect that we just happen to be from the same town and spent most of our childhoods in the same environment and never met. I think we were meant to meet when we did.”

You sucked in a breath watching him for a moment. You could almost hear the passion in his words almost. He really believed in this - that for whatever reason you were fated to meet.

“Let me prove it to you. Give me a month.” Anakin offered turning to face you fully. “Prove to you that the story about those strings was true.”

[cheralith]

vogue (chapter two) — boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ; REASONS

series synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse to propel your career as a journalist. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink? masterlist

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned muse!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, angst, slowburn, co-workers-to-lovers, some crack if you squint

chapter synopsis ; it's chaos at kaizen magazine and the entirety of its staff, including its editor-in-chief is stressed. you meet a particular individual at the coffeehouse who seems all too the familiar for some reason whose strange words encourage you to dabble in the world of modelling in a desperate moment.

chapter tags/warnings; she/her pronouns, afab!reader, blood mention (reader gets mild cut on finger), reader models but no mention of body descriptions, some parts not edited

chapter word count: 8.9k

now playing ; reasons - minnie riperton

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

Somehow, you think that your boss has it out for you more than usual this week. Granted, he’s been giving you a stink eye at all times since you first started, but you’re getting the gut feeling it’s more prominent this time around. Be it the upcoming charity gala tomorrow or the stress of pushing out this month’s issue due to some last minute… adjustments—you wouldn’t be surprised if Geto is using you as his punching bag for his own relief. 

He has never yelled at you, per se, but his soft-spoken insults and scoldings hurt you far more than anything. Whether it be you stumbling ever so slightly over your own two feet in front of him or something as miniscule as simply accidentally taking out a pen that’s lacking ink when jotting notes, Geto always seems to have some sort of reprimand at the ready. 

“Why is this packet stapled so awkwardly? You could be covering vital information.”

“Coffee spoons exist for a reason. There’s no reason why I should be using a dessert spoon for my latte.”

“I do wish you spoke with less ‘um’s and ‘uh’s every now and then. It’s quite bothersome.”

You just wish that the job application had listed “Must take on editor-in-chief’s emotional baggage 24/7.” if you knew that this job would just be mentally draining as it is physically. And to think it’s only been only around four and a half months since you’ve started! Obviously, being editor-in-chief of one of the largest and powerful magazines in the nation is going to be mentally depleting, but is there such a need to take it out on the poor associates? 

Your mind reflects back to witnessing an intern accidentally running into Geto amidst last night’s crisis when the office was busy about attempting to piece together the issue into one piece before the publisher’s deadline today, the intern’s impact causing a confetti of cut-out paper to fly about everywhere and making Geto’s afternoon matcha pick-me-up splatter green all over his cream white top. He had gently told the shaking intern, amidst his many apologies, that it was no worries before quietly telling you to head down to HR to terminate him by the end of this week. 

Chills run down your spine when you remember how quickly Geto’s smile faded and gentle eyes disappeared as they morphed into amethyst daggers the moment his back was turned to the intern. Though… you do give credit to the intern for making his shirt still somehow look fabulous with the earthy green splatter—a feat only a former fashion model was able to do. 

You don’t remember when the last time you came home before 11:00pm was or when was the last time you ate three complete meals in a day and not just crumbs of convenience store snacks. It’s been such a hectic week wrapping up the month’s issue that you’re suddenly back to your college days slurping ramen and drinking any drink that contains any amount of caffeine to give back your energy. 

You hear the beep of the microwave sing through the kitchen right next to yours and Manami’s desks, signaling your instant ramen was done, but before you can even get up, you hear the muffled sound of a something being broken inside Geto’s office, causing you and Manami to jump. Gazes suddenly flicking toward each other, with neither of you daring to make another move, a moment of complete silence drifts by before you dare to breathe out ever so quietly and almost instantaneously, Manami shouts, “Not it!” 

“Not—oh, fine…” A groan drags out of you and your eyes roll as you brush off the prideful look Manami has on her face. 

With great hesitation, you avert your direction to the frosted glass window of Geto’s office that sits a little too politely between you and Manami’s desks. Somehow, with each step you take, the impending doom that sits at the bottom of your churning stomach grows bigger and bigger and you can just barely brace yourself for the scolding that you’re about to receive—even if the cause of Geto’s frustration may have not even been at your own fault.

Your shaking knuckles go to rap at his door. A grumbled “come in” barely seeps its way through the door. You allow yourself with great reluctance to open the door to reveal a heavily breathing Geto Suguru, veins visible on his neck and forehead from the pent-up irritation that has been boiling for the past few days with the double whammy of the charity gala and the month’s issue attempting to be push out on time, which may not even be the case given that many columns had to be changed due to a specific supermodel’s recent scandal.

Upon entering your boss’s office, it was near impossible to miss the shattered glass of cucumber water that was clearly thrown at the wall behind himself, a splotch of the carpet now darkened slightly from the original color. Geto caved inwards towards his desk, his blazer from his three-piece set now draped messily over his chair and his usually neatly-made hair a little more frazzled out of its hair band than usual. On his desk were an array of magazine splits with a pile of cut-outs dedicated to said model. It startles you how many pages she had appeared in given how hefty the pile was.

“Why couldn’t she behave after the issue was printed…” Geto seethes under his breath as a poor page of the magazine draft crumples under his grip. 

You can see in his trash can the tabloid that featured the supermodel, who allegedly slandered her fellow upcoming star of a colleague backstage of a recent fashion show with the cameras still rolling in order to document the behind the scenes of all the glitz and glamour. While it was normal for models to shade one another to fight for the spotlight, her remarks in particular were rather nasty and brutish, so much so that it caused outrage amongst the public and with the latter supermodel’s fans who ended up revealing her rather… dishonorable social media presence. 

Needless to say, having her as the starlight of this month’s issue before it entered the public eye would prove disastrous for Kaizen. She decorated a large portion of the magazine from front cover to back, but the magazine couldn’t afford to have such a trashy person as their graphic ambassador—especially since there has been little to no dirt on the magazine up until now. Geto works hard to make sure any possible slander against the magazine was dealt with as soon as possible before the public could hear about it. You didn’t know how—preferably, you don’t want to know—but he does it somehow.

But the news and the outrage regarding the supermodel had been leaked only a mere eight days before the issue was to be printed, giving the entire department only eight days to fix up the issue before the deadline. To make matters worse—the issue had to be sent to the publisher before the charity gala, which were both on the same day, Friday, meaning that everything had to be finalized before 3pm that day to give ample time for the start of the gala’s last-minute organization at 5:00pm before it started at 7:30pm and for the publishing company to print the thousands of copies to be released to the city come Saturday morning.

It’s Thursday, the day before D-Day, and the office just reached noon. You have yet to eat properly, given that all you ate this morning amidst the morning rush (Geto demanded asked you to arrive at the office an hour earlier to compose the most time to work on the issue) were two pieces of toasted bread and a badly-made cup of instant coffee. 

You stare at the broken crystal on the dampened floor before going back to get the dustpan from the kitchen. Without a word, you clean up the remnants of Geto’s frustration quietly so as to not poke the beast even further with one wrong move, but of course, you somehow end up slicing your finger on a stray piece of glass. 

A loud yelp from your lips slips through the tight atmosphere of Geto’s office and blood draws fast, so fast that a few drops of crimson fall and miserably stain the pristine white carpet.

You swiftly poke your finger in your mouth and suck on it before more can ooze out, but unfortunately, your little titter was enough to break Geto out of his trance and snap his head back towards you. He spots the splotches of red on his carpet first, but then averts his gaze to you with your fingertip between your lips.

“What happened?” he urges as he approaches you. “Did you cut yourself?” 

You nod shyly, a little startled at how quickly his concern for you came to him given that your presence usually arises some sort of mild vex from him. “I apologize for staining the carpet. I’ll get a cleaner right away for it.”

“No need,” Geto mutters before beginning the dust the glass remnants himself. “I’ll call them myself. Just fix yourself up. First-aid kit is in the kitchen. Go get a bandaid—quickly.” 

For a split second, you swear you could’ve seen a grain of sympathy in his normally-cold gaze, but the illusion quickly dissipates the moment you see his eyes harden again before he snaps at you for staring. 

“Go now. Before your finger gets infected. You can’t use your hand properly with an infected finger.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod lightly and dash out of his office, fighting horribly the urge to mutter curses at him under your breath. 

The cut proves rather long and deep, you notice, as Manami gently rolls a strip of tape down a page of gauze on it as she chides you akin to a mother to take care of yourself properly and that this isn’t the week to be injuring yourself like a child. It takes up at least two-thirds of your right index finger and you’re just hoping you’ll be able to use your right hand as efficiently as possible given you still have an extensive list of emails to still send out. 

Two hours somehow pass by quicker than expected but you know that your actual day isn’t even halfway done, knowing well that you won’t be clocking out until later in the evening after everyone is gone from the office. For the most part, it looks as though some spare stock images of well-known models were able to suffice the pieces that the scandalous one left them in the columns, but there was one that needed a more specific set of poses given that it was a perfume ad and unlike the other columns, the bottle had to be held in a certain manner that would prove hard for the photo editors to attempt.

Given that the work day was ending, there weren’t many models on-call that could do a last-minute shoot on time and the magazine was running out of time. Geto… was running out of time. 

And if Geto, who was known for being rather cool-headed and rational most days, was stressed, that only meant the rest of the office had to follow—whether they liked it or not. Ultimately, his stress became infectious and it was hard to keep a mellow mind in the days filled with chaos. You were already stressed on a day-to-day basis being his junior assistant, but you were basically required to amp it up to the max with the last-minute editing of the magazine and the charity gala.

You’re in line to get Geto’s afternoon pick-me-up, with the minor adjustment of two extra espresso shots for the kick of caffeine to get him through the rest of the working hours. You can hear your name being called up, but with how drained you’ve been from the past few days, the granola bar and Redbull you had for lunch today proves not to be the most efficient source of energy and you end up tumbling over your own two wobbling legs when you rise from the waiting bench.

You crash into the chest of someone taller than you who was passing by and just barely manage to avoid the escaping coffee from the cup of the person you bumped into. Unfortunately, it doesn’t prove well for the latter, as the remainder of the coffee settles itself on the front of their shirt Panic sets in swiftly and you start bumbling apologies left and right before you can even look up to see who exactly you’re apologizing to.

When you do, you’re met with a pair of eyes hidden behind darkened sunglasses ogling at you. It struck you as rather odd—considering it was the middle of winter and that the sun was hiding behind the grayed clouds today. Maybe it was just some sort of fashion statement? 

But it’s not the glasses that captivate you. It’s the snowy locks of white hair that belong to a rather tall and leggy figure that belong to it. And despite the pure ivory, he still looks incredibly young. A man of at least six feet and three inches stands before you—a height that easily can rival your boss’s. He’s adorned in a simplistic outfit; black dress shoes with matching slacks held by a glimmering silver buckle, topped with a cool white collared shirt that’s now evidently ruined by the horribly large light brown stain you caused from his coffee.

And judging by the stitching and material of the shirt, you know damn well that the shirt isn’t cheap.

“I-I-I…” you blubber out, teary eyes widened in horror at how fast the stain spreads and how much attention you’re getting from the cafe’s customers. “I’m so sorry…”

The silence that penetrates through from onlookers is terrible and you think you’re getting a fever from how hot your face is burning up. 

Thankfully, the man breaks through it with a soft, (dare you say—handsome?) laugh. “I was looking for an excuse to get rid of this shirt anyways,” he says. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

What he says baffles you and your apologies suddenly transform into sounds of confusion to his amusement. “Huh?”

“It’s been two years since it was in season, it’s finally time to throw the old girl out,” the man shrugs nonchalantly.

Suddenly, in front of all the leering eyes of the customers in the coffeehouse, he begins to unbutton his stained shirt and you can only watch in horror with the rest of everyone else. While he still did have one last modest garment beneath the shirt, it was still a sleeveless white undershirt that showed off his visibly sculpted and lean biceps that made a couple of the women in the coffeeshop form heart eyes and bite their lips.

The man flickered his eyes, now shown to be a brilliant shade of crystal blue, to you from atop his glasses and a glint of playfulness shone through, along with a whimsical grin. “Maybe I should’ve been a little more decent. Hope you don’t mind.”

You think that the heat that flushes your cheeks is no longer from embarrassment but… bashfulness?

You attempt to gather what to say in this rather awkward moment, but the bell of the entrance door rings and in comes a young man with spiked noir locks adorned in a midnight blue suit with a visible frown on his face. His eyes skitter through the coffeehouse before landing on not exactly you… but the man before you.

“What the hell Gojo?” the young man scolds as he stomps his way over. “You said you weren’t gonna take long, so why are you stripping in a cafe?”

Gojo… why does that name sound so familiar for some reason? Now that you think about it, the entirety of the man himself seems so vaguely familiar, but you swore you’ve never seen such a unique human being before in real life.

The man turns his head over as he crumples the stain garment in his hands. He perks up in delight at the sight of him, contrary to his furrowed-brow companion. “Megumi! Sorry bud, got wrapped up in a little accident here. Take this and chuck it in the trash, will ya?”

Before “Megumi” can protest, “Gojo” tosses the shirt to him and exclaims for the onlooking baristas to make him another drink if they can. A teenage girl nods excitedly and dashes back to gather the order for the handsome, sleeveless stranger. 

Megumi hisses an annoyed insult under his breath before glaring one last time at the taller man and searching for a nearby trash can. The man turns to you again with the same smile that has a lick of mischief to it. “Sorry ‘bout my intern. He’s usually a little sour, so don’t mind him. You okay though?” 

“Uh…” your eyes glance around and notice that the commotion in the coffeehouse has started up again. “Yes, thank you. I apologize again for not watching my step.”

He chuckles. “I think you’ve apologized enough. Again, don’t worry about it—it was an old shirt anyways. Has anyone told you you’re quite cute?” 

You choke on your saliva. What an odd thing to say in such a moment.

“Wh-what?” you stifle out.

“You’re rather pretty,” the man continues, the same grin still plastered on his face; as if he means every word he says. “Have you modelled before?” 

Your jaw is somehow melded into an image that replicates a gaping fish. Somehow, you can’t find the correct words to say at this moment. And it’s not quite like you’ve never been flirted with before, but for some reason, the way that this “Gojo” says it, it doesn’t quite have that tone of flattery, but more like… offering something?

“Thank you?” you say with half-confidence. “And no… sorry.” 

“Ah, what a shame,” he sighs wholeheartedly. “Have you considered it though?”

You shake your head, and you’re appalled that the gesture only makes his eyes light up again and his smile grow wider. 

“You should try it someday! You know what—hold on. Where’s my wallet?”

The man shoves his hands in his pants pockets to attempt to look for it, but the intern from earlier suddenly appears and shows off his phone to his senior. It visibly reads 2:34 pm.

“The meeting started,” the intern seethes. “We’re late… again.”

“Oh shoot,” the tall man snaps his fingers with pursed lips. “Alright, we can get going soon. But can you do me a favor and get my wal—”

The intern glowers at him. “No. Let’s go.”

You’re surprised at how much guts the intern has, who seems to be rather younger than you by a few years and certainly significantly younger than the man before you, considering he’s the one to command his superior so strictly. Usually, it’s the other way around, is it not? Unless you’re doing something wrong?

“Aw, but—”

“Gojo. If we’re late again, the board of trustees might kick you off, remember?” Megumi says as he pinches the back of his superior’s undershirt and begins to drag him away from you. 

The mysterious man pouts childishly and whines. “Ohhh c’mon! They’re not serious! You know those old geezers are practically terrified of me!” 

You’ve never seen such a grown man act rather foolishly before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. As you watch him be dragged away by the intern, he salutes a goodbye to you with an all-knowing wink to finish things off before he’s shoved into a black Cadillac in nothing but his undershirt for a top amidst the chilly winter air. 

As you attempt to process what on earth just happened, the young teenage barista calls at you suddenly. 

“Hey! Did that Michizane Sugawara guy leave? The one with the white hair?” she asks you, pointing to her own brown hair. She holds what looks to be milk with a hint of coffee in it, judging by how there’s just barely a tint of brown in the plastic cup.

“Oh… him.” 

Wasn’t his name Gojo? There’s no way you could’ve misheard “Michizane Sugawara” as “Gojo” you think, with the six other syllables just simply flying in from the window out of nowhere. Unless the fatigue has finally caught up to you and you’re hearing things wonky. 

“Yeah. It seemed like he was in a rush of sorts.” 

The barista leans over the counter to see and eventually shrugs. She pushes two cups towards you—your original coffee for Geto you nearly forgot about and the newly-made coffee for the mystery man. “You can just have it then. Not too sure you’ll like it though, it’s pretty sugary, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Your eyebrows perk up. With how much suffering you’ve been enduring lately from your work, you might as well indulge yourself in a sweet treat as you think you’ve earned it. Plus, with how much there is more to complete for today, you’re most definitely going to need the caffeine and the communal coffee pot isn’t exactly acquired for your tastebuds. 

When you finally settle yourself down back in the comfort of your desk after the coffeehouse fiasco, you take a soft sip of the free coffee…

… only to pull a face at how ridiculously sweet it is. The barista was right. You think that there’s probably only a drop of coffee in the entire cup melded with milk and a variety of syrups and sugar. And to think this was for a grown man? 

Sighing miserably, you pour the free drink down the kitchen drain, ignoring the glob of sugar that slugs out of it before you return back to misery.

“And there’s absolutely no models left that are in proximity to us? In any of our partnering agencies?” Geto asks as he rubs his temple.

The head of the PR team shakes his head, ashamed. “All of our current models are either abroad or they’re simply unavailable as of this moment.”

He mutters to himself before gritting his teeth. “And did you try bribing them with additional pay?” 

“We tried, sir,” the head says. “And with other compensation like a guaranteed column for next month’s column or brand partnerships, but they wouldn’t budge.”

Geto sighs loudly and slides a hand down his face in exasperation, fatigue visible. It’s currently 5:51pm and the magazine has yet to find a model to try and replace the perfume advertisement. The partnering modelling firms had absolutely no models to offer at the last minute and it was too late to try and get in contact with freelance models considering communication with them proved much more difficult than those in agencies. 

“What about recycling an older ad with a similar posed model and just photoshopping the fragrances out?” Geto suggests. 

It gets shot down immediately to his dismay. “Unfortunately, that’d be violating some copyright issues.”

You watch with fidgety hands as you stand next to Manami as your boss and the PR team examines the idea board carefully, trying ways to fill in the missing column. Of course, you could chime in with your own ideas, but with how stressed Geto is currently, you didn’t want to risk adding fuel to an already violent fire. 

Geto’s eyes scan the board left to right, taking in every single piece pinned onto it for some sort of genius idea, but nothing comes to him on the third try. A rigid silence fills the meeting room that keeps everyone on edge, anticipating his next move. When Geto finishes his fourth scan, in comes another blank page, until the corner of his eye catches you standing idly in the corner. 

His gaze moves to fixate on your squirming self as you attempt to look anywhere but his stare. It proves unsuccessful, however, considering that Geto calls your name and motions you to come forward.

Geto presents you like a doll of sorts to the PR team. “(Y/N) here seems to have similar proportions to her,” Geto says, keeping two firm, large hands on your shoulders. You shiver at the strange contact “What if we…?” 

One of the team members catches his drift uneasily.

“I don’t know Geto,” he starts as he stares at you incredulously, as if you’ve grown three heads all of a sudden. “Does your junior assistant even have any modelling experience?”

“Well no,” Geto confirms. “However, we’ve attempted to use all that we have available. I think this is our last resort.”

Somehow, you’re a little offended that your being is just simply a “last resort” to him, even if it is true. 

The PR team’s director's shifty eyes land on each of his team members with visible hesitation. With a cracked voice, he softly announces, “Well, technically speaking, there is… one more option.” 

Geto cocks his brow, his hands still firmly locked onto your shoulders with a whisper of a tighter grasp, as if you’re some sort of scurrying mouse ready to escape his hold at any given moment. “Well?”

The director’s mouth opens and closes for a given moment, attempting to choose the right words to say.

“Technically, we don’t have to use just our partnering agencies,” he begins quietly. There’s now a visible sweat misted on his receding hairline. 

The way Geto’s eyes narrow so suddenly makes everyone hold their breath for what comes next. Because, from the looks of it, everyone seems to know what the director is going to suggest and Geto’s reaction.

 “We’ve got contracts with every single management in the city. What? Are you saying we reach out to other cities’ talent managements? That’s rather tedious.”

“No, sir, that’s… not what I meant,” the director swallows thickly. “There’s technically one agency that we don’t have a con—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Geto’s stern words ring loud and clear. While his voice volume is still the same as always—soft with an obvious austere to it—his words are tight and evident. The emphasis of the curse word gives more than just a sharp edge to it, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Yet, one of the female team members pries anyway. She was hired around the same time you were, but because she didn’t interact with Geto as much as you did, so she didn’t know about how no meant an absolute no when it came from Geto Suguru just yet. Poor thing.

“But this agency has an abundance of models to choose from at their hand!” she exclaims with wide, desperate eyes. “I do think it’s a better decision to contact Infi—”

“I said no.” Geto turns to her and gives her a hard scowl before she can even finish her words. “Do not even say the name around my presence. I have forbidden any contact with that agency for a good reason. They only bring trouble and mayhem and disorder. Remember the Mei Mei scandal? The Kinji Hakari incident?” 

Everyone except for you tightens their shoulders and lips at the mention of the particular models. This isn’t the first time you’ve been kept in the dark, since you’re still just as a new hire as the female team member, but something is telling you that this news is much more hush-hush than the other gossip you’ve heard. Geto sighs again, their tensing bodies giving him a clear answer.

“We have done well without them for how long this magazine has existed for the past few years under my leadership,” Geto says. “I see no need to get in contact with them when we have a perfectly good substitute right here.”

His hands pat your shoulders again to properly show you off once more. The PR team goes to scan you up and down with their beady eyes, mutters of half-confident approvals and some other comments that you’re a little offset by rumouring around the meeting room. 

The director eventually sighs and gives in, considering that there weren’t many hours left in the day and that he and his team just wanted to go home. “Okay, we’ll use your junior assistant for the replacement shoot. We’ll tell Miguel, the photographer, and the fashion stylists to get ready for her.” 

Geto turns to Manami. “Go with them. Just ensure that the creative team will not cause a fuss with the choosing of the model. We don’t have time to dabble in feuds now.”

Manami nods and begins to lead the PR team to the studio, leaving you and Geto in the awkward quietness of the meeting room. Eventually, he releases you from his grasp and lets you breathe normally once they all leave. 

Geto leans on the table and returns to rubbing his forehead, muttering to himself at what he just did. You plant your stiff self back to your original position firmly.

“Sir,” you cough out with a voice crack with the lack of use from your voice. A heat rushes to your face and you clear your throat to properly speak. “Sir… I… don’t think I’m the right choice for this job.”

Geto lifts his head up from his hand and stares at you dully. “Excuse me?”

A shiver goes down your spine. Of course you forgot your consciousness and dared to question the Geto Suguru, editor-in-chief of the powerhouse fashion magazine in the country. But… even so. There were some limitations that you dared to even ponder about and though you were a lowly assistant, you still deserved to try and voice your own opinion on this matter. 

Especially since you’re going to be affected in more ways than one.

“I…” you start slowly. Your gaze meets the carpet of the room to try and ease yourself out of the intimidating stare of your boss. “I truly don’t think I’m the right fit for this particular feat. Like what they mentioned, I don’t have any modelling experience and I’m sure it’d cause the shoot to be more prolonged than it should be.”

“You don’t need modelling experience for this,” Geto begins. “I’m not asking you to be a model. I’m asking you to be a replacement.”

The familiar odd hurt singes at you again when Geto labels you as nothing more than a prop. Something about him shoving you in a magazine filled with well-experienced and trained models feels like cramming a piece of plain cardboard in a nearly-done puzzle, its individual pieces adorned carefully with each other to create something beautiful and ornate, only to be interrupted by a spare piece of something that just barely imitates it. You may have all the right curves and edges crafted by Geto’s hands, but you know that you don’t belong properly amidst the magazine at the end of the day.

The perfume ad takes up three pages of the entire magazine—two pages for the actual photoshoot and one for the description of it along with its reviews—not much in comparison to the articles written in it. But it’s still enough to composite a significant chunk for the magazine. And enough to make you feel overexposed to a public that in your rational mind, is not going to give you a second glance much more so than the actual product when reading the magazine. 

But right now, that unwanted attention is all you can think about. 

“But still—” you start with a tight throat. “Manami might be a better suit than I am. Or quite literally anyone in the office.” 

“Manami has been feeling under the weather as of recently,” Geto interrupts and shakes his head. “If we had more time, believe me, I’d be searching for a better fit for the ad as well, but right now, given the current predicament and since most of the employees have gone home, we don’t have many options left.”

Geto turns to you and though his face remains stony, his iris eyes gleam with a hint of desperation. 

“You’re my best choice right now, (Y/N).”

Time goes still for a moment and you can hear a voice echo in the back of your mind as Geto gazes at you. 

“Have you modelled before?” 

When you blink, a crystalline blue pair of eyes flashes through your vision all of a sudden. You step back a little, slightly startled at the hazy vision you have of the “Gojo” man from earlier and his proclamation to you.

The tone of the man’s voice echoes through your mind. In a typical male fashion, that sort of sentence would most likely be played off as a flirtatious intent. But the way that he said it made it seem like some sort of actual encouragement, like an urge of sorts for you. It felt genuine. Sincere, even, as if he wanted you to do it for no one but yourself. 

And though as of now, you’d technically be doing it for Geto… you can’t help but feel an urge just to try it to see how you yourself would like it. To see whether or not you’d actually fit into the mold of a “model”—even an amateur one. 

You suppose… that there’s a first time for everything.

Shuffling your feet, you swallow the last bit of qualms down and let most of your nerves go, choosing to settle in what could be as of this moment. Even if you’re not ready for it, you think you should at least try. 

And in the end, if not for Geto, perhaps for yourself.

You lift your head up and lock eyes with Geto’s with a more determined look on your face. The hesitation is still faintly there, but the ghost of it is overpowered by your resolve.

“Okay.”

“Alright, now peek your eyes over the newspaper a little bit, sweetheart! Make it playful!” the photographer chimes as he readjusts his position with his camera. 

The photoshoot set is a makeshift cafe, to properly highlight the coffee and sugar notes of the new fragrance you hold in your hand. The backdrop is a fake interior window of the cafe looking out into a winter wonderland. Makeup and clothing took awhile to prosper considering you had to take off your previous makeup and let the MUAs do their magic on you and that you had to test multiple layered clothing sets before the photographer approved of the final one appropriate for the shoot. It didn’t help that you put up a fight to keep your glasses on and that the MUAs had to attempt a look that would highlight your features with your glasses.

You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves of you modelling for the first time or the heat of the lights that’s making you flushed. Something about the flashes of lights felt almost exhilarating to you. It’s foreign, but somehow, they embrace your being like a long lost friend of sorts. You have yet to get used to the blinding white lights from the flashes, but you only have to endure it for a good hour or so. The repetitive mantra of “You’re just trying this out.” echoes in your mind over and over again, even though you already know you seem to not be cut out for this sort of position.

It’s much too hot in the studio, you feel your body being rather awkward, and you don’t appreciate the onlookers that watch your every move as you reposition yourself to the photographer’s demands. You’ve already knocked over a couple of fake cappuccino mugs since your limbs still aren’t working correctly and you can’t seem to make the right facial expression to your degree.

It’s clear your nervousness is evident, considering you can see Geto discussing quietly with the creative director as they examine you closely from the corners of your eyes. 

“She’s rather… stiff,” the creative director mutters. “You sure there wasn’t anyone on call?”

Geto hums monotonously as he watches as you attempt to find the right position to try and capture your side profile while showing off the perfume itself. “If there were, they would’ve been here by now.”

“Yes I understand, but,” the director fights the urge to wince as your bracelet gets caught in the chair handle. “I don’t know if this shoot will be proper enough to display in the zine this issue. Can’t we just talk with them and discuss moving the ad to next month’s?”

“No, they’re releasing it the same day the issue comes out. They want people to know about it as soon as possible,” Geto murmurs. “To ask that from us is to ask them to push back their release date.  We don’t have that sort of power.”

The creative director sighs and silences himself, wallowing himself in a state of doubt as he and Geto continue to watch the scene before them. Perhaps it’s the state of weariness that Geto has accumulated from the past few days, but he genuinely doesn’t think you’re doing too bad of a job for your first (and probably last time, given the anxiety still within you) time modelling. He thinks the angles of your face hit the light just right when it counts properly, and that the clothes that drape you fit you more than accordingly; it’s surprising given that there was no time to tailor them to properly suit you but somehow, you made it work.

There are certain moments that your nerves fade from view when the director asks you to make a certain facial expression. The little surprised face you make when you hold the perfume up to your face was most likely the money shot, but there were much more shots that could be used for the ad that he didn’t anticipate. 

There was one where your eyes stared directly into the camera from a three-fourths angle, a certain warmth to them compelling him to look further into you. Another one was a mild bokeh effect of you sipping coffee from a mug from a lower point of view, where the perfume was fully into view. But Geto was still somehow locked onto your figure from the background despite how crystal clear the bottle was. Either way, there was still a plethora of good shots to use despite you not being a professional model.

“But I do have to admit,” the creative director starts slowly, capturing Geto’s attention and breaking him from his gaze as he fixates on you repositioning yourself on the cafe bench, legs crossed to show off the mocha boots that adorned your calves. “She’s not really all that bad. I can see some potential in her.”

Geto’s body remains still, but his eyes shift to stare at the director from the corner of his eye, watching carefully as he examines you from the set. He narrows his purple eyes as he picks up on a mild lip bite from the creative director as you shed the trenchcoat to reveal a black fitted mini dress with a turtleneck, a vintage cowboy belt cinching your waist. While you’re still modestly covered, it’s the way you show off your long legs emphasized by the short skirt of the dress and the fitted heeled boots.

“I wonder if she’s single…” the director murmurs so softly that Geto just barely picks up on it.

“I completely forgot,” Geto interrupts rather loudly, making the director’s fixed stare falter as the shoot continues. “I believe I left a file in regards to the perfume’s licensing in the meeting room. Would you mind getting it for me? I’ll keep an eye on the shoot.”

The creative director’s brows raise. “O-oh! Yes, of course. I’ll be right back then.”

Geto watches as the director shuffles out of the room and out of view from you. Truth be told, the file was finalized a while ago. But something about how the director was looking at you made Geto wary of his intentions with you, if he had any at all.

Something about it made him a little aware that your temporary spotlight shone a bit brighter than he originally thought it’d be.

The shoot finishes up within the next hour, giving the team a good handful of images to choose from for the column before the issue is printed. Manami is with you in the dressing room as the MUAs carefully take off your makeup and reveal your raw face to everyone, peeling away the heavy amounts of concealer that hide the darkness embedding the rim of your undereyes.

“Christ, how many hours did you sleep last night?” she questions when you give a large yawn.

“I should be asking you that question,” you quietly remark back, studying her equally tired features. “If anything, you need the rest more than I do.”

Manami had been feeling quite ill as of recently, possibly due to the colder weather. She claimed that it was just the new diet she had been trying out to properly fit into the dress that she was planning to wear for the charity gala, but it was clear that no diet was capable of causing stuffy noses, consistent sneezing, and a mild fever. You had encouraged her to try and take some medicine and go home yesterday, but she specifically said that, “Geto will have a guillotine ready come tomorrow morning if I dare to even think about taking a day off right now.”

“I’m fine,” she sniffs with half-assurance as she snatches a tissue from nearby. “Besides, people say you burn more calories when you’re sick so hopefully I can lose another half inch off my waist by tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re sick,” you point out with a mild smirk.

 “I-I’m not sick—!” she falters before her nose begins to twitch. “Ahchoo!”

You hum, ignoring her protests. It’s currently nearing seven in the evening, and you’re sure that work is just beginning to wrap up as of this moment. Thankfully, everyone agreed to do the work for the perfume ad tomorrow before the finalized issue is shipped to print, but you still had to edit some articles, as well as help Geto still gather materials for his newest fashion line that he only tended to work on in the evenings of the weekdays.

He leaves earlier than you and Manami do, since he often piles the nonsensical work to you and her. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left the office without another word considering he was attempting to push out his new line by the end of next month.

In the past few months, you can’t say your work as a journalist has improved since your time at Kaizen, but you can at least say that your friendship with Manami has blossomed and sailed a little more smoothly than your first few weeks of working with each other. She was still a little snippy towards those below her like the college interns and the other entry-level employees, but you were specifically her junior, so you suppose it gave you special access to a much more kind, yet still sassy, side of her.

You spot the paleness of Manami’s usually glossed lips and how fatigued she looked. It didn’t help that the dressing room was quite warm so she looked rather blushed in the face. She leans back on the couch and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the glaring white light of the vanity.

“God, shut that thing off,” she quips as she lazily wags a finger to the vanity lights. “Feels like I’m staring right into the Sun itself.”

The lights are turned off and the room dims. You chew on your lip before deciding to sacrifice your time a little longer in order to help her out since you knew how badly she wanted to attend tomorrow’s charity gala and show off her new Emilio Pucci dress.

“You should go home,” you say quietly. “Get some rest before tomorrow. I can take care of the Book and the rest of his bullshit.”

She chuckles at your mild cursing regarding you-know-who. “Yes, because that went great last time…”

“I swear I won’t mess up again! That day was just out for me, I swear,” you pout, “But really, you should go home and get some sleep. I know you’re gonna come in tomorrow regardless of what I say, so at the very least take some medicine and sleep.” 

Manami pokes an eye out of her hand to study your pleading ones. She gives in rather easily, sighing heavily. “Fine. But if you mess up anything, it’s all on you,” she states pointedly and unlocking her phone to notify Geto you’ll be taking care of her duties tonight. 

She shortly leaves the office when you clean yourself back up to your day’s attire. The company car comes promptly on time and you begin to wave goodbye to her, but she opens the window halfway and motions you with a shaky finger to come forward.

“No funny business,” she mutters sternly through her mask. “I mean it. He’ll have your head first, then mine if you pull anything.”

“I swear, nothing will happen,” you promise to her. “Now go home. Or else that that cold will be taking more than just a half inch off your waist.” 

She rolls her eyes but you can see the faintest grateful grin from the inside of her mask as she rolls the window back up. You watch until the black car disappears from view and into the city traffic before you go back into the office to wait for the Book to be finalized with its editors.

It reaches your hands eventually just a quarter to 10:00pm, a little earlier than expected. Another company car comes by and picks you up to get his dry-cleaning as well, and you arrive at Geto’s apartment just shy of 10:30pm. 

The heavy doors seem much more intimidating the second time around. Perhaps it’s because they knew what happened last time and are just waiting to see what incident occurs today this time around. But you shake your head out of your apprehensiveness and decide the only thing that will be happening behind those doors is just you placing the Book down on his coffee table and leaving to go home and sleep before D-Day.

The entrance was the same as always—decorated with a great assortment of artistry of different mediums. In the corner was the marble dragon and beside it was the archived Basquiat piece that must’ve cost an arm and leg to purchase for the typical person. Up ahead was the entrance to the living room and in the center of it stood the coffee table. 

The coffee table. 

All you have to do is just simply put the Book on the coffee table.

Then leave.

Then just leave. Do not do anything more than that. 

“No funny business.” Manami’s warning chimes in your mind again with each step you take to the living room. 

“No funny business,” you repeat to yourself under your breath, clutching the Book tightly to your chest as if it was the most fragile thing on earth.

You eventually reach the beginning of the living room and spot the very ottoman that had caused you to have a much more humiliating night than anticipated during that one day you were given the simple task of dropping off the Book from Geto himself. You hadn’t been asked to do so since then, shamefully. It’s tucked away safely on the side of the sofa, meaning you had to intentionally yourself into it to try and re-enact your foolishness again. 

The coffee table stands before your knees and you stare at yourself in the reflection of its glass.

“No funny business.”

You gingerly put the Book down on the center of the coffee table, your fingertips brushing against the many pages of its draft and a relief begins to fill your nerves the moment you’re about to break contact with it…

… until a familiar voice calls to you just as your fingers let go.

“(Y/N)?” Geto calls from above. “Is that you?”

You freeze on the spot. You swore to yourself and Manami that there would be no funny business today, and you were doing such a good job! Did you accidentally leave mud tracks behind? There wasn’t any rain today. Did you leave something else at the office that you needed to bring? No, Manami said he only needed the book… so did you do anything at all that would cause your boss to randomly call out to you during such a menial task?

With a rigid neck, you turn to him slowly with a pained smile and the Book officially set on the coffee table. “Yes, hello. Sorry to interrupt… I was just dropping off the Book.”

Geto peers down at you from the second floor’s staircase. He’s shed his waist coat and has left himself in his grey button up that’s relieved of three buttons at the top, just shyly showing the beginning of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rare sight—considering that Geto was often covered from head to toe in fabrics then even seeing him in a short sleeved shirt was a rarity.

“I see,” he says, scanning you from above with his cat-like eyes. 

You don’t know what to do. You just needed to drop the Book off and you were so unbelievably close to completing it without trouble. “Did you… did you happen to need something else by any chance?” you ask nervously.

“Ah, well,” Geto starts to your dismay. He pauses palpably before motioning you to come up. “I actually may need your aid on a piece I’m working on. Come upstairs.”

And miraculously, your throat closes up as you struggle not to burst into tears.

All you wanted to do is just drop the Book off! 

Despite all the curses that marathon through your head that you aim at your boss, you gather up the courage to shove down any questions of doubt and take your tired legs up the winding staircase. Something is telling you that this is a trick—that when you reach the top, Geto is actually just standing there with your termination letter, telling you that you forgot a vital rule to never go anywhere more than the living room in his house. But because you can rarely ever refute your boss in an effort to spare your sanity, you do as he says willingly like an obedient dog.

By the time you reach the top, there is no pink slip for him to display to you, but instead is an open door that faces the staircase directly. Inside, Geto stands in front of something, and you can see a tape measure around his neck more clearly, as well as a pin cushion on his wrist that usually holds an expensive watch. The room itself is rather large, with a variety of supplies garnered across a pegged wall with rolls of fabric decorating two of the walls. It’s Geto’s atelier room for his fashion line, you detail, the one that he stormed out of with Shigemo that time you had to drop off the Book. 

Without turning around, Geto calls to you, “Well don’t just stand there.”

Another thick swallow just barely passes through your dry throat. You prompt out an apology and slowly shuffle into his studio, where you see where the magic happens much more clearly and what exactly he was crafting on so late at night.

Geto moves aside for you to take a proper look at the mannequin adorned in a beautiful A-line black dress with a square neckline and ghostly, sheer sleeves. Around the waist was a loose string of pearls with a matching pearl necklace. It was a simple-looking dress from afar, but up close, you can tell that only a creative genius like Geto himself was capable of making something so minimalistic look so regal.

“Oh my…” you murmur softly as Geto pins a piece into place in its sleeve. “It’s beautiful.”

Geto hums flatly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he begins as he lifts his head to properly face you. One of his arms goes to lean against it (are those tattoos?) and you can feel his eyes scan you up and down like what he usually does in the morning as he examines your outfit. But something about this particular feat feels a little more intimate than usual, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “You don’t happen to have an outfit for tomorrow’s gala, do you?”

“Well, um,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers. Initially, you were just going to use a plain white, sleeveless dress you had used for a work party you spoiled yourself with before you left your former workplace since it was a rather expensive and nice dress, but as you second-guess, you’re sure Geto wouldn’t approve of a dress that you had bought on clearance at the nearby outlet mall. So you meekly reply with, “... no, not really.”

You’re expecting some sort of scolding from him, possible Geto telling you that you need to be more prepared for such an event and that the last few days’ events were no excuse for sloppy planning, but instead, you’re even more startled when he says something completely unexpected that makes your eyes widen beyond your glasses’s frames.

“Good,” he says and gestures to his creation. “Because I want you to wear this for tomorrow night.”

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

a/n ; i have rewatched the devil wears prada for the 123894th time before the year ends and have decided to bring this series back to life because i think it's much to good to give up on 🙂↕️ i don't know if i'll start a taglist just yet, but maybe, we shall see.

i'll also will be using she/her pronouns with an afab-hinted!body from this point on. i'm also still in debate of writing smut since 1) i'm not very good at writing it, 2) i don't usually like to write it lol, and 3) but i still do consider it as some sort of breaking point eventually between geto and reader. so if there will be in the future, it will be tagged and most likely will be extremely mild.

thank you for reading as always! i hope you enjoyed this chapter and this series so far. likes, comments, and reblogs are always noticed and heavily appreciated! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!! until next time!

[chanlix-honey]

Run It Again (Bang Chan)

Warning: Smut (+18), pet names, daddy kink, fingering, fear of thunder, and a panic attack occurrence. Please let me know if I missed anything! Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience! Without further ado, here's my first Bang Chan x Fem Reader fic. I'm thinking of making this a series, but I have too many ideas and not enough time to write. Let me know if you would like me to continue this, and make it a series with all the boys!

It’s Friday night, and you’ve just come home from a long day of doing voiceovers. With your throat a little sore, you decide to boil some water for a honey tea and change out of your work clothes. Once you’ve changed into your sleepwear, your phone rings. Your manager, Delilah, is calling you.

“Hey Y/N, are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh, no I don’t think so. Why, what’s up, Delilah?” You ask. You hear her sneeze, sounding distant from her phone. 

“-choo! I’m so sorry for calling so last minute, but the animation team just told me they finished the final scenes for the show,” she starts.

“Ah, ok.” Your kettle clicks off, signaling that your water is boiled. You return to the kitchen, grabbing a cup, spoon, and a honey jar. 

You shoulder your phone to multitask the call and your tea. “And you know what else is great? Cough cough—The director called just before I called you to say that the voices need to be done by Sunday morning so the team can review it.” 

You stop your movements, putting down the honey. 

“What?”

“Yeah…I know.” 

You both sigh on the call together. Delilah clears her throat.

“Could you come in tomorrow morning so we can make any necessary edits before the review?” Her coughs crunch on the other end of the line.

“Definitely, I’ll be there in the morning.” 

“Great! I’ll email you the script now so you can take a look at your lines beforehand. I’m so sorry for all of this, I’m—cough—sure this is inconvenient for you.”

“It’s okay, really! Like I said, I have no plans for tomorrow.” You reassure her. 

“Ok, thank you...I’ll see you tomorrow! I’ll send the script now. Good night, y/n!” 

“Got it. Good night Delilah.” You both hang up.

You stir the honey and hot water in thought. 

As much as you love voice acting, sometimes the job can be stressful. You’re grateful that this job lets you express yourself through characters and it pays your bills. And to be working with the company of your dreams—Stray Kids—is unreal. You remember watching Skzoo as a kid and the joy it brought you. And yet, you can’t help but think that there seems to be some lack of communication (and time management?) within some departments. Hyunjin–head of animation–often loses his head if Felix isn’t around to check in with him.

Finishing your tea, you put the cup in the sink. You head to the fridge to grab some leftovers and put them in the microwave to heat up. Once the food starts rotating, you hear your phone ding. Checking the notification, you read the email. It’s the script for tomorrow’s session.

The TV plays in the background, but you don’t really pay any mind to it until this moment. “Be sure to bring an umbrella if you’re planning to go out tomorrow, as there is a high chance of rain tomorrow…”

You skim through your lines until the microwave beeps. You take out your food and begin to read through the script carefully.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

—

You arrive in front of the production building. 

Dark clouds billow the skies, and the sound of thunder floods your ears. You scamper into the building quickly, umbrella in hand. When you enter the building the rain begins to pelt down on the ground. You jump, as lightning strikes outside. For a moment, you stop and breathe deep and shaky breaths. Once you’ve calmed down, you take the stairs to the second floor. All the recording booths are at this level, making it helpful for your trembling knees.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t last all day,” you mutter to yourself. 

You’ve always hated storms. They’ve terrified you ever since you were a kid. The strong winds always made you paranoid, thinking of the worst situations. When thunder breached your ears, you would always hide under a blanket to muffle the noise. Your parents used to let you hide in their closet to calm down, usually with a stuffed animal or blanket in hand. 

Even today, they stress you out. As if coming to work in the morning for a last-minute session wasn’t stressful enough.

Entering the recording room, you put your stuff down on the couch with a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for sound-proof rooms. Comfortable with the atmosphere, you head into the booth. You take some headphones sitting on a small table in the booth and put them on. Waiting for Delilah and the others to come in, you open your phone to review the script some more. After a few minutes, you get a text from her.

Hey Y/N, just wanted to let you know I can’t make it to the studio today. I woke up with a terrible cold. One of the other guys will come in to watch over your session.

Ah, ok. Thanks for letting me know! I’ll stop by to bring you some soup. Take it easy in the meantime!

One of the other guys? Who could it—

“—Y/N? Can you hear me?” A male voice takes you out of your thoughts. You widen your eyes as you’re familiar with that voice. Looking up, you see him.

“Oh good, you can. I’ll be filling in for Delilah, so just do your lines as if I wasn’t here.” He smiles.

The director is here? Why him, out of everyone? Your hands begin to clam up.

Changbin or Han is usually here to fill in if something happens. 

“Ahm, I got them working on other projects this morning, so their schedules are full.”

“Oh, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He nods, sheepishly. An embarrassing moment of silence passes and his voice fills my ears. 

“Right, go ahead and start from line 5, I’ll play the scene just two lines before yours, so be ready.” You nod in agreement.

The scene plays and you’re cued in to say your line. “Hello! I’m Joy, the host of this series, where the boys bake…”

You breeze through your lines and before you know it, you’re nearly done with this session. 

Until, this line. 

This is great! Mmm, this pastry is so good, mmm…

You tense up, forgetting that line felt a little lewd for your liking. You thought about it while reading through the script the first time. Realizing that Delilah would be there to listen in, the anxious thought went away quickly. 

But Delilah isn’t here. Chan is. The director of this whole project is here watching you voice your lines.

No way. No way I’m doing this line in front of the director. It feels weird…wrong even. I can’t do this! 

You’ve never really interacted with a guy in that way before. There is zero experience in that field. You never even touched porn or smut books to find out. You run away when guys flirt with you. The idea of interacting with someone to that extent terrifies you. Doing anything that even remotely puts yourself in a situation that could lead to uhm…doing more…sets you off. You’re worried you would mess up. Especially since you wouldn’t know what to do. You find that trying to function becomes quickly more difficult.

You curse to yourself at the cold that took over Delilah. 

The count-in starts, quickly realizing you're up. And the line is next. “This is g-great! Sorry, I stuttered.” He pauses the recording to talk to you.

“No worries, we can always cut it. Just try it again. I’ll give you the last line to prepare yourself.” He instructs, hearing the count-in tick in your ears.

“This is great! M–coughs” he pauses it again. “Is everything okay Y/N?”

“coughs, clearing throat y-eah, yeah. Sorry, I just had something caught in my throat *coughs* I-I’m fine.” You move away from the microphone to clear your throat some more. After a moment, you stretch and take deep breaths to calm down.

“I’m alright now, I can do it this time!” 

“Ok, let’s take it back to the last line.” You nod and hear the count-in once more.

The line plays and you’re ready. “This is grea-AH!” You jump back from the microphone and take your headphones off. Chan bursts into the booth concerned.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“A spider..” you pant. “I saw a spider on the mic…” He looks around the mic and the ground to find it. 

“Spider? I don’t see it anywhere.” He keeps looking around but to no avail. You could’ve sworn you saw it! Didn’t you? Or maybe was it just your hair in your face? 

He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

“I know we’re almost done, but let’s take a break. It’s still early, and we’re both clearly tired. We’ve been going at this for a few hours already.” His head tilts towards the door leading back to the recording space. You follow him begrudgingly.  

He must be so annoyed with me. Maybe he’ll fire me for this… You think to yourself.

Once exiting the booth, you see him back in the chair staring ahead, lost in thought.

After a few moments, he speaks again. 

“I’ve noticed you’re having trouble finishing the line.” He looks at you. Chan gets up from the chair and saunters over to you. 

“I-I just got it yesterday...I’m just flubbing over this one.” You reassure, avoiding eye contact. Keeping a distance, you walk backward as he continues coming towards you. 

“Honest. You just said yourself, it’s early. W-we’re tired. I-I’m tired.” You stammer. Unable to walk any further, your back presses against the wall. Chan places his hand on the wall, near your face, and leans in closer and closer, just until there’s a few inches of space between your noses.

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re nervous.” he sneers, picking up on your nerves.

“Is it…because of me?” He questions.

“That’s..I–” he gently grabs your chin and tilts it up, bringing your vision back to him.

“Delilah tells me you’re great at what you do. Am I wrong?” You feel your face getting hot.

“N-no, you’re not..” you mutter.

You hear your heartbeat travel from your chest to your ears. Blood continues to rush to your face. You start to feel your pussy thrum at the situation.

“Hm. Thought so.” The hand on your chin travels to your lips. His thumb brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

So soft…I could kiss her right now. He thinks.

“Have you…have you been with someone before?” He looks down at your lips, licking his. Your eyes widen at the question.

“I-!” You close your mouth, trying to collect your thoughts. He looks back up to you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t think that question has anything to do with my work—”

“—Oh but it does. Have you ever felt a man’s touch before, Y/n?” Your brain short circuits. You struggle to find words.

“Have they…” his hand slinks down to your hip, his other hand still perched on the wall.

“Taken care of your needs?”

“Uh…” you begin to feel a wetness growing in your panties.

“Maybe…pleasured you before?” His hand shifts some more, resting on your thigh. His thumb rubs towards your inner thigh, fingers reaching close to your womanhood. You feel yourself vibrate under his touch.

“I…” his hand stops moving on your thigh, waiting for your response. 

“N-no..” you whisper. “You’re the first.” He hums in response, as his eyes darken.

“Then can I–no. May I, take care of you?”

All the lights were cut off, and all the electronics whirring in the room were powered down. Chan looked around in the dark room, realizing what had just happened.

“Eep!” You quickly grab onto Chan’s shirt and hide in his chest. 

“The storm must have knocked out the electricity. It’s alr–”

“–Please.” His attention is brought back to you. 

“Please, uhm…” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, combing your fingers into his hair. He smiles.

“At your service.” He leans in to kiss you, closing the gap. 

For the first time in your life, you feel so...aware of your body. Blood pumps to your fingers. Goosebumps lay atop your skin. You feel your hair standing up. You feel the fuzz on your soft sweater. The chill rushing up your back. The throbbing in your jeans. The warmth of his touch. His hands ride up under your sweater, just enough where he can feel the skin above your jeans. 

The smell of Chan’s cologne wraps around you, and it's so rich. It’s a light vanilla smell with a bite of cedar and a dash of cinnamon–it’s all you want to smell. And his hair is so plush. It’s like feeling a pillow. You want him, and yet you can’t do anything. You don’t know how.

Your lips move with tenacity, with caution. Anxiety prisons your well-being and you freeze, unsure of what to do next. Chan notices this and pulls back. He rubs his thumbs on your hips to help you calm down.

“Is this ok? Do you want to stop?” He asks.

“I-No. I’m sorry, this is ok…I just don’t know what to do.” Your mind is going a million miles per hour. You struggle to grasp where your head is. All the possibilities of what-ifs, hows, and should-I thoughts whir into the blender that is your mind. You’re slipping into the rabbit hole. A dark pit of void that is filled with racing thoughts. The void strangles you, seeping into your lungs. They continue to fill, ready to burst–

“—Y/N?” A pin drops. You hear your name breathe past his lips. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. We can stop if you’re not feeling ok.”

“No, sorry I–I just need a second.” You shakily sigh. “Can I–is it ok if I hug you? Sorry, I–”

He pulls you into his chest, and a small poomf sound is heard, as he wraps his arms around you. Your body vibrates for a moment. Your anxiousness has nowhere to go, so it encapsulates your body. You take deep breaths to really try and calm down. Chan rubs the small of your back–ever so softly–you hum in response.

“Don’t apologize to me ever again. And you don’t have to ask if you need something from me. Just tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Sor–I’ll-I’ll try.” You sink further into his chest as you feel your heart beating to a normal level. Your shoulders slump and you wrap your arms around him.

You start to hear his heart beating in his chest. It’s nearly all you can hear.

After a few minutes, you let go of him and he gently pulls away.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers.

“Better.” You sigh in contentment.

“..And about…?” He leads. You feel your face get hot again.

“Oh! Uh, y-es. I’m still–yes.” You nod. “Tell me at any point if you want to stop, ok?”

“Alright,” you respond. He leans down to your ear and whispers.

“Good girl. Listen to your body and let it talk for you. I’ll do the rest.” He brings his hands to your hips once more. He tilts down, his face breathing down your neck. Softly, he presses his lips to it. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

He keeps at this to trail down your neck and a bit past your collarbone. He stops just above your sweater, where it lays. 

“I’m going to take this off of you, ok? Raise your arms for me, baby girl.” You do just as you’re told, and he pulls your sweater off of you, revealing your chest and baby pink bra. You’re itching to hide your chest as a habit but you’re more curious to see what else he does next. So you tame the itch. 

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Chan takes you into his arms and kisses in between your breasts. He sucks and licks all around your exposed flesh, leaving marks. In the midst of this, he slips one of his hands onto your bra’s clasp and undoes the latch. Coming up to your shoulders, he slides the bands of your bra off them.

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?” You look away, blushing some more. You feel your lower region pulse. A soaking feeling sits in your panties once more and you moan quietly. Though not quiet enough. 

“Fuck baby girl,” Bangchan grabs your thighs and lifts you. “Daddy wants to hear that again.” You wrap your legs around his hips. Chan kisses you again, his tongue threatening to take dominance. He licks your bottom lips for entrance and you comply, letting him explore your tongue. 

He leans you on the wall to take a hand to one of your breasts. With his right hand free, he teases your nipples, pinching and pulling at his own discretion. You moan and whimper in his mouth and Chan can’t help but praise you. He pulls away from the intense kiss while continuing to play with your breasts.

“That’s it pretty girl, you’re so good for me.” Chan nuzzles himself into the other side of your neck, leaving kisses all over it. 

“Everyone should know you’re mine,” he growls. He sucks and bites your neck, intentionally bruising it. 

“O-oh Chan…” you whimper. Still on his hips, you feel his stiffness. You need more of him, this isn’t enough.

“Mmh..” you grind on him once and your pussy twitches. Both of you are still clothed. There’s so many layers between you two. But you can’t help it. You want him. You need him. 

Before you realize, you hear Chan groaning in your ear.

You grind on him again. And again. And again.

“Fuck baby, you’re so eager. You want my dick, huh? You want daddy’s dick in you, princess?” He growls.

You stop for a moment, feeling your body flutter in response to Bangchan calling himself “Daddy”. Rolling off his tongue so pleasantly, so confidently. You plead to yourself mentally, wishing he would say it again. You whine, melting into his body.

“Yes! P-please. I n-need it..daddy.” He coos.

“Aw, you're so cute. You like it when I call myself daddy, don't you princess?” Your face feels hot.

“Y-yes..I really like it..” you mutter, hiding your face in his neck.

“Such a sweet girl. I can’t deny you begging so nicely for me. Daddy will give you what you want…but first, I’m going to take your pants off ok?” He speaks softly.

“Ok.” You nod.

He puts you down to unzip your pants. Pulling them down enough to see your matching pink panties. Your damp spot is revealed and he hums at the sight.

“My, my, baby girl. All soaked, just for me.” He gets down on his knees.

Chan kisses your pussy between the panties and pulls them down, along with your pants. You step out of them, now completely naked. He looks up to you.

“Let me hear you more princess, ok?” Chan plants his face into your region and you squeal in surprise. It’s a new feeling. An odd feeling. A good feeling. Really good. He licks your clit slowly and you whine.

“Ah..d-daddy. That feels good,” you sigh. Chan licks a long stripe, close to your cunt. You feel the pit of your belly sink. At the same time, it feels like something’s unraveling, like a blooming flower. One by one petals peel away from its center. Your cunt pulsates, aching for more.

Chan speeds up, his tongue flattening and stretching between your folds. He alternates his pace, all in attempts to rile you up. This works, as you feel..something grow.

This bubbling feeling…feels like it’s going to burst…

“I’m–I’m–” 

Before you can form your sentence, your body shakes, erupting a wave of shock and pleasure throughout your body. He stops his actions to give you a moment.

“Good girl, let it all out for Daddy,” He brings a hand to your head, petting your hair gently.

Once your body relaxes, you feel something warm and wet come out of you. 

“Ah, you’re so pretty when you cum babygirl.” He kisses your temples gingerly. 

You could barely feel his kisses as your body felt like it was floating. You feel hazy, but good. All you’re thinking about is Chan and you feel butterflies in your belly. Your thoughts move slowly. Drifting around like clouds. Eventually, come back to yourself.

“Doing ok cutie?” He asks.

All you could muster up to say was “Mhm”. You smile up at him, laying a hand on his cheek. 

“We didn’t get to, um–” He interrupts.

“It’s ok, I came when you did. We can work up to it next time.” He grabs the hand on his cheek and kisses it.

“N-Next time?!” You blush.

“Of course…and we have some things to talk about before we get there. Would you like to get lunch together?”

Thunder dispels the sweet moment you both shared. “Can we order in?”

“Of course. We’re gonna be stuck inside for a bit.” He giggles.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah?”

[myownwholewildworld]

DARKEST DESIRES ― a Boston QZ!Joel oneshot

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader. summary: you promised Joel something he's been thirsting after for a while ― your ass. so you decide to make good on said promise. a/n: am i sick? probably. undoubtedly, really. this is a sequel to A Dark Summon, but it can totally be read independently. this was prompted by this kind ask (love you, nonnie). also, do you remember that post about frankie morales saying "big stretch"? WELL, YEAH (sorry, meant to tag it but i lost it!). anyways, please heed the warnings! comments and reblogs appreciated to keep the thots thotting <3 take care! x warnings: 18+, mdni. sexual roleplay (cnc). mind the hefty age gap (reader is 19, joel is 56, oopsie). pet names (kiddo, daddy's girl, little girl, etc). sir/daddy kink. dom!joel, sub!reader (possibly some ddlg dynamics). slut shaming. unprotected piv. squirting. sleepy blowjob (consensual somno). breath play. sex toys (dildo, butt plug). mention of rimming. joel (the birthday boy) fucks your virginal ass, anal sex (faked painal). reader is a blank slate with no backstory, has hair. dual pov. no use of y/n. w/c: ~5.4k. divider by @\cafekitsune

You were so nervous, your hands were shaking with excitement.

Living in Boston’s QZ was not easy, and trading was even worse. Because you were young―just turned nineteen a couple of months ago―dealers tried to take advantage of you, asking for more than they would to other people. But you were smart and the moment you learnt that dropping Joel’s name in conversation would actually give you a discount, you used that tactic frequently.

Most people in Boston were too preoccupied with life to be gossiping about the age difference between Joel and you, but there were some that would scan you from head to toe several times with disdain. Some with jealousy, others with horror.

“She’s too young, could be his daughter.”

“He’s too old, bet he can’t keep up with her.”

“She’s too young, it’s indecent.”

“He’s too old, I’m sure that little girl can’t satisfy him like I would.”

“She’s too young, no wonder why she’s always cheating on him.”

“He’s too old, I don’t know what he’s seen in her.”

You had heard it all. And you couldn’t care less. Joel, on the other hand, was a bit more sensitive when people criticized you ― like a guard dog protecting its prey. The relationship between the two of you was private, except for the times that you would hook up with a random guy in an alley with Joel attentively spying on you from the shadows.

He liked to watch, and you liked being watched. In your eyes, it was a match made in heaven. It never went further than a hand job, and you never let them touch your pussy ― Joel was extremely possessive of her. He enjoyed the look on their stupid faces whenever you pulled away, leaving them dumbfounded in the brink of an orgasm, and you would run to him, all giddy and ready to finish him off right there and then.

It was lewd, obscene, but you loved it. And so did he. Joel had shown you a whole new world when he took your virginity almost a year ago. Since then, you had been insatiable, too eager to be fucked stupid by your old man. Your daddy.

Every day you would sneak out and come over to his place to be pumped full of his cum, to have him drill you until you forgot your name and your legs wouldn’t keep you upright. And then you would go back home, spent yet satisfied, with your pussy full to the brim and your panties drenched with your mixed arousal.

Today though you were planning on spending the night here. It was Joel’s birthday and you had planned a special surprise for him. One that had cost you, but the price was definitely worth it.

You knew how avid Joel was about fucking your ass ― he almost reminded you daily. He had been preparing you for when the time came, some mild anal play to get you going. Last night, as Joel ate your asshole out, you promised to yourself that you wouldn’t postpone it anymore and today would be the day. What better present for Joel than your virginal ass?

So here you were, all naked and squeaky clean for him. You had draped a red ribbon around your waist. A big, scarlet bow laid low on the small of your back, making it obvious what his gift was. You also had a smaller parcel, all wrapped up with some old newspapers.

The moment you heard the front door creak, your heart jolted with anticipation and your stomach flipped. Turning around to face away from him, you dropped to your knees and leaned forward until your forehead rested on the floor and your knees touched your chest ― your ass on full display for him.

“Kiddo?” he called.

Joel’s brows furrowed deeper when he didn’t hear a reply. He knew you were here, your recognisable scent betraying your presence. Confused, he walked the small hallway and entered the living room.

His eyes immediately fell to where you were positioned, and a rush of hot blood coursed through his veins like liquid fire, all the way down to his groin. You had knelt and bent over, your perky ass up in the air for him to admire. A red bow topped your ass cheeks, the meaning of all this becoming instantly clear.

With a sly grin, Joel rubbed his palms together, taking a step forward.

“You’ve not forgotten about my birthday, have you, sugar?” he croaked, raspy and hoarse.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” you murmured, wiggling your ass a bit for him.

Joel groaned, the tension in his pants growing tighter, while he knelt behind you. The offer was irresistible, the way your flesh jiggled commended him to smack both of your buttocks. You whimpered, your back arching some more and your crack pulling further apart.

His fingers twitched with need, grabbing a handful of your meat. Joel was mesmerised by the view ― your puckered entrance so very inviting, and your beautiful seam glistening with slick right below.

Unable to refrain himself, his index dipped in the warmth of your damp pussy, tracing it entirely until the pad caught on your beating clit. You sighed heavily, melting under his digit.

“Why are you all wet already? Have you been playing with yourself?” he questioned, voice laced with lustful anger.

“Yes, sorry, sir. I was thinking about you, about what is gonna happen tonight, and… mhmm…” you hiccupped when he flicked your clit, “I did finger myself, but I didn’t come, I promise.”

Joel’s chest rumbled, frustrated. His orders were clear ― no touching yourself, nothing at all, even if you were horny. He wanted you needy and ready to take his cock when he came home from a rough day of patrol.

“How many fingers?” he barked, pinching your hooded clit between his index and middle fingers. You wailed in mild pain, your hips bucking up and away from his touch, but Joel didn’t release your thudding button.

“Just the one. Just the pinky, I swear. I know you like my pussy tight and unstretched, sir,” your sob transformed into a moan when his thumb found your trapped clit.

“Attagirl,” Joel rasped. “I don’t want your cunt all used and loose, you’re too young to feel like an old hag around my cock.” His thumb pressed tight circles on your pebbled nub before he removed his hand from your pussy. “I will let it slide. This one time.”

The warning in his tone made you nod vehemently, as you looked over your shoulder to him. Your bottom lip was trembling, your doe eyes pleading.

“Do you forgive me, sir?”

Joel gave you a stern look before he slapped your ass cheek, and you winced in response.

“I’ll think about it, kiddo,” he already had, but wouldn’t tell you yet.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind, sir?” a single tear skidded through your cheek, bottom lip still quivering.

Joel loved how easy you would tear up, you were a natural when it came to acting.

“There’s this one thing I have in mind,” Joel muttered, his thumb ghosting your butthole. “So clean, sugar. Can’t fucking wait to dive in.”

“I washed myself really well for you, sir. I used an enema too,” you whispered, averting your eyes shyly.

“So no messy sex?” Joel almost sounded disappointed, but he was just toying with you.

“No, I couldn’t, sir,” you bit down your bottom lip, eyes shut and the apples of your face burning with shame, when the pad of his thumb gently pressed the tight ring in your crack. “Oh…”

“You like that, don’t you? All this time denying me my right to fuck your ass, and now look at ya, begging to have your butthole impaled. Did rimming your tight ass yesterday change your mind?”

You shook your head yes eagerly and pushed your hips backwards until your ass was resting on his lap, thumb still stroking you right where you needed. You rubbed your buttocks against his jeans, your weeping seam sliding on his zipper.

“I-I loved it. I’m s-so ready now, sir,” you stuttered, pouting when he stood up.

“You poor little thing. Let’s break this seal then, shall we? But I need you to work me hard first.”

Joel moved towards the couch, and you followed him, walking on all fours behind him as if you were his little doggy. Next time, he would get you a collar and a leash, he thought as he sat down, and the old cushion gave way under him.

He coaxed his legs apart to make room for you between his thighs. You didn’t need any further instructions: you were already unbuckling his belt, your tiny hand dipping in his underwear to release his flaccid cock. His dick was still soft, just started to harden a few minutes ago.

Leaning forward, you pulled back the skin on his shaft and kissed the reddened tip. Then your tongue twirled around his cockhead, slurping sloppily as you bobbed your head down his length. Joel felt his dick growing harder, bigger in your warm mouth, and he groaned with satisfaction.

You loved how Joel’s soft cock would slowly stiffen between your lips, how his weight would grow heavier on your tongue as you sucked him off. Although you played to be submissive to him, this was a reminder of the actual power you held over him. Not only a reminder to yourself, but also to him. Despite being fifty-six, you were able to work Joel hard in a couple of minutes with the brush of your tongue and the seal of your plump lips. You were proud of it.

“What’s all this?” Joel asked as he leaned over, his chest pushing your throat further down on his now throbbing cock.

Your partner grabbed the box you had wrapped from the coffee table, along with the ashtray and a cigar you almost had to sell your soul for.

“Your other present, sir,” you managed to mumble, mouth full of his hard erection.

Your saliva skidded down his veiny shaft, pooling on the thick, dark curls at the base of his cock.

“I didn’t say stop. Keep sucking, kiddo,” his reproach scolded you, and quickly resumed your job.

You heard him lighting the cigar and then tearing the newspaper apart, while you took in as many inches as you could. Now that you had felt a few cocks on the palm of your hand, Joel’s had no rival. He was so gifted, and you felt lucky you were the one getting it all for yourself.

He’d been training you to swallow him whole, and practice made perfect. So after a couple more dives, your lips reached the base as the underside of his cock dragged easily along your tongue.

Your eyes welled up due to the strain and you suppressed the gag reflex, the fluttering of your throat around his girth making Joel moan. His left hand landed on the back of your head, pushing you down.

“Your mouth was made for me, sugar,” he praised you and you revelled in his compliment, swaying your hips sideways.

He placed the box on your back and opened it. You couldn’t see him but knew his face expression would light up with a sinful smirk.

Joel cackled and smacked one of your round globes, careful of not messing up the cute bow.

“Oh, you dirty slut.”

Joel pulled you off his erection by tugging at your hair. By the way his brown eyes took you in, you had to be a pretty picture ― messy hair and makeup, swollen lips, your skin glistening from your nose down to your chin with his precum and your spit.

One of his hands was holding a small butt plug. It was made of black silicone, pointier and ridged. It had four inches of insertable length, and the diameter was one inch thick.

Joel let out a whistle.

“You traded for this?” you nodded, batting your eyelashes at him. “Good fucking girl.”

He leaned forward to kiss you, his lips demanding and fierce. Your tangled tongues fought with each other, but Joel always won, subduing you quickly.

Both his hands roamed your bare body, rough calloused palms caressing your cold skin, which bristled under his touch. Joel traced your underboob, then suddenly pinched both of your taut nipples and pulled.

You flinched, a thunder of pain radiating from your tits all the way down to your pussy. Wet, sticky heat pooled between your thighs, clit pulsing and hole clenching around nothing. How could pain turn you on so fucking much?

“Move your pretty ass to the bedroom, kiddo,” Joel commanded.

Springing to your feet, you obeyed, leading the way to his bed. The room was dark and bare, with no personal items anywhere to be seen. Joel kept to himself, sharing little snippets of his life when he felt like it. You never pushed for information, knowing that he would open up at his own pace.

Putting on your best innocent gaze, you turned around to face him once you were at the foot of the bed.

“Can we play rough… daddy, please?” the term slipped from your tongue accidentally.

You covered your mouth at the realisation ― you’d never called him daddy, not out loud. In your mind you had done so several times, but you were not able to gauge how Joel would react if you did.

You were about to find out.

Joel growled at you, one broad hand wrapping around your throat ― his fingers dug on the sides of your neck. Tilting your chin up, you gasped, your hips lurching forward until they pressed against his erect dick.

“Who’s your daddy, kiddo?” Joel groaned, grazing your chin with his teeth.

“Y-you, daddy,” you replied, slowly understanding that despite his aggressive reaction, he actually liked it. “Joel Miller is my daddy.”

“Damn right I am,” he snarled like an animal. He hovered the anal plug over your mouth, “Open.” Joel slotted it between your lips. “Suck on it, daddy’s girl needs her pacifier for what’s to come. Don’t want the neighbours coming over to check if I’ve killed someone.”

When he turned you around and pushed you towards the bed, you knew the game was on. Your shins hit the metal bedframe; with another push from Joel on your shoulders, you fell face first on the unkempt bed.

“No, daddy, please, no,” you began whimpering around the plug, squirming as he sank a knee into the mattress.

Joel grabbed both of your wrists with the span of one broad hand and pressed them onto the small of your back. He tilted forward, his weeping glans gliding on your sticky slit a few times. He tapped your clit four times with his cockhead, the last tap harsher than the others, and then he stabbed your clenching hole.

You writhed under him, audibly crying now, when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. You forced tears to fall down your cheeks and mouthed a scream around the butt plug in your mouth.

“It hurts!” you feigned a painful wail, when in reality your pussy was fluttering around his gifted circumference with delight.

Joel groaned above you, buried down to the hilt, and placed his free hand on the back of your head. Then he pushed your skull down into the mattress, almost smothering you as you tried to gasp for air.

“Shut up, you bitch. Take it,” his hips snapped back, cock almost sliding out of your cunt, and then forced his way into your pussy again.

Your old man picked up a relentless pace, the nasty, sucking sound of your wetness reverberating in the room as Joel fucked you stupid, drilling you into the bed like a man possessed.

Joel freed your wrists for his left thumb to find your empty rimmed hole. He started stroking it slowly again, and you squeezed your sphincter at the touch. Unhurriedly, he worked your butthole until your muscles relaxed, then took the opportunity to ploddingly insert the first phalange in your ass.

Seeing stars behind your eyes, your hips involuntarily jerked up, swallowing the second phalange of his thumb. When Joel began pumping your tight ass with his digit, your pussy palpitated around his cock.

“You like that, don’tcha? Nasty, stupid little girl,” Joel groaned, his thrusts unforgiving whilst his thick finger twirled inside you.

You hummed loudly around the butt plug, feeling lightheaded and dizzy due to the lack of oxygen, but also to the intense pleasure, one you had not felt before.

“Mhm-mm-mhmmm-mhmmmmm,” the crescendo in your mumbling plea peaked, your lungs now burning.

Then Joel released his purchase on your hair, and your neck snapped back as you mouthed for air. Your heartrate spiked, even feeling it in your gums. Joel’s unabating shoves along with his devilish thumb finally sent you over the edge and you jumped off the cliff of your pleasure blindly. Your throbbing pussy clamped around his cock like a vice, the wave of your climax drowning you as Joel fucked you through it.

With toes curling, eyes glassy and drool falling off the corners of your busy mouth, all your muscles went suddenly limp. Your spent cunt still quivered around Joel’s dick, who hadn’t stopped jackhammering into you with renewed vigour.

Hastily, Joel pulled back and out of the heat of your tight pussy, digging up his thumb in the process too. One more second and he would have spilt inside. While he was sure he could have another erection, even at fifty-six, he rather not risk it.

His rough hand wrapped around his cockhead, reining in the need to come.

“Fuck, you almost got me there, sugar,” he cackled, running his hand down his face.

You didn’t reply. You were sprawled across his bedsheets like a fuck toy, your thighs still trembling with the aftershock of your orgasm. Joel was sure that even without the butt plug in your mouth, you would not have been able to string two coherent words together.

His lustful eyes lingered on the red bow crowning the swell of your buttocks. He was dying to untie it, to unwrap his most precious present and make good use of it. But first he needed you ready.

“Gimme that,” he uncurled his hand in front of your mouth, and you spat out the butt plug.

Standing firm behind you, he teased your pursed hole with the silicone tip. You stirred at the touch but were so out of tune with your own body, you didn’t fight him. He twisted the plug around, circling in your orifice. Slowly it went in, and when it bottomed out, your eyes snapped open, and you grizzled.

“Stay put,” he ordered you, stepping back.

Joel admired how the handle stuck out, peeking between your round globes. With a huff, he stroked his length as he walked towards the nightstand. Opened the drawer and pulled out your favourite pink dildo. It was slim and slightly curved ― you loved how the tip always hit the right spot inside your pussy.

He retraced his steps back to the foot of the bed and slid the toy between your clammy flaps, wetting it with your juices. You squirmed at the cold touch but relaxed when you realised what it was.

“Gonna have both holes full to the fucking brim, babydoll,” he mocked you sneeringly, wedging the dildo in your crying pussy until it snugly sat inside. “She’s so greedy.”

“Daddy, please, I can’t. I’m hurting,” you pleaded, sobbed even.

“I don’t fucking care. I’ll fuck your ass through the pain. A gift is a gift, kiddo,” he mumbled darkly.

Joel followed along and would not stop unless you said, “you piece of shit.” That was the agreement, the safe words you would use if you really started feeling insufferable pain. So far, you hadn’t spoken the words, giving him free rein to do with you as he pleased.

Looking at you with your perky ass up with the satin bow on top, a dildo in your weeping cunt and the butt plug poking out of your asshole, he knew himself a lucky bastard. How you fully trusted him, giving in to his darkest desires and coming up with your own. The last year had been a revelation for both of you ― you matched his freak so well.

To hell with what people thought, you were everything he had been looking for.

Fisting the base of his thudding cock, he slowly removed the anal plug, the pop sound enticing. Joel watched your open hole squeezing again until it puckered in your fold. He was mesmerised imagining how your walls would feel around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting down his bottom lip.

Hypnotised, Joel pushed the plug back in your butt, slowly and steadily, watching eagerly how your rimmed entrance swallowed the beads.

“No, daddy, it hurts. Please, take it out,” you begged him with a small, breathless voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” he warned you.

With one hand he pumped the dildo, dragging the pointy tip along your anterior wall to hit the spongy spot of your pleasure, and the other performed similar motions with the butt plug.

You mewled like a kitten, your passion ringing in his ears like he was high on drugs. Seeing you like this, all pliable and surrendered, had him on the brink of coming ― teetering on the edge, precum sliding down his shaft.

When you started humping the bedsheets, causing friction in your unattended clit, Joel knew you were close to another climax. Feeling considerate, he let you chase your own high, both of his hands working the sex toys in your holes.

“I― Good fucking lord, I’m… com… I’m coming, daddy. C-can I…?” you asked for his permission, his chest swelling at your request.

“Yeah, kiddo. Come for daddy,” he rasped, feeling drunk on your ecstasy.

You finally let go again, your whole body quivering like a leaf falling off a tree. He saw your inner labia squeezing the dildo and for a second Joel regretted it wasn’t his cock ― how good it would feel to have your fluttering pussy hug him tight.

But he had to persevere. The gift was worth it.

As your body still adjusted to the aftermath, Joel pulled out the butt plug carefully. The toy slid out easily, and he watched again how your hole stretched back to its normal size.

Throwing the plug to one side on the bed, Joel untied the red, satin bow on your lower back with steady fingers, taking in the moment. He felt like a mayor inaugurating a new building, presenting it to the press. This building was only his to dilapidate. The ribbon fell through his fingers.

Joel slipped one hand between your thighs, caressing around the dildo to gather some of your slick and gently buttering it into your rimmed opening. You said nothing ― eyes shut and mouth agape, it was almost as if you were peacefully sleeping.

He repeated the process a few times, but felt it wasn’t enough. Bending down, he spat in your ass until his mouth was dry. Then positioned his weeping cock right in the fold of your ass and pressed your buttocks together to hump your butt crack. Again, you didn’t react, your drool pooling on the bedsheets.

“What a fucking sight,” he said under his breath, the tip of his girthy dick finally hitching in your asshole.

Slowly he pushed the glans in, then back out, then back in, testing the waters. You squirmed a little, your brows furrowing innocently and your nose scrunching.

“Biiiiig stretch, kiddo,” he managed to groan between gritted teeth, jaw painfully clenched as his cock finally burrowed in your puckered entrance.

That was when your glassy eyes snapped open, and both your hands fisted the bedsheets.

“DADDY!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

It was hot and tight inside, very soft too, sweat gathering on his brow in concentration. Your sphincter crushed his hard cock and Joel felt like losing control over his own actions.

Another piercing shriek from you brought him back, his hips slowly working your hole with his length. He was only halfway in, you still had a few inches to take.

“You pie― Ohhhh, ah, mhmm…” his hand was quick to find the pebbled nub in your slit, petting it gently, pressing tight circles.

The distraction worked, because soon enough his dick was fully sitting in your ass. Joel pulled back, then back in, guiding your movements by pressing his free hand on your belly, holding your waist up and moving you with him. His right ring and middle fingers stroked your pearly clit relentlessly ― you were melting again.

This was heaven. Fucking heaven, he thought. How the muscles in your ass contracted around him, making him feel woozy. How you keened. How he just knew your pussy was fluttering around your pink dildo. How your clit was extremely wet, his fingers almost slipping on your velvety skin, almost unable to catch on your button.

It wasn’t painful, it was extremely overwhelming. Your mind felt like a spongy cloud, completely blissed out. Your soul had literally left your body, that was how empty your brain was. You were so full ― the dildo cozily inside you, Joel’s girthy cock blasting your entrails without a pause. Having him fully seated in your asshole was the most euphoric experience you had ever lived ― your pulse adjusted to his, two hearts beating as one.

It was too much, but it could be even more. Slithering one hand between your body and the bed, you found the dildo. Slowly you rocked it in and out of your damp pussy ― when Joel pulled out, you pushed in.

Elated, little, pathetic sobs escaped your mouth ― real, blissful tears wetting your cheeks, whimpering as your puffy lips wolfed down the pink toy. Your clit felt on fucking fire, Joel’s fingers fondling it to a point where you thought you might actually die.

You were coming again ― Joel could fucking feel it in his bones. Only this time, you squirted all over him, the warm liquid running down his thighs like a cascade whilst your whole body quaked uncontrollably.

“Oh my! Daddy! DADDY!” you wailed as he fucked you through it, hips almost stuttering now. “I can feel you in my guts! OH, FUCKING HELL!”

That was fucking it. With a guttural groan, Joel finally came, thick, sticky ropes spilling in your ass, painting your walls white. For a minute, he kept on filling you with his cum, cock maddingly twitching inside you. He closed his eyes and heavily sighed, as if the biggest weight had been taken off his shoulders.

By the time he was done, Joel was heaving, his chest rising in quick succession. That had been the best sex he’d ever had, and he was no novice like you. God, even his legs were trembling with effort.

Joel smacked both your ass cheeks as you plummeted onto the bed, a stupid grin curling the corners of your sinful mouth. You rolled to your side to look at him ― a fucked-out expression, your eyes hazy, sweaty hair sticking to your face.

The way you lazily smiled at him made his heart skip a beat.

“That was… something else,” you whispered, half asleep, totally spent.

Joel couldn’t help but chortle.

“I told you, kiddo,” he said, manoeuvring you back onto your belly so he could watch his semen gushing out your ass. “Squeeze your butthole for me, babydoll. Get it all out.”

You obeyed, all his cum slowly trickling out until your ass was empty.

“Good girl,” he praised you.

He admired the view for a hot minute ― you were a dewy mess, tangled in his bedsheets, with the pink dildo still poking out your sweet pussy. So tight, he thought, your slick cunt wouldn’t release it even when he gently tugged at it. Joel didn’t have the heart to take such comfort away from you yet, so he left the dildo in.

Joel disappeared into the bathroom after that to shower quickly. Then grabbed some wet towels and went back to the bedroom, naked as you were, to find you soundly asleep in an odd position.

He cleaned you up ― first your sweaty face, then your upper body. Joel coaxed your legs apart and couldn’t resist the urge to bow down and press a sweet kiss to your clit, slowly extracting the dildo from your pussy.

You hummed in your sleep, jaw slack and snoring lightly.

“The best daddy’s girl one could ask for,” he purred before resuming the task of rubbing your cunt and your ass clean. Joel was extremely diligent with your hygiene and care.

There was a big puddle on his bedsheets, right where your pussy had been leaking all along. He’d deal with that in the morning, didn’t want to wake you up now ― you needed the rest.

Joel sauntered towards the living room, seizing the forgotten cigar and the ashtray. Then returned to bed, and dragged your body up the bed until your head was resting on his lap. You unconsciously nuzzled his soft dick, your hot breath fanning the thick curls at the base.

Joel raked his fingers through your hair as he took a puff, the cigar crackling.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, kiddo.”

In your sleep, you stirred ― your plump, cherry lips caressing his base. Joel’s head slacked back against the headboard as he smoked.

“Fuck,” he cursed himself, feeling his dick harden again.

You were giving him no option ― there was nothing worse than going to bed with a hard-on. Joel knew you wouldn’t want that for him.

His fingers left your scalp, took one more puff and placed the cigar down on the ashtray. Joel cupped your chin, tilting your head up and back, while his other hand guided the slick tip of his cock to your lips. The moment your mouth was in contact with his dick, instinctually you suckled on his pearly glans.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Joel gritted, voice gravelly. “That’s it, be a good little girl for daddy.”

Joel gently rocked his hips under you, only the tip disappearing between your sinful lips ― he didn’t want to wake you, not when you looked like an angel right now.

This was a recurrent dream of yours. Most nights, you found yourself drifting away and thinking about your old man’s beautiful dick. It was soothing when you latched onto his glans, just like you were doing right now ― unbeknownst to you.

In your dream, your tongue pressed against the slit on his throbbing cockhead while your lips would seal around it to suck on it. Then his underside would slide along your tongue, kissing your palate gently. Sometimes you would stop, glans sitting warmly in your mouth, and the hand resting on his thigh would find the soft balls underneath to massage them delicately. Then your tongue would resume its petting.

Heat peaked inside your mouth, and that made you scowled slightly. Smacking your lips together, sleepily, you realised that there was something warm and sticky pooling in your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered open, still drowsy, and found Joel’s darkened ones. Your head was resting on his lap, the palm of his hand caressing your cheek while his thumb stroked your chin. Sluggishly, you smiled at him, rubbing one eye with the back of your hand.

“Sorry to wake you,” he apologised before he took a drag of the cigar. “Swallow daddy’s gift, sugar.”

His words made you realise that what you had in your mouth was his cum. Your grin grew wider as the tasty seed of Joel slid down your throat. You liked it when he took what was his without asking.

“Attagirl. Now back to sleep, kiddo. It’s past your bedtime,” he commended you, and you nodded absentmindedly.

Nudging his dick and tucking your hands under his thigh, you pressed a soft kiss on his cockhead, then closed your eyes.

“Thank you,” you sighed contently, to both Joel and his dick.

[loveyislost]

mistletoe mayhem

oikawa toru x reader

trigger warnings: kissing, christmas, oikawa is a menace, jokes about murdering him, lmk if i missed any

summary: you’re going to kill your idiot boyfriend

not proofread. at all. can’t stress this enough. literally wrote this in less than five minutes in the car this morning and am copy and pasting it form my notes app. haven’t even read it over.

you were going to fucking kill oikawa toru.

your boyfriend, your sweet, naive, stupid little boyfriend, had decided nothing would be more romantic than to annoy you in the sake of holiday spirit.

the fool, the utter, absolute fool, that was toru, had decided to attach a sprig of mistletoe to a cap, which he had worn around campus all day. in his defense, he thought it was a great idea. a chance to get a kiss from the love of his life everyone you spoke? how could it go wrong?

well, now he was completely baffled. having forgotten about the hat on his head anytime he wasn’t around you trying to score a smooch, he couldn’t understand why every girl he conversed with had leaned over to give him a big smacker on the cheek.

he nodded along, eyes set on the notes from yesterday lecture that the girl was showing him. it wasn’t his fault he had missed the class… again. how was a simple man supposed to go to class when his baby was all warm and snug in his bed due to an opposite class schedule. 

his mind wondered, going back to seeing you all bundled in his blankets, a soft smile, so different form his usual, oh so instigating smirk, appears on his lips.

“….and that’s about it, the notes weren’t exactly complex yesterday. well, anyways merry christmas oikawa-san!” the girl, name always forgotten, leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before walking off.

oikawa sputtered, absolutely flabbergasted. he quickly wiped at his cheek, scrubbing at it with his palm as if it was diseased. “i have a girlfriend you know! and she’d totally kick your ass for that” (no she wouldn’t)

he wondered around for a few more minutes, waiting on your current class to end, grumbling under his breath. something about “people these days, no respect” and “it’s not like i can blame her, this face is irresistible, but still!”, before he sees the door to your class open.

he practically jumps up, starting to hurry over before remembering to look cool.

he slows down immediately, slinking over to the door, hands on his pockets, shit eating grin back on his face.

when you come out, he’s leaning casually against the wall. 

his expression can’t help but slip into a dreamy smile when he lays his eyes on you.

he leans down, the sprig of mistletoe dangling between you. 

“merry christmas angel.”

you just huff out a light laugh, stepping into his warmth. “it’s december first, toru.”

“and?”

you just laugh at him again, at the light pout now gracing his soft lips.

leaning up, your palms cup his warm cheeks, already flushing. as cool as he tries to act, he’ll never not turn into a flustered, blushing boy around you, his love.

your lips press to his, slightly chapped from the cold wind, a smile adorning both of your faces. 

when you pull away, he’s smiling again, mouth dropped slightly open, cheeks pink and eyes half lidded. an absolute mess, just from a brief touch of your lips.

you can’t help but laugh fondly, smoothing a hand over his cheek before pulling away. you tuck your hand into his arm, fingers wrapping around his defined bicep through his sweater, pressing into the warmth of his side as you pull him along with you.

before you can ask him about his day, he suddenly comes back to, his eyes widening drastically. “before you hear anything, i don’t know why they kept kissing me! i swear!”

you freeze, head shooting in his direction, eyes narrowed, and he gulps.

“who kept kissing you?”

oikawa gapes at you for a second, his milky skin paling even further. “all those girls! they just kept on! everyone! don’t kill me, it’s not my fault i woke up looking so handsome today! don’t fault me for  beauty, babe, i was born like this”

you blink up at him slowly for a second, before reaching up and snatching the little branch from his hat, waving it in his face before grabbing him again by the arm, dragging him back along with you. “fucking stupid.”

you roll your eyes, chest warm despite your annoyance, as he keeps rambling, going on and on about how it’s not his fault, why wouldn’t he assume it’s because of his stunning bone structure. besides, the mistletoe was for you. they should have all just known.

you can’t help but snort, yanking his arm closer to you as you pull him along, snuggling into your idiots side. 

[moonfawnx]

Might be an unpopular opinion, doesn’t matter if you’re an elriel or an elucien, but i DO believe that Elain should apologise to Lucien in the next book.

Hear me out.

The bond was discovered, 2+ years ago. She has had plenty’s of time to think and has been imo rude towards Lucien these past 2 years. At first it was definitely understandable, since she might have related him to her trauma etc.

But ESPECIALLY after the bonus chapter, i’m not saying she should apologise for going to kiss Azriel, but if she’s planning on rejecting the bond, just do so and get done with it.

I think it’s so rude of her to just keep it there, which understandably gives Lucien hope.

It’s also part of the reason why i don’t like elriel so far, they went to kiss in the same house where her NOT REJECTED mate was sleeping.

Repeat it with me:

A relationship build on someone else’s back, will not last.

Instead of rejecting Lucien, they decided to go behind his back?? “In the dead of the night when only the mother would see them” be so fr, at your grown ass age.

Literally nothing has showed that Elain WON’T be supported if she chooses to reject the bond, and before anyone says it, yes i understand the point of “If Elain is to reject the bond, she will do so in her own book” which of course makes sense but two years fr?

Going in for a kiss with someone else, which i would’ve been DELIGHTED to see if she had already rejected her bond, even after seeing the way Rhys and Feyre are and understood how sacred mating bonds are?

If she doesn’t want the bond, her choice of course, but in my opinion it should be common sense to reject the bond before attempting anything with anyone else.

Now in my opinion, all this leads to Lucien deserving an apology, cause whether you stan him on not, he has been nothing bit respectful to Elain’s wishes, and deserves that respect to be returned.

I literally sound like i hate both ships with this post, and honestly if sjm makes azriel and elain sneak behind lucien’s back, that would make them the worst, most immature and not deserving of a HEA in the whole series. I’m aware it sounds aggressive but be so fr what are we, 15, to be sneaking around??

On Elucien, i’ll probably hate it if sjm doesn’t show Elain growing out of her discomfort around him, as so far she has made it quite obvious how uncomfortable she is, which is understandable.

I’m an elucien, but open to discuss with anyone about this, respectfully ofc!!

And remember, and the end of the day these are just my opinions, you can block me if you don’t want to see them or if you can’t discuss like a decent person❤️

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-eight of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

His brain trips through all that all at once or over a few minutes, and he tries to remember–there was a question, or . . . Tim asked him a question, and . . .

“What’d I ask?” he asks with a little bit of a frown, because he can’t remember and also really can’t stop thinking about how much he wants–about how–“If it’s . . . just want–just want–” 

“Tell me, pet,” Tim coaxes, gentle and certain as the stroking of his fingers inside him right along Bernard’s cock, and he–and he–

“Want your cock,” Kon blurts, stupid and clumsy and with his gut gone molten again, and he doesn’t know the best way to tilt his hips for Tim without getting off Bernard, which he doesn’t wanna do at all, and Tim hasn’t told him how to, so–so then he can’t figure out how to stop talking, either, and half-stutters out–“S’just so good, feels so good, wanna feel it, whatever y’want, just please, I’ll be good, be so good, just–just please, Rob.” 

“Ngh,” Tim says very, very quietly as Bernard’s fingers dig into Kon’s neck and hand and Bernard’s dick twitches inside him, which makes him make a little strangled noise and cling tighter to him without really meaning to. 

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t–don’t mean I don’t want yours, I–I just–” he stammers, and Bernard rubs the back of his neck a little tighter. 

“You’re good, man, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Trust me, if I were you I would also be having a real hard time keeping off Tim’s dick right now.” 

“S’just Robin,” Kon whines helplessly, burying his face in Bernard’s shoulder all over again. “You’re still being so nice to me, why are you so nice to me, I don’t get it, I just–m’sorry, sorry, y’said yellow, I didn’t–didn’t mean to–” 

“Shhh, pet,” Tim murmurs, sliding a hand down his back and rocking his fingers a little deeper inside him, and Kon chokes on his voice. “That just means ‘slow down’, remember? Not stop.” 

“Sorry,” Kon whimpers anyway, hunching his shoulders and keeping his face hidden in Bernard’s. He’s stupid. He’s stupid. He doesn’t remember what he asked for and Tim said he needed to slow down and stay and–and he–and he’s stupid, and he doesn’t remember what he asked for, and he doesn’t wanna let Tim down or make him think he’s too much or make Bernard think he’s weird or mess this up or– 

“Kon,” Tim says quietly, catching a hand on his hip and sort of–tugging, a little, just a gentle little thing, and Kon follows him reflexively and gets guided into rocking down in Bernard’s lap and on Tim’s fingers a couple of times, and–and–“You didn’t ask for anything I don’t want to do too. Or that we don’t. Okay?” 

“O–okay,” Kon stutters, but he doesn’t–he doesn’t really–

“All you have to do is be good for me,” Tim says in Robin’s voice, and Kon’s body and brain both just–listen, and suddenly everything’s just . . . empty. The tension and the circling thoughts and the anxious tripping nerves just all vanish all at once, and the only thing that’s not empty is his gut that’s full of something molten, and his hole that’s full of Tim’s fingers and his boyfriend’s cock. 

And all he needs to do is be good, he remembers in some dizzy, distant way, and Tim presses in against his back and Bernard presses his mouth against his cheekbone and he gets all folded up between them and just moves his hips just how Tim showed him how to and it’s–it’s– 

“Just like that, pet,” Tim says, and it’s still Robin’s voice, but it’s gentle. Gentle, like Tim promised they were gonna be with him. “I just wanted to know if you still wanted both of us to take you together.”

[hwa-stars]

The Park's Christmas 🎄

Pairing: idol dad Park Seonghwa x fem named reader x twin kids (Min-Jun, Min-Ji) x Kim Hongjoong x Hongjoong’s kid (Minjae)

Genre: fluff

Summary: A glimpse into the Park's house on a Christma's morning.

Word count: 1.9k

The Park's house buzzed with the excitement of Christmas Eve. The twins were fast asleep in their room while Seonghwa and Minseo hustled around the living room, preparing the final touches for Christmas morning.

Even though the kids were getting older, the couple still wanted to make every holiday feel magical. As their curiosity grew, so did their schemes to catch Santa in action, so the parents always did their best to wait until the morning to set everything up.

“Hurry up, babe. They're going to wake up soon.” Minseo whispered as she grabbed the presents from their hiding spot.

“I know, just finishing up Santa’s footprints.” Seonghwa muttered, stepping carefully on the flour scattered on the floor to create the illusion of Santa's trail. “Hongjoong, keep an eye out for the kids, okay? Make sure they don’t peek.”

Hongjoong, who had decided to spend the holidays with the Parks, chuckled from his post near the hallway. “You’ve got it. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Min-Jun or Minjae are plotting something to sneak a look.”

Minseo laughed as she placed presents under the tree. “They’ve been trying for years. But, this year, we're ready.”

“Speaking of presents, can you put these ones from Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Mingi under the tree too?” Hongjoong handed her more wrapped boxes.

“Sure thing.” She replied, placing them strategically.

Seonghwa chuckled. “Who told us it was a good idea to give our kids so many uncles?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Minseo smiled as they both finished their tasks.

With everything set, Minseo clapped her hands. “Alright, time to wake the kids up.”

Seonghwa nodded and headed toward the twins’ room. The kids still shared a room despite their parents offering them their own spaces. They had refused, insisting that they wanted to stay together.

When Seonghwa opened the door, the twins were tangled in a mess of blankets and stuffed animals. Min-Ji was curled up in her own bed, while Min-Jun and Minjae slept together in Min-Jun’s bed, their little faces peaceful.

Minseo and Hongjoong went over to Min-Jun and Minjae, while Seonghwa gently shook Min-Ji awake.

“Min-min, wake up baby, it’s Christmas,” Minseo cooed, softly brushing Min-Jun's hair out of his face.

Min-Jun stirred and blinked his eyes open. “Good morning, Mommy,” he mumbled before placing a sleepy kiss on her cheek.

“Morning, sunshine. Guess who visited us last night?” she asked.

Min-Jun’s eyes widened. “Santa?”

Minseo smiled. “That’s right!” His sleepy demeanor quickly vanished as he squealed in excitement, jumping out of bed.

“Did Santa eat the cookies we left out for him?” Min-Ji asked, her big eyes searching her father’s face.

Seonghwa, Minseo and Hongjoong exchanged panicked glances, realizing they had forgotten about the cookies, milk, and carrots left for Santa and his reindeer.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Seonghwa quickly reassured her. “Santa loved them!”

“Let’s go see!” Minjae chimed in, just as excited.

“But first, you three need to brush your teeth.” Seonghwa reminded them, eliciting groans of protest by the childrens.

“Once you’re done, you can open your presents.” Minseo added, sending them off to the bathroom.

As soon as the kids ran off, the adults rushed back to the living room. The cookies, milk, and carrots were still untouched on the table.

“Why did they leave carrots?” Hongjoong wrinkled his nose in disgust seeing the carrots.

“It’s a tradition.” Seonghwa explained while stuffing a cookie into his mouth, leaving some crumbs behind.

Minseo grabbed the glass of milk and quickly downed it. “It’s for Santa’s reindeer, remember?”

“You eat the carrots, Hong,” Seonghwa said, still chewing the cookie.

“Why me? I hate carrots.” Hongjoong looked scandalized.

“Because I’m eating the cookies, and Minseo’s drinking the milk. The kids are coming!” Seonghwa said in a panic.

Grumbling, Hongjoong grabbed the plate. “This is so unfair. Next year, I’m eating the cookies.”

“Remember, you’re doing it for your son." Minseo grinned as Hongjoong reluctantly chomped down on the carrots. “He’s going to be so excited like our kids.”

Just as they finished, the sound of little feet echoed down the hallway.

“Look, Santa left footprints!” Min-Jun shouted, running over to examine his father’s work.

“And he ate all the cookies!” Min-Ji added, her eyes wide with wonder. “Oh no Daddy! Santa left crumbs on the table. You always say not to leave crumbs!”

Seonghwa chuckled kissing her little head. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll clean it up later.”

Even Minjae got in on the excitement. “The reindeer ate the carrots too, Dad!”

Hongjoong, still chewing the last of the carrots, smiled and ruffled Minjae’s hair. “They must’ve been really hungry. Great job feeding them, buddy.”

With everything in place, Seonghwa smiled. “Alright, who wants to open presents?”

Before the kids could respond, the doorbell rang. Seonghwa sighed, heading over to answer it. Standing on the doorstep were the rest of Ateez, with their arms full of even more presents.

“Move bitch!” Wooyoung pushed past Seonghwa with a laugh. “Uncle Woo is here!”

“Uncle Woo!” The kids ran to greet him, their excitement hitting new heights.

Yunho, stepping inside with a grin, scooped Min-Ji into his arms. “How’s my favorite niece?”

“I’m your only niece, Uncle Yuyu!” Min-Ji giggled.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite!” Yunho replied, hugging her tighter.

Seonghwa frowned, crossing his arms. “Okay, enough. She’s my daughter.”

Yunho pouted dramatically. “Come on, hyung. You get her all the time. I need my niece's hugs or I’ll die!”

Min-Ji giggled, glancing up at her dad. “Please Daddy, just one more hug?”

Sighing, Seonghwa nodded. “Fine, but after that, you’re back with me.”

Min-Ji quickly gave her dad a kiss on the cheek before returning to Yunho, who shot Seonghwa a triumphant look.

“First Wooyoung with my wife since we satrted dating, now Yunho with my daughter." Seonghwa muttered as he sat beside Minseo.

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. “They adore the kids. Let them have their fun.”

Seonghwa smiled at her, giving her a quick kiss. “You’re always right.”

The living room filled with laughter as Ateez joined the family on the floor, opening presents, sharing stories, and creating memories together—just like they always did.

As the gift-opening frenzy continued, the kids eagerly tore into their presents, exclaiming over each new toy or game they unwrapped. Seonghwa and Minseo sat back for a moment, watching with fond smiles as their living room turned into a whirlwind of wrapping paper and excited shouts.

"Uncle Woo, look! A remote-control car!" Min-Jun shouted, waving the box in the air.

"That one’s from me!" Wooyoung grinned proudly. "We’ll race it later, buddy."

Minjae, with a thoughtful expression, brought over a large plush dinosaur and held it up for inspection. "Uncle Yuyu, did you get this for me?"

Yunho, still holding Min-Ji nodded. "Sure did, buddy. I thought you'd like it."

Minjae beamed and hugged the dinosaur tightly. "Thanks uncle! It’s my favorite."

Meanwhile, Min-Ji was carefully unwrapping her own gift from Yunho. She gasped when she saw what was inside—a set of pastel-colored art supplies. "Uncle Yuyu! This is amazing!"

"I know you love to draw." Yunho said, smiling at her excitement. "Now you can make even more masterpieces. Don't forget to gift your uncle Yuyu one of your art works." He kissed her niece cheek and she laughed nodding her head.

Seonghwa shifted in his seat, his expression softening a little as he watched his daughter hug Yunho tightly in thanks. But then, when Yunho gave Min-ji a playful kiss on her forehead, Seonghwa cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"Okay, okay, I think that's enough affection for one day." Seonghwa said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he reached over to take Min-Ji back into his arms. "You’re still my little star, remember?"

Min-Ji giggled as she snuggled against her dad’s chest. "I know, Daddy."

Yunho shot Seonghwa a playful glare. "You’re so possessive, hyung. She’s allowed to like her uncle more sometimes, you know."

Seonghwa smirked. "Not gonna happen, Yunho"

Minseo chuckled from beside him. "You’ll have to share eventually, Hwa. She’s growing up."

Seonghwa let out a dramatic sigh but kissed the top of Min-Ji's head. "She’ll always be my little girl."

Jongho, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, leaned over with a grin. "Maybe you should be more worried about her future boyfriends, Seonghwa."

Seonghwa’s face immediately shifted from playful to serious. "Boyfriends? No, no way. Not happening."

All the members burst out laughing at Seonghwa’s overprotectiveness.

Mingi, still chuckling, shook his head. "You’re in for a long ride, hyung. Just wait until she’s a teenager."

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes at the members. "You guys better not give her any ideas."

Minseo playfully nudged her husband. "You’re being dramatic, love. Let her enjoy her childhood first."

Before Seonghwa could respond, Min-Ji interrupted. "Daddy, can we play outside with the new toys?"

The adults exchanged looks before Seonghwa nodded. "Sure, my star. But only for a little while—it’s still cold outside."

"Yay!" Min-Jun, Minjae, and Min-Ji immediately jumped up, grabbing their favorite toys and running toward the door. The members followed suit, eager to join in the fun.

As the group bundled up in jackets and scarves, they stepped out into the snow-covered yard. The kids' laughter echoed through the air as they played with their new toys. Wooyoung, Mingi, San and Min-Jun set up an impromptu race with the remote-control cars, while Yeosang helped Minjae navigate a new board game he had received with Hongjoong.

Yunho, meanwhile, was still carrying Min-Ji, twirling her in the air as she giggled.

Seonghwa watched from the side, leaning against the porch railing with his arms crossed. Every time Min-Ji’s delighted laugh reached his ears, he couldn’t help but smile—until he saw Yunho toss her up playfully, catching her in a dramatic hug.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Seonghwa called out, stepping forward. “Min-Ji, come play with Daddy.”

Min-Ji squirmed in Yunho’s arms, clearly torn. “But Daddy, Uncle Yuyu was—”

Seonghwa gave her a soft look. “You said you wanted to play with your new toys. Why don’t we build that snow fort you’ve been talking about?”

Min-Ji's eyes lit up at the mention of the snow fort. “Okay, Daddy!” She turned to Yunho. “Thanks for playing with me, Uncle Yuyu.”

Yunho set her down with a smile. “Anytime, princess. You have fun with your dad, okay?”

As she ran over to Seonghwa, Yunho raised an eyebrow at his friend. “A little jealous, hyung?”

Seonghwa shot him a smirk. “I’ve got nothing to be jealous about. She’s just more comfortable with her dad.”

Jongho who was passing by chuckled, nudging Seonghwa playfully. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Minseo, who had been watching the entire exchange from a distance, shook her head with an amused smile. She made her way over to the two men and wrapped her arms around Seonghwa’s waist. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

Seonghwa softened at her touch, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I just don’t want anyone stealing my little girl.” He said with a teasing smile, but his eyes carried a more serious tone.

“She loves you more than anything,” Minseo reassured him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “But you have to let her enjoy her uncles too.”

“I know ” Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…hard sometimes. They’re growing up so fast.”

Minseo rested her head on his shoulder, watching their kids play in the snow with their uncles. “They’ll always remember these moments—these Christmases, the laughter, the love. And we’ll always have these memories, no matter how old they get.”

Seonghwa nodded, pulling her closer as they both watched the scene unfold. The snow continued to fall gently around them, but the warmth of family, laughter, and love filled the air.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirty-Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

As the patrol trudged through the snow and into the camp’s tunnel entrance, Fireheart dully wondered if he was doomed to always come home with a dead body.

It didn’t take any time at all for them to be noticed. Goldenflower jumped to her feet with a cry of shock, turning the heads of every cat present. A crowd formed almost immediately, barely giving Fireheart room to help lower Speckletail to the ground in the center of camp. Questions rained down on him. He said nothing until the deluge of voices softened a little.

“We were attacked by one of the dogs,” he said, loud and clear and painful. “She saved me.”

The noise fell to a drizzle, now consoling murmurs and grieving breaths. Fireheart stepped back to let everyone nose Speckletail, whispering their goodbyes, blessings and mourning last words.

“I’m glad you’re okay, at least,” Ravenwing said as he came up to his friend and gingerly leaned against him, followed by Greystripe on the same side.

Fireheart didn’t have it in him to say anything but, “I don’t know about ‘okay’.”

Dustpelt crouched at his mother’s head, pressing his forehead against hers. Sandstorm sat beside him, a paw on his back and her usually fiery eyes solemn.

He’s going to hate me for getting his mother killed, Fireheart thought, jaw taut. If I’d just kept up with her, she’d still be here.

Greystripe interrupted his musing by resting his chin on his head—but just as ginger as Ravenwing, like he was afraid to touch Fireheart too firmly. Fireheart was dimly aware that he probably looked awful right now. He didn’t care too much about that.

Cats continued paying their respects, with Whitecloud being the last one. He rested a gentle paw on Speckletail’s shoulder, blinked slowly, and raised his head, looking at Fireheart.

“Is the dog gone?” he asked.

Fireheart gave one nod. “I don’t know where it went, but it didn’t come back for us.”

Whitecloud looked down at Speckletail with a soft sigh, murmuring, “Rest well. We’ll take care of each other in your stead.”

After a stretch of silence, Mousefur spoke up. “Someone needs to tell Bluestar.”

Automatically, Fireheart said, “I’ll do it.” He faintly heard someone questioning him, but he simply turned and walked for the entrance, his tail dragging on the floor.

He found Bluestar awake this time, absentmindedly plucking at a prey-bone with a claw. Her toes had mud caked between them, and her usually-pale claws were spotted dark with the stuff. Fireheart couldn’t help a sigh of grief at the state of the rest of her body.

“Bluestar,” he said, quiet and kindly like he was talking to a kit, “something bad’s happened.”

The skeletal head turned to him, dull eyes blinking blandly. “Oh. Hello. Who are you?”

The blow that question landed on Fireheart’s innards could have made him vomit on the spot. Instead, he stayed dignified. “I’m Fireheart. Your Clanmate.”

“Ah.” She didn’t look like she remembered him any further, but she let the matter drop. “What’s happened, then, Fireheart?”

Does she even remember who was her deputy? “Speckletail died tonight.”

“Speckletail…?” Bluestar frowned childishly, squinting, then perking up. “Ah, my deputy. She’s dead?”

“Yes,” Fireheart said softly. “I thought you might like to come say goodbye.” 

Bluestar said nothing for a long, long moment. She simply stared down at the bone in her claws, first thoughtfully, then blankly.

Fireheart hesitated to broach the next topic on his mind. “We… we also need to decide our next deputy, and I don’t want to rush you, but we should be quick about it.”

Bluestar tilted her head. “Why?”

Because you aren’t fit to make decisions. Because nobody will listen to you. Because we need a leader. “Because the Clan will be very upset without a deputy.”

“Ah.” Bluestar slightly nodded. “Yes. The Clan. Well… who should we make deputy?”

That was not a question Fireheart was prepared to answer. “Do… do you not know?”

Bluestar blinked again, almost stupidly. “Right, yes. Ah… perhaps…”

She hummed, frowning deeper. Abruptly, her face went blank, and she stared at nothing. Fireheart stayed perfectly still, his mind frantically scrambling for any of the cats who could lead.

Don’t deputies need to have mentored an apprentice? Who’s mentored that everyone would listen to? Do half-raised apprentices count? Oh– maybe…

“Well…” he said at last. “There’s Whitecloud.”

Bluestar returned from the blank space in her head, perking up. “Whitecloud. Whitecloud is our new deputy.”

“Oh, uh… well, there’s also—”

Bluestar stood up, legs quivering, and brushed past Fireheart out of her den. Fireheart had to follow her quickly, marveling at the speed someone who was just skin-and-bones could trot.

The crowd had spaced out a little when they entered camp. Everyone looked up in surprise as Bluestar, seeming not to notice Speckletail’s body, went to the meeting stump and clambered up it, turning to face everyone and sitting down heavily as her back legs gave out.

“Speckletail is dead,” she announced, like no one else was aware. “We pray that StarClan… that StarClan accepts her soul and she moves on peacefully.”

Silence, a tense and awkward kind. Cats gave each other apprehensive looks.

Bluestar paused for just long enough that Fireheart nearly went up to her and prompted her to continue before she blurted out, “Whitecloud will be our new deputy.”

Whitecloud blinked, surprised, but he straightened up and gave a solemn nod. “I’m honored, raprem*.”

Bluestar didn’t look down at him. She simply peered around the clearing, eyeing each of her Clanmates with growing confusion. She paused on Brightpaw the longest, head tilted and eyes slightly squinted. Abruptly, she jumped down from the stump, collapsing onto the ground with her unsteady legs sprawling out beneath her. Fireheart ran to her side, but she was already getting up and wobbling past him like he didn’t exist. The Clan watched her go, mute as she disappeared through the tunnel.

Whitecloud was quick; he went to the stump and smoothly leaped up onto it, turning and facing his new charges. His elegant fur fluffed out a bit, just enough to make him look as regal as Bluestar once had. Their eyes, both pale yellow, certainly looked the same. For a moment, Fireheart settled into a vague comfort that he’d felt in the spring and summer after he’d joined the Clans: the comfort of having someone in control who he knew he could trust and rely on.

“Bluestar didn’t speak to me about this,” Whitecloud said, his low and raspy voice somehow echoing in the clearing. “I’m sure you’re aware of that. But I’m pleased to take on the role of deputy to serve you all as well as I can.”

The Clan, in unison, relaxed their postures, their fur settling on their backs and tails.

Whitecloud continued. “If there are any issues or questions that come up, please come speak to me immediately. I ask that you leave Bluestar in peace for now—we’ll decide what to do about her once things have settled down a little and we can have a moment of calm. Until then, I can serve as temporary leader, and we can consider her an elder.”

Fireheart’s stomach twisted on the last word, but the rest of the Clan murmured agreements and relief.

“Thank you, Whitecloud,” someone called, echoed by a few other cats.

Whitecloud bowed his head respectfully. “Let’s say our goodbyes to Speckletail and bring her out to be buried.”

Now he slipped down off of the stump, approaching Speckletail’s body again and sitting by it, gazing down at her with serene sorrow. Fireheart carefully wove around the crowd gathering around her again to step up to Whitecloud’s side.

“Can I help bury her?” he asked.

Whitecloud looked at him with mild surprise.

“Just…” Fireheart swallowed a lump in his throat. “She saved my life, and… and I’d like to pay her back in some way. If it’s not too late for that.”

The deputy’s surprise melted away and he nodded. “Once we’ve said our farewells, we’ll take her.”

It seemed to take no time at all for everyone aside from Mousefur, Dustpelt, Fireheart, and Whitecloud to back away from Speckletail. The remaining cats maneuvered to carry the sturdy body together, walking close enough to each other to have to adjust their paces so their legs moved in tandem. Fireheart stayed silent as Dustpelt directed the others to head to a tree with unused bird nests in its many branches (“She always hunted best here,” he said), and as Mousefur and Whitecloud worked together to dig a big enough hole to contain her. He said nothing until they all stood together around the hole, Speckletail resting inside with a peaceful look despite her broken legs and neck.

“Scoop in a pawful of earth,” Whitecloud instructed, “and let them bear your final words, if you have any.”

There was a slight pause before Mousefur pawed up a lump of soil and pushed it in the hole, her words quiet. “You were a great mentor, Speckletail.”

“And a great mother,” Dustpelt added, copying Mousefur.

“ThunderClan honors you until there are none who witnessed you in life.” Whitecloud’s pawful fell in at her head.

Fireheart felt everyone looking at him expectantly (and with concern), but he had no idea what he could say. It took him a moment to figure out something, and he bit his own tongue at how weak it felt.

Pushing in his soil at her front legs, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

It was quiet again after that. The cats worked together to fill the hole, Fireheart keeping his head down so he didn’t have to look at anyone and see if they were angry with him. They should be, shouldn’t they? He could’ve just caught up to her, and things would be fine.

Some part of him tried to protest that it was an accident, that she didn’t have to come back for him but chose to. That part quickly wilted and died at the guilt gnawing his innards into mulch and its single growl for silence.

He stared at the ground the entire walk home, dully aware of the earth on his paws and not having the energy to clean it off. There was a mild attempt at conversation around him, but it fell away too. Evidently, everyone was in their own heads at this point.

Somehow, the night passed like nothing had happened. Fireheart slept through the day without a dream, but with guilt coating his mind, his sleep was uneasy. He was the last cat out of the warrior’s den. No one said anything, but he felt their eyes on him. He didn’t notice what prey it was that he ate for breakfast.

As soon as he finished and started grooming himself, Whitecloud jumped on the stump again. The Clan gathered around, ears perked and glances exchanged of curiosity.

“Speckletail is in StarClan by now,” he said, calm and soft as ever. “We can be grateful for that. Unfortunately, she left an apprentice behind who needs someone to continue her lessons.” Whispers of worry faded as soon as he blinked slowly at his Clanmates. “Fortunately, I’ve spoken with her new mentor, who has happily agreed to train her. Aspenpaw, please step forward.”

The pretty little molly must have been alerted before this, because she was already at the front of the crowd and stepped up a bit, tail high and head raised with dignity, ignoring the one-eyed scowl coming from Darkstripe on the edge of the crowd.

“Speckletail was a fine mentor to you, and we are all grateful for her service in raising you as far as she did,” Whitecloud said. “But she’s gone now, and unable to continue your training. With StarClan’s permission for me to use my powers as deputy, I now transfer your training to our matriarch, Goldenflower.”

Aspenpaw brightened immediately, her tail curling over her back. Goldenflower walked out of the crowd and went to stand by her, purring at the delighted look on her new apprentice’s face.

“I entrust her to teach you kindness and fierceness together, and to pass down everything she knows.” Whitecloud gave Aspenpaw a warm look before continuing. “Goldenflower, you have chosen your successor as matriarch, and now we ask you to mentor her with the ferocity and love of a queen, and the wisdom and dedication of the keeper of our bloodlines.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Goldenflower said, sounding as proud as if it was her own daughter she was mentoring.

“Then, with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Aspenpaw’s mentor.” Whitecloud waved his tail with muted cheer.

The pair of mollies turned to each other and touched noses, both purring loudly now. Aspenpaw bowed her head with deep admiration, and the Clan called her name like she was a new apprentice: “Aspenpaw! Aspenpaw!” Followed by this were cheers and shouts of congratulations.

“We have a future matriarch at last,” Frostfur said to Willowpelt in delight. “And trained by one of the best ThunderClan’s ever seen.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Teaselfoot added, though speaking to his sister. “This is a good night already.”

Fireheart maneuvered through the crowd to approach his mother and her new apprentice; his heart lightened with happiness at the pure joy emanating from the pair. When he was close enough, they looked over at him.

“Congratulations,” he said to them both. “How do you feel, Aspenpaw?”

Aspenpaw’s grey fur fluffed out like a cloud. “Like I’ve been blessed! I get to stay in camp and take care of kits now!” She ducked her head a little sheepishly. “Honestly, I’ve always really wanted to do this, but I didn’t get to tell Bluestar that before she made me an apprentice. Speckletail was nice, but… I dunno, I never really enjoyed hunting and fighting practice.”

“You’ll be having plenty of fighting practice, either way,” Goldenflower said in a jokingly chiding way, touching her nose to her apprentice’s forehead. “We need you to be as strong as you can be to protect the mothers and their children that will come along in your lifetime.” Her golden eyes sparkled. “But we’ll get to do it in camp as much as you like, within eye view of the kits.”

Aspenpaw purred. “That sounds fine to me.”

Fireheart regarded the mollies affectionately, verbally stepping out of their conversation as it turned to bloodlines and genetics. The very air of camp radiated with warmth and contentment—not just from them, from seemingly everyone and everywhere. There was a tinge of safety, like the dogs didn’t exist and no one had died the night before.

Fireheart turned and walked away, glancing back once to see Aspenpaw’s tail wagging in excitement and Goldenflower beaming at her.

Maybe life isn’t all that awful after all, he thought, and went to find his apprentice.

*”Raprem”: aunt.