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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

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There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you���ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

[scary-ivy]

I posted 47,683 times in 2022

1,985 posts created (4%)

45,698 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@crtter

@dingdongyouarewrong

@warmthseeker

@theropoda

@bogleech

I tagged 10,458 of my posts in 2022

#bugs - 218 posts

#toh spoilers - 148 posts

#:( - 110 posts

#prev - 109 posts

#aesthetic - 104 posts

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#me - 94 posts

#spoilers - 78 posts

#flashing - 77 posts

#neuralblender - 68 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#fucking zoolander to get it out eventually i can do you need it and i'll get you one 🕐🕐🕐🕐🕐🕜🕜🕜🕐🕐🕐🕜🕜🕐🕐🕜🕐🕐🕜🕜🕜🕜🕐🕜🕜🕜🕐

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Living in the woods is like *gets jumpscared by a turkey* *gets jumpscared by an owl* *gets jumpscared by a turke

1,588 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

#4

Misgender? Is there a Mr. Gender?

1,883 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

#3

I hate pop culture depictions of snakes that show them swallowing their prey alive, they literally evolved both venom and constriction to make sure their prey is as dead as possible before they swallow it, unlike other awful animals like frogs and pelicans who just shove live mice and babies into their mouths.

1,964 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

#2

This has got to be one of the worst character designs in anything ever

4,956 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Between the "Jack Sparrow and Barbosa were gay this whole time" post and whatever the hell was going on with that "Dinosaur King" post, we've entered a new era of fake tumblr stories.

31,860 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[whitherwanderer]

- N I N E T Y -

💎💥 - 🗡️🏹 🌸⛏️ - 💀🥀

[ikishima]

My #1 advice for people moving out is to NOT buy nonstick cookware... not only is the lifespan of nonstick a MAXIMUM of 7 years (usually more like 2-5 years) but teflon, aka Polytetrafluoroethylene-- the plastic coating that makes the cookware nonstick, infuses microplastics into your food.

New cookware sets can cost hundreds of dollars so my advice is to look for 100% stainless steel cookware in thrift stores. Safer, cheaper, & instead of needing to replace every 2-7 years they can potentially last you the entire rest of your life AND they won't start shedding plastic into your food

[swasdoodles]

When the boss said he was hangin' up his hat, everyone was lousy with speculation. Nobody was expectin' it to actually stay in the family, but Daylight Spring grew up in the business and took to it like marbles on a dish. And while that might seem like a lot for a young filly, that's what help like Gardenia Glow and Pepperdance are for.

New OC. Daylight Spring, a little criminal.

[deelovesbooks]

ya know what no I'm going to actually finish one of the current wips rather than start a new one

[darkforestwarriors]

having conniptions at 3am as I realize that my only fully finished and realized fanfics are a one shot warrior cats vampire AU and a long ass one piece self insert shipfic that no one other than me will ever lay eyes on (probably?)

why am I like this help

[tame-the-lion-writes]

tomboy reader x 141 - shopping

(Light warning for reader being self-conscious and insecure about her femininity.)

For the longest time, the boys of 141 don't see their tomboy teammate as a "girl." Not maliciously, of course, but it simply doesn't cross their mind.

It's not that you aren't pretty, but they're so conditioned to see you as "another one of the guys" that they don't spare a passing glance. You don't exactly dress up, either, and they haven't seen you in a skirt or dress. Nor do you have the most feminine interests--at least not that they know of--because their time with you is spent shooting at enemies, covered in blood, and kicking up dust. In short, the usual masculine tendency to see women as precious or dainty doesn't kick in. Because you're anything but.

Because you're a soldier.

In a way, you've grown to love it and hate it. The feminist side of you craves that respect and treatment as an equal. The other side of you, however, whatever the label may be, craves the idea of being wanted. You want to dress up nice and be small and cute. You want to wear heels and fluttery skirts and bows. You want to feel so sweet and sugary, that you could curl up in the palm of someone's hand--not afraid to be vulnerable and adoring and soft. Because you'd trust that person to still love and care for you, no matter how weak you allow yourself to be.

You never bring it up, though. At least not until Price asks if you have anything to wear to some fancy event, where you're stuck with a good old dress code.

"Yeaah... about that," you say with a sheepish smile. "Might have to get time off base to find something, sir. Don't think the pantsuit from my friend's wedding is gonna cut it."

"You don't got a dress? Not even one?"

"Was never the most comfortable in 'em, sir. Besides, I'm saving up for a house," you shrug. "I'm not out to buy some thousand dollar getup or jewelry." (And therein, beneath, lay the denial that if you didn't try to look feminine, you wouldn't look ridiculous doing so--imitating something you could never be.)

"Ooh, we should go shopping," Soap suggests with grin, leaning forward from his seat on the couch. "Think ol' Ghost here needs a bigger suit, anyway. Put on a few pounds--"

"Soap--"

"--of muscle! What--you think I was shaming ya?"

You roll your eyes, an anxious heat burning in your cheeks. "I can handle shopping myself, guys." And you didn't want them to be judging you for anything you put on.

"Oh, please, Gaz an' I are used to tagging along with our sisters," Soap continues, wrapping an arm around his fellow sergeant. Surprisingly, Gaz agrees with a nod.

"Not saying that you have to take us with you," Gaz starts, "but waiting outside a dressing room a couple hours is nothing."

"Long as we get food, of course," Soap adds.

"Well," Price notes, clearing his throat, "I'm in need of a new tie, too, so seems like it's settled. Ghost--and you?"

The masked man lets out a grunt, arms crossed on his recliner.

"... New suit."

Cue a little, "Ha! I knew it," from Soap. As well as Price filing for a one day vacation from the base.

** * **

You can practically feel the eyes trailing after you and the boys while you walk through the mall. Soap is loud enough as is, and combined with Gaz, both make for a pretty face. Then there's Ghost who just towers over everyone and looks like a cryptid with his mask, and Price who follows with the charm of an older gentleman. A posse of bachelors, that is.

You pick at the hem of your sleeve as you walk ahead--the default leader for today, seen as despite the boys' side quests, the main quest was you. Dressing you up in an elegant dress. Finding you matching heels and accessories. Making you look pretty and presentable.

So now you're here, standing in the dressing room of a fancy first-class boutique you could otherwise never afford--if it weren't for Price's insistence that, as your captain, it was his responsibility to make sure you looked "dapper." You smooth out the off-white creme of the skirt, staring in the mirror; you think you look pretty enough, and the pearl earrings add a certain charm to your otherwise plain features. (Though really, you're stressed that you'll seem more like a child playing dress-up--riddled with the self-consciousness of a girl trying imitate her mother, looking back at the gaudy mascara and smudged lipstick across her cheek.)

But there's no stalling. No more taking forever. The clock is ticking, and you either be judged for how you look, or judged for wasting time, or breaking down in refusal. (You know they'd never judge you--they're good men, you know--but still. You'd pick at your sleeve again if it was there--)

"Ready," you call from behind the curtain, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the light.

And all your fears melt away when they stop their banter to look at you, and their eyes widen--then soften--at the sight.

[sincerelyneo]

igloo | h.rj

“i make him lose his cool, yeah i make him go…”

💿now playing: igloo by kiss of life

❯ summary: No Nut November is stupid—so why is your boyfriend making a bet with Hyuck that he can last the longest? Surely he doesn’t want to actually deprive himself from sex with you for a month? Surely he’s not serious…? Oh, he is. That won’t do.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 4.1k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, petty stupid argument, slight angst, female masturbation, voyeurism, premature ejaculation, begging, slight sub!renjun, lots of teasing, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just renjun agreeing to a stupid bet and y/n making him regret it

“Personally,” Hyuck says, throwing his hands up confidently, “I think I’d last the longest. Strong willpower and all that, you know?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, swatting him with a light smack on the back of the head. “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t go five minutes without emptying your balls, slut.”

Hyuck growls, winding up to smack him on the back, but he stops short as you stroll into the living room, a few cans of beer balanced in your hands. You drop them onto the coffee table with a loud thud, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“What are you idiots arguing about now?”

This was how every Friday night hangout went with your boyfriend and his friends. Laughter, drinks, and memories in the making—until Hyuck and Renjun would start bickering. Hyuck started it every time on purpose, and without fail, your boyfriend would take the bait, falling right into his trap.

And when you say fall right in, you mean it. They’re so wrapped up in each other’s throats that neither even acknowledge your question. You turn to Jisung, who shrugs and mutters something about No Nut November. Your mouth drops open in an “oh.”

“I’m just saying, I’d last the longest out of all you boys,” Hyuck insists, crossing his arms lazily.

“Bullshit!”

Hyuck’s brows knit together. “Oh, so you think you could last longer, Junnie?”

“Without question,” Renjun scoffs. “I’d last longer than you in every single way.”

Hyuck scowls. And perhaps it’s the double meaning in Renjun’s words that has him snapping, or just his overall general competitive streak, but all of a sudden he has no interest in dropping this argument or backing down. 

“Are you challenging me, Huang Renjun?”

Renjun grins, leaning forward. “I mean, if you’re asking…”

You can’t believe Renjun is even entertaining the idea. No Nut November is stupid on a good day, let alone when someone has a girlfriend, you think. But it’s downright laughable when that someone happens to be your boyfriend—and the two of you go at it like rabbits.

Hyuck smirks, his gaze flickering from you to your boyfriend with a glint of mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely asking. Let’s see,” he drawls, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “Which one of us can last the longest this month, loser owes the other $1000?”

“Done.”

You stare at Renjun, your mouth slightly ajar. “Done?” you echo, your tone fuming. He doesn’t even flinch, too busy locking eyes with Hyuck like it’s some weird standoff: men and their egos. 

“Renjun,” you say, sharper now, catching his attention. His eyes flicker over to you, and for a split second, you think he might come to his senses. “You’re my boyfriend. My boyfriend,” you emphasise. “You just basically agreed to not have sex with me for an entire month.”

“Well technically, you can have sex but he just can’t cum—”

“Not now, Jisung!” You snap. 

Hyuck bursts out laughing, clapping his hands like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. “Oh, I sooo have this in the bag,” he cackles. “And Renjun, you can’t take it back now. We shook on it—well, metaphorically. I have witnesses.” 

Renjun pales slightly, glancing between you and Hyuck. “I—uh—” he stammers, but Hyuck cuts him off, wagging a finger mockingly. 

“Nope! Rules are rules, Junnie. You’re in this now…unless you wanna forfeit—”

“No!”

You cross your arms, fixing Renjun with a glare. “So, let me get this straight. You’re really going to prioritise this over your girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that!” Renjun says quickly, looking genuinely panicked now. “It’s just—Hyuck started it!”

“Hyuck started it?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your excuse? Are we in middle school?”

“No–baby–I–” Renjun stutters. “I just—You know what he’s like. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I said no.”

“Oh, I still won’t,” Hyuck chimes in, grinning ear to ear. “Because there’s no way you’re making it through this, Junnie. Not when your girl looks like that.” Hyuck gestures toward you with a smirk, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Renjun glares at him, a growl of anger leaving his lips, but you’re quick to interject. “So you’re risking $1,000 and pausing our entire sex life for a month—because you can’t handle Hyuck’s teasing?”

Renjun winces. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“That’s because it is bad,” you shoot back. “What are you even trying to prove? That you have more self-control than Hyuck? Congratulations, Renjun. Everyone already knows that.”

Hyuck gasps, feigning offence by clutching his fists to his chest. “Wow, Y/N. You wound me.”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” you retort dryly because he’s pissed you off just as much.

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s just a month. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” you cut him off. “You do realise this affects me too, right?” You throw your hands up, standing to your feet. “Fine. You know what? Do whatever you want. But if you even think about caving, just remember—you’ll owe Hyuck $1,000 and me an apology.”

With that, you grab your beer and stomp out of the living room, leaving Renjun to stew. Hyuck leans back, grinning smugly before turning to Jisung. “I give him three days.”

Jisung nods thoughtfully. “I’m thinking two.”

Renjun manages to last two weeks without cumming—a new record since the two of you started dating, though it’s hardly an accomplishment. When your girlfriend is mad at you, it’s easy not to cum—mainly because you weren’t offering.

You weren’t outright ignoring him, but your usual affection had taken a sharp nosedive. No lingering kisses, no teasing touches, no late-night “accidental” brushes under the covers. It was like you’d put him on lockdown—and, annoyingly, he was thankful for it.

That pissed you off even more.

Here you were, trying to make a point, and Renjun was treating it like some kind of twisted blessing. He wasn’t sulking, wasn’t apologising profusely like he usually would. Instead, he seemed…relieved, like your passive-aggressive cold shoulder was doing him a favour.

It especially pissed you off one night when Renjun came back from dance practice, his shirt clinging to his torso, sweat beading on his forehead, and his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Usually, when he came home like that—when it wasn’t No Nut November—you’d order takeout, settle on the sofa, and have lazy couch sex, no effort, no stress.

But not tonight.

No, because it is No Nut November and he agreed to it. So instead of collapsing into your arms, he takes himself upstairs, barely sparing you a glance, getting straight in the shower and tossing on a pair of grey sweatpants—torture, you think—and sits himself down in front of his PC, clicking at the keyboard as he logs online

He. Pisses. You. Off.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snap, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him as he spins his chair around to face you on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow, pulling his headphones off and letting them hang loosely around his neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t miss me touching you, do you?” 

“Baby,” he starts, his voice low and soft, “That’s not true—”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “Because it sure feels true.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair. “I do miss you. I miss you a lot, okay? But you’re mad at me, and I know I deserve it...so I wanted to give you space.”

You shake your head, “That feels oddly convenient.”

“I promise you it’s not,” he sighs, cautiously sliding closer. “How about this… is there anything I can do to at least try and make it up to you?”

You arched an eyebrow. “That depends. Are you planning on sticking to this ridiculous bet?”

He hesitates, and you can practically see the war waging in his head. “...Hyuck will never let me live it down if I back out,” he admits sheepishly.

You groan, sinking back against the headboard. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Renjun doesn’t make a move to comfort you, doesn’t try to touch or reach for you. He knows you’re pissed, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to drop this stupid fucking bet. His eyes flicker to you for a split second, and even though you're giving him nothing but cold, angry silence, he can’t help but think how fucking cute you look when you're this worked up.

You’re absolutely right to be mad. He’s an idiot. He misses you so much, misses your lips, your touch, your smile. 

Fuck, he feels his resolve starting to crack, and so he spins around in his chair, putting all his attention back on his game and not on your pretty little pout. His fingers hit the keyboard aggressively. And although his eyes stay glued to the screen, he can feel the heat of your stare drilling into the back of his head.

Unbelievable, you think.

He’s really doing this. Pretending like he doesn’t care that you're right there, seething and beautiful and willing. You can see the tension in his shoulders, how his jaw tightens whenever he thinks you’re not looking. He needs this, needs you but he won’t let himself because he’s been in a dick swinging competition with Lee Donghyuck since he met him. 

It pisses you off—at first. But then the anger twists into something darker, bolder. Maybe it’s the frustration of going a week without him, or maybe it’s just the pure, unfiltered horniness. Either way, your patience snaps. 

You didn’t agree to this no-orgasms-for-a-month bullshit. You had nothing to lose. You didn’t need to punish yourself. 

If Renjun won’t help you, fine. You’ll just have to take care of it yourself.

The thought is intoxicating, and once it’s in your head, there’s no shaking it. You shift against the headboard, eyes locked on his back. He’s been insufferable, sure, but the memory of him coming home sweaty and dishevelled—so fucking hot—has you pent up.

Your fingers brush your lips, and you can almost feel his again. Wet. Hungry. God, you’ve missed stumbling into bed together, tugging at his clothes and fighting for breath. You’ve missed the warmth of his body, and Renjun was always warm; the way he feels against you—scorching, consuming, addictive. He’s practically a fire hazard for your senses.

Your hand trails down, teasing over your chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric as you imagine it’s his touch. He could be doing this—should be doing this—but he won’t. Because you both know it wouldn’t stop there.

You let out a slow breath, the ache between your thighs growing more unbearable with every passing second. It’s the closest you’ve been to sex for the past two weeks and still, Renjun hasn’t looked at you once, his focus stubbornly locked on his stupid game. 

The memory of him murmuring “Look, it’s just a month,” as he ran a hand through his hair flashes through your mind, and it makes you want to scream. He had no idea how badly you’d need him, how badly you’d miss him, and how much it would hurt when he started pulling away. Or maybe he did and perhaps he was being selfish. 

But that’s okay, because you were about to do your own version of self-indulgence. 

Your hands drift to your thighs, nails raking lightly against your skin as you glare at his back. He hasn’t even flinched, acting like he can’t feel the fire you’re staring into his hair. 

You start slow—fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties, the warmth pooling low in your stomach making you shiver. You bite your lip as you press down harder, a sharp pang of pleasure hitting you as you add a small amount of pressure. The thought of him watching, of him finally snapping and turning around, sends a thrill straight through you. But he doesn’t move. 

You want him to move. 

You try parting your lips with a quiet sigh to get his attention—hands still teasing yourself, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You know exactly how to touch yourself, how to work your body into a frenzy. But it’s not enough—it’s never enough—not when you know how much better it feels when it’s him.

When he still doesn’t look, your last ounce of patience snaps. Fine, if he wants to ignore you, you’ll make damn sure he can’t.

Your hand moves to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with just enough force to make it rattle. You grab the vibrator—the vibrator, the one he’d bought you for your birthday with that smug little grin, saying he wanted to “make things interesting.” Well, you plan on making tonight very interesting.

This isn’t for fun. This is revenge, pure and simple.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs just enough to get comfortable, the cool air hitting your heated skin. Your thumb presses the button, and the low buzz fills the room, cutting through the quiet. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it’s enough to make Renjun’s fingers pause mid-keystroke, his entire body going still.

Good.

You don’t even look at him. Not yet. Instead, you drag the toy against your inner thigh, a soft moan slipping past your lips, breathy and deliberate, as you let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut.

And then, just like you planned, he turns. And when he sees you—legs spread, vibrator in hand—his eyes go impossibly wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

You hum softly, dragging the toy up your thigh with evil slowness. Your lips part with a quiet gasp, and his breath hitches audibly. “I’m watering the plants. What does it look like I’m doing!?”

“Y/N,” he tries again, this time more forceful, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as he takes a long deep breath. His hand clenches the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I’m serious. Turn that off.”

You finally meet his gaze, expression dripping with mock innocence as you scoff. “Why? I never agreed to No Nut November. I can entertain myself all I like.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. You can see the panic flickering in his eyes, the video game in the background long abandoned flashing with the ‘respawn’ screen as a flush creeps up his neck. You can tell he is desperately trying to hold onto whatever self-control he has left. So far, No Nut November had been surprisingly easy for him—mostly because you’d been at each other’s throats all week. But now? With you looking like this? He’s fucked.

“Y/N, I mean it,” he warns, his voice shaky. His gaze darts to the vibrator in your hand, then to the way your legs are spread, and then back to your face. You can tell he’s trying not to look, but his resolve is cracking with every passing second.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you trace the toy over your clothed clit. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. You don’t miss the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you as you whimper. 

“You know…you could always just look away,” you say with a shrug, your tone light, teasing. “Unless, of course, you like watching.”

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing behind them, but there’s no hiding the way his chest is rising and falling faster now. The blush staining his cheeks deepens as he shifts again, and your eyes drop—just for a second—to the bulge straining against his pants.

Like you said, those grey sweatpants are torture and you can see everything. It only spurs you on to pull your panties to the side and run the buzzing toy between your slick wet folds. The first real contact has you gasping, your back arching slightly against the headboard, and Renjun visibly twitches in his chair.

“Y/N, I’m warning you,” he tries again, but his voice is shaky, almost pleading.

“Warning me?” You echo. “What are you gonna do, huh? It’s not like you can do anything. You’re just gonna sit there and play your game while I get myself off because of a stupid dumb bet.”

His hand flexes against the armrest, his breathing ragged now, and you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice dropping lower, dripping with mockery. “Prove how much self-control you have. Or…” You trail off, letting another soft moan spill from your lips, your eyes locked on his. “You can always give up that stupid bet and come help me.”

Renjun moves before he can stop himself, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stands. His body betrays his mind, the bulge in his sweats unmistakable as he strides toward you, breath shallow with desperation. 

Fuck the bet. Fuck Hyuck. He just wants to fuck you. 

“Alright, fine,” he growls, “You’ve made your point. Just—just stop, let me—”

But before he can close the distance, before he can even get a touch of what he’s been missing, you press your foot firmly against his chest, halting him mid-step. His eyes widen, lips parting as he gasps, completely caught off guard by the sudden force of it. For a long moment, he stands frozen, confused.

“Hmmm, I’ve changed my mind,” you say in a low voice. “You don’t get to make the rules and then break them the second you get hard. Sit. Back. Down.”

“Y/N,” he whines, the sound ragged and desperate. His hands hover around you like he doesn’t know whether to push forward or pull back. “I thought—”

You simply smirk, leaning back into the headboard with an air of defiance, your leg still pressed against his chest, keeping him in place and giving him a perfect view of your open-spread legs. The vibrator hums between your thighs, and you can feel his gaze searing into you, his eyes flicking down to where it rests beneath your wet soaked panties.

Fucking torture.

You drag the vibrator over yourself with steady, careful motions, breath hitching as you lean into the sensation (slightly making a show of it to tease him further). “You wanted to prove you could last, didn’t you? Prove it. Watch me.” You purr. 

He groans, his head tilting back as his hands curl into tight fists, helpless and frustrated. “You’re fucking cruel,” he mutters, his voice strained, barely keeping it together.

“Am I?” you tease, your words laced with finger-licking venom. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, Renjun. Ignoring me, turning your back, all for a stupid bet with Hyuck? Now you get to feel exactly how I’ve felt.”

His jaw clenches as his hips shift, the fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide his need. His eyes lock on yours, pleading, his chest rising and falling with erratic breaths. “Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” you taunt. “Please stop? Please let you touch me?” You press the vibrator harder against yourself, letting out a loud, shaky moan, and his knees nearly buckle as you continue, your smirk growing as you watch him unravel. 

His body trembles, a curse escaping him as he sinks back into the chair, defeated and desperate, fighting the urge to touch you, to do something, anything. Renjun’s never felt a tightness in his body like this before. His muscles are tense, every inch of him on fire, but it’s not the good kind of heat—it’s raw and painful, like his body’s been caught in a vice that won’t let go. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, every shift only intensifying the ache. The throb is relentless. 

"Y/N, please," he whines desperately, the plea barely a whisper, but you hear it. He looks so broken, so beautiful, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to regain some shred of control. 

You smirk at his desperate pleas, the sound making your heart race faster. You’ve never seen him this far gone for you, and knowing you've been the one to drive him to the edge like this—it’s a rush.

You spread your legs even wider, the cool air of the room hitting you and you moan as you pull your panties down and toss them aside. He stares at you—eyes wide, face flushed, lips parted—as you slide your fingers between your slick folds. You’re so wet already, so hot, and all it takes is the combination of cool air and the vibrator on your clit to have you soaring. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you arch against the toy in your hand. “God, I’m so close.”

He groans in response, hips shifting against the chair as he fights the urge to move, his body desperate for friction, for any kind of touch.

“Y/N, please,” he tries again, voice so thick with need. “Let me help. Please. Let me—”

You press harder, your entire body starting to tingle as you drive yourself closer to the edge. His own hips roll desperately, and you wonder how close he is too. He doesn’t even need a hand, it seems. His body’s already learning to react without stimulation—and it would be his own fault for blue balling himself for two weeks. The thought of it almost sends you over the edge, but you want to draw this out a bit longer.

“Nope,” you grunt, breathy moans escaping you as your hand speeds up. “No touching.”

His breath hitches. “Fuck, you’re so fucking cruel,” he pants, his body writhing in the chair. His face is flushed, eyes wild, and you can tell he's not far from losing it completely.

You smirk. “And you’re so fucking desperate,” you reply. “So close, aren’t you? And I haven’t even touched you.”

He nods, his hips rolling desperately as he clutches the edge of the chair, knuckles going white with tension. You can almost feel the ache in his body as he strains against himself, fighting against his own needs.

Your eyes flick to where his sweats are straining and you let out a small whimper at the sight. God, he’s so big, and you can practically imagine him thrusting against you, his cock sliding in deep with a rough, possessive motion. Fuck you’ve missed that. You gasp, your body clenching around nothing, and you swear you can feel his touch on you, all over, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“God,” you whisper, your hand moving the toy faster against your clit. “God, fuck—Renjun,” your voice breaks on his name, “Fuck, I’m close.”

His hips snap forward, his back bowing against the chair. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his eyes wide as they stare straight into yours. “Fuck, baby. So pretty—”

You cum with a sharp cry, your hand spasming against yourself as your body trembles through the orgasm. Renjun watches—desperate and hungry—for every second of it, just the sound of your orgasm sending his own body to the edge.

“God, yes,” he groans, eyes closing with a harsh curse. “Fuck, yes. Y/N, fuck, yes.”

You open your eyes to see him bucking in the chair, his body shaking as he stares at you—wide-eyed and panting. You watch his cum spill into his sweatpants, creating a dark, damp stain that makes your chest swell with satisfaction.

Your gaze stays locked on him—your body still twitching as your own orgasm fades—and a slow smile spreads across your face as you realise he came untouched, from just watching.

Your boyfriend sits frozen, completely caught off guard, his eyes staring blankly at his lap, cum stain splattered over his sweats. He blinks rapidly as he struggles to form coherent thoughts, his mind a mess. A long, long moment passes, and then he lets out an awkward cough, eyes darting around the room in search of an escape. There’s none. He’s just cum all over himself and can’t even blame it on someone else.

He looks mortified.

You bite your lip, a mischievous smile tugging on your face. “I’m sure Hyuck’s gonna love this.”

“Hyuck isn’t finding out,” he groans. 

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh, he will. You made a bet about not cumming for a month, and well…”

Renjun growls low in his throat, rising up and crawling onto the bed. “Exactly. I made a bet with him, and if I’m gonna lose $1,000, I might as well fuck my girlfriend properly, and cum inside her, and tell him that’s how I lost, since you wanna be such a fucking tease.”

You smile as he hovers over you, a challenging gleam in your eyes. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat?”

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s a promise.”

[mockingbirdshymn]

im sitting here with so many ideas in my head knowing i need to focus on one or else i wont get any of the others done

on another note: immmmmmmmmmmm struggling so hard with this one scene. i need to reread slow burns to figure out how they work. i need to print them out and anotate them

[cllightning81]

Hidden [LS2+OP81]

Summary : People believe Oscar is thirdwheeling your relationship with Logan. However, they'd be wrong.

Pairing/s: Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri x Reader

Word Count : 2.4k

Masterlist Logan Sargeant Masterlist Oscar Piastri Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE

Your relationship with Oscar and Logan had never been one that was shared with the world, and for the longest time, all three of you just assumed it would never be shared with the world. Oscar was more than happy about that. He wasn’t the kind of guy looking for public displays of affection towards him from either you or Logan but when Logan confessed that he wanted to go public Oscar pushed for you and Logan to go public and let fans see him as the third wheel. 

You had obviously argued with the idea. You understood why Oscar didn’t want to. They raced in so many countries where being in any kind of “non standard” relationships would get them banned or arrested, but you could also see where Logan was coming from. He wanted to show you both off. 

You, Oscar and Logan had grown up together karting in England. You can’t actually remember how the relationship between the three of you came around. You had started off as enemies, then moved to friends and all of a sudden became boyfriends and girlfriends. While you couldn’t exactly complain, it would have been nice to have a fun story to tell the grandkids in the future. Maybe one of them had the story hidden somewhere. 

You personally had stopped racing many years ago after seeing how much one season in Formula 4 cost your parents. Deciding that while you wanted to stay in racing, there were many other ways to do that. So you stopped putting your parents through the financial burden of racing and put them through the financial burden of university. 

You couldn’t lie, it did get you somewhere. Between university and an apprenticeship with Aston Martin and all the previous names they went by, you were set for the Formula One world. While you expected to be behind the scenes in the technology campus, you were more than surprised when Lawrence Stroll himself asked you to join them on race weekends. 

Who were you to say, no? Being at the racetrack every weekend and getting to support your boyfriends in person. So here you were walking through the Imola paddock. Oscar and Logan chatting as you trailed slightly behind reading the news on your phone, not paying much attention to what was being said. 

“You okay?” Logan asked as they both stopped walking. You looked up with a nod 

“Hmm? Yeah! Sorry. I was reading the news about back home” You shrugged, and they nodded, continuing to walk, obviously deciding it was a good enough answer considering you do it quite often. They boys stopped outside the Mclaren garage without an indication they were going to stop, causing you to bump into Oscar’s solid back. His hands instantly coming around to stop you from falling 

“Careful” He chuckled as you huffed, straightening your Aston Martin shirt and slipping your phone into your pocket. 

“Next time, tell me we're about to stop” You complained, and Logan laughed, saying his final byes to Oscar. Your hand gently brushed against Oscar’s own hand. 

“Be safe out there” You smiled up at him, causing him to nod 

“You know I will be” He smiled, allowing you and Logan to continue your walk. Logan blabbering about how he thought the race was going to go and just about everything until you got to the Aston Martin garage. 

“Be safe out there” You told him, and he nodded with a smile 

“I’ll do my best” He smiled, walking off as you walked inside the Aston Martin hospitality. 

“And over there just coming in is Y/N. She’s late, but we don’t tell her that” You heard Lance tell a bunch of little kids as you walked over behind him. 

“He does tell me that, but I also keep him safe, so he knows when to be quiet” You hummed, sitting down in the chair next to him. 

When you first started working in AM, you understood why people didn’t like Lance Stroll. However, that was just his guard. When you really got to know him and his family, you understood that they were just normal people, and Lawrence just wanted the best for his son. 

You sat with Lance for a little bit before leaving to the garage to start your own work for the morning. Saying a ‘hello’ to Lawrence as you passed him. 

The rest of the day went as well as it could. Oscar continued to be asked questions about ‘Third Wheeling’ and Logan. Both Oscar and Logan continued to be asked about what it was like to be the grid kid to you and Lance. How that came about you would never understand. Considering you were newer to this side of the paddock than Oscar and Logan. 

The race wasn’t the best with only one out of three cars coming back in one piece. Logan was a victim of Kevin’s dive bombing. It was a good move realistically if it had worked out correctly, but Logan just happened to miss it in his mirrors and went for a move on the car in front at the same time. Lance was a victim of the car not cooperating and ending up in the barriers. A loose wheel, the mechanics had come back and told you both. Whereas Oscar got to keep his 100% lap completed streak. Still the only one this season. 

Logan was waiting outside the Aston Martin Hospitality as you sat with Lance going over some basic race data. 

“Hey Logan’s waiting outside for you. Well, I assume it's you” You looked over before getting up 

“I’ll just be a moment” You mumbled as Lance shrugged 

“Take your time” He leaned back in his seat, obviously not caring about going over the data. However, you hadn’t expected him to make a run for it. 

You walked down to Logan, who reached a hand out to you. Taking his hand on your own. You tilted your head slightly as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“Hey what’s wrong?” You frowned, pushing some hair out of his face

“Just my team again” You sighed 

“I really wish you’d let me do something about it Logs” You pressed a kiss to his head where it was lying in the crook of your neck. 

“You know I like doing it by myself though” He explained, and you nodded 

“I do, but Logs the way that team is treating you is ridiculous. One conversation with your grid grandpa and you’d be sorted for at least a year” You joked, getting him to crack a smile 

“Oh we need to have a word about that. How come I’ve got two dads?” He asked 

“How come I’m your fucking mum?” You asked and he laughed, his head falling back. You smiled glad you could make him laugh “Who’s your other dad then?” You asked, having not seen the rumours about it 

“Button” He shrugged, and you whistled 

“Hmm I’m not going to complain about that one” You joked, and he tickled your sides, making you push him away. Oscar appeared next to Logans side “Osc save me” You complained as he just stood there laughing 

“I came to steal Logan for a little bit” He shrugged, and you nodded 

“Go ahead. I need to finish debrief” You smiled, stepping back a little 

“I’ll let you speak to him” Your eyes widened at Logan’s statement.

“Seriously? You’ll let me speak to Lawrence?” You questioned, and he nodded, turning on his heel and walking away with Oscar. You walked back inside groaning as all Lance’s stuff was gone. Obviously. 

“The kid gone missing?” Fernando asked, and you nodded 

“We were almost done anyway. I guess I’ll just let him go” You shrugged, and he nodded, glancing to where you, Oscar, and Logan previously stood. 

“So what’s the real story between you three?” He asked as you walked with him. You almost choked on your own spit at the open question

“I erm. I” You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks 

“I’ve seen the three of you behind closed doors. I used to work with Oscar remember” You nodded, having briefly forgotten about Oscar’s Alpine days. You looked over at him. It was Nando. You looked up to him throughout your karting days, and here he was asking about your relationship. 

“We’re all dating” You explained quietly as Fernando smiled at you with a hum. You looked up at him, confused as you stopped in the garage 

“Are you happy with those two idiots?” He asked, and you nodded with a smile as the blush rose. 

“Very happy Nando” You nodded 

“Good” And with that, he walked away, leaving you to gather your belongings alone. Once all your belongings were in the bag, you walked towards Lawrence's office. Knocking on the door. The man had been like a second father to you since he took over the company

“Come in” He called, and you walked into his office, almost like a school kid about to get told off. “Ah Y/N. Good race today, no?” He asked, and you nodded 

“Would have been better if the wheel stayed on the car” You shrugged, and he nodded, motioning for you to sit down. 

“Can’t go right all the time unfortunately” He replied, and you nodded 

“I guess that’s true” You placed your bag on the floor next to the seat you were now sitting in as he moved around the desk to sit on the same side as you. He didn’t like formal meetings you’d found over the years. 

“So how can I help you?” He asked, and you let out a shaky breath. You hadn’t thought through what you were about to say to him. 

“It’s about Logan” You started, and he motioned for you to continue “Williams isn’t treating him well. Actually they’re treating him like he’s a piece of shit on the grass. And I’m not the kind of person to come in here and ask for favours, but we know he’s a good driver. We both saw him in the junior formulas, and we can see the differences in his and Albon’s car. Please, Lawrence, is there anything you can do for him?” You asked. Lawrence's eyes softened. Obviously, before moving into the F1 paddock you’d warned him about the relationship, and with an NDA signed, he was more than happy to still have you on the team. 

“How bad is it?” He asked and you bit you lip slightly 

“Secrets about Logan’s car, midseason drivers talks. It’s bad. He won’t tell Oscar or I how bad, but it’s bad” Lawrence shook his head 

“That is bad. Look I’ll speak to Mike, but I can’t promise anything” You nodded

“That’s all I ask. It doesn’t have to be a seat even if it’s just a reserve or test driver. I know he’d appreciate it especially if they do replace him with an F2 kid” You sighed, and he nodded

“Anything for my grid grandson” He joked, and you laughed, shaking your head

“Oh my god. Not you as well” You laughed, and he laughed along. 

“Lance was telling me about it. Weird relationship you’ve got there” You laughed with a nod 

“We were talking about that earlier” You nodded 

“Well I’ll speak to Mike. Give me until Canada. Think it can wait that long?” He asked, and you nodded 

“I’m sure it will” You smiled, going to shake his hand as you both stood up however, Lawrence had other plans, pulling you into a hug. 

Back at the hotel, you could tell how Logan was feeling just by how he was moping around the room. You shared a knowing look with Oscar. You grabbed your shoes, pulling them on before pressing a kiss to both their lips, leaving Logan confused before walking out. Leaving them both alone. 

You knew what Oscar’s plan was while you were away, which is exactly why you left without saying a word. Your plan was to go buy a basket for Logan full of things just to cheer him up. Part of yours and Oscar’s master plan every time Logan was feeling down. 

Returning to the hotel room, you knocked on the door, realising that on your way out, you didn’t grab the room key. Oscar pulled the door open, still shirtless, having obviously been in the shower recently. 

“Hey” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips as you walked into the room. 

“Hey yourself” You hummed, glancing towards the bathroom where the shower was running. Placing the bags on the bed as Oscar’s arms wrapped around your waist looking into the bags as you moved all the goodies into a gift basket. 

Oscar pressed a kiss to your shoulder as you leaned back into him, looking at your handy work with a hum. The shower turned off as you took your shoes off, throwing them next to the pile at the door. 

You had brought all of Logan’s favourite candy – Italy has a lot of American candy sections – some of his other favourite foods as well as a little teddy bear. 

“You forgot something at home” Oscar hummed, and you looked at him with a frown. He reached into his pockets, pulling out your rings. You smiled, holding out your hand, letting him slide them onto your ring finger. 

Logan walked out the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist frowning as he saw the basket sat on the bed. 

“Thought you could do with some cheering up” You smiled, reaching your hand out for him to join you and Oscar. Your arm setting around his waist 

“Lawrence is speaking to Mike. He can’t promise anything, however it’s better than nothing. But we knew you still needed cheering up. So some of your favourites” You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair before turning his head to kiss Oscar. 

Coming Soon

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[phantomsies]

my dress up darling • ony

convincing your friend to go to a convention with you turned out to be the best idea ever!…but it’s what happens before the event even arrives that makes it all the more fun..

📝: blerd!ony, black fem!reader (plus size coded), PWP, finger sucking, thigh riding, fingering, handjob, pet names used (mama, baby, she slips up and calls him daddy), lots of praise, tit/nipple play, nasty hotel sex, tiny mentions of blood + injury, reader is a seamstress/cosplayer, missionary, squirting, friends to lovers, lots of humor and banter, creampie, aftercare

word count: 6.3K

this was a lil something I’ve been wanting to write for the longest bc blerd!ony altered my brain chemistry and I miss him tremendously (and the next time I go to a con, I’m totally not hoping to manifest a tall, darkskin, nerdy cosplayer bf🌚 just joking y’all! That would literally never happen. But I hope y’all enjoy this

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

“Ow..damn, this hurts already..”

“You good over there, mama? What’s wrong?”

the deep voice belted out in a rather low and calm tone..cool and collected, that’s how he always was. Nonchalant to a fault and that was just one of the many things you loved about him. Hence why you had invited him along to this little venture in the first place. However, at the moment…you quite frankly could not stand his ass! Through gray colored contacts, (y/n) shot the tall male next to you an icy glare..one signifying just how ‘good’ you were!

“Oh, I’m just fine, Ony. Despite the fact that my legs are still shaking and I’m sore as hell.”

a statement that should not have garnered a single chuckle out of anyone had your very handsome homeboy doubling over in laughter. He could tell by the look on your face that you were still a little peeved at him for the previous night and this morning. Honestly, you’d never want to fight a single person in your life but if you thought you could beat him, you’d ask him to spar just one time. “What the hell is so funny?” “Nothing at all, you just seem a lil’ stressed.” Feigning his humor as he pressed the key fob to lock the doors of his 2022 Camaro..a beautiful specimen, much like the man driving it. Honestly, it should’ve been illegal to be this fine but you knew exactly what you were signing up for when you decided to come to this convention with him! Three days full of dressing up, video games and all of the collectible items and rare figurines that one’s nerdy little heart could desire. It was an event that you had been looking forward to for months and it was only the icing on the cake when your favorite cashier turned cosplay buddy decided to tag along! You’d discovered Onyakopon’s, or just Ony as everyone called him; his love for nerdy things after you came into his store on a late night with a random anime shirt on and he was all hyped to see someone else that looked like him, especially a girl..that was into this same stuff. Since that day, the two of you spoke every chance you got to gush over your favorite shows and game series, all but holding up the lines to do so. Soon, that bond carried over outside of his workplace and the two of you began hanging out. Even going to a manga and anime cafe for your first outing. You were so excited to have a friend who shared your similar interests. Eventually, you divulged to Ony that you were a cosplayer and that’s when he stumbled upon your Instagram page. Which was littered with photos of you in beautiful costumes…some very detailed and intricate and others..very revealing and sexy! Make no mistake, he drew an issue with neither one but to see your duality from a girl who walked around in long graphic tees with characters on them and sweatpants to seeing you with your ass out, dressed as one of his fictional crushes, had him very conflicted! But what impressed him even more was the fact that each one of those beautiful outfits you were wearing?

You had hand sewn each one yourself! Spending weeks at a time crafting each one. Hence why your page was so much more bare than other girls he’d seen doing the same craft. It wasn’t that you loved it any less, you just didn’t have the luxury of tossing on any old, run of the mill Amazon ensemble from some third party buyer whose plus sizes looked like they’d fit a middle schooler at best. So instead of giving it up altogether, you took the liberty of learning how to stitch them together yourself to ensure the perfect fit. So naturally, it came as no surprise that when you revealed this secret to him, he wanted you to curate his very first cosplay as well! Ony had long since dreamed of dressing up as characters such as Kratos, Jin Kazuma and all the other badass video game giants he adored. Not only did go out and purchase hundreds of dollars worth of materials for you to make his dream costume come to life, but he offered to cover the costs of everything for the weekend. Just because he was so gracious to you and excited to be going. You made it your mission to ensure that he’d be left in awe when he put it on! The character in question? None other than Shao Kahn from Mortal Kombat and you decided to accompany him as the antagonist’s wife, Sindel. You both looked incredible. But leading up this moment, things had gotten a little out of control, thanks to your companion over there!..who didn’t seem to be phased at all.

“Aye listen, to be fair, you started it. I just finished it.” Prompting you to smack your lips and cut your eyes at the shirtless male. Who was glistening in the sunlight and not making matters any better. “Whatever, I think you were betting on sum’ shit like that to happen.” “Shit, I ain’t mad that it did and I know you not either.”

but just what was Ony referring to? Well…it all began last night in the hotel room…

flashback

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

“Ony! Can you stay still, please? I’m tryna finish this last piece.”

“C’mon, ma. Can’t you do it later on?”

“If it gets any later, imma be sleep so no. You can pause that damn game and wait for me to finish sewing this on.”

it was around eight thirty at night..dark had fallen cast over the skies and faint crackles of thunder resounded throughout the air. Luckily, the two of you were safe from any potential storms in the confines of your spacious hotel room. A luxury, double bed suite at the Best Western; only two blocks away from the convention venue. The last thing either of you wanted to be worried about was having to drive forever to get there and then have no parking or having to wait in a long line. It was a mistake you’d made several times when attending these events alone but Ony wanted his very first time to be absolutely perfect. Not to mention, he didn’t want you having to walk far in your heels. DragonCon was by far one of the largest conventions in the country and people of all kinds came to the illustrious event to have fun, make friends and of course, show off their cosplays. You and Ony had decided on the video game greats, Sindel and Shao Kahn from Mortal Kombat. You had loved Sindel since you first began playing the series and she became your favorite. So a year ago, you decided to craft her iconic purple suit and the staff to go along with it. So you were all set aside. But he wasn’t going to be as easy…because at the moment, while you were trying to put together the final touches on his outfit, he was clicking away at a controller, which made it difficult to get the stitching right. But you knew how it went…when you found yourself gridlocked in an important match or battle and couldn’t stop at the moment.

“Awww, c’mon! You keep blocking, bro. I hate this damn combo—“

it was at that moment when you were bringing the curved needle up through the loin cloth piece and securing the stitch, did he jump and not only cause you to lose balance, but send that needle right through your finger! Poking the index pad and breaking the skin. “OW!” On instinct, you’d jump back and immediately, Ony dropped his controller, finally breaking focus on what he was doing. You were bleeding but nothing too major. Alas though, he felt instantaneously guilty and reached for you. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Making an attempt to check on you. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad so you’d downplay your pain and try to brush it off. But he was quick to run to the bathroom to grab some paper and bandages to help clean it up. “Here, you sit down..I got you.” You could tell he was remorseful by the way he flew into action but it was just a part of the craft. You’d lost count of how many times you’d singed yourself with a hot glue gun or poked yourself with a needle. Hell, you still had a giant scar on your arm from the time you sliced it, trying to cut material for a prop. It was certainly on the tamer side of the injuries you’d sustained. But just knowing that he was even remotely responsible for your pain, he couldn’t handle that.

“Ony, I’m fine. Really..I’ll just wrap it up later..”

“Nah, I should’ve stopped like you said. That’s my fault.” There was a sudden shift in his tone and you didn’t like it! There was no need for him to feel guilty. But here he was, sitting next to you on the bed as he gently cusped your hand and began first aid. He was a true sweetheart if you’d ever met one. He’d start by wiping it away and cleaning it thoroughly. You told him that a bandaid would only get in the way and keep snagging so you’d just leave it uncovered.

“You good? How you feel?” A question that elicited a laugh from you. You didn’t understand why he was so worked up over something so trivial. “I told you I’m okay. You ain’t got to worry, I’m a big girl. It’s gon’ take more than a lil’ ass needle to break me.” It was then that the two of you found yourselves face to face on the edge of the bed. Everything else had seemed to fall silent or as menial background noise. You noticed that he couldn’t stop staring at you and that he was still clutching your hand. Those deep set eyes of his remained focused on you as he casually slid his thumb across your own. “Yeah..I know. But I just wanna make you straight, that’s all..you know I care about you.” The sentiment sends flutters throughout your stomach. He was so sweet and attentive..it really shocked you that no woman had snatched him up already. He was incredibly handsome, respectful and always kind. You were happy to have someone like him in your life.

“I appreciate that..I’m just happy you decided to come with me. It means a lot. I usually do this by myself so I feel a lot better with you around.”

by now, the mood had shifted from slightly intense to..something far more sensual. Serene and quiet, as if the two of you were lovers confessing your feelings under moonlight. Truth be told, you’d never pictured yourselves as anything other than friends up until that moment. But you were always each other’s ‘person’. Attached and glued at the hip and loving the sense of happiness you brought one another. This peace and safety that came with knowing you could be your authentic selves. Inching closer, Ony would bridge the gap of space between your bodies and place a hand on your thigh. “Well you know I wouldn’t have missed this for anything..getting to be alone with you? It’s the highlight of my year..dressing up and getting to experience my first con with my fine ass girl? I couldn’t ask for better.” You’d feel your skin run hot and pangs shooting off in your stomach as he uttered the words in that deep drawl. You couldn’t believe he was so infatuated with you. Granted, you were beautiful and there wasn’t a time that you doubted yourself but he was unreal. Those pearly white teeth, that gorgeous dark skin, chiseled physique and that height..he nearly drove you insane when you were measuring him for all the pieces and you caught a glimpse of that v-line! Right now, your minds were on a one track path and there was no chance of it derailing.

“..Ony..”

because of this, neither of you could fight your urges a second longer and he’d pose a question you’d been dying to hear. “..Can I kiss you? Lemme thank you for helping me..” and without hesitation.. “I think you know the answer.” ..you gave him the green light. In a matter of moments, he’d curl a finger underneath your chin before pulling your face closer and pressing your mouths together. His soft lips collided with your own and eventually, you’d begin to make out. Shoving your tongues around inside of each other’s jaws. Your palm would creep up to cup his face and you’d find yourselves locked in a heated moment of passion. You found yourselves tangled up; hands colliding and caressing the opposite frame and by the time you came up for air, yours were roaming underneath his tank top and his were all up your slightly parted thighs.

“Here..sit on my lap.” Commanding with such suaveness, you couldn’t move fast enough as those perfectly manicured fingers waved you towards him. Ony would chew at his lower lip after licking; his signature mannerism when he was feeling a bit aroused by you. He’d done it so many times, that he had to quell it and be on his best behavior. But now, he couldn’t be too vexed to do so. He wanted you and you’d realize just how much before the night was over. You’d follow his command, propping yourself on his muscular thigh. It was decorated by a single tattoo of Shenron from Dragon Ball Z, surrounded by the eight balls. It was such beautiful work but if Ony could be rather frank…he wanted nothing more than to have you grinding yourself on it or watch that ass clap against it! A depraved thought but a real one nonetheless.

“I think you deserve a break, baby..been working so hard tryna’ get me right…lemme take care of you for a lil’ bit.” It was once you were stationed on his lap with those legs slightly parted, did he resume those sloppy yet gentle pecks. Intermittently shoving his tongue into your mouth. He’d slowly trail those fingertips across your covered skin; still sheathed by those tights underneath your skirt that you’d worn at dinner. Rips had plagued the inner corners as they’d always done…it was nearly impossible for you to keep those or a pair of fishnets with how thick your flesh was. That didn’t seem to bother him at all though. To Ony, it was the most attractive shit a woman could have. He loved how soft and supple your skin was..always scented with cocoa butter and that sweet perfume he loved so much. He loved how your features just made everything you wore, cosplay or otherwise..look so accentuated. He couldn’t get enough. Meanwhile, those nimble digits worked their way up your skirt and stopped just a centimeter short of your aching center. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time you’d been so close to a man and in such an intimate setting. But make no mistake, you weren’t scared. In fact, you invited the idea of having him be the first one to ‘deflower’ you.

“You gon’ let me do that, baby?..Can I play with this pretty pussy?..”

the lewd question sending pangs throughout the pit of your belly. You didn’t even hesitate to provide him an answer and before you knew it, he was ripping out the seat of those tights and peeling your panties back. As he suspected, you were dripping. He just knew you’d be some pressure but this was his first bit of confirmation. As you sat idly on his lap, Ony began to toy around with your cunt. Brushing ever so slightly over that clit and running his finger pads along your folds and lips..it was so sticky and he was certain that it tasted even better. A theory he’d put to the test soon enough. However, at the moment, he just wanted to get you stimulated. He wanted to see those cute little reactions when he rubbed on your aching bud and teased it over your hole. Your arm clenched around the back of his neck as you held on for leverage. You’d watch his every move. Following his pace step for step and it was agonizing to see him going so slowly. You needed him to do his worst already!

“Mmm…I knew this shit was gon’ be wet but damn..look at my fingers already and I ain’t even stuck ‘em in..”

referring to the copious amounts of slick coating the tips as he swiped up and down. Over the sound of the crisp air blowing from the vents, he could hear your stirred up secretions, only growing by the minute. And of course, those cute little moans escaping your throat. “Ony…fuck.” “Oh you like that, huh? Like when I play in this pretty hole, don’t you, mama?” All but rhetorically questioning when he finally decided to plunge his middle and index inside simultaneously; nearly making you come undone right there. You couldn’t even elicit a response until he gained a rhythm and slowly worked you over. A single strand of drool seeped from your lips as he gently thrusted those digits back and forth. He could sense just how tight you were from his digits alone. The anticipation to be inside of you was growing stronger. But for now, he’d hide his time and focus solely on your pleasure. Those gentle brown eyes were fluttering and had even rolled back whilst you rolled your hips in a circular motion to meet his movements while incoherent babble left your mouth. But that wouldn’t suffice..he needed to hear you say it.

“Unt uh..use your words, baby. I need to know I’m making you feel good..” and alas, he’d get his answer when he sped up his pace and clutched a hand around your throat. Squeezing ever so slightly to garner his desired reaction. Ony wouldn’t consider himself to be super dominant by any means but he loved taking control to show his girl she had nothing to worry about.

“Y-yeah, daddy. It feels so fucking good.” The name slipping out casually as you pounced up and down on those two fingers. You’d felt a slight tinge of embarrassment but Ony on the other hand? Felt empowered. He never really cared for the term but hearing you utter it with those mellifluous moans, he was reconsidering! In fact, he needed to hear it again. “That’s my good girl…here, lemme take this off too.” Referencing your tube top that had been housing those ample breasts and concealed under your sweater at the restaurant. For now though, he wanted to see his gifts unwrapped. “Fuck..these big ass titties so pretty, baby. I love the way they sit up..”

it was then that he’d bury his face between them and alternate between each one’s nipple while his fingers remained nestled inside of that warmth. They’d slowly work around, twisting until they prodded your g-spot and his tongue swirled those brown buds, lapping and licking. A combination of the stimulating movements had caused you to make quite the mess of his leg with creamy juices spilling forth. You were squirming, becoming restless and in need of an orgasm already. But Ony was enjoying this far more than he should and couldn’t be vexed to stop right now.

“You so fucking pretty, baby. I swear I be so happy when you’re around..”

doting on you constantly whilst working over your sweet spot. He could tell just how excited you had become, just by the way you writhed and squealed as well. In truth, you’d never been in a situation quite like this one. You look so salacious yet so innocent and it wasn’t something that was lost on Ony. In fact, he wanted to further exploit it..

“Open that mouth..” the command followed by you promptly obeying and him gliding those same digits that were just inside of you onto your tongue. It was such a cute sight..watching you suckle on his fingers with those brown doe eyes fixated on him. This was something that he could never grow tired of..reducing his pretty little best friend to his adorable slut! You’d whimper heavily around those digits, moaning and still rutting yourself against his exposed upper thigh. Meanwhile, he was pushing those digits in and out, even getting you to gag and drool a bit from the movements. “Fuck…there you go. Suck them fingers, baby. Taste that pretty pussy f’r me. Yeah, you know your shit good. Fine ass..” which prompted you to giggle. It wasn’t a compliment you received often and honestly, you never doubted that you were beautiful but it was something about him affirming you that made your heart flutter. Suddenly, his low drawl ascended a half a pitch higher when you’d snake your smaller hand into his shorts. You’d continue to be pacified on his fingers whilst jerking him off. You were inconsolable and when you noticed that very visible tent in his bottoms, you had to move.

“Oh my gosh—shit…keep playing wit’ it, just like that…stroke that fucking dick..” growling as he forced his digits a little more down your throat; depressing your tongue along the way and causing you to keep emitting drool. Which served as the perfect lubricant to his already leaking cock. “Mmmm…Ony. Need you to fuck me..” “..you want this dick, baby?” Neither of you could take much more of this teasing and when he’d utter the fateful question, asking if you wanted to go further, you didn’t even hesitate. Despite never being intimate with a man prior. Your only partners were women or your lovely assortment of toys that you’d stashed away in your dresser. Honestly, with your arsenal..you saw little to no need to even entertain these dudes. Any feeling or sensation they could bring forth, your Rose Toy and Bad Dragon could replicate times ten! However, it was something about Ony and the way he made you feel. Not just in an erotic sense, but an emotional one as well. You felt so safe and comfortable in his presence, that it only felt natural to submit. He brought forth your feminine energy and allowed you to thrive in it.

“Here, lay down f’r me, mama. Just like that..and keep them legs spread.”

upon giving you instructions, he’d long since removed you from his lap and allowed you lie flat against the mattress; just awaiting his next move. Your tits were still sitting up, spilled out of the tube top, shuffled around your belly..and those sheer fishnets were as good as torn. It was such a sexy view, that Ony didn’t even want to undress you. However, he stripped all of his clothing down and immediately joined you back on the bed. He’d hover above you with his shaft in hand, stroking slowly. The expression on your face told it all…and he couldn’t help but to laugh. “What’s wrong, baby? You look nervous.” To which all you could do was swallow the lump in your throat. Granted, you didn’t know what an actual human’s length was supposed to look like but from the girth of his and how nearly reached the end of his thigh, nervous was an understatement. What if you couldn’t handle it? What if you embarrassed yourself?!..

“Well don’t be..you know imma take my time witchu’..I been waiting on this a long time.” Whispering to you as he leaned down and met your gaze with warm eyes and gentle smile. Brushing your cheek with that cock still in his opposite palm, he’d place small kisses atop your forehead and eventually your lips. “You just tell me what I need to do..this is yours now. I wanna make you feel good..” but it was a given, blatantly obvious even at this point. You needed every last part and inch of him..with your reassurance, he asked once more if it were okay to keep going and you’d grant him permission with a palm of your own to the side of his face..whispering to him to put it inside of you. Cooing with sweet nothings and whiny breaths, (y/n) begged Ony to fulfill your wish and it wasn’t long before your eyes went wide and your face went flush..

“Oh God—“ “Fuck…”

in that moment, the sounds of squelching flesh, along with breathy gasps emitted into the room. The two of you clashed and joined as one, right there on the crisp sheets of that king bed. The first few inches of his cock embedded deep between your warm, massaging walls and it was a sensation that could only be described as euphoric. Your legs instinctively coiled his waist, your hands to the sides of his head and his arms on either side of your body. Lying there, awaiting his next move. But alas, he had to regain his composure. Out of fear of sounding a bit too egregious, he’d keep his thoughts to himself but you were most certainly the best pussy he’d ever felt and he hadn’t even made his first thrust! Even so, Ony released a deep grunt and focused his attention back to your pretty face. “You good, baby?..Can I start moving?” This question required a bit more consideration, as you need time to adjust. That initial feeling brought forth a pleasurable yet slightly painful feeling..you didn’t make it a point to disclose to him that you were technically a ‘virgin’..but seeing as how it wasn’t the very first time you’d felt penetration, you didn’t feel it important. Besides, at that very moment. None of the proverbial details really made a difference. All that mattered was that the two of you were comfortably, willing and all ready to take this next step. And after a moment of quick breaths and whimpers, you’d instruct him to keep moving. In which he’d make one full thrust in and out..

“Agghhh…fuck..there we go, baby. In and out..” eventually, you’d fall into a rhythm of kisses that mimicked his thrusts..each one slower than the last but full nonetheless. This was so you could get acclimated with the shape and size of his member. It was a bit much and by the expression on your face, Ony knew he couldn’t start out drilling your shit!..as badly as he wanted to..

“Yeah..you takin’ my dick so good, baby..you feel so warm..” doting on you whilst your tongues swished around one another’s mouths. Sloppy, wet and steamy; an ideal combination. Coupled with that of the slow, deep thrusts in and out of your tight cunt. One thing that you loved about him was that he wasn’t afraid to be vocal. He didn’t shy from the fact that he was feeling good and wanted everyone to know. “Mmmm…Onyyyy…” “I know, mama. I know..” it went without saying, you were certainly enjoying this and he’d do everything he could to make the situation the best he could. Keeping you reigned in close to his chest, Ony persisted with his thrusts, trying to slowly get you to conform to his shape and so far, it was working.

“There you go, baby. Open that shit up..lemme have it.” Soon, the sounds of thumping and smacking began to fill the atmosphere and you’d feel those strokes become a little faster. It was then that you’d feel the swollen tip of that girthy cock not only stretching you out but precisely hitting your spot as well. Once he knew this was your sought after core, he’d hone in on it and pound away with precise thrusts; even rolling his hips and reaching a hand down to massage your clit. You’d have a moment where you’d falter and that, along with those beautiful eyes rolled back. “Fuck!..f-fuck..yes!” However, he thrived off the satisfaction of seeing your expressions and how they shifted, the deeper he got.

“Unt uh..eyes up here. Lemme see that pretty face while I fuck you..gimme that pussy, baby. Yes..”

You found his commands so sexy and soothing. His voice was soft yet stern and you felt comforted by his tone. It was no wonder that you’d become nearly entranced by him. The smacking sounds only grew louder and that was thanks to the fact that you were a dripping puddle between your thighs. Pearly white secretions leaking everywhere, even coating his shaft entirely and making quite the mess. In one fell swoop, Ony shifted from cradling you to his own body, to pinning your legs to the mattress and spreading you wide open. From this angle, he’d have an ideal view of those voluptuous tits bouncing each time he thrusted. Or just how that plump cunt looked swallowing his cock.

“Oooh..you creaming all over my dick, baby…shit’s so fucking sexy. You like the way this shit feels?” “Y-yes, daddy. Thank you, thank you!—“ declaring so with his thumb pad rolling on your clit and a long trail of saliva coating your lips. He didn’t relent, even when you’d squeeze down on him. It was every bit of eight inches and you’d nearly taken all of it at this point..you couldn’t believe it. “I just knew your shit was good..knew this pussy was the best just by looking at you.”

which made the both of you break into a slight giggle. But you certainly had help getting to this point. This was a newfound sensation and your body was reacting accordingly.

“You bring it out of me..fucking me like this—“ the incoherent babble was followed by something that would only further prove his point. When he’d keep gliding back and forth, speeding up his movements..that’s when it happened…

“Oh shit!—“ “AHH!! FUCK!…” as you’d whimper and cry out, even pawing at his abs as those streams of juices began to spill out and hit not only the linen underneath but his torso as well. Marking his decadent skin with splashes of your liquid. He’d never seen and you’d never experienced anything like it!

“..look at you squirting on that dick, baby...” although you were beginning to feel depleted, your body craved more of him. You wanted to keep going until either of you could move another inch. A wish that would soon come to fruition when you felt Ony’s thrusts become a bit more sporadic and off rhythm. He’d begin to falter, falling prey to your sex. Admittedly, it’d been ages since he’d had sex or a proper orgasm to boot but you were on a whole other playing field! The plush of those thighs, the ripple of that pudgy tummy and big tits, not to mention, the warmth of your wet hole…it was simply too much for him to fathom!

“Onyyyy!..” the louder you cried out, clawing into his skin; albeit his back or his abdomen, the more motivated he became to give you the most pleasure he could possibly help you attain. Even so, he’d make certain of your well-being all throughout. Asking if you were okay to keep moving..not doing so without explicit instructions and checking constantly to see if your expressions matched your sounds. He only wanted tears brought forth from joy and ecstasy, not pain. But the smile plastered on your face was pretty indicative of how good you felt! “Haaa..yeah, baby. I’m right here—tell me what you need…”

clinging to the last semblance of dominance he could muster, Ony slowed his pace down back to the original and held you close once more. He needed it..not just your body, but you in your entirety. He needed to hear you say that he was the one that you desired…that he could officially be your special person and never let you go for as long as he lived. It was all he had wanted, since the day he first cast eyes on you. When he first saw you in those shirts and sweats with his favorite series on it and when he first saw you in those cosplays. It was a moment that he not only wanted to remember but keep reliving. He wanted what the two of you had to last for an eternity…“..I love you....” the words sending your heart fluttering like butterflies in a garden. It was all you had been waiting to hear come from his mouth. Ony thought he’d never truly be able to utter the phrase and it has substantial weight behind it but now, he’d found his one and only who made the words come to life.

“I love you too, Ony…” so with a gentle stroke of your fingers to the side of his face, right there in that hotel room…the two of you consummated what had long since been established. The feelings of adoration for one another that could not be contained. It wasn’t long before either of you would reach your peak and before long, he was heaving and holding onto you with the last remnants of his strength.

“..come. Come for me, Ony…come in me..”

With that, you’d answer his earlier question and he’d have no problem fulfilling your request! He’d spotted you taking your birth control pills once you returned from dinner so any qualms he had dissipated. “I’m coming!…imma nut—“ veins bulge from his forehead and hands as he continues rutting into you. Ony’s fingertips grasped the headboard behind you and would serve as his balance as every ounce of his warm seed began to trickle into your inviting womb..you’d both reach that climatic peak together and following your stream of sexual secretions, was a trail of joyous tears shrouding your faces. Heavy gasps and breathless whimpers escaped your throats before you collapsed into one another’s arms. Once you were both back in the realm of reality, lying underneath him, (y/n) didn’t waste another moment before pulling him into a searing, passionate kiss. One that neither of you wanted to break.

but alas, your gazes would meet and you’d break into a fit of light chuckles.

“How you feel? You good?”

“Oh I’m just fine…are you good?”

poking fun at one another’s reactions in that final moment of ecstasy. But you were both feeling quite well after that. And you wanted nothing more than to keep reveling in it but tomorrow the big day awaited and you both needed rest…

“I’m straight…I mean, shit…you put it on me for real..where you learn to do them lil’ tricks at?” Referring to your earlier display of waterworks but you’d have to tease him once. “A lady never reveals her secrets..” you’d tease back, pursing a finger to his lips before he’d slowly began to pull out, dragging a string of pearlescent cum along with him and splattering a bit on your tummy on the way out. “Besides, I gotta finish your outfit before I fall asleep—“ “Unt uh…you ain’t getting up until you drink sum’ and wipe off. I can get you some snacks from downstairs too.” That’s when he’d roll over and crawl out of the bed, going over to the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth and some water from the mini fridge adjacent to the foot of the mattress. He wasn’t going to let you up until he made certain you could handle it. That was Ony’s overprotective nature for you. But it came from nothing but the purest intentions.

“That is not necessary. I’ll be fine.” “Yeah, but you my girl…and imma always take care of you. So hush.” Kissing your forehead ever so gently before sitting at your side and running that rag over your skin. It felt quite nice and you were glad he made you rest for a moment because your body had been through a foreign experience and he made every single second of it magical…you knew that you wanted to create more memories like this with him for as long as possible. Albeit a convention, a date or even kicking it at his place as you watched him play video games. You just wanted to remain in his presence and remain his girl forever.

“Aye, you gone let me sleep in the wet spot?..I wanna stay cool tonight.”

“..Ony, get away from me, please.”

even if he did work the last good nerve you had sometimes!

[abrahamvanhelsings]

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@popsicle-stick

@strawberrygardenkisses

@hckat

I tagged 476 of my posts in 2022

Only 44% of my posts had no tags

#dracula daily - 260 posts

#unreality tw - 54 posts

#goncharov - 52 posts

#dracula - 35 posts

#eurovision - 16 posts

#esc 2022 - 16 posts

#re: dracula - 6 posts

#real - 6 posts

#cute - 5 posts

#lmfao - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#it's really fun to see this idea of never ending progress and unfaltering science and yet the fascination with the fantastical and mystical

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

seward dutifully recording every second of himself getting roasted by van helsing sure is something. like he didn't need to do that. that's his own diary. he could've been shorter about it. left it out even. but this old man shows up and seward goes "the professor took me by the ear like a schoolboy and humiliated me today" like it's homework. the funniest thing abt it is that he seems to be actively enjoying every interaction he has with the prof

2,291 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

#4

van helsing days after eviscerating john seward for being single in front of his love interest as soon as he spots arthur: actually jack we won't be needing your blood after all since our brave young lover is clearly stronger and haler and has better blood and calmer nerves than you could ever have. let the man kiss his lover once more before he goes we can't all be bitchless like you dear boy

4,028 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

#3

everyone putting abraham 'i have an elaborate plan' van helsing and quincey 'the plan is guns' morris against each other as if van helsing didn't say 'guns it is!' the moment quincey suggested bringing them. quincey 'ill open his box and kill him' and abraham 'good boy, brave boy'? quincey 'i tried to shoot the bat at the window' and abraham 'well did you get it?' they are shaking hands always

5,458 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#2

dracula, arrogantly pointing at a wolf that's going completely rabid in his presence, knowing full well why it's doing that: keeper, these wolves seem upset at something

thomas bilder, deliberately trying to piss him off: maybe it's you. bony cunt.

5,873 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

arthur, despairing because his fiancée is on death's door: my life is hers, and i would give the last drop of blood in my body for her

van helsing, about to carry out an immensely dangerous blood transfusion that will only save lucy's life through god and the sheer lucky circumstances of the people involved having the correct blood types because it's the nineteenth century and he doesn't know they exist, physically incapable of letting the opportunity for a joke pass by: well it doesn't have to be that much lol

6,214 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[beomcoups]

Food Wars pt. 1

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chef!Mingyu x chef!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, suggestive (next part will be spicier, I promise), coworkers to lovers au, 18+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, kissing, mention of death (nothing graphic), suggestive grabs of the hips and ass 💀

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.2k

𝐀𝐍: Part 1 is heeeeeeere! This is apart of the world tour collab hosted by @svthub. Part 2 will be posted soon. There are alot of people here who helped me cultivate this fic and assure me that what I wrote didn't suck lol. Thank you @wooahaeproductions, @seokgyuu, @hobeemin and @hannieween for looking at bits of this for me. Also thank you to @highvern , @cheolism , @okiedokrie @bitchlessdino @gyupremacy for shooting ideas with me (ahem, cologne!) and finally @milfgyuu , I know you want to be tagged in anything related to your man :)

You knew it would come to this, and as good as you are at hiding your poker face, you are annoyed. A food competition, really? You almost burst out with laughter when Rich, the restaurant's owner of The Palm Cuisine, told you. The Palm Cuisine is one of the most popular restaurants in the U.S., with three locations in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. He is opening a new restaurant in Madrid, Spain, and wants to take one of the sous chefs to make them the executive chef. You are the better chef, and everyone knows it, but in the spirit of “fairness,” you have to go against another person for the owner to make their decision. That other person is no other than Kim Mingyu, the golden boy of the restaurant who is almost as good as you in the kitchen. Almost.

It’s not like the position was directly promised to you, but deep down, you always assumed it would be yours. You have been there the longest, know the menu from top to bottom, and have even stayed extra nights you didn’t have to for the benefit of the restaurant and the team. You eat, breathe and shit this place. It feels like a slap to the face. “Put the knives down, girlie,” your coworker and good friend Shena nudges you. 

You sigh, gently setting down the knives you used to cut your potatoes. “I’m fine,” you whisper, turning around and rolling your eyes. “I am totally fucking fine.” You close your eyes and take a small, deep breath, centering yourself before returning to reality. Disappointment would be an understatement if you had to describe how you feel. The Palm Cuisine is the first and only restaurant you have worked at as a chef, starting as a prep cook and working your way up to sous. You always imagined yourself making it to executive chef—overseeing the restaurant's menu, preparation, cooking, ordering, and operations. The place specializes in Spanish food, and you can confidently say you could plan a Spanish menu with your eyes closed. Tapas, gazpacho, paellas, you name it, you’ve done it. And yet, you must constantly prove to everyone (mainly the men) that you deserve to be here. It’s exhausting. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, wondering if you will snap and break a rolling pin or cry in the bathroom.  Instead of giving them the satisfaction, you turn around with a beaming smile. “Well,” you quirk an eyebrow. “Let the food war begin!” “Oh, splendid!” Rich squeals. “I was worried you would be upset.” “Why would I be upset?” You cock your head. “I mean, it’s only fair, right?” He chuckles nervously, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Why don’t you and Mingyu come into my office, and we can discuss it further?” You nod as he beckons Mingyu over and follows him into his mid-size office. It smells of fresh linen, courtesy of a scented oil on his bookshelf. It looks like a typical place of work, complete with a desk, laptop, and hundreds of documents related to the restaurant. It’s cold in contrast to the warmth of the fires in the kitchen, and you long to be back in front of the heat, cooking from your heart.

You’ve been cooking since you were ten, watching your grandmother in the kitchen slave away for all the major holidays. You remember how it felt when you made your first apple pie - how you went to the local market and bought the freshest green apples you could find and cut them up like she did, adding the right amounts of nutmeg, brown sugar, and other needed ingredients. You made your own crust and watched everyone marvel at your dessert. You guess you could say that your grandmother stirred your love for cooking. God, you miss her. 

You hear Mingyu shuffle behind you, the scent of chocolate and cream greeting you before he does. You nod, moving to the seat furthest away from the door to give yourself space. You don’t hate Mingyu; you two are friendly with each other and help each other out when needed. He’s always treated you with respect and never condescended you when you made a suggestion. Your eyes undoubtedly work, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit he is handsome. His model-like looks, toned body, great hair, and he just happens to be a good cook? It’s almost not fair. But fortunately for you, you haven’t fallen for his charms. He’s the golden retriever that everyone wants to be around. Well, except for you.

“So,” Rich starts as he shuts the door. I want you to know that I respect both of you, and it was tough to make this decision; hence, we are doing this. Plus, it’ll be fun, bring up the morale of the restaurant while we’re in Madrid—” “Wait,” you hold your hand up. “Are we going to do this in Madrid?” “Well, yes,” he says casually. “It’s only fitting we do it there. It’ll give you a chance to feel the vibe of the area and get some fresh ingredients. Lord knows you can’t get it here in the city.”

Mingyu chuckles, and you instinctively dig your thumb into your palm, your mind already thinking of the cost of a ticket, hotel space, etc. Rich can be a dramatic pain in the ass sometimes.

“We will cover everything, of course; all you need to do is be ready for international travel. You can bring one person from the restaurant as your assistant. Oh, and here is some paperwork you will need to fill out.” Several minutes later, with all the paperwork signed and details worked out, you shuffle out of the office one by one. Rich leaves first, rushing out like a bat out of hell, his wooden smell following him and the tension in your chest. You’re plagued with thoughts about coming up with a menu, packing to leave, and who’s going to watch your cat Grey while you’re gone. You feel undervalued, still bothered that you even have to do this. Does your many years of being here not mean anything to Rich? Is your cooking not good enough? Why keep hinting that you could have something bigger here just to string you along? All of this frustrates you with a passion. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Your nose wiggles at the smell of rich chocolate, your mouth salivates, and your stomach rumbles shortly after. You have a terrible habit of not eating when hungry as you focus on making food and serving others. While your mind is on food, you aren’t paying attention to Mingyu in front of you, bumping into his back. Your face grows hot with embarrassment, refusing to meet the gaze of your competitor for your dream job. “Hey.” His deep voice knocks you out of your mental fog. 

“W-what’s up?” You stumble through your words. “I just want to say it’s an honor going toe-to-toe with you for this spot. There wouldn’t be any other person I would want to go against. You’re a great chef.” 

For that tiny moment, you felt seen and appreciated. Aside from Shena, no one seemed to care about the hard work you put into The Palm Cuisine, and you thought about quitting so many times. But despite being unappreciated, you love the food, the culture, and the customers that come in. You can’t imagine yourself anywhere else.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat. “You’re good too.” Mingyu nods, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Seeing him up close, you have to admit, he’s attractive. You get why everyone trips over their feet when he’s around. You have much more discipline than that despite the vibrations through your body. “Also, you need to eat,” he says matter-of-factly. “I heard your stomach before you bumped into me.”

Whatever spell you were temporarily under ceased immediately, knocking you back into reality.

“Ladies first,” he says, moving out of the way to let you through. His hand lightly touches your back as you walk by, making that part of you hot as if it were touched by something warm. You return to your stations, cleaning them off to be ready for the customers who are set to come in later. “What was that about?” Shena pops up beside you, eyeing you suspiciously. “Just some stuff about this unnecessary competition and getting an assistant to help me and whatnot,” you shrug. 

“Wow, that’s kind of grand,” she looks perplexed as if you are telling a joke. 

You nod, grab a granola nearby, and take a bite, curbing your hunger a bit. 

“So…” you let your voice trail off in suspense. “How about you come with me to Spain?”

Your morning sucked. You barely slept, and when you finally did, you woke up to three missed alarms and was running an hour late. You had less than a week to plan to leave the country and spent most of your night packing for ten days and making sure your cat, Grey, would be comfortable while you were gone. He is a rescue; you adopted him from the animal shelter when you volunteered with Shena a year ago. He was your cuddle buddy; you haven’t been without him for more than a day. “I’m going to miss you, buddy,” you give him a good scratch. He purrs lazily, curling himself into a ball and going back to sleep. You are grateful that Shena’s girlfriend, Lumina, offered to come over and feed him while you were gone. You were considering dropping him off at one of those pet daycares for the week or hiring a cat sitter, but she came through in the nick of time. She works at the animal shelter you adopted her, and coincidentally, that’s where she and Shena met and fell in love. 

It was nice seeing them fall for each other. It was like watching a silly, quirky rom-com play out in front of you. You see the magic in Shena’s eyes when she looks at Lumina, the warmth in her voice when she talks about her. Shena described Lumina as a warm hug on a rainy day, and you could believe that. They are made for each other. 

You hear a notification on your phone telling you your Uber is outside. You send a quick text to Lumina, giving her the code to your door, and give one last look around before you go across the ocean. “Bye, Grey,” you whisper, ensuring the door is locked before leaving.

Silvery-white clouds rolled into the early morning sky as you walked to your Uber, the ground wet from the fresh rain a few hours before. The smell of rain has always soothed you; the clean, earthy petrichor wakes you up a bit more. You quickly greet the driver, putting on your AirPods and playing a playlist you made. You watch the remaining droplets of rain left on the window roll away as your driver cruises down the highway. Where you come from, it hardly rains as it's primarily hot year round. On the rare occasions when it did, you would open your bedroom window, sit in your bed, and watch the water hit the Oleander flowers in your backyard. It was one of your two favorite smells in the world, the other being apple pie. 

Mixed in with your annoyance about having to have a competition to prove yourself as a chef, you are looking forward to leaving the country. You have never been to Spain before, let alone Europe. You have traveled and seen a few things, but Mexico is the farthest you have gone. You spent much time last night looking up main attractions, museums, and local areas to see if you have the time. You want to visit the local markets and taste the local food. Rich set up all of your travel and living arrangements, and all you have to do is show up and cook. You are going to make the most of your time there. Who knows when you will be able to travel again? At the very least, you plan on coming out of this thing, winning it all.

“We’re here.” 

When you look up, the airport entrance pulls up to your right. The ride feels shorter than it is, but you are lost in thought about many things. You thank your driver, grab your suitcases, and walk to the airline’s front desk to turn your bags in. You arrived with thirty minutes left to spare, and there was a long line already; it wasn’t even 8 am. You can’t help but yawn as you hand over your bags to the agents, fatigue and the lack of sleep kicking your ass. 

“You’re all set,” the agent hands over your printed ticket. “Have a safe trip.” You nod, heading towards security and breezing through the checkpoints before arriving in front of the underground train. Your purse feels heavy on your shoulder, and your eyelids threaten to close as you stand. You usually have good sleep management, but you stressed over this trip all night. What if you come all the way out to Spain for nothing? You don’t think you could continue to work for Rich anymore. It would hurt too much. 

The train comes shortly after, and you shuffle inside, trying to find a seat in the back before it is taken. You see one and settle down, your shoulders dropping as you finally sit down. You lean your head on the cold pole, hopeful that closing your eyes for a minute will give you some of your energy back.

“Are you as tired as I am?” You recognize that voice, annoyance slowly creeping in as your longing for a bit of solitude is interrupted. 

“Mingyu, what a surprise,” you mutter without cracking an eye open. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your voice. It’s one of a kind,” you deadpan.

He chuckles as the train flicks forward, sitting next to you. You begrudgingly pull out your ticket, realizing you will not get to relax until you’re sitting on that plane. Noting the concourse you need to get off on, you look ahead, counting the stops you have until you have to get off. Mingyu hums softly, adjusting his backpack and pulling out his headphones.  

“Have you ever flown first class before?”

Your head snaps his way, not registering what he’s saying. “What?” “First class? Have you ever been?” “I-uh, no,” you stumble through your words. “Why does it matter?”

“Uh, did you even look at where you’re sitting?”

“Well, yes?” you say incredulously, looking at your ticket again. “Of course, I know where I’m sitting—”

You don’t finish that sentence; instead, your mouth forms a small “o,” unaware that you would be sitting in first class. You have never flown in those seats before, the closest being business class a couple of rows behind the curtain. Those tickets were not cheap, and you only purchased them because you wanted to treat yourself to graduating culinary school, which you were able to do by saving all of your tips from your waitressing job. 

You don’t like admitting that you were wrong, and you aren’t going to admit it now. Instead, you rake your fingers in your hair, nodding and shoving your ticket in your back pocket. 

“You’re welcome,” Mingyu taunts you, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head. 

You can barely suppress your smile, saved by the announcement that your concourse is approaching. You both rise out of your seats, moving towards the doors before the train jerks suddenly, making you fall forward into Mingyu. He grabs your hips, holding you steady until you’ve caught your balance. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, and your body is hypersensitive to his inadvertent touch. His grip is firm and protective, bringing an unexpected tingle to your core. You couldn’t feel more thankful that you were looking down; you couldn’t look him in the eye out of embarrassment. You don’t even have a crush on this guy, yet you feel hot and bothered.

“Be careful, princess,” he crouches low enough for your ears only. “We don’t need you flailing around this train.”

“Don’t do that,” you scoff. “Don’t call me princess.”

“Why?”

The train doors open, and you calmly remove his hands from you, gazing deep into his eyes.

“Because I’m far from that.”

You walk away before he has a chance to respond, looking for the gate you need to be at. Bitchiness aside, you stand on what you said. You aren’t some helpless person waiting in a tower for someone to come save you or give you a handout. You’ve worked hard for everyone to see you more than a woman, as it already has a stigma.  The constant belittling of your intelligence, being told to “wait your turn,” you are done with it. You’ve taken control of your destiny your life, and you will not be treated like some delicate little girl waiting to be saved from a castle… no matter how hot the knight is.

You feel relieved when you find your gate and a familiar face sitting with her iPad in her hand. As if she felt you coming, Shena looks up and waves you over to where she is sitting. Dressed in mint green sweats and matching crocs, she stands out in front of the dull black seats.

“There you are,” she greets you with a hug. “It’s not like you to be late. I sent you a text wondering where you were.”

“You did?”

You pull out your phone, and sure enough, you have received one unread message from her. She must have sent it when you were on the train, distracted by Mingyu and his hands on your body. It’s not like you to get riled up, and it ticks you off that it happened with him, of all people. Your life is a joke. 

You plop down next to her, cocking your head back in exhaustion. Before fully relaxing, you feel the seat beside you shift, followed by the smell of light cologne and chocolate. Looking over, you see Mingyu adjusting his bag before setting it on the ground. He is holding a small chocolate bar and taking a small bite, savoring the decadent treat as he licks his lips. You look away before being caught, chagrined that you were staring at him for that long. What is with you?

“Oh hey there, Gyu,” Shena waves at him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, I just got here,” he smiles. “I had to find my way to the gate since this one here is a speed walker.”

“Oh? You guys arrived together?”

“Not together, together,” you emphasize. “We just happened to be on the same train, that’s all.” 

You purposely avoid Shena’s eye contact, clearing your throat and changing the subject. 

“Did you notice we are flying first class?”

“Yeah!” Shena beams, pulling out her ticket. “I’ve never been out of the country, let alone first class. Lumina was bummed she couldn’t tag along. The shelter has her tied up, and it is kinda last minute.”

“Aww,” you rub her knee. “There will always be a next time, right?”

Shena nods, and the flight attendants announce they are about to start boarding, starting with first class. You pop out of your seat first, grab your things, and stand in line. Anticipation drills in your heart, wanting nothing more than to sit in some very comfortable seats and sleep throughout this 8-plus hour flight. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mingyu behind you, his eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. He leans in closer, the hairs standing on the back of your neck as his lips barely touch your ear. 

“I know you’re not a princess,” he whispers. “You’ve proven to be more than that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to care for you sometimes.”

You were next in line and couldn’t respond without the flight attendants giving you weird looks. Instead, as they check your ticket, you do what you know best: bite your tongue, smile, and push it aside. 

Madrid is exquisite; it is everything you saw on your Pinterest board and more. You’ve been here a few days and are in love. You are surrounded by gorgeous cerulean waters, good weather, and historic sites you always wanted to see as a child. The Almudena Cathedral, one of the most prominent catholic churches in the world, took your breath away when you went to visit. The  Francisco de Cubas architecture throughout made you appreciate art more, one of the most beauteous works you have ever seen in person.

You also took time to visit the local market, talking with the locals about their lives and picking up fresh food to try out different dishes for the competition. Shena was a big help, taking over in Spanish if you needed help and also giving fresh ideas on what to cook. You knew a bit of Spanish to get around the city and ask questions, but coming from a Spanish-speaking household, Shena could convey your ideas in ways you couldn’t understand. You will be forever grateful for that. 

“It looks like we’re here.” Rich called you both to the restaurant this evening to show you around and tell you where your cooking stations would be. The restaurant stood atop a hill, with small walk-up steps made of stone mosaics. Surrounded by boutique shops and a couple of markets, this was the only restaurant on the block; you couldn’t miss it. You understood quickly why Rich took this location. He meets you at the entrance, greeting each other in dos besos. 

“Welcome, let me show you around. Mingyu is already here.” You walk into the small waiting area before entering a gorgeous main dining area with walls made of Spanish moss brick. The bar is neatly placed in the middle, already loaded with the finest wines and other liquors. The dining tables and chairs are made of mahogany, giving you a vibe that you are back home in the country. 

“Ah, there he is,” Rich looks to your right.

Mingyu walks up, wearing a white beater accentuating his well-toned arms and acid-blue jeans that hit him perfectly. You couldn’t stop ogling him if you wanted to; you would’ve thought he was a model off the street if you didn't know him. His eyes scan Rich and Shena before landing on you, a slight smirk on his lips that only you seem to notice. Ever since your encounter at the airport, he’s been on your mind, and you hate it. You still feel his hands on your hips on the train, as if he imprinted on you.  

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had to find the bathroom.” “No worries,” Rich waves him off. “Let me show you around.” 

He takes you to where your cooking stations would be, explaining how everything was set up and where to find your ingredients so you could prepare them. The competition is in three days, giving you enough time to finish your menu and prep before the big day. The kitchen is magnificent, a sight straight out of your daydreams: stainless steel appliances, expensive cast irons, and utensils you’ve always wanted that were way out of your budget. You may hate the idea of this competition, but working at this location would be a dream come true. 

“Imagine if we got to work here,” Shena whispers. “I’ve only seen kitchens like these on Master Chef.” You nod in agreement, your fingers barely grasping the counter's surface. Rich finishes showing you around and asks everyone what their plans are leading up to the big day.  “Nothing, just prepping and looking around the city a bit more,” you shrug. “Well, that sounds boring! ” He exclaims. “Madrid has such a fun nightlife. It would be a shame for you to miss out. As a matter of fact, why don’t you kids go to Kapital tomorrow? I can get you a table, and you can let loose.”

“Well, shit, okay!” Shena pipes up before you can respond. 

You groan internally, not in the mood to be body-to-body against strangers, sweating your hair out during loud music. You don’t see yourself having fun until this whole thing is over. How does this guy expect you to relax? It’s not like his dreams are on the line. You look over at Mingyu, who matches your gaze, leaning against one of the refrigerators. 

“Yeah,” his eyes finally tear away from you. “I’m down.”

You’re the only one left who hasn’t given an answer, and everyone is looking at you expecting one. 

“Okay, let’s do it,” you mask your disdain with a smile. 

“Great!” He claps his hands in excitement. “I will send you the details later and get you set up. Have fun.” 

Rich walks you out, and you ask for the bathroom. You need a moment to pee and think in peace. He points you toward one, and you walk into the grand bathroom decorated with an old European interior that was undoubtedly above your salary. You walk to the furthest stall away from the door, rubbing your temples as you do what you need to do. For the most part, you handle stress well. You compartmentalize your feelings about what needs to be done, and you’ve been fine. Even now, with this competition vastly approaching and Mingyu somehow encompassing your thoughts when you’re around him, you’re fine. You haven’t cracked.

You aren’t sure why this is affecting you so much. You still think about when he touched you on the train and how your body felt alive. You haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Is your body so desperate for intimacy that you melt at the first person who gives you attention? No, that can’t be it. You’ve been fine all this time. Why is Mingyu getting under your skin? Shaking those thoughts away, you wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath. Swinging the door wide open, you are met by the man who has been plaguing your thoughts since you’ve been here. He was waiting for you, his back leaned against the wall, fiddling with a toothpick in his mouth. 

“Rich and Shena are waiting for you… you can get kind of lost here,” Mingyu says. 

“Mmhmm,” you nod slowly. “Well, let’s go.” The walk back to the front feels longer than it is. He hums a soft tune as he strides beside you, like he’s your equal, your partner. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but you feel comfortable. 

“So, what have you been doing since you’ve landed?” Mingyu asks.

“I did some sightseeing,” you respond. “I visited the Almudena Cathedral and the local markets with Shena and got some ingredients for the competition. Oh, and worked on the menu.” “That’s it?” Mingyu looks surprised. “There is so much more of Madrid you have to see.” “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of time to go out there and explore,” you defend yourself. “Plus, I can’t really relax with this thing coming up.” You point at the kitchen. “How do you do it?” “How about I show you?” 

You stop dead in your tracks a few feet away from the door. 

“What do you mean show me?” You eye him suspiciously. “I’m going to pick you and Shena up tomorrow, and we will explore together. There’s so much the world has to offer besides cooking and work.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“You’ll see.”

You both walk outside, and Shena sits at one of the tables, talking candidly on the phone. Rich is nowhere to be found. The moon peeks over the horizon, the white orb’s light shining over the waters. Normally, you wouldn't agree to such a thing, but he has a point. Maybe you should live a little. “You are something. You know that?

Mingyu shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just believe in living life to the fullest. We don’t know how long we may have.”

You eye him more, studying his face in hopes that you can find a false truth and be more at ease. When you don’t, it does the opposite of relaxing you; it makes you nervous. You might be starting to like this guy.

Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll send you the address.”

“He’s here!” You check yourself out in the mirror, smoothing the middle of your blue floral white dress. You opted to wear your hair in a low bun, matching earrings, and a necklace you’ve had for years.  Sliding on your white sandals, you grab your purse and leave your room. “Phew!” Shena whistles at you. “Qué guapa estás!”

You roll your eyes playfully as she pops out of her seat, sporting a white top and blue jeans, accessorized with a light cardigan and a simple gold necklace. You usually wouldn’t dress up this nice for an outing with friends (and Mingyu), but you wanted to be prepared for anything, and it would kill you if you were underdressed. Plus, you were going to be in Europe! Why wouldn’t you want to be prepared?

You walk out of your Airbnb and meet Mingyu as he comes in. He is dressed casually in a white collared shirt and black shorts, the slight breeze lifting his shirt and exposing his abs. It took a lot of brainpower to look away, instead diverting your attention to the inside of your purse. He looks tanned and relaxed, as if he is one with Madrid. If only you could relax like that. 

“Hey, Gyu,” Shena waves. “Thank you for leading the way on this grand adventure.” 

“No problem,” Mingyu smiled. “I want this to be a fun day, and I figured we have a driver, so why not?”

He looks at you, and your heart patters. The sun and slight breeze do not help your plight as you fight internally against acknowledging how sexy he looks. You hate your body for the way it’s betraying you right now, feeling inadvertently turned on. 

“You look pretty,” he marveled at you. 

“Thanks,” you nod sheepishly, walking to the black car behind him. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

There is a tiny bit of you that wants you to look good for him, to be seen that you put in the effort. When you get in the car, you greet the driver, sitting in the back row, hoping he will get the hint that you want to be left to yourself and your thoughts. But that didn’t work that way, as he climbs in and sits right next to you, with Shena seated in the row in front. His cologne is light, different from the usual sweet, chocolatey smell you’re accustomed to when he’s around. It’s enchanting, exciting, and further puts you in a mood. “So where are we going?” Shena probed, snapping on her seatbelt. “The Royal Palace,” Mingyu announced. “They have a tour, and I figured we could get lunch afterward.”

The driver pulls off, and you gaze outside the window, admiring the beautiful architecture of Madrid. Visiting the Royal Palace was on your bucket list, but you didn’t think you would have time. You’ve seen the pictures on Pinterest and talked to some locals at the restaurant who have been, but you’ve always been told that tickets are hard to get. You never thought it would be attainable for you.

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu’s deep voice infiltrates your thoughts. 

“Nothing, really,” you say, smoothing out your dress. “I am just enjoying the foreign atmosphere.” 

“Foreign atmosphere?” Mingyu chuckles. “That’s an interesting way of saying you enjoy the view.”

“Well, are we not in a foreign place?” You retort. 

“Well, yes.”

“Alright then.” You look back out the window, biting your lip to hold back a grin. You are thankful for the soft tunes from the car radio, letting the reggaeton beats drown out your very loud thoughts. Mingyu gets you riled up in a way that no one can. He doesn’t frustrate you in ways like the other men do at the restaurant. Deep down, it’s not in an ill manner; he is just like the golden retriever: nudging your leg with a bone in his mouth, begging you to play with him.

“I brought you something,” he nudges your shoulder. “I know you didn’t eat.” You look down and see that he is holding a granola bar coated with vanilla and almonds, poking out of a sandwich bag. The sweet smell is heaven to your nose, and your mouth slightly salivates. He tapes Shena on the shoulder, handing her one of her own.

“You made this?” Shena probes, carefully taking it from him. “This is really sweet.”

You take a small bite of it, and your taste buds do a happy dance. The vanilla was freshly made, and you taste the granola, almond, and sweet spices used to make this perfect bar. You aren’t big on breakfast, as you’re used to getting up and moving on the go, but occasionally, you will grab a granola bar and eat it on your breaks at work, this one explicitly being your favorite. Maybe Mingyu knows you better than you thought.

“You’re right,” you confessed. “I hadn’t eaten anything. Thank you.” The car pulls to a stop, arriving at the grandiose building known as The Royal Palace. You wait until everyone leaves the vehicle, barely climbing out without tripping over your feet. Standing outside of the gates, you are in awe. You aren’t sure if it’s dopamine, but the air suddenly feels different and almost cleaner. You scrambled into your purse, pulling out your portable camera to photograph the palace. This place may not be one of the world's seven wonders, but in your heart, it is. “Oooo, let’s take pictures while we are here,” Shena squeals.

She pulls you and Mingyu close to her, takes over the camera, and snaps a few photos together and separately. Usually, you would be annoyed if it was someone else, but she is your best friend. You can let her get away with a few things. Mingyu goes to the booth to confirm they have arrived, returning with three tickets to take inside. “We can go in through a separate entrance since I got the tickets ahead of time,” he announces. You flip through the pictures through the camera, excited to take more. You feel his eyes bore into you, and you suddenly feel hot. 

“What are you looking at?” You say, putting your camera away. 

“Your smile,” he confesses with a cheeky grin. “I want to see it more often.”

You gaze at each other for a moment, your mouth parted with much to say and nothing at the same time. Mingyu keeps leaving you speechless, and you aren’t mad about it anymore.

“Are you two gonna keep staring at each other lovingly, or are we gonna do this thing?” Shena’s words snap you out of your reverie, and Mingyu chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. You walk over to her, linking your arm with yours. 

“There is nothing loving going on.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” she rolls her eyes. “Let’s go look at some royalty.”

When you planned for this trip, you set a time to visit the Almudena Cathedral, visit the local markets, and plan your menu. You weren’t going to hold Shena to that standard even though she is your assistant. You thought you would be fine if you focused on nothing but food and didn’t get distracted. Mingyu, however, might be proving you wrong. 

You sit at his Airbnb, watching him make lunch for you and Shena. He insisted on making something instead of eating out somewhere, and who are you to turn down a free meal? The Royal Palace was everything you imagined, learning about the history of Spain beyond what was in your textbooks in high school. You consider yourself a history buff, wanting to learn more about the world across the different seas. You’ve had that desire when you were a little girl, sitting on your grandmother’s lap and listening to her stories from when she traveled as a young adult. She never got to visit Spain, but she talked about it a lot, being that they were world conquerors (or, as you like to say, colonizers) back in the day. You really miss her. 

Mingyu sets your plate in front of you, a fried calamari sandwich with a side of garlicky mayo and fries he made himself. He tops it off with a small squeeze of lemon juice, just as you like it. When you make this at the restaurant, you always add lemon juice on top to give it more depth, but instead of the mayo, you have paprika-spiced tomato sauce on the side. Either way, this shows that Mingyu has been paying attention when you felt incognito. 

“Dig in,” he announces, sitting next to you at the island bar. 

It’s a comfortable silence between you three, munching away at your well-seasoned meal. If you had to be honest with yourself, it’s the best sandwich you have ever had. He fried the calamari in olive oil, turning it every minute or so because it doesn’t take that long to cook. He apparently had the calamari sitting in milk in the refrigerator since this morning, allowing it to tenderize before mixing it with his own seasoning flour. You and Shena offered to help, but he turned you down, stating you were his guests and he wanted to treat you to something good before you went out later that night. 

“This was really good,” Shena praises him as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You have to come over again and make these for Lumina and me.”

“Anything for you two,” he teases. “As long as you keep making those margaritas.” They howl in laughter, and you feel a bit awkward as if they have an inside joke that you aren’t a part of. You smile politely, finishing off the last bit of your food before getting off your stool and grabbing your plate to wash. 

“Aht aht,” Shena blurts, scrambling out of her seat. “I will be handling the cleanup. You two sit out there and act like you like each other.”

Your eyes throw darts at her for that last sentence, and she blows you a kiss as you walk to the balcony for some fresh air. The warm sun is welcome on your skin, the warmth taking away the chill you have in your bones from inside. You stare out into the sea, watching the boats go back and forth from the ports, the busy life from the markets a site to behold. You feel completely at peace for the first time since you’ve been here. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Mingyu pokes his head out from the balcony door, holding a pink lemonade decorated with an umbrella. 

“Sure, if you are bringing that,” you quip, pointing at the drink. 

“Of course, princess,” he jests back.

As you take the drink, you raise an eyebrow, debating whether you should be annoyed at that nickname or amused that he’s teasing you. He stands comfortably next to you, admiring the cerulean blue waters in front of you. 

“This place is beautiful, isn’t it?” He sighs heavily. “I don’t want to leave.” 

You look at him, his happy-go-lucky nature replaced by a look of sadness and longing. It’s unnerving, as you have always seen him with a warm orange aura around him. His hands grip the gate as he takes a softer, deeper breath, turning to face you. 

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod slowly, your anxiety ticking up about what he wants to ask. 

“What got you into cooking?”

You look away, staring back into the calm sea. No one has bothered to ask you anything personally about yourself besides Shena and Lumina, and you are unsure how to respond. It would mean opening a part of you to someone new, and you haven’t done that in a long time. It means that you would have to relieve your past and start trusting him, and you are scared of that. 

Stepping across the magical line of faith and hope, you take a sip of your lemonade. “My grandma used to cook a lot growing up, and I would sit in the kitchen and watch her. Whatever you wanted, she could make it. My parents weren’t around, and she was the one who raised me. I eventually started cooking with her, which spurned my love for cooking, but mainly because I was doing it with her.” You pause, your breath shaky as you relive one of the hardest moments of your life. “On Christmas, I found her unconscious beside her chair. Apparently, she had a stroke and didn’t have oxygen for fifteen minutes before I saw her. I did everything I could to save her by hooking her with her oxygen machine before the paramedics arrived, but it was too late. She was declared brain dead.”

Hot tears fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed that you let yourself reach this point in front of Mingyu. He pulls you into his arms, allowing you to cry a little in his arms. Unbeknownst to you, Shena walks out and notices your tears, but Mingyu shushes her quietly, allowing you to grieve just a little bit longer. You regain your composure, giving yourself some space and adjusting his shirt. “I ruined your shirt,” you pout. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled softly. “You need something to lean on, and I’m glad I got to be that for you.”

Gazing into his eyes, you see the familiar warm orange swirling in his little orbs. Inadvertently, you move closer to him, your heart and body overruling your mind for once. Mingyu responds kindly, pulling you closer to him with his hands dangerously on your hips. 

“Is it okay if I—”

“Mingyu, do it before I change my mind.”

His lips press against yours, and your legs almost buckle. It is soft and tentative, as if he is playing it safe in case you want out. But you don’t; instead, you kiss him deeper. It is as if something takes over you, and you can’t stop. Call it desire, passion, or any other synonym, but it’s what you feel. You want him, and so does he. His hands travel lower, giving your butt a soft squeeze, and you accidentally moan in his mouth. You think he likes it, though, because his bulge is hardening against your center. 

“If we don’t stop, there is no coming back from this,” he breathes.

Your mind regains consciousness at those words; you know he is right. With one last kiss, you begrudgingly pull away, walking back inside and squarely bumping into Shena. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” She joked while taking a good look at you. 

“Nothing, let’s just go,” you insist. “We still have to get ready for tonight and all.”

Shena looks at you and the balcony suspiciously but doesn’t say anything; honestly, you appreciate that. You don’t know how you can answer any questions she may throw at you. All you know right now is Mingyu drives you fucking crazy. 

Part 2 will be coming soon. Likes, reblogs, and feedback are much appreciated :)

tag: @nonuify

[wonysugar]

working in retail 101 | ahn yujin

synopsis : what happens when a floor manager flirts with a floor clerk during an accidental, overnight lock-in inside the store? well, not anything professional, that’s for sure.

pairing : clerk!gpyujin x floormanager!femreader

genre : smut, kinda fluff towards the end too? coworkers trope, kinnndaaa boss x employee?? idk but THEY’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DATING!

tags : so! lot to unpack here lol, superstore au, yes that sitcom netflix show SUE ME, references to the show, you don’t have to watch the show to read this but it’d be better if you knew what i was talking aboutgiejdks, naturally all characters work at cloud 9!girlpenis!yujin, handjobs, teasing, oral sex (yuj receiving), missionary sex, marking up, sub!yujin, she’s hung halp, dom!reader, implied puppy play, jonah!coded yujin, so yes she’s a loser, amy!coded reader, dina!coded gaeul, cheyenne!coded wonyoung, glenn!coded jiwon, although she isn’t really mentioned ueueueue, garrett!coded rei!

warnings : mentions of alcohol!

word count : 5,1k (excluding texting ofc!)

a/n : THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC YET?? kinda not proofread so sorry for that but HAIII omg okay so this took me such a long while to write i’m SORRYY</333 i started it while i was in the PRIME of my superstore hyperfixation and ??? IT’S SUCH A FUNNY SHOW I DEFINITELY RECOMMEND IT OMG did i mention this was a superstore au— [GUNSHOTS] as for my other drafts, they’re being worked on as we speak!! i really hope you enjoy reading this and thank you for your time! :]

also. IF ANY OTHER SUPERSTORE ENJOYERS ARE READING THIS PLEASEEE INVADE MY INBOX IMMEDIATELY I BEGGG

yujin.

that was all that preoccupied your thoughts, just her stupid face plaguing your mind like it was some sort of virus on a computer.

you needed yujin, there was no way around it. it was impossible to focus on your job when all you could think about was her, you needed her right here and right now.

and that’s exactly what you were gonna get.

after making sure that none of your coworkers were watching you flee the department you were in charge of, you quickly rushed towards the photo lab, or as everybody in the workplace liked to call it, ‘the bang room’. you walked in, slowly closed the door on your way and immediately pulled out your phone, leaning on the table and grinning to yourself as you typed up a text to send her.

running.

..running?

visualizing her just running across the store made you uncontrollably giggle at your screen in amusement.

cute, you thought to yourself. nobody else you knew would go out of their way to run across a department store as an employee to get head, and you’d normally take that text as a hyperbole, but knowing yujin? well, she was known to be very literal in everything she said. if she’d one day tell you that she had bigger fish to fry, that’s probably because she was indeed at home, frying bigger fish on a pan. (and she’d probably even send you pictures of the bigger fish in question, because why wouldn’t she?)

barely 30 seconds had passed after her last message when you turned off your phone, slid it into one of your back pockets and waited patiently. looking around at the familiar environment, you thought of various ways you two could use it this time. on your last encounter with yujin, she laid you down on the same counter that the printer sits on and proceeded to dick you down there! another time, you thought that grabbing the professional camera that’s usually used for passport or id pictures on the metal shelf next to the table and recording yujin as you rode her cock was an amazing idea! and, it was.

so much so that you still have the videos saved onto your phone!

you didn’t know that reminiscing about all of these past occurrences again would worsen your original predicament, but it did; you needed yujin to show up as soon as possible. now more than ever. 

then, suddenly, as if your prayers were magically answered, you heard rapid and loud footsteps outside the lab, followed by a familiar voice exclaiming the words “oh shit—“ before being cut off by the sound of numerous heavy boxes falling on the ground, the thud of that person’s body immediately following. worried, you got up from your seat, the door swinging open before you even had the chance to take a step towards it.

a panting yujin is what greeted you, her chest heaving up and down.

she looked at you, and you looked back at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. her eyes were nervous, darting around occasionally, looking like this was the first time you would’ve ever sucked her dick in the photo lab. 

oh she definitely fell on her way here.

“…hi?” you said, amused by the thought.

“hello!” she responded, still short of breath, smiling stupidly. 

still preoccupied by the alarming amount of boxes toppled over behind her, you tried looking over her shoulder, wanting to confirm your theory. she reacted by immediately leaning onto that side of the door frame, attempting to hide her accident from your curious sight by acting casual. that gesture alone made you especially notice how messy her short hair looked, how the ‘ahn yujin’ name tag she had pinned to her blue cloud 9 vest seemed to be abnormally tilted to the left, as well as… how weirdly scratched her glasses looked..?

it, unfortunately for her, didn’t take long at all for you to connect the dots.

yup. she fell. 

“yujin— did you slip on your way here?”

she immediately started laughing nervously in response, her eyes darting around as she pushed up her glasses and cleared her throat, hand running through her soft short hair, “…what?! noo… who do you think i am? that’d just be clumsy of me..” she kept laughing, that is, until she mumbled under her breath, 

“i did jog a little bit and didn’t seem to notice the wet sign that was on the floor but it’s just a tiny little scratch probably, nothing too bad aha i’ll clean it up later before the other managers sees it— a-anywho!” 

so you were correct in believing her, she did run across the store just to get in here quickly. and, as expected of her clumsy person, she apparently also slipped and fell in the process.

you giggled at her. god, what an idiot, you thought.

your favorite idiot.

“you know you could’ve just walked here, right?” you told her, slowly walking towards her as you cheekily smiled. “we’re not in a rush.”

while you did so, yujin took the opportunity to finally lock the door properly behind her, not even looking back at it. she stared at you, then at your lips, then right back up at your eyes. “well— i did tell gaeul that i was gonna stock up the fridge after cleaning the spilled yogurt..” 

her hand scratched the back of her head nervously, “and.. i-i kind of was in a rush, i mean, you texted me...”

you chuckled, simply thinking that she was being sappy. that is, until she nervously bit her lip and motioned with her eyes for you to look down at her. “i couldn’t have anyone see me like this… so—“

your gaze was met with the incredibly visible hard-on she had. no seriously, it poked right through her denim jeans, anybody with average, functioning eyes could effortlessly see it, especially under the new, very bright lights that were recently installed by the electricians. you scoffed, incredibly amused by the sight, she got a boner from those innocent texts alone? that was a first, no wonder why she looked so keen to get here.

in her defense, it had been a long while since the two of you were last in this room alone. hell, it’d been a long while since the two of you even said actual words to each other, period. you guys aren’t friends or anything, you only ever text her whenever it’s work or sex related and there’s still barely any conversation then, let alone when you spoke to her in person.

therefore, the boner wasn’t completely unexpected, but it was still enough to heavily flatter you. then, you felt your ego get even more stroked when you remembered that… she didn’t know much about you at all, yet she got this worked up over texts like that from you? a simple coworker she knew and fucked from time to time?

i mean, you probably wouldn’t even remember what her last name is without looking at her nametag; in other words, you know absolutely nothing about her either! okay yeah, you know that she would always stumble on her own words when talking to customers, and that she has a tendency to always pick at her nametag that’s on the left side of her vest using her right hand. you also know that she always pushes her glasses up whenever she’s nervous and that she is overall incredibly handsome and that you catch yourself staring at her from any department you’re tasked in managing very often, but apart from that? you truly don’t know much.

she’s nothing more than just an inferior at work, to you. an acquaintance, at most, but that’s about it.

this whole approximately-twice-per-month ‘meet me in the photo lab’ ritual you two have going on wouldn’t have even existed if it wasn’t for that one time that the corporate team accidentally locked all of you in the store for the night. seriously, what else was there to do? every employee there (including yourself) took the opportunity to get drunk out of their minds to pass the time and.. honestly? yujin just looked that good that night. you couldn’t help but feel the desire to drag her to the photo lab and figure out what she tastes like, despite it being strictly forbidden to be having any sort of sexual or romantic relationship with your inferior.

the both of you were anything-but-sober, very hot individuals, and she’d caught your attention for the longest time prior to that moment, too, something stupid was bound to happen in the heat of the moment!

“photo lab, in five.” was what you quietly slurred into her ear that night, holding the biggest, most cliché, red, beer-filled solo cup ever. since the others were too busy drinking and playing ‘never have i ever’ in a certain corner of the store, nobody particularly noticed you two. she, in response, could only turn her head to face you properly with her eyebrows slightly raised, clearly taken aback by your sudden and unexpected boldness, whilst also subconsciously taking in all of your intricate facial features all at once. it’s not like she didn’t know what ‘photo lab’ entailed, everyone that worked at cloud 9 for more than a week did. maybe you were joking, she thought, perhaps you said that just to get a reaction out of her. saying that she was confused in the moment would be a big understatement, especially when she watched you get up from your seat and make your way to the spot in question.

yujin’s not stupid at all, she knew you were drunk as shit, the manner that you stumbled on your words, the way your hand sat on her thigh, the slight tint of blush on your cheeks and nose quickly gave it away. she also figured that it was most probably a very bad idea to actually follow you into that room, considering that you’re her manager, and all..

did she still do it, though? of course, of course she did. because despite everything, despite all of the ‘this is so wrong’ and ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ she managed to get out of her,

she was equally as intoxicated that night, and it’s not like she even had it in her to pass up your invitation whether she was sober or not; as much as yujin tried to remain professional around you and not pursue anything outside of work, she always deemed you as intriguing, and she had thought about you in such a way occasionally. that being said, she was willing to accept the consequences that came with potentially having sex with you that night.

those feelings only got stronger when you eventually showed her what she’d been missing out on for all those months in one singular night. anything she’d have hoped for, you exceeded in.

as it turns out, drunken people don't always make the worst decisions after all! since, yknow.. you haven’t gotten caught by anybody yet, and hopefully never will. the only consequence she really had to deal with afterwards was you contacting her throughout random times of her shifts whenever you felt like sucking dick.

and that’s a perfectly fine outcome for both you and her.

but, that hasn’t happened in a long time, not until now, at least. hence the situation you were both put in now.

“should’ve texted you earlier, by the looks of it, hm?” teasing, you approached her, both of you now face to face. your eyes trained on her crotch, you pressed your palm onto it before looking up at her again. yujin pushed her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose, then looked away from you in response to the intimacy, embarrassed.

you got to properly look at her features again. her eyes were still just as soft and fragile as when you saw them for the first time, staring back into yours with careful anticipation.

“m-maybe..” was what she mumbled under her breath, trying her hardest not to let out an accidental whimper from the slight friction she felt down there (which she failed to do), her thighs slightly clenched together. 

“did anybody see you walk in?” you asked.

“n-no! the only one near was wonyoung, i believe. and she was on her phone, as per usual..” reassured, you giggled at her usual nervousness, then, after keeping your eyes on her nervous lips for a few moments and licking your own in anticipation, you closed the minimal amount of distance between you two and made them meet after what felt like an eternity.

and once you did, she immediately got used to the familiar feeling and melted into the sensation of your embrace.

after such a long time of not being able to touch her like this, you felt like your hands glided on her entire body by themselves, feeling up the curve of her back and waist as you kissed her. she did the same, only this time more eager than your gentle movements, as one of her hands ‘accidentally’ grazed your ass.

one thing about yujin: she will always love your ass.

the only audible thing in the photo lab was her lips intertwining with yours, the kiss was undeniably messy, and while it might’ve been able to be heard from outside, you just couldn’t seem to care; at that moment, you just wanted to feel her body against yours, to pull her in closer than physically even possible. that’s what happens when you don’t get to have each other for a long time, after all.

“i missed you—“ she pulled away for a quick moment and whispered, pouting in a puppyish manner. her arms set around your waist and holding you, her fingers tugged onto your vest in desperation as you kept rubbing your hand on her clothed hard-on. 

“i know you did.” you whispered back, taking the opportunity to delicately unzip her jeans with the same hand you teased her with before going back into the kiss, this time, more longingly than ever. you did want to tell her how much you missed her too, but you refrained from doing so.

you had way better things to waste your time on.

your lips still on hers, she whimpered against the kiss. knowing her, she was wordlessly begging for you to do something about the raging boner you gave her. and knowing yourself, you wouldn’t give into her desires so easily, not until she used her words like a big girl. in other words, you wanted to see how desperate she would get.

smiling to yourself, you slowly slid your hand up from her crotch to her abs, you only kept tracing your finger on them, teasing her further.

“god, please—” her breath hitched, breaking the tense silence, the one that was occasionally filled with the sound of your lips uniting with hers. she whined even more, feeling her hard cock rubbing against the fabric of her already zipped down denim pants.

“please what, baby? you know i can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what it is you want.” you looked up innocently, now staring into her hooded eyes. she, in response, exhaled in anticipation, looking right back at you with her eyebrows slightly upturned. you knew exactly what she wanted, that much is obvious to her.

of course, she knew it wouldn’t be so easy, she knew she needed to work for it.

“i want you to t-touch me..” she desperately bucked her hips into your palm as a pitiful attempt at satisfying her crave for friction. “please..” was what she added afterwards, wearing her trademark puppy eyes whilst she pleaded.

“good girl.” you hummed, already getting familiar with the sound of her begging again. you planted a small kiss onto her lips and another onto her neck before getting down on your knees in front of her.

you looked up at her as you unbuttoned her jeans, your eyes locking with hers whilst you slowly pulled down her pants. once those as well as her boxers were completely off, leaving with nothing but her pretty dick springing up at you, you left lazy kisses all over her lower stomach and sides. 

you kept kissing her all over, giving attention to her inner thighs and hips, purposefully giving attention everywhere except where she specifically asked to be touched, watching out for any kind of reaction from her end.

and when you eventually got what you wanted, oh you were way more than satisfied.

“you’re so m-mean y/n.. please..” yujin whined quietly, too embarrassed to even look you in the eye anymore, hers all glossy with hot, desperate tears threatening to spill if this carried on any further. her dick said all of the words that couldn’t come out of her mouth through its slight movement, twitching and practically throbbing before you, aching to be taken care of.

she needed to feel your warm mouth around her, hell, just feeling the light graze of your touch against her aching cock would be enough; at least, that’s what it felt like, she was sure she’d go insane if you didn’t give her just that. if she could, she’d grab the back of your head and fuck your throat like she likes it, unapologetic and more than ready to make you swallow all of her thick load.

she knew she couldn’t, of course, she was very much aware that she needed permission to remotely even touch you, which, unfortunately for her, just contributed to arousing her even more.

taking pity on her, “i’m sorry for teasing, baby, you’re just so cute when you beg..” you admitted, smiling to yourself and running your hand up and down her thigh, before adding on, “you’ve been so needy, so good for me.. and just for that, i’ll take good care of you now, okay?”

just like that, her eyes were back on yours, this time wider and more excited, it’s like you could see her invisible puppy ears standing up in anticipation. she nodded at your words, her gaze still wet and pathetic with tears. 

it didn’t take long for you to finally wrap your hand around her hard shaft, stroking it up and down ever so slowly, to which the girl whose penis you were jerking off let out a heavy sigh of relief. your thumb brushed the slit of her tip, rubbing all of the precum that came out of it all over the surface of her cock, making her shudder. then, after what felt like an eternity of you teasing her, you eventually took all of her length all at once, holding your hair up. 

“ahh— y/n.. fuck..“ desperate moans escaped yujin’s mouth as you sucked her off, using all of her willpower attempting to not hold up your hair for you and ram herself into your mouth. 

she really wanted to, though, and you know her like you know the back of your hand, so that wasn’t hard to figure out. it’s obvious, especially with how her nails seemed to dig into her own skin due to how desperate she was to touch you. 

you saw that, and took pity on her; gently grabbing one of her hands and putting it on your hair, you nonverbally gave her the desired permission to finally touch you, and to guide your head however she wanted to.

mumbling quiet and desperate ‘thank you’s, she nestled her fingers in between your strands of hair for maximum comfort. unconscious about it, she dug her nails into your scalp slightly. it didn’t take long until she proceeded to finally move your head in a repetitive, back and forth motion.

“y/n..” she groaned after a while of having you suck her off, looking down at you and using all of her willpower to be as quiet as possible, but alas, “i can’t hold it in.. i’m sorry i— i need to cum.. so badly—”

no matter how hard she tried to keep it contained, she simply couldn’t: she moaned, finally shooting her long anticipated load into your throat, the warm and thick substance coating the entirety of the inside of your mouth. 

you weren’t done with her, of course, especially not after that.

now, you weren’t usually one to be into anything considered similar to ‘vanilla sex’, you always liked experimenting and trying different things, especially if it was yujin. however, you felt like keeping it simple today, your only objective being to orgasm from the girl’s, still very hard, cock.

therefore, what better way to do that than some good old missionary on the photo lab table? 

after making out with you and leaving marks all over your neck and visible parts of your collarbone, she ended up on top of your laying body, both your clothing and hers mostly still on. 

being positioned like this was the only time where she felt like she had power over you, and not vice-versa. it was the only time where she felt like she could do anything she wanted to you without any consequences, and she looked forward to it every single time. of course, she still thoroughly enjoys having you order her around, whether it’s for work or not, however, she also liked having a role switch every once in a while.

keeping her balance with one of the hands she has on the table, positioned right next to your head, she proceeded to take off the glasses from her face and set them somewhere near. you quickly stopped her by gently grabbing onto her wrist, which caught her attention. wide-eyed, she asked, “yeah?”

“don’t take them off.”

“...excuse me–”

“keep your stupid glasses on this time,” she was already committed to the action of putting them back on after you indicated that you wanted her to, but you decided to justify further, just for good measure, “i’ve always wondered what’d it look like for you to wear them while you fuck me.” 

and when she thought she couldn’t possibly be any more turned on and eager to fuck you, you proved her wrong with just that small, simple sentence.

she quickly pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose before leaning back into you, kissing you again, this time more eagerly. soon enough, she pulled away and started fucking you with slow, gentle thrusts, listening out for any sounds that came out of your pretty lips, gaze going back and forth between admiring how pleasure quickly contorted your beautiful face and watching how her dick disappeared into you.

the longer that went on, the harder it got to contain the noises that threatened to leave your already agape mouth, especially with how fast yujin’s pace got progressively faster.

“f-fuck yujin..” you whined, watching the girl on top of you lose herself as she thrusted the entirety of her length into your core. she looked at you through the lenses of her glasses as you whimpered sweet praises, leaving hungry, desperate kisses all over your lips, neck and even collarbone, marking you up even more.

soon enough, all of this turned into a constant cycle; all of a sudden, you realized that you wouldn’t actually mind staying that way for hours and hours on end. who knew that yujin could make hooking up on a shift for around the hundredth time still be so fun?

she eventually planted one last kiss on your lips before making you cum, your walls clenching all around her cock, which, of course, turned her on so much that she had to pull out to jerk off and help herself reach her own climax, in one last long moan.

lightheaded from the consecutive orgasms she’s put herself through, she laid there after you thoroughly licked her coated-in-cum dominant hand, as to remove any evidence of you two being ever here. her body rested on yours and her head comfortably nestled in the crook of your neck as she cuddled up to you, enjoying your body warmth. you panted, matching the rhythm of her own breathing, otherwise a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. 

that is, until her phone obnoxiously rang in one of her jean pockets, breaking said silence and catching the both of you by surprise. 

sitting up in a hurry, she quickly digs into said pocket and pulls out her cellular device, wasting no time to look at the caller and straight up just answers it, in case of an emergency. she puts it up to her ear before speaking up, clearly nervous, “..hello?”

silence. you stare at her with anticipation and curiosity, studying her facial expressions and looking out for any hint of bad news. thankfully, that never happened, as her eyes instead lit up in surprise.

“oh! yes, hello..”

“uh huh,” she added, nodding along to the words only she heard from the tiny phone speaker placed against her ear, “4 pm? yes! of course, i-i’ll be there. thank you so much.” 

she quickled fixed her posture and ended the call soon after saying that, turning back at you with a pleased and surprised expression.

“who was that?” you asked, curiosity eating at you.

“target.” she watched as your expression switched to a puzzled one, therefore explained further, “they called me to see if i was free for an interview later.”

“interview?” you repeated, making sure you heard her correctly, she nodded. “you applied to places recently?” is what you added.

she gave you another nod, this time reluctant, fixing her glasses and messy short hair, “i mean, nothing against cloud 9 or anything! i like working here and i love you guys, a lot! i simply just wanted a change of pace, i guess.. p-plus they might not even hire me, it’s not like i was expecting them to even call me back in the first place, so—” 

“hey,” you placed before she could stumble on another one of her words, wearing a sympathetic smile, “don’t worry about ‘not repping’ cloud 9 or whatever, it’s not like you sold your soul to jiwon when coming here. you’ll kill it there!” you joked, before continuing, “plus, you can always come back if things ever don’t work out; whatever happens, i’m rooting for you, we all are.” 

“even if you’re working for the rival company.” were your last words before leaving a kiss on her cheek and standing back up on your two feet, fixing yourself up. the sudden skin contact combined with the banter earned a shy giggle from yujin.

it was somewhat a ridiculous situation, feeling guilty for leaving your coworkers and going for another job, yujin didn’t know why she felt like this over trivial things such as this one. yet, you comforted her, despite how stupid it might seem. it’s only natural since you, out of all people, are the first person to know how much of a nervous wreck she is and how sensitive she always is to this kind of stuff, that was her charm, after all.

she appreciated you way more than she’d like to outwardly admit.

so, while you’re making your way to the door, getting ready to go to the break room to grab your things from your locker and clock out for the day, she calls out to you, “hey, y/n?”

“yeah?”

“are you maybe free, afterwards? y-yknow since our shifts both end at 2:30pm i was thinking we could maybe go grab a coffee together before my job interview and stuff but it’s like, totally fine if you already have plans or whatever—“

you smiled, flattered by the invitation. after all, today would mark the last day that you’re considered her ‘superior’, so you found it cute that she’d ask so soon. quite frankly, you were very tempted, this time having no obstacles in your way. who wouldn’t wanna go out on a date with the cute, charming girl who usually works at the dairy section? well, used to.

“sure, i would love tha—“

“ahem ahem.” you were cut off by the staticky sound of the words coming from the intercom, immediately recognizing the familiar and soft-spoken voice of your coworker, rei, “attention, dear shoppers of cloud 9, just a heads up to please proceed to not feel concerned about the following message, as it is destined to our staff, and our staff only, please and thank you. happy shopping!”

you and the puppy-like girl looked at each other in confusion, only to be thrown off guard by the same voice again, this time sounding more impatient. 

“now.. y/n, yujin, i know you can hear me; come out of that damn photo lab before i personally drag you out of there myself oh my god y’all aren’t slick, we all know what you do in there, you’re not fooling anybody. also, what happened to keeping it classy? what happened to doing this at home? not only that but it’s been like— an hour and a customer has been trying to get some passport photos done but you hoes— two, you two have been at it for forever. next time, if you’re gonna do this, make sure to at least keep it short and not have it last a whole decade.” 

then, you heard the intercom turn off.

yujin’s face went completely red as she listened to that, now not at all wanting to walk out of said photo lab. you cleared your throat, your whole body invaded with nothing but embarrassment as uncomfortable silence filled the space between you and the other girl. 

then, once you heard the intercom turn on again, it felt like your worst nightmare coming back to life for round two.

except this time, it didn’t come for you.

“oh and yujin, gaeul wanted me to tell—“ rei’s voice blasted through the speaker again before being obnoxiously interrupted by what sounded like gaeul’s voice, who was audibly angry and annoyed.

“yujin if you don’t get your ass back in the dairy section right now and clean that god damned spilled yogurt i’ll personally make sure that jiwon gets your next paycheck cut off by fifty percent, don’t test me. it reeks, yujin, reeks. oh and as for you, wonyoung, get off that damn phone before i—”

then, the intercom turned off again, which was probably rei’s doing, to both yujin, and probably wonyoung’s relief. 

you simply giggled, watching as she took off her name tag in an embarrassed manner, yknow, as to not be recognized by the customers she’d meet on her way to the row she had to clean. then, you cleared your throat, earning her attention before leaving. 

“meet me outside when you’re done?” you smiled.

she returned that same smile, immediately having forgotten the misery that was waiting for her outside that door, visibly excited.

“yeah, i’ll be there.”

[locketsvault]

「 CUDDLING WITH TOKYO GHOUL MEN 」

pairings: jūzō suzuya x reader ፥ ayato kirishima x reader ፥ renji yomo x reader

tags: gender neutral reader, no agab mentioned, first person, fluff, cuddling/phyiscal affection

warnings: angst in ayatos, mention of parents dying in ayatos, cursing in yomos

request: Heyy, can i please ask for cuddling headcannons with tokyo ghoul guys? (Juuzou, Ayato and Yomo) (request found here.)

a/n: I’m so happy to write for jūzō I love him sm. this request was very fun to do! I do warn later on, but I’m not too familiar with yomo though I did do my best! if you have any comments or ideas about cuddling these silly men, feel free to comment or send something through my inbox. I take anons too!

// jūzō suzuya⌇˚.༄

⮑ You’ve managed to get him to sit still long enough to cuddle? I’m impressed.

⮑ No really, he’s hard to cuddle because of how much energy he has, not to mention the fact he always wants to be out and about. Funnily enough, not to lean into the stereotype but I 100% see him being docile if you give him sweets and snacks lmao. As long as you feed him he will remain in your arms like a good boy.

⮑ That brings me to my next point actually, he’s mostly always a little spoon. On rare occasions he’ll be big spoon, but the problem is that he doesn’t… know how. He doesn’t know how to be big spoon, he doesn’t know how to be the one comforting physically. But he tries!!! And tbh he’s pretty good with it, even if he can be slightly awkward at first. He learns, especially if you willingly help him.

⮑ I think because of his personality and upbringing, most people assume he doesn’t understand affection. While I can agree, to a certain extent, he isn’t clueless, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand all forms of affection. He does, and he learns well. Even if his ways of showing affection are not traditional lol.

⮑ He does not mind pda, he doesn’t get why people are uncomfortable. He loves you, and if he wants cuddles from you while working or going around the city, then he should get what he wants no? Plus, it’s not like he’s worried about his reputation.

⮑ A solid 8/10 in the cuddle department. if he sits still long enough and is willing, his cuddles are warmth. they’re home.

// ayato kirishima⌇˚.༄

⮑ He must really trust you if he’s cuddling with you willingly.

⮑ Hear me out okay. I know he’s not only the whole “bad boy” persona we all see. But it is a big part of him and how he thinks. Affection is weakness, and showing weakness is asking for death. Especially in the earlier days. The idea of being vulnerable even in the safety of his own home freaks him out.

⮑ I think for the longest time he wouldn’t entertain the idea. That is until he’s had a rough day, and suddenly he finds himself burying his face in your torso, holding you between his legs. You can’t move, you’re not allowed to. Not that you’d want to; because finally subjecting himself to affection has caused him to break down. Yep, your first time cuddling involves a very vulnerable and probably crying boy in your arms. He’s back to the age of his parents still being alive in that moment.

⮑ But! Once he’s finally given himself the taste of affection, especially from you, he can’t let it go. It’s still only in private though, he can’t bring himself to feel comfortable cuddling you in front of others. Honestly it’s probably not until after :re that he feels comfortable with pda.

⮑ His cuddles are rigid at first, he can’t get himself to relax. But over time he softens up. He loves cuddling you face to face, he loves admiring you. You may even find his eyes soft and adoring. His body runs extra hot so he’s perfect to sleep with in the winter. Oh, couch cuddles that consist of you being a personal weighted blanket are also always welcome.

⮑ I’ll give him a 6.5, he’s still figuring himself out but somehow his cuddles are still nice.

// renji yomo⌇˚.༄

⮑ Honestly he looks like someone who gives wonderful hugs.

⮑ Now you’ll have to forgive me, I don’t really know too much on yomo, though I did try to read up a little to refresh my mind.

⮑ If we’re talking about early days yomo, when he was a little shit (sorry yomo), I don’t really see him as a cuddly person. He’s too hot headed and violent, especially after losing his sister. But if we’re talking about Anteiku and beyond yomo, I could see him appreciating cuddles very much.

⮑ And I mean it too. I think physical affection is one of his main forms of affection right next to act of service. So he’s always down to cuddle you if you ask. You’ll usually have to initiate it though, unless you’re at home. He’ll open his arms for you and pull you close.

⮑ I can vividly picture this man allowing you to lay on his chest and probably fall asleep while reading a book peacefully. And he’s willing to stay that way for hours. It’s probably very soothing to him. Especially if the room is quiet and he can hear your heartbeat.

⮑ When it comes to pda, I don’t really think he’d do it. And if he did he never initiated it. he’s a man of few words, and is reserved. His actions can speak for himself yes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to. He doesn’t care if anyone comments on it though, and is probably both amused and annoyed at the gawking of someone curled into his side at the coffee shop lol.

⮑ 9/10 as well, as long as it isn’t early yomo, you’ve got yourself a wonderful protective cuddler.

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